Author: Momo Chan

On the night of our third wedding anniversary, something strange happened. Colin was leaning against the headboard, reading through some corporate files. The lines of his profile were as sharp and unyielding as ever. I was just pulling the duvet back to get into bed when I suddenly saw a line of translucent white text hovering right above his head. It glided from left to right, like closed captions on a muted television. [Why isn’t she asleep yet? God, it’s annoying.] The text practically echoed in my head with his exact tone of voice, but his lips hadn’t moved. I rubbed my eyes hard. The words vanished. Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me, I tested the waters. I shifted closer and gently looped my arm through his. “Honey, would you come shopping with me tomorrow?” I asked softly. Instantly, another line of text materialized above his dark hair: [Clinging to me every single day. Doesn’t she ever get exhausted?] Yet, out loud, his actual words were: “We’ll see.” My hand, entirely on its own accord, slipped away from his arm. 01 My name is Summer Davis. I’ve been married to Colin Montgomery for three years and four months. That was the first time the subtitles appeared above his head. It was also the first time I realized that his trademark phrase, “We’ll see,” never actually meant we would see about it later. It meant, Leave me alone. I didn’t try to touch him again that night. Colin flipped a page of his document, and another line of text drifted through the air. [Finally, some peace and quiet.] Those five words cut deeper than anything he could have actually said out loud. I lay on the far edge of my side of the mattress, pulling the covers all the way up to my chin. My heart felt like it was being slowly pinched between someone’s fingernails. The next morning, I woke up at six a.m., just like always. I spent forty minutes in the kitchen making slow-simmered steel-cut oats with caramelized apples and pecans, pairing it with his favorite hand-ground espresso. Colin came downstairs, impeccable in his tailored suit, and sat at the kitchen island. A line of text floated above his head. [Oatmeal again. Could she have any less imagination?] Out loud, he didn’t say a word. I slid the ceramic bowl in front of him. “Colin, I let the oats simmer a bit longer today. The texture should be creamier than yesterday.” He gave a noncommittal hum. Above his head: [Who cares.] I stared at the bowl of oats, suddenly nauseous. Three years. Every single day, waking up at six to make sure he had a warm, homemade breakfast. Cinnamon oats, avocado toast with perfectly poached eggs, freshly baked scones—I rotated them constantly. Three years. Over a thousand mornings. And he had never cared about a single one of them. At ten o’clock, my mother-in-law arrived. Constance Montgomery swept into the foyer wearing a gray cashmere coat, carrying two expensive jars of imported Manuka honey. “Where is Colin?” “At the office, Constance.” I took the honey with a practiced smile and turned to put the kettle on for her tea. A line of text drifted above Constance’s perfectly coiffed hair. [Calling me by my first name. As if she belongs here.] My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. Constance settled into the living room sofa, her sharp eyes sweeping the space. “Summer, the water in that crystal vase needs changing. It’s looking cloudy.” “Of course. I’ll change it right now.” [All she does is buzz around Colin all day, completely oblivious to how out of her depth she is. If her father hadn’t saved my husband’s life in that wreck, there is zero chance my son would have ever married someone like her.] The paragraph of text scrolled past, dense and suffocating. I stood at the kitchen sink, holding the heavy crystal vase. The faucet was running, the water spilling over the rim and rushing over my fingers. It was freezing. So, this marriage was just a debt being paid. When Colin’s father was in a horrific car accident years ago, it was my dad—a passing driver—who pulled him from the wreckage and rushed him to the ER. I had always foolishly believed the Montgomerys were kind to me out of genuine affection, out of gratitude. Now I knew. Their “kindness” was simply an obligation. They endured me. I arranged the fresh water and flowers, placing the vase back on the glass coffee table. Constance glanced at me. [Well, at least she’s obedient. It’s a shame that’s her only use.] I sat across from her and poured her a cup of Earl Grey. My smile was identical to the one I wore yesterday. The only difference was that starting today, I knew my smile was entirely hollow. That afternoon, Colin’s executive assistant called. “Mrs. Montgomery, Mr. Montgomery asked me to let you know he has a client dinner tonight. He won’t be home.” I said okay. I hung up the phone and sat alone at the long dining table. In front of me was a perfectly roasted chicken, garlic butter asparagus, and roasted fingerling potatoes. All his favorites. I cut a piece of chicken and chewed it for a long time. For some reason, I couldn’t taste a thing. 02 By the third day, the subtitles had become crystal clear. It was as if someone had installed an invisible AR screen over my eyes. Anyone who stepped within fifteen feet of me had their inner thoughts broadcast above their heads. The Whole Foods cashier: [Why is it so packed today? I hate this.] The neighborhood security guard: [This poor woman is always buying groceries and cooking, while her hotshot husband is never home.] Even the security guard saw it. But it took me three years to open my eyes. On Saturday, by some miracle, Colin was actually home. He was in his home office answering emails. I brewed a cup of black coffee—just the way he liked it—and carried it in. “Colin? Black coffee.” He took the mug without looking up from his screen. Above his head: [Here she goes again. Can’t I just get ten minutes of peace without her barging in?] I gave a small smile, stepped backward out of the room, and quietly pulled the door shut. The moment the door clicked into the frame, I felt something inside my chest click shut along with it. At two in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a woman standing on the porch. She wore a flawless white crepe dress, her makeup immaculate. Draped over her arm was a signature Tiffany blue shopping bag. Doris. Colin’s college classmate, and the Creative Director at Montgomery Holdings. She was also the woman everyone in our social circle whispered about as Colin’s “golden girl”—the one that got away. “Summer! It’s been ages!” Her smile was blindingly sweet. The subtitles above her head painted a completely different picture. [Three years, and you’re still clinging to this house like a parasite?] I kept my polite smile pinned in place. “Doris. Come on in.” She swapped her heels for guest slippers and walked in, her gaze sweeping over the grand living room. [The interior design is stunning. Such a waste that it’s occupied by someone so unremarkable.] “I brought Colin an early birthday present. A silk tie I picked up while I was in Milan for fashion week.” She handed the Tiffany bag to me. [Let’s see what pathetic little gift you can afford to get him.] I took the bag by the handles. “Thank you, Doris. His birthday isn’t until next month, but it’s so sweet of you to remember.” She covered her mouth as she laughed lightly. “Well, we’ve known each other for twelve years, after all.” [Which is a hell of a lot longer than he’s known you.] Hearing the voices in the foyer, Colin emerged from his office. His facial expression didn’t change at the sight of Doris, but the text immediately gave him away. [She’s here. That dress looks incredible on her.] He had never once commented on my clothes. Whenever I asked him, “Does this look okay?” his answer was universally, “It’s fine.” The three of us sat in the living room with coffee. Doris and Colin immediately launched into a discussion about a new corporate initiative. When she brought up a specific design strategy, Colin actually engaged, offering a rare, lengthy response. Doris’s subtitles were scrolling at rapid speed. [Do you see this, Summer? I’m the only one who can talk to him on his level. What are you? A maid?] [Once I close the licensing deal with the Whalefall IP, let’s see if you still have the nerve to sit in that chair.] Whalefall. The word struck a nerve, sliding like a cold needle into my brain. “Whalefall” was the pseudonym of an anonymous contemporary artist and illustrator. Over the last two years, the Whalefall IP had exploded. Global brand collaborations, sold-out print runs, massive cultural cachet. Montgomery Holdings had been desperately trying to secure exclusive licensing rights, but the artist was notoriously reclusive, communicating strictly through an agent. Doris was spearheading the acquisition project. What she didn’t know was this: The artist behind Whalefall was me. I picked up my porcelain teacup and took a slow sip. Neither of them noticed the slight tremor in my fingers. It wasn’t fear. It was a dark, boiling mass of something entirely unnameable churning in my chest. When I married Colin three years ago, I put my paintbrushes in a box and shoved them in the back of a closet. Because he had said one sentence to me: “We don’t need the money. You don’t need to work.” I had thought it was an act of love. Protection. Provision. The subtitles told me the truth. He just thought my art was a pointless little hobby, completely beneath his notice. My agent, Roxy, had kept my secret faithfully. She managed the “Whalefall” persona, handled the staggering influx of emails, and negotiated every lucrative deal. Over the last three years, the value of a Whalefall original had skyrocketed from a few thousand dollars to over half a million. The licensing deals had generated over three million dollars. All of that money was sitting quietly in an LLC account Roxy had set up for me. Colin didn’t know. Doris didn’t know. No one knew that the dull, accommodating housewife currently refilling their coffee cups was the elusive genius they had been chasing for eight months. When Doris finally left, she paused at the front door to look back at me. [Enjoy your final days in this house, Summer.] I gave her a little wave. “Drive safe, Doris.” I closed the heavy oak door and leaned my back against the cool wall of the foyer. I closed my eyes. I was done. The era of the desperate, clinging wife ended today. 03 The shift began the very next morning. At 6:15 a.m., my alarm went off. I rolled over, hit the button, and went back to sleep. When Colin came downstairs at seven, the kitchen island was bare. No espresso. No oats. No perfectly poached eggs. He stopped in his tracks for two seconds. Above his head: [No breakfast today? Well, at least it saves me the routine.] He grabbed his car keys and walked out the door. He didn’t even ask if I was feeling okay. I stood by the second-floor window, watching his sleek black Audi pull out of the driveway. Usually, I would run out to the porch in my robe to wave and tell him to drive safely. Today, I stayed behind the glass. He didn’t look back. At noon, I didn’t send him a text. I used to send at least five texts a day. Did you eat lunch? Are you slammed today? I miss you. Looking back, his replies were always identical: Yeah. Fine. Busy. I unlocked my phone and sent a message to Roxy instead. “Roxy. Call Craig at the Mercer Gallery. Let’s talk about the solo exhibition.” Three seconds later, Roxy replied with a wall of exclamation points. “SUMMER! You finally woke up!! Craig has been waiting on standby for eight months for this!!!” I smiled. A real smile. Not the plastic one I wore for Colin. That afternoon, I drove across the river to the West End. I wasn’t grocery shopping. I wasn’t running errands for the house. I walked into a commercial real estate office. “Hi, I’m looking for a loft or a studio space in the Arts District. Just a wide-open room with good light.” The young agent was eager. “What’s your budget, ma’am?” “Under three thousand a month.” “I’ve got the perfect keys right here. Let’s go look.” When I walked out of the agency an hour later, the afternoon sun hit my face. The March wind was still carrying a late-winter chill, but as I breathed it in, I realized it was the most comfortable afternoon I’d had in three years. Colin came home that evening at seven-thirty, earlier than usual. He took off his shoes and walked into the living room. The dining table was empty. The kitchen was dark and cold. “Summer?” I walked out of the bedroom, holding a paperback novel. “Yeah?” He glanced at the empty table. [No dinner? What kind of tantrum is this?] “You didn’t cook?” he asked. “No. I was a bit tired today. Didn’t have the energy,” I said, my tone incredibly flat. “There’s some frozen ravioli in the freezer. You can boil it yourself.” Colin stared at me. [Whatever. If she wants to be lazy for a day, let her be lazy.] He walked into the kitchen. I heard the faucet turn on, then off. The metallic clatter of a pot hitting the stove grate. For the first time in three years, he was boiling his own dinner. I turned a page of my book. I felt no pity. No guilt. I only felt that I should have done this a thousand days ago. 04 A week passed. I didn’t wake up at six. I didn’t send the five daily texts. I didn’t rush to the door to take his briefcase, pour his water, and present a plate of sliced fruit the second he walked in. I stopped asking if he was tired, or what he wanted for dinner. The change in our dynamic was massive. But Colin’s reaction was minimal. For the first three days, his subtitles read: [Finally, some quiet.] [It’s actually nice that she’s not hovering.] [Did she read some dumb magazine article about ‘giving men space’? Whatever. I don’t care.] He actually seemed relieved. I watched those subtitles drift through the air and a cold smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Fine. Enjoy the quiet. On Wednesday evening, my mother-in-law arrived again. And this time, she didn’t bring honey. She brought Doris. “Summer! Doris said she was craving your famous beef bourguignon, so I just had to bring her over,” Constance beamed, making herself entirely at home. [Doris and Colin are the ones who actually belong together. If it weren’t for that ridiculous debt to her father, Doris would be the lady of this house.] Doris took off her coat and strolled in, looking as comfortable as if her name was on the deed. [I am going to make sure Colin sees exactly why I am superior to Summer tonight.] In the past, a sudden ambush like this would send me into a panic. I would have scurried into the kitchen, desperately throwing together a gourmet meal while wearing a permanent, accommodating smile, terrified of offending either of them. Not tonight. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Constance. I haven’t been to the grocery store this week. The fridge is pretty bare. How about we just order something in?” Constance froze. [Excuse me? Every other time I’ve walked through that door, there’s been a feast waiting. What kind of stunt is this?] “Order in?” Constance’s brow furrowed heavily. “You have a chef’s kitchen right there. Ordering delivery is tacky.” I smiled politely. “Well, I can get catering from that French bistro downtown. What are you in the mood for?” “Catering?” Constance’s face darkened completely. [Has she lost her mind? Guests arrive and she wants to order takeout? What kind of wife is she?] Doris chimed in with flawless timing. “Oh, Mrs. Montgomery, please don’t be upset! Why don’t I cook? I just learned this incredible seared scallop recipe. I’d love for you to try it.” She was already walking toward the kitchen. The scowl on Constance’s face instantly dissolved into a radiant smile. “Doris, you are simply too sweet.” [Look at Doris. A true catch. And then look at Summer.] I sat comfortably on the sofa, watching in absolute silence as Doris rummaged through my kitchen, opening cabinets and looking for spices. I used to get so jealous. I used to feel so utterly inadequate. I used to hide in the master bathroom and cry silently into a towel. I didn’t feel anything anymore. Because her subtitles were broadcasting her entire strategy. [Her apron is in the second drawer, but I refuse to wear it. I’m going to drink water out of Colin’s favorite glass, just so she has to sit there and watch me do it.] When she finally served the meal, she purposely plated it on my favorite set of hand-painted ceramics. [These plates are gorgeous. When I move in, I’m taking all of them.] Colin walked through the front door just as she set the table. Seeing Doris standing in his kitchen, laughing, his footsteps paused. [What is Doris doing here?] Followed immediately by: [She looks really good in this setting.] Then, his eyes shifted to me. [Why is Summer just sitting there? That’s not like her.] “You’re home,” I said. Just those two words. No “honey.” No bright smile. I didn’t even stand up. Colin frowned slightly. [What’s wrong with her?] But he didn’t ask. He never asked. The four of us sat around the dining table. Doris had managed four beautiful dishes. Constance took a bite of a scallop and practically swooned. “Doris, this is divine. Better than a Michelin restaurant.” [If Doris were my daughter-in-law, I would wake up laughing every single day.] Doris offered a graceful, humble smile. “You’re too kind, Mrs. Montgomery.” [Keep complimenting me. Make sure Colin hears every word of it.] I kept my head down and ate my food. Slowly. Quietly. Normally, I would jump in and say, “Constance, I’ll definitely have to get the recipe from Doris so I can make it for you.” Tonight, I was a ghost. Constance noticed. “Summer, you’re awfully quiet tonight.” “Just enjoying the meal, Constance.” She let out a harsh scoff. [Giving us attitude now? If you don’t like it, you should have cooked the damn dinner yourself.] After the meal, Doris insisted on doing the dishes. I sat in the living room, sipping sparkling water. Constance walked over and lowered her voice to a vicious whisper. “Summer. Let me give you some advice. This little attitude of yours lately needs to stop.” “What attitude?” “What attitude? Look at you! Ice cold, barely speaking, refusing to cook. You married into the Montgomery family to be a wife. You are not here to play a pampered princess.” [Know your place. If it weren’t for your father dying on that highway, you wouldn’t even be fit to shine Colin’s shoes.] I looked straight at her. In the old days, a lecture like this would make my eyes sting with tears. I would look at the floor and whisper, “I’m sorry, Constance. I understand.” Today, I just nodded slowly. “I understand, Constance.” My tone sounded exactly the same. But deep down, I knew that this “I understand” meant something radically different than all the times I’d said it before. Before, it meant submission. Today, it meant I was done playing the game. Day ten. The changes had finally compounded to the point where Colin could no longer ignore them. It started with an Instagram post. Historically, my grid was a shrine to him. Dinner made by my amazing husband, so blessed! — I had actually cooked it. The flowers he sent me, so romantic! — I had bought them myself, arranged them, and staged the photo. So thankful for you. — Accompanied by a selfie where I was beaming, and he looked like he was attending a funeral. Pathetic, right? On the tenth day, I posted something new. It was a photo of a watercolor I had secretly painted: a massive whale breaching the surface of a midnight ocean, its back blooming with vibrant, impossible flowers. The caption was just one word: Whalefall.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “424251”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

