Author: Momo Chan

On my birthday. A guy claiming to be from ten years in the future showed up and publicly cancelled the engagement between me and his 18-year-old self. Then, he pointed at the low-income student my family was sponsoring and said, “The person you truly love is her.” “Ten years from now, you will divorce Nora for her. Rather than tearing each other apart then, it’s better to cut it off at the source now.” “Chloe is aloof and proud, beautiful and independent. Nora could never compare to her. The future you will be completely captivated by her.” The 18-year-old him grabbed the older man by the collar and yelled, “You’re psycho.” But when we were planning to apply for colleges abroad, he hesitated. He “lost” his application form nine times. The tenth time, I didn’t call him out on it. Instead, I called his older brother: “The alliance between our two families needs to continue.” “Are you up for it?” 01 Right before the college application deadline. Liam came looking for me again. At the gate of my house, he looked at me guiltily: “Nora, I lost my application form again.” The tenth time. No surprise there. I looked quietly at the boy in front of me. This time, I didn’t ask him to go to the counselor for another form. Instead, I waited for him to make his own decision. Seeing my silence, Liam thought I was angry. He sat down on the ground, looking incredibly defeated: “There’s always an accident. I don’t want this either. God must be playing a joke on me, showing me I’m not meant to study abroad.” “Nora, why don’t we just stay in Boston? Let’s not go abroad.” After saying that, he looked up at me. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He was clearly nervous. I couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. The reason Liam didn’t want to go abroad was simple: Chloe couldn’t go. She was the underprivileged student my family sponsored. But ever since she started her senior year, she proactively asked my parents to stop the financial aid. I still vividly remember what she said that day. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, I will never forget your kindness. I will work hard to make money and repay everything I owe your family.” So, she just wanted to get her degree locally and enter the workforce. When Liam found out about this, he secretly met with her behind my back. He gave her a debit card and asked her to go abroad with us, saying he would repay the debt she owed my family. Chloe, true to her proud nature, flat-out rejected him. She said, “I may be poor, but I don’t accept just anyone’s money.” “If I took your money today, what would that make me? Your kept little pet?” Then, she walked away without looking back. Liam originally just wanted to prove to his 28-year-old self that in the face of money, everyone is a servant. But Chloe’s two sentences completely reset his perception of her. He began to agree with everything his future self had said. So that night, I received the first lie Liam told me in ten years: [Baby, I lost my application form.] [The deadline is still a ways off, I’ll turn it in later.] I didn’t reply. The 28-year-old him had found me. He detailed every single thing about Liam and Chloe’s meeting. He stared at the message Liam sent me and smirked smugly: “So you see, whether it’s the future me or the current me, as long as we come into contact with Chloe, we will be drawn to her.” “She’s exceptional, unlike you.” “You are a spoiled heiress who just waits to inherit her wealth. But someone like Chloe is destined to contribute to society, destined to claw her way to the top of the pyramid through her own efforts.” His tone was full of pride, as if Chloe was the only treasure he had encountered in his entire life. But he seemed to have forgotten. If my dad hadn’t gone on a project inspection in Appalachia and run into Chloe being forced into a child marriage… If he hadn’t called the cops, brought Chloe back to Boston, and sponsored her… Then what the hell would Chloe be? Forget college, she probably wouldn’t have even finished high school. She might even be a mother by now. So what right did Liam have to compare me to Chloe? That day, the 28-year-old him asked me, “Nora, care to make a bet? Liam won’t go abroad with you.” I agreed: “Ten chances.” I don’t remember my reasoning. Maybe it was resentment, or maybe I still held onto a sliver of hope. Ten years of history together, ten chances. It was enough. But I never expected it. Liam burned through those ten chances so fast. It only took a month. 02 The day he told me his application form was lost for the second time. My best friend was dragging me to the pool. Liam was sitting by the edge, staring blankly at a thin application form in his hand. My bestie was about to go say hi, but I stopped her. The next second, we saw the 28-year-old Liam snatch the paper from his hand. Crumple it up, and toss it into the pool. He said with righteous indignation: “Liam, when you start hesitating, you’ve actually already chosen Chloe, haven’t you?” Liam frowned deeply, didn’t say a word, and dove straight into the pool with a splash. To retrieve the ruined application form. “No, I haven’t chosen Chloe.” “The person I love is Nora. I’ve loved her since we were kids.” Hearing this, my bestie nudged me with her elbow and teased in a whisper, “Your boy Liam truly loves you.” I smiled but said nothing. This time, I agreed with what the 28-year-old Liam said. When Liam hesitated, the answer was actually already very clear. The third time. It was in the cafeteria. While I was eating, Liam took out his application form, seemingly taking it very seriously, but his eyes kept drifting to Chloe at the next table. When Chloe finished eating and stood up, she suddenly let out a gasp. Liam shot up from his seat in a flash. He reached out and caught Chloe by the waist. Knocking over the soup that was on his table. Chloe blushed and thanked him. Liam grumbled that his application form was ruined again, but he wasn’t truly angry. The fourth time. Liam and I ran into Chloe on the way home. Before I could stop him, he had already rushed forward to chase away some punks harassing Chloe. He casually threw the book in his hand at them. When the application form fluttered out, he stepped on it without mercy, grinding it into the wet dirt, tearing it. Just like our relationship. … The tenth time. Today. Liam and I were at the movies. Halfway through, he got a text from Chloe. Then he turned to me and said: “Gotta hit the restroom.” And he never came back. A two-hour movie. I finished it by myself. And I finally made my decision. Love that isn’t steadfast, I don’t want it. Sure enough, when Liam came looking for me again, the form was lost once more. “Nora, please don’t be mad at me.” Liam’s voice pulled me back from my thoughts. I paused for a moment, then nodded calmly: “Whatever you want.” Liam visibly exhaled in relief. He flashed a smile and pointed playfully at a faint bruise on the corner of his mouth. “Baby, it hurts. Put some medicine on it for me.” I frowned slightly. Just as I was about to say something, his phone rang. The ringtone was so familiar. It sounded like Chloe’s… My heart skipped a beat. “Baby, don’t you think this song is pretty good? Chloe recorded it just for me.” “She said it’s a thank you for saving her the other day.” A private, personally recorded ringtone. For a moment, I couldn’t process it. Was Chloe really as innocent as she appeared? Liam swiped to answer, and a cold, aloof voice came through: “Liam, I keep feeling like someone is following me on my way home. I don’t know if it’s those punks from before.” “I’ve already called the police. Can you come with me to the station?” Liam instinctively glanced at me, his eyes shifting. He hesitated for two seconds before saying: “Okay, I’ll come get you. Wait for me.” He hung up. He stammered, trying to explain to me. I smiled and spoke first: “Aren’t you going to go?” “Then, baby, I’ll come pick you up for school tomorrow?” “Mhm.” Getting my answer, Liam relaxed, grabbed his phone, and hurried off. I stared at his retreating back, smiling silently. Then I pulled out my own phone. I called Liam’s older brother. The person on the other end was clearly a bit surprised. It wasn’t until three minutes had passed that I heard Julian ask in a slightly hoarse voice, “Don’t you love Liam?” I smiled, my voice very soft: “I do, but I can’t let myself be wronged.” “Julian, the alliance between our two families needs to continue. Are you up for it?” The other end went quiet again. I frowned slightly. When another three minutes had passed, Julian, seemingly suppressing his voice, asked back: “If you choose me, you can’t run away. Are you sure?” 03 My application to study abroad had been submitted. Julian set the date for our engagement party for half a month later. Coincidentally, Julian also needed to go to New York to expand his market in half a month. Expected duration: three years. This perfectly overlapped with my schedule. After hanging up the phone. The 28-year-old Liam inexplicably appeared in front of me again. “Who were you calling?” I ignored him and turned to go inside the house. He persistently followed me, blocking the door: “Nora—” I interrupted him impatiently: “Don’t worry, it wasn’t Liam. He should be with Chloe right now.” He seemed a bit surprised, an eyebrow slightly raised. “Didn’t expect the 18-year-old you to be so sensible.” The 28-year-old Liam didn’t look much different from the 18-year-old Liam. Their features were still just as handsome, but the man in front of me had a colder, more aristocratic aura, and a bit more maturity. Suddenly, I couldn’t help but ask: “Then what about the 28-year-old me?” He unconsciously frowned, resting his hand on his chin. After pondering for a moment, he finally delivered his conclusion: “No different from a shrew.” “If it weren’t for the ties between our families and our years of history, it’s just a divorce. I have plenty of ways to handle it.” “There are plenty of CEOs in our circle who keep mistresses. Why does Nora have to make it so difficult for me? If she were willing to turn a blind eye, I wouldn’t have—” Saying that, he patted his pockets. I had seen this gesture many times. My dad did it too. Whenever he was annoyed, he wanted a smoke. Not finding any, he gave up and sighed: “I deeply regret choosing marriage at an age when I didn’t understand love. And when I finally understood love, I met someone I couldn’t be with.” “Nora, we are childhood sweethearts, that’s true. But we don’t have to get married, do we?” “Driving yourself crazy, is it worth it?” Crazy. Suddenly, my heart spasmed. I didn’t know if I felt it wasn’t worth it for my future self, or my current self. The old Liam would explode and start a fight if someone unintentionally said a single bad word about me. But his future self actually used the word “crazy” to describe me. Ten years of childhood romance. Time really can show you a person’s true colors. After a long time, I took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. This time, I’m letting you and Chloe be together.” He frowned slightly, but then grunted: “You better not be lying to me.” For the next three days, the 28-year-old Liam didn’t appear. And the 18-year-old Liam practically revolved around Chloe. Maybe it was the novelty, or maybe he truly agreed with his future self’s words. Until my best friend, Mia’s birthday. She organized a dinner and invited a few close friends. But when we got out of the car. I was slightly surprised to see Chloe. She was wearing a simple white dress, carrying a backpack, and holding an economics textbook that looked completely out of place. It seemed like every time I saw her, she had that book in her hand. When Mia noticed my gaze, she immediately called people over and asked: “Holy shit, who invited her?!” “I…” A girl silently raised her hand, then curled her finger and scratched her temple: “I ran into her on the street, so I just exchanged pleasantries. I didn’t expect her to actually come… my bad.” Mia looked at me. The fact that Liam and Chloe were getting close recently was already an open secret. “Nora, what do you think?” I smiled helplessly, patted her shoulder, and said: “Today, you’re the birthday girl. Your happiness is the most important thing, understand?” “Worthy of being my queen. Classy.” I smiled again. But what we didn’t expect was how clueless Chloe would be. During the picnic, four or five friends gathered around to play games and eat. Chloe alone took a folding stool and sat twenty feet away from us. Mia kindly brought her some food and invited her over to play. Chloe immediately said self-righteously: “I didn’t buy you a gift, and I didn’t chip in for snacks, so I can’t take advantage of you.” 04 The atmosphere instantly became awkward. Mia was my best friend, and her family was incredibly wealthy. All the expenses for today’s dinner were covered by Mia herself. This made the few people who were eating snacks silently put them down. Mia took a deep breath and forced a smile: “You don’t need to pay.” “How could I do that?” “Then what are you here for?” Chloe frowned, as if puzzled: “Didn’t I come to celebrate your birthday?” Mia was completely exasperated. She put her hands on her hips, just about to unleash a tirade. Liam suddenly appeared. He placed himself directly between her and Chloe, creating distance between the two. His face was dark. When he caught sight of me in his peripheral vision, his accusatory gaze immediately locked onto me. He walked past Mia and stopped in front of me: “Nora, aren’t you going a bit too far?” “I used to think you were kind and innocent, but I truly never imagined you would lead a group to isolate Chloe.” “That guy was right. Whenever you encounter Chloe, you turn into a psycho!” His tone was filled with anger. My chest swelled with a slight ache. I was a bit slow to react, then pointed at myself: “You’re saying I’m isolating her?” “Isn’t that true? You guys are over here eating, drinking, and having fun, leaving her all alone over there. If you never intended to include her in your circle, why did you invite her over?!” Liam’s words sounded incredibly self-righteous. I just found it mocking. Ten years of childhood friendship, and it meant absolutely nothing. A friend spoke up for me: “No, Liam, is there something wrong with you?” “Chloe is the one who didn’t want to come over. She said she felt bad eating without paying. Is it a bit much for you to blame this on Nora?” “Yeah, what kind of person is Nora? Don’t you know?” Liam scanned the group, sneering: “You’re all Nora’s friends. Of course you’d take her side.” “Even if she killed Chloe right here today, I bet you’d all rush to cover up for her—” “Are you done?” I raised my eyes to look at him. Liam was silenced for a moment, but his face was still full of indignation, his brow furrowed. “Liam, if you want to stand up for Chloe, fine. But please get your facts straight.” I tilted my chin up, pointing directly at the car Mia drove today: “The dashcam. You can go review the footage yourself.” “Whether we were bullying her, or she was putting on an act to make herself look like a victim, it’s crystal clear!” Mia immediately caught my drift. She turned and started running toward the car. At that moment, Chloe, who hadn’t said a word, finally spoke up. She took a deep breath and tugged on Liam’s arm. “It’s just a small misunderstanding. No need to blow it out of proportion.” “Since Ms. Vance doesn’t welcome me, I’ll just leave.” After saying that, she flashed a gentle smile at me. Poised, bright, and kind. Mia wanted to rip Chloe’s mask off right then and there, but I stopped her. In the end, Liam threw one last line at me: “Nora, if your dad finds out you’re throwing your weight around bullying people outside, just wait until you get grounded.” “I’ll tell him everything.” Leaving those words behind, he turned and immediately chased after Chloe. Without looking back. Once their figures completely disappeared from my sight, Mia said indignantly: “No way. Chloe is that fake, and you can tolerate it? Are you a Ninja Turtle?” “Liam is acting like he’s under a spell. Right now, he’s definitely thinking about how to tattle to your dad and call off the engagement.” I gripped the boba tea in my hand tightly, a chill spreading from my palm to my heart. “It doesn’t matter.” “If he doesn’t want to be my husband, then I’ll be his sister-in-law.” “I’ll make him kneel and offer me tea every holiday.”

