Author: Momo Chan

1 It was during a summer charity drive at Saint Jude’s Orphanage when I stumbled upon my future daughter. She claimed she had traveled back in time, twenty years from the future. I stared at her, my heart fluttering with a mix of dread and dizzying excitement. “You look so much like Todd,” I whispered, studying her face. “How old are you?” “Are Todd and I still happy twenty years from now? He swore to me that he’d cherish me even more after we tied the knot.” I kept babbling, eager for any scrap of our future. But the girl only let out a strange, hollow laugh. “Oh, your bond is spectacular,” she said, her voice dripping with something dark. “Twenty years later, he still treats you like his crown jewel. Last year, when you had a minor surgery, he practically lived outside the operating room, donating half his net worth to charity just to beg the universe for your safety.” A sweet warmth bloomed in my chest. “He always did have a flair for the dramatic,” I murmured, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Before the warmth could settle, her voice drifted over, light as a feather but cold as ice. “But then, a secret lover is always more thrilling than a real wife, isn’t she?” “When the woman on the outside gets a minor headache, the old bastard drops everything, leaving his actual family in the dust.” “Isn’t that right, stepmom?” Maeve seemed delighted by my sheer bewilderment. She wore a mocking grin, as if watching a tragedy unfold in real-time. “You didn’t actually think you were my mother, did you?” “A homewrecker like you doesn’t deserve a daughter.” She spoke with absolute certainty. But it made no sense. Todd and I had signed our marriage papers just last month. How could I possibly be his mistress? “That’s impossible. Who are you? What are you…” Maeve cut me off with a scoff. “Fine. Today happens to be my parents’ wedding anniversary anyway. If you don’t believe me, let’s go see for ourselves.” Half-doubting, half-terrified, I drove Maeve to the address she gave me. It was in the very same gated community where Todd and I lived. But while our townhouse sat on the cheap, dusty western edge of the estate, this grand brick villa stood proudly right in the center. Maeve sneered the moment she stepped out of the car. “Twenty years from now, everyone calls you his little side-chick. Quite the title, isn’t it?” “There. See for yourself.” I followed her gaze, and my entire body turned to stone. Todd, who had held me close and begged for a good morning kiss just hours ago, was leaning down, letting a woman wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. “Take a good look, stepmom. The woman in there is my actual mother.” “You’re saying… Phoebe is your mother?” My voice cracked, dry as ash. Maeve nodded without a trace of hesitation. It was absurd. Phoebe had been Todd’s executive assistant ever since she graduated college. Whenever she saw me, she would smile warmly, treating me like her closest friend and calling me the future Mrs. At our wedding last month, she had stayed late, drinking toast after toast on our behalf to keep the guests happy until she was completely wasted. I had even nudged Todd afterward, telling him to give her a massive bonus for being so loyal. And now, Maeve was claiming Phoebe was Todd’s real wife. Then what was the marriage certificate Todd and I had signed? “A forgery,” Maeve said. I froze, staring at her in sheer disbelief. She shrugged, her lip curling. “It’s all fake. The ceremony was a sham, the guests were hired actors, and the certificate is just a cheap piece of paper without an official state seal.” I refused to believe it. I couldn’t believe that Todd, the man who had swerved the steering wheel during a car crash to take the full force of the impact to protect me, would trap me in such a cruel, humiliating lie. My knees trembling, I stumbled back to our townhouse. With shaking fingers, I pried open the safe. The moment we got back with the certificate last month, Todd had playfully snatched it away before I could even open it. He had wrapped his arms around me, beaming with pride. “This is our family heirloom now,” he had whispered. “We have to lock it away safely.” Such sweet words. I had happily let him have his way. Now, holding the paper under the light, I realized how laughably fake it was. A child could have spotted the forged stamp. I collapsed onto the floor, the paper slipping from my hand as a cold void opened in my chest. “Why?” I whispered to the empty room. “Why would he do this to me?” Maeve made herself at home, wandering around the bedroom. “Because he’s a greedy bastard. He wanted a respectable wife, but he also wanted to keep his favorite toy.” “My mother’s family has money and connections. They gave him funding, resources, everything he needed to build his empire.” “But you? You stuck with him through his poorest years, so he threw you a bone. He put on a fake show to keep you quiet, locked up in this little cage.” I sat on the floor for hours as the afternoon light faded into dusk, entirely oblivious to when Maeve had slipped out. The moon was high by the time Todd finally returned. He paused at the door, surprised to see me curled up in the darkness of the sofa. “Gemma? Sweetheart, why are you sitting in the dark?” “My meeting ran incredibly late today. I’m sorry.” “But guess what I brought you?” With a boyish grin, he produced a small, elegant box from behind his back. “Strawberry shortcake. You said you were craving it yesterday.” He held it out to me, his eyes bright and warm, looking exactly like the man who had promised to love me forever. I pulled my knees tighter against my chest, staring at this man I had loved for a decade. How could he hold another woman, kiss her, and then come home to look at me with such convincing tenderness? Confused by my silence, his smile softened, and he slid onto the couch to pull me into his chest. “I’m sorry, honey. I promise I’ll be home early tomorrow.” He called me his wife so naturally, with such warmth. But I wasn’t his wife. I was just his dirty little secret. Maeve was like a ghost, appearing out of nowhere. The next morning, as I was about to take my medication, she snatched the bottle right out of my hand. I pressed a hand to my throbbing temple, reaching out. “Give it back, Maeve. My head is splitting.” She turned the bottle around, inspecting the label with mock curiosity. “Wow, stepmom, you started popping these this early?” “I don’t know what my dad saw in you. A pill-popper. How pathetic.” I froze. “What do you mean, pill-popper?” She rattled the pills. “These are heavy-duty psychotropics. Hallucinogens.” “Actually, the timeline fits. You get so hooked on these that you hallucinate, crash your car into someone, and end up in prison.” The moment the words left her mouth, she gasped, slapping a hand over her lips as if she had said too much. Shoving the bottle back into my hand, she quickly poured a glass of water and offered it to me with a tense, fake smile. “I was lying. It’s just ordinary pain medicine. Drink up.” I stared at the plastic bottle, my hands shaking violently. Todd had brought these pills home, claiming they were a cutting-edge prescription for my chronic migraines. Every time my head throbbed, he would look more panicked than I was, personally bringing the water and watching me swallow the pill before he could relax. I had thought it was love. But in reality, he was quietly, systematically driving me insane. Hysteria clawing at my throat, I threw the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall, pills scattering like teeth. We had been together since we were eighteen. Ten years. During our bleakest times, we shared a damp basement flat, living on instant noodles. I had worked myself to the bone helping him pitch to clients. When a wealthy investor humiliated him, I swallowed my pride and spent weeks kissing up to the investor’s snobbish wife just to secure the deal. When Todd found out, his eyes had burned with tears of shame and anger. “Gemma, never again,” he had choked out, holding my face. “I don’t care if I have to drink myself to death for a contract, but I will not let you degrade yourself for me.” The man who swore he would rather die than see me suffer had handed me the ultimate betrayal. I wiped the tears from my face, turning to Maeve, who was watching me with a blank expression. “What else?” I choked out. “What else did he do?” Maeve stared at me, a dark, unsettling smile spreading across her lips. “Stepmom, do you remember the orphanage where you found me today?” “Why do you think a girl from twenty years in the future would be wandering around that specific place?” My heart leaped into my throat. Before I could press her for answers, the front door clicked open. Phoebe walked in, dressed in a sharp pencil skirt and blazer. She froze when she saw me sitting on the floor, her face twisting into immediate concern. “Gemma? Oh my god, what happened?” I whipped my head around to look for Maeve, but she was gone. Vanished into thin air. Phoebe rushed over and knelt beside me, reaching out to help me up. “Gemma, let me help…” The fake warmth in her voice made my stomach turn. I slapped her hand away with all the strength I had left. “Should you be calling me that, or is it my turn to call you the lady of the house?” Phoebe stiffened. A heavy silence filled the room. Then, slowly, her worried expression melted away, replaced by a cold, amused smirk. “So, you finally figured it out.” “I was starting to think you were genuinely brainless. I left so many clues, you know.” She stood up, smoothing her skirt, and made herself comfortable on the sofa, her posture oozing the confidence of a rightful owner. “Todd and I registered our marriage a year ago.” “Yesterday was our anniversary. Did he tell you he had a late board meeting? He didn’t.” “He bought me a cake, gave me a diamond ring, and took me out to a beautiful dinner. Then he drew me a bath and tucked me into bed.” “My appetite hasn’t been great lately, so I told him to take the leftover cake home to keep you happy. Did you try it? The bakery is exclusive.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, sighing. “Look, Gemma, don’t hate him. He didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t have the heart to break the news.” “You did suffer with him through the lean years, after all. He still wants you around to take care of him when I’m busy.” “Besides, you’re a much better cook. He loves those honey-glazed pork chops you make. I can never get the recipe right, mine are always too sweet or too sour. I made them last week, and he barely took two bites before complaining they weren’t as good as yours.” Cold sweat poured down my neck. My head throbbed with white-hot pain. “When did it start?” I whispered. She tapped her chin, smiling. “Three years ago, on your anniversary.” “The office was in complete chaos. He’d pulled an all-nighter but was still insisting on rushing home to buy you flowers. I got annoyed, so I made him stay with me instead.” Her voice began to warp and fade. Spots of blinding color danced across my eyes, and then the world went entirely black. When I opened my eyes, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. Todd was asleep, his head resting on the edge of my hospital bed. His brow was furrowed, and his fingers were wrapped tightly around mine. I stared at his face, a face I had kissed ten thousand times. A faint white scar ran from his temple to his cheekbone, a permanent reminder of the day he threw himself over my body as the glass shattered around us. I slowly pulled my hand away. The movement startled him awake. He sat up instantly, his eyes bloodshot. Seeing me conscious, his face lit up with overwhelming relief. “Gemma, thank god. You terrified me.” He poured a cup of water, offering it to me. “The doctor said it was an anxiety attack. Sweetheart, have you been skipping your medication?” I stared down at my trembling fingers. “Todd, where is Phoebe?” He blinked, then offered a smooth, easy smile. “She’s my assistant, Gemma. She’s at the office, of course.” “I only sent her to our place yesterday to grab some files. Why do you ask?” Whenever he lied, his left eyebrow would twitch upward. It was a tell he had possessed since he was eighteen, one he had never managed to shake. I closed my eyes, unable to look at him for another second. “Leave. I want to be alone.” “Gemma…” “Go.” A long silence stretched between us. Finally, he sighed, gently tucking the blanket around my shoulders. At the door, he paused, looking back with soft, pleading eyes. “I love you, Gemma.” The words were filled with warmth, but they left me shivering. The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke, and hot tears streamed down my face. “Oh? Stepmom, are those actual tears?” Maeve stood by the window, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned over the bed, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she brushed a tear from my cheek. I froze, staring up into her face. Her wide, round eyes held a strange, haunting familiarity. In the next breath, her wicked smile returned. “I didn’t think bad women knew how to cry. How tragic.” “You deserve it. But don’t worry, there’s plenty more misery waiting for you in the future.” Remembering what she had whispered before Phoebe walked in, I lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. “What did Todd do to the orphanage?” Maeve fell silent. She stared down at my hand wrapping her wrist, her eyes glazed over. For a fleeting second, I could have sworn her eyes were swimming with tears. A sudden panic gripped my chest. “Maeve…” Before I could finish, she violently wrenched her hand away. “You brought this on yourself! It serves you right that my dad bulldozed that dump where you grew up and gifted the land to my mother.” My breath hitched in my throat. Maeve paced the room, her voice rising with forced, manic glee. “You were like a shadow, always playing the victim to keep my dad from coming home to his real family.” “But the moment my mother threw a tantrum, he threw you under the bus. He destroyed the only place you ever cared about just to make her smile.” “My mother told me you literally got down on your knees, begging him. She said you sobbed like a dog.” “Didn’t stop him though. They turned your precious orphanage into a waste processing plant.” “After that, you completely lost your mind, turning his life into a living hell with your psychotic episodes.” “You even caused a death. The old lady who ran the place threatened to sue, but she ended up dead in a convenient accident.” “It was my mother’s development project, so of course my dad cleaned up the mess. He swept the old lady’s death under the rug without blinking.” “And you, like a fool, kept screaming for justice. My dad had to hire a specialist to hypnotize you just to wipe your memories and shut you up.” I was discharged a few days later. I went back to the townhouse quietly. Every curtain, every piece of furniture had been chosen by me. I had built this place believing it was the foundation of my happiest years. Instead, it was a gilded cage built on deceit and blood. I had barely finished packing my suitcase when Todd burst through the door, throwing his arms around me in a desperate embrace. “Gemma, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why did you leave the hospital without telling me?” Resting my head against his chest, feeling the frantic, terrified racing of his heart, I whispered, “Todd, do you love me?” “Of course I do,” he replied instantly, tightening his grip. “Gemma, without you, I would die.” Such grand passion. I let out a silent, bitter laugh. Before I could reply, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown, his face instantly turning pale and conflicted as Phoebe’s name flashed on the screen. “Take it,” I said, my voice dead. He hesitated, then stepped back, moving into the hallway to answer. When he returned, the mask of the apologetic lover was firmly back in place. “Just some trouble at the firm. Get some rest, okay?” “Once this deal closes, I’ll take you on a vacation. Just the two of us.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and hurried out the door. I stared at the closed door, raising my hand to violently wipe his kiss from my skin. There is no vacation, Todd. There is no future. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out, never looking back. At the corner of the street, some inexplicable urge made me stop and turn. Maeve was sitting on the wooden swing set in the garden of the grand brick villa, swaying gently under the shadow of the trees. Seeing me watch her, she raised a hand, waving with a wide, bright smile. The sight sent a strange shiver through me. How odd. She looked absolutely nothing like Phoebe.