There are three men in my life who blush with delightful ease. First, there is my husband, Declan—a man of strict upbringing, rigid routines, and a stoicism so thick it feels like a physical wall. Then, there are our two sons, who inherited his exact brand of solemn, miniature-adult seriousness. Teasing the three of them—watching the tips of their ears burn a violent shade of pink while they desperately try to maintain their composure—is the absolute greatest joy of my life. Especially during our nightly bedtime routine. Every evening, without fail, my boys and my husband wait with flushed anticipation for my goodnight kiss. But tonight was different. Tonight, as I leaned over to press my lips to my youngest son’s forehead, my vision suddenly fractured. A flood of glowing, scrolling text—like a live comment feed from some bizarre, phantom social media app—projected itself directly into my mind’s eye, floating in the air between me and my family. The Comments told me that my parents had found their biological daughter. That they had reunited a month ago, and I was the only one kept entirely in the dark. The scrolling text gleefully predicted that once I met this “true daughter,” I would spiral into a villainous rage, frame her for theft, and ultimately be publicly exposed by my own husband—who would then have me committed to a psychiatric ward. Someone in the Feed was even typing out strings of laughing emojis, mocking the way I would eventually escape the asylum only to be dragged back, claiming they had re-watched that specific downfall five times because it was just that satisfying. My lips, still puckered for a kiss, froze. A slight, involuntary twitch pulled at the corner of my mouth. Right in front of me, three expectant faces were still waiting for their affection. I swallowed the sudden, metallic taste of panic in my mouth. I silently turned my back on them, climbed into the center of the sprawling mattress, and pulled the Egyptian cotton duvet up over my nose until only my eyes were visible. Then, my voice muffled by the down feathers, I announced that effective immediately, goodnight kisses were canceled. 1 Three faces shared a singular, identical expression: a slight, perplexed furrowing of the brows. Declan and my eldest son, Benedict, just stared at me, their faces completely unreadable, silent in their disapproval. It was my youngest, Blake, who broke first. His lower lip wobbled. “Mommy, why no kisses?” I rolled over, turning my back to them entirely. “Everyone out. I need to sleep.” Silence hung thick in the room for several seconds before Declan’s voice cut through it. Low. Measured. Restrained. “Benedict, take your brother to your room. It’s time for sleep.” The sound of their footsteps receded. The heavy bedroom door didn’t latch all the way, and the muffled whispers of my two little boys drifted in from the hallway. “Benedict, why doesn’t Mom want to kiss us anymore?” “I don’t know.” “Is it because we cover her mouth when she says inappropriate things?” “No.” “Then… did Dad make her mad?” My older boy paused, clearly turning the logistics over in his logical little brain. “That is a strong possibility.” Blake suddenly whisper-shouted, “Then Dad shouldn’t get a kiss either! It has to be fair for all three of us!” A laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I bit down hard on the inside of my lip to kill it. Because right then, the Feed in my vision started scrolling frantically again: [Did the female lead get possessed? Usually during bedtime, she’s practically glued to the three of them, saying the most shameless, teasing things.] [Poor little stoic baby, being harassed by his mom and still making excuses for her. You can tell he’s used to coddling her.] [It’s fine! The True Daughter outshines this fake in every way. Give it a few days, and those boys will be calling the True Daughter ‘Mom.’] I squeezed my eyes shut. My heart physically ached, squeezing tight in my chest like a bruised fist. The bedroom door clicked open again. The mattress dipped beside me, the weight familiar and grounding. Declan’s hand reached out, resting lightly on the curve of my waist. It was a rare moment of initiation for him. His fingers brushed against the cool silk of my slip, tracing a slow, almost hesitant circle. “Why are you wearing this one again?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual. I turned my head and glared at his handsome, impossibly repressed face. Three years of marriage, and the man’s repertoire in bed was something you could count on one hand. He didn’t like changing positions. He refused to do it anywhere outside the bedroom. Whenever I pushed him to the edge with my teasing, his only defense mechanism was to go take a freezing cold shower. Even the two kids I bore him shared his exact, maddening temperament. A sudden, fierce irritation flared in my chest. I yanked the duvet tightly around myself. “I didn’t put it on for you,” I snapped, puffing out my cheeks. “Get out.” Declan’s hand froze mid-air. Normally, this was the part where he would sigh, gently haul me out from under the covers, pin me against the headboard, and lecture me on propriety. Then I would barrage him with filthy whispers until his self-control shattered, leading to a long, breathless night. But tonight, he just sat there in silence for a few long, agonizing seconds. He reached out, carefully tucked in the edge of the duvet I had kicked loose, and stood up. He walked out. The door clicked shut. The Feed erupted in a digital cheer. [SO SATISFYING. The male lead is finally freezing her out. He’s keeping himself pure for the True Daughter.] [I mean, I’ve always said it. A classless orphan like her never deserved to marry into the Wright family anyway. If she hadn’t taken the wrong glass that night, accidentally drugged herself, crawled into his bed, and conveniently gotten pregnant with twins, he never would have married her.] [Exactly. Genetics don’t lie. No matter how hard she plays the part, she’ll never be the real heiress. She needs to pack her bags and crawl back to the orphanage while she still has her miserable life.] 2 I watched the phantom text scroll past, a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. The truth was, I already knew I wasn’t my parents’ biological child. I found out during a routine medical exam my freshman year of college. My blood type was A. But both my parents were type O. Two type O parents cannot produce a type A child. It is a biological impossibility. I had quietly hired a private investigator to look into my origins. I learned I was an orphan, dropped at a group home from birth, parents unknown, before eventually being adopted by the wealthy Wentworth family. I remember sitting in front of my laptop in my dorm room, staring at the investigator’s email until the sun came up. When morning broke, I deleted every file, cleared my cache, and pretended absolutely nothing had happened. I did it because my parents loved me. They loved me so completely, so fiercely, that I convinced myself blood didn’t matter. I used to have nightmares that they would find their missing biological daughter and stop loving me. But I never, not even in my darkest anxieties, imagined they would find her and purposely hide her from me. When I finally opened my eyes, the room was bathed in morning light. I washed up and went downstairs to the dining room. The three men of the house were already seated. Benedict and Blake sat with their backs ramrod straight, their hands folded, waiting obediently for me. Declan was scanning the Wall Street Journal. He glanced up at the sound of my heels, then dropped his eyes back to the page. I pulled out my chair, sat down, picked up my fork, and began to eat. Instantly, three pairs of eyes snapped toward me. I calmly speared a piece of asparagus and chewed it, ignoring them. The Feed began to drift across my vision: [Wait, she’s acting so weird. Doesn’t she usually go around the table and kiss everyone?] [Yeah, she usually leaves the two little stoics covered in lipstick while they look like they want to cry. They secretly hate it.] [No goodnight kiss yesterday, no good morning kiss today. I bet she’s brewing some toxic scheme.] [(+1)] Reading the conspiracy theories floating in the air, I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. Then, out of my peripheral vision, I noticed Blake taking tiny, hesitant bites of his oatmeal, his big eyes darting toward me every few seconds. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed his small porcelain plate slightly toward me. “Mommy. A shrimp dumpling.” I looked down. Two perfectly plump dim sum dumplings sat on his plate. On any normal day, I would have cooed, Let Mommy feed you, baby! just to watch him blush and declare, I can feed myself, Mother. But today, the well was dry. I pushed the plate back. “Eat it yourself.” Blake froze. He turned his head, shooting a desperate, pleading look at his older brother. Benedict maintained his serious little scowl. He didn’t intervene, but his spoon remained hovering over his bowl, entirely forgotten. At the head of the table, Declan lowered his newspaper. He leveled a look at me. It was a silent question: What is going on with you? I pretended to be deeply engrossed in my breakfast. The Feed flared up again: [She’s terrifyingly quiet today. Doesn’t she usually spend breakfast sexually harassing her husband and babying her kids? She usually talks so much trash I want to mute her.] [What about under the table? She loves rubbing her foot up the male lead’s leg. I bet fifty cents she’s doing it right now!] [Reporting in: I checked. She’s not. She’s sitting there rigid as a board.] The phantom voices couldn’t figure me out. And strangely, that felt incredibly empowering. I calmly dabbed my mouth with a linen napkin and stood up to head upstairs. “Wait,” Declan’s voice stopped me. “There’s a gala tonight. You need to get ready.” I paused on the bottom step, feigning total ignorance. “What gala?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. His tone was perfectly flat. “Your parents found their long-lost daughter. They’re hosting a welcome-home reception for her.” I slowly turned to look at him. He stood by the mahogany table, the morning light catching the sharp angle of his jaw, hiding his eyes in shadow. My sons tilted their little faces up at me, their expressions laced with a sudden, palpable nervous energy. Ah. So they all knew. The big one, and the little ones. My fingers tightened around the oak banister until my knuckles turned white. A slow, sharp smile curved my lips. “Understood.” The Feed practically shrieked: [HOLY SHIT. Look at that sinister smile. That is the textbook evil-step-sister smirk. Terrifying.] [I mean, she’s the fake. She stole someone else’s life for twenty-something years. She’s rotten to the core.] [I cannot WAIT to see her lose her mind with jealousy tonight. Let the husband and kids see her true, ugly colors so he can finally file for divorce!] [In the True vs. Fake Daughter trope, I am always team True Daughter. The fake deserves to burn!] I pulled my gaze away from the empty air and continued up the stairs. Jealousy? Rage? No. I just wanted to see her. I wanted to see the sister my parents had hidden away for an entire month. I wanted to see what she looked like. I wanted to see if she looked like the ghost in my nightmares. That was all. 3 I chose a black couture gown. The tailoring was aggressive and architectural, the plunging V-neckline holding to my curves with weaponized precision. When I descended the grand staircase, my boys and my husband were already waiting in the foyer. Declan looked up. Instantly, a deep crease formed between his brows. The two little stoics were dressed in matching, immaculate white miniature tuxedos. When they saw me, their eyes lit up like stars. The Feed, however, was vicious: [Is she insane? Why is she dressed like she’s walking a red carpet?] [Oh, I get it. She knows the True Daughter grew up poor in the country and probably dresses plain. She’s trying to upstage her. Shameless bitch.] [Even the husband and kids are frowning. They know she looks too slutty for a family event.] Declan’s eyes swept over me, taking in every inch of the dress. He stepped toward me, his voice a low, vibrating murmur. “That dress isn’t appropriate. Change.” I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “What’s inappropriate about it?” “It’s too formal,” he said flatly. I let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Is a welcome-home gala not a formal occasion?” Without waiting for his answer, I swept past him toward the door. Declan stood frozen in the foyer. The boys immediately broke ranks, their little dress shoes pitter-pattering across the marble floor as they scrambled to flank me, each grabbing one of my hands. Benedict, who almost never offered unprompted praise, looked up at me with profound seriousness. “Mother, you look very beautiful today.” Blake nodded furiously in agreement, his round cheeks suddenly flushing pink. I squeezed their tiny, warm hands. “Let’s go, boys.” Once we were in the back of the Maybach, I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the city blur by. The three of them sat opposite me, stealing glances at me every few minutes. In the past, no matter where we were, I couldn’t resist poking at them. I loved watching them get flustered while trying to maintain their dignified facades. But after reading the venom in the Feed, a quiet, insidious doubt had crept into my mind. Was my behavior actually bad for the kids? Was I overwhelming them? The silence in the car was so absolute I could hear the rhythmic ticking of Declan’s Patek Philippe watch. “Mommy.” Blake’s voice was barely a whisper. I gave a soft, lazy hmm? “Are you feeling sick?” Before I could even process the question, Declan leaned across the space between us. The cool back of his hand pressed firmly against my forehead. I flinched, instinctively pulling my head back to break the contact. “I’m fine,” I said. Benedict was staring at me too. “But Mother, you’ve been holding your chest the whole ride.” I looked down. My left hand was pressed tightly, unconsciously, over my heart. I slowly lowered my hand to my lap, forcing my voice to stay gentle. “I promise, I’m okay.” Then I turned my face back to the window. In the reflection of the glass, I could see all three of them still watching me. Their expressions were tight, laced with a strange, heavy concern. The Feed drifted by, dripping with sarcasm: [Wow, the little stoics actually care about her. Giving birth to two good kids is the only good karma she has.] [Um… is it just me, or does the male lead look really worried too? The kid said one thing, and he immediately jumped across the car.] [Worried? Please. Those three are geniuses. They know she’s putting on an act and they’re just playing along to humor her.] I closed my eyes and let the darkness take the words away. 4 The reception was held on the top floor penthouse of the St. Regis. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering sprawl of the city skyline, a sea of lights stretching to the horizon like a silent, breathless celebration. Half of the city’s elite were in attendance. I linked my arm through Declan’s as we walked through the double doors, the boys trailing perfectly at our sides. As we navigated the room, I felt the weight of a hundred stares sticking to my skin. The whispers rustled through the crowd like wind through dry leaves. After all, the circumstances of my marriage weren’t exactly a closely guarded secret among the upper crust. There were those who envied me, and those who despised me. I was used to the scrutiny. I kept my spine straight and my face impassive. My parents were standing by the head table, greeting a minor tech CEO. When my mother saw me, her polished, practiced smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She recovered instantly. “Jocelyn, darling. You made it.” I nodded, my gaze sliding past her to rest on the girl standing slightly behind her. The girl was wearing a plain, starkly conservative white dress. The fabric hung a bit awkwardly; it clearly wasn’t custom, or even designer. Standing next to me in my architectural black silk, the contrast was violently stark. A sudden wave of awkwardness washed over me. The Feed was losing its mind: [Oh my God, the contrast is brutal. My heart breaks for the True Daughter. She’s the main character, and she’s being totally eclipsed by this fake!] [The female lead is such a bitch. Dressing like that to sabotage her big night? Does she want everyone to know how manipulative she is?] [Don’t even call her the female lead anymore. She doesn’t deserve the title.] I lowered my eyes, a bitter, hollow laugh threatening to bubble up in my throat. How was I supposed to know she would be dressed like that? I had assumed my parents—with their endless wealth and obsession with appearances—would have commissioned a bespoke gown for her. I assumed they would want her to shine like a diamond. The dress I was wearing was from a three-year-old runway collection. By high-society standards, it was practically vintage. After a beat of heavy silence, my mother reached out, took the girl’s hand, and pulled her forward to introduce her to Declan and me. “This is your sister. Sabrina.” Sabrina looked at me, a bright, open smile spreading across her face. “Jocelyn!” She stepped forward, opening her arms for an embrace. But my mother quickly lifted a hand, blocking her path. “Sabrina, darling, you have to give your speech soon. Let’s not ruin your hair.” Sabrina dropped her arms awkwardly. She reached up, nervously touching a curl near her cheek, and offered me a sheepish, apologetic smile. My own hand was caught in no-man’s-land—halfway up to return the hug, not sure how to retreat. Feeling incredibly foolish, I mirrored her movement, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I gave her a warm, tentative smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Sabrina.” I turned to look at Declan, and my breath caught in my throat. Declan was staring at Sabrina. His eyes were wide, fixed on her with a look of profound, undisguised shock. And he kept looking. For a long, long time. 5 “Father.” Blake’s little voice, soft and sweet, broke the spell. It snapped Declan out of his trance. Declan blinked, his mask slamming back into place, and he pulled a small, black velvet Cartier box from his inner jacket pocket. “A small token,” Declan said, his voice smooth and professional. “From Jocelyn and myself.” Sabrina looked at my parents, clearly overwhelmed. My mother beamed and nodded encouragingly. Sabrina took the box and clicked it open. Inside lay a breathtaking vintage diamond and emerald necklace. The clarity was flawless. The Comments immediately flooded with jealousy: [Whoa, the male lead is dropping serious cash. Is he trying to apologize for his wife’s terrible behavior?] [Apologize? No, he’s trying to make a good impression on the True Daughter. After all, she’s the real heiress now.] [Keep cooking! The male lead is officially ignoring the fake wife. The romance arc with the True Daughter begins now!] Sabrina’s eyes suddenly dropped, landing on the two little boys standing by my skirt. She crouched down until she was eye-level with them. “Hi there,” she said softly. “I’m your Aunt Sabrina.” Benedict kept his face perfectly impassive, but his manners were ingrained. “Hello, Aunt Sabrina.” Blake looked up at me, his big eyes searching my face for permission. I gently stroked the back of his little head. “Alright, boys. Tonight is Aunt Sabrina’s big night. Let’s go sit down and give her some space.” My mother opened her mouth, looking as though she wanted to say something to me. I just smiled at her, took my boys by the hands, and walked toward our assigned table. Almost the second Declan sat down next to me, a venture capitalist swooped in to talk mergers. I was annoyed, and the noise of the room was giving me a headache. Declan noticed. He leaned close to my ear. “I need to step away for a moment.” I rested my elbow on the linen tablecloth and made a dismissive shooing motion with my hand under the table. Declan caught my hand beneath the linen. He squeezed my fingertips tightly for three seconds, then let go and walked away. The moment he was gone, my youngest son’s hand shot out and grabbed mine. He looked at his older brother, a triumphant grin on his face. “I got Mom’s hand first!” I looked over at Benedict. His little eyebrows were pulled tightly together. “Do you want to hold a hand too, Benedict?” I asked softly. He turned his face away, looking fiercely at the centerpiece. “No.” But a second later, the corners of his mouth betrayed him, pressing into a tiny, secret smile. I laughed quietly, reached across the table, and gently wrapped my fingers around his. “That’s a shame,” I teased. “Because Mommy really wanted to hold your hand.” Benedict’s hand went stiff for a second, and the tips of his ears burned a bright, glowing pink. I drank three glasses of sparkling water before Declan finally returned to the table. He had barely sat down and spoken two words to me when his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and a subtle frown deepened the lines around his mouth. I was just about to ask who it was when the Feed lit up with frantic energy: [Is it the True Daughter calling?] [Omg, when did they exchange numbers?!] Driven by the phantom text, the words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Who is it?” He looked at me. “Sabrina.” That invisible string inside my chest pulled taut, sharp as a razor. But I kept my face smooth, perfectly bored. “Oh? And how exactly did you get her number?”