Midnight. My fiancé’s secretary sent me a provocative, intimate photo. [We went for 4 hours today.] I didn’t have time to reply. Because my dead childhood sweetheart, who passed away ten years ago, suddenly appeared in my living room. “Is this your fiancé?” “Tsk… why does he look a little bit like me?” 01 Pushing the door open and seeing Carter, I thought I was still drunk and hallucinating. He was still wearing his faded high school varsity jacket from a decade ago. And just like before, he had a smart mouth. The moment he saw me, he started roasting me: “Wow, look at you. Cosplaying a drowned rat meets The Ring.” I looked down at my phone. 2024. The time was correct. No time travel, no alternate dimensions. Thinking my eyes were just playing tricks on me, I was about to look up to confirm, but a few messages popped up on my screen. [Miss Davis, congratulations on getting exactly what you wanted—an engagement to Mr. Perfect.] [But compared to you, he seems to like me a lot more.] [He went for four hours tonight. Twice.] Attached was a post-coital selfie of her resting against Spencer’s bare chest. Before I could even look up, Carter’s obnoxious voice rang in my ears again. “Holy crap! What kind of R-rated pic is that?” “Summer, does your phone have a virus?” “Wait, fiancé? You’re getting married?” “Oh my god! You’re engaged and he’s sleeping around? You actually want a guy like this?” “Hold on, this fiancé of yours… why does he look a little bit like me?” “Is this some kind of doppelgänger romance trope? Summer, don’t tell me you actually had a crush on me? Hehe…” Carter Hayes. Known to everyone as the mute prince. The undisputed heartthrob of Lincoln High. When he kept his mouth shut, that face was absolutely flawless. Unfortunately, he was cursed with a motor-mouth. Snapping back at him was practically muscle memory for me. “A crush on you? Am I sick in the head?” The moment the words left my mouth, Carter froze. I froze too. The next second, a chorus of screams echoed through the entire apartment building. “Ahhhh!!! I saw a ghost!” “Ahhhh!!! There’s a freaking ghost!!!” 02 Ten minutes later, I finally calmed down a bit. Leaning against the wall, I pulled a cigarette out of my purse. “What’s going on? Why can I see you?” Carter huddled in the corner of the wall. He looked even more shocked than I did. “I’d love to know that too.” Click. Click. The sound of my lighter flicked over and over. It just wouldn’t light the rain-soaked cigarette. He paused, floated over, and tried to snatch it from my hand. But he forgot that he couldn’t touch anything. His hand passed right through the cigarette. He froze for a second, then, as if trying to cover up his awkwardness, leaned in and sniffed me. “Drinking? And smoking?” “Summer, when did you pick up these habits?” He and I went to the same middle school and high school. We were practically childhood sweethearts. Using the excuse that he was three months older than me, he always loved to lecture me. But I was never afraid of him. Not then, and not now. “It’s been too long. I forgot.” His eyes widened. “You can forget something like that?” “Whatever, forgot is forgot. It’s not important anyway.” Yeah. Not important. I tossed the cigarette aside and walked past him. I took off my soaking wet trench coat and threw it carelessly onto the floor. He floated right after me, sticking to me like glue. “Hey, you see me and you aren’t even scared? Don’t you have any questions…” His voice abruptly cut off. Because after taking off my coat, I was now unbuttoning my wet dress. The buttons were already undone down to my chest. In a split second, he phased through the wall and vanished. Immediately after, a roar echoed from the closed study room. “Holy shit! Your fiancé cheats on you, so you decide to sexually harass me?!” “I’ll have you know I’m a pure, untouched virgin boy! I haven’t even dated anyone! Don’t try to force yourself on me!” “Besides, I’m already dead! I can’t satisfy you anyway!” 03 Carter’s voice made my movements stutter. Yes, he was dead. Ten years ago, the day after high school graduation. A car crash. I attended his funeral. Over the past ten years, everything related to him had been burned or thrown away. No one around me ever mentioned his name. Honestly, my mind had been a total mess just now. So chaotic that even though I forced myself to be calm, I couldn’t tell reality from a dream. So dazed that I didn’t even know what the point of my actions was right now. But in this exact moment, I suddenly snapped wide awake. I looked at the empty living room. Then I looked down at my dripping wet dress. My throat tightened. “I got caught in the rain. If I don’t take a hot shower and take some meds, I’ll probably die of pneumonia tomorrow.” The room was dead silent. So silent that it felt like seeing Carter had just been my own hallucination. But just as I held my breath, about to push open the study door to check, his muffled voice drifted through the wood. “Shut up. Don’t use the ‘D’ word…” 04 Lying in the bathtub with my clothes off. Enveloped by the hot water, listening to the splashing sounds. I finally felt like I was pulled back to reality. Even though I had just received a package filled with Carter’s belongings today. Even though I was standing at his grave just an hour ago. But separated only by a wall, his voice was incredibly real. “Summer, what is the deal with that fiancé of yours?” “I saw it earlier, this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a text like that.” “Also, that guy’s face…” The topic I had deliberately been avoiding was brought up by him again. It was true. This wasn’t the first time Spencer’s secretary had sent provocative photos. But so what? I didn’t care. “Six years ago, my mom remarried. She married some nouveau riche guy.” “It’s a business marriage, you know? Looking like you is just a coincidence. Don’t flatter yourself.” Carter probably didn’t get it. He went quiet again. There was only the faint sound of footsteps shifting from the living room to the bathroom door. Recalling his wall-phasing trick from earlier… I frowned and asked tentatively, “Carter, you’re not trying to peek at me showering, are you?” Before he could answer, a tall silhouette was reflected on the frosted glass door. Ghosts have shadows? Filled with doubt, I got out and put on my bathrobe. However, the person who opened the door wasn’t Carter. It was Spencer, the man who was supposed to be making out with his secretary in a hotel right now. He held the photos he had dug out of the package of Carter’s belongings, looking at me with a dark, brooding expression. “I brought you medicine when you were sick, I drove through a storm to bring you condoms when you needed them. You’ve been my devoted lapdog for six years, all because of this face?” “Carter? Makes sense. Every time you get drunk, that’s the name you call out.” Spencer’s words made my heart skip a beat. I instinctively glanced toward Carter, who had just floated out of the study. But Spencer wasn’t finished. He raised an eyebrow and suddenly laughed. His tone was dangerously casual. “Where are you hiding him? Bring him out so I can meet him.” 05 Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was the deafening sound of my heartbeat. Carter heard it. He heard the phrase, “Every time you get drunk, that’s the name you call out.” Knowing his personality, he would normally seize the opportunity to relentlessly grill me. And mock me just like he did earlier: “Summer, don’t tell me you actually have a crush on me? Hahaha.” But right now, aside from shock and astonishment on his face, there was only sheer panic. “Hiding him in the study?” Spencer’s voice yanked my thoughts back. Following my gaze, he glanced at the study, his smile vanishing, and he strode over aggressively. But when he threw the door open, the room was empty. There wasn’t a single soul. Not finding anyone didn’t stop him. Like a ‘husband’ eager to catch a cheater in the act, he threw open the bedroom and the walk-in closet. It wasn’t until he realized there was truly no one else in the house that he seemed to have an epiphany and scoffed. “Entertaining yourself with fantasies? Summer, why bother?” “We look so much alike anyway. Just say the word, it’s not like I can’t satisfy you.” As he spoke, his fingers lightly, mockingly tilted my chin up. Before I could say a word, Carter intervened. “Scumbag! Let go!” He rushed over and threw a punch at Spencer’s face. But he couldn’t even touch a single hair on Spencer’s head. All he could do was jump around in frustrated rage. “Holy shit! Summer, he literally just got out of another woman’s bed and now he’s harassing you!” “What are you standing there for? Where’s that reckless energy of yours?!” “Punch him! Just like you used to punch me!” Carter’s words struck like a heavy bell, making my heart tremble as I stood completely stunned. Ten years ago, I really was a reckless bulldozer. Relying on my top grades, during a Monday morning pep rally, I grabbed the mic and publicly called out the math teacher for excessive physical punishment. When I saw a female student cornered by thugs in the back alley of the school, I jumped in to fight them off without caring for my own life. Back then, I thought I was a warrior, fearless and invincible. If Carter hadn’t reminded me, I would have almost forgotten that I used to be “reckless.” “Enough.” With a soft sigh, I slapped Spencer’s hand away and walked past him. I finally found my long-awaited pack of cigarettes on the cabinet and lit one. “Spencer, you know damn well… if you didn’t have that face, I would never humor you.” 06 Spencer and I were, indeed, a “business marriage.” Six years ago, when my mom remarried that nouveau riche guy named Richard, his project funding suddenly dried up and operations stalled. My mom knew nothing about business. Neither did I. But for the sake of her “love,” she was willing to let me be the sacrificial lamb. “Summer, Richard doesn’t have any kids of his own. He treats you like his own daughter. Can you please help him?” “Mom asked around. The young CEO of the parent company, Spencer, really likes girls with your bright, striking looks.” “I heard he invited a bunch of people on his yacht tomorrow. Can you go too? Just beg him to give Richard a little more time…” She cried and begged me over and over. That year, I was a senior in college, half a year away from graduating. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t do it. Because I saw a photo of Spencer. I saw a face that shared three or four features with Carter’s. From then on, things spiraled out of control. The Vance family had money and power. As the only heir to the Vance empire, Spencer never lacked women. But he never had a woman by his side who was as stubborn, unshakeable, and entirely devoid of self-esteem as me. “Lapdog.” That’s how his friends described me, and he just let them. Because if he told me to take the drinks for him, I would obediently drink myself into the ER. If he called me in the middle of the night saying he was at a hotel and needed condoms, I would drive through the rain to deliver them. Even when he allowed his first, second, third, and fourth “secretaries” to mock me, throw red wine on me, and humiliate me, I never held it against him. I was at his beck and call, staying right behind him for six whole years. As a result, my mom’s new husband’s business boomed. After his net worth skyrocketed this year, Spencer condescended to agree to a “marriage alliance.” Whether he was happy about this marriage, I didn’t know. But my mom was ecstatic. Yesterday, she threw a massive, extravagant engagement party. She voluntarily gave Spencer the passcode to my apartment. Even though Spencer never bothered to show up to the engagement party, she still couldn’t hide her joy. She urged me: “Summer, our family will have to rely on the Vances for a lot of things from now on.” “Men, you know, they have egos. That’s normal. You just have to coax him more…” Before today, I was willing to coax him. But looking at the furious Carter in front of me, who looked like he wanted to rip Spencer’s head off… Then looking at Spencer, who was choked up by my words, showing a stunned expression for the very first time. I realized they actually weren’t alike at all. Sure enough… There is only one Carter Hayes in this world. With a soft sigh, I lowered my eyes and crushed out the cigarette. Then I walked up to Spencer and snatched the photo out of his hand. “Wipe the lipstick off your neck. It’s disgusting.” “And you know perfectly well… I never use you.” 07 Spencer left. It was the first time I had ever choked him into silence. He was furious when he left, even flipping over the box containing Carter’s belongings on the table. Carter exploded instantly. “Look at this, look at this! We aren’t even married yet and he’s already smashing and throwing things! What’s he going to be like later?” “Summer, he has violent tendencies! You absolutely cannot marry him!” He lectured me relentlessly, deliberately changing the subject. Honestly, there wasn’t much in the package anyway. A few photos and a glass jar filled with folded origami stars. Nothing valuable. But seeing the glass jar shatter and the red paper stars scatter all over the floor, Carter looked heartbroken. I knew about those stars. During our junior year of high school, he had begged me to teach him how to fold them. Back then, he said he wanted to fold exactly 520 stars to give to the girl he liked right before graduation to confess his feelings. I was reluctant. I roasted him for being cheesy, laughing at him looking like a linebacker doing needlepoint. “In this day and age, what girl wants a confession like this?” But he just blushed and told me to shut up, saying he was all about that old-school, hopeless romantic vibe. So many years had passed. I still had no idea who he gave that jar of stars to. Nor did I know who had anonymously mailed these things to me. Though when I was in the bathroom earlier, I did have a fleeting urge to ask. But looking at Carter, who looked like he wanted to physically manifest just to pick up the stars one by one… That tiny bit of curiosity completely evaporated. “I’ll pack them up.” I found a random box and swept the stars into it, ignoring his incessant, mother-hen-like nagging. I turned and walked back to my bedroom. But when I closed the door, I saw he had phased right through it. “Why did you come in?” He paused, his tone perfectly natural. “It’s pouring rain outside. I remember you’re scared of thunder.” My heart skipped a violent beat. I stared straight into his face. Until he nervously scratched the back of his head and silently averted his gaze. “It’s winter. There’s no thunder.” “Plus, you’re a ghost. I’m way more scared of you than I am of thunder.” Carter: “…” 08 That night, Carter didn’t leave. He just crouched outside my door. But since he wasn’t a physical entity, his entire back phased right through the door panel. At first glance, it looked like my door had grown a high school jacket. It was pretty terrifying. But he was completely unaware, just saying, “Go to sleep, Summer.” Honestly, I wasn’t really scared. Because in my memory, during a summer vacation years ago, he had sat outside my door all night just like this. That year, I was thirteen. My parents were going through a messy divorce. One of them was crying and demanding, “Did you ever really love me?” “All these years, did I ever matter to you? Even for a single day?” The other looked completely impatient. “Our marriage was a mistake from the start!” “If it wasn’t for the fact that you got pregnant, I never would have left Linda!” They fought and screamed at each other. Neither of them noticed that I had run out the front door. Back then, I was very withdrawn. I had no friends, and nowhere to go, so I just went to the little convenience store down the street. The old lady who ran the store was very kind. She never asked uncomfortable questions. She just waved me over. “Hey kiddo, want to watch some TV? Come on in.” I forgot what show was playing on the TV that day. I just remember sitting in that store for a very, very long time. From afternoon until dusk. From the blistering heat, until the air slowly filled with the damp smell of an approaching storm. That was when Carter walked in. He called out, “Hey Mrs. Higgins, grab me a bottle of vinegar!” He looked surprised for a second when he saw me. We exchanged a few casual greetings. After paying, he was about to leave, but his footsteps reversed. He tilted his chin at me, sounding like a tough guy. “Summer, my family’s making homemade lasagna tonight.” “Come on, let’s go get some.” 09 That day, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I followed Carter to his house like I was under a spell. His house was pretty far, and I had never been there before. As we approached his front door, I started getting anxious. I was worried he’d get scolded for suddenly bringing a stranger home. I was worried his parents, like mine, hated it when classmates came over to play. But he unlocked the door, kicked off his shoes, and his tone was ridiculously casual. “Dad, Mom! I picked up a friend for dinner. Make sure there’s enough lasagna for one more!” The first person to walk out of the kitchen was Carter’s dad. “You little punk, you actually have a friend? How good-tempered do they have to be to put up with a troublemaker like you?” “Oh wow, it’s a girl classmate too.” His laugh was booming and hearty. He had flour smeared on his cheek. Before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a gentle female voice. “Shut up, old man. You’re smiling so wide you’re going to scare the poor girl.” “Come on in, sweetie. We’re having homemade lasagna tonight, do you like Italian food?” “Honey, what are you standing there for? Get back to the garlic bread! Carter, there’s soda in the fridge, grab a can for the girl.” Carter: “Oh right, Summer, what flavor do you like? Orange good?” … That day, I hadn’t planned on crying. But I don’t know what came over me. Seeing Carter’s warm, welcoming parents, seeing this happy, harmonious family… my nose suddenly started to sting. I tried to hold it back. I held it back for a long time, but finally, I couldn’t anymore. Along with the first crack of thunder of the summer, I burst out crying, sobbing loudly. That night, I didn’t go home. Because the rain was too heavy and the thunder was too loud, Carter’s mom called my mom. My mom was entirely focused on my dad and couldn’t care less about me. So that night, I slept in Carter’s room. And Carter, who was banished to sleep on the living room couch, whispered outside my door in the middle of the night: “Summer, you’re scared of thunder?” “How did I never notice you were such a scaredy-cat before?” “Hehe, I’ll just camp out right here tonight. Don’t let me catch you crying on tape, Thunder Girl…” His mouth was seriously so toxic. The depressed mood I had built up was completely washed away by his few sentences, leaving me with nothing but pure speechlessness. “Get lost, you dog.” He didn’t get lost. He leaned against the door and slept sitting up the entire night. When I opened the door early the next morning, he fell flat on his back, groaning in pain. I’ve forgotten a lot of things from over a decade ago. But the summer breeze, the cicadas, the fiery sunset clouds from that year… I remember them vividly. I can even recall the smell of that homemade lasagna and orange soda lingering in the summer air… “Summer, go to sleep.” Carter’s voice seemed to travel through time, drifting through the door panel, instantly pulling my thoughts back. I let out a soft sigh and closed my eyes. And whispered silently in my heart. “Goodnight, Carter.” 10 Early the next morning, I was woken up by a phone ringing. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw Carter’s ghost face right there. He was so close to me. So close that I could see his pupils slightly contract and his eyelashes flutter. He didn’t seem to expect the phone to ring suddenly, nor did he expect me to open my eyes. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. Then he abruptly pulled back, looking away, his tone extremely unnatural. “Summer, you grind your teeth when you sleep.” “Grind my teeth?” Having known him for so many years, it was the first time I saw an expression resembling “shy” on Carter’s face. I couldn’t help it, I let out a laugh. Then I threw off the covers, got out of bed, and walked toward him barefoot. I deliberately let my gaze slowly sweep down from his eyes, landing on his lips. “If you don’t explain… I’m going to think that pose just now was you trying to kiss me.” After all, a seventeen-year-old boy can’t handle being teased. Just one sentence made his eyes go wide as he stumbled backward repeatedly. Fortunately, the second round of ringtones rang right on time. He looked like he was saved. “Your phone is ringing, hurry up and answer it.” After saying that, not daring to stay a second longer, he phased through the wall and escaped. Seeing such a vibrant, lively Carter made me want to laugh. But I couldn’t. Because the call was from my mom. Unsurprisingly, the moment I connected, the scolding came down like an avalanche. “Summer, what happened with you last night? You didn’t pick up the phone or reply to my texts.” “I went through so much trouble to get Spencer to go check on you, and you still managed to piss him off?” “Your stepdad Richard’s project relies entirely on the Vance family. How can you have zero sense of boundaries?” “I heard Spencer has a gathering with his friends the day after tomorrow. You are going to go there and apologize, do you hear me?” Look. This is my mom. Where I went, what I did, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Instead, she knew Spencer’s itinerary like the back of her hand. I wanted to say I wasn’t going. I didn’t want to go through with this marriage either. But the moment I thought about the endless blame and nagging I would face after saying it aloud… I swallowed the words back down. “Okay.” Looking at the direction Carter vanished. I thought. Some things are better said to Spencer face-to-face.