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My daughter always loved telling the truth. When I asked her if she thought I was pretty, she looked right at me and said, “Honestly Mom, you are the ugliest mom at my whole preschool.” When my mother-in-law pointed her finger in my face and called me a wasteful spender for buying her an expensive backpack, I asked my daughter how that made her feel. She smiled and said, “Honestly, I was pretty happy watching you get yelled at.” My husband once joked with her, asking if she would take care of me when I got old. She scoffed. “I am not taking care of her. When she gets old, she should just hurry up and be put six feet under.” My heart went completely cold. But her eyes curved into happy little crescents. “I am just telling the truth!” Later on, a detective came to our house doing a routine neighborhood canvas and asked my daughter a few standard questions. Once again, my daughter told the truth. But this time, it was a truth she would regret for the rest of her life. 1 The detective knocked on our door to update the local residential registry. My seven-year-old daughter, Brenda, blinked her big eyes and asked, “Why do you have to write our names down?” The detective gently patted her head. “It helps keep the neighborhood safe, and it helps us make sure bad people do not kidnap little kids.” Brenda nodded, her face suddenly lighting up with an exaggerated look of realization. “Oh, I get it! You want to catch kidnappers! Well, isn’t my mom one of those?” “She told me out of her own mouth yesterday that she kidnapped me!” The smile froze completely on the detective’s face. I stared at my daughter in absolute shock. Seeing the sly, calculating gleam in her eyes, my brain started to buzz. Brenda had a habit of saying “honest” things specifically designed to humiliate me and cause me pain. Just yesterday, I refused to let her eat too much junk food before dinner. She threw a fit, calling me an evil mother and screaming that she didn’t want to be my daughter anymore. I was exhausted and furious, so I snapped back, “You’re right, you aren’t my daughter! I kidnapped you!” At the time, she argued back saying she didn’t believe me. I never imagined she would take a sarcastic comment she didn’t even believe, package it as the “truth,” and feed it directly to a police officer. The detective was already looking at me with a completely different expression. I forced out a dry, awkward laugh. “She was misbehaving yesterday and I lost my temper. It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t think she would take it literally.” The detective’s brow relaxed slightly. He turned to Brenda. “Little girl, you can’t joke about things like that. If your mom gets mistaken for a kidnapper, she could go to jail.” Seeing Brenda nod, the knot in my chest finally loosened. I thought the ordeal was over. But a second later, Brenda looked up with an expression of pure, innocent sincerity. “But my mom can’t have babies. If I wasn’t kidnapped, where did I come from?” The scrutiny and suspicion instantly returned to the detective’s eyes. I panicked and quickly tried to explain. “I had an IUD put in right after she was born! When kids hear about birth control, they misunderstand what ‘can’t have babies’ means.” I tugged on Brenda’s sleeve, silently begging her to stop talking. She refused to listen. “Mom couldn’t have babies right after she got married! But I am already seven years old!” I had no idea how a seven-year-old girl possessed the mental capacity to connect those dots. But when you thought about what she was implying, it was impossible not to jump to horrible conclusions. My husband and I had been married for six years. I had an IUD for those exact six years. So how could we possibly have a seven-year-old daughter? The detective clearly did the math in his head. His expression turned dead serious. “Ma’am, I am going to need to see the child’s birth certificate.” My stomach dropped to the floor. There was no birth certificate for Brenda in this house. Six years ago, I had literally fought off human traffickers to rip this child out of their hands. When the police eventually pulled the files on her biological parents, the reality left everyone speechless. My husband and I had looked at each other with pale faces, sharing the exact same thought. If we sent this poor baby back to her biological family, living with them would be a fate worse than death. We simply couldn’t bear it. So, we went through the system, adopted her, and raised her to this day. Brenda probably thought my angry comment yesterday was just a cruel joke, but she had no idea that the joke was actually the truth. The only reason we never told her was that we didn’t want her to feel like an outsider in her own home. But now, if I didn’t confess, this detective might actually put me in handcuffs. Just as I opened my mouth to explain the adoption, Brenda suddenly shrieked in mock excitement. “Oh! I remember now!” “Mom got pregnant out of wedlock! She had me before she got married! When the grown-ups talk about women being loose, this is what they mean, right?” I stood frozen in place. If things were really the way she was describing them, I would have wanted the floor to open up and swallow me out of shame. But my silence in that moment wasn’t born of embarrassment. It was born of a chilling, profound heartbreak. Thinking she had successfully pierced my armor, the corners of Brenda’s mouth curled up into a thrilled little smirk. “Mom, I am just telling the truth to help clear your name! You shouldn’t be mad at me.” The detective withdrew his intense gaze from me, shaking his head slightly as he finished writing down our information. In a corner where no one could see, my hands were curled into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms as I desperately pushed down the surge of bitter emotion. This was not the first time she had done something like this. 2 Back when she was in preschool, she constantly praised other mothers in front of me, talking about how gorgeous they were. I asked her, “Do you think Mom isn’t pretty?” Brenda stared dead into my eyes and said, “Mom, you are not pretty at all!” “You are the ugliest mom at the whole preschool!” I was stunned. Seeing her eyes curved into happy little slits, clearly enjoying the moment, I couldn’t help but speak up. “When you say things like that, it really hurts Mom’s feelings.” To my surprise, she crossed her arms and put on a self-righteous face. “But my teacher said good kids always tell the truth!” I was left completely speechless. A strange, uneasy feeling took root in my chest. Logically speaking, young children usually have a natural, loving bias toward the people who raise them, especially regarding their looks. But Brenda was different. Later, when she started elementary school, I spent a hundred dollars buying her a shiny, branded Frozen backpack she had been begging for. When my mother-in-law found out how much it cost, she marched over, pointed her finger right at my nose, and screamed at me for wasting Chris’s hard-earned money. Brenda completely ignored the vicious scolding I was receiving. She treated the yelling as background music while she spun around the living room, dancing with her new bag. Later, I couldn’t help but ask her, “When you heard Grandma yelling at me, did you have any thoughts about it?” Brenda rolled her eyes around for a second before locking them tightly onto mine. “Yeah! I thought it was super fun!” Seeing the genuine, radiant smile on her face, my expression completely froze. She stared at me for a long time, drinking in my reaction, before adding her favorite line. “Don’t be mad, Mom. I am just telling the truth.” Just last month, Brenda caught a terrible flu. I didn’t sleep for weeks, staying by her bedside day and night to nurse her back to health. When my husband, Chris, saw that I had lost ten pounds from the stress, his heart broke. He asked Brenda, “Mom is working so hard to raise you. Are you going to take care of her when she gets old?” Brenda glanced at me, pouted her lips, and said, “No way! When Mom gets old, she needs to hurry up and go into the ground!” Chris stiffened in shock. Every ounce of color drained from my face. Yet, seeing our devastated reactions, Brenda actually started clapping and cheering, thrilled by the misery she had caused. I remained completely silent for the rest of the day. Brenda even had the nerve to ask me, “Mom, are you upset again just because I told the truth?” That night, I didn’t close my eyes for a single second. Chris tossed and turned beside me. Breaking the heavy silence, he suddenly whispered, “Whenever she says those things… she has to just be joking, right?” Even his voice trembled with uncertainty. Every single time her words tore me to pieces, a brief flash of malicious joy would appear in her eyes. Then she would deploy her favorite excuse, using “telling the truth” to silence any complaints I had. Remembering all of this, my emotions were reaching a boiling point. I rushed to the door, eager to see the detective out and be done with this nightmare. “Mr. Detective!” Brenda yelled out just as he stepped over the threshold. “If I find out my mom really is a kidnapper, can I call you to arrest her?” The detective gave Brenda a highly complicated look, then glanced back at me. Ultimately, he slipped a business card into Brenda’s hand before walking away. 3 After the detective left, Brenda tilted her head and studied my face. Seeing that I wasn’t breaking down or yelling, a flash of deep disappointment crossed her eyes. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Why did you say those things to the officer?” Brenda put her hands on her hips, lifting her chin with total arrogance. “Because I am a good kid who tells the truth!” “If you want to blame someone, blame yourself! You are the one who got mad and said I was kidnapped!” That confirmed it. She purposely fed that story to the police just to punish me for the angry comment I made yesterday. I tightened my fists and asked her one more question. “If Mom really did steal you from human traffickers, but your real parents were terrible people and I kept you to protect you… would you still call the police and send me to prison?” Brenda nodded without a single second of hesitation. “Of course I would! Mom, I told you, I am a good kid who tells the truth!” My heart plunged straight into an icy abyss. Chris had come home from work quietly and had been standing in the hallway for a while. His face was terrifyingly dark. Still, he suppressed his anger, walked over, and patted my shoulder to comfort me. “Maybe… maybe she will grow out of it when she gets older.” Seeing Chris upset made Brenda happy again. She completely ignored our pain. I couldn’t stop the thought from echoing in my head. If Chris and I spent half our lives pouring our blood, sweat, and tears into raising a vicious, ungrateful parasite, why shouldn’t we cut our losses right now? But we had raised her for so many years. I wanted to give her one absolute final chance. I looked at the detective’s business card sitting on the table and spoke deliberately. “Brenda, you really were kidnapped. Inside the safe in our bedroom, there is a file containing all your original records. It has the names of your biological parents on it.” “If you keep using your ‘truths’ to intentionally break our hearts, your dad and I are going to pack your bags and send you back to your real family.” Hearing my tone, the smugness vanished from her young face, replaced by a genuine, age-appropriate fear. She turned to Chris in a panic. “Dad, is she telling the truth?” Chris swallowed his disgust and sighed. “Your mom is just messing with you.” The panic slowly faded from Brenda’s face. She puffed out her cheeks and glared at me. “So it was a lie! I wish I actually had different parents! I hate you, Mom!” Chris’s expression darkened even further. But her entire focus was locked onto me. I played along, forcing a deeply wounded, heartbroken expression onto my face. Only then did her lips part into a satisfied, cruel smile. In that moment, everything became crystal clear. Brenda truly believed she was our biological flesh and blood. Because she thought that bond was indissoluble, she felt completely emboldened to hurt me without any fear of consequences. Any remaining warmth in my heart completely froze over. Late that night, as I hovered on the edge of sleep, I heard the subtle click of the bedroom door handle turning. A tiny shadow slipped into the room. A minute later, the shadow sneaked back out. From the hallway outside, a deliberately hushed, childlike voice whispered into a phone. “Hello, is this the police? Honestly, my mom really is a kidnapper. All the proof is hiding inside her safe. You need to come arrest her right now!” 4 The police response was incredibly fast. I barely had time to throw a cardigan over my shoulders before the front door was aggressively pushed open. Brenda ran crying into the arms of a uniformed officer, pointing a trembling finger at me while wearing a mask of absolute terror. “My mom is a human trafficker! She told me she kidnapped me!” The officer didn’t notice, but from my angle, I clearly saw the wicked, triumphant glint in Brenda’s eyes. It was that exact same thrill of successfully torturing me with her “honesty.” The lead officer stepped forward, his hand resting intimidatingly on his utility belt. His voice commanded authority. “Ma’am, we need you to open the safe in your bedroom immediately so we can inspect the contents.” Chris had been woken by the commotion. He rushed into the living room, panic flashing across his face when he heard the word safe. “You can’t open that!” Taking Chris’s panic as a sign of guilt, the officer signaled to a colleague carrying a heavy breaching kit to step forward. Looking at the heavy metal pry bars hitting the floor, I turned my gaze slowly to Brenda. “Brenda, your dad told you during the day that it was just a joke. Why did you still call the police? Is this what you call telling the truth?” Brenda clamped her mouth shut, conveniently ignoring what Chris had told her earlier. I looked at her with a heavy, loaded stare. “If that safe opens, you are going to regret it for the rest of your life.” Brenda snorted loudly and crossed her arms. “Mom never knows the difference between a joke and the truth. I have to punish Mom.” “This way, Mom will learn to only tell the truth, just like me.” The first lock on the safe popped open with a loud crack under the officer’s pry bar. The heavy steel door swung wide. Inside rested a single, tightly sealed metal lockbox. I looked at Brenda one last time. “If we prove right here and now that you are not my daughter, will you pack your bags and go back to your biological parents?” Brenda answered without missing a beat. “Yes!” “Every time I tell the truth, Mom gets mad. I hate Mom!” The very last microscopic shred of pity I held for this girl evaporated into thin air. The sealed lockbox was a high-density, tamper-proof container I had bought specifically for this. It was incredibly difficult to pry open by force. Watching the officer sweat as he struggled with his tools, I finally spoke up. “I can open it with my passcode. But only if Brenda signs a voluntary relinquishment of parental rights form with me.” Brenda didn’t understand the legal terminology of what a relinquishment form was. But she recognized that I desperately did not want that box opened. Because of that, she nodded eagerly. She pressed her thumb into an ink pad and stamped her print onto the document I printed out. I punched in Brenda’s birthday on the keypad. The box clicked open. Inside lay three neatly stacked files. The first was a legal adoption certificate. The second was a stack of official police reports and news clippings from the day she was rescued from the trafficking ring. The third was a detailed background file on her biological parents. The lead officer read the adoption papers and remained silent. He moved to the second file. His eyes widened in shock. He read the police reports over and over again. When he finally looked back up at me, the suspicion was gone, replaced by profound respect. “You fought off a gang of traffickers to get her back? Lady, you have some serious guts.” Brenda, expecting to see me handcuffed and dragged away, stood completely paralyzed when she heard the officer praising me instead of arresting me. The officer didn’t dwell on his amazement for long. Driven by professional duty, he opened the third file. With just one glance, he froze. He looked up at me in absolute disbelief. “Are… are you sure about this? These are the kid’s real parents?” “You actually want to send her back to them?” The other officers, confused by their sergeant’s reaction, crowded around to read the file. A moment later, every single one of them turned to look at Brenda with eyes full of deep, uncomfortable pity. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I simply closed my eyes and nodded. “The relinquishment agreement is signed. There is no going back now.” Looking at the strange reactions of the adults around her, the reality of the situation finally seemed to pierce through Brenda’s arrogance. Pure terror washed over her face.

