Author: Momo Chan

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!]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “540706”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

We were halfway through my bridal fitting when Nigel’s phone rang, and he slipped out to answer it. I quietly followed him out, only to hear the familiar, high-pitched whine of my best friend’s voice filtering through the receiver. “Did you finish picking out those sneakers and jerseys I asked for?” Nigel, who had been completely checked out since we walked into the boutique, suddenly sounded alive. He rattled off a dozen recommendations without missing a beat. Then Mallory asked, “Are you really going to lie to Maggie, tell her you’re on a business trip, and fly to the World Cup with me? What about the wedding?” Nigel let out a soft, easy chuckle. “We can just have the ceremony when we get back. I promised I’d watch the World Cup with you, Mal. How could I miss it?” “Besides, the World Cup only happens once every four years. She’s only been waiting for three.” “Aren’t you worried Maggie will make a scene?” Nigel hesitated for a brief second before his tone turned dismissive. “She’s sweet. And besides, it’s not the first time I’ve kept her waiting.” The color drained from my face. The bridal consultant beside me gave me a worried look. “Ma’am? Are you alright? Maybe you should take a moment to think about it. After all, this is the biggest day of your life.” But I just shook my head. “No need. We’ll take this dress.” The invitations had already been sent. He couldn’t back out, and neither could I. … When Nigel returned, he looked at my reflection in the mirror, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “You look beautiful, Maggie. I’m so happy.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a yellow diamond ring, and slid it onto my ring finger. “An early wedding gift for you.” The consultant, oblivious to everything, let out an envious sigh. But as I stared down at the yellow diamond, a sharp, physical ache bloomed in my chest. Because this ring was never meant for me. Only Mallory liked yellow diamonds. Yellow was also the signature color of their favorite soccer team. He wasn’t happy about marrying me. He was happy because he was about to fly across the world with Mallory. Nigel didn’t notice the stiffness in my shoulders. He checked his watch and adjusted his cuffs. “It’s been two hours. Let’s head out.” I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you really in that much of a hurry?” He sighed, offering a practiced, helpless look. “I have a meeting soon, Maggie. You know how busy I am.” Staring at my reflection, where even the heavy makeup couldn’t mask the exhaustion, I let out a quiet breath. Nigel had used work as an excuse to avoid every single detail of our wedding planning. From drafting the guest list to designing the venue, I had carried the entire weight of this wedding alone. I had practically begged him to clear his schedule just to choose the dress, and yet, he was already planning to cancel the whole thing. “Just take me home,” I said quietly. Nigel smiled, relieved, and patted my head. “Good girl. Once this busy season is over, things will get easier. Just bear with me a little longer.” In the car, the physical exhaustion caught up to me, and I fell asleep against the passenger window. But a sudden, violent brake sent my head slamming against the glass. A sharp pain shot through my temple, and a bump began to form. Nigel threw the wheel into a hard turn, not even casting a glance in my direction. “What’s going on?” I asked, rubbing my head. Nigel kept his eyes on the road, his face entirely casual. “It’s starting to pour. Mallory texted and asked me to pick her up.” Only then did I notice the heavy sheets of rain blurring the windows. “I thought you had a meeting?” He hesitated for a second before speaking with practiced ease. “She’s your best friend, Maggie. If I leave her stranded, she’ll just complain to you about me later.” I pressed my fingers against the swelling on my head and said nothing. When we pulled up to the curb, Mallory was huddled under a building awning. The moment the car stopped, Nigel grabbed the only umbrella in the vehicle and rushed out into the rain. He left the car door slightly open, and a blast of cold, damp air rushed in, making me shiver. Outside, Mallory shivered too. Without a second thought, Nigel slipped off his designer coat and draped it over her shoulders. For a fleeting second, I saw the ghost of the man who had first fallen in love with me. He was still capable of being incredibly tender and attentive—it was just that the recipient of that tenderness had changed. Nigel opened the passenger side door. “Maggie, Mallory gets carsick easily. Let her sit up front.” I looked at their shoulders, pressed tightly together under the shared umbrella, and quietly got out of the car. The rain pelted my face. The umbrella, which was supposed to cover both of them, was tilted entirely over Mallory’s head. I climbed into the back seat, my clothes damp and clinging to my skin. Neither of them seemed to notice. Within seconds, they were laughing over some inside joke about a recent soccer match. It sounded like an encrypted code, a language designed specifically to lock me out. But I still tried, clinging to a desperate, pathetic shred of hope. “Are you guys talking about the game tonight?” The laughter died instantly. Nigel spoke with a thin thread of irritation. “You don’t even know the rules, Maggie. There’s no need to force yourself into the conversation.” My fingers curled tightly into my palms. Despite how many times they had shut me out, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. I remembered shopping trips where we’d walk past a sports store, and they would disappear inside for hours, leaving me to wait alone on a bench outside. I remembered private dates where Nigel would suddenly leave after a single text from Mallory, rushing to watch a game with her. I used to think it was my fault for not understanding his interests. Only now did I realize they simply didn’t want me there. The rest of the drive was dead silent. When we reached the entrance of my apartment complex, Nigel handed me the wet umbrella. “Head inside. I’m going to drop Mallory off.” I took the umbrella without a word. Before I could even turn around, the car roared away, kicking up a spray of water. As I walked into the lobby, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Sweetie, your Nana is arriving tonight. She’s been counting down the days to see you walk down the aisle.” Tears mixed with the rainwater on my face, hot and stinging. “Okay, Mom. I know.” “Tell Nana to get ready. I’m going to be the most beautiful bride.” When I got upstairs and dried my hair, a text from Nigel lit up my screen. “Working late tonight. Get some rest, don’t wait up.” “We still have dinner with your parents tomorrow at two. I haven’t forgotten.” I stared at the glowing screen, then opened a browser to search the World Cup schedule. Sure enough, there was a crucial midnight match tonight. A match he and Mallory wouldn’t miss for the world. I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. I didn’t call him screaming, and I didn’t cry. I simply replied with a single sentence, confirming the dinner. The next afternoon, my parents arrived at the restaurant early, sitting expectantly in the private dining room. But by two-fifteen, Nigel still hadn’t shown up. As the dishes grew cold, my mother looked at me with quiet concern. “Is his work really that busy, sweetie? Maybe we should just start eating.” I forced a smile and dialed Nigel’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Then, I called Mallory. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Maggie, what’s up?” My voice was entirely devoid of warmth. “Is Nigel with you? Put him on.” There was a brief, awkward silence on the other end, and then Nigel’s voice cut through. “The dinner, right? I’m on my way.” Mallory took the phone back, her tone breezy and light. “We stayed up until dawn watching the match and completely overslept. You’re not mad at us, are you, Maggie?” Before I could answer, I heard Nigel’s faint laugh in the background. “Of course she isn’t. Maggie doesn’t get jealous over things like that.” I looked at the hopeful, tired faces of my parents and swallowed the rage burning in my throat, simply telling him to hurry. When Nigel finally arrived, he brought expensive gift boxes for my parents. They accepted them with a mix of flattery and embarrassment, while Nigel looked at me with a smirk that said, “Are we good now?” I kept my face neutral. Halfway through the meal, my father raised his glass to toast Nigel. But Nigel waved his hand, declining the drink. “Dad, actually, I should toast you. I owe Maggie an apology.” My father chuckled, waving it off. “Oh, a little lateness is fine, son—” “It’s not that,” Nigel interrupted, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered. “Maggie and I need to postpone the wedding by two months. I have an urgent international business trip during those dates.” “But don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything. Consider this a vacation for you guys. I’ll cover all your travel and lodging expenses, and we’ll hold the actual ceremony in two months.” The sound of my mother’s fork hitting the table was sharp. My father’s hand shook, spilling half his wine onto the white tablecloth. I couldn’t believe he was doing this here, in front of them. After a long silence, my father, a man who had worked hard his entire life, lowered his voice to a near-pleading tone. “Son, does it really have to be postponed? The invitations are already out. All our relatives have booked their travel to be here.” Nigel simply shook his head, looking down at his plate. “You don’t understand how the corporate world works, Dad. My career is extremely important.” His arrogant tone made my father’s face turn a deep, humiliated red. My father looked at me, completely helpless. I stood up, grabbed Nigel’s arm, and dragged him out of the private room. “I never agreed to postpone the wedding,” I whispered, my voice shaking. Nigel looked at me, his eyes cold. “Your parents already accepted my gifts, Maggie. Why are you still making a scene?” A lump formed in my throat. So the gifts weren’t an apology. They were hush money. They were a bribe to buy my parents’ compliance. Nigel reached out, lightly patting my head as if calming a restless pet. “I’ve already compensated you. Stop throwing a tantrum. Don’t make your parents worry.” My eyes stung. I looked at him and asked one last time, “Nigel, are you absolutely sure you want to cancel the wedding next week?” He gave me a strange look, but didn’t think much of it. “It’s a postponement, Maggie. Not a cancellation.” He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and pressed it into my hand. “I have to run. Finish up dinner with