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The package room in the lobby of our corporate headquarters was dead empty. It was only then that my supervisor—who had just returned from a business trip—finally remembered the existence of the employee whose phone number he had blocked. When I picked up the office line, his voice was frantic, a man whose world was actively catching fire. He demanded to know where the five cases of premium liquor were for tonight’s executive dinner—the one meant to seal a ten-million-dollar contract. He practically screamed into the receiver, accusing me of hiding the shipment. The irony was thick enough to choke on. This whole disaster had started exactly three days ago. Claiming his corporate cards were maxed out, he had ordered me to front nearly ten thousand dollars of my own money to purchase five cases of reserve vintage Scotch and a custom corporate embosser. He told me it was a life-or-death emergency for a signing event the following week. I had bitten my lip, drained my savings, and paid for it. The next morning, when I bumped into him in the breakroom, he brushed me off, promising to authorize the reimbursement by the end of the day. The day after that, he claimed he was dizzy from back-to-back meetings. Just wait one more day, Paige, he had said. On the third day, he crossed the line. He left on a business trip without a word, ignored all my messages, and sent my calls straight to voicemail. So, sitting in the stairwell with the cold, automated tone of a blocked call ringing in my ear, I had made a singular, split-second decision. I opened the shipping app, intercepted the packages, and canceled the entire order. 1 “Paige, are you allergic to your notifications?” The sharp rap of knuckles against my desk startled me. I pulled my eyes away from the architectural blueprints scattered across my workspace and looked up. Bradley, my direct supervisor, was staring down at me. His tone was perfectly mild, his face arranged into a mask of corporate friendliness, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. For the past half hour, the messaging icon on my monitor had been flashing relentlessly. I had ignored it, knowing from a year of bitter experience that Bradley reaching out directly never meant anything good. I had simply kept my head down, burying myself deeper into the CAD files. I just hadn’t expected him to actually walk out of his glass-walled sanctuary to confront me. Without waiting for an invitation, he leaned over my shoulder, the overpowering scent of his designer cologne invading my space. He took my mouse, jiggling it to wake the screen, and clicked open the chat window I had been so desperately trying to ignore. “I need you to cover this invoice for me, Paige,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s all stuff for the big signing next week. My limits are totally frozen right now.” He said it with such breathtaking entitlement. If he had known my passcode, I’m half-convinced he would have processed the payment himself right then and there. I couldn’t even count how many times we had played this exact game. During my very first week as a junior designer, he had forwarded me a cart containing three boxes of premium binder clips. It was thirty bucks. I was eager to please, terrified of making a bad impression, so I paid it without a second thought. I didn’t realize that in doing so, I had bled in shark-infested waters. A few days later, it was a hundred-dollar order. Mostly random, disparate office supplies. Back then, I had tried to maintain my professional boundaries, offering a polite, tentative refusal. “Brad, does the company actually reimburse us for these kinds of individual orders?” I had asked. “I’m still waiting on the money for those binder clips from last week.” He had frozen, a flash of genuine annoyance crossing his features. “Paige, these are essentials for our department,” he had snapped, his voice carrying just enough for the surrounding desks to hear. “It’s practically pennies. Why are you being so difficult about this? Just fill out an expense report, bring it to accounting, and I’ll sign off on it. Easy.” With that, he had turned on his heel, effectively ending the conversation. As he walked away, I distinctly heard him mutter, “So damn emotional.” I had swallowed my pride, quietly canceled the sweetgreen salad I had scheduled for lunch, and bought a stale sandwich from the lobby vending machine instead. My checking account barely had enough to cover his “pennies.” Yes, the company technically reimbursed us. But the bureaucratic red tape was a nightmare. The money always took weeks, sometimes over a month, to hit my account. Bradley’s demands had only grown more frequent, the amounts steadily climbing, and I was drowning under the weight of it. So today, when I saw his name flashing on my screen, a knot of dread had formed in my stomach. But nothing could have prepared me for the number staring back at me now. Nine thousand, five hundred dollars. I stared at the screen, my vision tunneling. A custom corporate embosser. And… Scotch? Five entire cases of limited-edition, twenty-year reserve Macallan? When I didn’t immediately speak, Bradley sighed, a harsh, impatient sound. “Paige, I told you, this is for the signing next week. You know exactly what’s at stake here. This is a ten-million-dollar contract. If we land this, the bonuses for our department are going to be astronomical. This is a drop in the bucket, and you’ll get it all back through Concur anyway.” A drop in the bucket? I almost laughed out loud. I was a junior employee barely making rent. Nine and a half thousand dollars was everything I had to my name. It was my safety net. It was my mother’s medical fund. Bradley stamped his foot, an ugly flash of panic in his eyes. “Look, I just need you to float it! If you can’t wait for the corporate reimbursement cycle, I will personally wire you the cash tomorrow morning. Do you want me to pause the entire workflow and have the whole floor pitch in like a bake sale?” It was rare to hear actual desperation in his voice. We were in the eleventh hour of a massive push, and the tension on the floor was palpable. A few of my colleagues, exhausted and running on fumes, looked up from their monitors. “Just do it, Paige. Don’t be the bottleneck,” Kevin, a senior architect, muttered loudly, shooting me a glare. A murmur of agreement rippled through the pod. Surrounded by the heavy, judgmental stares of my team, and looking at Bradley’s dead-serious expression, the fight drained out of me. My hands shook as I picked up my phone. I double-clicked the side button. FaceID authenticated. Payment Successful. The moment the green checkmark appeared, Bradley practically sprinted back to his office. But as I watched his retreating back, a cold, sickening weight settled deep in my bones. 2 I survived the next workday entirely on nervous adrenaline. I sat rigidly at my desk, my eyes darting toward Bradley’s office every few minutes. He never showed up. His lights remained off, the glass doors securely shut. Just as the panic began to curdle in my throat, just as I was drafting a carefully worded text to demand my money, I bumped into him by the espresso machine in the breakroom. Before I could even open my mouth, he went on the offensive. “Hey, Paige, I’m glad I caught you,” he said smoothly, pouring a double shot. “My schedule is completely insane today. I have to head to corporate HQ in twenty minutes, and I won’t have time to deal with the bank. My transfer limit is still locked up.” He offered me a reassuring, easy smile. “Don’t stress. I’ll come find you first thing tomorrow, and I’ll wire you the funds directly. I promise.” He had brought it up first. He looked me in the eye and swore he’d handle it. It was just enough to quiet the screaming alarm bells in my head. I forced myself to breathe, walked back to my desk, and threw myself into my drafts. But Thursday came and went, and Bradley never approached my desk. His office door was wide open. I saw him pacing, taking calls, laughing with the senior partners. Several times, we made direct eye contact through the glass. Every time, his gaze slid right past me, frictionless, as if I were part of the drywall. By 5:00 PM, the nausea was unbearable. I walked up to his door and knocked twice. “Brad, about that invoice—” He rubbed his temples, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was carrying the weight of the free world on his shoulders. He let out a long, theatrical sigh and waved a hand at me. “I’ve been in meetings for eight hours, Paige. I can barely see straight. We’ll handle it tomorrow.” He looked so deeply inconvenienced by my existence that I just backed away. Tomorrow is Friday, I told myself. I will not leave this building without that money. I needed it. Desperately. Because Friday night, right after work, I had an appointment with the billing department at my mother’s oncology ward to settle her monthly copays. But when I arrived at the office on Friday morning, Bradley’s office was dark. His door was locked. I asked around, trying to keep my voice casual, only to have Kevin casually mention that Bradley was out of town. Not a sudden emergency. A scheduled, multi-day trip he had known about all week. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A sterile, automated text from the hospital reminding me of my outstanding balance. Something inside me snapped. I retreated to the quiet hum of the fire stairwell and opened my messages. I typed out a firm, urgent demand for the transfer. I waited ten minutes. Sent another. Over the next hour, I sent ten messages. Nothing. Total silence. The read receipts were glaring. At one point, the little typing bubbles appeared, dancing on the screen for three agonizing minutes, only to vanish into nothingness. My legendary patience evaporated. I hit the call button. It rang through the full cycle. Voicemail. Fine. I can do this all day. I hit redial. I was prepared to blow up his phone until the sheer annoyance forced him to answer. But on the third try, there was no ringing. Just a sharp, single beep, followed immediately by the automated operator. The number you have reached is unavailable… I lowered the phone. The air in the stairwell suddenly felt freezing. He had blocked me. I sank down onto the concrete steps, hugging my knees to my chest. My mind raced, piecing together the breadcrumbs I had been too naive, or too intimidated, to see. Did top-tier liquor even qualify for standard corporate reimbursement? Looking back at the months of random receipts, the pattern was glaringly obvious. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was expensing items that blatantly violated company policy, using me as a buffer, an untraceable middleman. When it was twenty bucks here, fifty bucks there, I had swallowed it. Even when it hit a few hundred, and he held my upcoming performance review over my head, I wrote it off as the unspoken cost of surviving in a cutthroat firm. But this was nearly ten thousand dollars. My lifeline. I stared at the red exclamation point next to my final, undelivered text message. The panic was gone, replaced by something much colder. Much sharper. 3 I opened the shipping app. The order status read: In Transit – Arriving at Local Sorting Facility. Because it was high-value freight, it required multiple checkpoints and signatures. I hit the customer service icon, bypassed the chatbot, and got a live agent on the phone. I explained there was a critical error with the billing and requested an immediate, hard intercept on the shipment. Since the pallets hadn’t yet been loaded onto the local delivery trucks, the intercept was approved. Twenty minutes later, my phone vibrated in my palm. Refund processed. $9,500.00 has been credited to your account. I stared at the numbers. The relief was so intense my knees went weak. I felt like I could finally draw a full breath into my lungs. When I pushed open the heavy stairwell door and walked back onto the floor, I felt invincible. I tore through my remaining revisions with a kind of manic clarity, finishing my entire weekly workload an hour before the clock hit five. Leaning back in my ergonomic chair, I let the quiet satisfaction wash over me. I should have drawn this boundary months ago. But late was better than never. By the time I packed my bag, there were still zero notifications from Bradley. With my bank account safely restored, I decided we deserved a victory. On the way to the hospital, I stopped at an upscale grocer. I bought a crate of Rainier cherries—the obscenely expensive ones—and a pound of thick-cut, artisan roast beef. That night, sitting in the quiet, sterile glow of my mother’s hospital room, we ate like queens. The entire weekend passed in absolute bliss. Bradley didn’t try to reach me. Monday and Tuesday at the office were a revelation. Without him prowling the aisles, no one was timing our bathroom breaks. No one was breathing down our necks, demanding performative overtime just to show “hustle.” The air in the studio literally felt lighter. But the peace shattered on Wednesday evening. I was pulling my coat off the back of my chair when my cell rang. A frantic, blocked number. I answered, and Bradley’s voice exploded through the speaker. “Paige! Where the hell are you? I’m standing downstairs at the loading dock!” He was breathing heavily, panic bleeding into every syllable. “Where did you stash the delivery? The executive dinner starts in three hours!” I actually had to admire the sheer audacity of the man. When I needed my money to keep my mother in care, he played dumb and blocked my number. But now that he was staring down the barrel of a ruined VIP event, I was suddenly his best friend. I let out a soft, dry laugh. “What delivery?” His voice spiked an octave. “The order from last week! The Scotch! The tracking said it shipped days ago. Did the freight guy not call you?” I let a beat of total silence hang on the line. Then, I spoke, keeping my voice perfectly, terribly calm. “Oh, that. I canceled the order.” The silence on his end was absolute. For three long seconds, I wondered if he had dropped his phone. Then, a sound clawed out of his throat—half-gasp, half-shriek. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” “I don’t know what to tell you, Brad—” “I told you exactly what that was for!” he screamed. Behind him, I could hear the muted chaos of a hotel lobby. “This is a ten-million-dollar deal! Ten million! The entire executive board is going to be there!” He tried to say something else, but a voice in the background cut him off, urgently telling him they needed to leave. He didn’t even hang up. I just listened to the rustle of fabric as someone dragged him away. By the time I unlocked my apartment door, my screen was drowning in notifications. Paige, I don’t care if you have to go to every high-end liquor store in the tri-state area. Find me twenty-year-old reserve right now and bring it to this address! Forget five cases. Bring one. Just bring me two bottles! God damn it, answer me! When I left him on read, the desperation curdled into pure venom. The texts dissolved into an unhinged string of profanity. I scrolled to the very bottom. The final message sat there, heavy and menacing: You killed the project. Enjoy getting sued by corporate, you stupid bitch. 4 I stared at the chaotic mix of voice memos and unhinged texts. Even through the screen, I could vividly picture him unraveling in real-time. His later messages barely even made sense, riddled with typos and frantic autocorrects. I had no idea what kind of disaster was unfolding in that private dining room, but the fallout hit our department’s group chat like a bomb. Kevin was the first to strike, tagging me directly in the main channel. Kevin: What the hell is wrong with you, Paige? You just tanked months of everyone’s hard work because you wanted to throw a tantrum? Kevin was Bradley’s golden boy. I imagined Bradley had just called him, weeping in a bathroom stall somewhere, spinning a wild narrative of my betrayal. Then Lauren, another senior associate, chimed in. Lauren: Wait, the deal fell through? How is that even possible? Kevin took the opening and ran with it, painting a picture of a catastrophic dinner ruined entirely by my insubordination. He made it perfectly clear: if I hadn’t gone rogue, the ink on that ten-million-dollar contract would be drying right now. No one else in the chat said a word. They were either too terrified to intervene or quietly enjoying the bloodshed. I locked my phone and went to sleep. The next morning, I walked into the office exactly at 8:55 AM. The moment my foot crossed the threshold, the low hum of office chatter vanished. The silence was deafening. Everyone was staring at me. Kevin and Lauren didn’t even try to hide their disgust, looking at me like I had tracked dog shit onto their carpets. I considered defending myself, but standing in the middle of the floor screaming about expense fraud felt a little unhinged. So, I walked to my desk, sat down, and opened AutoCAD. My utter lack of visible guilt pushed Kevin over the edge. He stormed across the aisle, slammed his hands down on my desk, and swept a stack of my printed schematics onto the floor. “How do you even have the nerve to show your face here?” he hissed. I looked up at him, my expression blank. “What exactly did I do, Kevin?” His face flushed a dark, furious red. “You sabotaged the executive dinner! Because of you, the clients walked. All of our late nights, all of our overtime—wiped out because you wanted to be petty!” He was trembling with rage. For a second, he raised a hand, looking like he might actually take a swing at me. A few people gasped, but no one stepped in to pull him back. Before things could escalate, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air. “Who is Paige?” Kevin froze. Standing in the doorway was Victor Caldwell, the Managing Director from corporate HQ. His face was carved out of granite, and his tone was absolute zero. The entire floor pointed at me in terrified unison. Kevin practically shoved me forward, stepping back with a smug, vindictive smirk, eager to watch my execution. I followed Mr. Caldwell into the main conference room. The moment I stepped inside, I saw Bradley. He looked awful—sweaty, pale, and desperate. The second he saw me, he pointed a trembling finger. “That’s her! That’s the one!” he practically yelled, turning to the panel of executives seated at the table. “I laid everything out for her perfectly last week. I sourced the vendor, I approved the vintage, all she had to do was process the payment. And she deliberately canceled the order behind my back!” He was hyperventilating, entirely off script. “The whole floor can back me up! I streamlined the entire logistical process for her. What kind of psychopath does something like this? Ask anyone out there—they all know she’s the reason we lost the client!” Bradley was a cornered animal, using volume to mask his terror. The executives at the table—four very expensive suits from headquarters—stared at me with cold, open hostility. The collective weight of their glares was meant to crush me. Standing alone in the center of that room, I felt physically small. Bradley noticed my rigid posture. A tiny, triumphant sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Paige, your actions have resulted in catastrophic consequences for this firm.” It was Mr. Caldwell who spoke, sitting at the head of the table. He didn’t ask for my side of the story. He delivered the verdict as a statement of fact. “This was a ten-million-dollar acquisition,” Caldwell continued, his voice echoing off the glass walls. “A junior employee does not have the authority, nor the capacity, to make decisions of this magnitude.” Every word was a nail in my coffin. It wasn’t my job. It was never my responsibility. But Bradley had spun a brilliant, desperate lie, turning me into a rogue employee who had maliciously destroyed a corporate merger. “Given the severity of your interference, we are preparing to take immediate legal action against you for damages.” It was over. They had made up their minds before I even walked in the door. Caldwell closed his folder and stood up, signaling the end of the tribunal. Bradley exhaled, a long, shuddering breath of relief, and hurried to open the door for the executives. But as Caldwell reached for the handle, I found my voice. I had been quiet my whole life. I hated conflict. I hated being perceived. But I looked at Bradley’s smug face, and a strange, cold fire lit up in my chest. “Mr. Caldwell,” I said, my voice ringing out, clear and steady. Everyone stopped. “I just have one question. For a dinner with two client representatives… did you really need thirty bottles of vintage Scotch?”