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1 My roommate, Cassie, was the ultimate player. She was currently dating five different guys online. Since they all happened to ask her out on a first date for the exact same evening, she was terrified of being exposed. To solve her dilemma, she decided to hold a boyfriend auction right in our dorm room. The other four girls in our room happily bought up one guy each. But when it was my turn, Cassie’s face twisted into a mocking sneer. “Bridget, you’re hideous and dirt-poor. Shoving a man toward you would be a crime against humanity.” “The only way you’ll ever get a taste of a man is if you hang around the dark corners of the campus track field at midnight.” By telling me to go to the track field at night, she was mocking me, implying that only under the pitch-black cover of darkness would a man be blind enough to look at me. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch her underlying meaning. Instead, I stood up and asked in a small, tentative voice: “Can I buy the last one?” … Cassie was a master of scheduling. She juggled five online relationships simultaneously, her face glued to her screen all day, sweet-talking them one by one through voice calls late into the night. One minute she’d be sweet-talking Boyfriend A into carrying her to a higher rank in an online game, and the next she’d be sending a breathless, baby-voiced voice note to Boyfriend B, whining that she was craving boba. My bunkmate, Becca, watched this daily show with a mix of awe and deep envy. “Cassie really has all the luck,” she sighed. “Managing five guys at once? She’s single-handedly meeting the relationship quota for our entire floor.” “What if all five of them ask to meet up on the exact same day?” I couldn’t help but ask. Cassie poked her head out from behind her bed curtains, giving me a dismissive smirk. “I’m not an idiot, Bridget. I’d never let that happen. If you have so much free time to worry about me, why don’t you go jog on the track tonight? Who knows, maybe some blind fool will bump into you in the dark.” “Why the track at night?” Becca asked, genuinely confused. Only a cruel snicker from Cassie answered her. The others caught on instantly, their lips curling into nasty, quiet smirks. A familiar, sharp ache bloomed in my chest. I was born with dull, dark skin and heavy monolids. Growing up in grinding poverty meant years of hard labor in the fields, leaving my stature stunted. When she told me to run at night, she was mocking me, saying that only under the cover of pitch-black darkness would a man be blind enough to look at me. I silently climbed back onto my bunk and drew my curtains shut, sealing out their malice. The curtain was a tattered, hand-me-down piece left behind by a graduating senior. I had smuggled it back to our room while the dorm mother wasn’t looking. But none of us could have guessed that my idle question would turn into a prophecy. A few days later, Cassie was pacing the room in a frenzy, her fingers flying across her phone screen. In a fit of rage, she slammed her phone onto the desk. The sound made my stomach sink. That phone cost nearly a thousand dollars, equivalent to months of my living expenses. Sensing my gaze, her face twisted in fury. She stormed over to my bunk, hauled me down, and slapped me across the face twice, hard. My ears rang, and my head spun from the sheer force of it. The commotion drew the others, but they didn’t care about the red welts swelling on my cheeks. They only cared about why Cassie was so angry. “It’s all this peasant’s fault!” Cassie snarled, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Her jinx of a mouth actually worked! Every single one of my guys demanded to meet in person tomorrow night. They won’t take no for an answer. They said if I don’t show up, we’re over!” She was too blinded by rage to notice the brief, satisfying glints of schadenfreude passing over the others’ faces. “Oh, what a nightmare,” Valerie murmured. She was the prettiest girl in our dorm, crowned the department’s beauty queen, but she was also incredibly green with envy. She hated how many handsome guys Cassie juggled. Watching Cassie face a total romantic collapse was probably the highlight of her month. “I guess you’ll just have to make a choice and dump the rest.” But Cassie didn’t look defeated. Instead, she fell quiet, her lips curling into a secretive, chilling smile. “Do you guys want boyfriends? I’m offering a sister discount.” And just like that, a boyfriend auction began in our cramped room. I, the girl who had just been slapped for absolutely nothing, was instantly forgotten. 2 “First up is a varsity athlete from the neighboring college,” Cassie announced, scrolling through her photos. “Six-foot-two, tanned, rock-hard abs.” She passed the phone around. The girls gasped. “Tara, you’re always working out and you love extreme sports. This jock is perfect for you. You two would have so much in common.” She leaned in, whispering something into Tara’s ear. I sat on the edge of the room, but from her lip movements, I could make out three words: seven-inch prize. Tara bit her lip, hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone to scan Cassie’s Cash App code. She sent over half her monthly allowance. One hundred and fifty dollars. To me, that was enough to buy cheap instant noodles and stale bread to survive for months. Seeing someone take the bait, Cassie struck while the iron was hot, pushing the next target. “Next, we have the starving artist type,” Cassie pitched, moving to the second profile. “He’s broke, but his face is pure luxury. A sugar mommy tried to buy him a Mercedes last term and he turned her down to keep his pride. He’s incredibly sweet and attentive. Perfect for Regina.” Regina was a rich girl with a spoiled princess attitude. During our freshman year, I had practically acted as her maid, fetching her water and hand-washing her delicate undergarments just to earn a few crumbs. But she found my face too repulsive to look at and quickly hired a poorer student from across the hall instead. Regina didn’t care about money. Spending a hundred and fifty bucks for a handsome plaything to massage her ego was a steal. Cassie turned her gaze toward Valerie, her smile sharpening. “This next one is four hundred dollars. But Valerie, I know you’ll want him. He’s a corporate VP. Sure, he’s a bit older, but he’s incredibly generous. That Chanel bag in my closet? He bought it for me.” “You’re gorgeous, Val. Your charm is way better than mine. Play your cards right, and he’ll probably clear those online credit cards you’ve been hiding from the dean.” It was a blunt slap to Valerie’s pride, a silent jab at her materialism. But despite her annoyance, Valerie paid up. She desperately needed a savior. If she didn’t clear her debts soon, the collection agency would notify the university. Becca grew anxious, grabbing Cassie’s arm. “What about me, Cassie? We’re best friends, you can’t leave me out!” Cassie let out a soft snort, showing her a profile screenshot. “Wouldn’t dream of it. A top-tier pro-gamer. He’ll carry you through every match, gaming queen.” Becca’s eyes lit up, and she squealed with delight. “What about the last one?” Valerie asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you going to introduce him?” Cassie waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, the fifth one is pretty average. He doesn’t have any outstanding qualities.” She sounded modest, but the smug triumph in her eyes was impossible to miss. “Average” meant he had no flaws. He was a perfect all-rounder: wealthy, handsome, athletic, and attentive. I didn’t catch her underlying meaning. I stood up, clutching my pockets, and asked in a small, trembling voice, “Can I buy the last one? I… I can pay a hundred dollars first.” 3 They all turned to look at me. The silence in the room was instantly filled with sneers, disgust, and disbelief. My face burned hot. I squeezed the crumpled bills in my pocket, bracing myself against their sharp, judging eyes. Cassie’s smile vanished. She slowly sauntered over to my corner. She pinched the sleeve of my pilling, oversized sweater between two manicured fingers, then yanked a strand of my dry, straw-like hair. “Bridget,” she drawled, her voice dripping with pity. “Do you even own a mirror?” “Look at yourself. You’re ugly, you’re dirt-poor, you can barely afford to eat, and you walk with a limp. Shoving a man toward you would be a sin.” Valerie giggled, covering her mouth. “Don’t be so harsh, Cassie. She really can’t afford a mirror. That sweater she’s wearing? I watched her fish it out of the communal recycling bin down the hall and scrub it like it was some designer piece.” Every ounce of my dignity was stripped bare before the very people I had to live with every single day. My face throbbed with a burning heat, and I could no longer tell if it was from the slaps I had received earlier or the crushing weight of my own shame. As they squealed and added their new targets on their phones, discussing what they would wear for their dates, I crawled back behind my curtain. I huddled in the dark like a sewer rat. But I had perfect vision, and a flawless memory. When Cassie had opened the contact page of the man she had kept for herself, I had memorized his username. Staring at my cracked screen, I typed in the username. His profile picture was an abstract, dark portrait that felt strangely cold. A spark of pure, quiet malice flared in my chest. I tapped the send button without a second thought. The request was accepted almost instantly. Hi, I typed. I’m Bridget. The next evening, the four girls spent hours putting on makeup and doing their hair. They left the room in a cloud of expensive perfume, laughing and chatting about their dates. Meanwhile, the mastermind behind all these dates remained in the room with me, with no intention of going out at all. Cassie was furiously tapping on her screen, the rhythmic, violent clacking revealing her mounting frustration. I curled up on my mattress, pulling my blanket over my mouth to muffle my silent, hysterical laughter until tears leaked from my eyes. Before curfew, the roommates began trickling back into the dorm. Only Tara sent a message to our group chat, telling us she wouldn’t be returning tonight and asking us to cover for her. It seemed she was already getting her money’s worth. As we lay in the dark, the girls began whispering about their encounters. Becca gushed about her gamer guy, saying he was witty, charming, and seemed to come from a wealthy family. She was completely smitten. Valerie came back with a delicate box. A shimmering Van Cleef bracelet now rested on her wrist. Regina didn’t say much, but she begrudgingly admitted her handsome artist was even more stunning in person than in his photos. But as the gossip died down, Valerie noticed how silent Cassie was. For someone who loved bragging more than breathing, keeping quiet about her “perfect” date made no sense. “Hey Cassie,” Valerie called out, her voice dripping with faux-innocence. “How did your night go? You haven’t said a word.” “It was fine,” Cassie muttered. Her voice was flat. Even Becca noticed the tension. “Cassie? Is everything okay?” Realizing the spotlight was on her, Cassie’s pride kicked in. She began to spin a beautiful lie, describing how incredibly attentive her date was and how he had fallen head over heels for her. “But you were in the dorm room the entire night, weren’t you?” I threw the words into the darkness like a bomb. The room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. In the quiet, I could hear Cassie grinding her teeth so hard they threatened to crack. “Ha,” I let out a sharp, ugly little snicker.

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1 Joey snatched my wrist as I plunged into the Antarctic crevice, gripping it white-knuckled. “I’ve got you, Julie! I’m never letting go!” But my name isn’t Julie. Rescued, I asked who Julie was. He looked away, voice strained. “You misheard.” I dismissed it as terror-induced hallucination until midnight. Waking to an empty bed, I found Joey’s pack overturned, papers scattered. Kneeling, I froze at a five-year-old accident report. Victim: Julie Coleman. Death: fall into Antarctic crevice. Beneath it, travel photos of a girl identical to me—same poses, clothes, locations as Joey and I had shared. Under those, today’s topographic map of our location, covered in calculations of my weight and terminal velocity. Handwritten at the bottom: This time, I will save her. Joey pushed me. I was his dress rehearsal to rewrite his trauma. Numbness hollowed my chest. Trembling, I texted our coordinator: Arrange transport out tomorrow. Don’t tell Joey. Antarctica faces months of total darkness. Joey’s world would be endless polar night. Mine was finally breaking dawn. I’m so sorry, Sylvia, the coordinator’s reply came a few minutes later. It’s peak season, and all transport is booked. The earliest boat we can get to you is in three days. Okay, I replied. Our trip was scheduled for five days. As long as I could leave before Joey noticed, I could survive three days. I tucked the photos back into his pack, smoothing the canvas to make it look untouched. But sleep was gone. The silence of the cabin pressed too hard against my ears, so I wrapped myself in a coat and walked out. At the cabin entrance, I saw Joey through the frosted glass. He was crouching in his heavy winter gear, painstakingly planting red roses into the pristine, powdery snow. In that blinding white wilderness, the crimson petals looked shockingly bright. To me, they looked like drops of fresh blood spilled from my own chest. “Julie, I brought your favorite roses,” he whispered to the wind. When Joey first pursued me, he brought me red roses every single week, without fail. I thought it was a symbol of his burning devotion. I never realized that intense, fiery love belonged to someone else. “It’s a pity I never got to capture your face when you saw them back then,” he murmured. “But I’ll make sure to capture it today.” Joey turned and caught my eyes. His frame went rigid for a fraction of a second before a smooth, easy smile slid onto his face. “Hey, why are you awake?” I forced my lips to curve. “Couldn’t sleep. Needed some air.” He sighed, a look of playful defeat in his eyes. “I wanted to surprise you, but you caught me.” If I hadn’t seen those files, if I didn’t know the ugly truth, I would have been a fool, weeping tears of gratitude at this romantic gesture. Roses in the snow, how poetic. But they were never meant for me. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m still surprised.” Joey didn’t seem to register the coldness in my tone. He waved me over. “Come out here. Let me take a picture of you.” “No, it’s too cold.” He unzipped his thick outer parka. “Take mine. I’ve already warmed it up. It’ll only take a second.” I shook my head. “No.” A faint, almost imperceptible frown creased his brow. He walked toward me, bringing a gust of freezing air with him. He reached for my hand, but I stepped back, repelled by his chill. He blinked, stunned. “What’s wrong? I thought we promised to document every beautiful moment.” We did promise. The last time I had refused to take a photo, Joey had thrown a tantrum and left me stranded on a street corner in a foreign city. I didn’t speak the language, got horribly lost, and was nearly dragged down an alley by a vagrant. Joey had shown up at the last second to rescue me. His explanation back then was simple: I just want to keep these memories for when we’re old. When you refuse to take photos, it feels like you don’t want a future with me. I had melted, blaming myself for not loving him enough, and swore I would never reject his camera again. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t about our future. It was my punishment for failing to play Julie well. I looked at him, my expression blank. “I don’t think a face frozen red with snot is particularly beautiful.” “Sylvia!” Joey’s patience was wearing thin. I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “What? Are you going to abandon me in the middle of Antarctica this time?” He flinched, his voice softening in an instant. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just… it wasn’t easy to bring these roses all this way. You’re being a bit of a buzzkill.” A buzzkill. So be it. I wasn’t Julie. I didn’t love red roses, I didn’t love traveling, and I hated this bone-chilling cold. “The biggest buzzkill, Joey, is forcing someone to do something they hate.” Without waiting for his reply, I turned and walked back to our room. He followed me, but I picked up my pace, slipped inside, and locked the door. He knocked repeatedly. “Sylvia, open up. Let’s talk this through.” I leaned against the heavy wood, my body trembling uncontrollably. It was too cold here. I wanted to go home. “Get another room,” I yelled through the door. “We both need to cool down.” The knocking stopped. I didn’t care if he stayed outside or went down the hall. I crawled into bed and shut my eyes. The night was a restless blur. When I opened the door the next morning, Joey slumped forward, falling right into the room. I gasped, stepping back. He lay on the floor, blinking sleepily at me. “Morning, Sylvia.” I frowned. “Did you sleep outside my door all night?” He pushed himself up, offering a tired smile. “Yeah. I couldn’t leave you alone.” A tiny, traitorous part of my heart twitched. Joey wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice turning soft and pleading. “Yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have been so pushy. Don’t be mad, okay? This is the last leg of our trip. Let’s make it perfect.” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. I was actually feeling touched by his little performance. The rescue was done, the path was halfway walked, and he was so close to healing his old wounds. He had to bow his head to keep his perfect puppet in line. After a long pause, I forced a single word past my lips. “Okay.” Not because I wanted to finish the trip, but because I decided to play my part in his theater one last time. Before we set out, Joey draped a heavy winter parka over my shoulders. One of our tour group members looked over, confused. “Isn’t that jacket style from five years ago?” Joey’s hand hesitated on the zipper. “I just think the older designs look better.” It wasn’t about the design. It was because Julie had worn it. “Joey, you know I don’t like blue,” I said. “You look great in blue. It brings out your eyes.” “But I don’t like it. You said you wouldn’t force me anymore.” “There’s no time to go back and change now. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.” There were still ten minutes before departure. Changing would have taken two. But to keep his perfect Julie fantasy alive, he chose to paint me as the selfish one. Today’s itinerary was to see the penguins. But I have a phobia of birds with sharp beaks. The moment we got out of the vehicle, I instinctively shrank behind Joey. But he didn’t notice. Instead, he pushed me toward the colony. “It’s a rare chance. Go get a photo with them.” “Joey, I’m scared.” He looked baffled. “Scared of what? You love penguins.” I wanted to scream that I wasn’t Julie, that he needed to stop forcing her dead ghost onto my living body. But I kept my voice low. “Joey, I hate sharp-beaked animals.” He froze, a flash of deep disappointment crossing his eyes. While the others were soccer-mom excited, snapping photos, Joey looked at me, then at the penguins, clearly unwilling to give up. He softened his voice. “Let’s just take one together. Just one. I’ll protect you.” Before I could object, he handed his camera to our guide and pulled me close in front of the flock. My skin crawled. I stared stiffly at the lens. The shutter clicked, and Joey immediately let go. “Stay there. Let me go see how it looks.” He abandoned me to check the camera. Suddenly, one of the penguins waddled toward me. Panic surged. I tried to run, but my boot slipped on the ice, and I tumbled backward toward the freezing lake. “Ah!” My scream made Joey’s face pale instantly. He whipped around and sprinted toward me, catching my falling body. The world spun, and I crashed into his chest. He was shivering violently, terrified. “Sylvia, are you okay?” His voice cracked with unshed tears. I looked up and saw his eyes were rimmed with red. “Joey, are you that afraid of me dying?” He went rigid. “Don’t say that word, Sylvia. I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to live a long, long life. We’re going to be together forever.” But he had written those exact words on the back of his photo with Julie. Who did Joey actually want to be with? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care anymore. Because my future would no longer include him. Due to an approaching blizzard, we were forced to stay in the cabin. Joey’s mood was visibly low. He was distracted during dinner. I thought he was still shaken by the morning’s near-accident. But when I leaned closer, I heard him whispering to a travel brochure. “What a shame. We can’t go after all.” He wasn’t traumatized. He was disappointed. Disappointed that the places he couldn’t reach five years ago would remain unvisited. A wave of cold mockery washed over me. I looked away and focused on my food. Joey suddenly turned to me. “Sylvia, are you disappointed we can’t make it to the polar coordinates today?” I never cared about that place. I wanted to say it, but instead, I murmured, “I never expected much from it anyway, so no.” Joey stared at me, his mouth opening and closing. I knew he wanted to call me a buzzkill, or lecture me on the beauty of the polar circle. But in the end, he only said, “Right. Everyone is different.” It was the first time he acknowledged my individuality. But it was far too late. That night, the heater in my room broke. Since it was late and no technician was available, I was forced to share Joey’s room again. His mood shifted dramatically. He pinched my cheek playfully. “Want a warm foot soak?” I wiggled my freezing toes and nodded. He beamed, rushing around to find a basin and fill it with hot water. He even bought dried roses from a lady next door at an exorbitant price. Our group chat was filled with envious comments about how attentive he was. As the hot water warmed my skin, the icy wall around my heart softened just a fraction. Until Joey pointed his camera at me. My body tensed. My mind flashed back to the photos in his bag. Julie had a photo just like this, soaking her feet, smiling at the camera. Every mundane detail of their lives had been lovingly recorded. And the warmth I was feeling now was just a cheap copy of that happiness. I had almost let my guard down over a basin of hot water. My face went cold. Joey noticed. “What’s wrong? Is the water cold?” I pulled my feet out. “No, I’m warm enough.” “Oh.” He looked crestfallen as he carried the basin out. As I dried my feet, I noticed a velvet box peeking out from under his pillow. Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a large, brilliant diamond ring. I slipped it out and saw the engraving on the inner band: S.Y.—Sylvia Young. He was going to propose. But I knew he wasn’t marrying me. He was marrying the vessel that looked like Julie. Hearing footsteps, I quickly put the ring back and pretended nothing had happened. Joey walked in, took off his coat, and lay down beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, smiling. “Sleep early tonight. The guide said the blizzard will clear tomorrow, and we can head to the polar spot.” “I’ve got a surprise waiting for you there.” My heart rate didn’t even flicker. Because tomorrow, I was leaving. The coordinator had messaged me that a spot on an earlier ice-breaker had opened up. No matter how grand Joey’s surprise was—even a proposal—I didn’t want it. The next morning, the storm had cleared. Joey got up early to prepare, trying to keep quiet, but I was already awake, pretending to sleep. Once the door clicked shut, I sat up and packed. There wasn’t much. Most of the gear was bought by him. I only took my own clothes and my passport. I left the blue parka behind. Anything he had bought me on this trip, I left. Within minutes, I was done. My eyes fell on Joey’s backpack. A sudden urge took hold of me. I zipped it open and pulled out the bundle of photos tied with a rubber band. The top photo was Julie at the South Pole, head tilted, flashing a silly peace sign. On the back, it read: Julie said this was the happiest day of her life. Me too. But beneath it, there was a new note written in Joey’s hand: Julie, this is the final stop. I’m here to say goodbye. From now on, there will be no more replacements. I’m going to love someone new. Her name is Sylvia Young. My hands shook slightly as I read the words. My phone lit up: The car is ready to pick you up. Can we head out? I hesitated for two seconds before replying: Yes. So what if Joey had finally woken up? Three years of deception wouldn’t magically vanish. Every moment he loved me as a ghost had grown into a thorn in my flesh, impossible to pull out, impossible to digest. I stuffed the photos into a small grey canvas bag and left it on the corner of the table. Joey came back to the room to get me. We ate breakfast, put on our coats, and walked toward the waiting vehicles. After a few steps, I stopped and pulled his arm. “Joey, I forgot something in the room. It’s in a grey canvas bag. Could you get it for me?” He blinked. “Is it important?” “Very important,” I nodded. He patted my head. “Alright, you scatterbrain. I’ll get it.” The moment he turned back toward the lodge, I took off. I ran like my life depended on it toward the black SUV parked in the distance. The freezing wind rushed down my throat like a mouthful of knives, but I didn’t stop, and I didn’t look back. The door of the SUV was open. The driver looked shocked as I bolted toward him. I threw myself into the back seat, scraping my knee hard against the doorframe. Tears stung my eyes from the pain. “Drive!” I screamed. “Wait, is there anyone else—” “Drive!” The engine roared to life, and the vehicle lunged forward. The cabin, the snow, and Joey all shrank into a tiny dot, dissolving into the white horizon. The suffocating weight on my chest finally began to lift. Back at the cabin, Joey searched the room frantically. When he finally spotted the grey bag in the corner, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t open it. He just wanted to get back to me. But when he stepped outside, the spot where I had been standing was empty. His heart skipped a beat, but he quickly reassured himself: Sylvia must have gotten too cold and went to the car. He ran toward the tour vehicle. The guide rolled down the window. “Where’s your girlfriend?” Joey’s face drained of color. “She isn’t in the car?” “No!” Joey’s hand lost all strength. The grey canvas bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the hard pack. The contents spilled across the snow. “Hey! Your things!” the guide called out. Joey looked down, and his world began to spin. The pristine white snow could no longer hide his filthy secrets.