your parents, and put the bill on this.” Without another word, he turned and walked toward the elevators. My chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. I quietly followed him. I trailed him down to the underground parking garage, where I watched him walk toward his SUV. The passenger door was already unlocked, and Mallory was sitting inside, scrolling through her phone. Nigel climbed into the driver’s seat, a proud smile on his face. “I took care of Maggie’s family. We’re good to go.” I didn’t stay to hear the rest. The tears finally spilled over, hot and heavy. My chest felt like a sponge soaked to the brim with years of quiet humiliation and ignored red flags. I wiped my face dry, walked back into the private dining room, and looked at my parents. “Nigel has an emergency,” I said, my voice steady. “He won’t be attending the wedding.” The next morning, I walked into the office and sat down at my desk. Within minutes, Mallory slid her chair over to mine. She stared at my face for a long moment, then let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god, Maggie! Did you actually cry? Since when did you become such a sore loser?” “You know how Nigel and I are. We’re just soccer buddies. Nobody is closer to you than me.” She patted my shoulder, her grip tightening with a strange, heavy force. Her face was a mask of pure innocence, but she was deliberately exposing my humiliation to the entire open-plan office. I coldly brushed her hand off my shoulder. Instead of being offended, she let out a light laugh. “Fine, I apologize. Don’t be mad, Maggie.” There wasn’t a single shred of sincerity in her eyes. Staring at her, I felt a sudden, profound sense of detachment. The Mallory who used to stand up for me, the girl who had been my fiercely loyal best friend in college, was entirely gone. She was just a stranger wearing my friend’s face. I turned back to my computer, but before I could type, Nigel’s voice cut through the air. “Why are you apologizing to her? You didn’t do anything wrong.” My hands froze on the keyboard. Nigel stood beside Mallory, looking down at me. “We tried bringing you to games before, Maggie, but you just sat there looking miserable because you didn’t get it. Bringing you along just ruins the mood for everyone.” I couldn’t even remember the last time they had invited me. But I remembered the first year of our relationship. He used to sit with me for hours, patiently explaining the rules, the teams, the players. He had even watched slow, romantic dramas with me, even though he hated them. Back then, I thought I was his exception. But the moment Mallory entered the picture—a woman who actually understood his passion—his eyes had lit up. Just like now, as he looked at Mallory with genuine admiration, before turning a look of pure, irritated exhaustion on me. “The boss is right,” a male colleague piped up from a nearby cubicle, eager to suck up. “You have to watch the World Cup with people who actually get the sport. I wouldn’t bring my girlfriend either.” Several other men joined in, laughing and praising Nigel’s logic. Nigel smiled, clearly pleased. “Tell you what—during the World Cup tournament, everyone in the department gets one paid day off to catch a match.” The entire office erupted into cheers. “Mallory is the best! Thank you, boss!” In the middle of the noise, someone shouted, “Honestly, the boss and Mallory look so much more compatible!” Mallory’s cheeks flushed a light pink, and Nigel looked away, avoiding my gaze. Neither of them said a word to deny it. In that moment, everyone in the room seemed to forget that I was the one wearing his ring. I quietly put on my noise-canceling headphones, drowning out the cheers. But after that day, the atmosphere in the office shifted entirely. Colleagues began to bypass me, sending me files without a word of explanation. When they ordered afternoon boba, my name was pointedly left off the list. Whenever I approached a group chatting in the hallway, they would abruptly fall silent and disperse. Meanwhile, Mallory became the golden girl of the department. Even if I wanted to ignore it, the subtle, systematic exclusion was impossible to miss. I walked straight into Nigel’s corner office. When we had first started this company, he had made a speech about zero tolerance for office politics and exclusion. But when I brought it up, Nigel simply shrugged, his tone breezy. “It’s just natural progression, Maggie. How long did you expect to get special treatment?” I stared at him, stunned. Nigel looked entirely unbothered. “Before, everyone accommodated you because you were my girlfriend. Now, you’ve simply lost that privilege.” The air felt tight in my chest. I wanted to ask him if he truly couldn’t tell the difference between losing a privilege and being actively bullied. But before the words could leave my mouth, the door to his private office lounge swung open, and Mallory walked out. Nigel immediately handed her a glass of warm water. “Mallory’s on her period and wasn’t feeling well. I told her to rest in here.” Mallory took a sip, then offered me a sweet, pitying smile. “Don’t worry, Maggie, it was just me in there. But I couldn’t help but hear what you guys were talking about.” “Honestly, I think you need to be a bit more independent. You can’t rely on men for everything.” My fingernails dug into my palms, the sharp bite of pain keeping me from breaking down. “And what about you? Are you relying on Nigel for your sudden promotion?” Mallory slammed her glass onto the desk, her brow furrowing. “Maggie, I know you’re in a bad mood, but don’t go spreading baseless rumors.” “My transfer to corporate headquarters was based strictly on my performance reviews. It has nothing to do with favoritism.” I let out a cold laugh. I had been with this company for six years. The people who started with me had either been promoted to directors or moved on to high-paying roles elsewhere. I was the only one still stuck in an entry-level position, making a meager salary. Yet Mallory, who had been here for less than two years, was already in a managerial role and was now being fast-tracked to the parent company. And the gatekeeper for that internal transfer was Nigel. Whenever I had asked about my own career progression, Nigel had always told me we needed to “avoid any appearance of conflict of interest.” But when it came to Mallory, he was more than happy to let her climb over his shoulders to get to the top. Perhaps my gaze was too sharp, because Nigel’s voice softened slightly. “Go back to your desk, Maggie. I’ll handle this.” But this time, I didn’t play along. “I resign.” Nigel’s face instantly darkened. Mallory looked at me with a mix of shock and suspicion. I pulled a pre-written resignation letter from my pocket and laid it flat on his desk. Nigel glanced at it, then let out a harsh, mocking laugh as he picked it up and ripped it into pieces. “Are you out of your mind? You’re resigning to get married?” “Who are you even marrying? I already told you I’m going to be out of the country next week.” I looked at him, completely detached. “My family has already prepared everything.” “So what? I’m not going to be there. My flight is booked for tomorrow morning.” “Do whatever you want,” I murmured. Nigel didn’t quite catch my words, his brow furrowing in irritation. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mallory cut him off. “Maggie, honestly, your resume isn’t great, and you haven’t really accomplished anything here. If it weren’t for Nigel keeping you on, you might not even have a job. If you quit now, do you really think any other company will want you?” Nigel stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a smug chuckle. “She’s right. Do you think you’re some kind of princess, Maggie? That everyone in the world has to coddle you?” Listening to them take turns tearing me down, I realized with a strange sense of peace that I felt absolutely nothing. No anger, no sorrow. Just a vast, empty space. “I have the right to resign. Let’s not waste any more time.” Nigel’s smug smile faltered, the words dying in his throat. His eyes flashed with a cold, sharp anger. “Fine. If I don’t let you experience how brutal the real world is, you’ll never realize how good you had it with me.” He picked up his desk phone, called HR into his office, and ordered them to process my termination immediately, right there in front of everyone. Mallory shook her head with a look of mock pity, though Nigel reached out and gently squeezed her arm to keep her quiet. I signed the paperwork with a steady hand. Then, I reached into my bag, pulled out a handful of traditional wedding candies, and dropped them into the HR manager’s palm. She blinked, startled, but slowly took them. As I walked out of the glass office, I heard Mallory’s sigh carry through the air. “Maggie is just a bit too desperate to walk down the aisle.” And Nigel’s cold reply: “She’s delusional. As if I’d actually stay behind just for a wedding.” Even though I had expected it, the words still felt like a physical sting. I quickened my pace. While I packed up my desk, I felt a heavy, intense gaze burning into the back of my neck. But every time I turned around, everyone was looking at their screens. I sat down to wipe my personal data from my computer. Just as I was about to delete a major marketing proposal I had spent the last two weeks drafting, Mallory blocked my hand. “Maggie, since you’re leaving anyway, why don’t you just transfer this proposal to me?” “Why?” I asked, looking up. “Can’t you write your own?” Mallory bit her lip, looking embarrassed. “Come on, we’re best friends. Why are you being so petty about a document?” Nigel walked by, his voice carrying an administrative authority. “The proposal was created on company time. It belongs to the company, Maggie. Hand it over to her.” My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second. Then, I hit the transfer button. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t be needing it anyway. When I walked out of the glass building carrying my single cardboard box of personal belongings, I could feel Nigel’s eyes boring into my back from his second-floor window. He later told me that a bizarre, heavy unease had settled in his chest the moment the elevator doors slid shut on me. Even after he boarded his flight the next morning, that heavy stone remained in his stomach. Sitting next to him in business class, Mallory had noticed his silence and patted his arm. “Don’t overthink it, Nigel. Maggie is just throwing a tantrum. Once we get back, you can buy her a nice gift and she’ll be fine. Trust me, I know her.” Nigel only narrowed his eyes and remained silent, staring out at the runway. The moment the plane touched down in Qatar, he pulled out his phone. He had expected to see a dozen frantic, apologetic texts from me. Instead, he froze, his fingers tightening around the metal casing of his phone. “What is the meaning of Maggie’s post?”