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I bought a queen-sized bed online but forgot to select the “assembly included” option. By mistake, I sent a message asking for help to my ex-boyfriend. He showed up without saying a word. After he finished putting it together, he told me to test it out to see if it was sturdy. “How am I supposed to test it?” He pulled me onto his lap: “You called me over. Didn’t you want to test it out with me?” This was incredibly awkward. I blushed and said, “You misunderstood. I broke this bed last night too.” 01 My bed collapsed in the middle of the night. I had picked out a queen-sized bed online. It was delivered the very next day. The massive boxes took up half my bedroom. I stared at my phone screen, speechless. [Dear customer, you didn’t select the “assembly included” service.] I had been in too much of a rush when I bought it. It was almost dark now, and there was no way I could book a handyman. I took a screenshot of the chat with customer service and forwarded it to the culprit from last night. “Can you come over and assemble the bed?” I also sent a picture of the bedroom. The other person typed for a long time before replying with seven words: “You’re asking me for this kind of thing?” Why shouldn’t I ask him? He was the one who broke it yesterday. “The sooner it’s put together, the sooner you can come sleep on it.” Two minutes later, the reply came. “Be there in fifteen.” Time flew by. The doorbell rang three times. I was wearing a lace nightgown, not even wearing slippers, when I went to open the door. Ethan appeared in the doorway, his gaze scrutinizing me. “You’re dressed like this to welcome your ex-boyfriend?” I stared at him in shock. Why was my ex-boyfriend here? 02 Ethan and I broke up about a year ago, right? I had sent the text to him by mistake. I blame these two men; they both use solid black profile pictures. “How much stuff did you put on this bed? It completely caved in.” Ethan was unboxing the delivery, chatting casually. “Just a lot of clothes, I guess.” I decided not to tell Ethan the real reason. Explaining a broken bed to an ex-boyfriend is just too weird. The AC was blasting, but assembling a queen-sized bed was seriously hard work. Ethan was sweating profusely. I accidentally caught a glimpse of his back. Under his soaked dress shirt, the lines of his physique were fully visible. Broad shoulders, lean waist. I took a sip of water and looked away. My ex was undeniably hot. But I broke up with him because he was just too boring. He was always busy with work, and he had zero imagination in bed. The same rigid missionary position, year after year. Lights out, not a single word spoken. He wouldn’t even let me call him “Dr. Hayes.” It was just too stifling. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I brought up breaking up right after we finished. Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt, silent for a moment. He didn’t even turn to look at me. “Are you serious?” “I’m serious.” Four words. And that was it. We were done. He was a man who was even boring when getting dumped. “All done.” My thoughts were pulled back to the present. He was surprisingly domesticated; he even made the bed. Ethan sat on the bed, hands resting on the edge, bouncing up and down slightly. The new bed creaked slightly with a somewhat suggestive sound. He tilted his head slightly, the corners of his lips curving up, and patted the spot next to him. “Try it out. Is it sturdy?” Is there something wrong with this guy? 03 I hesitantly sat down next to Ethan. Mimicking his bouncing, I forced myself to try it three or four times. Ethan seemed to be staring at me. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t lift my head. Was I crazy? Testing out a bed with my ex-boyfriend? “How am I supposed to test it?” I was about to get up and ask him to leave. But an arm wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me backward until I fell squarely onto someone’s slightly parted thighs. Warm breath drifted into my ear, tickling it faintly. “You called me over. Didn’t you want to test it out with me?” I hadn’t misunderstood his intentions. Ethan really had changed. He had learned how to seduce people. Even right now, beneath me, he had a very obvious reaction. My face was burning red. “You’ve misunderstood. I broke this bed last night too.” I just sent the message to the wrong person. Ethan didn’t seem to be listening to me. He just lightly rubbed the tip of his nose against the crook of my neck. “You said the sooner it’s put together, the sooner I can come sleep on it… Do you want to get back together?” I froze. Get back together with him? If he hadn’t suddenly shown up, I truly hadn’t considered it. But if I had to say I wanted to, it was only a thought I just had. Ethan grabbed both my legs and shifted me so I was straddling his lap sideways. He lowered his head slightly, his cool lips pressing against my forehead, moving to my cheek, my chin, my neck. I was kissed into a daze, my fingertips gripping his shirt sleeves tightly. I have to admit, Ethan’s kissing skills had improved dramatically. My phone, resting nearby, rang at the worst possible moment. A message popped up on the screen. “Hey, is the new bed set up? I’ll come check it out.” “I promise I won’t be so rough tonight.” I had one arm around Ethan and used the other hand to reply directly. “Not done yet. Don’t come.” Don’t come and ruin my good time. I turned off my phone, only to realize the man holding me had stopped moving. Ethan’s brow was deeply furrowed, and his hands had loosened their grip slightly. I was just about to lean in and kiss him. “Who is he?” He pressed two fingers against my forehead to hold me back. “How did your bed break?” I spread my hands and told the truth. “Just a younger guy. He was a bit too wild in bed, and this happened.” 04 The water in the bathroom was running loudly. Ethan had pushed me away earlier and went to take a shower. It took him a long time to come out. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window on the balcony, wearing only a white towel around his waist, waiting for his clothes in the dryer. “Are you planning to leave?” I couldn’t understand him again. Wasn’t he just about to do that with me? Ethan looked up coldly: “What do you think?” He seemed to be angry. But who offended him? I hesitated for a long time, then looked down at my phone. “Then I’ll transfer you some money. Thanks for your hard work today.” A voice call from Carter came through. I answered it casually: “Yeah, fine, you can come over tonight. Right, it’s all set.” I hung up. I don’t know when, but Ethan was suddenly standing right in front of me, staring at me bizarrely. “How did you become this kind of person?” “What kind of person am I?” “I just finished setting up the bed, I don’t even have my clothes back on, and you’re already telling someone else to come over?” I glanced at the timer on the dryer. “It’ll take him half an hour to get here. You’ll be gone in fifteen minutes tops. You won’t even cross paths.” Ethan stared fixedly at me, his lips pressed into a tight line, and let out a cold scoff. I understood now— Did he want to do something with me, but felt it was being interrupted by an outsider? Or did he feel I wasn’t taking the initiative enough, ruining his mood? After all, Ethan was very conservative about that kind of thing. I cleared my throat: “Then I’ll make up an excuse and tell him not to come back tonight. What do you think?” That was giving him plenty of respect. The dryer chimed. Ethan’s expression stiffened. He hurriedly put on his shirt and looked down to pull on his pants. “Let me tell you, Chloe. You’ve got the wrong guy.” This was ridiculous. My pride couldn’t take it either. “I don’t know where you’re getting this virgin-martyr act from.” Ethan choked on his words. His face was dark as he opened the door to leave, but he stopped dead in his tracks. Carter, who was just about to knock, was clearly stunned. “Dr. Hayes? What are you doing here?” “Carter?” Ethan frowned. “You guys know each other?” 05 “Hey, aren’t I just starting my residency?” Carter said. “Dr. Hayes is my attending physician.” Ethan is a doctor. Carter is a med student. I definitely hadn’t expected that Ethan would be Carter’s mentor. He looked back at me, then asked Carter: “So, you live here with her?” “Yeah. It’s super close to the hospital, makes commuting a breeze.” Ethan’s expression grew even darker. He used to live here too, before I kicked him out. Carter looked back and forth between me and Ethan. “Dr. Hayes, what brings you over?” Ethan maintained a bizarre silence. I spoke up for him: “Um, he’s the handyman who came to set up the bed. He just finished.” Maybe it was too humiliating, but Ethan practically fled the scene. Carter stood there, bewildered. “The youngest attending physician in the entire hospital, and you called him over to assemble a bed?” “He was eager to do it.” I was annoyed. Carter looked down and sighed. “Did my mentor… walk off wearing my slippers?” That pair of men’s loafers was sitting neatly by the door. I wanted to message Ethan on WhatsApp, but he had actually blocked me. Carter put down the can of wet food. After a while, Mimi poked her head out. Yesterday, Mimi had dragged a bug onto the bed. Carter spent the entire night trying to catch it, and ended up stomping the bed until it collapsed. Carter felt terrible about it. I was very calm: “I’m taking it out of your security deposit.” When night fell, I tossed and turned, completely unable to sleep. Carter let out a screech from the bathroom. “Fuck, the water is freezing!” Ethan must have taken a cold shower this afternoon. Knowing Ethan had blocked me, I sent a weird message to his number just to vent. “Dr. Hayes handled it himself manually and just left me hanging? What a jerk.” It was pure, sexually frustrated resentment. Message sent. Delivered successfully. I froze, then immediately unsent it. This guy had unblocked me. Did he see it? I guiltily probed: “Just letting you know, you left your shoes at my place.” A barrage of messages from Ethan popped up. “I saw it.” “I’m not coming over.” “Don’t send me that kind of stuff in the middle of the night.” “Carter is my student.” He saw it. Was he in his post-nut clarity phase? His tone was so cold. And so what if he’s his student? 06 Carter had just finished showering and grabbed some crawfish takeout, calling me out for a late-night snack. I sent Ethan a message. “Got it. Carter’s calling me. Can’t chat with you now.” My hands were busy peeling crawfish, so I couldn’t reply to messages. By the time we finished, it was almost 11 PM. Only then did I see the message Ethan had sent two hours ago. “I’m redundant. The bed was just set up; it might not be safe to go too hard on it.” Ethan really was a good mentor, caring so much about Carter’s well-being. I replied directly: “Just saw your message. I’ll tell him to be careful.” The screen showed “typing…”. He was typing for a really long time. I waited earnestly for his reply. To my surprise, Ethan initiated a video call. I was in the bathroom, washing my hands under the faucet. My face appeared on the phone screen. My entire face was flushed red from the spicy crawfish, and my lips were slightly swollen. I hurriedly turned off the water. Ethan stared at me intently, his gaze sharp and piercing, with a hint of cold fury. “He spent two hours with you… and you still want more? Come out and join me for round two?” 07 I checked the time. It was almost midnight. Going out for a late-night snack with my ex at this hour? “No thanks, I’m full.” Ethan sat in a single armchair, tilting his head back, his fingers dragging through his hair in frustration. “Full? Good for you. You really just treat me like a tool.” His phone seemed to be resting on the coffee table. The camera angle pointed upward, so it didn’t capture Ethan’s face. It only showed his long, powerful legs, his pale wrists, his slightly raised chin, and his sharp Adam’s apple. What kind of weird female-gaze angle was this? It was like I was kneeling right in front of him. I didn’t hear a word he said; I was just busy silently taking screenshots. “Hey, who are you video chatting with?” Carter walked past the door, his eyes landing on my phone screen. “No one.” I guiltily hung up. Living with a young guy, you have to maintain strict boundaries, lest he get the idea of paying rent in trade. Carter crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, looking highly amused. “I saw you taking screenshots. You really should find a boyfriend instead of chatting up cam boys online.” I shook the water off my hands: “He’s not a cam boy, he’s…” He’s your attending physician. Kids these days, so rude. Carter raised an eyebrow: “Is he your boyfriend, then?” “No, just a friend.” I walked past him. Carter stepped aside to let me through. “What kind of ‘friend’?” he asked brazenly. “The kind where you video chat without seeing his face, only his crotch?” “Can you not be so vulgar?” If it weren’t for his sister, I would have told him to get the hell out immediately. His sister is my direct supervisor. “Careful, don’t let anyone record you…” Carter gave me a meaningful look. What did he think I was talking about with that guy? Is everyone’s head in the gutter these days? He suddenly leaned in close and blinked. “If you have needs, why not come to me? I’m young, clean, and I won’t charge you.” 08 “Thanks, but no thanks.” I had absolutely zero interest in my boss’s younger brother. Even if I did have needs, I had someone else in mind. “He ran into you just now. I’m back in my room now. Still want to video chat?” I lay on my bed and texted Dr. Hayes. “Are you guys… fighting because of me?” “What fight? You’re overthinking it. He didn’t even recognize it was you.” “Oh.” The conversation was abruptly cut off. No matter what else I sent, Ethan wouldn’t reply. I was fuming at my phone. Over the next few days, Carter became incredibly busy, getting off work at 2 AM every day. I subtly asked him: “Is Dr. Hayes this busy too?” “The old man is a workaholic with no personal life. He’s always breathing down my neck, making me work. It’s like he has a grudge against me.” Carter was so exhausted he was having paranoid delusions. Thinking he and Ethan were friends, he asked me to put in a good word for him indirectly. I texted Ethan. “Dr. Hayes, it’s fine if you want to overwork yourself, but can’t you let your students leave on time?” Ethan was very cold. “It’s just work.” Two minutes later, he sent another message. “I didn’t make things difficult for him.” I hadn’t actually planned on standing up for Carter; it was just an excuse to chat with him. “I know you’re not that kind of person.” Ethan: “…” He sent back an ellipsis. Half a month later, I went to the hospital because my hormones were out of whack. The female doctor asked about the frequency of my sexual activity over the past three months. I massaged my temples helplessly: “Half a month ago, I made out with someone. Does that count?” Of course not. She politely suggested I just needed a good night’s sleep. Standing in the hospital elevator, I fell deep into thought. Who should I sleep with? The elevator doors slowly opened, and a crowd of doctors rushed in, squeezing me into the back corner. Ethan, wearing his white coat, stood in front of a group of interns. His expression was serious and cold, exuding a powerful aura. Carter was right behind him, eyes closed, yawning. Compared to Ethan’s elite vibe, Carter was completely overshadowed. My gaze drifted over the crowd and landed on the man’s striking profile. Wasn’t this the universe delivering a pillow right when I was sleepy? He clearly had feelings for me last time. I texted him. “Dr. Hayes, that thing we didn’t finish last time… want to pick up where we left off?” Ethan looked down at his phone, his eyes narrowing slightly, and immediately locked the screen. He glanced back, looking terrified of being caught, acting incredibly guilty. Ethan in “work mode” was indescribably cute. My playful side flared up. “Dr. Hayes, I’m not feeling well. Should I come to the hospital for a checkup?” Ethan glanced down, discreetly shifting two steps away from Carter. “What’s wrong?” I watched him, smirking as I typed. “My whole body aches.” “I want to book an appointment with Dr. Hayes.” “Can you give me a thorough, inside-and-out examination?” “Maybe the doctor knows better than the patient where it hurts.” Ethan awkwardly cleared his throat, stood sideways in silence, and clutched his phone to his chest. “Ms. Vance, please have some self-respect.” “Even if you’re not feeling well, don’t come to me. Have Carter take a look at you.” He was being way too much of a nerd. I was talking about hooking up, and he was talking about a medical exam? How did I ever agree to date him in the first place? Oh, right, I remember now. I was the one who pursued him. Well, that makes sense. “But I only want Dr. Hayes to look at me.” Ethan’s fingertips paused. He secretly glanced at Carter, then quickly looked away. That fluid sequence of movements—it was like he wasn’t caught, but rather looking down on Carter. Carter suddenly looked up: “Dr. Hayes, is something wrong?” The aloof Dr. Hayes jumped. “Ah? No, nothing.” Carter: “…” Ethan quickly turned around and looked down to reply. “I’m at work, stop texting me, I’m begging you.” Flirting with him at work really freaked him out. “Dr. Hayes, I’m in the elevator.” “I’m not afraid. What are you afraid of?” 09 Ethan was very tall. He pretended to turn sideways and immediately spotted me. I gave him a wink. He hurriedly turned back around, exuding immense “sneaking around” energy. His group of doctors quickly exited the elevator. I continued riding down to the B2 parking level. As soon as the doors opened, someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me into a dim stairwell corner. I was completely enveloped by the man’s shadow. “Chloe, what exactly are you trying to do?” He looked down at me, his voice cold and deep. I stood up straight and looked back at him. “I want to ask you out. Is that a problem?” Ethan stared at me coldly: “Yes.” “If it is, then never mind.” If he didn’t want to revisit our history, then forget it. I stepped out into the light. “You wait right there.” I stopped and turned around. The man hidden in the dim light leaned back against the wall, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “Can’t we discuss this? If people find out about this, how am I supposed to face anyone? How can I be a role model?” He pressed his hand against his forehead, looking both frustrated and resentful. “You need to make that guy move out first.” I frowned, looking confused. “Why?” Ethan was looking at me, his voice turning even colder. “Don’t tell me you want to do it with me while he’s in the apartment?” I felt like something was off. But right now, he seemed to urgently need me to declare my stance. I paused: “Of course not. I was planning on booking a hotel.” Ethan stared at me silently. It gave me the creeps. “Am I only worthy of a hotel?” I didn’t understand. Ethan was already pressing the elevator button. He was going back to work. I asked him hesitantly: “So, I’ll book the hotel and text you?” He looked up at me, his gaze icy. “No need. I’m not that desperate.” The elevator doors closed. I stood there in silence for a long time. What did he mean by that? I was willing to discuss it with him. Wasn’t a five-star hotel good enough? I