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1 The streets finally caught up with me. The doctors gave me a few days, maybe a week, before my body completely shuts down. Nobody cared. The only reason I was even in the hospital was because a Vice detective felt sorry for me and called 911. I lay in the drafty hallway, my trembling fingers dialing my little sister’s number. I had to hit dial three times before it went through. She is the youngest judge in the city circuit. She absolutely despises women like me, women who sell their bodies to survive. But she does not know that every single penny that put her through law school was earned on my back. The line connected. I wanted to tell her that her big sister would not be an embarrassment to her anymore. But old habits die hard. The words that came out of my mouth were completely different. “Hey, little sis. I am a bit tight on cash. Care to toss a few bucks my way?” A cold, mocking scoff echoed through the receiver. “You are not dead yet? What do you need money for, an urn?” I laughed so hard that tears and snot streamed down my face. My sister was always the pragmatic one. She even figured out I would need someone to cover my funeral costs. The amount she would probably send could buy me a gold-plated one. What a way to go out. A second later, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. Three thousand dollars. The memo attached to the transfer read: Buy your urn and stay the hell away from me. I stared at the screen and let out a genuine chuckle. A young nurse nudged my shoulder, looking annoyed. “What is so funny? Go pay your bill. You are making the whole hallway smell.” I pressed the phone against my chest. “Honey, this is the smell of money. You just do not get it.” Right after I paid the hospital fees, Marcus walked in. He was the detective from Metro Vice. He tossed a warm foil-wrapped deli sandwich onto my lap. “Roxy, where is your family?” I took a massive bite, speaking with my mouth full. “Dead to me.” “Thanks for this, by the way. Have not eaten in two days. This hits the spot.” Marcus furrowed his brow, looking irritated. “I heard that phone call.” “Was that your sister?” I flashed him a bright, greasy grin. “That was my creditor.” “You have no idea. I owe her so much, I could not pay it back if I worked ten lifetimes as a dog.” Marcus clearly did not buy it. His eyes drifted down to my badly infected, bruised legs. “The doctor said you need a family member to sign off on the surgery, or they cannot save that leg.” I swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. “Then let them chop it off. It is not like I need to spread my legs for business anymore anyway.” Marcus choked on his breath, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Roxy, I read your file. You came from a decent home. You had good grades.” “How the hell did you end up in the gutter like this?” “You are a human being. Have some damn self-respect!” I gave him a playful wink. “Detective, if you feel that bad for me, why do not you become a patron? Help a girl make a living.” Fifteen years ago, when I willingly walked into that cheap neon-lit motel to scrape together Sophie’s tuition, my self-respect was the first thing I left at the door. A bitter laugh scraped my throat. “Look, Officer, with the state my body is in right now, I probably could not even service you right. Just do me a favor and give me a cigarette.” Marcus let out a heavy sigh, pulled out a pack, and lit one for me. Through the curling gray smoke, I narrowed my eyes. I thought about Sophie when she was little. She did not hate me back then. She used to wear her hair in two messy braids, following me everywhere like a shadow. She would look up at me with her big, innocent eyes and say, “Roxy, when I grow up and make lots of money, I will make sure you get to eat a huge meal every single day. And I will never let anyone hit you again.” Well, she grew up. She made her money. And she bought me a coffin. I smiled, feeling completely hollow. “It is fine.” “My little sis keeps her promises.” My phone buzzed again. A text from Sophie. [Do not ever call me again. I have a massive trial tomorrow. Stop making me feel sick to my stomach.] I stared at the glowing letters, my fingers shaking as I typed a reply. [You got it, Judge. Wishing you a bright and shiny future.] I hit send. Then I transferred the three grand to my checking account and permanently blocked her number. I blew a smoke ring toward Marcus. “Detective, I am not fixing the leg.” “Just do me one last favor. When I kick the bucket, cremate me and dump the ashes in whatever trash can is closest.” “Just do not tell my sister. She thinks I am dirty.” 2 Clutching a plastic bag of painkillers, I limped my way to the steps of the District Courthouse. I just wanted to see Sophie one last time. I huddled behind a bus stop across the street, shivering in the morning chill. Just one look, I told myself. Then I will find a quiet corner to crawl into and wait for the end. Just as the sky began to turn a pale gray, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the courthouse steps. Sophie stepped out. She looked stunning. Cold, sharp, radiating an untouchable arrogance. The man stepping out behind her screamed old money and elite education. He thoughtfully placed a hand over the car door frame to protect her head, a soft, doting smile on his face. “Take it easy in court today, babe. I will come pick you up tonight.” Sophie gave him a sweet, genuine smile. “They look perfect together,” I muttered to myself. I drank in the sight of her profile, greedy for every detail. This was the life I bought for her. Clean. Respectable. Loved. She would never have to be like me, pinned under sweaty strangers in cheap motels for a handful of cash, forcing a smile and telling them they were the best she ever had. I was staring so hard I completely forgot where I was standing, and my bad leg gave out. I stumbled out from behind the glass partition. “Who is there?” The man’s voice was sharp with instant suspicion. He immediately stepped in front of Sophie, shielding her. “Come out! Stop hiding!” I panicked, desperately pulling my dirty jacket collar up to hide my face. “Sorry… just passing through, just walking by.” The man marched over and his polished leather shoe stomped down hard on my hand. “Ah! Damn it!” I could not hold back the scream. “Get off, I am not trying to do anything!” He pulled his foot back with a look of utter disgust. “Where did you crawl out of? Peeping around here at this hour?” I kept my head glued to the pavement. “Let it go, Preston. Do not waste your breath on trash like that.” It was Sophie. “We are running late.” She did not recognize me. Thank God. I was just about to drag myself away when I felt her gaze burn into the back of my neck. “Your voice… sounds familiar.” The air in the street instantly turned to ice. “Roxy?” Her voice spiked an octave. “Look up at me.” I froze. Every muscle in my broken body began to violently shake. “I said look at me!” The moment Sophie saw my face, the shock in her eyes morphed into absolute venom. “It is you.” Her face flushed a deep, furious red. “You actually have the nerve to show your face here?” “What do you want? Come to extort me in person?” She fired the questions like bullets, every single syllable ripping through my chest. Preston looked completely lost. He glanced between Sophie’s furious face and my pathetic form on the ground. “Babe, who is this? Is this your sister?” Sophie took a sharp breath and took a deliberate half-step backward. “No.” “I do not have a sister like her.” Her voice was like shattered glass. “She is just a stray mutt my father picked up off the street.” 3 I dragged myself up from the concrete, letting out a dry, rattling laugh. “The Judge is right.” “I am just a mutt.” I brushed the grime off my ripped jeans. “I am just passing through. Leaving right now.” I needed to get away before she could smell the stench of decay on my clothes. “Stop right there!” Sophie closed the distance in three strides, blocking my path. “Do not think I do not know what you are playing at, Roxy.” “You begged for money last night, and today you are stalking my workplace.” “You think because I am a judge, I am afraid of a scandal? You think you have leverage over me?” She unzipped her designer purse and yanked out a wad of cash. Smack. She slapped the bills directly across my face. “Take it and get out of my sight!” “If I ever catch you within five hundred yards of me again, I am calling the cops!” “I will have you locked up for extortion and harassment!” I slowly crouched down and picked up the scattered bills from the dirty pavement. Three hundred bucks. Add that to the three grand from last night, and I could live like a queen for the few days I had left. I shoved the money deep into my pocket and gave Sophie the most pathetic, obsequious smile I could muster. “You have a busy day, Your Honor. I will not get in your way.” “Wishing you two… a very happy life together.” I turned my back on them and limped away as fast as my ruined leg could manage. Behind me, Sophie’s voice dripped with raw disgust. “Absolutely hopeless.” “Trash belongs in the trash.” I ducked into a narrow, piss-smelling alleyway and leaned heavily against a dumpster, gasping for air. The tears I fought so hard to hold back finally broke loose. I fished out my phone, thinking I should text Marcus and tell him to call off his wellness checks. Otherwise, the poor guy would have to scrape my corpse off the pavement somewhere, and that was just too much paperwork. But then, a chillingly familiar voice echoed from the mouth of the alley. “Well, well, if it is not my favorite, dutiful daughter.” The sound of that voice made my blood turn to ice. I slowly turned my head. It was my father, Frank. His face was bloated, lined with years of cheap liquor and bad bets. “Heard you are finally dying, kid?” “Sophie sent you an allowance, right? Cough it up. I need it.” He advanced on me, his eyes gleaming with pure greed. “Hand it over.” He demanded it like it was his divine right. “That is my pension money from Sophie. You are about to drop dead anyway, what do you need cash for?” I clamped my hands fiercely over my pockets. “Back off!” “You will not get another cent from me, Frank! This is my money for my painkillers!” Frank let out a raspy sneer and flicked his cigarette butt at my feet. “Painkillers? Look at you, you are rotting from the inside out. What is there left to save?” “Just give me the cash. I will hit the tables, win it back double, and maybe I will buy you a decent plot of dirt to rot in.” He lunged at me, tearing at my coat. I fought back like a cornered animal. I scratched, I bit, I kicked wildly. But he was heavier. He drove his heavy boot right into my stomach. The white-hot agony instantly drained every ounce of fight out of me. I curled into a tight, trembling ball on the filthy ground. Frank dug his filthy hands into my pockets and yanked out the cash. A massive, rotten grin spread across his face. “That is a good girl.” “Listen to me. You were born to be nothing but a dirty mattress.” “Your job was to pave the way for your sister and buy your old man a drink.” “That is your destiny, kid. Better learn to accept it.” 4 Before he left, Frank spat a thick wad of phlegm onto my jacket. “Useless trash. Do not die in public, find a hole somewhere.” I lay there, broken and bleeding, staring up at the thin sliver of gray sky between the brick buildings. Screw destiny. I refuse to accept it. I am going back to Sophie. I am going to look her in the eyes and tell her the truth. I am going to tell her that the money that bought her textbooks, paid her rent, and put her in those tailored suits did not come from Frank’s hardworking hands. It came from me. From the hundreds of times I lay on my back in the dark so she could walk in the light. I dragged my shattered body back to the courthouse steps. When the security guards tried to chase me off, I screamed, cried, and caused a massive scene, shouting that I was the Judge’s sister. Half an hour later, Sophie marched out the doors. There was pure murder in her eyes. “Roxy, what the hell is wrong with you?” “Look at yourself!” “Are you not ashamed? Stop ruining my life!” She hissed the words, terrified her colleagues inside might hear. I looked at her perfectly manicured face, the tears streaming down my own bruised cheeks. “Sophie, I need to tell you something.” “About Dad. About where all that money came from…” “Shut your mouth!” Sophie glared at me like I was a diseased rat. “Do not you dare bring up Dad! You do not have the right to even say his name!” “Dad worked construction in the dead of winter, breaking his back just to pay for my tuition! He ruined his spine for me!” “He survived on two pieces of cheap bread a day just so I could buy law books!” “And what did you do?” “You were out whoring yourself, hooking up with every scumbag on the block! What did you ever do for this family?!” I felt the breath leave my lungs. I remembered standing outside the motel in the freezing snow, my hands covered in bleeding chilblains, trying to flag down cars. “Did Dad tell you that?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Does he even need to?” Sophie let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Every time he sent me a check, he told me it was his blood, sweat, and tears.” “He told me you were out living the high life, draped in cheap gold, not giving a damn about us.” “Roxy, how can you be this shameless?” “Now that you are sick and broke, you suddenly remember you have a family?” “Remembered you have a sister you can leech off of?” I opened my mouth to explain. But my throat locked up. A massive, suffocating weight crushed my chest, and I could not form a single word. Frank suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He rushed over and positioned himself squarely between me and Sophie. “Sophie, baby! Do not listen to a word she says!” “Is this con artist trying to shake you down again?” “Go back inside! Do not let her toxic garbage ruin your day!” Frank turned his head and shot me a look of pure, unadulterated malice. He slipped a switchblade out of his pocket, holding it down by his hip where Sophie could not see, and subtly aimed the point at my stomach. He mouthed the words silently: Say a word, and I will gut you. I watched as Sophie gently touched Frank’s arm, her voice softening completely. “Dad, are you okay? Did she hurt you?” “I am fine, sweetheart. Your old man is tough.” Frank put on a flawless performance of a humble, hardworking father. “Roxy, I know life has been hard on you, but you cannot drag your sister down into the mud with you.” “She is a respected woman now.” “All those dirty things you did… I kept them a secret to protect you.” “How can you bite the hand that feeds you?” Watching this sickening display of a loving father and a devoted daughter, the last shred of warmth in my heart turned to ash. I reached inside my torn jacket. I pulled out a thick, weathered stack of papers. Fifteen years of Western Union receipts, bank slips, and the letters I had secretly written to Sophie but never mailed. “Sophie… just take this…” I offered it to her. But before she could even raise her hand, Frank snatched the bundle away. “What kind of infected trash is this? Do not touch her things!” Without even glancing at the papers, he ripped them to shreds, tossing the pieces into the wind. “Dad! No, that is—” I lunged forward, desperately trying to catch the falling pieces. Frank swung his arm in a vicious backhand, striking me across the jaw. I collapsed backward, my head smacking hard against the concrete. Sophie just frowned, looking completely exhausted. “Are you done throwing your tantrum, Roxy?” Her voice was devoid of all emotion. “If you are done, then go die.” “Stay far away from me.” “The fact that you are even breathing the same air as me is an insult.” I lay on the freezing ground, staring up at the absolute resolve in my sister’s eyes. “Okay.” I whispered the word to the wind. “If you really want me dead that badly.” “I will go die somewhere far away.”