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The night before our wedding, my dad’s right foot was crushed under a heavy metal stage prop while he was helping set up the reception venue. When I begged my fiancé to drive us to the ER, he didn’t even look up from his phone. “Just put some Bengay on it. It’s late—stop being so dramatic, Patricia.” As the words left Brandon’s mouth, my dad quietly pulled his blood-soaked foot back, trying to hide it behind his other leg. The pain must have been agonizing, but he just forced a placating smile, his rough, weathered hands smoothing down the fabric of his cheap, off-the-rack suit. “I’m fine, sweetie,” he said, his voice tight but incredibly gentle. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t go starting a fight with Brandon over me.” But by midnight, the pain had grown so severe he couldn’t even close his eyes. Terrified and trembling, I was about to call 911 when my thumb accidentally swiped onto Brooke’s Instagram feed. “Just a tiny little scratch, but someone insisted on dragging me to the hospital. The doctor said if we’d waited five more minutes, it would’ve healed itself~” In the attached photo, Brandon—a man who usually wore an armor of cold indifference—was cradling Brooke’s hand in his, looking frantic as he checked her in at the front desk. I looked at my father, who was sweating through his shirt from the sheer pain, and felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion settle deep into my bones. I double-tapped the photo to leave a like. Then, with a strange, quiet calm, I called the coordinator and canceled the wedding. Some things are rotten to the core. They should have been thrown out a long time ago. … The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor were blindingly bright. My dad sat on a blue plastic chair, his right ankle swollen to twice its normal size, a dark, angry purple bruise spreading rapidly across his instep. He kept his head down, his fingers nervously picking at the seam of his faded jeans. “Patricia, maybe we should just go home.” He didn’t look at me. “It’s past midnight. The copay here must be crazy. I’m really fine.” I knelt in front of him, the sting of unshed tears burning behind my eyelids. “Dad, we’re getting an X-ray just to be safe. We have the money.” Right then, my phone vibrated in my palm. It was Brandon. I took a deep, steadying breath and pressed answer. “Patricia, what the hell is wrong with you?” Brandon’s voice came through, laced with his usual sharp impatience. “Canceling the wedding? Is this some kind of sick joke to get my attention?” In the background, I could hear Brooke whimpering. “Brandon, please don’t yell at her. It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to make her mad…” I gripped the phone, pushing down the bile rising in my throat. My voice was entirely level when I spoke. “I’m not joking, Brandon. I’m not marrying you.” The line went silent for two long seconds. Then, he let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Right. Keep playing your games. All this because I couldn’t drive your dad to the clinic? He scraped his foot, Patricia. You’re blowing this completely out of proportion. Since when did you become so utterly unreasonable?” I closed my eyes, refusing to waste another breath on him. I hung up and blocked his number. I stood up and walked over to the billing window to pay for the X-ray. But when I handed my debit card to the receptionist, she slid it back across the counter without a word. “Declined. Insufficient funds.” My mind went completely blank. That card was linked to our joint savings account—our wedding fund. There was supposed to be thirty thousand dollars in there. With shaking hands, I opened my banking app to check the transaction history. There it was, processed ten minutes ago: a wire transfer of the entire balance to an unrecognized account. The memo line read: Brooke’s Studio – Final Venue Payment. A physical chill crept up my spine. Standing in that crowded hospital line, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t draw oxygen into my lungs. “Patricia? What’s wrong? Are we short?” My dad had hopped over on one foot, his face tight with worry. He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag tied with a rubber band. “I have this,” he whispered, his hands trembling as he unfolded the plastic to reveal a small stack of crumpled, worn bills. It was the cash he had saved, dollar by dollar, working the graveyard sanitation shift for the city. A hot tear slipped down my cheek and splashed onto the back of my hand. Before I could find my voice to comfort him, a heavy wool suit jacket was draped over my shoulders. “Why are you crying?” Brandon’s smooth, familiar voice sounded right beside my ear. He was holding a paper bag containing a warm container of clam chowder—the comfort food I always craved when I was sick. For a split second, a wave of vertigo hit me. Seven years ago, when I was hospitalized with severe food poisoning, he had run through a torrential downpour across the city just to bring me hot soup, keeping it warm inside his jacket. The ice around my heart softened, just a fraction. “Brandon, you—” Before the words could leave my mouth, he reached down and snatched the debit card from my fingers. “Brooke’s cut is actually pretty deep,” he said, his tone brisk and clinical. “She needs a localized pain block, and my phone died. I need to use this card to pay her co-pay. Your dad’s injury is mostly superficial anyway. Just use his basic insurance to get some over-the-counter painkillers.” Without casting a single glance at my father, he turned on his heel and walked briskly toward the urgent care wing. The container of soup was left in my hands. It was scalding hot, but my fingers felt entirely numb. My dad’s X-ray came back: a hairline fracture in his ankle. The doctor put him in a heavy plaster cast and gave strict instructions that he was not to put any weight on it. I paid the bill using my personal credit card and called an Uber to take him back to the condo we were supposed to move into after the wedding. But the moment I unlocked the door, I thought I had walked into the wrong apartment. Our clean, minimalist living room was completely overrun with Brooke’s photography gear, loose cables, and half-unpacked boxes. Hearing the door, Brandon stepped out of the master bedroom. He was wearing his custom wedding tuxedo, though the bow tie hung loosely around his collar. Brooke stepped out right behind him, wearing a white gown. It was my wedding dress. The one I had spent three weeks of sleepless nights designing, cutting, and sewing by hand. And she was wearing it. “Oh, Patricia, you’re back!” Brooke said, offering a fragile, innocent smile as she gathered the delicate silk skirt in her hands. “Brandon thought the waistline looked a bit off, so he asked me to try it on to see how the drape looked. But I accidentally got a little lipstick on the collar… you’re not mad, are you?” She pointed to a faint red smudge right near her collarbone. The look in her eyes was pure, unadulterated provocation. I stared at the dress, my chest tightening until it hurt. “Take it off,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but cold as ice. Brandon’s brows knit together in instant annoyance. He stepped in front of Brooke, shielding her. “Patricia, what is your problem? Brooke was just trying to help you out. Why do you have to be so hostile? It’s just a dress. We can get it dry-cleaned.” Then he looked at my dad, who was leaning heavily against the entryway wall, and sighed in exasperation. “And honestly, Mr. Thomas, you’re too old to be this clumsy. Getting yourself in a cast the night before the wedding? Do you have any idea how bad this is going to look tomorrow?” My dad shrank back, his fingers white from gripping his jacket. “Brandon… I don’t have to walk Patricia down the aisle. I can just sit in the back. I won’t get in anyone’s way, I promise.” Hearing my father speak so submissively broke something inside of me. “Enough!” I screamed, shoving Brandon back. “I already told you, Brandon. The wedding is off. Now get her, and get all of this trash, out of my apartment!” Brandon stared at me, his face hardening into an ugly sneer. “Don’t push your luck, Patricia. I went to the hospital to find you, and I’ve been trying to play nice. What more do you want from me?” He ripped off his bow tie and threw it onto the sofa. “Brooke, we’re leaving.” Brooke bit her lip, looking thoroughly victimized. “But Brandon, my camera gear is still here…” “We’ll get a moving crew tomorrow,” Brandon snapped, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the exit. At the door, he paused and glared back at me. “If you don’t call me to apologize by eight tomorrow morning, then don’t bother showing up at the church.” The door slammed shut behind them, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in the room. My dad hobbled over to the sofa. He hesitated to sit down, clearly afraid his dusty clothes would ruin the white wool rug I’d picked out. He settled on the very edge of the cushion. “Patricia, I’m so sorry. I ruined everything for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box. “I had this made for you. A solid gold bangle. I wanted to put it on your wrist before we walked down the aisle. Take it to Brandon… tell him I’m sorry. Maybe he’ll understand.” He opened the box to reveal a thick, heavy gold bangle. It was a classic design, slightly old-fashioned, but it still carried the warmth of my father’s hands. I sank to my knees on the floor and buried my face in his lap, sobbing uncontrollably. “We’re not doing this, Dad. We’re never doing this again.” The next morning, I was jolted awake by a violent pounding on the front door. When I opened it, Brandon’s mother, Mrs. Norman, stood there, her face contorted with rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Patricia?” she demanded, pushing past me into the apartment. “The guests are already arriving at the venue, and you’re here throwing a temper tantrum? Do you have any idea what this does to our family’s reputation?” She stopped in the living room and glared at my father, who was resting on the sofa. She pinched her nose in disgust. “Oh, look at that. Your leg was perfectly fine yesterday, Mr. Thomas. Are you seriously staging a medical emergency just to guilt-trip us into paying for a bigger registry?” I was trembling so hard I could barely breathe. I pointed a finger toward the open door. “Get out of my house.” Mrs. Norman gasped, staring at me as if I had lost my mind. “How dare you speak to me that way! You’re just a girl from a dead-end town. Marrying Brandon was your ticket out of the gutter, and you should be thanking God every day that he’s soft-hearted enough to take you in!” “I bought this apartment!” I yelled, my voice cracking. She let out a harsh, dry laugh. “You paid the down payment, sure. But who paid for the renovations? Who bought the furniture? My son did! You’re not kicking anyone out.” My dad struggled to sit up, trying to put himself between us. “Please, let’s just talk calmly. Don’t yell at my daughter.” He leaned over, trying to pick up a glass of water from the side table, but with his cast, his balance was entirely off. He tipped forward, crashing heavily against the glass-front media console. There was a deafening shatter. A large shard of broken glass sliced deep into his forearm, and blood immediately began to pool on the floor. “Dad!” I screamed, lunging toward him. Mrs. Norman took a couple of steps back, her face pale but her expression still sneering. “Unbelievable. Bleeding on a wedding day. No wonder Brandon says your family is a black cloud.” She grabbed her designer purse and hurried out the door. My hands shook violently as I ripped a strip of fabric from the hem of my shirt and tied it tightly above the cut on his arm. “Dad, look at me. Stay with me.” “It doesn’t hurt, Patricia,” he whispered, though his lips were turning white. I dialed 911, my voice cracking as I gave our address. At the hospital, the emergency room was a blur of movement. Finally, a surgeon stepped out of the operating room, holding a clipboard. “The patient has underlying high blood pressure, and the sudden blood loss has triggered severe cardiac distress. He needs an emergency bypass immediately.” He looked at me, his eyes grave. “The procedure will cost fifteen thousand dollars up front. We need you to settle the deposit at the billing desk.” I held the thin slip of paper, my mind racing. Brandon had cleaned out our joint savings. I dialed his number. It rang and rang. When it finally connected, it wasn’t Brandon who answered. It was Brooke, her voice light and musical. “Oh, Patricia. Brandon is actually helping me set up the lighting for my gallery exhibition right now. That money from the account was already wired to the venue lease, so we can’t get it back~” A loud ringing started in my ears. “Put Brandon on the phone,” I commanded, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Now.” A few seconds later, Brandon’s voice came through, heavy with annoyance. “Patricia, what is it this time? Yesterday it was an ankle, today it’s a major surgery? Do you think I’m some kind of endless ATM?” “If you’re actually short on cash,” he continued, his tone incredibly dismissive, “then get your act together, put on your dress, and get to the venue. You can keep every single cash envelope the guests bring tonight.” The sheer coldness of his voice made me feel physically sick. In that moment, seven years of love dissolved into nothing but ash. “You disgust me, Brandon.” I hung up, leaning my head against the cold hospital wall. I began calling everyone I had ever known, begging for loans. I managed to scrape together five thousand dollars, but I was still ten thousand short. Just as I was staring at a predatory payday loan application on my phone, a pair of polished leather shoes appeared in my field of vision. Brandon stood there in his wedding suit, looking down at me. He tossed a plastic credit card onto the floor. It hit the linoleum with a sharp click. “Done throwing your fit?” He looked at me, completely indifferent. “There’s ten grand on that card. The PIN is your birthday. Take it, sign the consent forms, and let’s go. The guests have been waiting for hours. Don’t humiliate me any further.” I stared at the black card at my feet, then slowly raised my eyes to look at him. Seven years ago, when his first venture failed and he was drowning in debt, I had worked three separate jobs, living off instant ramen just to pay off his creditors. I remembered him holding me in our damp, tiny apartment, crying into my shoulder, promising that once he made it, he would never let me suffer a single day. And now, he was using my father’s life to buy my submission. I slowly bent down and picked up the card. A smug, knowing smile crept onto Brandon’s face. He thought he had won. He reached out his hand, intending to brush a stray hair from my face. But I stepped back, placed both thumbs on the card, and snapped it in half. The smile froze on his face. His eyes flared with sudden, dangerous anger. “Patricia, are you insane? Your dad is lying in that room waiting for surgery, and you’re playing pride games with me?” “I would rather beg on the street than use a single cent of your filthy money,” I said, my voice entirely calm. Just then, my phone screen lit up. It was an anonymous text—a photo of Brooke, wearing my handmade wedding dress, lying on the custom mattress Brandon and I had picked out together. The caption read: Thanks for leaving the best parts for me. I turned my phone screen and shoved it directly in front of Brandon’s face. “So this is the ‘gallery space’ you spent thirty thousand dollars of our savings on?” A flash of genuine panic crossed Brandon’s features. “Patricia, let me explain… Brooke was just…” “Don’t bother,” I interrupted, my voice flat. “Brandon, we’re done.” He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Fine. Let’s see how long your little pride lasts. I’ll push the reception back to eight tonight. The longer you take to come to your senses, the longer your father sits in that room.” He was entirely convinced I had no other options. He turned and walked away, confident I would crawl back. I watched his retreating back, then dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Does the offer your company made me three years ago still stand?” The voice on the other end answered with an immediate, enthusiastic yes. “Good. I’m taking it. I need to arrange an emergency medical transfer right now.” Brandon, you will never see me again.