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When the Vice President kicked my office door open, I was clutching an X-Acto knife, my hands shaking uncontrollably. He shoved his phone inches from my face. In the grainy security footage, a figure was rifling through files in the server room. The silhouette, the posture, the tan trench coat—it was unmistakably me. “You backstabbing bitch! We caught you red-handed on camera. Get ready to rot in a cell!” His roar hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I stared at the screen, watching my “ghost” skulk around, and then, inexplicably, I started to laugh. A sharp, jagged sound that cut through the tension. So, for the last half hour, I’d supposedly been playing corporate spy. That meant the person who had just wired $200 million of the firm’s capital into a fraudulent, frozen account definitely wasn’t me. The X-Acto knife hit the floor with a metallic clatter. My heart, which had been lodged in my throat for the last ten minutes, finally dropped back into my chest. The notification for the frozen funds was still flashing on my monitor, but suddenly, that didn’t seem like my problem anymore. 1 Bill Henderson looked at the knife on the floor and let out a cold, jagged laugh. “What? Scared now?” “If you’re smart, you’ll make this easy for both of us.” He reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a formal memo, slamming it onto my desk. The header was bold and unforgiving: Termination of Employment – Chief Financial Officer, Summer Beckett. The grounds for firing were laid out in black and white: Suspected theft of core trade secrets, gross violation of non-disclosure agreements, and breach of conduct. He kept one hand pressed firmly on the document while the other signaled toward the hallway. Two security guards filed in, flanking my desk like pillars of stone. “Hand over the corporate keys and your digital signature token,” Bill said, curling his fingers in a ‘give it here’ gesture. A crowd had already gathered at the door. People who, just this morning, were calling me “Ms. Beckett” with practiced smiles were now wearing masks of disgust. “I knew something was off with her,” someone whispered loud enough for me to hear. “Always staying until midnight. Now we know what she was actually doing.” “No wonder we lost that last bidding war. We had a mole in the C-suite.” “She deserves whatever’s coming to her.” I ignored them. My eyes were fixed on the timestamp of the security still on Bill’s phone. 14:15. The figure in the tan trench coat—my tan trench coat—had slipped into the server room then. I thought back to 14:10. Maya, Bill’s niece who was currently “interning” in the marketing department, had walked into my office with two lattes. “Summer, I thought you could use a caffeine boost,” she’d said, her voice sweet and syrupy. Then, she “tripped.” An entire cup of scorching latte drenched the trench coat I had draped over the back of my chair. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Summer, don’t be mad—let me take it to the dry cleaner’s downstairs right now!” She’d scooped up the coat and ran out before I could even process the mess. At the time, I thought she was just a clumsy, well-meaning kid. Now I realized that five minutes later, that coat was on someone else’s back. And while that “someone” was in the server room from 14:15 to 14:25, I was sitting right here at my desk, authorizing a wire transfer of $200 million into a dead end. Bill had spent weeks digging a grave to bury me in. He just didn’t realize that the ground beneath us had already opened up into a much deeper abyss. That $200 million? That was the company’s lifeline. We’d liquidated assets and mortgaged the factory to get that bridge funding from our VCs. Now, it was sitting in a court-ordered frozen account. To get it back through legal channels would take eighteen months, minimum. The company had two months of runway, tops. According to the clawback clauses and the fiduciary responsibility agreement I’d signed, every cent of that loss would be pinned on me. My house, my savings, the fund I’d spent three years building for my mother’s dialysis—all of it would be gone. But by trying to frame me for a petty theft at the exact moment the money vanished, Bill hadn’t pushed me into the pit. He had accidentally built a wall between me and the crime. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Bill saw the flicker in my eyes and mistook it for surrender. “Finally realized there’s no way out, haven’t you?” He slowly pulled another stack of papers from his bag. 2 Two documents sat on my desk now. The first was a Voluntary Waiver of All Stock Options and Performance Bonuses. The second was a Confession of Trade Secret Theft. It was written with clinical coldness: I, Summer Beckett, admit that between 14:15 and 14:25 today, I left my workstation and entered the core server room to steal confidential bidding documents. Bill slid a pen toward me. He sighed, putting on his best “disappointed mentor” face. “Summer, I watched you climb the ladder from a junior accountant. Honestly, it breaks my heart to see it end like this.” He shook his head, the picture of grief. “But you did this. If I don’t handle this, how do I explain it to the Board? How do I look at the hundred employees whose livelihoods you put at risk?” He was a phenomenal actor. If I didn’t know for a fact that he was the reason we lost the bidding war last month, I might have even felt a twinge of guilt. “Look, Summer,” he leaned in, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “I know how much your mom’s hospital bills are. You go to prison, who’s going to take care of her? They’ll pull her off that machine within three days.” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of the desk. He straightened up, resuming his role as the benevolent leader. He patted my shoulder in front of everyone. “Sign the papers, walk away quietly, and I’ll convince the CEO not to call the police. We’ll call it a wash—your years of service in exchange for your freedom. I’ll even personally cut you a check for $5,000 to help with your mother’s transition.” A murmur of admiration went through the crowd in the hallway. “Bill is being way too generous.” “Anyone else would’ve had her in handcuffs by now.” “She’s lucky she has a boss like him.” I didn’t say a word. I let the silence stretch for a few agonizing seconds until Bill tipped his head toward the door. “Luke, come in here.” My heart skipped a beat. Luke. My cousin. Three years ago, I’d found him rotting in a dive bar in our hometown. No degree, no skills, no future. I brought him to the city, paid his rent, and got him a job in the IT department. When he needed $10,000 for his wedding because his fiancée’s family was threatening to call it off, I took it out of my mother’s medical fund and handed it to him. He’d hugged me with tears in his eyes and told me I was the only real family he had. Now, Luke stood behind Bill, chest out, chin up. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Summer, just admit it,” he said, his voice forced. “Don’t make me choose between my family and the truth.” He took a deep breath, addressing the room. “I saw her. At 2:10 PM, she locked her screen and headed toward the server room. Her desk was empty for at least fifteen minutes.” The office went graveyard quiet. Then the whispers turned into a dull roar. “Even her own cousin can’t lie for her!” “It’s over!” “Just sign the damn papers!” Luke finished his speech and moved half a step closer to Bill’s side. He looked like a dog waiting for a treat after successfully fetching a kill. I stared at him for a long time. Long enough for him to start fidgeting with his fingers. Then, I looked down. Fine. Every debt of blood and gratitude we had? It was settled today. 3 “I won’t admit to something I didn’t do!” I screamed. “I was at my desk the entire time! I was processing wires! I never left!” My eyes were red, my body shaking. I played the part perfectly: a woman pushed into a corner by a lie, hysterical and desperate. It was exactly what they wanted to see. Bill actually chuckled. “Still stubborn? We have you on video. We have an eyewitness. How are you going to argue with that?” I didn’t answer him with words. I spun around and ripped the hardware security key—the U-key—out of my computer’s USB port. “This!” I held it up like a holy relic. “The high-value transfer system requires this physical key to operate. Every single payment requires a fingerprint confirmation on this device! It has biometric logs! It records the exact second of every interaction!” I was hyperventilating now. “This key will prove that between 2:15 and 2:25 PM, the finger pressed against this sensor belonged to me, Summer Beckett! I was here! I couldn’t have been in the server room!” Before they could react, I grabbed a thick stack of printed authorization forms from my desk and clutched them to my chest. “And these! Every one of these wire approvals has my physical signature and the corporate seal from ten minutes ago! The ink is still wet! A forensics test could prove exactly when these were signed!” “Call the police!” I shrieked. “Call the FBI! Let them check the fingerprints on the U-key! Let them check the timestamps on these papers! See what happens when you try to frame me!” I was a mess. A pathetic, drowning rat. But inside, I was cold. I knew those logs would prove I was at my desk. But they would also prove that I was the one who sent the $200 million into the void. The U-key and the papers weren’t my lifelines. They were the poison I was feeding to Bill. I knew that the more I acted like these were my “proof of innocence,” the more Bill would fear them. Because if the authorities got involved and verified my prints, not only would his body-double-in-a-trench-coat trick fail, but his entire narrative would collapse. He couldn’t let that evidence stay in this office. Sure enough, Bill’s smile vanished. His eyes turned dark and predatory. He looked at the U-key in my hand, then at the papers I was “protecting.” He looked at Luke and gave a slight jerk of his head. “Since Ms. Beckett has clearly lost her mind, help her clean up her desk. We wouldn’t want her hurting herself.” 4 Luke didn’t hesitate. He stepped toward me with a grim sense of purpose. “Summer, just let it go,” he said, reaching for the U-key. I scrambled back, but he was stronger. He pried my fingers open and snatched the small black device. “No! Please! That’s the only thing that proves I was here!” I screamed, struggling against him. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar. Luke held the U-key and looked at Bill. Bill gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. Then, Luke dropped the U-key on the hardwood floor. He lifted his heavy boot and slammed it down. Crackle. The internal chip snapped. The plastic casing shattered into a dozen pieces. Components scattered across the floor like digital dust. I collapsed into my chair, staring at the wreckage. My face was a mask of pure despair. But in my head, I was counting the wins. He didn’t just destroy my “innocence.” He destroyed the only evidence that could link me to the $200 million crime.

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My sister officially recognized a bionic experiment as her brother in front of a swarm of flashing cameras, declaring she would leave her entire estate to him. She did it for one reason: to flush me out of hiding. She had already filed a lawsuit against me over a heart transplant, claiming I’d defrauded her by swapping her ten-million-dollar mechanical heart for a defective biological one. But when the court date arrived, I was a no-show. Desperate and furious, she tracked down my last known place of employment—a sprawling, grease-stained graveyard of a factory on the industrial outskirts of the city. She grabbed the first person she saw and demanded to know where I was. the floor manager looked at her, his face a mask of bewilderment. “You mean Emmett? Lady, Emmett died three years ago. Sudden cardiac arrest.” He paused, a grimace flickering across his features. “It was a mess. He got pulled right into the intake of one of the heavy presses. There wasn’t enough left of him to bury.” All of this happened in the seventh year since I had “exchanged” hearts with my sister’s prized bionic project. For seven years, the experiments had been failing due to rejection issues. And for seven years, my sister had laid every ounce of blame at my feet, cursing me for “hiding” the fact that my own heart was diseased from the start. 1 Vicky froze for a split second, then waved her hand dismissively, her face twisting into a mask of impatient scorn. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least make it logical,” she snapped. “I personally designed that mechanical heart. With regular maintenance and charging, it’s built to beat for over a hundred years. It doesn’t just ‘stop.’” She let out a sharp, cold laugh, her eyes sharp with disbelief. “Emmett is such a drama queen. Faking a job in a dump like this to play the victim is one thing, but hiring an actor to tell me he’s dead? That’s low, even for him.” The manager shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his grease-stained hands together. “Ma’am, I’m not joking. Emmett is gone. I don’t know what he was to you—did the kid owe you money or something?” He hesitated, then added in a hushed tone, “A few debt collectors came by a while back, looking to squeeze him for cash. But once they saw the police report, even they had to give it up.” Vicky’s brow furrowed when she heard him call me a “kid,” but the second half of his sentence set her temper ablaze. “What exactly are you implying? That he was into loan sharks?” Her face darkened instantly. “I wired him nearly a million dollars a month for living expenses. How could he possibly burn through that and end up owing collectors?!” She spun around, shouting at the empty, echoing rafters of the factory. “Emmett! Get out here right now! Did you pick up some disgusting habit? Is that why you’re hiding? A son of the Stanley family, hunted for debts—don’t you have any shame?” When only the rhythmic clanking of machinery answered her, she lunged forward, grabbing the manager by his collar. Her eyes were feral. “Stop the act. I’m his sister. Tell him to get out here this second!” “The heart he gave Sam is failing. It’s causing Sam constant pain. He needs to answer for what he did in court, right now!” The manager gasped for air, his face turning a mottled purple. “Ma’am… please… let go… I’m telling you the truth. Emmett is dead!” Vicky shoved him away with a disgusted grunt. “Enough. Take me to where he stayed. I want to see exactly how long he thinks he can keep this charade up.” Resigned, the manager led her deeper into the bowels of the plant. They moved past deafening workstations and rows of dilapidated employee housing that looked more like shipping containers than homes. Vicky held a silk handkerchief to her nose, her eyes scanning the squalor with elitist disdain. “Hiding in a hole like this just to avoid a deposition… you’ve really grown a spine since I last saw you, Emmett,” she muttered under her breath. Finally, they stopped near a literal heap of scrap metal and refuse. The manager pointed to a few dust-covered cardboard boxes tucked into a corner. “There. That’s everything he left behind. Nobody ever came to claim it, so we just piled it here.” Inside the boxes were a few faded t-shirts, a pair of sneakers with soles peeling off like dead skin, and some rusted tin lunchboxes. Vicky looked at my meager belongings, a smirk playing on her lips. “The commitment to the bit is impressive. You even got the props right.” She kicked one of the boxes over. “Do you really take me for a fool? As a Stanley, he had insurance on every hair on his head by the time he was five. You expect me to believe he’d touch this trash?” The old clothes spilled into the dirt. A sneaker rolled into a muddy puddle. A lunchbox clattered across the concrete, its lid popping open to reveal a few crawling beetles. Vicky’s jaw tightened. “Emmett, if you don’t show yourself in the next ten seconds, don’t bother calling me your sister ever again!” She screamed into the void, but the only response was the indifferent roar of the machines. Just then, a gust of wind swirled through the alleyway, carrying the faint, sweet scent of sandalwood incense. Vicky paused, her nostrils flaring. She followed the scent, her heels clicking sharply against the cracked pavement, until she reached a tiny, sagging shack behind the dormitories. She pushed the door open. The space was barely six feet wide. There was a cot made of plywood and a scarred wooden desk. On the desk sat a black-and-white photograph in a simple frame. In the picture, a young man was smiling—a peaceful, gentle expression I hadn’t worn in years. It was my funeral portrait. 2 Vicky stared at the photo, her gaze turning icy. She snatched the frame and slammed it onto the floor with a violent crash. “Are you serious, Emmett? This is pathetic. You screw up, you give Sam a defective heart, and now you stage this morbid little theater piece to guilt-trip me?” She spat the words out. “Photoshopping your own memorial photo? Do you have any idea how cursed that is?” No one answered. The flame of the small prayer candle on the desk flickered in the draft. Infuriated by the silence, Vicky stomped on the frame. The glass shattered into a thousand glittering diamonds, and the photo slid out. She leaned down, picked up the black-and-white image with a look of pure loathing, and tossed it into the small brass charcoal burner nearby. The paper caught instantly. The edges curled and blackened, the fire licking across the bridge of my nose, erasing my smile. Suddenly, there was a noise behind her. Vicky spun around, a cold, triumphant smirk forming. “So, you finally found your conscience. Step out.” The door burst open. An elderly woman, white-haired and clutching a heavy kitchen cleaver, charged in. She looked like a cornered animal. “You heartless monster! How dare you come back here for my Emmett!” The blade flashed. Vicky ducked, her reflexes sharp. she grabbed the old woman’s wrist and twisted, sending the cleaver clattering to the floor. “Who the hell are you? Do you have any idea who I am?” Vicky barked. I drifted in the air above them, frantic, my spirit vibrating with a useless energy. Mrs. Henderson! Please! Stop! Don’t provoke her! But they couldn’t hear me. Vicky shoved the old woman away, looking down at her with chilling arrogance. “You’re the one who’s been hiding him, aren’t you, you old bat?” She brushed the dust off her sleeve, her eyes dripping with contempt. “Tell him to come out and face the music. If he leaves for the courthouse now, I might consider dropping the fraud charges for this little ‘death’ stunt.” Mrs. Henderson stumbled, catching herself against the wall. Her eyes were bloodshot, weeping with a rage so deep it looked like grief. “How can you be this cruel? Emmett has been dead for seven years! You stole his heart, and now you want to drag his ghost into a courtroom for the sake of that… that thing you built?” Vicky’s face went pale with anger. “Stop saying he’s dead. None of you are allowed to say that.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “And let’s get one thing straight. He gave that heart willingly. He donated a sub-standard organ on purpose, leaving Sam in agony for years. He’s a saboteur, and he’s going to pay.” Mrs. Henderson trembled so hard her teeth chattered. She reached for the cleaver again. Vicky kicked it across the room and then, without a hint of hesitation, landed a sharp kick to the old woman’s ribs. Mrs. Henderson collapsed, groaning in pain. “Grandma! Grandma, I’m coming!” A younger woman burst through the door. Her eyes were wide and vacant, her movements uncoordinated. She threw herself over Mrs. Henderson, shielding her. Then, like a wild thing, she lunged at Vicky, sinking her teeth into Vicky’s forearm. “Get away from Grandma! Leave Emmett alone! Bad person! Hurting Emmett!” Vicky let out a cry of pain and fury. She grabbed the woman by her hair, yanking her back. The woman fought, her teeth locked tight until Vicky delivered a stinging slap across her face. The girl fell to the floor, stunned and silent. I screamed, diving toward them, trying to catch Vicky’s hand, but my fingers passed through her like smoke. Stop it! Don’t hurt Lila! Please, Vicky, stop! Vicky looked down at the girl, a cruel chuckle escaping her throat. “Oh, I see. She’s a half-wit.” She surveyed the cramped, miserable shack one last time, her eyes landing on the dazed girl. “Emmett… in a few years, you’ve managed to find yourself a new sister. A broken, useless one. Are you really that desperate for a family?” When I still didn’t appear, she shouted at the walls. “I know you’re watching! If you care about this freak and this old hag, then you’d better show yourself, or things are about to get very ugly.” Two of Vicky’s security guards stepped into the room. At her nod, they began to kick and punch the two women on the floor. Lila didn’t say a word; she just curled her body around Mrs. Henderson, taking every blow. Mrs. Henderson looked up, her face a mask of bloody defiance. “You’re a fool…” she wheezed, the words forced through gritted teeth. “My poor, sweet Emmett… how did he end up with a monster like you for a sister?” Vicky’s face turned livid. “Hit them harder! What am I paying you for?” The guards intensified their assault. Lila looked up from the floor, her eyes fixed on the empty air where I was floating. A strange, knowing look crossed her face. “Don’t worry, Emmett,” she whispered, blood trickling from her lip. “He’s gone to the other world. You’ll never find him. Not in a thousand years.” Vicky sneered. She knelt down, gripping Lila’s chin in a painful hold. “Since you’re so convinced he’s dead, where’s the body?” “If he’s dead, show me the corpse!” 3 Mrs. Henderson’s clouded eyes seemed to bleed with sorrow. “He was… he was caught in the machine! He was torn apart… there was nothing left to bury!” Vicky stood up, brushing her hands together as if she’d just finished a chore. “A convenient excuse. No body, no death. You’re all just very dedicated actors in his little play.” She turned her back on them, bored. Just then, her phone chimed. A soft, melodic voice came through the speaker—a voice that sounded exactly like mine used to, but with an artificial sweetness that made my skin crawl. “Vicky? Is Emmett still refusing to come home? My chest… it hurts so much today. I think the heart is stopping.” The transformation in Vicky was instant. Her face softened into a mask of frantic maternal worry. “Sam, don’t be scared. I’m coming back right now. Just hold on.” She hurried toward the door, pausing only to bark an order at her guards. “Watch them. Don’t let them leave this property.” I followed her as she sped back to her sprawling glass-and-steel mansion. Sam was sitting on a designer velvet sofa, looking pale and fragile. When Vicky walked in, his eyes—perfectly calibrated bionic lenses—welled with tears. “Did you find him?” he asked, his voice trembling. Vicky shook her head, her heart breaking for the machine. Sam began to weep. The tears were chemically identical to human salt water, leaking from his mechanical ducts. “I gave Emmett my hundred-year heart so he could live,” Sam sobbed, playing the martyr. “And he gave me this… this broken thing on purpose. I don’t know what I did wrong, Vicky. Why does he hate me?” Vicky pulled him into a hug, her voice thick with guilt. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him, even if I have to scour the earth. He’s the one who betrayed us. I’ll make him get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness.” I stood beside them, watching the display with a hollow, bitter irony. My heart had been perfectly fine. I remembered the day Sam said he “wanted to feel the warmth of a human pulse.” Vicky hadn’t asked me; she had commanded me. I was the “defective” biological brother, and Sam was the “perfected” version. I was conscious when they took it. I watched, paralyzed by anesthesia, as my own heart was lifted from my chest and placed into the cold, titanium cavity of a machine. I hadn’t sabotaged anything. Vicky’s voice snapped me back to the present. She was pacing, her frustration mounting. “He even convinced those people to lie for him. Saying the mechanical heart was ‘scrapped.’ I wired him a fortune every month to keep it charged, and he has the nerve to say it failed?” Her anger flared again. “The manager said he was in debt. He probably spent all that money on that ‘sister’ of his. This time, I’m not just suing him—I’m going to make sure he pays back every cent of that allowance.” Sam leaned his head on her shoulder, a flicker of something cold and calculating passing through his eyes. “You were so good to him, Vicky. How could he choose them over you?” The phone rang again. It was the guard at the factory. “Ma’am, the two women… they’re doing something strange.” Vicky stood up abruptly. “Finally. Emmett is showing himself, isn’t he?” I followed her back to the factory. In the distance, I saw them. Mrs. Henderson and Lila were on their knees in the dirt, performing a grueling ritual of penance. Every few steps, they bowed until their foreheads hit the stone, leaving smears of blood. Lila held something high above her head, her expression one of pure, holy devotion. The sun caught the object, creating a blinding flash of white light. It was my silver bracelet. The one I’d worn since I was a child. Vicky charged forward, snatching the bracelet from Lila’s hands. But Lila gripped it with surprising strength. “It’s Emmett’s! Not for you! You’re the bad one!” Vicky tugged, her face darkening. She stared into Lila’s vacant eyes. “Emmett, I know you’re lurking somewhere nearby. Are you really going to let this poor girl suffer for you?” 4 Vicky raised her boot and brought it down hard on Lila’s leg. A sickening crack echoed through the alley. Lila screamed, a sound of pure agony, but her fingers remained locked around the silver bracelet. I screamed in the sky, a silent roar of fury. I threw myself at Vicky, trying to shove her, trying to break her balance, but I was nothing but a ripple in the air. Lila’s leg was twisted at a grotesque angle. She looked up at the space where I was floating, her eyes shimmering with tears, but her gaze was strangely direct. It was as if she could finally see me. “Emmett… see? I’m holding it. I didn’t let her take it.” My heart—the spirit of it—broke. In a moment of absolute desperation, I did something forbidden. I ignited half of my soul, burning my spiritual essence to create a surge of energy. I focused everything on that mechanical heart miles away. Just for one second. One pulse. That was enough. A moment later, Vicky’s lead guard checked his tablet. “Ma’am! We just picked up a ping from the mechanical heart’s GPS!” “It’s beating! The signal is coming from right nearby… and it’s moving!” Vicky looked at the red dot on her screen and let out a triumphant laugh. “I knew it. I knew he was faking. Let’s go. I’ve got you now, Emmett.” As she turned to run to her car, Lila’s voice drifted after her. “Emmett… where are you going?” Vicky paused. She looked back and saw Lila staring into the empty air, reaching out with a trembling hand as if trying to grab someone’s sleeve. “Emmett! Emmett! Wait for me!” Vicky’s face twisted in disgust. “Useless freak. Stop playing games.” She walked back and stomped on Lila’s other leg. Another crack. Another scream. I collapsed in the air, my vision blurring. Igniting my soul had drained me of everything. My form was fading, becoming translucent, as a strange, cold vacuum began to pull me away. I don’t know how much time passed before Vicky reached the coordinates. She found herself in a dusty vacant lot where a group of neighborhood kids were kicking something around in the dirt. Her breath hitched. The red dot on her screen was right on top of her. As she approached the children, the dot stopped moving. “Hey!” she shouted. “Give me that!” She grabbed the “ball” from the kids. A light rain began to fall, washing away the grime and mud from the object. Familiar brushed-metal housing emerged. A cold, sickening dread washed over her. She pressed the manual override switch on the side of the heart. This time, there was no pulse. No whirring of gears. Only silence.