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Sid. Harvard Law valedictorian at twenty. By twenty-five, an undefeated corporate legend who could spot loopholes in his sleep. Yet for three years as an assistant at a top firm, I copied papers and fetched coffee. Senior Partner Harrington loved his patronizing sermons: “Sid, shredding builds character. We’re a family. Respect seniority. I’m shielding you from high-stakes cases so you don’t get reckless.” The others laughed while I bowed, thanking him. I was done being a workaholic; a stress-free life as a glorified copy boy was my dream. Until today. Our biggest client faced a hostile takeover. The opposition dropped a devastating $2 billion poison pill. Harrington was cornered, silent. He shoved a pen at me. “Sid, be a team player. Sign this as the minute-taker. We’ll say you grabbed the wrong draft. You’ll be fired, but you’ll save us all!” I sighed, tore the $2 billion contract in half, pulled out the head chair, and sat. “Forget taking the fall, Harrington,” I said. “Let me show these kids how it’s done.” ……. 1 My name is Sid. First in my class at Harvard Law at twenty. An undefeated corporate legend by twenty-five. It wasn’t an exaggeration. Even the most sophisticated cross-border acquisition traps, those poison pill clauses buried deep within a five-hundred-page contract, nested inside three layers of subordinate clauses, I could point to the fatal flaw with my eyes closed. Back then, I was a high-speed money-printing machine, billing by the minute. But after watching a senior colleague, barely past thirty, drop dead of sudden cardiac arrest right onto the negotiation table of a fifty-billion-dollar merger, I had an epiphany. To hell with the industry legends. I wanted to live. I wanted to keep my hair. So, I vanished from the scene, resigned, and returned home. To completely escape the hyper-competitive sharks of Wall Street, I put on a faded, cheap suit, donned a pair of thick, non-prescription black-rimmed glasses, and buried all my sharp edges. I plunged into a top-tier white-shoe firm as a bottom-tier assistant, living on a flat salary and leaving exactly at five. For three years, my daily routine had nothing to do with studying case files. My day consisted of making copies, replacing shredder bags, taping receipts to expense sheets, and perfectly memorizing the exact coffee orders of all eight people in our department. Who wanted oat milk, who wanted half-sweet, whose iced Americano could only have exactly three ice cubes. I was done being a high-powered workaholic. Now, being a stress-free copier mechanic and leaving on the dot to grab a steaming bowl of double-pork belly ramen at the little shop down the street was my ultimate dream. My direct boss, Harrington, was a greasy, master-class workplace gaslighter. His actual legal acumen was thoroughly mediocre. He couldn’t even read a basic foreign transaction agreement without Google Translate. But when it came to stealing credit and shifting blame, he was absolute world-class. This morning, I had just finished wrestling with a jammed copier tray, my hands covered in black toner dust. Harrington sauntered over, holding the hot Americano I had just sprinted two blocks to get, his beer belly leading the way. He began his daily show. “Sid, I noticed you took twenty whole minutes to fix that copier?” “Young man, you’re still too slow. In this business, efficiency is everything.” He took a sip, frowned as if the temperature wasn’t quite perfect, and smacked his lips. “Do you feel resentful? Do you think having you shred papers, tape receipts, and fix machines is beneath your talents?” “Don’t feel victimized, Sid. This is about building your character and testing your attention to detail. We’re a family here. Without eating some dirt first, how can you expect to fly?” He tapped his finger on my desk, looking down at me with supreme condescension. “These core cases involve hundreds of millions. If something goes wrong, can an assistant on base pay afford to cover the damage? I’m doing this to protect you. Don’t let my mentorship go to waste.” I pushed up my heavy glasses, bowed my head, and offered the timid, simple-minded smile I had spent three years perfecting in front of the mirror. “Thank you for the guidance, Mr. Harrington. I understand completely. I’ll go grab everyone’s lunch deliveries now.” They could laugh all they wanted. As long as I didn’t have to pull eighty-hour weeks analyzing garbage contracts, they could call me whatever they liked. But I never expected my peaceful slacker paradise to be shattered so violently. At three in the afternoon, the silence of the executive suite was broken by hurried footsteps. Our biggest client, Mr. Bennett, rushed into the VVIP conference room at the end of the hall, visibly sweating and panicking. Behind him came the hostile acquisition team. Leading them was a man with slicked-back hair and gold-rimmed glasses named Christian Crane. In our industry, he was known as “The Viper.” He specialized in using highly obscured contract loopholes and short-selling mechanisms to choke and swallow local businesses that didn’t know the international rules. As the lowest-ranking assistant, I was naturally hauled in to pour water, set up the projector, and take minutes. After serving the drinks, I retreated to a folding chair in the far corner, shrinking my shoulders and turning my recording pen, doing my best to look like furniture. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Crane sneered, throwing a massive English agreement onto the table right in front of Mr. Bennett. The heavy thud made Bennett flinch. Crane’s eyes were filled with the contempt of a predator cornering its prey. “The joint venture agreement you signed with us last month,” Crane said, leaning forward. “As of this morning, it has officially triggered the hidden cross-default provisions.” “Under the joint and several liability clauses, you have two choices.” Crane held up two fingers. “First, immediately hand over sixty percent of your voting shares, giving us absolute control. Second, face a two-billion-dollar punitive cash penalty.” He didn’t give Mr. Bennett a chance to breathe. “We’re not here to negotiate. This is an ultimatum. I guarantee that within a week, your cash flow will dry up, and you’ll be forced into bankruptcy and liquidation.” Mr. Bennett’s face went white. His lips trembled. He turned, grabbing Harrington’s arm like a drowning man clutching a straw. “Harrington! You audited this entire acquisition agreement! You charged us millions in legal fees and swore to me it was bulletproof! Where the hell did this cross-default clause come from?! Fix this!” Cold sweat instantly burst across Harrington’s forehead, dripping down his jowls. His hands shook as he flipped open the English supplemental agreement. His eyes bulged as he stared at the pages for three solid minutes. Sitting in my corner, I saw his hands trembling violently. He couldn’t read it. “This… this isn’t right…” Harrington stammered, offering a pathetic, useless defense. “Mr. Crane, this is fraud! You buried a landmine in the text!” “Are you trying to make me laugh, Harrington?” Crane burst into a cruel, unprompted laugh. He tapped the contract with a manicured finger, his eyes dripping with disdain. “Is this your professional level? You’re a joke to the entire bar association.” Harrington slumped into his chair, completely defeated. He knew the fire had reached his own house. As the lead partner on this project, he would face massive malpractice claims, lose his license, and likely end up in a federal penitentiary. In a state of pure panic and desperation, Harrington’s eyes darted around the room. He needed a scapegoat. A low-level sacrificial lamb to take the fall for this multi-billion-dollar disaster. Suddenly, his gaze locked onto me, sitting quietly in the corner with my notepad. “Mr. Bennett! Mr. Crane! Wait! This is all a misunderstanding! A colossal administrative error!” Harrington suddenly shouted, bolting upright and storming over to me. He grabbed my collar, forcing a heavy executive pen into my hand. With a red-faced, self-righteous roar, as if he were making a heroic sacrifice, he announced to the entire room: “I remember now! Mr. Bennett, when we went to execute the documents last week, it was my intern assistant, Sid, who copied and collated the final files!” “He must have been incredibly careless, swapping the final negotiated version with a rejected draft sent by the opposing side!” “This is a grave individual error on his part! It does not reflect the professional standards of our firm!” Mr. Bennett stared, and Crane narrowed his eyes. Harrington turned his back to them, pressing down hard on my shoulders, whispering in a vicious, urgent hiss that only I could hear: “Listen to me, Sid. This is your chance to pay me back. I’ve kept you around despite your incompetence. The firm has fed you for three years.” “Now, we’re in a crisis. As a team player, you have to make a sacrifice. Sign this confession, take the blame, say you mixed up the drafts. If you don’t, I will use every resource I have to ensure you never work in this town again. I’ll sue you for every penny you have!” The conference room fell into a dead, chilling silence. Every eye in the room turned to me, filled with shock, pity, confusion, or amusement. Mr. Bennett was stunned. He was desperate, but he was a seasoned CEO, not an idiot. Making a six-thousand-dollar-a-month assistant take the blame for a two-billion-dollar disaster? Crane burst out laughing, leaning back in his leather chair like he was watching a circus performance. “Harrington, are you insulting my intelligence, or the law itself? Throwing an assistant under the bus? This is pathetic, even for you.” But the other associates in the room, eager to save their own skins, quickly chimed in. “Sid, Harrington has been so good to you. He tolerated all your mistakes. If you don’t step up for the team now, who will?” “Think of the firm, Sid! Sacrificing one person to save the reputation of the entire practice is a noble thing!” Their twisted, greedy faces, desperate to avoid responsibility, looked utterly grotesque under the harsh fluorescent lights. This was the loving family they always bragged about. I sat on my cheap folding chair, holding the cold pen, keeping my head down. Harrington thought I was paralyzed by fear. He reached out a sweaty hand, trying to grab the back of my neck to physically force my hand to sign the paper. “Sign it! What the hell are you waiting for? Sign!” Harrington hissed, his voice a vicious snarl. I let out a quiet sigh. I had wanted to remain a soulless copier mechanic in my quiet corner. Earning a modest living, clocking in and out on the dot. I didn’t want to care about multi-billion-dollar cash flows or navigate devious commercial traps. Why? Why did you have to force my hand? Why did you have to push a max-level, fully geared legendary player who just wanted to grow crops in the starter village back into the arena, forcing me to toggle the slaughter mode? I slowly raised my head. The submissive, vacant, easily manipulated look in my eyes vanished instantly. In its place was a cold, razor-sharp presence that commanded absolute authority. I didn’t look at Harrington’s terrified, distorted face, nor did I pay attention to the buzzing of the other associates. I simply reached out with my right hand, the hand that usually fixed jammed paper trays, and precisely pinched the two-billion-dollar ultimatum contract that Crane considered his masterpiece. While everyone watched in stunned silence, a clean, sharp sound shattered the quiet. Riiiiip. Without a shred of hesitation, I tore the hundred-page, multi-billion-dollar agreement right down the middle, directly in front of Crane’s face. With a casual flick of my wrist, I tossed the torn pages onto the polished mahogany conference table like a pile of rotting garbage. The paper settled like falling snow. The entire room froze. The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Mr. Bennett’s jaw dropped. Crane’s confident smirk shattered instantly, his eyes wide behind his gold-rimmed glasses. Harrington looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. His face turned a deep, angry purple. Pointing a shaking finger at the shredded paper, his voice cracked like a strangled rooster. “Sid! Are you insane?! Are you out of your mind?! Do you have any idea how much that contract is worth?! I’ll destroy you! I’ll throw you in prison!” I stood up slowly from my folding chair, casually brushing a speck of dust off my cheap, faded suit. Then, I brushed past Harrington’s wild, flailing arms, walked directly to the head of the conference table, pulled out the heavy leather executive chair, and sat down. I laced my fingers together on the table, leaning forward slightly, exuding an aura of absolute dominance. I looked at Crane, my voice calm, flat, but carrying an undeniable weight that filled the room. “Forget taking the fall, Harrington,” I said. “Let me go show these kids how it’s done.”

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1 My husband lived two entirely different lives. During the day, his face was a mask of cold stone. He rarely spoke more than three words to me at a time. “Ate.” “No.” “Go to sleep.” But the moment the clock struck eleven at night, he became someone else entirely. He would wrap his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck, whispering how desperately he had missed me all day. I checked, over and over. He was not faking. He genuinely had no memory of a single thing he said or did after midnight. The doctor called it a mild case of dissociative identity disorder. The nighttime version of him was clingy, childish, and possessively intense. And I, craving whatever warmth I could get, began to live for the dark. Until one morning, he found my phone. It was filled with late-night photos and voice recordings of us. He stared at the screen for a long time before looking up at me, his eyes devoid of emotion. “You saved so many of these,” he said, his voice flat. “Why isn’t there a single one of me during the day?” “Because the daytime you isn’t worth saving.” The moment the words left my mouth, Gary’s pupils contracted. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table with a heavy, hollow thud. “Eve, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I gripped the hem of my pajamas, forcing myself to look straight into his cold eyes. “It means, Gary, that you are a ghost in this house during the day. You brush me off with three-word sentences, as if looking at me is a waste of your precious time. All your warmth is reserved for Daisy on the other end of your phone.” His jaw clenched. “Don’t start this again. Daisy is practically family. She’s fragile, she needs looking after. Aren’t you a bit too old to be throwing tantrums over a little sister?” Too old. I was barely two years older than Daisy, yet in his mouth, I sounded like an ancient, bitter crone. I pulled a receipt from my pocket and slapped it onto the table. Gary’s gaze fell on the slip of paper, his breath hitching. The receipt was crystal clear. Yesterday, from two in the afternoon until seven in the evening, he had spent five hours at a home decor boutique with Daisy. And during those exact five hours, I was burning up with a fever so high I nearly blacked out. I had texted him, begging for help. He had ignored every single message. “We were just buying furniture,” he said, raising his voice, though his eyes darted away. “Our families have been close for decades. What’s wrong with helping her pick out a sofa? Stop overthinking everything.” “Five hours,” I whispered. “You spent five hours picking out a sofa for her. I asked you to buy me medicine, and you didn’t even bother to read my texts.” Gary looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I didn’t see them.” “You did,” I said, my voice dropping to a flat, dead calm. “Because at exactly 7:03 PM, you replied to Daisy’s voice note, telling her you’d just finished up and would see her tomorrow.” Left without an excuse, Gary sank heavily into the sofa, looking sullen. I turned on my heel and walked back to the bedroom. Lying on the bed, the image of his defensive, guilty face replayed in my mind. The clock ticked away. Eleven. Twelve. At one in the morning, the bedroom door clicked open. I had forgotten that locking it from the inside was useless; he always knew where the spare key was kept. Gary slipped under the covers, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, burying his face against my back. “Eve… I missed you so much today.” His voice was muffled, thick with a childlike vulnerability. “Why did you lock the door? Are you mad at me?” I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. He nuzzled closer, squeezing me tighter. “Please don’t be mad… I’ll be good, I promise.” My fingers slowly traced his soft hair, my eyes staring blankly at the dark ceiling. He didn’t remember a thing about the day. He was just acting on pure instinct, seeking me out, clinging to me. But this stolen warmth of the night could never heal the deep, bleeding wounds of the day. Gary mumbled against my skin, his voice drifting off. “Eve, can you stay home tomorrow? Just stay with me…” I closed my eyes and offered no reply. Because I knew that the moment the sun rose, the man who said those words would vanish. 2 The next morning, the sweet, heavy scent of boiling porridge woke me. For a fleeting second, I wondered if Gary had actually found a conscience. But when I walked into the kitchen, I froze. Daisy was standing there in a floral apron, carefully pouring hot porridge into a ceramic bowl. “Gary, look, it’s ready. Come taste it.” Gary took the spoon, sliding a bowl covered in crushed peanuts onto the dining table. He saw me standing in the doorway, but his eyes quickly darted away. “Daisy came over early to make breakfast,” he said coolly. “If you want some, get it yourself.” I stared at the bowl. The layer of crushed peanuts was thick and unmistakable. Just two weeks ago, I had been rushed to the emergency room due to a severe peanut allergy, spending a terrifying night under observation. On the day I was discharged, the doctor had explicitly warned Gary, right to his face, that every trace of peanuts had to be cleared from our home. He had nodded. He had promised. And now, here was this bowl, sitting right in front of me. “Gary,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “There are peanuts in that.” He frowned, looking mildly annoyed. Daisy immediately shrank back behind Gary’s shoulder, her eyes turning red as she squeezed out a tear. “Eve… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were allergic. I just wanted to make Gary some breakfast… please don’t be mad at me.” Her voice was soft, trembling with practiced innocence. Gary’s face darkened, and he instinctively stepped in front of her to shield her. “Eve, she went out of her way to make breakfast, and this is the attitude you show her?” “Gary, my allergy is life-threatening.” “Then just don’t eat it,” he snapped. “Is it really worth making a scene? Lose the dramatic princess act, it’s getting old.” Daisy peeked from behind his shoulder, her eyes watery, but the corners of her mouth twitched into a tiny, triumphant smirk. I didn’t argue. I walked past them into the bathroom and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. My toothbrush and toiletries had been swept into a messy pile at the bottom, my toothbrush bent out of shape. In their place on the counter stood a neat row of imported skincare products, each bearing a little label written in Daisy’s neat handwriting: Daisy’s Only. I stared at the little labels, a sudden, cold laugh escaping my throat. I went back to the bedroom, pulled out a suitcase, and packed a few changes of clothes. When I walked back through the living room, Gary was placing food onto Daisy’s plate, never once looking up. Daisy, however, watched me with a sweet smile. “Are you heading out, Eve? Have a safe trip.” I dragged my suitcase to the entryway. Before opening the door, I pulled out my phone and dialed the wedding planner. “Hello, this is Eve.” “I need to cancel the wedding ceremony scheduled for next Wednesday.” Behind me, the clink of chopsticks and the shared laughter of Gary and Daisy filled the apartment. Neither of them heard a word I said. The planner confirmed the cancellation and promised a refund of the deposit within three business days. I hung up, walked out, and let the door slam shut behind me. 3 By the weekend, it was time for the weekly family dinner at the Harrington estate. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Gary’s mother had called three times, her voice growing icier with each ring. “Eve, you are Gary’s fiancée. Skipping a family dinner is unacceptable.” When I arrived, the dining table was already crowded with relatives. Gary’s mother seated me at the very end of the table, right next to the drafty kitchen door where the servers passed through. Daisy, meanwhile, sat in the seat of honor right next to Gary’s right hand. His mother was beaming, placing freshly peeled lobster meat into Daisy’s bowl. “Eat up, Daisy. You’re so thin, it breaks my heart. A daughter raised right really is the sweet one. You always know exactly what I like.” Daisy smiled sweetly. “You’re so good to me, Auntie, of course I want to take care of you.” The relatives around the table chimed in with warm laughter. I quietly ate my greens, keeping my eyes down. Halfway through the meal, Daisy suddenly clutched her chest and let out a soft cough. “Gary… I feel a bit dizzy.” Gary immediately dropped his utensils and turned to me. “Eve, go to the kitchen and whip up some hangover soup for Daisy.