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The ninth time I caught Corey Dwight in bed with another woman, he played the exact same card. He fell to his knees, slapping his own face until his cheeks were raw, begging for my forgiveness with bloodshot eyes. Just as I was about to soften—again—a dry, raspy voice echoed in my head. It was a voice that sounded old, withered, and entirely too much like my own. “Why?” the voice asked. “You already have a grandson with him. Why won’t you just leave?” I froze. A grandson? Whose grandson? Then came the avalanche of regrets, whispered in my mind like a dying breath: “Corey, when we were twenty-six, I got pregnant. You told me you hated kids, and that very night, you dragged me to the clinic to get rid of it.” “At thirty, Melanie cried to you about some imaginary slight, and you wrapped your hands around my throat, telling me to just go die.” “At forty, I nearly died giving birth to our daughter. But she was only born so her bone marrow could save Melanie’s son. After the biopsy, you took everyone and left, leaving our baby girl to die of an infection in an empty hospital room.” “You even locked me inside the house during your grandson’s hundred-day banquet, making me miss my own mother’s final breath.” The voice grew thicker with a forty-year-old hatred while the young Corey knelt before me, swearing his undying love. “I don’t owe you anything anymore,” the voice wept. “If I could do it all over again, I would rather have died at twenty. I would have let myself rot in that abandoned construction site before I ever agreed to marry you.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. Every single word the voice spoke felt like a prophecy of my own future. The abandoned construction site at twenty? That was exactly where Corey and I had started. … Corey had blood at the corner of his mouth. He knelt, his eyes desperate, his voice raw. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I was drunk. I swear to God, I was drunk.” Drunk? But every single time he slipped up, it was with Melanie. Melanie sat on the edge of the mattress, the strap of her silk slip hanging loosely off her shoulder. She shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Your husband’s pretty good, honey. You’re welcome.” She walked over to me, her eyes dripping with condescension. “But honestly, why do you even care? You’re damaged goods anyway. You can’t expect a guy like him to keep his hands off fresh meat.” A soft, heavy sigh echoed in my mind again. “Corey, let’s just let the fire burn us both to ash. If I could start over, I’d never let you touch me. If I hadn’t held onto hope this ninth time… if I had just let you have Melanie, would we both have ended up differently?” The ninth time? That was right now. The sound of crackling flames roared in my ears, and for a split second, a searing, suffocating heat washed over me, as if bridging a forty-year gap. My hand moved before I could think. I slapped Melanie across the face. Usually, no matter how angry I got, I only took it out on Corey. I had never touched Melanie. We had both survived that hellish basement years ago, and that shared trauma had always held me back. She stared at me, shocked, her hand rising to strike back, but I caught her wrist mid-air. “Do you love Corey?” I asked. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Do you think everyone is as pathetic as you, Grace? Love? We’re adults. We just use each other.” My voice trembled, but a cold smile touched my lips. “Good. Because he loves you.” I turned to Corey, slipped the diamond ring off my finger, and dropped it into his palm. “Corey, we’re done. I want a divorce.” The room fell deathly quiet. Corey went stiff, staring at the ring in his hand as if it were a live grenade. Then, he scrambled toward me on his knees, desperately trying to force the ring back onto my finger. I pushed him away. He began to unravel, his eyes darting frantically around the room. “Grace, I don’t love her! I don’t care about her at all!” His eyes landed on the paring knife sitting on the fruit platter on the coffee table. “You don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove you’re the only one.” Before I could react, he grabbed the handle and drove the silver blade straight into his own chest. He collapsed to his knees, blood coughing up from his throat, but he still crawled toward me, inch by inch. “Grace… is this… enough?” he gasped, his voice a wet, painful rattle. It was his favorite trick. From the moment we escaped that half-built building when I was twenty, to now at twenty-four, he had accumulated dozens of scars. Every time he went too far, he would hurt himself to make me pity him, to force me to forgive him. But today, the spell was broken. I had no desire to die in a house fire with him forty years from now. He stared into my eyes, searching for even a flicker of panic, of the desperate love I usually showed. But there was nothing. Just a flat, empty gaze. He cracked. A look of sheer, agonizing defeat crossed his face. He grabbed the hilt, twisted the blade inside his flesh, and ripped it out. When I still didn’t flinch, he raised the knife to plunge it in again. At the last second, Melanie grabbed the bare blade with her hand. “Are you out of your mind, Corey?” she screamed, blood dripping from her palm. “She’s just a used-up piece of trash! You said so yourself!” I stepped around them, walking toward the door without looking back. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers. See you tomorrow.” “If you leave me,” his roar echoed from behind, “you leave in a body bag!” I paused, turned back, and walked over to him. I knelt down. He smirked, thinking he had won again, that I was about to bend. But instead, I snatched the knife from his hand and aimed it directly at my own heart. The blow never landed. His hand clamped around the blade, his knuckles white, his veins bulging on his neck. He roared at me: “Get the hell out!” The next morning, I rolled my suitcase out of the bedroom. The living room downstairs was loud. Corey was there, his face pale as death, surrounded by a group of his sleazy friends. He pointed a finger at me and sneered. “Your parents have been dead for three years, Grace. For three years, you’ve lived off my dime, eaten my food, and used my money. Now that you’ve bled me dry, you think you can just pack up and walk away? Is that how the Callahan family raises their daughters? No shame at all?” I gripped the handle of my suitcase tighter. “What do you want, Corey?” He looked at the blond guy next to him and let out a cruel laugh. “Make my boys happy. Once they’re satisfied, we’ll call it even. You can go wherever the hell you want.” Last night he wanted me dead, and I hadn’t shed a tear. But now, a bitter, choking sorrow clawed its way up my throat. Seeing me hesitate, he leaned in, his voice dripping with venom. “Oh, what, are we acting pure now? Those videos of you with those guys are still all over the internet. Everyone’s seen them. You’ve got ‘whore’ written all over you, Grace. Who are you trying to play the virgin for?” My entire body went rigid. The air left my lungs. He really knew how to hurt me. He was the love of my youth, the man I had given everything to, and he knew exactly where to twist the knife. The blond guy stepped forward, whistling as he looked me up and down. He smirked at Corey. “You serious, man? You’re really letting us have a turn?” Before the guy could finish, Corey’s fist flew out, cracking against the guy’s jaw. “Shut your mouth!” Corey snarled, his eyes wild. “She’s a piece of trash that’s been ridden by a dozen guys. I get sick just looking at her.” The blond guy clutched his bleeding face, nodding quickly. “Right, right. Sorry, man.” Corey turned back to me, his sneer returning. “When those videos leaked, your dad had a heart attack and died on the spot. You had no problem putting on a show back then. Have you forgotten how to do it after a few years of luxury?” Something inside me snapped. I let go of my suitcase and walked straight toward him. “I just wanted to survive, Corey. Was that my crime? If you wanted me dead so badly, why did you even bother saving me from that basement?” His face flushed a violent red. He grabbed my jaw, squeezing so hard I felt my bones creak. His eyes looked like they wanted to tear me apart. “To survive? Melanie was locked up in that basement for two weeks too. Did she sleep with those bastards? No! Grace, do you think I’m blind? Melanie heard everything. She heard you begging them. You practically stripped for them yourself!” Slap. The sound echoed through the room. My hand stung before I even realized I had swung it. “That was because I thought…” I choked on the words, swallowing the truth down. Back then, those monsters had pointed at Melanie, who was shivering in the dark corner, and threatened to kill her. I thought she was Corey’s younger sister, Rosalie. So, even though I knew it would ruin my life, even though I knew the world would spit on me, I swallowed my disgust and did whatever those beasts wanted to keep her safe. But two weeks later, when Corey broke through the doors, covered in blood, I found out the truth. Rosalie had tried to draw the kidnappers away from us, got pushed off a cliff, and was lying in a coma. The girl in the corner wasn’t Rosalie at all. It was Melanie, who just happened to have the same frame and hair. Corey claimed he didn’t care about the videos, but he punished me every single day. He slept with Melanie, compared me to her, and convinced himself that I was just a cheap, loose woman. Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. It was all so incredibly pointless. I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “You’re right. I’m just a cheap whore.” I turned, pushing the blond guy down onto the sofa. My loose shirt slid down my shoulder, exposing my collarbone, my hair falling over my face. The guy’s eyes lit up with lust, but he kept glancing nervously at Corey, his hands twitching, unsure if he should touch me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. Crash! A heavy glass vase shattered against the wall behind us. Water and shards of glass exploded across the room. A sharp, burning pain sliced through my forearm. Blood began to drip down my skin. Corey lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with brutal force and ripping me off the man. “You want to die, Grace?!” he roared. He slammed me backward, his chest colliding with my injured arm. I couldn’t help the small, painful whimper that escaped my lips. Corey froze for a fraction of a second, staring at the smear of red on his shirt. But the warmth vanished instantly, replaced by that familiar, icy mask of hatred. “Is that it? Any guy with a pulse will do?” My heart squeezed, then went completely numb. Maybe he had loved me once. Maybe he had cared. But this twisted, suffocating version of love? I didn’t want it anymore. I pushed his hand away and climbed back onto the blond guy. Corey snapped. He dragged me off the couch by my hair and threw me onto the floor, then turned to his men, screaming like a lunatic: “Break his hands! Throw him out of Chicago!” The blond guy’s desperate screams echoed down the hallway as the guards dragged him away. Corey hovered over me, his eyes bloodshot, his fingers digging into my shoulders so hard they bruised. “You’re unbelievable, Grace! If your father could see you now, he’d die all over again.” I stared back at him, empty. “Are you happy now?” He