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Six years after divorcing Hugh Shaw, I ran into him again at the corporation’s charity gala. The moment our eyes met, shock flashed across Hugh Shaw’s face: “Claire Winston, what are you doing here? You’re not Mrs. Shaw anymore. This isn’t where you belong.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with him and turned to leave, but unexpectedly, he reached out to grab me. “Fine, considering you gave me a son, just stand quietly behind me and no one will give you trouble.” I stepped aside to avoid him and refused flatly: “No, thank you.” But he stared in shock at the child beside me, his voice trembling: “This filthy child—is she my daughter?” I nearly laughed in disbelief. Had he lost his mind? Nora was only three and a half years old. I’d been divorced from him for six years. There was no way she could be his. I pulled Nora behind me, my tone icy: “Hugh Shaw, this is my daughter. She has nothing to do with you!” With that, I grabbed Nora’s hand and turned to leave, but Hugh Shaw blocked my way, his brows furrowed as he looked me over. “Claire Winston, you snuck in here with a child to mooch food and drink. You must have had it rough all these years, haven’t you?” He let out a cold laugh, his gaze falling on Nora with undisguised disgust: “Little beggar, how old are you?” Nora put her hands on her hips, glaring at him indignantly: “I’m three and a half, and I’m not a little beggar!” Beggar? I looked down at my and Nora’s clothes. We’d just been helping disaster victims outside the city. Covered in dust with no time to change, we did look rather disheveled. Hugh Shaw’s expression instantly turned cold. “Nonsense! You lie just like your mother! With your height, how could you possibly be three years old?” I glanced down at Nora. She was indeed much taller and sturdier than children her age. It was all her father’s fault, spoiling her endlessly. I pulled Nora protectively behind me, a frosty look crossing my face: “Hugh Shaw, I’ll say this one more time—Nora is not your child!” But Hugh Shaw acted like he’d heard the world’s funniest joke, scoffing: “Claire Winston, you’re lying again. If she’s not mine, whose could she be? Besides me, who would want a divorced woman?” “Come on, stop pretending. You deliberately snuck into this gala just to see me, didn’t you?” I rolled my eyes. Six years later, and he was still this arrogant. “Get out of my way!” But Hugh Shaw didn’t budge. Instead, he adopted a condescending tone: “Seeing you in such a pitiful state, I can’t help but feel sorry for you. Tell you what—come back home with me and work as a household assistant. Rowena is kind-hearted. She definitely won’t make things difficult for you.” With that, he waved to someone behind him. “Ethan, take your sister away. Find a lounge for her to wait in. Don’t let her embarrass us here and offend the important guests!” Only then did I notice Ethan Shaw standing behind him. The son I’d carried for ten months and nearly died giving birth to. Six years had passed. He’d grown into a handsome young man, but his eyes held a coldness that didn’t match his age. Ethan had a stony expression, his brows furrowed: “I don’t want some little beggar as my sister! My only sister is Chloe!” My grip on Nora’s hand tightened. The Chloe he mentioned must be Rowena’s daughter. Years ago, I’d caught Hugh Shaw and Rowena having an affair. Before I could confront them, Rowena struck first, accusing me of drugging her to ruin her reputation. Hugh Shaw had also blamed me, and even my own biological son Ethan had taken Rowena’s side. Heartbroken and disillusioned, I’d signed the divorce papers on the spot. When I left the Shaw household, Rowena had stroked her belly and told me she was already pregnant with Hugh Shaw’s child. And that day—she’d let me see them together on purpose. Past humiliations and betrayals churned in my heart, my fingers unconsciously digging into my palms. Nora tugged at my clothes, her voice indignant: “Mom, I don’t want this ugly guy as my brother either! He’s nowhere near as good as Asher!” Hearing this, Ethan’s expression darkened further. He sneered: “An ordinary person like that dares to compare himself to me?” Looking at the father and son’s identical faces, my heart gradually turned cold. Fine. I’d just pretend I never had this son. I took Nora’s hand and moved to walk around them when a sweet voice suddenly called from behind: “Claire?”

I turned to see Rowena walking over, holding a little girl dressed in designer children’s clothing. Her gaze swept over me before she covered her face and shrieked: “Claire, it really is you! Why are you dressed like this?” Her deliberately shocked exclamation drew countless stares. Among the crowd, several wealthy women who’d never liked me recognized me first and immediately mocked: “Oh my, isn’t this Mrs. Shaw? Haven’t seen you in years—why do you look so shabby? Oh wait, my mistake—Mr. Shaw divorced you ages ago. No wonder you’ve fallen so far.” Rowena sighed, feigning sympathy: “Claire, let me have the maid bring you some clothes. They’re servant’s clothes, but they’re a hundred times better than what you’re wearing.” Hugh Shaw pulled her into his embrace, his tone gentle: “Rowena, you’re always so kind.” Watching their coordinated performance, I couldn’t help but scoff. Six years later, Rowena was still this fake. I looked up, my tone cold and hard: “No need. I can’t accept anything from you.” The wealthy woman who’d mocked me earlier actually called security: “How can just anyone get in here? Guards, throw these two beggars out! They’re an eyesore!” Several security guards strode forward, their expressions serious as they moved to escort Nora and me away. My eyes flashed coldly as I pulled the invitation from my purse. “I was invited to attend this gala.” The guard took the invitation and verified it, momentarily unsure how to proceed. Rowena stepped forward, feigning surprise: “Claire, you didn’t steal that invitation, did you? After all, six years ago you were kicked out of the Shaw family for stealing. I didn’t expect you to still be at it—even daring to steal an invitation to a charity gala.” My whole body trembled as towering rage surged in my heart. So after I left, they’d actually accused me of being a thief. I stared hard at Rowena, my voice cold: “I steal things? Why don’t you talk about how you steal men?” Rowena’s face instantly darkened, her eyes full of venom. Whispers began circulating around us, and the looks people gave Rowena changed. Just then, a reprimanding voice suddenly rang out: “You wretch! What are you doing back here?” The crowd parted as two people pushed through—my adoptive parents. My adoptive father’s face was livid. He raised his hand to slap me across the face, shouting: “You worthless thing! Stop spouting nonsense and ruining Rowena’s reputation!” Caught off guard, I was struck and turned my head, my ears ringing. “Mom!” Nora rushed to my side, her voice tearful. I forced a weak smile and gently comforted her: “I’m fine.” My adoptive mother immediately stepped forward, pointing at my nose and cursing: “Claire Winston, you ungrateful wretch! Mrs. Shaw’s position was always meant for Rowena. You, a fake who stole what wasn’t yours—what right do you have to slander her here? If we hadn’t adopted you, you would have died on the streets long ago, and yet you dare frame our precious daughter!” Adopted? I laughed bitterly inside. Years ago, when I went out with my birth parents, I accidentally got separated from my family and happened to be found by my adoptive mother, who had just lost her own child. Seeing no one around, she’d hurriedly carried me away and used me as a replacement for her biological daughter. If not for them, I wouldn’t have been separated from my birth parents for so many years. Fortunately, after the divorce, through a series of coincidences, I found my birth parents and finally learned the truth about my origins. I held Nora tightly and snatched the invitation back from the guard, my voice cold: “Get out of my way!” Rowena glanced at the name on the invitation and immediately laughed mockingly: “Claire is really bold—stealing from Pierce Ashford himself.” A busybody leaned in, and after seeing the signature, exclaimed dramatically: “Everyone knows Mr. Ashford is the most valued successor of the board’s senior members, and he heads the corporation’s technology division with countless teams under him. You actually dared to steal from him—you’re done for!” Mocking voices surrounded me, but I remained unusually calm. Meeting everyone’s gaze, I said each word deliberately: “He is my husband.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, the entire hall fell silent for a moment before erupting in roaring laughter. “That’s hilarious! Everyone knows Mr. Ashford married a daughter from a prestigious medical family—beautiful, brilliant, and accomplished. You, an ordinary woman, dare impersonate Mrs. Ashford? You’ve got some nerve!” “Exactly! Look in a mirror—you even have a kid in tow. How dare you mention Mr. Ashford?” Nora’s little face flushed red with anger at the crowd’s mockery. She put her hands on her hips and shouted back: “Don’t talk about my mom like that! My mom is a medical doctor!” Seeing this, the crowd laughed even more brazenly: “Like mother, like daughter—look what she’s taught the child!” “Just like her mother—both pathological liars! Shameless!” Rowena grabbed Hugh Shaw’s sleeve, her face full of alarm: “Huai’an, is Claire trying to destroy the Shaw family? Impersonating Mrs. Ashford—if word gets out, our entire Shaw family will be ruined!” Provoked by her words, Hugh Shaw angrily ordered those behind him: “Someone, teach this arrogant woman a lesson!” Several ill-intentioned attendants immediately rushed forward and began groping me without hesitation. To avoid hurting Nora, I held her tightly in my arms. Slaps landed hard, and a metallic taste rose in my throat. “Mom!” Nora broke down crying, her small hands clutching my clothes tightly. Chloe Shaw, who’d been standing beside Rowena, suddenly pointed at Nora and screamed: “My brooch is missing! It was her! That little beggar! She stole my brooch!” My gaze turned cold as I clearly saw a flash of jealousy in Chloe’s eyes. Ethan immediately stepped forward, grabbed the necklace around Nora’s neck, and yanked it hard. The necklace was torn off, and he shoved Nora to the ground in the process. “Little beggar, how dare you steal my sister’s necklace? Shameless!” Nora fell to the ground, her eyes red as she shouted back: “I didn’t steal it! Dad gave it to me! You big meanie! Give it back!” My heart clenched. I stumbled forward to help Nora up and saw a vivid red mark on her delicate neck from being strangled. I trembled with rage and glared at Ethan: “Give the necklace back to her!” But Ethan completely ignored me and handed the necklace directly to Chloe. Chloe happily put the necklace around her own neck and smugly lifted her chin at Nora. Hugh Shaw looked at me with a dark expression, his tone disgusted: “Unrepentant! Teaching a child to be a thief like you! No—I won’t let Shaw family blood be ruined by you! She must come back with me!” A flash of malice crossed Rowena’s eyes before she stepped forward gently: “Huai’an, perhaps we should investigate first. What if she’s someone else’s illegitimate child with another man? We can’t let an outsider taint the Shaw family bloodline.” Hugh Shaw nodded and immediately barked: “Someone get me a paternity test kit!” Several assistant-like figures rushed forward like wolves, reaching out to snatch Nora away. One of them was holding a sampling swab. I held Nora tightly and backed away, screaming: “Don’t come near us! I’ll say it one more time—she has nothing to do with the Shaw family! She is Pierce Ashford’s daughter!” But those people only followed Hugh Shaw’s orders. They ignored my cries and kept pressing forward. In the chaos, the sampling swab jabbed viciously toward Nora. I instinctively raised my arm to block it. The sharp plastic rod pierced straight into my arm. Blood immediately gushed out, staining my sleeve red. “Mom!” Nora cried out in terror, her small body trembling. I endured the piercing pain and still held Nora tightly in my arms. Hugh Shaw impatiently barked: “Pull her away!” Several attendants immediately stepped forward, roughly twisting my arms behind my back with such force it felt like they’d break my bones. Just as the sampling swab was about to jab Nora, a figure suddenly broke through the crowd and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it sharply. A scream instantly echoed through the hall. The next second, a cold voice laced with fury shook the entire venue into silence: “You dare touch my daughter? Who gave you that nerve?”

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After I was severely injured by a Rogue and fell into a coma, my Alpha mate Liam took the opportunity to dissolve our mate bond, which led to me developing intermittent amnesia. On the surface, after I lost my memory, he stayed by my side the whole time. Until the third year, I overheard Alpha Liam chatting with his friends. “Liam, Evelyn loses her memory every few months. You keep having us pretend to be you and date Evelyn. Aren’t you afraid one day we’ll actually fall for her?” “Afraid of what?” Liam laughed cheerfully. “Evelyn isn’t interested in sex. As long as you don’t actively provoke her, she won’t have any needs.” “But I’m warning you, you can’t actually sleep with her, and definitely can’t Mark her. When I’m done having my fun, I still need to go back to her.” For the past three years, every time I lost my memory, the men holding my hand and embracing me weren’t the real Liam. Three years. I lost my memory nine times. Nine different men played the role of my husband. But what they didn’t know was that my amnesia actually got better two years ago.