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. My fingers tightened around my spoon until my knuckles turned white. Last winter, when I had a high fever coupled with acute gastroenteritis, I had curled into a ball on the bed, sweating and shaking from pain. Gary had stood at the bedroom door, looked at me, and said, “Take a cab to the hospital yourself, I have a meeting.” Then he closed the door and left. And now, because Daisy coughed twice, he expected me to play her maid. I let go of my spoon. It fell onto the small plate with a sharp clatter. The entire table fell silent, every eye turning toward me. “I’m not doing that.” Gary slammed his palm onto the table. “Eve! What is wrong with your attitude?” He pointed a finger at my face. “No manners, no breeding. How did someone like you even think about marrying into this family?” Daisy gently pulled at his sleeve. “Gary, don’t be angry, I’m fine…” His mother sneered. “Eve, if you don’t want to be here, leave. Stop embarrassing us in front of the guests.” I stood up, ignoring his mother, and looked straight into Gary’s eyes. “Gary, what day is next Wednesday?” He waved his hand dismissively, his face twisted in annoyance. “The wedding? Do you have to keep nagging about it? Get out of here, you’re ruining everyone’s appetite.” I let out a cold laugh and nodded. “Don’t regret this, Gary.” As I turned to leave, I caught Daisy lowering her head to take a sip of her soup, a smug grin playing on her lips. I walked out of the Harrington estate into a cold, drizzling rain. The drops hit my face, shocking me into absolute clarity. My phone buzzed. It was a confirmation email from the wedding planner. Dear Ms. Eve, the wedding reservation has been successfully canceled. Your deposit will be refunded within three business days. I stared at the screen. Next Wednesday was supposed to be our wedding. He didn’t remember. Or rather, he simply didn’t care. I typed back a single word: Acknowledged. 4 Next Wednesday arrived. I sat in the middle of my cleared apartment, looking at the empty closets. Every trace of my existence had been packed away into storage. There was nothing left of me here. My phone screen lit up with a text from Gary. Daisy is sick and needs someone with her. I’m staying at the hospital tonight. If you don’t apologize for your behavior at dinner, the wedding is postponed. Think it over. I stared at the words, whispering them to myself. Think it over. Because Daisy was sick, he was going to spend the night by her side. Which meant even the nighttime version of him, the one who held me and whispered that he loved me, was being locked away. I opened social media and saw a post Daisy had uploaded just a minute ago. It was a selfie of her smiling at the camera, with Gary asleep against the side of her hospital bed in the background. The caption read: He put our big day on hold just to stay by my side~ I’m so touched. Gary is the absolute best. The comments below were already piling up. Oh my god, he’s so devoted! True husband material. Is he a protective big brother or a boyfriend? Haha. Won’t his fiancée get jealous? This seems a bit much right before the wedding. Daisy had replied to the last one: Eve is very understanding, she wouldn’t mind at all! I slowly set my phone down. I opened my gallery. Inside were thousands of photos and hundreds of voice notes. All of them were of Gary. Selfies of him smiling foolishly while holding me at two in the morning. Voice recordings of him sleepily whispering “Eve, I love you so much.” Videos of him resting his head on my lap, begging for cuddles. I used to cling to these like a lifeline. No matter how much he ignored me during the day, no matter how much he hurt me, I would tell myself it was fine, because the nighttime version of him truly loved me. But now, his willingness to throw away those nights proved that even that part of him was just an inconvenience to him. I selected all the files. Every single photo, every single recording. Delete permanently. When the confirmation prompt popped up, I didn’t hesitate. Five years of late-night devotion dissolved into digital dust. I placed the apartment keys on the entryway table and dragged my suitcase out. Inside the elevator, I sent Gary one final text. “The wedding isn’t postponed. I canceled it five days ago.” Then, I deleted the chat, blocked his number, and turned off my phone. By three in the afternoon, Gary was jolted awake by a barrage of frantic calls from his relatives. He threw on his coat and rushed to the hotel. But when he arrived, the grand ballroom lobby was completely empty. No welcome signs, no floral arches, no guest registry. He ran inside, grabbing a passing manager by the arm. “Where is the Harrington wedding? Which hall is it in?” The manager flipped through his tablet and looked up with a polite, puzzled expression. “Sir, Ms. Eve canceled the entire venue booking five days ago. The catering, the decorations, the party favors, everything was canceled.” Gary stood frozen in the center of the grand lobby, the world spinning around him. He checked his phone frantically, but every call to Eve went straight to a dead-end busy tone. He was blocked. Just then, his mother’s voice pierced through the murmurs of the gathered relatives. “Gary! Where on earth is Eve? We went to pick her up, but her apartment was completely empty!” Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his veins. He opened his social media feed, his eyes landing on Daisy’s gloating post: He gave up his wedding for me~ Right beneath it, a newly added comment from a mutual friend stared back at him: So the bride ran away to let you two be together? Honestly, congrats!

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1 My wife had postpartum depression. The day she stood on the edge of the rooftop, ready to throw herself off, I didn’t reach out to pull her back. Instead, I dragged a five-year-old boy out from behind me, pointed at her, and sneered. “Go on, jump. Do it quickly.” “The second you hit the pavement, I’m bringing this boy into our home. He’ll take your place.” “He’ll live in your house, spend your money, and beat your precious daughter.” On cue, the little boy looked up at me with wide, timid eyes and called me “Daddy.” The dead, hollow look in my wife’s eyes instantly erupted into a blazing fire of pure fury. She climbed back over the safety railing, stormed over to me, and slapped me across the face with everything she had. “Robert! You absolute monster! I’ll go to hell before I let some bastard child take over my home!” She packed up our baby daughter and left for her parents’ house. For the first time in six months, she had fire in her eyes. I touched my stinging, hot cheek and stood in the cold wind, laughing out loud. But the moment her taxi disappeared around the corner, the smile melted off my face. A sudden surge of metallic heat rushed up my throat. I doubled over, clutching my chest as a violent cough racked my body. A small hand reached up, offering me a crumpled tissue. Nick patted my back gently. “Mr. Robert, did I do good? Did I sound like a real actor?” I took the tissue, wiping the blood from my lips, and squeezed it tight in my fist. “You did great, Nick. Better than an Oscar winner.” Nick looked toward the empty railing, his brow furrowing. “But the lady… she looked like she really wanted to jump.” My heart squeezed, a pain so sharp it stole the air from my lungs. She did. Ten minutes ago, half of her body was already dangling over the edge. Those beautiful, bright eyes of hers had been completely empty. She couldn’t even hear our daughter crying in her bassinet inside. The psychiatrist’s words echoed in my mind: Unless she experiences a massive emotional shock, whether it is love or hate, something to trigger her survival instinct, she won’t make it. My love could no longer save her. For the past six months, I had knelt on the floor, begging her to eat a single bite of food. I had held her through sleepless nights, but she only wept, staring into the void. And I was running out of time. I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the crumpled medical report. Late-stage pancreatic cancer. I was going to die. How could a dying man use love to save someone who wanted to join the dead? If I died while she was still in that state, she would surely follow me without hesitation. So, it had to be hate. A deep, burning hatred was the only thing that could force her to survive, to fight for revenge. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Miss Ward, yes, I’ve transferred the funds. Proceed with the plan.” I hung up and looked at the lock screen photo of Grace. It was taken right after our wedding, her eyes curved into beautiful, happy crescents. Grace, please don’t hate me. If keeping you alive means sending me to hell, I’ll gladly burn. When I got back, the house was dead silent. I marched straight into the nursery. The pink wallpaper, the white wooden crib, the drawers stuffed with tiny clothes, every single thing in this room had been chosen by her hand. It was the sanctuary of her motherhood. And it was the first place I had to destroy. I dismantled the crib, tore down the pastel wallpaper, and stuffed the baby clothes into heavy black trash bags. Then, I took the action figures, toy trucks, and plastic robots Nick had brought and scattered them across the floor. The delicate nursery was gone, replaced by a messy boy’s playroom. Standing in the doorway of the ruined room, my chest throbbed with a suffocating pain. But I forced my hands to stop shaking long enough to snap a picture and post it to my social media feed. The caption read: Finally, no more sickeningly sweet pink stuff. Welcome to your new playroom, son! Go wild! My fingers trembled as I hit post. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a bank alert. Grace had just transferred exactly half of our joint savings into a private account. I stared at the screen, tears spilling over my cheeks as a laugh escaped my throat. That’s my girl, Grace. She was fighting back. She was protecting what was hers. That was her survival instinct kicking in. She could take every penny to buy a weapon to kill me, as long as she stayed off that rooftop. Suddenly, a heavy pounding rattled the front door. I wiped my face, letting my expression freeze into a cold, arrogant sneer. I opened the door, ready to deliver another cruel insult, but stopped. Three police officers in uniform stood on the landing. “Robert Sinclair? We received a domestic abuse report. You need to come with us to the station.” She had called the police. The quiet, fragile Grace who used to hide under the covers and cry had learned to use the law to strike back at me. Good. Beautifully done. I calmly held out my hands to be cuffed, silently cheering for her in the dark. 2 Without any physical injuries or medical reports, I kept my story simple, calling it a heated domestic argument. The officers gave me a stern warning and released me after a few hours. When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was fully lit. Grace sat on the living room sofa, holding our baby daughter Emma. Her older brother, Thomas, stood beside her, his face dark with fury. Nick was sitting on the rug, playing with a toy car, though the tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Grace raised her head, her eyes shot through with red veins. She stared at me, her gaze cold enough to freeze water. I kicked off my shoes, picked Nick up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Hey there, buddy. Still awake? Did you miss Daddy?” Nick wrapped his arms around my neck, executing his role perfectly. “Daddy, can we get pizza tomorrow?” “Of course! The biggest, most expensive pizza in town!” Thomas’s face turned purple. He lunged forward, ready to swing. “Robert! You absolute piece of garbage! Your wife gave birth barely six months ago, and you bring your bastard into her home?!” I sidestepped his fist, letting out a mockery of a laugh. “Thomas, watch your mouth. What do you mean, bastard? This is the heir to my family name!” “Besides, it’s not my fault Grace’s body couldn’t even produce a son. I had to secure my legacy somehow, didn’t I?” Grace began to shake violently. She handed Emma to her brother and bolted toward the nursery. A few seconds later, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the room. She had seen the trash bags of baby clothes. She had seen the broken crib. “Robert!!!” She charged out of the room, throwing herself at me, her nails raking across my cheek. A sharp sting flared across my face. But that physical pain was a relief. It was a distraction from the agony inside. I grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back. Her back hit the entryway cabinet with a dull thud. My heart stopped. My hand instinctively twitched, wanting to reach out and catch her, but I forced my arm to stay down. Instead, I pointed a finger at her and sneered. “You crazy bitch! You dare touch me?” “That slap just cost you every single penny of child support I was planning to throw your way!” “If you’re going to stay here, you learn your place!” “You want a divorce? Fine! Go ahead and sue me! You’ll leave this house with nothing, and the kid stays with me!” Grace clutched her bruised shoulder, panting heavily. She raised a hand to stop her brother from lunging at me again, using the cabinet to support herself as she stood tall. The wild, screaming rage in her eyes slowly hardened into a cold, unbreakable steel. “Thomas, go home,” she said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Grace! How can you stay here with this monster? Pack your things and come with me!” “I’m not leaving.” She stared directly into my eyes, speaking each word with deadly precision. “This is my home. I paid for half of this apartment. If I walk out now, I’m just clearing the way for this trash and his whore.” “I’m not going anywhere.” “I am going to stay right here, and I am going to watch the universe tear you to pieces.” Thomas couldn’t convince her. With a few final curses directed at me, he took his coat and left. The moment the front door clicked shut, Grace took Emma from the stroller, walked into the guest room, and locked the door behind her. Hearing the lock slide into place, my chest tightened. She was staying. For the sake of her daughter and her own pride, she had chosen to fight. And as long as she was willing to fight, she wouldn’t try to die. Late that night, I locked myself in the master bathroom, kneeling over the toilet bowl. My stomach twisted in agonizing knots, the brutal reality of the chemotherapy and the cancer spreading through my abdomen. I flushed away the crimson fluid, staring at the ghost looking back at me in the mirror. Sunken cheeks, dark hollows under my eyes. I looked like a corpse. Through the thin wall, I could hear her muffled, suffocating sobs. I pressed my forehead against the cold bathroom tiles, tapping my head against them until the skin broke and bled, desperate to let the physical pain drown out the screaming guilt in my mind. Don’t cry, Grace. Please, save your tears. Hate me. Want to destroy me. That is the only way you’ll have the strength to live. The next morning, the living room was a disaster zone. Nick’s expensive new toys were completely ruined, his plastic action figures smashed and piled high in the trash bin. Grace sat at the table, quietly feeding Emma some formula. She didn’t even look up when I walked in. “I cleaned up some of the trash around here,” she said, her tone light and conversational. “From now on, if I see any of that bastard’s things in my sight, they go straight into the garbage.” I looked at her tired but stubborn face, a smile almost breaking through my mask. Instead, I kicked the trash bin over, sending the broken toys scattering across the floor. “Grace, do you have a death wish?” I barked. “Clearly, you have too much free time on your hands!” “Since you love cleaning so much, you’re the maid now. You do all the housework.” “And if my son isn’t fed and cared for perfectly, you won’t see a single cent of allowance!” Grace finally looked up, her lips curving into a dry, mocking smile. “Robert, you think you can control me with a few dollars?” “Just wait.” Later that morning, Grace put on a tailored trench coat, applied a light layer of makeup, and walked out the door. She was going to meet with a divorce lawyer, and she was looking for a job. My Grace was finally baring her teeth to survive. But finding a job after a long gap and during a transition period wasn’t easy. It wasn’t enough to turn her into iron. I needed to add more fuel to the fire. And that fuel’s name was Gwen. 3 When Grace walked through the door that evening, she froze. Gwen was lounging on the living room sofa, wearing Grace’s favorite silk robe while applying a face mask, her bare feet propped up on our mahogany coffee table. Nick was riding on my shoulders as I chased him around the room, laughing loudly. The color drained from Grace’s face, her leather handbag slipping from her fingers and hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud. That silk robe was the one she had bought for our honeymoon, a piece she cherished like a treasure. And now, a strange woman was wearing it. Gwen peered up from her mask, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Oh, is the wife back?” “Sorry about the robe, sweetie. I needed something to wear.” “Though, looking at how much your figure has stretched out, I doubt you could even fit into this anymore anyway.” Grace’s eyes locked onto Gwen. Before anyone could react, she stormed over, grabbed Gwen by her styled hair, and dragged her off the sofa. “Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” “Who gave you permission to touch my things? Take it off!” Gwen let out a dramatic shriek, deliberately falling into my arms as she began to sob. “Robert! Look at her! She’s completely insane!” I pushed Grace away, standing firmly in front of Gwen. “Grace! What the hell is wrong with you?” “This is Gwen. She’s going to be the new lady of this house. We’re all going to be living under the same roof from now on, so you better start showing her some respect!” Grace stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with disbelief. “The new lady?” “Robert, we aren’t even divorced! You dare bring your mistress into our home?” I let out a harsh laugh, pulling out my phone. I deliberately tapped the screen to initiate a bank transfer. The automated voice on the speaker announced: Transfer of fifty-two thousand dollars to Gwen Ward completed. When Emma was born, Grace had suffered from severe postpartum hemorrhaging, and she had hesitated for hours before asking me to spend a few hundred dollars on her recovery medication. And now, I had just casually handed fifty-two thousand dollars to another woman. I wrapped my arm around Gwen’s waist, looking down at Grace. “That’s some pocket money for Gwen, and child support for Nick.” “You kept complaining about me holding back money? See this? I have plenty of cash. I just don’t want to waste it on you.” “That’s what happens when you can’t even give me a son.” Grace stared at the transfer confirmation, tears pooling in her eyes. But she forced them back, refusing to let them fall. She turned around and marched into the study. A moment later, the hum of the printer started. She was printing her resume. And she was printing her divorce petition. Over the next few weeks, the torment continued. Gwen monopolized the bathroom, dumped out Grace’s skincare products, and blasted the television at all hours. And I took Gwen’s side every single time, without exception. Grace lived like a ghost in her own home, but she didn’t cry again. Her eyes grew colder, her movements sharper, and her resolve harder. Secretly, I was working behind the scenes. I called in favors from old business associates to ensure she got job interviews, quietly clearing the obstacles from her path. I was paving the way for her escape. One weekend, Nick snatched a small stuffed tiger from Emma’s hands, the toy she used to soothe herself to sleep. Emma burst into a loud, frantic wail. Annoyed by the noise, Nick grabbed Emma’s baby bottle and smashed it onto the floor. “Stop crying, you worthless girl!” Seeing this, Grace snapped. She rushed forward, shoved Nick to the ground, and slapped him hard across the face. Nick gasped in shock, and Gwen let out a piercing scream, lunging forward. “You dared to touch my son? I’ll kill you!” The two women began to claw at each other. I stepped in, shielding Gwen, and swung my hand back, striking Grace hard across the face. Crack. The room fell into a dead silence. Grace stumbled back, her hand clutching her cheek, which was already swelling into a bright red welt. The very last trace of affection in her eyes died in that instant. “Robert.” “That slap just ended everything we ever had.” “From this day on, you are not my husband. You are my worst enemy.” I looked into her dead eyes, swallowing down the lump of raw grief in my throat as I spat out my rehearsed venom. “What we had?” “You think you deserve to talk about that?” “Since you want to lay hands on my son, don’t expect me to play nice.” “Take your useless daughter and get the hell back to your room!” “If I ever see you touch Nick again, I’ll make sure you regret it!” Grace gave me one final look, cold and hollow, before picking up Emma and retreating to her room. That night, I kept my hand submerged in a basin of ice water to stop the shaking. But in my heart, I knew it was worth it.