was going to ask Ethan to elaborate on the “desperate” part, but realized I was blocked again. Psycho. Always blocking his ex. 10 Carter actually got off work at a normal time today. “It’s a miracle. Dr. Hayes finally acted like a human being and let me come home to spend time with my girlfriend.” I was on the balcony bending over to play with the cat. “You have a girlfriend?” “No, but on my first day of residency, I fabricated a ‘taken’ persona. Otherwise, wouldn’t I be the prime candidate for exploitation?” “Aren’t you afraid of blocking your own dating prospects?” The TV was on in the living room. Carter lay on the sofa, eyes closed, talking nonsense. “What dating prospects? They’re non-existent anyway. I just tell my coworkers that if I keep working this much overtime, she’s definitely going to break up with me, or she’s secretly cheating on me, I wouldn’t even know.” “You actually found the niche ‘cuckold’ demographic?” No one answered me. Carter had fallen asleep. I grabbed a blanket and threw it over him, sat down in a single armchair, and casually started scrolling on my phone. To my absolute shock, I saw Ethan’s Instagram post. He posted a faceless photo of his abs. A hand with prominent knuckles was pulling up the hem of his shirt, revealing a very enticing V-line. I liked it, felt it was inappropriate, and immediately un-liked it. A high-quality thirst trap like this, with only me liking it, meant it was probably a “Close Friends Only” post where I was the only close friend. I seriously suspected this guy had something wrong with his brain. We couldn’t even manage to hook up. He blocks and unblocks me on WhatsApp. And his seduction tactics never stop. I angrily commented: “Playing hard to get.” In less than three seconds, he deleted the post. I felt like I could hear a fragile glass heart shattering through the screen. “I’m sorry.” I felt so guilty I wanted to die. Ethan: “It has nothing to do with you. I posted it by mistake. I deleted it as soon as I realized.” Ethan: “I let Carter go home early. Don’t contact me anymore in the future, it’s really not right.” He never liked the whole “using connections” or “cutting corners” thing. “I won’t do it again.” “I just mentioned it casually before.” “Also, your photo was really nice.” Ethan: “What you just said wasn’t like that.” I sent an emoji of a confused white kitten standing up. Ethan’s phone call came through. “Is Carter next to you?” His voice sounded very nervous. I picked up my water glass from the coffee table and looked at Carter on the sofa. “Yeah, he fell asleep a long time ago. I’m just playing on my phone. What did you want to say?” The voice on the other end was silent for a long time. Amidst a faint static hum, every word Ethan spoke was incredibly shameful. “You said the photo was nice. Do you want to video chat with me?” 11 Is this something he would actually say out loud? I spat out a mouthful of water. Carter was startled awake. He asked me what I was doing, and I quickly said nothing. Luckily, Ethan didn’t make a sound either. I sneakily went back to my room. Climbing into bed, I told Ethan, “Yes, let’s video chat.” He looked at me, lowered his head, and gave a soft “mhm.” He pointed his phone camera at his waist and abdomen. His hands moved up, taking off his t-shirt. Not only did he have a great body, but he was also very pale, which made the red flush on his skin stand out even more. I was so embarrassed I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Before, when I asked him to leave the lights on, he was so reluctant. Now my ex-boyfriend was completely letting loose. I couldn’t see Ethan’s face, but his voice carried a slight tremble. “Where do you want to look? You can ask, I’ll do anything.” I gulped. You shouldn’t push your luck. Chloe, you need to maintain your composure. I hesitated, wanting to ask but stopping myself. “Can you take off your pants?” OK, fine. I’ll be a good woman in my next life. The body on screen clearly stiffened for a second. His hands hovered near his waist, his fingertips gently pressing in, hesitating to move lower. “Underwear… I should still keep my underwear on.” His voice sounded so wronged. That was probably his absolute limit. “Mhm, you can keep it on.” I seriously admired Ethan’s subsequent performance. His waist and ass were truly sexy. He was wearing dark blue, his taste impeccable. Ethan’s voice was filled with shame. “Chloe, could you not stare at just one spot?” Only then did I realize— My intense, focused gaze had practically cooked him from the inside out. I awkwardly cleared my throat: “Sorry.” “It’s okay.” He lowered his voice. “I’m doing this willingly.” I noticed Ethan’s disappointment. “How about, to be fair, I show you too?” Ethan’s flushed face appeared on the screen. He lowered his eyelashes, his tone evasive: “No need. I’m going to sleep.” Given the state he was just in, how could he possibly be going to sleep? “Are you going to handle it yourself again?” Ethan was silent for a moment, slowly raising his eyes to look at me, his gaze complex and unreadable. “What else am I supposed to do?” Obviously, you’re supposed to ask me out. What kind of rhetorical question is “What else am I supposed to do?”? I just looked at him quietly, not speaking, not hanging up. Ethan seemed to read the hint in my eyes. He looked like he was being forced into sex work. “Then, do you want to come to my place now?”

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I had spent ten years of my life quietly in love with the boy next door. The night the Sinclair family went bankrupt, Chloe Sinclair spent twenty-four hours on her knees outside the Miller estate, begging for mercy. I was terrified that Mike would let his heart soften for her lies, so I made up an excuse. I told him it was my birthday and begged him to take me to the pier. I led him away to the bright lights and the loud music of the carnival, anywhere far from her. The next morning, the headlines broke. Chloe Sinclair had been driven to the edge by her creditors; she’d jumped from the roof of a high-rise. Mike didn’t say a single word. He was a ghost, a hollow shell of a man as he handled her funeral arrangements in absolute silence. Then, with that same haunting silence, he agreed to marry me. On our wedding day, the chapel was swallowed by an inferno. Everything we were supposed to be turned to ash in that sea of fire. He saved me—he dragged my body through the smoke, risking his life to pull me out—but he didn’t survive the heat. With his final ounce of strength, he reached out and shredded our wedding portrait, his fingers clawing at the canvas until his nails bled. “Meeting you,” he wheezed, his eyes burning with a hatred I had never seen, “is the only thing I regret about this life.” It was in that moment, as the life left his eyes, that I finally understood. He didn’t just resent me. He hated me. After he was gone, I became the pariah. I was the “black widow,” the woman who had brought nothing but bad luck to the Millers. At his funeral, his relatives didn’t hold back; they kicked and screamed at me while I sat in the dirt. Even his parents, who had always treated me like their own daughter, looked at me with nothing but icy indifference. “If it weren’t for you, Mike would still be alive,” his mother whispered, her voice like a knife. “Your existence was never anything but a burden to him.” I wandered the streets like a soul without a body until a truck sent me over the side of a bridge. I died the moment I hit the water. But then, I opened my eyes. I was back. One week before the wedding. This time, I’m letting go. 1 Inside the high-end bridal boutique, Mike Miller sat on the velvet sofa in his tuxedo. There wasn’t a flicker of groom-to-be excitement in his eyes—only a cold, simmering resentment. “Are you satisfied now, Grace?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom. “I never realized that when my parents took you in out of pity, you were actually plotting to force your way into my bed. You think a ceremony is going to make me love you? You’re dreaming.” I looked down at my phone. The date was exactly one week before the wedding. The Sinclairs hadn’t officially filed for bankruptcy yet. Chloe was still alive, still haven’t reached the point of no return. There was still time to fix everything. A wave of phantom pain from my past life washed over me, but I pushed the bitterness down. I looked at him and forced a small, tired smile. “I know,” I said softly. “I know your heart belongs to someone else.” I took a breath. “This time, I’m letting you go.” He blinked, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his face before he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Letting me go? What is that supposed to mean? The invitations are out, the venue is booked. You think saying that now changes anything?” He stood up, towering over me. “I used to think of you as my sister. I looked out for you. I even let you into the inner workings of the company. But you? You’re a two-faced snake, Grace. It makes me sick.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. “If you hadn’t poisoned my parents’ minds against Chloe, they wouldn’t have such a prejudice against her. You got exactly what you wanted. Don’t start acting like a martyr now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed out of the boutique and stood on the sidewalk, lighting one cigarette after another. I looked at my reflection in the three-way mirror. The white lace felt like a shroud. I called the attendant over and gave her a new set of measurements—Chloe’s measurements. Then, I called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride’s name on everything to Chloe Sinclair. My phone wallpaper was still a photo of us from ten years ago. Back then, my parents had just died in a tragic accident, and my world had ended. Mike was the one who pulled me out of the wreckage. Our parents had been lifelong friends, and it was Mike who begged his parents to adopt me so I wouldn’t be lost to the foster system. He protected me from every bully at school. He kept me tucked under his wing, day and night. When classmates teased that I was his “little shadow,” he’d just offer a soft, indulgent smile. When a group of older boys tried to corner me once, Mike didn’t hesitate. He fought them until his knuckles were raw and his face was smeared with blood. I stood there, sobbing in terror. He took my hand, pulled me close, and covered my ears. “It’s okay, Gracie. Big brother is going to protect you forever.” He had kept that promise for a long time. Once I joined the company, I was his only “plus-one” at every gala, every event. Everyone whispered that the cold, arrogant Mike Miller only had a soft spot for his little sister. The rumors grew so loud that I started to believe them myself. When his parents found the journals where I’d poured out my teenage pining, they started pushing us together. But that fire in the chapel… that fire taught me the truth. I was never his heart. I was just a weight around his neck. I changed back into my street clothes and walked out of the shop, keeping my face carefully blank. The dress was handled. Now, I just needed the rings. “Mike,” I said, catching him as he blew out a cloud of smoke. “I want to pick out the rings. Come with me.” He knew Chloe’s taste better than anyone. He was busy staring at his phone, a faint, rare smile touching his lips as he typed a message. When he looked up at me, his gaze turned back to ice. “The dress wasn’t enough? You need the rings today, too? My god, Grace, you’re desperate to lock this down, aren’t you?” He checked his watch. “I don’t have time. Chloe’s family is having a crisis. I need to go to her.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached out to open his car door for him. “Go. Go to her. I’ll tell your parents there was an emergency at the office. I’ll cover for you.” Mike paused, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What’s wrong with you today? Usually, if I even mention Chloe, you turn into a brat. I guess now that the wedding is a week away, you finally feel like she’s not a threat anymore?” I didn’t answer. I just gave him a sad, tight smile. He didn’t wait for a response; he peeled away from the curb without looking back. 2 I walked through the biting wind for hours before I finally headed home. When I walked through the front door, his parents saw the look on my face and immediately knew something was wrong. “Oh, Gracie, honey, don’t look like that,” his mother said, rushing over to pull me into a hug. “Mike is just being difficult. He’ll settle down once you’re married.” “Look,” his father added, trying to cheer me up. “He says he doesn’t care, but he sent over these ring designs this afternoon. Pick whichever one you want. Don’t worry about the price—it’s on us. We’re going to make sure our Grace has the grandest wedding New York has ever seen.” They thought he was just being stubborn. They thought his heart would eventually follow his duty. But I knew better. Mike was only doing this to maintain the family’s image. If the fire hadn’t happened, we would have lived a life of polite, chilling distance. Everything would have been perfect on paper, and completely dead inside. I looked at the designs and pointed to the most extravagant, ornate diamond in the collection. It was exactly Chloe’s style. When word got back to Mike about the choice, my phone immediately buzzed with a call. “So the act is over?” he snapped as soon as I picked up. “You picked the most expensive one, of course. Let me make one thing clear, Grace: after the wedding, you can spend all the Miller money you want, but stay the hell out of my personal life.” I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “Okay. I promise.” The line went dead. A few minutes later, the family chauffeur sent Mike’s father a GPS notification for the Maybach. His father’s face turned a deep, angry red. “That boy… is he at the Sinclair house again?” He slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t you worry, Grace. We’re going to handle this. I’ll break his damn legs if he doesn’t start treating you with respect!” But before Mike even made it home, the corporate lawyers sent a frantic alert. Mike had breached ten major contracts and diverted company funds to bail out the Sinclair family’s failing business. It was a blatant display of favoritism. His father was livid, shattering a teacup against the floor. His mother looked devastated, but she still tried to hold it together for my sake. I looked at these two people who had loved me like a daughter. They had done everything to give me the life I thought I wanted. But love isn’t a choice you can force someone to make. It isn’t a habit you can grow. I knelt at his mother’s feet, leaning my head against her knee like I used to when I was a little girl. “Mom… I don’t want to get married anymore.” She froze. “What are you saying, sweetheart?” “You’ve both been so good to me. You gave me a home when I had nothing. But I can’t do this. I know he loves Chloe. If we get married, it will be a cage for both of us. I’ve already applied for a graduate program abroad. This time, I need to make my own path.” Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled me into a tight embrace. “Is this because of what he said today? Honey, weddings are stressful. He’s just confused by that girl. He’ll wake up. If he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t have knelt before us all those years ago, begging us to take you in.” His father sighed heavily. “She’s right, Grace. The Sinclair business is built on sand—it’s going to collapse anyway. Mike just can’t see it yet. You’ve never been away from us. How can we let you go halfway across the world?” They thought I was just hurting. They thought they could fix it by taking my side. In my last life, I believed them. And in the end, I lost everything—including my relationship with them. I stood up and led them both into Mike’s bedroom. I pointed to a dusty pile of boxes tucked away in the far corner of his walk-in closet. “Those are every gift I’ve given him over the last ten years,” I said quietly. “He never even opened half of them. But look at his nightstand.” There sat a cheap, tacky little glass figurine Chloe had bought him at a flea market years ago. He kept it right where he could see it every morning. “I’m not a child anymore,” I told them. “I know the difference between obligation and love. Thank you for everything, truly. I will always be grateful. but I won’t let my gratitude turn into his misery. He wants her. I’m letting him have her.” 3 His mother was sobbing now, shaking her head. His father tried to argue, but I cut him off. “If we go through with this, Mike will be miserable for the rest of his life. We have one chance to fix this before it’s too late. I don’t want to be the reason he hates his own life.” I gripped their hands. “Please. Let me just be his sister. That’s a bond that can actually last.” Seeing my resolve, they finally stopped fighting me. His mother pressed a black credit card into my hand, whispering through her tears for me to take care of myself. “Don’t tell him yet,” I pleaded. “Let’s give him a ‘surprise’ on the wedding day.” I went back to my room and tucked the card away. I spent the evening packing up every memento, every photo, and every gift Mike had ever given me. I hauled the boxes down to the backyard, intent on burning them and leaving no traces behind. As the first flame licked at the corner of an old polaroid, a pair of designer heels appeared in my peripheral vision. Chloe Sinclair kicked the box over, the glass of a framed photo shattering against the patio. Before I could even react, she snatched up a jagged shard of glass and dragged it across her own wrist. As she screamed, Mike came charging out of the house. He didn’t even look at the fire. He swung his hand and caught me across the face with a stinging slap. “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?” “Mike, I—” “Chloe came here to talk business, and you pull this? You psychotic freak!” I stood there, my cheek burning, stunned into silence. Chloe slumped into his arms, weeping pathetically. “I’m so sorry, Mike… I just wanted to come by and wish you both a happy marriage… I didn’t think Grace would snap like this…” She looked up at him with watery eyes. “I know she hates me. I should just go. I don’t want to be the reason you fight.” Mike’s face was a mask of cold fury. “Is this how it’s going to be? Now that the wedding is close, you don’t have to pretend to be the sweet little sister anymore? Poisoning my parents wasn’t enough, so now you’re physically attacking her? I’ve known you for ten years, Grace, and I never knew you were capable of being this disgusting.” He shook her slightly. “Tell me the truth. Did you have something to do with the Sinclair bankruptcy?” I stared at him, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. “Her family’s mess has nothing to do with me. I told you I’d let you go. I meant it.” Mike glanced down at the scattered photos in the dirt—photos of us smiling, younger and happier. His expression hardened. “Burning these? What is this, another one of your pathetic games? Playing hard to get? You think this is going to make me love you? It just makes me want to vomit.” He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “You’re coming to the hospital. If anything happens to her, I swear to God, I’m done with you.” He didn’t give me a choice. He threw Chloe into the back seat and dragged me into the front. He drove like a maniac to the ER, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. In my last life, Chloe died because of her creditors. In this life, because of Mike’s help, she had survived—but she had found a new way to hurt me. I watched him pace the hallway, frantic with worry, and I felt the final strings of my heart simply snap. Once the doctors announced she was out of danger and moved her to a private room, Mike finally exhaled. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Since this was your fault, you’re staying here to watch her tonight. I have things to handle at the office. Don’t leave.” He left without looking back. I stayed. I sat in the chair by the window and watched the sunrise. I didn’t sleep. The next morning, Mike returned with a thermos of homemade porridge. He glanced at the dark circles under my eyes, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something that looked like guilt. “Did you sleep?” “No.” “Thanks,” he muttered, looking away. “For staying.” I let out a soft laugh and stood up, moving out of his way so he could sit by her bed. It was the first time in a long time I’d heard him say ‘thank you.’ It was far too little, and far too late. He seemed unsettled by my reaction. “Look, once Chloe is discharged, I’ll take you to the bridal shop again. We can pick a different dress. The one you chose before was… plain. And about yesterday… I was stressed. I shouldn’t have snapped. But this thing between us has nothing to do with Chloe. Don’t take your anger out on her.” I looked down at the floor, thinking about the one-way ticket to London I’d booked for the morning of the wedding. 4 I looked up and gave him a bright, empty smile. “There’s no need. I’m just happy to be marrying you. The dress doesn’t matter.” “Mike,” I added, “I hope you get everything you want.” He started to say something, but Chloe stirred on the bed, let out a soft moan of pain, and he was immediately gone, leaning over her, blowing on a spoonful of porridge to cool it down for her. While he was preoccupied, I slipped out of the room and went to finalize my visa paperwork. Later that afternoon, Mike sent me a text. He had actually invited me to a movie premiere. You’ve been wanting to see this one forever. I’ll pick you up at seven. It was a romance—a story about childhood sweethearts. I had mentioned it to him a dozen times over the last year, trying to hint at my feelings. Back then, he had just rolled his eyes and told me it sounded boring. I knew what this was. This was his apology. But the apology was for a girl who didn’t exist anymore. I typed back a quick reply: Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe me anything. He saved me, he gave me a home. I was paying him back by taking care of his true love. But Mike was stubborn; he insisted we go. I went to the theater. I sat in the lobby for forty-five minutes. He never showed up. Instead, my phone pinged with a local social news alert. CEO of Miller Corp hosts ‘Hospital Banquet’ for mystery woman. Chloe had wanted a candlelight dinner, so Mike had ordered a five-star hotel to cater a full meal in her hospital suite. In the photos, the candlelight flickered across his face, showing a tenderness and warmth I had never been the recipient of. I watched the movie alone. When I got home, there was a text from him. Sorry, something came up at the office. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. The dress was delivered to the house, make sure it fits. The dress was already altered for Chloe. There was no reason for me to put it on. I ignored the ache in my chest and started packing my final suitcase. I texted him back: It’s fine. I heard it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding anyway. I’m going to stay at a hotel for the next few days to get ready. He didn’t reply. But two minutes later, my phone rang. It was the hospital. Mike had been in a car accident on his way back from the hospital. There was a shortage in the blood bank, and he was heading into emergency surgery. I didn’t call his parents. I grabbed my coat and caught a cab to the hospital. As the needle slid into my vein, the world seemed to blur. I saw eighteen-year-old Mike again. I saw him in that alleyway, surrounded by those boys, his face covered in blood, yet he was still using his jacket to shield my eyes. “Wait for me, Gracie. Big brother’s got you.” He had protected me for ten years. This was the last time I’d protect him. When the surgery was over, I sat by his bed until he opened his eyes. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Thank you.” “Grace,” he croaked, his voice weak. “As long as you leave Chloe alone… I’ll keep you safe. Like I always have.” So, he still remembered those promises. I looked at his pale, exhausted face and smiled the same way I did when I was a girl. “Okay. Thank you, Mike.” His injuries weren’t life-threatening. The wedding would go on as scheduled. I felt a wave of relief. I hired a professional nurse to stay with him, went home to grab my bags, and checked into a hotel near the airport. Over the next few days, his parents sent me a flurry of messages. Mike was sending over jewelry sets, honeymoon itineraries to the places I’d always dreamed of visiting. He’d remembered everything. They were terrified I wouldn’t show up, begging me to change my mind about leaving. Then I saw Chloe’s latest Instagram post. A photo of her hand intertwined with his in the hospital bed. On her finger, the ornate diamond ring I had picked out. I smiled and turned off my phone. On the morning of the wedding, as I was heading to the airport, one final message came through from Mike. Are you ready? I’m on my way to get you. I didn’t answer. I deleted his contact and blocked his number. In the bridal suite of the church, Mike stared at his phone, a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach. He turned to his parents. “Is Grace still in hair and makeup? She’s been looking forward to this for years—why is she being so slow?” Before they could speak, his assistant burst into the room, his face white as a sheet. “Sir… it’s Grace. She booked a flight out of the country this morning. That plane… it just went down.”

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Before they passed, my parents left me a legacy I never asked for: a merman. In this coastal town, they are bred like thoroughbreds—expensive, beautiful, and meant for one thing: the continuation of the line. But nature had been unkind to me. I was born with a withered right leg, a shriveled limb that forced me into a permanent, uneven hitch. And my merman, Caspian, loathed me for it. “A freak like you should just crawl away and die,” he’d snarl, his voice a haunting melody laced with poison. “You aren’t fit to touch my scales, let alone carry a brood.” After he smashed the last of my mother’s porcelain vases in another fit of rage, I fled. I limped out into the rain, my heart a ragged thing, and found myself wandering into the Abyssal Aquarium on the edge of the docks. In the dim, blue light of the back gallery, a stunning silver-white tail breached the surface of a massive tank. It didn’t splash; it glided, coiling around my waist with a firm, cool pressure that felt like a caress rather than a restraint. The merman’s eyes were the color of the deep Atlantic—pure, piercing blue. He tilted his head, guiding my gaze to a weathered wooden sign hanging by the glass: [DEFECTIVE STOCK. TRADE-INS WELCOME.] His eyes shimmered with what looked like unshed tears as he exhaled a string of iridescent bubbles. “Mistress…” he whispered, the sound vibrating in my very bones. “Take me home.” It was time. Time to trade in the old, bitter ghost in my house for something new. But when I finally told Caspian to move out, he didn’t flee to the ocean. He blocked the door with his powerful tail, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. “You’re throwing me away?” he choked out, his voice cracking. “For that… that piece of trash?” 1 I woke up before the sun hit the bay today, hitching my way down to the docks. My hip ached with every step, but I pushed through it. I found a trawler that had just hauled in a deep-sea catch and bought a heavy leather pouch filled with fresh, Grade-A pearls. The merchant counted my silver coins, his grin widening with every clink. “Living the high life with that merman of yours, huh, Jo?” he chuckled. “Treating him like a king. I bet he keeps you real comfortable at night.” My face went ghost-white. I didn’t wait for my change; I just turned and limped away as fast as my cane would allow. Behind me, the predictable whispers started, sharp as sea glass. “She’s delusional. A cripple trying to keep a Thoroughbred? That merman hates the ground she limps on. Word is he tries to bolt every time she turns her back.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead, trying to outrun the voices. By the time I reached the house, Caspian was already awake. He was in one of his moods. I heard the crash of glass before I even opened the door. The moment he saw me, his tail lashed the floor, propelling him toward me with terrifying speed. The sharp tip of his fin flicked across my cheek, leaving a stinging, hot trail of red. He didn’t even look at the wound. He snatched the leather pouch from my hand, rummaging through it with a sneer. “You’re late, little gimp. Please tell me you didn’t buy more bottom-shelf refuse.” He popped a large, lustrous pearl into his mouth, crunching it with disdain. “Tastes like silt. Mr. Blackwood’s merman gets the pearls imported from the South Pacific. Why am I stuck with a bargain-bin owner?” I covered my stinging cheek, my voice barely a whisper. “I was there when the boat docked, Caspian. I got the best they had. Mr. Blackwood’s staff hadn’t even arrived yet.” He let out a sharp, cold huff and turned his back on me, his tail splashing water across my skirts. I sank to the floor, my good knee hitting the wood with a thud, and began to pick up the shards of the life he was systematically destroying. When I went into his room to change the water in his tank, I found something tucked behind the artificial kelp. A few of my missing gold sovereigns. And a damp map of North Point. There was a circle drawn around Mr. Blackwood’s estate. I didn’t need Caspian to tell me. I knew. He wanted a man like Blackwood—towering, athletic, wealthy beyond measure. Not a lonely, limping landlady with nothing but a crumbling seaside house and a heart that was too easy to bruise. I dried the map, folded it neatly, and left it on the stand by the tank. Later that evening, as I was balancing the ledgers, a harsh scraping sound broke the silence. Before I could stand, Caspian burst into the study, his eyes glowing a manic violet-red. “Did you touch my tank? You took my coins and my map!” He lunged, his fingers—webbed and clawed—pinning my wrists to the desk. “Listen to me, you pathetic gimp. If you think stealing my things will make me roll over and breed with you, you’re wrong. You’re a broken thing. You don’t deserve to be a mother.” His words were a serrated blade, twisting in my chest. I clenched my fists, fighting the sob that threatened to break me. “I was changing the water,” I said, my voice trembling but flat. “I put them on the stand so the map wouldn’t rot.” Caspian’s fire died instantly. The room fell into a suffocating silence, so quiet I could hear my tears hitting the hardwood. A flash of something—regret? Confusion?—crossed his handsome face. He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder. I didn’t wait. I wrenched myself away and stumbled out the door. 2 Bayberry Cove isn’t large, and on a night like this, there was nowhere to hide. I walked with my head down, wiping my eyes, my breath hitching in the salty air. Before I realized it, I had walked into the Abyssal Aquarium. Usually, I came here to buy specialty brine shrimp or treats for Caspian, trying to buy his affection. Tonight, I just wanted to disappear into the blue. Suddenly, a massive silver-white tail breached the surface of a nearby tank, sending a spray of cool water over my face. I flinched, remembering the sting of Caspian’s fin earlier that morning. I braced myself for an attack. But the tail didn’t strike. It waved gently in the air, shedding water, before slowly, tentatively, curling around my waist like a silk ribbon. I looked up. A merman with hair like spun moonlight and eyes of deep sapphire was floating there, watching me through the glass. When he spoke, his voice was a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate in my chest. “I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” As he spoke, a stream of tiny, shimmering bubbles floated toward the surface. He looked genuinely embarrassed, reaching out with a delicate, webbed finger to pop one. Against my will, I laughed. He smiled then—a real, gentle smile—and gestured toward the base of the tank. There was a small, brass plaque there: [ABYSSAL DEFECT. TRADE-INS WELCOME.] I froze. A “defect”? I looked at him closely. His skin was the pale ivory of the deep ocean, his features more refined than any merman I’d ever seen. But then I saw it. His dorsal fins weren’t smooth and rounded like Caspian’s pampered, bred-for-show fins. They were jagged, tipped with sharp, defensive spines. His tail, though magnificent, was scarred, with missing scales that broke the silver pattern. He was imperfect. Just like me. Seeing me stare, he tightened his tail around me slightly—not to hurt, but to hold. His blue eyes locked onto mine with a desperate intensity. “Mistress…” he whispered. “Please. Take me home.” He called me Mistress. A title Caspian had never uttered without a sneer. He gave me the dignity I had forgotten I possessed. I looked at his pure blue eyes, then back at the “Trade-In” sign. A sudden, wild thought took root in my mind. If Caspian hated me so much, why was I fighting to keep him? Maybe setting him free—and bringing this silver ghost home—was the only way we both could breathe. 3 I didn’t say yes immediately. I left the aquarium in a daze, but my step was lighter than it had been in years. His name was Soren. And I wanted him. When I got home, I didn’t go to Caspian’s room to apologize as I usually did. Instead, I went straight to my office and pulled out my savings. If I was going to bring Soren home, I wanted him to have the best. I emptied my ceramic jar and noticed more coins were missing. I sighed. Caspian was likely siphoning off my savings for his escape. Fine, I thought. Consider it a severance package for a year of misery. I began making a list: Industrial-grade tank, high-flow filtration, premium sea minerals. Suddenly, the air in the room turned cold. Through the crack in the door, a pair of violet-pink eyes watched me. I used to fear that look—the cold, unadulterated loathing. Tonight, I ignored it. I didn’t invite him in. After five minutes, Caspian’s patience snapped. He shoved the door open, his voice sharp with irritation. “Hey. I’m hungry.” I didn’t look up from my list. “I bought pearls this morning. They’re in the kitchen.” Caspian’s tail lashed the floor. This was his version of an olive branch—actually speaking to me—and he was offended I wasn’t groveling. Suddenly, his nostrils flared. He glided toward me, leaning in close, sniffing the air around my neck. His pupils constricted into slits. “Why do you smell like a High-Abyssal? You went to see another male?” Before I could answer, he laughed, a cruel, dismissive sound. “Wait, what am I saying? You’re a crippled low-life. What kind of high-tier male would even look at you?” He snatched the list from my hand. “Large-scale glass tank… advanced aeration system…” His eyes lit up for a second. The violet softened into a shimmer of excitement. He quickly masked it with a sneer. “Hmph. I knew you couldn’t stay mad. You’re trying to buy my forgiveness with fancy upgrades, aren’t you?” He shook his head, looking smug. “I saw you crying when you left. I thought you finally got the hint, but here you are, still desperate to keep me.” I opened my mouth to correct him, but he didn’t give me the chance. He held out his hand. “Since you’re feeling generous, give me two more sovereigns.” I didn’t argue. I simply handed them over. Caspian looked at me suspiciously. “You aren’t going to ask what they’re for?” To find Mr. Blackwood, I thought. Usually, I’d ask and start a fight that ended in me feeling like a monster. Tonight, I just wanted him gone. I stayed silent. Eventually, Caspian scoffed, turned, and slammed the door. 4 Seeing Soren again made my heart do a nervous little dance. I arrived at the aquarium carrying a bag of large, lustrous black pearls, my pace almost brisk despite my limp. Soren was resting when I arrived, his body floating gracefully in the massive tank. He was breathtaking. His silver tail looked like it had been dipped in diamond dust; even in the dim light, it shimmered with an iridescent glow. His torso was lean and powerful, with defined muscles that spoke of a life in the wild, not a breeding tank. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. His pupils dilated, and his tail churned the water as he surged toward the glass. “Joanna! Get back!” A foul, fishy stench hit me. From a neighboring open tank, a massive manta ray—eyes a sickly red—leapt into the air. It was huge, twice my size, and it was coming straight for me with its mouth agape. I couldn’t move. I raised my arms to shield my head, bracing for the impact. But the pain never came. I heard a heavy thud as something slammed into the concrete floor. The manta ray let out a pained shriek, flopping helplessly. Soren was out of the tank, standing—no, balancing—on the coil of his massive tail. He stood over six and a half feet tall, his expression icy and lethal. I trembled. I had never seen a merman look so… predatory. Soren reached out a hand, his voice softening instantly. “Joanna. Come here.” I went to him. He wrapped his tail around me, pulling me into the cool dampness of his chest, and leaned his forehead against mine. “Are you hurt?” The way he clung to me, as if he was the one who needed protection, made my heart hammer. “I’m okay,” I breathed. I looked at the ray on the floor. “What happened to it?” “We are the ‘defects,’” Soren said, his voice bitter. “The staff doesn’t feed us properly. It was starving. It didn’t mean to hurt you; it just saw prey.” My heart broke for them. I immediately opened the bag of black pearls and offered them to the ray. The creature hesitated, glancing at Soren with palpable fear. “You can eat,” Soren commanded. The ray devoured the pearls. Once finished, it nudged Soren’s tail, looking ashamed. Soren sighed, reaching out to pull a jagged harpoon tip from the ray’s side. Then, using his tail like a powerful spring, he hoisted the massive creature back into its tank. The sheer strength of it stunned me. “How… how are you that strong?” Mermen were supposed to be pets. Caspian’s strength was all for show; he just broke dishes. But Soren… he was a warrior. Soren looked down, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “In the deep trenches, you fight or you die. I spent a long time fighting.” I reached out and touched his hair, a silent gesture of understanding. Soren pointed to the few remaining pearls on the floor. “Were those for me?” I nodded. But Soren shook his head, looking away. “You should take them back. Don’t bring them again.” “Why? Do you not like them?” “No,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “They’re too expensive. You have another merman at home. He’s… he’s the ‘perfect’ one. He should have the best. I can survive on scraps. Seaweed, salt water… I don’t need much.” A wave of fierce protectiveness crashed over me. Soren didn’t ask for pearls. He didn’t ask for gold. He just wanted to be seen. I made my choice. I reached down, took his scarred tail in my hands, and pressed a lingering kiss to the silver scales. Soren shuddered, his entire body turning a faint shade of pink. He pulled his tail back, cradling it like a treasure. “Three days,” I promised him. “I’m coming back to take you home. And there won’t be anyone else there. Just us. Okay?” 5 I walked through my front door and dumped the leftover black pearls in the entryway. Caspian appeared like a gust of wind, grabbing a handful and chewing them. “These smell weird. Like another male. Did you buy these off some street urchin? You’re so easy to scam, it’s pathetic.” “Eat them or don’t,” I said, my voice cold. “I don’t care.” He froze, the pearl halfway to his mouth. I didn’t wait for a reaction; I just went to my room to bathe. When I climbed into bed later that night, I found Caspian already there. He was soaking wet, ruining my fresh linens without a second thought. I frowned. He didn’t notice. “Human beds are actually pretty soft,” he mused. Mermen were bred for breeding. That was the law. A year ago, I had bought an oversized bed, hoping he’d join me. He had chosen to sleep in his cramped tank rather than touch me. Now, for some reason, he was here. He reached out a webbed hand. “You smell good tonight. What did you put on?” I pulled the covers up to my chin. “Your room is down the hall, Caspian. Get out.” His hand stopped in mid-air. He looked at me, genuinely stunned. “What? You mean you don’t want to…?” I turned my back on him. “Fine!” he barked, his pride wounded. “You can beg on your knees tomorrow, and I still won’t come back to this bed!” He slid out of the room, crashing into a side table on his way. Finally, silence. I pulled out my phone and found Mr. Blackwood’s number. It was time to clear the space for my merman. 