seemed to have forgotten his own words, looking at me with a sudden, confused desperation. “No. If you want them so bad, I can bring them back.” I glanced at the other guys shivering in the corner. Corey realized what I meant, his chest heaving with rage. “Get out! All of you, get the fuck out!” He kicked a glass coffee table, shattering it, throwing a wild, helpless tantrum to release his inexplicable fury. I picked up my purse, pulled out the divorce agreement, and held it out to him. “If you’re done, sign it.” In the next second, he snatched the papers and tore them to shreds, throwing the confetti into the air. His massive hand wrapped around my throat, pinning me against the wall. “My sister is still lying in a vegetative state because of you, Grace. What makes you think you get to just walk away and be happy?” Why did I get to walk away? Four years ago, Corey was the rising star of Chicago’s business world. He had plenty of admirers, but even more enemies. Someone put a ten-million-dollar bounty on his head. Everyone knew his sister, Rosalie, was his Achilles’ heel. When I realized we were being followed that day, I made Rosalie swap jackets with me. Just as I planned, they thought I was her and chased me. When they threw me into the back of that van, I actually felt a sick sense of relief, thinking I had saved the person he loved most. But I never could have predicted that Rosalie, trying to draw the rest of the gang away, would scream out her real identity. They chased her to the edge of a cliff, and she jumped. She had been in a coma ever since. We were both victims. But because Rosalie was his sister, she was the martyr. And I, the girlfriend who survived, had to bear the cross of his hatred for the rest of my life. I laughed, my throat tight under his grip. “Then what do you want, Corey? Do you want me to kill myself to pay her back?” He let go of me, a storm raging in his dark eyes. “No. Death is too easy. You want to leave? I won’t let you. I will keep you here for the rest of your life. Even if you rot, even if you lose your mind, you are never stepping foot out of this house.” It wasn’t until I heard the heavy thuds of hammers outside, watching the light slowly vanish from the windows, that I realized what he was doing. I threw myself at him like a wild animal, screaming, clawing at his chest. “Corey! This is kidnapping! It’s illegal!” He looked down at me, his smile cold and mocking. “I’m just a devoted husband caring for his sick, unstable wife. Who’s going to stop me?” I slid to the floor, completely drained of strength. I didn’t even hear him leave. He had the windows boarded up. Not a single ray of sunlight could penetrate the house. He fired all the staff, leaving only a cleaning lady who came for an hour every evening. But the moment she tried to whisper a sympathetic word to me, Corey fired her too. After that, my world fell into absolute, suffocating silence. Two weeks later, Corey came back. He sat on the edge of my bed, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “If you promise not to leave, I’ll have the boards taken down. We can go back to how things used to be.” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him. He slammed his fist into the drywall, leaving a crater, and stormed out. In the middle of the night, a loud crash woke me. The overhead lights flickered on, blinding me. Corey kicked the door open, dragging Melanie inside. He pinned her against the door, kissing her with a desperate, violent hunger. He ripped his shirt off, his voice thick and raspy as he sneered at me: “This is my house, Grace. If you don’t want to watch, get the hell out. Or do you want to see exactly how I make love to Melanie?” Melanie gasped for air, flashing me a brilliant, triumphant smile. “You have no idea how wild Corey gets, Grace. I’d hate for you to feel left out. After all, when he’s holding me, he doesn’t have to think about all those disgusting men who had their hands on you.” For four years, they had tortured me. Under their relentless cruelty, I had spent every single day asking myself why I hadn’t just died in that half-built building. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms until they bled, just to keep from breaking down in front of them. As I tried to slip past them to go downstairs, Corey’s phone rang. He answered it impatiently, but the moment he heard the voice on the other end, he pushed Melanie away. “What did you say?” his voice shook. “Rosalie is awake?” My heart stopped. His sister was awake. She was finally awake. The crushing weight of guilt that had suffocated me for four years suddenly lifted. He scrambled to grab his clothes, running down the stairs with a light, frantic step—happier than I had seen him in years. Melanie ran after him, and within seconds, the villa fell back into that familiar, deadly silence. My chest heaved. I couldn’t tell if I was crying or laughing. Rosalie was awake. Whatever debts I owed, they were paid. I began tearing through the house, searching for a way out. No matter how tightly he had boarded up the windows, there had to be a weak spot. Hours passed. Without the sun, I couldn’t tell day from night. After dozens of failed attempts, the last of my sanity snapped. I grabbed whatever I could find—vases, chairs, lamps—and hurled them at the boarded-up windows. I stepped on shattered glass, but I couldn’t feel the pain. But Corey had been thorough. Behind the wooden boards were heavy steel security grates, and behind those were even more bars. I was trapped. Truly, utterly trapped. In a manic haze of despair, grief, and hatred, I grabbed a lighter and set the curtains on fire. The flames spread rapidly, climbing the walls, swallowing the room in a hungry, golden roar. Even though I had heard the warning of my older self in my head, I still couldn’t escape my fate. I was going to burn to death. My only regret was that I couldn’t drag Corey into the fire with me.

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My sister and I have birthdays only two days apart. For her birthday, there was always a tiered cake from the French bakery uptown. For mine, there was a single, stale grocery-store muffin. But this year, my eighteenth, my parents finally promised me a real cake. A chocolate one with buttercream frosting, just like the ones they got for Lottie. So, on the evening of my birthday, I waited. And waited. But there was nothing. No pink boxes on the counter, no sweet scent of sugar baking in the oven. I finally walked into the kitchen, swallowing my pride. “Mom, where’s my cake?” My mother didn’t even look up from the stove, her face tight with immediate irritation. “Didn’t I buy you those blueberry muffins yesterday?” “But you promised—” “Do you have any idea how hard your father works?” she snapped, slamming a pot down. “You want us to throw money away on fancy bakeries when we have bills to pay?” Before I could speak, Lottie glided into the kitchen, her voice dripping with soft, patronizing concern. “Wren, sweetie, you know how tight things are. You have to be understanding.” Even Connor, my childhood best friend who had been hanging out in the living room, chimed in. “Yeah, Wren. Your mom made you a fried egg this morning. Don’t be ungrateful.” I looked at the three of them, and a cold, heavy weight sank into my chest. Every year, Lottie got a custom cake, a new designer dress, and a dinner reservation at a steakhouse downtown. I had spent eighteen years in her shadow, eating day-old muffins, and I had never once complained. How much more understanding was I supposed to be? I didn’t argue. I just turned around, walked back to my tiny room, and shut the door. I took a single, thin wax candle and drove it straight into the middle of the stale muffin. As I reached for the matches, I made a silent vow. Next year, I would be gone. I would buy my own cake. I would never rely on any of them again. … But before I could even strike a match, my bedroom door burst open. My mother marched in. Without a word, she snatched the muffin off my desk and hurled it onto the hardwood floor. “Wren, who do you think you are?” she hissed, her eyes flashing. “Walking out on us? Giving me that attitude in my own house?” The muffin shattered into dry, pathetic crumbs, scattering across the dusty floor. Sticky. Ruined. “I don’t have an attitude,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just think you’re unfair. You’ve always been unfair.” “Unfair?” My mother gasped, as if I had slapped her. “Wren, I carried you for nine months. I brought you into this world, and this is how you speak to me? You are a curse. An ungrateful curse.” My father rushed in behind her, his face flushed with anger. Before I could move, he shoved me hard. I lost my footing and fell, my hands scraping against the floorboards. “Wren! How dare you speak to your mother like that?” he yelled. My palm pressed directly into the sticky remains of the smashed muffin. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and bitter. “A curse.” That was what they called me. Growing up, because Lottie was the beautiful, brilliant golden child, she got the sweet, juicy tips of the strawberries while I was left with the sour, white stems. When Lottie sneezed, they panicked and took her to the emergency room for a full workup. When I had a fever so high my teeth chattered, they handed me an expired bottle of Motrin from the back of the medicine cabinet and told me to sleep it off. Lottie took dance, piano, and tennis lessons. The only reason I was allowed to take a basic art class was because my aunt had secretly paid for it. My mother even kept a physical ledger—a worn black notebook where she recorded every penny she had ever spent on me, starting with a fifty-cent pack of gum I begged for when I was four years old. But if you added up every single entry in that book over eighteen years, it didn’t even reach three hundred dollars. Meanwhile, Lottie’s closet was lined with designer handbags, each one costing thousands. But I was the one who was a financial burden. Lottie stepped into the room, looking down at me with pity. “Wren, don’t be mad at Mom and Dad. They work so hard. Look, if you really want a cake, I’ll go buy you one right now. I’ll use my own allowance.” She made a show of grabbing her purse, but Connor immediately stepped in, catching her by the arm. “Lottie, don’t,” Connor said, glaring at me. “Someone as ungrateful as her doesn’t deserve it.” My parents nodded in agreement. “She’s right, Lottie. Don’t waste your money on her.” I stared up at them from the floor. The last lingering warmth in my chest died. With a heavy thud, my father slammed the door shut, leaving me alone in the dark. I sat there for a long time, my hands shaking. Finally, I pulled out my phone and logged into the state’s academic portal. Because Lottie was already in college, my parents didn’t even realize what day it was. Today was the day the standardized state exam scores were released. A few seconds later, the webpage loaded. I scrolled down to my name. There, in bold letters at the top of the screen, was my score. Underneath, a small system note read: “Rank: 1st in State.” I quickly pressed my hand over my mouth, choking back a sob. It meant everything. It meant that starting today, I could use my credentials to get high-paying tutoring jobs. I could support myself. The invisible chains binding me to this house were finally starting to snap. I messaged a classmate, asking them to post the state-wide honors list to our school’s