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This was the third time Lucas forgot my birthday. I didn’t throw a fit. Instead, I quietly cooked my favorite meal and bought an expensive ice cream cake I’d normally never splurge on. It was a quiet celebration for a day that apparently mattered to no one but me. But when I stepped out of the shower, ready to finally enjoy my evening, I found the kitchen ransacked. The dinner I’d spent three hours preparing had been packed into insulated containers. Beside them, my cake lay ruined, half-smashed and melting on the counter. Lucas finally looked up. “Kate hasn’t eaten all day,” he said, barely glancing at me as he zipped up the insulated bag. “Her blood sugar crashed. I’m taking this to her. Don’t wait up.” I watched his retreating back, the door clicking shut behind him. In that silent apartment, a cold certainty settled over me. I was done waiting. 1 Minutes after Lucas left, our landlord knocked on the door. Mrs. Gable stood on the threshold, peering into the quiet apartment. “The lease is up at the end of the month,” she said. “Are you two renewing or moving out? I need to know so I can list it if you’re leaving.” Last month, I had asked Lucas if we should renew or look for a new place. At the time, his head had been bent over his phone, furiously typing a reply to Kate. When he finally looked up, his voice was laced with easy dismissal. “Whatever you want, babe. You decide.” Remembering his indifference, I looked at Mrs. Gable and said, “We won’t be renewing. We’ll be out by the end of the month. You can send the security deposit back to Lucas. No need to send it to me.” He had paid the initial deposit and the first month’s rent when we moved in. It was only fair he got it back. Mrs. Gable frowned in confusion. “But you two are getting married, aren’t you? Why keep the finances so separate? It’s all the same pocket, dear.” I just offered a polite, empty smile and said nothing. Satisfied with the answer, she turned to leave, pausing to add, “Just make sure the place is completely cleared out before you hand over the keys. I want it clean for the next tenants.” I nodded. “Of course. I’ll make sure of it.” Today was the twenty-eighth. I had exactly three days. I pulled out my phone and messaged a local leasing agent who had helped me before. He replied almost instantly, asking if I was still looking for a two-bedroom apartment for the two of us. “Just a one-bedroom,” I typed back. “Just for me.” The typing bubbles danced for a long time before his reply came through: Did you guys break up? The words made my chest ache with a dull, familiar numbness. When Lucas and I first started dating, the concept of breaking up felt impossible. Back then, my mind was constantly painting pictures of our future. Now, I couldn’t even remember the last time I had let myself hope. I bypassed his question. He sent another message: Need a moving company? I know a reliable one. “Yes, please,” I replied. When’s the move? “Three days from now,” I answered. Just enough time to pack up my life, let the lease run out, and quietly slip out of Lucas’s world forever. I confirmed the details and began pulling empty cardboard boxes from the closet. That was when my phone buzzed. It was Lucas. “Hey, Kate loved the food you made,” his voice came through the speaker, casual and demanding. “But her stomach is acting up now. Can you whip up a light soup and bring it over?” Before I could even draw a breath, he added, “And don’t put any green onions in it. She hates the smell.” I stared at the cardboard box in front of me, a heavy silence stretching over the line. “Lucas,” I whispered, “do you know what today is?” In our five years together, he had only celebrated my birthday twice. The first time, he took me to Disneyland. Under the burst of midnight fireworks, he had slipped a delicate heart-shaped necklace around my neck and promised to love me forever. The second time, I was away on a business trip. He had flown out to surprise me, holding a slightly lopsided cake he’d baked himself. I still remembered the warmth of his breath against my ear as he whispered, “Jane, no matter where you are, if you need me, I’ll be there.” But by the third year, his promises evaporated. My birthday, May thirtieth, became nothing more to him than the anniversary of the day he met Kate twenty-three years ago. Just as I expected, there wasn’t a second of hesitation in his voice. “It’s the anniversary of the day Kate and I met. Why?” 2 Getting the exact answer I anticipated, I did something I had never done before. I hung up on him. There was no panic, no hot rush of tears. Just a vast, cold expanse of nothingness. I looked back at the ruined ice cream cake on the counter. It was melting into a sugary puddle, losing its shape. Just like our relationship. I had once believed what we had was indestructible, but over time, it had quietly dissolved into nothing. I set my phone face down and went back to packing. Lucas didn’t come home until the next afternoon. When he walked in, his shoulders were slumped, and a faint flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, stepping closer and reaching for my hand. “I realized I forgot your birthday. I know you’ve been wanting a little car to commute to work, so I went to the dealership today and picked one out for you. Consider it your makeup gift.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off, a proud smile warming his tone. “Kate was the one who reminded me, actually. You should thank her when you see her. She helped me pick it out. She was so sure you’d love it.” Of course. It wasn’t his memory that had saved him, but Kate’s. Even my birthday present was curated by her taste. And I was supposed to be grateful, to smile and accept the crumbs of their shared life. He unlocked his phone, scrolling through his gallery to show me the car. “See? Kate picked pink. She said it’s perfect for girls…” I looked at the screen. But as his finger swiped to the next photo, my heart went completely still. It wasn’t a picture of the car. It was Kate, sitting in the driver’s seat of the pink sedan, winking and sticking her tongue out at the camera. Lucas cleared his throat, quickly swiping past it. “Kate wanted to take a selfie, but her phone was dead, so she used mine.” Without saying a word, I took the phone from his hand and swiped backward. There were three hundred and twenty-three photos in his recent album. One hundred and twenty of them were of Kate. Only three were of the car. A bitter irony settled in my chest. Lucas had always claimed he hated taking photos. He despised clutter on his phone. In five years, we didn’t have a single photograph together. My contact info wasn’t even saved under my name in his phonebook. It was as if I was a ghost in his life. When I had asked him about it years ago, he had kissed my forehead and laughed. “I know your number by heart, Jane. I could recite it in my sleep. Why would I need to save it?” Yet, Kate was saved in his contacts as “Lucky Pig.” On every social media platform, her chat was pinned to the top. I kept scrolling through the messages in silence. Lucas didn’t stop me. Instead, he chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Are you checking up on me? Go ahead. You won’t find anything suspicious.” Before he could finish the sentence, a notification popped up from “Lucky Pig.” Lucas! You can’t be biased! You can’t forget about me just because you have a girlfriend. If Jane gets a car, I want one too! Buy me one right now! The screen blurred slightly. I lost all interest, locking the phone and handing it back to him. Lucas took it, immediately typing a reply. I stood up from the couch and caught a glimpse of his screen as I walked away. The company’s cash flow is a bit tight this month. I’ll owe you one, okay? Kate wasn’t having it. She bombarded him with a flurry of crying and begging emojis. I saw the hesitation in Lucas’s eyes as he looked up at me. “Jane,” he began, his voice soft and coaxing. “Our apartment isn’t that far from your office anyway. Would it be okay if we let Kate have this car first? I’ll buy you another one next month.” 3 It was just like last month, when we had planned a movie night. We were standing in front of the theater when Kate called, complaining she was lonely and wanted him to go swimming with her. He had looked at me with that exact same apologetic, pleading expression. “Jane, let’s skip the movie tonight. I’ll make it up to you next time, I promise.” In the silent battle between Kate and me, she always won. I hadn’t argued back then. After he left, I bought a tub of popcorn and a soda, walking into the dark theater alone for the first time in my life. That night, I realized two things: going to the movies alone wasn’t terrifying at all, and giving up on things that were never truly yours was actually quite easy. “Sure,” I said now, my voice entirely flat. “Do whatever you want.” The tension drained from his shoulders instantly. He let out a relieved sigh. “I knew you’d understand. Kate’s such a handful sometimes, always acting like a spoiled brat.” He sounded like he was complaining, but the warmth in his voice betrayed his absolute indulgence. What he didn’t realize was that I wasn’t being understanding. I had just stopped caring. “By the way,” Lucas said, pocketing his phone. “Kate said there’s a new hot pot place downtown. She wants to buy us dinner.” I opened my mouth to decline, but he held up his hands defensively. “Come on, if we don’t go, she threatened to buy the groceries and cook at our place.” I hated the lingering smell of hot pot in our small apartment. More than that, I hated the subtle scent of gardenias that clung to Kate—the exact same scent Lucas had started wearing. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in a booth at the crowded restaurant. The waiter walked over to take our order. “A mild broth—” Lucas started, but I cut him off. “Let’s do half spicy, half mild.” He stared at me, surprised. “Since when do you eat spicy food?” I didn’t eat spicy food because he had a sensitive stomach, and over five years, I had adapted my palate to match his. “I’ve always liked it,” I said, looking down at the menu. “You just never noticed.” I checked the boxes for the dishes I actually liked and added a matcha shaved ice for dessert. Seeing this, Kate immediately chirped, “I want a mango shaved ice too!” Lucas frowned, swatting her menu down. “Are you crazy? Have you forgotten how much pain you were in last month? No cold drinks for you.” He crossed out her shaved ice and replaced it with warm corn juice. Kate pouted, but a pleased smile played on her lips. “So what if it hurts? Your hands are warmer than any heating pad anyway. Why should I worry when I have you?” Once, I used to get terrible cramps too. Lucas used to stock up on heating pads and brew hot herbal tea for me. When I writhed in pain, his eyes would turn red with worry. He would press his warm palms against my lower back, his voice trembling as he whispered, I wish I could take the pain for you, sweetheart. Back then, I had felt exactly like Kate did. As long as he was there, I could handle any pain. But since Kate moved to our city, my nightstand was never restocked with heating pads. There were no more warm mugs waiting for me on the counter. Sitting across from them, watching them flirt in plain sight, I felt like a ghost haunting their happy little world. Just then, the waiter returned, placing a large boba tea with two straws in the center of the table. “Compliments of the house,” he smiled. “It’s our owners’ tenth anniversary, so we’re giving out free sharing drinks to all the couples tonight.”