When my ninth “husband” came home, I was sitting on the couch, lost in thought. A clear voice interrupted my thoughts. “Eve, I’m home.” I turned my head and looked at the man in the doorway. “Who are you?” I furrowed my brow, pretending to be confused. “Are you my partner? I remember my partner’s name is Liam.” The man froze for a moment, then immediately objected. “No! Um… I’m your partner’s friend! Evelyn, don’t panic. I’ll call your partner to come back right now!” After speaking, the man pulled out his phone and hurried toward the balcony. “Liam, Evelyn’s lost her memory again! Whose turn is it? Get over here and switch with me!” I hid by the window and heard the voices of Liam’s friends making excuses through the speakerphone. “Liam, Evelyn is too clingy. We have to watch her 24 hours a day. We can’t handle it!” “Yeah, Evelyn is great and all, but she’s too controlling. We’re Alphas. Can’t we have a few lovers?” “How about you come back yourself, Liam?” “No way.” Liam’s lazy voice came through the speaker. “I’m not done having fun yet. I don’t want to go home. Which one of you will take my place? Come on, we’re friends. If you won’t even help with this, that’s pretty cold.” Amid the excuses, a cool voice spoke up. “I’ll go.” I recognized it. This was Liam’s best friend, Alpha Sean. The Alpha of Shadow Fang Pack. They said he still hadn’t found his mate and had been single for thirty years. When Liam first proposed having someone impersonate him as my partner, Sean was the first to object. But now he was interested in playing this absurd impersonation game too? Half an hour later, the front door clicked open. Sean walked in against the light. “Eve, I’m home.” His cool voice had a magnetic quality to it. I stood up and stared at the tall, handsome man before me. “Are you my partner, Liam?” “Mm.” Sean coughed lightly, covering his lips. “Sorry, I had some work to handle. I came back late.” As soon as he finished speaking, his phone rang. Sean made an apologetic gesture and went to the balcony with his phone. Through the receiver came Liam’s casual voice. “Oh right, Sean, I forgot to remind you. At most, hold her hand and hug her. Don’t sleep with her, and definitely don’t Mark her. No matter how far you play this game, she’s still my partner.” “Got it.” Sean’s voice was low. For the past three years, no matter how those men pretended to be Liam, they only held my hand and hugged me at most. They never crossed the line. For three years, there were never any photos in the house, nor any identification documents belonging to any man. And Liam had dissolved our mate bond. Until my second chance mate appeared, all these men were the same to me. Plus, I was an orphan. Because of my memory loss, I had no friends to speak of. They naturally assumed I wouldn’t find out. And I pretended not to know anything. After all, I was just an Omega. I had no way to refuse their game. But this time, I wanted to do something different. I walked over and actively hugged Sean’s waist. “Honey, even though I lost my memory, the moment I saw you, I felt you were so familiar. You must be my mate. I’m sure of it.” I tightly held Sean’s waist, and my hand couldn’t help but feel his firm abs. Sean’s body stiffened. He pushed me away in panic. “What’s wrong?” I asked innocently. “Honey, I lost my memory. Don’t you like me anymore?” “No,” Sean’s eyes flickered with evasion, his voice hoarse. “…I like you.” I reached out to unbutton his shirt and touched his chest muscles. “Honey, it’s so cold today. Let’s go to bed and warm up together, okay?” Sean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “…Okay.” That night, Sean and I shared a bed. But by tacit agreement, we didn’t say much to each other.

The next day, Sean took me to a bar, saying he wanted to reintroduce me to his friends. As soon as we entered the private area, I saw Liam holding a woman and kissing her passionately. Sean coughed lightly, interrupting them. Liam saw the two of us and froze for a moment, then slowly stood up. “Hello, I’m Liam’s childhood friend, Sean.” Liam extended his hand to me unhurriedly and introduced, “This is my girlfriend, Hannah.” “Oh.” I nodded but didn’t shake his hand. Hannah. Of course I recognized her. Liam’s first love. When Liam first found me and learned we were destined mates, he broke up with her. Later, he got back together with her when I had amnesia. The reason Liam didn’t want to shoulder his responsibilities as a partner for three years was all because of her. There were many of Liam’s friends in the private area. Several of them had pretended to be my partner. Now they all acted nonchalant and teased me: “Evelyn, you lost your memory again? Our Liam is such a dedicated partner. No matter how many times you lose your memory, he’s always by your side!” “Yeah, Evelyn, such a good man. You should cherish him!” I sarcastically curved my lips and said nothing. Sean put his arm around me and sat down on the couch. As soon as we sat down, I picked up a piece of fruit and fed it to him. “Honey, eat more.” In the dim light, I caught Liam glancing our way. I leaned close to Sean’s ear and deliberately bit his earlobe. “Honey, you were so rough last night. You made me uncomfortable all night. It hurt so much~” Sean’s face stiffened. He pinched my hand awkwardly. “Stop fooling around.” Liam gripped his glass tightly, his expression unpleasant. Hannah sat beside him and said with fake sweetness and veiled barbs, “Evelyn, you’re amazing. The coldest person in our friend circle has been charmed by you like a young man experiencing his first love.” As soon as she said this, Liam’s friends, afraid I’d discover the truth, all laughed awkwardly to smooth things over: “Haha, that just proves Evelyn and Liam have a good relationship!” “Yeah, even if she loses her memory, it doesn’t affect their relationship at all!” From the corner of my eye, I saw Liam pick up his glass and take a sip, but his expression became extremely unpleasant. A wave of vengeful satisfaction surged in my heart. I got up and went to the restroom. When I came out of the restroom, Hannah walked toward me. The moment we passed each other, she suddenly reached out and pushed me hard. “Sorry, it was an accident.” I reacted quickly and wasn’t pushed down. “Slap!” I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to either.” As soon as I finished speaking, a stern rebuke came from behind me. “Evelyn, what are you doing!” Liam strode over. Hannah immediately threw herself into his arms, crying pitifully. “Honey, I just accidentally bumped into Evelyn, and she got angry and hit me. My head is so dizzy now.” Liam’s expression darkened, clearly displeased. “Apologize to Hannah!” I sneered coldly. “Who are you to boss me around?” “Evelyn!” Liam’s eyes were dark and vicious, his face frighteningly grim. “Why did you become so arrogant and domineering after losing your memory?” “What I’ve become has nothing to do with you.” I was too lazy to deal with him anymore. Just as I was about to turn around, Liam kicked me down. “Evelyn, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you lost your memory. Apologize to Hannah right now!” Looking at the furious man before me, even though we were no longer mates, the lingering emotions still made me feel intense pain. I was originally an orphan. In this huge, unfamiliar pack, Liam was my only support. We’d known each other since we were eighteen. We’d been together for ten years. When he proposed to me, he swore he would always protect and love me, that he could never betray me in this lifetime. But now, not only did he betray our mate bond, he was hitting me for another woman. All those sweet words and vows from back then had become a joke. Amid my grief and anger, Sean’s cold voice came from behind. “Don’t touch her!” I endured the pain and stood up, quickly slapped Liam across the face, then hid in Sean’s arms to complain. “Honey, your friend is so rude. He bullied me!” Sean’s expression was displeased, his eyes full of shadows, looking at Liam with warning. “Don’t bully Eve.” Liam clenched his jaw, his solemn face radiating violent energy. As the two confronted each other tensely, Hannah suddenly shrank into Liam’s arms and sneered disdainfully. “A bitch and an idiot who likes bitches. What’s there to be proud of?” “Shut up!” Liam and Sean’s voices rang out simultaneously.

“Hannah, Evelyn was wrong, but you can’t insult her like that.” Liam’s tone was cold and hard. Sean frowned, looking at Hannah with cold eyes. “From now on, don’t let me hear you say anything to slander Evelyn.” After speaking, he held me and strode away. We went straight home. As soon as we entered, I hugged Sean’s waist, my hand rubbing his firm abs a few times. “Honey, you looked so handsome protecting me just now. I love it!” Sean’s ears turned slightly red. He coughed. “I’m glad you like it.” I reached out to unbuckle his belt. “Honey, it’s too cold. Let’s go to bed and exercise to warm up, okay?” “…It’s still early.” “Who says we can only go to bed at a certain time?” I kissed his Adam’s apple and coaxed in a low voice, “Honey, I lost my memory. I can’t remember what intimacy feels like… Can you help me remember?” Sean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice was extremely hoarse. “Eve… stop fooling around.” I simply pushed him down onto the couch. Sean struggled for two seconds, then finally flipped over and pressed me beneath him. From afternoon to late night, after Sean got a taste, he became insatiable. I was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep. In my daze, I heard Sean bite my neck and ask hoarsely, “Eve, have you really lost your memory?” I opened my mouth but said nothing. Did it matter whether I had or not? Actually, I wanted to ask Sean too. You clearly rejected this absurd game of pretending to be someone’s partner. Why did you join in at the end? … The next day, Sean took me to the hospital for a follow-up on my amnesia. Unexpectedly, we ran into Liam and Hannah. Hannah called out to us first. “Evelyn, Alpha Se… Liam, what a coincidence.” She touched her belly and said boastfully, “I’m pregnant. I came for a prenatal checkup. What about you two?” Sean glanced at her lightly, his tone cold. “Bringing Eve for a follow-up.” Liam didn’t speak, but his gaze fell on my and Sean’s tightly clasped hands. Suddenly, his eyes moved up and saw the dense love bites on my neck. “What happened to your neck?” His voice rose. I looked at Sean shyly. “You’d have to ask my partner about that.” Liam turned to look at Sean, his solemn eyes filled with gloom. I took the opportunity to leave. “I still need to get a CT scan. You guys talk first.” After I left, Hannah also entered the ultrasound examination room. After things quieted down, Liam stared coldly at Sean, his voice as cold as frost. “Sean, did you sleep with her?”

Sean lit a cigarette. Through the curling smoke, he spoke vaguely. “No.” “Then what are those red marks on her neck?” Sean paused for two seconds. “Mosquito bites, I guess.” Liam frowned, half-believing. Sean blew out a smoke ring and scoffed. “Besides, what if I did touch her? You already rejected her. Although you’re not legally divorced yet… you might as well divorce.” Liam’s reaction was agitated. “No divorce! Eve and I have known each other for so many years. We still have feelings. It’s just… Hannah is pregnant now. I can’t leave her at this critical moment.” “Heh.” Sean sneered disdainfully. “You just want to have both. Liam, you’re such a scumbag.” Liam was silent for a moment, then spoke as if he’d made a decision. “Sean, next time Eve loses her memory, let’s switch back.” “We’ll talk about it when she loses her memory next time.” Not getting a definitive answer, Liam felt increasingly uneasy. He stared at Sean intently, his face solemn. “I feel like something’s off between you and Eve. Sean, promise me you absolutely won’t touch her!” Sean stubbed out his cigarette. Just as he was about to speak, I walked over with my CT scan report, interrupting their conversation. “Honey, I have good news. The doctor just said my brain nerves have healed. I won’t lose my memory anymore!” Liam froze immediately, as shocked as if struck by lightning. “How is that possible?” But Sean was very happy, his eyes full of joy. “Really? That’s wonderful! Let’s go home and celebrate!” I took Sean’s arm to leave. But Liam grabbed my hand. “Eve, don’t go! Actually, I…” I impatiently interrupted him. “Alpha Sean, even though you’re my partner’s friend, touching me without permission is really rude.” I shook off his hand in disgust and left without looking back. After arriving home, before even turning on the lights, Sean couldn’t wait to carry me into the bedroom. His kisses came fierce and urgent, falling densely on my neck. A blurred voice sounded beside my ear. “Eve… let’s never be apart again, okay?” In the darkness, I murmured, “Okay.” Hearing this, Sean was like a wild beast, taking from me. I went limp in his arms like seaweed, yet clung tightly to him. He was like a fierce wild beast, ferociously and tirelessly taking. Just as we were about to reach climax, the bedroom light suddenly turned on. Liam stood in the doorway with a dark, vicious expression, fists clenched tight, his eyes red as if bloodthirsty.

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The day I discovered my husband, Grimshade Pack Alpha Elias, cheating for the first time, I proposed rejecting the mate bond. But he locked me in the bedroom for five days and four nights, going through two boxes of condoms. Afterwards, he looked at me helplessly and explained: “Violet, someone slipped me a heat drug. I only had sex with Fiona because of that. You have to forgive me.” The second time, I witnessed him accompanying Fiona to her prenatal checkup at the hospital. I proposed rejection again. He slammed me against the wall, eyes blazing with fury: “You want to break the mate bond? Over my dead body. You have to trust me—Fiona is a spy sent by the Dubois pack. I have to keep her close. It’s part of my plan. Once she has the baby, I’ll send her away immediately.” But later, Fiona had a miscarriage, and everyone suspected I was behind it. Fiona grabbed my throat like a madwoman: “If you hate someone, hate me! Why did you harm my child?!” Even Elias looked at me with disappointment: “I told you to wait a little longer. Why did you go after my child?” With that, he ordered me locked in the torture chamber. “You can come out when you’ve repented.” I curled up in the corner and sent a message to a professional agency on my phone: [Help me destroy all my birth records. Once the paperwork is done, get me and my child out of here.]

The blood-soaked torture chamber was finally opened just as I was about to lose consciousness. Elias scooped me up and held me tight, his voice full of remorse: “Violet, you almost ruined our pack’s entire plan. I had to punish you like this to give the pack an explanation.” “You know I love you most. Once my strategy with Fiona succeeds, we can go back to how things were.” And his so-called strategy with Fiona was to get her pregnant with his child again. He claimed it was the only way to secure Fiona’s loyalty, turn her to his side, and have her feed false intelligence to the Dubois pack. I watched coldly as he performed his touching act of devotion, my heart utterly desolate. But Elias, we can’t go back to how things were. There will be no future for us. And he would never know—he had another child. A child that was mine and his. The day he became Grimshade Pack’s Alpha, he witnessed his Beta’s child being held hostage by Rogues. The Beta’s wife, driven by maternal instinct to protect her child, died tragically under gunfire. From that day on, he would tell me fearfully: “Violet, let’s not have children in the future. I don’t want a child to become your weakness, and I can’t bear the cost of losing you.” I agreed. But whenever I saw him looking at other people’s children with eyes full of joy, I wanted to secretly give him a surprise. That year, Elias went to the pack border to fight off Rogues—a mission lasting one year. Not long after he left, I discovered I was pregnant with his child. Afraid he would worry, I never told him from the pregnancy all the way to giving birth. Later, the baby was born premature and weak, so he stayed at the hospital. This was when Elias returned—and brought Fiona to me. I never got to give him my surprise. Instead, Elias gave me a big one first. Elias said: “I know Fiona is a spy sent by our enemy, the Dubois pack. I’m only keeping her close as part of my next plan of action against them.” But the affection in his eyes when he looked at Fiona couldn’t lie. My phone buzzed. The agency handling my forced divorce sent a message, pulling me from my thoughts: [Currently finding a witch to forcibly break the mate bond. Divorce paperwork is being expedited. In one week, once everything’s complete, we’ll get you and your child out.] I smiled faintly. Good. In one week, Elias and I would have nothing to do with each other. After that, Elias began juggling between Fiona and me. Afraid I’d be upset, truckloads of gifts arrived. The latest jewelry, limited edition handbags—all things I used to like. “Violet, trust me. We’ll be back to normal soon. I love you.” I’d lost count of how many times he knelt before me, declaring his love and helplessness. How ridiculous—he spent every night at Fiona’s place, yet still feared I’d be hurt. Four days before the mate bond termination agreement took effect, Fiona brought me a bouquet of flowers, apologizing for Elias always staying at her place instead of coming home. There was something in the flowers that triggered a severe allergic reaction. I was rushed to the hospital. When Elias found out, he harshly scolded Fiona. “Do that again and get out!” Fiona apologized with reddened eyes, then ran out covering her face. That night, Fiona disappeared. Elias searched all night with his men before finding her. When they found her, she was covered in injuries. She kept her eyes down, not daring to look at me, only saying timidly: “This punishment is what I deserve, since I accidentally hurt Luna Violet.” I looked confused, but Elias gave me a meaningful glance. It wasn’t until I overheard his private conversation with the doctor that I understood. “Add some wolfsbane to Violet’s IV. Wait until tomorrow night before treating her.” “She made Fiona suffer, so she needs to suffer too.” I froze instantly. My heart felt like it had been smashed to the ground and crushed repeatedly. I couldn’t breathe from the pain. Elias was my fated mate. Back then, we fell in love at first sight. I immediately broke up with my first love Soren and threw myself into Elias’s arms without hesitation. When we married, Soren said he would protect me for life and never let me get hurt. But just a few years later, Elias was personally hurting me for another woman.