6 The sun was bright—a perfect day for a new beginning. The aquarium staff was scheduled to deliver Soren this afternoon, but first, I had to finalize the deal with Mr. Blackwood. Ten gold sovereigns. That was the price we’d agreed on. It was exactly the amount Caspian had stolen from me over the last few months. We were sitting in the parlor, the paperwork laid out between us. Caspian emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes and looking annoyed. “I told you, I don’t want people in the house this early! I hate the smell of—” He stopped dead when he saw Blackwood. His eyes lit up, his tail shimmering as he glided over. “Mr. Blackwood. Good morning.” Blackwood looked Caspian up and down, a predatory glint in his eye. “He’s a fine specimen, Joanna. Truly top-tier.” Caspian looked confused. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea. Seeing that I was ignoring him, Caspian leaned into Blackwood’s space, flirting shamelessly. Blackwood smiled, standing up. “The ten sovereigns are paid. Give me the contract, and I’ll take him now.” I stood up to get the papers. Panic finally hit Caspian’s face. “What is he talking about? Are you… are you selling me?” “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “You want a man like him, and I want a merman who doesn’t hate me. We haven’t bred, so the contract is still transferable. He’ll take care of you.” I expected him to be thrilled. I expected him to pack his bags and bolt. Instead, he grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “No. I won’t go! I don’t give you permission!” 7 The delivery truck from the aquarium pulled up just as Caspian was losing his mind. He was frantic, his tail sweeping everything off my coffee table. A shard of porcelain sliced through my leggings, drawing blood. I had never seen him so unhinged. “You can’t do this! My parents gave me to you!” he screamed, his violet eyes brimming with tears. The doorbell rang. “Caspian, stop,” I snapped. “You don’t like me. This is better for everyone.” “How do you know what I like? You don’t know anything!” Blackwood reached out to grab his arm, but Caspian’s tail lashed out, nearly breaking the man’s ribs. He lunged toward me, his tail raised to strike in a blind panic. An Abyssal’s tail can hit with the force of a ton. I braced for the impact, closing my eyes. Suddenly, the front door burst open. A silver blur moved faster than I could follow. Soren was there, throwing himself between us. He took the full force of Caspian’s blow. I watched as Soren’s recently healed scales shattered. Blood began to seep into the carpet. “Enough!” I roared. I shoved the contract into Blackwood’s hands. “He’s yours. Take him. Now.” Caspian stared at Soren, then at me, his nose wrinkling. “That smell… it was you. All those days, Joanna was seeing you?” He turned on Soren, baring his teeth. “Don’t you know she belongs to me? You lured her away, didn’t you, you gutter-fish?” Blackwood’s security team stepped in, throwing a heavy capture net over Caspian. They dragged him toward the door. Caspian gripped the doorframe, his eyes fixed on mine, red and pleading. “Joanna! Are you really tossing me away for this freak?” I didn’t answer. I was already kneeling by Soren, looking at his bleeding tail. Caspian’s voice faded as they hauled him into the truck. “You’ll regret this! I never needed you anyway!” I didn’t care. I just needed my silver merman to be okay.

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It started with a lucky streak on the S&P 500. When my coworkers found out I’d made a decent profit, the requests started pouring in. Specifically from Brad. “Come on, Natalie, we’re a team here. A rising tide lifts all boats, right? I’ll just Venmo you the cash, you put it into whatever you’re buying. We’ve worked together for two years—I trust you more than I trust a broker.” “I’m a big boy,” he’d added, flashing that easy, mid-western grin. “If the market dips, I won’t blame you. I know the risks.” “When we strike it rich, steak dinners are on me.” I tried to decline. I told him the market was volatile, that I wasn’t a professional. But Brad was relentless, and eventually, I caved. It was the biggest mistake of my life. Three years later, Brad cornered me in the breakroom. His mother was in the hospital, he said. He needed money—fifty thousand dollars, cash, right now. “Keep the extra dividends,” he said, his voice trembling with a performative desperation. “Consider it a management fee. Just get me the fifty grand. My mom needs this surgery, Natalie. It’s a matter of life and death.” I stared at him, genuinely bewildered. “Brad, what are you talking about? You withdrew everything months ago. There’s nothing left to give you.” Brad’s face darkened instantly. The friendly “office dad” persona vanished, replaced by something cold and predatory. “I’ve been sending you nearly my entire paycheck for three years. Even with a few losses, there’s no way it’s less than fifty grand. Don’t play games with me. That’s my money sitting in your account. Give it back. Now.” I stood my ground. I told him the truth: he had already transferred the funds out. Then the nightmare began. Brad’s wife showed up at my front door, screaming. They dragged my name through the mud on social media, inciting a digital lynch mob. But when I finally pulled the itemized bank statements, the regret hit them like a freight train. … “Just give me the money! Do you even have a soul? My mother is lying in a hospital bed waiting for her surgery!” Brad’s eyes were a toxic mix of rage and calculated sorrow. He was performing for the room, and the room was rapt. The office was so quiet you could hear the hum of the HVAC system. Everyone was pretending to stare at their monitors, but their shoulders were leaned in, soaking up every drop of the drama. “I trusted you,” Brad continued, his voice rising. “Just tell me the truth. How much did you lose? Look, I’ll make it easy—I won’t even make you cover the losses. Just give me whatever is left. My mom is waiting.” I sat at my desk, staring at my dual monitors, trying to focus on the quarterly report I hadn’t finished. I didn’t have the energy for this. “Brad, the money is gone because you took it. There’s exactly eighty-four dollars left in that sub-account. I’ll Zelle it to you right now if it’ll make you go away.” I pulled up the banking app on my phone and shoved it toward him. Brad looked like he was about to explode. He grabbed my upper arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. “I sent you two thousand dollars a month for three years. That’s seventy-two thousand in principal alone. You’re supposed to be some kind of genius—that should have doubled. And you’re telling me there’s eighty-four dollars? Do I look like an idiot to you?” Kim, a girl from accounting who usually didn’t say two words to me, suddenly piped up. “We all saw Brad sending you those transfers, Natalie. If you’re saying he took it back, where’s the proof?” That was the signal. The dam broke, and the rest of the office started chiming in. “Honestly, Natalie, have some decency. This is a woman’s life.” “I can’t believe her. I saw her ordering DoorDash every single day, getting those expensive lattes. Now we know whose money she was spending.” “I always thought she was a bit too ‘designer’ for an entry-level salary. Guess we know why now.” “Brad’s a good guy. There’s no way he’s lying about this.” A few of the older guys started crowding my cubicle, their shadows looming over me. I’m twenty-four. These people have been in the industry longer than I’ve been alive, and they were circling me like sharks. I bit my lip, fighting back the hot sting of tears. I refused to let them see me cry. “I never wanted to manage his money. He begged me. You want proof? I’ll show you the withdrawal history.” I started scrolling through the app. As I did, I caught a flicker of something in Brad’s eyes. Not anger. Panic. Kim stepped closer, peering over my shoulder. “You’re showing us ‘transfers out.’ That doesn’t prove they went to Brad. You could have sent that to a secret offshore account for all we know.” “Exactly,” Brad sneered, his confidence returning. He looked me up and down with pure disgust. “Look at you. Fresh out of college, living in a luxury condo, wearing labels I can’t even pronounce. You’ve been living high on the hog on my dime while my wife and I split ten-dollar burritos for dinner.” His gaze felt like slime on my skin. When I first started here, Brad was my mentor. He was the one who showed me where the good coffee was, who warned me about the CEO’s temper, who told me “us girls have it tough in this industry.” I thought he was a friend. I’d warned him about the risks of the market, and he’d laughed, telling me he understood that “fortune favors the bold.” I thought he was withdrawing the money because he wanted to put it into a 401k or something more stable. I never imagined he was setting a trap. The shouting grew louder until the floor manager, Mr. Henderson, finally emerged from his glass office. “Alright, that’s enough. Natalie, why don’t you take a few days of paid leave? Let things cool down here. We can’t have this kind of disruption in the workplace.” It wasn’t a request. It was an eviction. As I packed my bag, I saw the smug, predatory glint in Brad’s eyes. This wasn’t over. The next afternoon, the pounding on my door started. It was so violent I thought the frame might crack. My neighbors were already peeking out into the hallway. “Open up! Open the damn door, you thief! You’re living large on my husband’s blood and sweat while my mother-in-law dies! Open up!” I’d had enough. I ripped the door open. “I told Brad already—he took the money! There is no money! Do you people not speak English?” Sheila, Brad’s wife, was standing there, hands on her hips, face flushed a deep, ugly purple. She was ready for a brawl, but my sudden outburst caught her off guard. Only for a second, though. “You live in a place like this?” she hissed, pushing past me into the foyer. She looked around at my minimalist decor and the floor-to-ceiling windows. “There’s no way a girl your age bought this. This is Brad’s money. This is our life savings.” “My parents bought this condo for me as a graduation gift,” I snapped. “It has nothing to do with you.” Sheila scoffed, her lip curling. “Please. No parents spend that kind of money on a daughter. You’re a liar and a thief. You’re so vain you’d let an old woman die just so you can have a nice view.” The neighbors were gathered in the hall now, whispering. “I always wondered about her,” Mrs. Higgins from 4B muttered. “Always carrying those fancy shopping bags. I guess it’s easy to spend money when it isn’t yours.” “She lent me five hundred dollars last month when my car broke down,” another neighbor whispered. “I thought she was being a Good Samaritan. Now I feel sick knowing that money was stolen from a sick grandmother.” Their judgment fueled Sheila’s fire. She shoved me aside and stormed deeper into my home. “This is all ours!” she screamed. She ran into my walk-in closet and started grabbing my handbags, looping them over her arms. “I’m taking some interest on that debt.” She started grabbing jewelry off my vanity, stuffing it into the bags. The neighbors, emboldened by her frenzy, began to filter in like scavengers. I was pushed to the floor in the chaos. I watched, paralyzed, as Sheila took a key from my counter and keyed the leather of my sofa. She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack and poured it over my white rug. “This is private property! I’m calling the police!” I screamed. “Go ahead!” Sheila yelled, looking like a bloated, manic giant with five purses draped over her. “Tell them you bought all this with stolen money. Let’s see who they handcuff first.” She spat on the floor near my head as she walked out, followed by the neighbors who were clutching whatever small items they’d managed to snatch. “That’ll teach you,” Sheila shouted over her shoulder. “You better have the rest of that cash ready soon, or we’re coming back for the furniture.” I sat in the middle of my ruined living room, shaking. The betrayal of the neighbors hurt almost as much as Brad’s. I’d been nothing but kind to them. I’d helped Mrs. Higgins with her groceries; I’d lent money without asking for interest. And they turned on me the second a louder voice told them I was a villain. I forced myself to stand up. I took my phone and recorded the damage. Then, I went to the hidden security camera I’d installed near the bookshelf and pulled the microSD card. I wasn’t going to just cry. I was going to burn them down. I drove back to the office, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to confront Brad in front of everyone. “Oh look, the thief returns,” Brad called out as I walked through the glass doors. “Come to return the loot?” I ignored him and walked straight to his desk, shoving my phone in his face. “Did you send your wife to my house to rob me, Brad? Because that’s a felony.” Brad played it cool, leaning back in his chair. “My wife? She’s just distraught. She’s worried about her mother-in-law. If you’d just give us our money back, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘dramatic.’” The peanut gallery joined in. “Natalie, seriously? You’re going to harass him while his mom is in surgery? His wife probably just said a few mean words. Get over yourself.” I didn’t argue. I just opened my laptop. “You want the truth? Here it is. I’m pulling up the blockchain and the bank ledger right now. Every transfer out of that account went to—” “Move! Out of the way!” Kim came sprinting out of the breakroom, a stack of files in her arms. She “tripped” right into me, her shoulder slamming into my hand. My phone flew out of my grip, sailed over the railing of the mezzanine, and shattered on the marble floor of the lobby three stories below. Kim gave me a tiny, triumphant smirk. “Oops. My bad. I guess your ‘evidence’ just hit the floor. Or maybe you just dropped it because you were lying?” Rage, cold and sharp, washed over me. “You think that was my only copy? I have the cloud, Kim. I have the desktop.” I turned to my workstation, but Brad grabbed my wrist. “Enough with the theater, Natalie. Just give me the money. Stop making this harder than it has to be.” “I don’t have your money because you spent it!” I yelled. Before he could respond, his phone rang. He looked at the screen—it was the hospital. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the elevator. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to see exactly what you’re doing to my family.” The hospital was crowded. Brad dragged me into the waiting room, his voice suddenly booming, attracting every eye in the lobby. “I’m begging you!” he wailed, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Keep the interest! Keep the profit! Just give me the principal so I can pay for her heart surgery! I’ll even call it a loan! Just don’t let my mother die!” He looked like a broken man. A few people in the waiting room started filming with their phones. A local news crew, likely there for a different story, saw the commotion and swung their cameras toward us. “Don’t do this,” I whispered, stepping back. “You know exactly where that money went. I have the records at home.” Suddenly, Sheila appeared, still wearing one of my designer bags. “You little bitch! You’re still lying? Look at my mother-in-law!” They had me surrounded. The cameras were inches from my face. I felt like I was suffocating. I fought my way through the crowd and ran for the exit. By the time I got home, I was trending. A local “human interest” reporter had posted the video with the caption: Local Professional Refuses to Return Life-Savings to Dying Grandmother. My social media accounts were a war zone. “How do you sleep at night, Natalie?” “I live two miles from her. Anyone want her address for a little ‘visit’?” “She went to a top-tier university. Guess they don’t teach ethics there.” “Look at her parents. They look like stuck-up academics. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” They found photos of my parents. They found my graduation photos. They were tearing my entire life apart based on a thirty-second clip of a man crying. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. Her voice was shaking. “Natalie? Honey, what’s happening? Some young people just stopped us in the park and started screaming at your father. He’s having trouble breathing.” The air left my lungs. “Mom, stay inside. Go back to the hotel. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m handling it.” I hung up, my hands trembling with a fury so intense it felt like ice. They could attack me. They could steal my bags. But they touched my parents. I called Brad. “Decided to be a human being and pay up?” he answered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I’m going to say this one last time. You took that money. You know it, and I know it.” “Listen, Natalie,” Brad said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational. “I know you won the lottery. I heard you on the phone. Just give me three hundred thousand of that five hundred thousand, and I’ll make this all go away. I’ll tell the internet it was a big misunderstanding.”