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The fifteenth time he rejected me in bed, I finally accepted that my husband was repulsed by me. I retreated to the master bedroom, scrolling through divorce lawyers on my phone, when bizarre floating text suddenly materialized in the air right in front of my face. [Thank God! The ugly ex-wife is finally asking for a divorce. Our pure endgame couple is about to meet!] [Bro, who else is hyped? Watching the untouchable billionaire CEO completely lose his mind over the poor, sweet innocent girl, going at it seven times a night… that is the spicy content I need.] [I kind of feel bad for the ex-wife though. She loved him for years, never even got to sleep with him, and walks away with absolutely nothing.] [Who cares! Everything the male lead has belongs to our sweet Stella anyway. The ex-wife was born a broke loser! Once they divorce, she will be working fast food.] Reading those glowing words, a fiery rage boiled up in my chest. Why? Why does his next girl get everything, while I end up with an empty bank account and an empty bed? Blind with anger, I stormed right into the master bathroom, completely ignoring boundaries, and launched myself at Kevin while he was under the showerhead. Pure and untouched, huh? I am taking a massive bite out of this prime meat first. I refuse to leave him completely wrapped up in a bow for the next girl. 1 I threw the bathroom door open. Kevin was facing away from me under the spray. We had been married for a long time, but this was the very first time I had ever seen him completely naked. Hearing the noise, Kevin turned around. Our eyes locked. A rare flash of shock crossed his face. “What are you doing?” he asked. I stepped right into the shower. “Getting down to business.” I threw my arms around his neck, got up on my tiptoes, and smashed my lips against his. I had secretly loved Kevin for three years and had been married to him for one. This was my very first time tasting the lips of this untouchable man. It was incredibly intoxicating. I could not help but deepen the kiss, biting his lower lip until he let out a muffled groan. He finally snapped out of his shock and shoved me away hard. “Wendy, have you lost your mind? Who gave you the nerve to pull a stunt like this?” “Do not forget our agreement. This marriage is strictly a business arrangement.” Right. His wealthy family had backed him into a corner about settling down, and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He used me as a convenient shield. But those glowing comments floating in my vision were stabbing me right in the heart. I refused to swallow this humiliation. Why? According to those comments, that so-called “sweet girl” had nothing going for her except being a little prettier than me. Why does she get to devour Kevin while I get kicked to the curb with absolutely nothing? I reject that script! I quickly stripped off my wet clothes, showing a reckless stubbornness I rarely displayed around him. “We are legally married anyway. I am getting my money’s worth out of this arrangement tonight.” My sudden outburst seemed to throw Kevin off balance. He completely forgot he was naked. He walked over and gently touched my forehead. “What is wrong with you? Are you feeling sick?” He looked so gentle and concerned. It was always like this. Always exactly like this. He clearly did not love me. He was usually entirely aloof and distant. But the second I showed any sign of discomfort, he acted like he deeply cared. The bitter ache in my chest became entirely unbearable. I threw myself against his wet chest. “Kevin, just kiss me, please. Just kiss me and the pain will go away.” The man in my arms tensed up. I could feel a distinct physical reaction pressing against me. Just when I thought Kevin was going to take things further, he let out a long, heavy sigh. His voice turned freezing cold again. “Wendy, get out.” “Our arrangement has not changed.” “Besides, I do not have feelings for you. We are not sleeping together.” “Drop this fantasy and just play your role as my wife on paper.” Maybe he realized his words were a bit too harsh. His tone softened slightly. “Tomorrow, I will have my assistant wire you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” “Consider it compensation for your grievances.” 2 That night, he slept in the study again. Maybe he was afraid I would ambush him, because I heard the deadbolt click into place. I stared blankly at the locked door, completely frozen in place. The floating text flooded my vision once again. [LMAO I am dying! The ex-wife really thought she was the exception. Trying to seduce the male lead? The delusion is real.] [Right? Kevin is a total ice king. If he does not like you, throwing yourself at him is useless.] [Do not be so mean. I think she is kind of pitiful. Having a legal husband who refuses to touch you is incredibly depressing.] [Depressing? He just gave her one hundred and fifty grand! Though knowing this girl’s pathetic personality, she will probably refund the money tomorrow. But whatever! Kevin’s money is destined for our sweet Stella anyway. And his body too.] [Sigh. If I were the ex-wife, if I could not get the man, I would at least secure the bag.] [Exactly! At least she would not end up broke and working dead-end jobs after the divorce. In the original plot, she sees the male lead and Stella looking all happy together, loses her mind, and ends her own life. All because she played the proud martyr.] I rested my chin on my hands, sitting alone on the cold stairs. My heart felt suffocated and bruised. The chat was absolutely right. I was playing the proud martyr. I was dirt poor, yet I was trying to play the game of pure, unrequited love. Kevin literally offered me money and I was planning to reject it. If I had not seen those comments, I genuinely would have walked away from this divorce with nothing but the clothes on my back. I cried through the entire night. My eyes were completely swollen. But I finally figured it out. If Kevin was repulsed by me, I needed to play it smart. I would drain as much cash as possible, and when this Stella girl showed up, I would pack my bags and leave on my own terms. Having made up my mind, I crawled back into bed and slept in. I had no idea that when Kevin woke up and saw the kitchen empty, he completely froze. He hesitated for a long time before pushing the master bedroom door open. Seeing the lump buried under the blankets, he visibly relaxed. When he got to the corporate office, just as he was about to start reviewing files, he paused and called his assistant. “Here is my wife’s routing number. Wire her five hundred thousand dollars from my personal account.” 3 I slept incredibly well. From the day I married Kevin, I had been walking on eggshells, desperately trying to please him. Today was the first time I had ever slept this peacefully. When I finally got out of bed, it was already past two in the afternoon. That meant I had failed to make Kevin’s breakfast and completely missed dropping off his lunch. I figured he would not care anyway. I grabbed my phone. Surprisingly, there was a text from Kevin: [Let us forget about what happened yesterday.] [I wired you some money. Buy yourself something nice.] I opened my banking app. The balance read: $500,152.65. God bless Kevin for turning my bank account into six figures overnight. A bitter smile touched my lips. If I had focused on the cash from the very beginning, I would be financially independent by now. I washed my face and decided to go for a walk. Somehow, my feet dragged me right toward the plaza beneath Kevin’s corporate tower. I spotted a young woman in a plain white t-shirt handing out promotional flyers. The floating text started going absolutely crazy. [Ahhhhh! It is her! It is Stella! She is working so hard!] [I remember this scene! It is her time of the month and she is in severe pain. The male lead is going to bump into her and take her up to his private office!] Really? So this was the girl who would eventually make Kevin go seven times a night. She was definitely prettier than me. Her skin was flawless and pale, glowing a soft pink even under the harsh sun. Long, straight legs wrapped in cheap denim. Her plain clothes could not hide her natural beauty. But she did look terrible. She was clearly suffering from awful cramps. Right at that exact moment, Kevin strode out of the glass lobby doors. Stella swayed on her feet and collapsed directly into his arms. My vision was instantly completely obscured by words like [OMG], [SO SWEET], and [I AM SCREAMING]. Just like the chat predicted, Kevin stared at Stella’s face, momentarily stunned. For the first time in his life, he did not push someone away. He hesitated for a brief second, then scooped her up into a bridal carry and carried her straight back inside the building. I did not watch the rest. I just closed my eyes. I did not need to guess. The fated couple had met. They would be uncontrollably drawn to each other and fall deeply in love. And I, the unloved stepping stone, was officially written out of the story. It turns out some things simply cannot be achieved through hard work. I felt like crying, but I also wanted to laugh. Wendy, oh Wendy. You are always the one nobody loves. 4 I wandered into a nearby luxury mall in a complete daze and walked straight into a high-end salon. The stylist smiled at me. “What kind of look are we going for today, miss?” “Cut it short,” I said. He looked shocked. “You have such beautiful long hair. Are you sure you want to chop it off?” “Yes. Cut it right up to the jawline.” I always thought Kevin liked elegant, traditionally feminine women, so I tried desperately to mold myself into that image. In the end, he never even gave me a second glance. I knew I was not a classic beauty. I had sharp, slightly European features. Keeping my hair long and soft always felt strangely mismatched. When the stylist finished chopping off the length into a sleek, sharp bob, he smiled. “Wow, you know what? You absolutely rock this edgy vibe.” My smile was uglier than crying. “Really? Maybe this is the real me.” Unlike Stella. She just had to stand there to look like a runaway princess. I walked into a boutique next door and bought comfortable, oversized casual clothes. When the cashier asked what I wanted to do with my old floral dress, I said, “Throw it in the trash.” I only bought those dresses trying to guess Kevin’s preferences anyway. He hated them, I hated them, keeping them was pointless. When I got home, I cleared out more than half my closet. Donated some, trashed the rest. Around six in the evening, Kevin came home from work. He looked surprised when he saw me dragging garbage bags to the door. “What are you doing at this hour? I thought you loved that dress.” I kept my head down. “I do not like it anymore, so it is garbage.” “Your hair…” “Cut it. It is cooler this way.” “Oh.” He did not push the subject. He walked into the dining room and stared at the empty table. “You…” I suddenly realized I had not cooked dinner. “Sorry, I am really tired today. Do you want me to order you some takeout?” Kevin’s eyes stayed glued to my face. “No need. I am not hungry.” He turned around and walked straight into the guest bedroom. As he brushed past me, a faint scent of jasmine drifted off his suit jacket. It was Stella’s perfume. 5 Kevin scrubbed his skin in the shower, his eyes constantly darting toward the bathroom door. After what happened yesterday, he felt entirely on edge. He could not even name the emotion twisting in his chest. It felt like a strange mix of anticipation and resistance. He mindlessly lathered the soap, straining his ears to catch any sound from the hallway. But half an hour passed, and Wendy never barged in. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, feeling like he was losing his mind. Why was he hoping she would barge in and kiss him again? He did not even like her. He aggressively rinsed off the soap, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped out. He told himself he was just hungry and needed to go down to the kitchen to find a snack. But when he reached the ground floor, the living room was completely pitch black. Wendy had already gone to sleep. A heavy, uncomfortable feeling settled in Kevin’s chest. He turned around and went back upstairs. That night, he dreamed about Wendy breaking into the bathroom again. And this time, he did not push her away. 6 When I woke up the next morning, there was a plate of food on the dining table. Kevin, who almost never set foot in a kitchen, gave me a slight, awkward smile. “You are awake. You looked really exhausted yesterday, so I made some eggs.” I gave a flat, monotone hum. Right as my heart started to feel a tiny bit warmer, the floating text ruined it. [Holy crap, what is happening? The male lead is cooking for the ex?] [Calm down, it is just because he heard Stella talk about her struggles yesterday. He wants to learn how to make breakfast for her, so he is using the ex-wife as a guinea pig.] [Honestly, the ex looks like she is about to cry. Do not tell me she is getting delusional again thinking he actually likes her.] [She has zero shame. She is so ugly, how does she not know her place? Stop throwing yourself at him!] The more they insulted me, the colder my blood ran. I ate the food in complete silence. Kevin watched me out of the corner of his eye while sipping his black coffee. “Is it good?” I nodded. “It is good.” When you make it for Stella later, she will definitely love it. I carried my plate to the sink, completely oblivious to the intense gaze Kevin had locked onto my back. When it was time for him to leave for the office, he leaned down, trying to kiss my cheek. I flinched like I had been burned and stumbled backward. “What is wrong?” he asked. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat, looking deeply embarrassed. “I mean, we are married. This is just a normal routine.” I offered a bitter smile and waved my hands. “No, no need.” “You never have to do this again.” You do not need to force yourself to act like a husband just to appease your guilt. Save it for what you actually want. I stared at Kevin’s strikingly handsome face and silently drew a permanent line under our four-year history. Kevin left for work with a dark, stormy expression. I figured since the female lead had officially entered the picture, our marriage was rapidly approaching its expiration date. Soon I would be entirely alone in the world, and I had no idea what my next steps were. I needed someone to talk to, so I took a cab to my mother’s house. She was sitting on the porch, rocking her toddler son in the sunlight. When she saw me walk up the driveway, genuine annoyance flashed in her eyes. “It is not a holiday. What are you doing here?” I shifted awkwardly. “Nothing, I just wanted to come see you.” “Mom, I actually need to talk to you about something…” Right at that moment, my little half-brother tripped and fell. My mother rushed over and scooped him up in a panic. “If it is important, just text me,” she snapped. “My husband is going to be home any minute. He does not like you being around. You need to leave.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and went to my father’s house, only to find a padlock on the front gate. I dialed his number. I could hear ocean waves crashing in the background. “Your stepmother and I are vacationing in the Bahamas. Do not call me unless someone is dying.” “Dad, I really need to talk to…” “Talk to your mother! Stop bothering me, you are not my only kid anymore.” Click. He hung up. I stood frozen on the street corner, feeling completely hollow. Right on cue, the floating text flooded my vision again. [Yay! Stella brought the CEO lunch! They had the sweetest afternoon eating together in his office.] [So adorable! When is the ex getting deleted? I am ready for the seven-times-a-night arc.] [Soon, soon. According to the timeline, the CEO proposes to Stella in two months. He will definitely dispose of the ex-wife before then.] 7 I wanted to scream, but the tears just would not stop falling. Even if I was just a disposable side character, could I not get a single drop of happiness? Forget it. From the day my parents divorced and abandoned me, I should have learned that good things were never meant for me. I squatted on the curb and cried silently until my legs went completely numb. I finally tried to stand up. My vision went entirely black. I swayed violently, and a pair of strong hands caught my shoulders. I blinked the darkness away and realized I recognized the face looking down at me. “Wait… are you Kevin’s cousin?” Grayson nodded. “Yeah. I just flew back into the country for business. You looked familiar, so I came over to check on you.” He was three years older than Kevin and spent all his time running the family’s overseas empire. Aside from a brief introduction at my wedding, we had never actually spoken. I was shocked he even remembered me. He was still gripping my hands tightly to keep me steady. I felt my face heat up. “Grayson…” I tugged my hands back gently. He immediately let go, looking apologetic. “Sorry about that. I overstepped.” He looked every bit the polished, perfect gentleman. The chat room immediately started losing its mind. [Yo! It is the mysterious billionaire cousin! He is insanely rich and barely has any scenes. I love him.] [I heard this guy is obsessed with his empire and refuses to ever get married.] [Honestly, the ex-wife has terrible luck. If she had targeted the older cousin instead, she would be dripping in diamonds for the rest of her life and would never have to worry about him falling for another woman.] [LMAO so true! The cousin loves nobody but his bank accounts. Marrying a guy like that would be zero drama.] Grayson… zero drama? Could that actually work? I entertained the thought for exactly two seconds before laughing at my own stupidity. Wendy, you absolute fool. How many times do you need your heart stomped on before you stop believing in fairy tales? When I got home that evening, I thought about the chat mentioning Kevin proposing to Stella in two months. If that timeline was accurate, we were going to be filing for divorce very, very soon. I needed to start packing up my life. I was in the middle of folding sweaters when I heard the front door open downstairs. I walked to the landing and saw Kevin walking in. And right behind him was Stella, dressed in a sharp, fitted business suit. 8 This was the first time I was getting a close, unhurried look at the so-called female lead. She was breathtaking. She clearly had been taken care of lately. Her makeup was flawless, and her clothes screamed quiet luxury. When she saw me on the stairs, she looked up, neither humble nor arrogant. “Good evening, ma’am.” I was utterly speechless. Before I could reply, she continued, “I am the new executive assistant. I am just here to help Mr. Kevin pack for an emergency business trip. Please do not misunderstand.” I am not misunderstanding a thing. Soon enough, this entire house will belong to you. I gave a deeply sarcastic, polite smile and glanced at Kevin, who was pouring a glass of water. He caught my gaze. “Can you pack a few suits for me? I will be back in two days.” I was about to nod and walk down the stairs. But then I saw the chat cursing me for interfering. I immediately sat right back down on the top step. I flashed Stella a warm, welcoming smile. “His bedroom is the second door on the left. Go right ahead and pack for him.” “You are his assistant, so you definitely know his itinerary and wardrobe needs better than I do.” A flicker of absolute thrill and shock crossed Stella’s face. She quickly masked it. She lowered her voice, feigning hesitation. “Oh, I could not possibly…” “It is totally fine. Go ahead.” The second she disappeared upstairs, Kevin marched over to the base of the stairs, his face completely black with rage. “Wendy.” “What?” “How could you let a stranger into my bedroom?” “Why not? It is not like you want me in your bedroom either.” He did not just hate me being in his bedroom. Standing within a three-foot radius of him seemed to actively disgust him. Kevin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He violently loosened his tie, looking incredibly frustrated. Just as he was about to yell something else, Stella came walking down the stairs with a sleek carry-on. I gave them a flawless, elegant smile. “All set? You should hurry to the airport. Safe travels.” I turned around and walked straight into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind me. 9 I considered my behavior absolutely perfect. I handled everything with grace and dignity. My only hope was that when the divorce papers were signed, he would throw a little extra alimony my way. Like the chat said, if I cannot get the man, I am getting the bag. I lay in bed, swallowing my pathetic feelings, and booted up a mobile game. Just then, Grayson sent me a text. He said he finished his meetings for the day and asked if Kevin and I wanted to grab dinner. I told him Kevin was out of town and I was home alone. He immediately sent a picture of a table covered in incredible food. “If you do not mind, you are welcome to join me.” Sitting at home overthinking was driving me crazy anyway. I threw on a jacket and took a cab straight to Grayson’s restaurant. Putting aside the weird family dynamics, Grayson was actually phenomenal company. He spoke at a slow, calming pace, and he constantly checked to make sure I was comfortable. When he noticed I was picking around the cilantro, he quietly flagged the waiter and had several dishes swapped out for a slow-cooked beef stew he remembered I liked. I had such a genuinely good time that I snapped a quick picture of the table. I posted it to my social media: [Thanks to the best cousin for treating me to dinner.] Kevin never looked at my social media anyway, so I did not bother hiding it from anyone. I never expected that at eleven o’clock that night, a massive thunderstorm would roll into the city. I had just finished my shower and was getting ready for bed when I heard a loud crash downstairs. Thinking the wind had blown over a vase, I grabbed my phone flashlight and walked out to the landing. Standing in the foyer was a completely drenched figure. His face was twisted into a terrifying, deadly scowl. The second Kevin saw me, he cleared the stairs in three massive strides. He slammed me roughly against the wall, his eyes completely bloodshot. “Just because I rejected you that one night, you immediately run off to another man?” “Wendy, how could you do this to me?” Before I could process a single word, he crushed me against his chest like I was a priceless treasure he was terrified of dropping. His lips crashed down on mine, chaotic and desperate. “Wendy, do not fall in love with anyone else.” “I was wrong. Please, please want me.”

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