parent group chat. Almost immediately, the sound of loud laughter drifted in from the living room. I heard my mother’s voice, thick with dramatic, emotional tears. “Oh, Lottie, you’re such an angel. To think you used your own money to buy us a gift on “your” birthday week. Why is it that two girls from the same womb can be so entirely different?” I sat on the edge of my bed, silent. Of course Lottie could afford gifts. Her monthly allowance was a thousand dollars. Mine was ten. I began packing my things into a small duffel bag when my mother knocked sharply on the door. “Wren? What are you doing in there? Get out here and clear the table. Your sister just got her nails done and can’t do the dishes.” My stomach growled painfully. I opened the door. The dining table was covered in the remnants of a massive seafood boil—empty lobster shells, crab claws, and pools of butter. My mother pointed at a plate with a few cold, broken pieces of crab meat. “There. Eat that. Lest you go around telling people we starve you.” I stared at the plate, my throat tightening. “I can’t eat that,” I said quietly. “I’m allergic to shellfish.” When I was two, I had ended up in the ER after eating shrimp. The bill had been a hundred dollars, and my mother had complained about it for years, logging it into her black ledger. Yet, she couldn’t remember the allergy itself. “Well, if you’re not going to eat, start cleaning,” she snapped. “Lottie can’t stand a messy house.” “I’m allergic,” I repeated, staring directly into her eyes, desperately hoping to see a flicker of guilt, or at least recognition. She blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second, before her face hardened again. “Well, you should have said something sooner. How are your father and I supposed to read your mind?” I gathered the greasy plates and carried them into the kitchen. I turned on the faucet, letting the rush of running water drown out her voice as she continued to mutter complaints from the hallway. I “had” told them. I had told them dozens of times. But just like the birthday cake, they chose to forget. Or maybe they remembered and simply didn’t care. When you don’t care about someone, forgetting is easy. By the time I finished the dishes, my father was opening the front door to a delivery courier. He signed for two packages, carrying them into the living room, and tossed one onto the couch near me. “Here,” he said carelessly. “That dress you wanted for your birthday.” A spark of genuine hope flared in my chest. I reached for the box, but before I could open it, Lottie let out a squeal of delight. “Dad! Oh my god! How did you know I wanted this bag?” “A father knows,” he said, puffing out his chest. “It’s been sold out for weeks, but I made sure to get it for my favorite girl.” “Thank you, Dad!” Lottie threw her arms around him. She ripped open the elegant, ribbon-tied box to reveal a designer leather tote—the one endorsed by her favorite actress. It was easily a three-thousand-dollar bag. I stood frozen, my fingers tightening around the cardboard mailer in my hands. My nail tore through the cheap, thin plastic packaging. I looked down through the tear. Inside was a synthetic, poorly made dress, and right across the front was a massive, gaping rip along the seam. A hot tear slipped down my cheek, landing on the torn fabric. My father glanced over at me, his tone sour. “Some people in this house could learn a thing or two about gratitude. I buy her a gift, and she doesn’t even have the decency to say thank you.” I kept my eyes glued to the floor, my jaw clenched. Say thank you? For a ruined piece of trash? Did he think I hadn’t seen his phone screen when he signed for the delivery? The cheap dress had been ordered from a discount clearance site. $9.99, free shipping. Sensing the tension, Lottie quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. “Come on, let’s go out. We don’t want to ruin Dad’s mood.” She leaned in close, whispering to me and Connor. “Let’s go to The Velvet Lounge. I have a VIP annual pass.” I paused. The Velvet Lounge was the most exclusive club uptown. A monthly membership cost hundreds of dollars; an annual pass was thousands. Our parents would never allow Lottie to go to a place like that. “Lottie,” I asked, “how do you have an annual pass? Mom and Dad would lose their minds.” Lottie glanced at Connor, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. “Connor got it for me,” she murmured. “As an early birthday present.” I looked down at the cheap, tarnished wire bracelet on my wrist. It was my birthday present from Connor, bought from a dollar-store bin. He had told me he was completely broke and couldn’t afford anything else. I had spent the last year wondering why he was always short on cash despite working a part-time job after school. I had worried about him. I had even given him every single dollar of my savings—$1,012—money I had painstakingly saved from odd tutoring jobs over three years. It hadn’t been much, but it was everything I had. And he had taken it to buy my sister a VIP pass to an exclusive lounge. Before I could process the betrayal, Lottie dragged me toward the car. When we arrived, Lottie immediately grabbed Connor’s hand and pulled him through the velvet ropes. I watched their retreating backs, the music pulsing through the heavy doors. I couldn’t do this. I turned to leave, but as I stepped away from the entrance, a heavily intoxicated man stumbled out of the shadows. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Help! Thief!” he screamed, his breath reeking of cheap whiskey. “She stole my wallet! Somebody call the cops!” Dozens of eyes turned toward us. I struggled wildly, trying to wrench my arm free, but he only squeezed tighter, digging his fingers into my flesh. “Let go of me!” I cried, panic rising in my throat. Connor suddenly appeared, stepping between us and pushing the man back. “What do you think you’re doing?” Connor demanded. “She took it!” the drunk slurred, pointing a finger at me. “She stole my wallet right out of my pocket!” I shrank behind Connor, my entire body trembling with terror. But then, I felt Connor’s protective stance falter. The tension in his shoulders faded, and his grip on my hand began to loosen. He turned around to look at me. “Wren… is that true? Did you take it?” I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “You don’t believe me? Connor, you’ve known me my whole life.” The drunk man stepped closer. “Let’s go. We’re going to the police station.” Lottie, standing safely behind Connor, sighed. “Wren, if you took his wallet, just give it back. Otherwise, Mom and Dad are going to have to get involved.” I looked at Connor, waiting for him to defend me. To say something. Anything. But he just looked away. I remembered when we were kids. My parents never gave me lunch money, so I used to sit alone, watching the other kids eat. When some money went missing from the classroom, the teacher had immediately suspected me. Back then, Connor had been the first to stand up, putting himself between me and the teacher’s accusations. It was the first time I had ever felt protected. The first time I felt like I mattered to someone. But that boy was gone. Half an hour later, we were all sitting in a sterile room at the local police precinct. The moment my father walked through the door, he didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t check to see if I was okay. He simply marched over and struck me across the face. “You absolute embarrassment!” he roared. My mother sank into a plastic chair nearby, her finger pointed at my face. “Wren! You have dragged our family name through the dirt! I wish to God I had never had you!” I fell back onto the cold linoleum floor. The chill seeped through my thin clothes, straight into my bones. My wrist was already turning a deep, ugly purple where the man had grabbed me. A slow trickle of blood dripped from my lip, staining the white tile like a blooming poppy. They hadn’t asked for my side of the story. They didn’t care about the bruises on my arms. They only cared about their pride. I let out a soft, hollow laugh. Seeing my reaction, the drunk man grew bolder. “She stole my wallet. There was three thousand dollars in cash in there. You pay me back tonight, or I press charges.” Lottie walked over, her voice soft and pleading. “Wren, please. Just give him the wallet. Stealing is wrong.” Connor stood by the door, his eyes cold. “Wren, I really didn’t think you’d sink this low.” I wiped the blood from my lip, staring up at him. “Sink this low? Connor, did any of you look for proof? Did anyone even think to look at the security cameras?” My father’s face turned purple with rage. “You shameless brat!” He kicked my leg, sending me sprawling across the floor again. “You deal with this yourself! Don’t expect your mother and me to clean up your mess!” My mother glared at me. “Give him the money, Wren. Don’t make us say it again.” A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “I was stupid,” I whispered to myself. “I was stupid to think, even for a second, that any of you would stand by me.” I slowly pushed myself up. I pulled out my phone and began texting the few friends I had, desperately asking to borrow money. I managed to scrape together a thousand dollars from classmates. For the remaining two thousand, I opened a high-interest lending app on my phone and submitted an emergency application. Two thousand dollars, with interest, meant I would owe twenty-three hundred. Three hundred dollars was more than my allowance for the last three years combined. As soon as the transfer cleared, I sent the money to the man’s account. My parents didn’t wait. My father grabbed Lottie’s hand and started walking toward the exit. “Leave her,” my mother spit out, not even looking back. “With an attitude like that, I don’t have a second daughter.” After that night, they completely washed their hands of me. They packed their bags and took Lottie on a lavish vacation—first to Miami, then to a boutique resort in Sedona. They had money for luxury hotels. They had money for three-hundred-dollar dinners. But they had never had fifty dollars for my birthday cake. But the pain didn’t sting the way it used to. I was numb to it now. With my state test scores officially published, the offers for tutoring came pouring in. Parents of wealthy high schoolers were willing to pay premium hourly rates for the state’s top scholar. Within weeks, I paid back every dollar I owed my friends and cleared the balance on the lending app. Because of my academic standing, Columbia University offered me a full-tuition scholarship. All I needed to do now was save enough for my living expenses. On the day my parents and Lottie returned from their trip, I was sitting on the sofa in our living room, being interviewed live by a state news crew. When the front door opened and they walked in, carrying their expensive luggage, I smiled directly at the camera. “Oh, look,” I said, my voice sweet and clear. “My parents and sister are back.” I stood up, opening the door wider so the camera operator could get a clear shot. The lens focused on Lottie’s three-thousand-dollar designer bag. It captured my parents’ sun-bronzed, glowing faces, and the expensive linen clothes they had bought on vacation. And then, the camera panned back to me—standing in our cramped living room, wearing a cheap, synthetic dress with a visible rip sewn together by hand. The contrast was glaring, undeniable, and broadcast live to thousands of viewers.