The next day, Fiona and I were discharged together. Elias drove to pick us up. I didn’t want to ride with them, but Elias forced me into the car. Not long after we got home, a fire suddenly broke out. The flames were fierce. A burning wardrobe tilted and fell straight toward me. In that critical moment, Fiona suddenly rushed over and pushed me aside. She was struck hard by the burning wardrobe herself. When Elias reacted, he saw Fiona lying there after being hit while protecting me. He instinctively rushed toward Fiona, but when his eyes met mine, he seemed to snap back to reality. “Violet, thank god you’re okay.” Even as the ambulance took Fiona away, he never looked at her again. But in the empty hospital room, Elias pinned her beneath him, his eyes suppressing anger. “Who told you to block it? Do you know you’re pregnant?” “Do you have to torture yourself to death before you’re satisfied?” The next second, Elias kissed her fiercely. She was pregnant again. I felt inevitable pain in body and soul, but deep inside I was numb. I quietly withdrew. Elias didn’t come home that night. It wasn’t until the next morning that he stood by my bed, eyes full of disappointment: “I investigated the fire. Someone deliberately set it.” I looked up in disbelief: “You suspect me?” Elias sighed: “I told you, I’m only using Fiona. Once I’m done with her, I’ll send her away. She’s no threat to you. She even risked her life to protect you. Why can’t you tolerate her?” In the middle of summer, I felt ice cold all over. Elias truly didn’t believe me. In the days that followed, he deliberately gave me the cold shoulder. But I didn’t care anymore, because in two days, I would take my son Jack and leave for good. The day before I was to leave was our fifth wedding anniversary. I thought he would still ignore me, but he chartered a luxury yacht to celebrate. Yet the moment we boarded, his subordinate told him Fiona had disappeared again. That night, Elias practically turned the entire Grimshade pack upside down but still couldn’t find any trace of Fiona. He smashed a vase, shards scattering near my feet. “Violet, tell me—where is Fiona?” I shook my head: “I don’t know… I really don’t know…” This wasn’t the first time he’d suspected me because of Fiona, but my chest still felt like it was being torn open. Someone handed over Fiona’s phone. Her last call before disappearing was to me. Elias rubbed his throbbing temples: “Violet, the evidence is right here. Are you still going to deny it?” I laughed coldly: “Just because of one phone call, you’ve decided I had someone kidnap Fiona?” I remembered the call Fiona made before she disappeared— “I hurt myself all over. I deliberately started the fire too. I knew it wouldn’t really hurt me, so I threw myself at you to put on a show.” “A man’s heartache and guilt are the strongest chains. I want Elias to soften toward me bit by bit, to compensate me, until I completely replace you.” Her ambition was crystal clear on that call. “Luna Violet, I know you and Elias have a child together. Want to make a bet?” “Let’s bet on whether Elias cares more about you and your child, or me and the baby in my belly.” So Fiona’s disappearance was completely staged by herself, but Elias didn’t believe a word I said. He looked at me with disappointment: “Violet, Fiona is crucial to the pack’s plan. Can you stop making a scene?!”

Time passed minute by minute. The search parties had no news, and Elias completely lost patience. “I heard from Fiona that you adopted a child from an orphanage.” My spine went rigid. Elias raised his hand in signal. Someone dragged in a burlap sack with something struggling inside. He picked up a steel pipe nearby, his expression vicious: “Violet, last chance. If you don’t tell me where Fiona is, this child won’t make it.” “Jack!” My eyes instantly turned red. I lunged forward but was held back firmly. Elias raised the steel pipe high and brought it down hard. “No!!” My pupils contracted sharply. Everything went blood red, as if the pipe had struck my own body. A whimper came from inside the sack. The person inside was beaten so hard they bounced up, then fell heavily and went still. A pool of blood seeped from the opening. “Ahhh!!” I completely broke down. The whole world turned red. The second blow was raised again. “Stop! That’s your child! That’s your biological son!” I was being dragged, screaming until my voice went hoarse. Tears mixed with blood drops rolled down my face, my eyes full of desperate collapse. Elias’s hand holding the pipe paused: “Violet, stop joking around. We agreed not to have children. Why lie to me about this?” I couldn’t care about anything else. I struggled and crawled to his feet, face covered in tears, begging: “He really is your child. Jack really is your son… Please… let him go quickly, call a doctor, save him…” Elias bent down and gripped my chin: “Be good. Tell me where Fiona is, and I’ll let him go.” I shook my head desperately, tears flying: “I don’t know! I really don’t know! Let Jack go, please let him go!” Elias’s eyes suddenly turned cold. The second blow struck down hard. A muffled grunt from the sack, then complete silence. “Ah… no…” I suddenly coughed up blood, my body convulsing violently. The third blow, the fourth blow… A full ten blows. The sack made no more sound. “Jack…” Watching the sack go still, the ground stained bright red with blood, I collapsed kneeling on the ground, my body rigid as if electrocuted, yet trembling uncontrollably. I vomited another mouthful of blood, staining the ground in front of me red. Elias walked forward, his black leather shoes stepping into the pool of blood, grinding hard on the sack: “Violet, still won’t talk?” He stomped down hard again. The sound of bones shattering was clearly audible. “Jack!!” I screamed in complete breakdown, crawling forward but held back firmly. I roared hoarsely: “Elias, I curse you to never have children again in this lifetime!” Elias’s body jerked rigid. Just then someone rushed in: “Alpha, we found Fiona.” Elias’s hand stroking my hair paused: “Quick, tell me the exact location!” He immediately stood up and rushed out without looking back. Not long after Elias left, two people came in to snatch Jack from my arms. I seemed to suddenly wake up, clutching Jack tightly: “What are you doing?” “Alpha Elias ordered us to throw him in the ocean to feed the sharks.” Without mercy, they forcibly took Jack from my arms, stuffed him into the sack with disgust, and turned to leave. “Jack!!!” I chased after them with a heart-wrenching scream, but was locked firmly in the cabin. When Elias returned with Fiona, he only saw me slumped on the ground in a daze. “You had someone throw Jack’s body into the ocean to feed the sharks?”

I slowly stood up, my eyes filled with bone-deep hatred. Elias’s face darkened: “Do you know that because you kidnapped her, Fiona had a miscarriage? The baby couldn’t be saved.” I suddenly burst into wild laughter, the sound as shrill as a ghost’s wail: “Elias, I curse you and Fiona to the eighteenth level of hell!” Elias’s expression changed abruptly: “If you hadn’t sent people to kidnap Fiona and had a group of wolves force themselves on her, how would she have lost the child!” His eyes stared at me coldly: “Since you like having people violate others so much, you should taste what it’s like to be violated!” My pupils contracted sharply. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze in an instant. I tried to explain, but Elias wouldn’t listen. He brought those wolves and locked me in with them. Facing my pleas, he only said: “They’re the people you found. What could go wrong?” Then he left with Fiona without looking back. After Elias left, the wolves swarmed over me. Soon the cabin filled with sounds of tearing fabric, struggling, and desperate screaming. My body was like a rag doll, toyed with at will by them. The next morning, the wolves finally pulled up their pants and left me, walking out of the room with satisfaction. I lay sprawled on the ground, my soul seemingly stripped away. Jack was dead. And I had been violated by these beasts… I suddenly stood up, staggering to the deck. Without hesitation, I climbed over the railing and jumped decisively. A splash—the sea surface erupted in huge waves. But soon, it returned to calm, as if nothing had happened. At that moment, a phone lying on the deck buzzed with a message I would never see: [Luna Violet, the mate bond has been dissolved. All paperwork is complete. At noon today, we’ll pick you and Jack up to leave.] Unfortunately, Jack and I would never be able to leave.

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After remarrying, I started renting out my husband Ethan Sterling. When his first love, Melissa Parker, called him away from my side, I stopped crying and making scenes. Instead, I started charging by the hour. Daytime: $100,000 per hour. Nighttime: $200,000 per hour. Holidays: triple rate. After three months of this arrangement, nearly $20 million appeared in my account. He’d promised to help me pick out an evening gown, but Melissa called crying that she’d cut her finger while chopping vegetables. Without looking up, I simply held out my payment QR code to him. Late one night, when I spiked a high fever and Ethan was driving me to the hospital, his first love called saying the thunder was too loud and she couldn’t sleep. I skillfully pulled out an umbrella and asked Ethan to drop me off at the next intersection. He hesitated, seemingly wanting to say something. I just smiled. “Don’t forget to transfer the money.” When it came time for our daughter Mia’s routine hospital checkup, Melissa called again. “My son wants to go to the amusement park. I hope you can take him…” After hanging up, Ethan turned around, about to crouch down and explain to our daughter. Mia mimicked me, holding out her hand toward him. “It’s okay, Dad. Just send the money. Today should be triple rate.”

Hearing this, the apologetic look on Ethan’s face instantly vanished. He stood up and pointed at our daughter, questioning me with righteous indignation. “Charlotte Bennett, is this how you’ve been raising our child?” I calmly pulled our daughter behind me. “What’s wrong with it? If she can’t get love, at least she gets money. Better than me—it took a divorce for me to learn that lesson.” Ethan was instantly speechless. The phone rang again. Melissa’s son’s voice came through. “Uncle Ethan, hurry up! You promised to ride the Tiger Coaster with me a hundred times!” My daughter gripped my clothes tightly. Noticing her gesture, Ethan, for once, didn’t immediately agree. He reached out, wanting to pat our daughter’s head. “Be good. Today you go to the hospital with Mom first.” “After you get better, Dad will take you to the amusement park, okay?” Our daughter dodged his hand, blinking her big eyes as she repeated, “It’s okay, Dad. Just send me the money.” Ethan’s expression completely darkened. Before leaving, he threw out angrily, “Charlotte, you and your daughter can keep this up all you want!” “Absolutely ridiculous!” The front door slammed shut heavily, and my heart shook along with it. My daughter tugged at my arm, holding up her phone watch to show me. “Mom, Dad sent over so many zeros.” “Is this enough money for my surgery?” Looking at my daughter’s face, I held back my sobs and hugged her tightly. “Yes. After your surgery, Mom will take you away from here.” While waiting for my daughter’s examination, several push notifications popped up on my phone. Paparazzi had secretly photographed Ethan and Melissa with her son at an amusement park. The caption read: “Mr. Sterling spotted with new flame at amusement park—young child already calling him Dad!” I enlarged the photo, looking at Ethan’s relaxed, carefree smile. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled like that in front of me and our daughter. My hand trembled as I exited. When I refreshed, the post showed as deleted. The next second, Ethan’s call came through. “Charlotte, don’t be upset. That’s just unscrupulous media making things up.” “I already paid to have all those articles taken down.” I paused, then realized he was talking about Oliver calling him Dad. “I’m not upset. Kids say things without thinking.” “Since I’ve already rented you out to them, you should spend quality time with them.” Without waiting for his response, I hung up decisively. My daughter’s test results came back. The doctor said her condition was well-controlled. Next month they could schedule the heart bypass surgery. My whole body went weak, and I nearly collapsed to my knees. When we divorced, Ethan had found the best lawyer to forcibly rule that I leave with nothing, just to teach me a lesson about Melissa and her son. The very next day, my daughter was diagnosed with myocardial ischemia and was at constant risk of sudden cardiac death. Because of Ethan’s influence, not a single company dared hire me. Not a single relative or friend was willing to lend me money. Watching my daughter’s condition deteriorate day by day, I finally bowed my head to Ethan. And now, finally, my daughter was out of danger. After confirming the surgery date, I also submitted applications to an agency for visas for me and my daughter. A message from Ethan popped up. “When are you coming home? I made your favorite dishes.” I didn’t reply. An hour later, I pushed open the front door. Ethan was serving food to Melissa and her son.

The harmonious atmosphere made it seem like my daughter and I had mistakenly entered someone else’s home. “Charlotte…” Ethan stood up abruptly, striding to the door to take my bag. “Melissa’s landlord suddenly sold the house and kicked them out.” “They couldn’t find a place to stay on short notice. Do you think they could stay here temporarily…” I didn’t respond. I just watched as the servants moved my and my daughter’s belongings, item by item, into the storage room. Melissa spoke weakly, though her expression couldn’t hide her smugness. “Sorry, Charlotte. My health isn’t great, so I can only stay in rooms with good lighting and ventilation. Ethan gave me the master bedroom.” My daughter’s room had also been taken over by Oliver. Her favorite doll had been thrown out by Oliver, its arms and legs broken off. Ethan suddenly looked a bit guilty. “Charlotte, if you don’t agree, I can also find them another place…” “I agree.” I held out my hand to him. “The rent is the same as before, but the rental fee for living in my house and your companionship tax need to be calculated separately.” “Smack.” Ethan hurled my bag violently to the floor, his face dark as ink. “Charlotte, have you lost your mind?” “What kind of crazy talk is this in front of the children?” I could only laugh coldly. He was the one who brought another woman and her child into this house, yet he blamed me for being shameless for pointing it out. Ethan pulled Melissa and her son toward the door. As he passed me, he threw a bank card at my face. “Five million! Is that enough?” “Too proud to accept kindness—you might as well just marry money!” After the house finally quieted down, my daughter dabbed at my face with tissues, sniffling. Only then did I realize the bank card had cut my cheek, drawing blood. “Mom, it’s all because I’m sick. That’s why Dad treats you badly every day.” I held my daughter tightly. “Mom’s not upset. Once you’re better after surgery, Mom will be happy…” My daughter, who always insisted on bedtime stories from her father, fell asleep in my arms with tears still on her face. Looking at her furrowed brow, my heart ached as if it had been run over. When had our once happy family of three become like this? Was it after Melissa’s husband died, when Ethan went over night after night to comfort her, afraid she might do something drastic? He went so frequently that paparazzi mistook his own home for an affair location. Was it when Ethan worried that Oliver would be bullied at school for not having a father, and attended every single one of his parent-teacher conferences without fail? He never missed Children’s Day or birthday parties either. This caused my daughter to be treated as a mistress’s child, bullied relentlessly at school. Was it when my daughter had her first heart attack and fainted, and I called Ethan countless times but the line was always busy? When I finally rushed to the hospital, I was told all the doctors had been reassigned to treat Oliver’s scraped knee. My daughter’s heart stopped three times. I bowed until my head bled before finally stopping a doctor who barely managed to save her life. I took a deep breath and packed our belongings. Holding my sleeping daughter, I left that unrecognizable home without any attachment. After settling into our new place for a week, Ethan hadn’t sent a single message. But Melissa’s messages kept coming. All of them forwarded news reports about their outings, as if afraid I wouldn’t see them. Expressionless, I clicked them open. They’d gone to every place my daughter and I had wanted to visit. Even the media outlet reporting on them was the same one that had covered my and Ethan’s wedding of the century. “Sorry, Charlotte. I told Ethan to pay the paparazzi to take down the news, but he insisted you have plenty of money.” “Since this started because of me, how about I sell the jewelry and bags Ethan bought me to help you take down the news?” Melissa sneakily photographed the gifts Ethan had given her, trying to provoke me. After all, in the past, seeing these things would have sent me rushing to Melissa’s place to smash and shred everything. Now I simply replied lightly, “I’d appreciate that.” Melissa’s typing indicator showed for a long time, but no new message came. Just when I thought they might finally quiet down, ten million dollars suddenly appeared in my account. The moment I saw the note attached, all the blood in my body seemed to flow backward!

I stumbled to my mother’s grave, where Ethan was directing workers to dig it up. “Stop!!” I threw myself forward, shoving the two workers aside hard, grabbing a hoe to guard my mother’s grave. Ethan pulled Melissa and her son behind him, sneering. “Charlotte, didn’t you say you’d rent out anything as long as I paid?” “I already transferred the rental fee for your mother’s burial plot. What scene are you making now?” I was shaking with rage, even my jaw trembling. “Ethan Sterling, are you even human?” Ethan shrugged indifferently. “I’m clearly following your rules. How does that make me inhuman?” “Or is it that in your heart, every emotion is sacred except our marriage, which is so base it can be traded for money?” My nails dug deep into my palms. I was so full of hate I barely felt the pain. I couldn’t understand how the man who once knelt at my mother’s sickbed, swearing he’d never betray me for the rest of his life, could have become this. Melissa held a framed photo of a deceased dog, tears streaming down her face. “Forget it, Ethan. Even though Max was like family to Oliver and me, at the end of the day a pet is just a pet. It’s not right to take Charlotte’s mother’s burial plot.” Seeing her tears, Ethan’s voice turned ice cold. “Charlotte, move aside.” I gritted my teeth. “In your dreams!” He walked to my side, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “Mia’s surgery is next month. You’d better behave during this time.” My whole body went cold. “Isn’t Mia your daughter?” “You’re threatening me with your own daughter’s life?” Ethan tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “Yes, but Oliver is also my biological son.” “The night before our wedding, Melissa came to reminisce with me. I drank too much and accidentally made a mistake…” “You and Mia have money and status. You should be more understanding.” I was nearly drenched in cold sweat. Images of my daughter collapsing from a heart attack flashed through my mind over and over. I slowly lowered the hoe in my hands. My legs felt like they were filled with lead as I stiffly stepped aside. Oliver rushed right over. “Yay! The old hag made room for my Max!” He yanked down the black and white photo from my mother’s headstone and grabbed the urn, about to smash it! “No!” My mind went blank as I lunged forward. To protect the urn, my head slammed hard into the headstone. The world spun, and my vision turned blood red. “Charlotte!” Ethan rushed to help me up, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe the blood from my forehead. “Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?” I shoved him away and thrust the documents from my bag in his face. “Your rental fee isn’t enough.” “Sign it.” Seeing the words “Property Transfer Agreement” on the document, Ethan’s face turned cold. “Fine, Charlotte. Just fine!” He pulled out a pen decisively and scrawled his signature across it. Then he hurled both the pen and documents to the ground, sweeping Melissa and her son into his arms as he strode away. The pen broke in half. It was the gift I’d given him for our third anniversary. The first document he’d signed with that pen was our marriage certificate. I picked up the documents, pulling out the divorce agreement hidden behind the transfer contract. Looking at the bold signature across it, I cried and laughed at the same time, clutching my mother’s urn as I staggered to my feet. Once my daughter’s surgery was over, everything between us would be completely finished. I barely made it to the day of the surgery. Watching my daughter being wheeled into the operating room, I let out a sigh of relief and knelt by the door, praying constantly. I begged heaven to have mercy and let my daughter’s surgery go smoothly. But before the surgery was even over, another deposit notification popped up on my phone. Before I could read the note, the operating room doors suddenly burst open. The doctors, still wearing bloodied gloves, rushed out without even removing them. My hands and feet went numb. I grabbed the last doctor’s white coat desperately. “My daughter’s surgery isn’t finished yet. Where are you going?”