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The night of the charity gala, I dropped half a million dollars just to see Maddy smile. I didn’t know that while I was signing the paperwork, her “star intern” was busy rerouting the delivery to his own apartment. Thirty million dollars’ worth of custom-designed jewelry—pieces I had spent years saving for—ended up in the hands of a kid who hadn’t been with the company for more than three months. When I confronted him in the office, Tyler didn’t argue. He didn’t make excuses. He simply dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the open-plan floor, tears streaming down his face. “Nate, please,” he sobbed, his voice carrying across the silent cubicles. “I was desperate. My family… we’re losing everything. Without this, they’ll be on the streets by the end of the month!” Maddy stepped out of her glass-walled office, her heels clicking sharply against the polished concrete. She didn’t look at the intern with suspicion. She looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. “Honestly, Nate? It’s just money,” she snapped, stepping over to Tyler and resting a protective hand on his shoulder. “You were going to give those pieces to me anyway. If I want to give them to him to save his family, what’s it to you? Where is your heart?” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a cold, razor-sharp whisper. “I’m telling you now: kneel down and apologize to him. Beg for his forgiveness for being so cruel. If you don’t, consider our wedding off. I won’t marry a man who values diamonds over human lives.” I looked at the woman I had spent three years worshipping, and for the first time, the fog lifted. The disappointment wasn’t a sharp pain; it was a cold, heavy stone settling in my gut. “Fine,” I thought, my gaze drifting to the intern’s smug, hidden smirk. “Let’s see how much ‘heart’ you have when I take back everything that actually belongs to me.” 1 The office was a vacuum of judgment. People were whispering behind their hands, their eyes darting between me and the scene on the floor. I could feel the ridicule. I was the “rich CEO” picking on the “poor, noble intern.” A couple of Maddy’s loyalists—people I had hired and promoted—started chiming in from the sidelines. “Maddy’s right. Tyler’s going through hell. You’ve got millions, Nate. Helping him out wouldn’t even dent your bank account.” Maddy caught their supportive glances and offered a small, saintly smile. She looked at me not as her fiancé of three years, but as a villain she was forced to endure. “See, Nate? Everyone else gets it. Everyone can see how much Tyler is suffering, yet you’re standing there acting like a victim because of some jewelry.” She crossed her arms, her chin tilted up in that defiant way I used to find charming. “Besides, we built this company together. That money is as much mine as it is yours. Consider the jewelry my gift to him.” I didn’t beg. I didn’t yell. I just stood there, watching her. This wasn’t an isolated incident. Ever since Tyler Beck started at Sinclair Media, Maddy had been under some kind of spell. She was obsessed with his “potential,” his “tragic backstory,” his “raw talent.” She was so busy playing the role of his savior that she had forgotten who was actually standing by her side. On the floor, Tyler’s lips twitched. The fear was gone. He knew he had won. He always won. Maddy had never chosen me over him—not once—since the day they met. “Mr. Cross,” Tyler whimpered, though his eyes were dry now. “I know I messed up. Please… just forgive me. I won’t get up until you do.” He shifted his weight slightly, bracing himself to stand the moment Maddy gave the word. This was the routine. He’d play the martyr, Maddy would demand I fix it, and I’d end up apologizing for his mistakes. But the script was changing today. “Then stay there,” I said, my voice flat. “Stay on your knees for all I care. But if you think an apology is coming, you’re more delusional than she is.” I turned on my heel and walked out, ignoring the gasp that rippled through the room and Maddy’s shriek of my name. I took the elevator down to the garage and sat in the back of my car. I didn’t tell the driver to go anywhere. I just stared at my phone. The auction house had sent me the high-res photos of the items: a vintage pear-cut sapphire ring and a matching necklace. Maddy and I had a deal years ago. She told me that when I could finally afford those two specific pieces, she’d know I was serious about our future. Back then, I was a scrappy founder with more debt than assets. I had tracked those pieces through three different private collections, waiting for the day I could finally bring them home. Today was supposed to be the day. The company had gone public, our Series C was closed, and I finally had the liquid capital. I had set everything up at our house—the flowers, the vintage champagne, the life we had promised each other. Everything was ready. Everything except the ring. When I called the courier and realized they had delivered it to a walk-up in Queens—Tyler’s address—because Maddy had “authorized a change of destination,” I felt the world tilt. I stared at the sapphire in the photo. It was beautiful. Cold. Just like the woman I thought I loved. I sat there until the sun dipped below the city skyline, then finally told the driver to take me home. The moment I stepped through the front door, the scent of garlic and rosemary hit me. My heart gave a pathetic little flutter. Was she here? Was she cooking? Was this her way of saying she’d realized how insane she was being? I pushed open the kitchen door. Maddy was there, wearing her favorite silk apron. But Tyler was behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as they watched something simmering on the stove. Tyler heard me first. He turned, and there wasn’t a hint of embarrassment on his face. He looked at me with the cheerful, welcoming expression of a host greeting a guest. “Nate! You’re back. Come in, come in! Dinner’s almost ready.” He sounded like he owned the place. Like he was the man of the house and I was just a stray that had wandered in. Maddy glanced over her shoulder. The moment her eyes met mine, the warmth she’d been sharing with Tyler vanished, replaced by a wall of ice. I looked at them together. They looked like a couple. I looked like the intruder. I didn’t take the slippers Tyler tried to hand me. I didn’t step further into the room. I just looked at Maddy and spoke the words that had been rotting in my throat all afternoon. “Maddy, we’re done. Get your things. Get out.” 2 “What did you just say?” Maddy finally let go of the wooden spoon and walked toward me. She stabbed a finger toward my face, her voice rising in disbelief. “Nate Cross, you better take that back right now. Are you seriously doing this?” I looked her dead in the eye, enunciating every syllable. “I am saying it one more time. We. Are. Over. Get out of my house.” Maddy’s pupils dilated. Her mouth fell open. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re throwing away three years over a misunderstanding?” Tyler stepped forward then, looking like a kicked puppy. “Maddy, please… it’s my fault. I’ve ruined everything for you. I’m so sorry.” He turned to me, his voice trembling. “Nate, I’ll give the jewelry back. I’ll figure out my family’s debt somehow. If we starve, we starve. It’s better than breaking you guys up.” He actually squeezed out a tear. Maddy crumbled instantly, pulling him into a protective embrace. “Stop it, Tyler. You’re not doing anything. You’re keeping those pieces.” She whipped her head back to me, her eyes burning with pure venom. “Nate, I am so sick of your ego! Tyler has already forgiven you for the way you treated him today, and this is how you act? Do you have even an ounce of compassion in your soul?” He forgave me? I let out a short, hysterical laugh. He stole thirty million dollars of my property, and I was the one who needed his forgiveness. “He stole from me, Maddy. He—” The slap caught me across the cheek, the crack echoing in the hallway. It was hard enough to make my ears ring. She looked at me with such loathing it felt physical. “You’re a pathetic, heartless bastard,” she hissed. “You don’t deserve to be my husband.” Before I could even react, she grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut in my face. In my own home. I stood in the hallway of the building, my cheek stinging. If I hadn’t stepped back, the door would have broken my nose. I knew she was standing on the other side, waiting. Waiting for me to knock. Waiting for me to apologize and beg for her to open it. That was our pattern. No matter who was at fault, I was always the one on my knees. I had chased her for three years before she said yes. I had spent every waking hour trying to be the man she wanted—giving her the world, buying her the best clothes, funding her dreams, sacrificing my own peace to keep her happy. I thought it was love. She treated it like a cage. She saw my devotion as a “shackle” on her freedom. “Fine,” I whispered to the closed door. “If my love is a cage, consider yourself paroled.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard the lock click. The door cracked open. She was giving me my “chance” to crawl back. Usually, I would have turned around with a gift and a thousand apologies, desperate for her mercy. This time, I didn’t even look back. I kept walking until I hit the street. 3 I checked into a hotel suite and spent the night with my lawyer on the phone. I wasn’t just breaking up; I was scorched-earthing. The jewelry, the house, the company shares—everything was in my name. I wanted every cent back. By the time the sun came up, my team was already gathering evidence. I finally lay down to close my eyes when my phone buzzed with a “Special Interest” notification. It was an Instagram post from Maddy. A photo of her hand, the sapphire ring catching the morning light on her finger. The caption read: “A man who truly loves you will always find a way to say he’s sorry.” I stared at the screen and felt a cold, dry laugh bubble up. I took a screenshot, sent it to my lawyer, and then I blocked her. On everything. I used to be that man. I used to be the one who apologized for her mistakes. And what did it get me? Humiliation. Betrayal. A slap in the face while another man lived in my house. She didn’t want my love. She wanted a tool to satisfy her ego. She wanted to see how much she could make me bleed before I broke. Well, I was broken. And there was nothing left for her to take. The next morning, my phone rang from an unknown number. I answered. It was Maddy, her voice shrill and demanding. “Nate! Where are the keys to the lake house? And the code for your grandmother’s place? I need to get some things.” My grandmother’s place. The words snapped me wide awake. That house was a small, vine-covered cottage in the hills where I grew up. My parents were always working, always traveling, so my grandmother raised me. She was the only person who ever loved me without a price tag. Since she passed, I had kept that house exactly as it was. I went there every weekend to dust, to sit in her old chair, to breathe in the scent of cedar and old books. It was my sanctuary. My parents weren’t even allowed to touch the furniture. “What do you want at the cottage, Maddy? That’s my family’s property. You have no business there.” Maddy let out a cold, mocking laugh. “I remember your grandmother said she wanted me to have that jade bracelet of hers. The ‘heirloom.’ You were always too stingy to give it to me. Now, I’m going to take what’s mine.” I had taken Maddy there once. My grandmother, in her failing health, had gripped Maddy’s hand and said, “Nate is a difficult boy sometimes, dear. Be patient with him. I have a bracelet for you… a family piece. I’ve tucked it away somewhere safe. When I find it, I’ll have Nate give it to you.” That bracelet was my grandmother’s most prized possession. She died the very next day while she was looking for it, her heart giving out in the attic. I never looked for the bracelet. It felt too painful, too much like a piece of her ghost. At the time, Maddy told me to keep it as a memory. She said she didn’t need it. On the other end of the line, I heard a loud crack—the sound of wood splintering. Then, Tyler’s voice filtered through. “Got it, Maddy. The door’s open.” “See?” Maddy said, her voice dripping with triumph. “You said it was an heirloom. It’s worth a fortune. I’m just taking what’s owed to me for three years of my life.” The sound of that forced entry—the violation of the only holy place left in my life—sent a surge of white-hot rage through my veins. “Maddy,” I growled, “if you step foot in that house, I will destroy you.” 4 I drove like a madman toward the hills, red lights and speed limits becoming suggestions. I didn’t care about the car. I didn’t care about anything but getting there. I was too late. The gate to the cottage had been rammed open. The front door—the heavy oak door my grandfather had carved—was hanging off its hinges. The yard, which I had kept meticulously manicured, was strewn with trash. But that was nothing compared to the inside. I heard their voices before I saw them. “Oh, Maddy, look at this. It’s gorgeous. It looks like it was made for you.” “Told you. The old lady was holding out on me. Look at the color on this jade!” I burst through the door and stopped dead. My heart shattered. The house was a wreck. The bookshelves had been overturned, the hand-painted vases smashed against the hearth. Even the small porcelain figures my grandmother had collected were ground into the floorboards. I picked up a shard of a blue-and-white ginger jar, my hands shaking so hard I nearly cut myself. They had even gone through my childhood toy chest. My old wooden planes were snapped in half. My teddy bear had been ripped open, its stuffing scattered like snow across the rug. The air in the room felt heavy with the scent of destruction. “Maddy!” I roared. They both jumped, turning to face me. Tyler reacted instantly. Before I could reach Maddy, he lunged, tackling me to the floor. He was younger and fueled by a panicked adrenaline. He pinned me down, his hands slamming into my throat. I felt the air vanish. My vision began to swim as the blood rushed to my head. Maddy stood over us, her hands on her hips, a cold, leisurely smile on her face. “How does it feel, Nate?” she asked, leaning down. “Since you wouldn’t apologize to Tyler, I guess you need a different kind of lesson.” I clawed at Tyler’s wrists, gasping for breath, my eyes bulging as I stared at Maddy’s hand. She was holding the jade bracelet. “Put it… down,” I wheezed. “Grandmother’s… bracelet…” Maddy toyed with it, swinging it back and forth just inches from my face. “You want this? Tell you what. Apologize. To both of us. Tell Tyler you’re a piece of trash. Maybe then I’ll leave it on the table.” I reached out, my fingers trembling, trying to grasp the silk-smooth stone. Every time I got close, she jerked it away, laughing at my desperation. Then, her expression shifted. The playfulness died, replaced by something dark and sharp. She held the bracelet high, dangling it over the stone hearth. “No,” I choked out. “Please. No.” She let go. The crack of the jade hitting the stone was the loudest sound I’d ever heard. It shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. I felt something inside me snap along with it. “Why?” I screamed, the sound muffled by Tyler’s grip. “Why would you do that? It was all I had left of her!” Maddy laughed, a high, jagged sound. “Because you used your money to humiliate me for years, Nate. You thought you could buy me. Now you know what it feels like to lose something you can’t replace.” Humiliation? I had given her my soul. I had built a pedestal for her and she called it a cage. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, blurring the sight of the broken jade. I felt the life slipping out of me, the pressure on my windpipe becoming absolute. Tyler’s face was twisted in a mask of murderous intent. Then, a shout from the doorway. “Police! Get your hands off him! Now!” The weight lifted. I rolled onto my side, gasping, air burning my lungs like fire. The officers swarmed Tyler, slamming him against the wall. I looked up at the officers, a grim, jagged smile spreading across my face. “Officers,” I rasped, “I want to report an attempted murder. And a home invasion.” I watched Maddy’s face go pale as the handcuffs clicked. “And just so we’re clear,” I added, looking her straight in the eye, “I am not interested in a settlement.”