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The night my family’s company collapsed and the loan sharks cornered us with nowhere left to run, I quietly signed the marriage contract with Naomi Albright, the eldest daughter of the Albright empire. I didn’t say a single word. Outside the Albright estate, Cynthia stood in the pouring rain, her eyes glued to the breaking news on her phone—headlines flashing pictures of Naomi and me together, side by side. Years later, Cynthia tore down every obstacle in her path, built her own corporate empire from the ashes, and used the most ruthless leverage imaginable to force me to become her husband. Everyone in our circle mocked me. They whispered that Jesse Edmund was nothing but a spineless gold-digger riding on his good looks, that Cynthia’s desperate obsession with claiming me was merely a craving for my pretty face. But I knew the truth better than anyone. She hated me. She hated me for choosing wealth over her, for what she saw as a cold, calculating betrayal. From the moment I moved into her cavernous, freezing mansion, she surrounded herself with a revolving door of young, beautiful boys. I never reacted. In fact, every morning before dawn, I would slip out to run my humble breakfast cart on the corner of the old district, simply to give her and those boys their space. Yet, my indifference only made Cynthia more volatile. Once, she pinned me hard against the narrow kitchen sink, her eyes bloodshot, her teeth gritted as she hissed, “Jesse, is that heart of yours made of stone?” I only managed a numb, hollow smile. Cynthia didn’t know that my time was running out. While she spent every day plotting new ways to watch me break, I was using every ounce of my remaining strength just to see another sunrise. … I met Tyler for the first time at the gala celebrating the third anniversary of Cynthia’s conglomerate going public. He was wearing an ill-fitting, cheap suit, clumsily balancing a champagne flute, looking entirely out of place in a room packed with the city’s elite. I noticed him instantly. Not because he looked ridiculous, but because of the stubborn pride and raw innocence radiating from him—a look I recognized too well. It was the exact quality Cynthia had fallen in love with when we were young. I let out a dry laugh, adjusting my tie. No wonder Cynthia had demanded my presence tonight. I wasn’t the guest of honor; I was just the spectator. I watched Tyler “accidentally” spill champagne onto Cynthia’s custom Dior coat. They locked eyes, a charged, teasing gaze passing between them. Claiming a sudden stomach ache, I took it as my cue to slip away, leaving them to their quiet, simmering space. But Cynthia’s secretary blocked me in the hallway, her expression icy. “Mr. Edmund, I should warn you. Tyler has been with Ms. Shaw for over six months now. She never brought the other boys to public events. This time, she might actually be serious.” “Mr. Edmund! You… you’re bleeding! Your nose…” Her strictly professional facade crumbled in an instant, her hands shaking as she fumbled in her purse for a tissue. I slowly touched my upper lip. My hand came away smeared with dark crimson. A bitter wave washed over me; the body of a dying man is a ruin that refuses to be hidden. I took the tissue, pressing it hard against my nose, and offered her a reassuring, weary smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” “Honestly, I hope Cynthia finds a few more boys like him. Maybe if she’s in a good mood, she’ll throw some extra allowance my way.” I tilted my head back, letting the metallic taste of blood seep into my throat. Severely anemic as I was, I couldn’t afford to lose this much blood. Ignoring the secretary’s mix of disgust and bewilderment, I turned toward the VIP lounge. Tonight was a rare opportunity to ask for money. Cynthia was pleased, softened by her new favorite. Maybe to get rid of me, she’d blindly sign a check without a second thought. Compared to Cynthia’s ghost of an affection, money was the only thing that mattered to me now. Only money could afford the imported pain pump—the only thing that could offer a shred of relief when the agony clawed at my bones in the dead of night, leaving me writhing on the floor. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I was terrified of the pain. The feeling of my bones being slowly chiseled open, piece by piece, haunted my very nightmares. My oncologist had already delivered the final verdict: even with the most expensive targeted therapies, I wouldn’t survive past winter. I wanted to leave this world with some dignity, but I couldn’t even afford the medication to keep the pain at bay. So, tonight, I had to swallow what little pride I had left and beg Cynthia. … Standing outside the slightly ajar door of the private lounge, I heard Tyler’s bright, unrestrained laughter. I could easily picture the smug expression on his face. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Tyler’s voice carried through the gap, talking to someone inside. “Honestly, why does Jesse always look so miserable and washed out? He dresses like a cheap street vendor. What does Cynthia even see in him?” “When I first joined the company, people told me my profile looked like Mr. Edmund’s. I thought he’d be some legendary figure. Seeing him today? What a joke. If I ever ended up that pathetic and useless, I’d throw myself off a bridge. No wonder Cynthia only has eyes for me now.” A male assistant lowered his voice, cautioning him, “Tyler, shut up. Mr. Edmund is still her legal husband. Besides, back in the day, Cynthia almost died for him. Don’t let this go to your head.” “So what if they’re married?” Tyler scoffed. “Just watch. Cynthia’s going to kick him to the curb sooner or later.” Listening to the chatter, I realized I’d come to the wrong room. It was only Tyler changing clothes with his assistant; Cynthia wasn’t even there. “What are you doing lurking outside my door?” An icy voice sliced through the air behind me. I turned around and met Cynthia’s eyes, cold and thick with disgust. Swallowing the bitter taste rising in my throat, I spoke calmly. “I need some money.” Before the words could fully settle, Tyler stepped out of the lounge and let out a sharp sneer. “How direct, Mr. Edmund. Begging for scraps right outside the dressing room? Anyone would think Cynthia was starving you.” Tyler looked at me defiantly, leaning familiarly into Cynthia’s space, his eyes alight with the smug confidence of a favorite toy. Sensing the shift in the air, the young assistant kept his head down and quickly slipped away. I kept my eyes lowered, ignoring Tyler’s performance entirely. “You really have grown spineless over the years,” Cynthia said, her words dripping with malice, her gaze cutting into me like glass. “Years ago, you crawled like a dog to lick Naomi Albright’s boots for a check. Now you’ve learned to play the begging husband with me? Tell me, how much is your dignity worth this time?” I met her gaze, a self-deprecating smile gracing my lips. “As much as you can spare, of course. With a net worth in the billions, surely Ms. Shaw won’t miss a few crumbs.” The temperature in Cynthia’s eyes plummeted to absolute zero. She lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my faded, worn shirt, her voice vibrating with quiet fury. “When you sold yourself to the Albrights, did they not toss you enough bones? Or are you just born this pathetic?” A sudden spasm gripped my chest. My vision blurred into blackness, and my knees buckled slightly. I took a ragged breath, my face draining of what little color it had, and spoke the quiet truth: “She never gave me a single dime.” Cynthia let out a harsh laugh, her disgust deepening. “Then what makes you think I would waste a single cent on an absolute piece of trash like you? Jesse, you’re lower than dirt.” As if looking at me made her physically ill, she released my collar with a shove and turned to leave. I dug my fingernails hard into my thigh to keep from collapsing, the image of the empty pill bottles in my dingy apartment flashing before my eyes. Digging deep for any shred of humility, I whispered, “Cynthia… please.” My voice was so faint it barely carried through the hallway. She didn’t even slow down. But Tyler heard it. He stepped up to me, his face glowing with a victor’s smugness. “Save your breath, Mr. Edmund. Look in a mirror. Look at what a wreck you are. How do you expect to compete with me?” “The senior staff at the office told me how Cynthia used to worship the ground you walked on, holding you like you were made of glass. I thought you were some kind of god. Turns out, you’re just a desperate street beggar.” “You know, Cynthia is incredibly generous.” Tyler raised his wrist, angling a blinding Patek Philippe toward me. “See this? She gave it to me tonight.” “A guy who slings cheap breakfast sandwiches on a street corner couldn’t afford this in ten lifetimes. The money you beg for on your knees? I get it just by asking nicely.” “To think people actually compare my looks to yours. It’s an insult.” Tyler turned his wrist again, the polished gold catching the light and stinging my eyes. I genuinely envied him. The value of that single watch was enough to secure my remaining days, to save me from curling up like a dying dog in the dark, shivering in agony. Cynthia was indeed generous with him. The other boys before him had been mere distractions, but Tyler was different. She brought him to high-profile events and stood by, allowing him to mock me to my face. But what did any of that matter to a man with one foot in the grave? “You’re right, it is an insult,” I said, a faint, tired smile on my lips. “You only care about how much she spends on you. But tell me—if she actually valued you, why hasn’t she ever taken you home? You’re a passing distraction, Tyler. Nothing more. Do you really think you have the right to look down on me?” “My dear boy, instead of barking at me, why don’t you beg her to divorce me first? Once you have a marriage certificate with your name on it, then you can talk to me about status.” My voice was weak, but I watched as Tyler’s face flushed red, then drained into an angry, bruised purple. “What do you know, you half-dead relic!” Tyler spat. “Cynthia loves me! You think a line on a marriage certificate makes you special? If you hadn’t gotten lucky and met her first, she wouldn’t even look at a pathetic wreck like you!” I gave him a hollow, pitying look. “Why do you think she chose you? When you throw a tantrum, the way the corner of your eyes flares up is identical to mine when I was twenty. Without me, you wouldn’t even be worth a second glance. Learn your place.” I had said enough. I didn’t want to waste another ounce of energy on him, so I turned to walk away. The truth tore right through Tyler’s fragile ego. He snapped, lunging at me like a wild animal. “I’m nobody’s replacement! I’ll tear that dead-eyed look right off your face!” He shoved me with all his weight. I stepped aside, and with no traction on the polished floor, he tripped over the thick edge of the rug, crashing headfirst into a heavy marble display pedestal. With a dull thud, Tyler hit the floor, clutching his forehead. Dark red blood began to ooze between his fingers. Cynthia, who hadn’t walked far, rushed back at the sound of the impact. She shoved me out of the way, dropping to her knees, cradling Tyler’s face. She pressed an expensive silk handkerchief to his wound, her eyes wide with frantic worry. She never once looked at me, completely ignoring how my body swayed on the verge of collapsing. Only when she was sure Tyler wasn’t severely injured did she slowly rise, her eyes fixing on me with absolute, murderous coldness. “Jesse. Did you push him?” I let out a long, exhausted breath. I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. “Think whatever you want. He lunged at me and tripped.” Before Cynthia could erupt, Tyler began to sob from the floor. “Cynthia… don’t blame Mr. Edmund. It was my fault, I was careless. I just… I love you so much. I don’t care about a title, I just want to be with you. Even if he hits me, even if he hates me, I won’t leave…” His crying was soft and performative, tears mixing with the blood on his cheek. He looked up at her with big, watery eyes, his hands desperately clutching the hem of her coat. I watched Cynthia’s expression soften. The absolute, fragile devotion Tyler was displaying was the exact thing she had once begged from me and never received. “Don’t worry, Tyler,” she murmured, her voice steadying. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” In those words, I heard her final decision. She was ready to throw me out to make room for him. I looked down at my scuffed, worn-out leather shoes. There wasn’t even a ripple of emotion in my heart. My lack of reaction only seemed to fuel Cynthia’s rage. “You’d stoop this low for money, Jesse? Fine. You hurt Tyler. How do you plan to pay for his medical bills and his distress?” “I don’t have any money,” I said, stating a simple fact. I barely knew where my next meal was coming from. “Then let me offer you a way out. Get on your knees. Bow to Tyler three times, apologize, and admit what a pathetic, miserable coward you are. The moment he forgives you, I’ll transfer three million dollars into your account.” “Three bows for three million. You won’t find a better bargain in this world. And if you’re worried I’ll go back on my word, I can pay you a deposit right now.” Cynthia reached down and unclasped a diamond tennis bracelet from her wrist, letting it drop carelessly at my feet. “Consider this the down payment. Don’t bother standing back up once you pick it up. Just stay down and bow.” I stared at the glittering piece of jewelry resting on the carpet. A quiet, breathy laugh escaped my lips—laughing at her arrogance, laughing at the utter absurdity of my life. “Keep your money, Cynthia. It’s too dirty for me.” I turned away, dragging my heavy, protesting legs step by step toward the exit. As I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of Cynthia lifting Tyler into her arms. I wondered, when I was nothing but a pile of ash, if she ever found out that the bracelet she threw on the floor could have bought me a few extra days free from the agonizing pain that made me wish for death… would she feel victorious? Or would she feel a sliver of regret? But that was a question for after I was gone. I wouldn’t be around to see it. I was reaching my limit. The last dose of pain medication had completely worn off. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes, and every step sent a violent spasm through my chest. … Back in my drafty, single-room apartment, I spent the longest night of my life. I writhed on the narrow twin bed, too weak to even scream. Caught between fever dreams and pure agony, my mind drifted, slipping back to when I was twenty. In the dream, Cynthia was still that bright-eyed, hardworking student, her forehead beaded with sweat. Back then, her eyes held nothing but gentle tenderness and fierce, protective love for me. I reached out blindly, trying to grasp the fading illusion, as if those long-dead memories could somehow numb the raw pain tearing through my flesh. “Cynthia… where’s the red string bracelet you made me?” As the whisper left my lips, I realized why I had stared so hard at Tyler’s wrist tonight. The design of that luxury watch was strikingly similar to the cheap digital watch Cynthia had bought me for my twentieth birthday. That year, my family had been pressuring me into arranged dates, and I was miserable. To cheer me up, Cynthia had spent an entire month hauling bricks at a scorching construction site in the dead of summer. Her skin had peeled, and her hands were covered in bloody blisters, all just to buy me a halfway decent digital watch. I remembered crying as I applied ointment to her raw hands, calling her a fool. She had just grinned, her teeth white against her sunburnt face, promising me that as long as we were together, she would build a beautiful life for us. She swore she’d never let me suffer. When we were twenty, I believed her promises would last a lifetime. The physical pain clawed at my nerves again, forcing tears and sweat onto my mildewed pillow. “Cynthia… I saw you give that watch to someone else tonight. It hurts so much…” “Jesse, don’t cry.” The Cynthia in my dream panicked, gently wiping away my tears as if I were made of porcelain. “I promise, I’ll never let you cry again.” I sobbed, holding onto that warm shadow with everything I had, because in my heart, I knew that this dying dream was the only place I would ever see that girl again. When morning came, I woke to the same broken, decaying body. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious. When I opened my eyes, my throat felt like dry sand. I reached instinctively for the cracked glass on my nightstand. “Jesse, here. Drink some water.” Through the haze, a familiar yet distant face came into focus. Cynthia was sitting there, the icy, arrogant mask she usually wore completely gone. There was a soft, aching warmth in her eyes, reminiscent of the girl she was at twenty. Believing I was still trapped in my fever dream, I leaned forward and let her guide the glass, swallowing the cool water. “Jesse, look,” she whispered, pushing a velvet box into my hands. “I found your old digital watch. And Tyler’s Patek Philippe—it’s in here too. Let’s stop fighting, okay? Let’s just go back to how we were.” I stared down at the yellowed, cheap plastic watch resting beside the dazzling diamond timepiece. The water I had just swallowed felt like liquid nitrogen, freezing my throat and stabbing into my lungs. There was no going back. The three years of systematic humiliation, the way she had trampled my remaining pride outside the lounge last night—every single blow was permanently etched into my bones. With a sudden burst of energy, I slapped the velvet box out of her hand, sending it flying across the room. “Are you insane, Cynthia?” I rasped, laughing coldly. “I mailed that piece of garbage back to you the exact day I signed the contract with Naomi Albright. Why on earth are you digging up my trash now?” The room went dead silent. The fragile warmth in Cynthia’s eyes shattered, replaced by a dark, bloodshot rage. She lunged, grabbing my shirt collar and pinning me hard against the mold-stained wall. “You’re playing with me?” she hissed, her voice shaking. “Last night, you were burning up, crying for this watch, begging through your tears… and it was all a goddamn act?” It took me a second to realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all. But to a dying man, what difference did it make? I curled my lips into a mocking smile. “Of course, Ms. Shaw. I just wanted to see how far I could string along a powerful, ruthless executive like you. Do you see how pathetic you look right now?” We had been entangled for seven years; I knew exactly where to twist the knife to cause the most pain. Cynthia was a proud woman. She could never tolerate being played for a fool. “Shut up!” She lost all control, crashing her mouth against mine in a desperate, punishing kiss. She bit down hard, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood instantly bloomed between us. I had no strength to fight her off, letting the iron-like taste wash over my tongue. When she finally pulled away, her chest was heaving, her eyes wild. “Three years, Jesse. Do you even have a heart left in there?” “I paraded all those boys in front of you. Why didn’t you get jealous? Why didn’t you scream at me?” “Would it kill you to just bend a little? To admit that you still care about me?” “Do you have any idea how happy I was when I heard you crying for that cheap watch last night…” “How dare you lie to me, Jesse!” Her voice cracked on my name, thin and laced with a suffocating, desperate sorrow. Even though I was determined to take my secrets to the grave, my chest throbbed with a dull, heavy ache that left me speechless. In the stifling silence of our standoff, Tyler’s voice suddenly drifted from the hallway. “Cynthia? Are you in there? Why did you change the door code? My wrist hurts… are you mad at me?” The vulnerability in Cynthia’s eyes vanished instantly, locked away behind her familiar wall of ice. “I’m done wasting my time on you,” she said coldly. “Starting today, Tyler is moving into the estate. He’s taking your place.” She let go of my collar and turned toward the door. “You actually gave him the door code…” Before I could finish the sentence, a sudden, hot rush surged from the back of my throat. I coughed violently, and a spray of dark crimson blood splattered across the faded linoleum. Cynthia stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around, her brow furrowing as she stared at me with a cold sneer. “You missed your calling, Jesse. You should have been an actor. Did you actually prepare a fake blood pack? You’ll do anything for money, won’t you? Did you put on this kind of show for Naomi Albright, too?” She thought it was a trick. But I knew the reality: my fragile body couldn’t handle the strain of these emotional storms. That single fit had drained what little life I had left. Clawing my way onto the edge of the mattress, I managed to stand, gripping the bed frame for support. I snatched the velvet box from the floor and hurled it at her. “Get your trash out of here! You and Tyler can both rot! I’m still breathing—don’t you dare ruin my home!” Cynthia let out a dark, mocking laugh. “You think you still have a home? Tomorrow, I’m having Tyler set up right across from your breakfast cart. The more miserable you are, the happier I’ll be!” A blinding wave of fury washed over me, and another deep cough tore a fresh mouthful of blood from my lips. My vision began to dim. “Cynthia… you don’t know the first thing about love. Did you ever bother to look into why I went to the Albrights? Do you honestly believe those loan sharks hounding your father just magically grew a conscience and walked away?!” “You’ve spent years treating me like dirt… Cynthia, you are going to regret this for the rest of your life!” Crimson stained my shirt front, pooling fast. The sneer wiped clean off Cynthia’s face. Panic took hold of her, her body trembling violently as she lunged forward to catch my collapsing frame. Her voice cracked, barely recognizable. “Jesse! Jesse, look at me! Don’t close your eyes, please… I’m taking you to the hospital right now!”

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