I looked into the room. My daughter’s chest cavity was already open. The heart monitor showed only weak fluctuations. The doctor struggled free from my grip. “Mr. Sterling’s son suddenly had an allergic reaction. Our entire hospital has been called to the emergency, so the surgery must be paused.” “You can’t leave!” My voice was thick with tears as I fumbled for my bank card with shaking hands. “However much he’s paying you, I’ll pay double! Just finish my daughter’s surgery!” Afraid they’d think it wasn’t enough, I pulled out my phone to transfer money immediately. That’s when I finally saw the note on that deposit notification. It was Ethan’s rental fee for the doctors. “Ma’am, this isn’t about money.” “We’re afraid of losing our jobs.” No matter how much I begged, the doctors pried my fingers loose one by one and left. My daughter lay alone on the operating table. Just half an hour more and she would have had a new lease on life. But now, because of her own father, she lay there with her chest open, waiting to die. A message from Melissa popped up. In the photo, Oliver only had a slight rash. Yet the hospital room was surrounded by layers of doctors. Ethan sat by the bed, feeding Oliver my daughter’s favorite strawberry cake. Melissa’s tone was full of triumph. “Charlotte, didn’t you act so magnanimous, wanting only money, not people?” “How does it feel watching your daughter die right in front of you?” “If you hadn’t remarried, I might have even given you some money.” “You can only blame yourself for being so presumptuous—for that certificate and that pitiful title, you’ve cost your daughter her life.” I nearly crushed my phone in my grip. Time ticked by second by second. If this continued, when my daughter’s anesthesia wore off, she’d be in agony. I dialed Ethan’s number over and over again. Not once did he answer. Watching my daughter’s heartbeat line grow weaker and weaker, I opened my phone’s video camera and cried into it. “Melissa, I’ll give Ethan to you. Please just let the doctors come back, okay?” “I’ll give you all the money he transferred to me too!” “Once my daughter’s surgery is done, I promise to disappear far away and never bother your family of three again!” The moment I sent the video, Ethan’s call came through. As soon as I answered, he raged on the other end. “Charlotte! I only called away two assistant doctors. What are you pretending for!” “To frame Melissa, you don’t even care about your own daughter’s life?” Melissa sobbed beside him. “Ethan, it’s all Oliver’s fault for having an allergic reaction during Mia’s surgery. That’s why you couldn’t stay by Charlotte’s side.” Ethan had a sudden realization. “Charlotte, is this performance to remind me I haven’t paid you my rental fee?” “You shouldn’t be Mrs. Sterling—you should change your name to Mrs. Money!” The call was abruptly disconnected. Along with the deposit notification came an avalanche of news reports. “Mrs. Sterling Money-Obsessed: Husband and Daughter’s Lives Both Available for Rent!” “Unconscionable: Halted Daughter’s Open-Heart Surgery Just to Film Framing Video for Money?” With trembling hands, I dialed 911, trying to call doctors from another hospital. But the ambulance was blocked by the swarm of media rushing to film. I grabbed a surgical knife from nearby and swung it wildly. Just to clear a path to survival for my daughter. Meanwhile, Ethan was getting restless. He kept clicking on the news reports, somewhat hesitant. “Mia is still in surgery. Was I too harsh?” Seeing Oliver bouncing energetically on the hospital bed, he still got up and headed toward the operating room. When he arrived, the scene before him nearly brought him to his knees…

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I had agreed to meet my boyfriend Marcus at City Hall to register our marriage, but he never showed up. I called him—no answer. I texted him—no response. Finally, I had no choice but to call his childhood sweetheart Lily. Marcus finally picked up. “Emma, can you stop being so annoying? Lily twisted her ankle, and I need to take care of her today. We’ll reschedule getting our marriage certificate.” I bit my lip lightly. “Including this time, you’ve already rescheduled seven times.” “So what? Lily needs me to massage her foot. I’m hanging up!” My face remained expressionless, but my heart felt like it was being stabbed. The staff member asked sympathetically if I still wanted to proceed. I nodded and pulled out my phone to call my best friend Maya’s brother, who was a race car driver. “That fake marriage you proposed—I agree.” Marcus always explained that he only saw his childhood sweetheart Lily as a little sister. But just now on the phone, I clearly heard their abnormal rhythmic sounds. I could even vaguely hear Lily’s suppressed moans. While I was still in a daze, my best friend Maya’s brother, Ethan Chase, arrived. He rode in on a flashy motorcycle. The moment he took off his helmet and walked in, he immediately attracted quite a bit of attention. Ethan walked straight up to me and sat in the chair beside me, crossing his legs casually, smiling playfully as he spoke. “Changed your mind? You agree to fake marry me to deal with family pressure?” I nodded lightly. Actually, it wasn’t just about dealing with family pressure. The most important reason for this marriage was to give my grandfather peace of mind before he passed. Six months ago, my grandfather’s health had deteriorated rapidly. He stayed in the hospital every day, and each time he saw me, he would ask when I was getting married. He wanted to see me in a wedding dress. He wanted to see me enter the halls of matrimony. He said that way, even when he was gone, there would still be someone to love me. So six months ago, I started urging Marcus to get married. I’d come to City Hall seven times intermittently, but each time ended in failure for various reasons. Last time, it was because Lily got her period and was in so much pain that Marcus had to go home and rub her stomach. The time before that, Lily lost her keys and couldn’t get home, so he had to go let her in. The time before that, Lily was hungry and wanted donuts, so he had to rush to a trendy shop to wait in line. All seven times, it was because of Lily. Each time, Marcus abandoned me without a second thought. The ironic part was, I gave him seven chances. Yet he wasn’t even willing to spare me the time to take one photo. Actually this time, when Marcus left, I wasn’t too devastated. Perhaps I’d gotten used to it, or perhaps I’d expected it all along. It’s just that my mind suddenly flashed back to what my grandfather told me a while ago. “Emma, I’m afraid I don’t have much time left. I might not see you in your wedding dress, but even if you’re alone in the future, you must live bravely. Don’t let people bully you.” I promised my grandfather I would be brave. So this time, I won’t keep compromising. Marcus, I gave you a chance. Seven chances, in fact. Registering the marriage with Ethan went smoothly. Just as Ethan and I were about to take our marriage photo, my phone suddenly buzzed. Marcus had sent a message. “Emma, don’t be mad. I really couldn’t get away this time, but I already made your favorite food at home. Waiting for you to come back~” Ethan glanced over at me, raised an eyebrow, and asked. “Still want to continue?” I took a deep breath and said expressionlessly. “Continue!” Hearing this, he smiled, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me closer to him. “Then get closer. We’re taking a photo now. My bride, smile.” Our arms pressed tightly together with almost no gap between them. His pleasant aftershave scent invaded my senses. I couldn’t help but blush. After completing the marriage registration, I walked out of City Hall holding our marriage certificate. Before leaving, I turned to Ethan. “Are you free tomorrow? There’s something I’d like you to come with me to.” Ethan straddled his motorcycle with his long legs. “Call me if you need anything. In a couple days, I might need you to help me out with my parents too.” With that, he rode off. I felt like fate was unpredictable. My seven-year relationship with Marcus, from college until now, ultimately didn’t make it to the end. Yet I married my best friend’s brother after meeting him only once. On the way back, Marcus sent me another message with an attached photo. The dining table was densely covered with delicious dishes. “Why aren’t you back yet? The food’s ready. If you come too late, it’ll be gone!”

He truly meant what he said. The message he just sent said if I came late, the food would be gone. Sure enough, when I got home, the dining table was already a mess, with every dish completely cleaned out. Lily beside him put on an innocent expression and said pitifully to me. “I’m so sorry, I was just too hungry, so I couldn’t help eating first.” She sure could eat—she’d rather stuff herself than leave anything for me. Even I, slow as I was, could tell she was provoking me. In that instant, I felt my blood boiling, my hands clenched into fists, sharp nails digging deep into my palms. Lily and Marcus were childhood sweethearts. So in Marcus’s eyes, she was always his top priority. Actually, in the beginning, the journey of getting to know, falling in love with, and loving Marcus had all gone smoothly. We didn’t argue much. Even when we did, Marcus was always the first to apologize and comfort me. Regardless of whose fault it was, he would immediately take all the responsibility. Even Maya envied me more than once for finding a man like Marcus who doted on me so much. But that envy ended half a year ago. Ever since Lily appeared, his affection shifted to another person. “Emma, why are you only getting back now? Didn’t I remind you early on?” Marcus walked out of the kitchen. When he saw me, he frowned. In his memory, as soon as I received his messages, I would rush home desperately. “Something came up on the road. I got back late.” “What was so important that you missed dinner?” His tone was flat, but carried a hint of interrogation. I wasn’t planning to tell him anything about the marriage. Since I’d already decided to leave, from now on Marcus was just a stranger to me. I came back this time mainly for my belongings. “Nothing much. The company asked me to go on a business trip. I came back to pack.” Without waiting for Marcus’s reaction, I walked straight toward the bedroom. But the moment I opened the bedroom door, I was shocked by what I saw. The bed I’d neatly made before leaving was now messy, with dried white stains and water marks on it. The closet had also been rummaged through. Since I was leaving anyway, I could actually not care about all this. But on the nightstand, the handmade high-rise building toy my grandfather had given me was broken in half. Scattered fragments covered the floor. I couldn’t hold back anymore and called out Marcus’s name directly. “Who came into this bedroom? Who knocked over my things!” Marcus walked in, first frowning, then quickly relaxing. He spoke in a completely indifferent tone. “It’s just a handmade item. I’ll have someone put it back together for you later.” I froze for a moment. That indifferent tone made it clear I didn’t matter to him at all. And because of that sentence, I knew it was definitely Lily who broke it. Only she deserved Marcus’s desperate protection. “It was Lily who broke it, wasn’t it?” My plain statement was like igniting Marcus’s powder keg. He immediately glared at me, then questioned me. “Do you have proof it was Lily? Maybe it just wasn’t installed properly and fell down by itself!” “Emma, don’t just open your mouth and falsely accuse people. Before you say it was Lily, at least show some evidence, or I’ll sue you for defamation!” The soft flesh in my mouth was nearly bitten through. A strong taste of blood filled my entire mouth. He really could protect her. Just one sentence from me, and I was charged with defamation. But Marcus from six months ago wasn’t like this. The day I truly fell in love with him was on a rainy night. I’d been in a car accident. He ran all the way to the accident site without even carrying an umbrella. That day, this man who was always polite and proper shed all his restraints for me, shouting on the roadside and getting into a fistfight with the driver who hit me. So why has this person changed now?

I didn’t continue arguing. Just as Marcus said, I had absolutely no evidence to prove Lily broke it. I could only carefully squat down to collect the fragments, also picking up the two halves of the fallen building. Outside the door, Lily’s pitiful voice rang out. She limped in. “Marcus, don’t fight with Emma anymore!” “Even though I didn’t break it, if Emma wants to blame me, then blame me. No one’s liked me since I was little. It’s normal that Emma doesn’t like me either.” As she spoke, she deliberately walked a few steps and squatted in front of me. She stepped on one of the fragments and deliberately twisted hard. At the same time, she whispered in a very low voice. “I did break it. So what!” Rage instantly rushed to my head. I pushed Lily away directly. But before I even touched her, she conveniently fell to the ground. That foot wrapped in white gauze even precisely hit the nightstand. The next second, Lily’s tearful voice came out. “Emma, I just wanted to help you.” Before I could react, Marcus grabbed my hair. I’d never seen him like this before. His face was twisted with rage, his eyes sharp, as if he wanted to kill me. “Even if you don’t like Lily, you don’t need to hurt her like this. Besides, she’s injured!” With Marcus pulling my hair, I had no choice but to tilt my head back and look at them. A bitter taste spread from the tip of my tongue. My heart was riddled with wounds. “I didn’t even touch her!” Marcus’s slap landed directly on my face. A red handprint instantly appeared on my cheek. “You’re still lying? Emma, do you think I’m blind? I was right behind you. I saw it with my own eyes!” “First you falsely accused Lily, now you pushed her down. I never knew you were such a ruthless woman. You’re absolutely vicious!” My breath caught. I couldn’t even say anything in my defense. In this situation, no matter what I said, Marcus wouldn’t believe me anyway. He let go of me and looked down at me coldly. “Can’t find an excuse, can you? Emma, you’re a truly poisonous woman!” Marcus looked at me with disappointment. But I felt relieved. If before I still held the last thread of hope for him, now everything had finally returned to calm. I no longer defended myself, no longer struggled to explain. Lily, being carried by Marcus, looked at me smugly and mouthed some words. But I understood them. “You think you’re worthy of competing with me for Marcus!” Since you like him, I’ll give him to you. Because Lily’s injured ankle had just been bumped, Marcus nervously carried her to the hospital. I swayed as I stood up. In the mirror before me, my burning red cheek was reflected. The handprint was still clearly visible. You could imagine how angry Marcus was at the time, how much force he used. I couldn’t help but smile bitterly, reaching up to wipe away the blood slowly seeping from the corner of my mouth. This slap also shattered all my former illusions. Taking this opportunity, I gathered all my clothes from the house and packed them in my suitcase. I took everything I could carry and threw what I couldn’t into the trash. Before leaving, I found a real estate agent and listed the house online. This house was mine. My grandfather bought it for me with his money. It was originally meant to be my wedding house. Now it seems there’s no need to keep it. Dirty things disgust me.

I wheeled my suitcase to a hotel and stayed for the night. For the time being, I planned to spend all my remaining time with my grandfather through his final days. Early in the morning, I called Ethan. He seemed to still be asleep, his voice hazy and muffled. Only after I urged him several times and called Maya to have her keep an eye on him did this man finally get up. When going to the hospital, Ethan and I prepared our story in advance to handle my grandfather. Because I’d previously brought Marcus to meet my grandfather, my grandfather knew Marcus was my intended husband. To keep my grandfather from worrying, I planned to have Ethan help me get through this without revealing his real identity. But I didn’t expect him and my grandfather to hit it off so well. They talked about everything from the poverty of their generation to today’s artificial intelligence. Even when we were about to leave, my grandfather was still somewhat reluctant. He held my hand and patted the back of it gently. “Emma, this one’s good. Much more reliable than that Marcus fellow.” I felt a bit embarrassed. I didn’t want my grandfather to know I’d randomly pulled someone to marry. So I could only say stiffly. “Grandpa, did you remember wrong? He is Marcus.” “I’m not senile yet. I still know if it’s the same person or not. I just don’t know if I can hold on until your wedding day…” I quickly took out our marriage certificate from my bag and handed it to my grandfather. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. We’re already married. The wedding is being prepared. You’ll definitely make it.” Unexpectedly, my grandfather opened the marriage certificate and examined it carefully with his magnifying glass. Only then did he nod with satisfaction. “I knew it! Not that Marcus boy. This one’s called Ethan Chase, right? Good name!” I glared at my grandfather in exasperation before finally leaving the hospital room. Ethan was waiting for me in the corridor. It looked like he’d gotten into an argument with someone. When I got closer, I discovered the people arguing with him were Marcus and Lily. I didn’t know what started it. But one sentence from Marcus made my throat tighten, leaving me breathless for a long time. “Whatever my girlfriend did wrong, I apologize on her behalf. But you’re a grown man—bullying a woman like this, have you no shame?” In his heart, Lily was his girlfriend. So what was I? A substitute? “When you do something wrong, you should admit it. If everyone was like you, what would we need laws for? Being a woman means you can do whatever you want?” Marcus and Lily were left speechless. Just then, Marcus saw me appear. A flash of panic and unease suddenly appeared in his eyes. But he quickly suppressed it, pretending nothing was wrong as he rushed up to grab me, speaking first. “Emma, perfect timing. Lily accidentally spilled coffee on him just now, and he’s saying this outfit is worth tens of thousands. Isn’t that extortion?” “Don’t you have a best friend who’s a lawyer? Let’s sue him for extortion!” Lily nodded matter-of-factly, showing no sign of remorse. “Exactly! Sue him for extortion, and make him pay us emotional damages!” Ethan looked at me with a smiling expression. I couldn’t help but blush. “Your friends?” I immediately shook my head. “Not anymore.” Before Marcus could react, I continued. “This outfit really is worth tens of thousands. And the lawyer you mentioned is his sister.” With that, I quickly left the hospital. I didn’t want any more interaction with Marcus. As for how they negotiated, it had nothing to do with me. In the following days, Ethan kept arranging our wedding. I originally wanted to just casually wear a wedding dress and let my grandfather see it, then be done with it. But Ethan said that wouldn’t match his status and insisted on making it bigger. Besides being a famous race car driver, Ethan was also a wealthy heir. These kinds of families had many requirements for weddings. Since I couldn’t persuade him, I could only compromise. Meanwhile, Marcus asked me every day when I’d return from my business trip. I don’t know if he noticed that I’d been contacting him less and less these days. For the first time, he said he’d set a date to register our marriage. Too bad I didn’t need it anymore. Each time I made an excuse about being busy on the business trip and hung up. The wedding day came quickly. I appeared at the venue in my wedding dress. A familiar voice came from behind me, very surprised, with a hint of panic. “Emma, aren’t you on a business trip? Why are you here in a wedding dress?”

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