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It took seven years for the intruder to leave my body. When I finally opened my eyes, I expected the world to click back into place, like a bone being set. Instead, I was met with the cold, mocking sneer of Steven Ward. “Faking amnesia now, Madeline? What kind of pathetic game are we playing today?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I stared at him for a heartbeat before the adrenaline surged, and I lunged. I tackled him, my fingers clawing at his throat as a raw, jagged scream tore from my lungs. “Where is Nelson?! Where is Nathaniel?! How am I married to you?!” Seven years ago, I was carrying Nelson’s child. We were weeks away from our wedding. We had a life. We had a soul. How was I standing in this nightmare? 1 The moment I screamed Nelson’s name, Steven froze. His expression shifted from irritation to a jagged, cruel irony. “Madeline, finally. You’ve stopped pretending.” He wrenched my hands from his neck, his voice dripping with vitriol. “All that talk about how much you love me, and you’re still pining for another man? You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?” He spoke with the righteous fury of a man wronged. And why wouldn’t he? For seven years, the entity occupying my skin had acted like a woman possessed, doing the most degrading, shameless things to win his heart. The worst incident—the one that still made my skin crawl even as a memory trapped in a black box—was the “gift.” To “surprise” Steven, the intruder had dressed in nothing but a few scraps of lace and silk, literally wrapping herself in a giant red ribbon inside his villa. She had waited, trembling with excitement, for him to come home. When the door opened, she popped out of the darkness. “Surprise!” She wasn’t met with a romantic embrace. She was met by Steven and a dozen of his high-level business associates. “Who is this?” one of them had sneered, eyes raking over her exposed skin. “She’s certainly… eager.” “I heard she just had a kid,” another whispered, not even trying to hide the disgust. “Didn’t even finish her recovery before she started throwing herself at the CEO again. Shameless.” The intruder’s face had gone ghostly pale. She had begged Steven to come home alone. She stood there, half-naked and humiliated, her eyes brimming with tears. “Why?” she whispered. Steven had looked at her like she was a stain on the rug. “I warned you to stop the theatrics, Madeline. This time, I’m done with you.” And I, the real Madeline, had to watch it all. I was the “Untouchable Ghost” in this twisted story—the girl Steven had obsessed over since high school. And he was the man who had turned that obsession into a cage. 2 In the narrative of Steven’s life, he was the tragic hero—the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, bullied and broken. I had been his only light. I remember finding him behind the gym, his face bruised, his uniform torn. I hadn’t felt pity, just a simple, human need to help. I reached out a hand. “Are you okay?” He looked up, and the setting sun caught my hair. From that moment on, he harbored a dark, suffocating crush on me for over a decade. He was too insecure to speak, too shadowed to step into my world. He watched me fall in love with someone else. He watched me hold Nelson’s hand. Years later, we crossed paths in the corporate world. “Steven? Is that really you?” I had asked, genuinely happy to see an old classmate doing well. He had trembled, his nails digging into his palms as he forced a calm, “Yeah.” He devoured my smile with his eyes. Then, I handed him a thick, cream-colored envelope and a small box of artisanal chocolates. “What a coincidence. I’m getting married soon. Since we’re old friends, you have to come to the wedding. I remember you used to like sweets.” I hadn’t noticed his face turn the color of ash. I didn’t know he actually hated sugar. But because I gave it to him, he kept every piece of candy like a holy relic. He never expected the “sweetness” I offered would be the news of my marriage to another man. It took him an eternity to choke out a single word: “Fine.” That night, the rising star of the business world went home to his penthouse, ate every single chocolate until he felt sick, and then tried to drown himself in his marble bathtub. His suicide note was a single, haunting line: Madeline, if there is a next life, I hope I never meet you. The readers of his “story” went wild. “He’s so tragic! She doesn’t deserve him!” “He was just shy! He protected her from the shadows for years!” “The author is a sadist. Why give him a woman who just moves on and marries someone else?” Because of that fan outrage, the “Transmigration Bureau” intervened. The intruder was sent to “save” the brooding, suicidal hero. And the sacrificial lamb they chose to host her was me. 3 Salvation? Heroes? The logic was absolute garbage. After I was forcibly shoved out of my own consciousness, my soul was locked in a dark void. I spent months screaming until my throat was raw, but the intruder just brushed me off. “I don’t get you,” she would say, her voice echoing in my head. “Steven loves you so much. Why are you making such a fuss? If you hadn’t been so ‘unfaithful’—if you hadn’t run off to marry some other guy before Steven could learn how to love—I wouldn’t have to be here cleaning up your mess.” She looked down on me. She thought I was the villain for having a life that didn’t revolve around a man I barely knew. Eventually, I started to wonder if I really was a monster. But I couldn’t wrap my head around it. In my memory, Steven Ward was just a quiet kid I’d helped once. My only connection to him was that one afternoon while I was waiting for my fiancé to pick me up. 4 I begged the intruder. I pleaded with her to give me my body back. “I’m pregnant!” I screamed into the void. “I’m supposed to put on my wedding dress tomorrow!” She didn’t listen. The day before the “takeover,” Nelson and I were decorating our first home. He was like a big kid, spinning me around the living room. “Maddy, you’re finally going to be my wife.” I laughed and called him a dork. “Who else would I marry? I’m not going anywhere.” The next day, the intruder put on the Vera Wang gown Nelson and I had picked out together. And in front of all our friends and family, she ran. She made it look like a grand romantic gesture—the “bride for love” sprinting toward Steven’s villa. She broke into his house and pulled a half-dead Steven out of his bathtub. She held him, dripping wet and shivering, and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to save you.” How touching. If only it wasn’t my life she was burning to the ground. And if only Steven hadn’t been “reborn” with his own set of dark memories. 5 It was a complication no one expected. Steven, saved from the brink, wasn’t grateful. He was suspicious. He looked at the intruder with cold, cynical eyes. “Giving me hope just to crush me again? Is that the game, Madeline? You drive me to the edge and then pull me back just to watch me crawl?” He remembered the “first life.” He thought he saw through my “manipulative” nature. “If you don’t love me, why save me? Why wait until I’m obsessed to give me the killing blow?” He sneered at the wedding dress she was wearing. “What is this? Another performance?” He swore he’d never be fooled again. But the readers loved it: “Finally! The ‘chase me’ arc! He’s just acting tough because he’s hurt. He’s secretly thrilled she chose him over the other guy!” Even the intruder believed it. She was convinced that Steven was just “traumatized” by the real me. She told herself that if she just poured enough “unconditional love” into him, he’d break. But what about me? What about Nelson? 6 For her “mission,” she stole my life. She abandoned my unborn child. She decimated my wedding. Every time Nelson tried to find her, to talk to her, she met him with cruelty. “Stop it! I never loved you! It’s always been Steven!” My Nelson. My beautiful, steady Nelson. He couldn’t understand how the woman he grew up with changed overnight. He just knew that his Madeline had disappeared. When she started talking about “terminating the mistake” in her womb, he nearly lost it. He held her—held me—and begged. “Maddy, stop. You’re sick. You’re just confused. It’s me. It’s Nelson.” We grew up together. He had held my hand when we were toddlers and told everyone we’d get married someday. And he made it happen. Our families were old friends. As the only daughter of the Thorne family, I was sheltered, but Nelson was my shield. Whenever I was upset, I went to him. I’d grab his sleeve and cry until my nose was red. “Nelson, someone was mean to me.” He was my superhero. He made the world safe. I’d wrap my arms around his neck and promise him, “I’m going to be your bride when I grow up.” It was a fairy tale. Right up until the day the monster took my skin. 7 Nelson was hollowed out by her cruelty, but he wouldn’t let go. One night, after the intruder threatened to jump off a balcony if he didn’t sign the annulment papers, he sat in his study and smoked until dawn. As the sun broke, he finally gave in. His voice was a ghost of itself. “I’ll sign. But the baby… you will carry the baby to term. Safely.” The intruder rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m not raising it. Don’t think you can use a kid to tie me down.” Nelson looked at her—really looked at her. For a split second, I felt like he saw me, the real me, screaming behind my own eyes. “I’ll raise him,” he whispered. 8 The day she left the hospital after giving birth, she met Nelson one last time. She took the locket he’d given me when we were sixteen—a piece of jewelry I’d worn every day of my life—and she cut the chain with a pair of scissors. She dropped it in the dirt and ground it under her heel. “I’m not ‘confused’ anymore, Nelson. Stop following me. This junk is trash. It makes me sick to look at it.” She didn’t just break his heart; she pulverized it. She cut ties with my parents to marry Steven. She spent years being his “doormat” to earn “favor points.” She danced for him, cooked for him, and eventually livestreamed a public proposal to him. Even when Steven was cold, even when he said, “I won’t fall for it twice, Madeline. You’re just a liar,” she persisted. Until the scandal broke. Steven’s status as an illegitimate heir was leaked. At a high-society gala, his half-brother’s wife threw a plate of leftovers over his head to humiliate him. The intruder stepped in. She took the hit. She stood there, covered in filth, and reached out her hand to him. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.” The lights of the ballroom hit her face. It was the exact echo of that afternoon behind the gym. Steven finally broke. He stopped pulling away and gripped her hand like a drowning man. After that, the world knew her as Steven Ward’s “devoted puppy.” “I heard she had a fiancé and a kid. Left them both the second Mr. Ward looked at her.” “Ugh, poor guy. Imagine being the kid she didn’t want. I hope he realizes she’s a snake and kicks her to the curb.” But they didn’t get their wish. She was good at what she did. She forced her way into his dark world like a stubborn sun. When his business took a hit, she went on a livestream, knelt on one knee with a diamond ring, and asked him to marry her. “I was so terrible to you,” Steven had said, his voice thick. “Don’t you hate me?” She kissed his forehead. “You’re just stubborn. I’m never letting go.” The video went viral. And that same night, the news of Nathaniel Thorne’s near-fatal car accident didn’t even make the front page. I hated her. I hated her with a soul-deep fire. Why me? Why was my life the fuel for this “redemption”? Why did my kindness to a stranger result in the destruction of everything I loved? Finally, in the seventh year of her occupation, my hatred became a physical force. I clawed my way through the darkness and shoved her out. 9 When she realized she was losing control, she panicked. “Are you kidding me?! I worked so hard to get this man for you! Don’t be an ungrateful brat! I hate original leads like you—always ruining the mission!” “You have everything now! You’re Mrs. Ward! Look at how he loves you!” She tried to threaten me, but the connection was snapping. “I’ll come back! Don’t you dare ruin this!” In her twisted logic, I was “winning.” I had the billionaire’s love. What more could I want? I didn’t want this “setup.” In my life, the only man who mattered was the one I chose. To hell with the plot. To hell with destiny. The second I regained control, Steven leaned in to kiss me. I didn’t hesitate. I wound up and delivered a slap so hard my palm stung. “Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t you touch me.” He froze, five red finger marks blooming on his cheek. He stared at me, then let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Amnesia? Again? What is it this time, Madeline? A new role-play?” I looked at him—really looked at him—and then I lunged. I grabbed his collar, my voice a jagged shriek. “Where is Nelson?! Where is he?! How could I ever be married to a man like you?!” Seven years ago, I was Nelson’s. We were a family. And I was going to get that life back, or I was going to burn this whole house down with both of us inside. 10 The air in the room turned brittle. Steven’s face darkened, his eyes turning to chips of ice. “Nelson. Always Nathaniel. I knew you were still obsessed with him.” I glared at him with pure, unadulterated loathing. “He’s my husband! Who else would I be obsessed with? What is this place? I want to go home!” In two sentences, I had incinerated seven years of “favor points.” Steven’s jaw tightened. “Husband? Ha. Is this because I stayed late with Amber last night? Are we playing the ‘jealous wife’ card now?” He stepped into my space, his presence suffocating. “Look at me, Madeline. Look at this ring. I am your husband. Get it through your head.” 11 He looked exhausted, tugging at his tie with irritation. “I told you, Amber is just my assistant. How many times do I have to explain? She’s a twenty-two-year-old intern. Why are you acting like a child?” “And I’m warning you,” he added, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, “don’t use Thorne to provoke me again.” Amber. His new “personal secretary.” The woman the intruder had been obsessed with “defeating” to prove her devotion. No wonder Steven thought I was just throwing a tantrum. The intruder would have collapsed, sobbing, begging for forgiveness, making excuses. But I wasn’t her. I reached for the heavy crystal ashtray on the nightstand and hurled it at his head. There was a sickening thud. Blood began to trickle down Steven’s forehead. I stood there, my eyes burning. “Get. Out.” 12 The noise was enough to bring people running. The door burst open, followed by a theatrical gasp. “Steven!” It was Amber. She rushed over, her eyes wide with manufactured horror, dabbing at his forehead with a silk scarf. When she looked at me, a flash of triumph crossed her face before she masked it with “concern.” “Madeline, how could you? Just because I made a mistake on the schedule and he was home late? You’re being violent!” She played the part perfectly—the innocent girl just trying to do her job. “Mr. Ward and I are strictly professional. You can hate me, but don’t doubt his feelings for you.” At the mention of “feelings,” Steven’s expression shifted from shock to a cold, hollow cynicism. “Feelings? If she cared about me, she wouldn’t even have the energy to fake this.” In the past, he’d say something like that and the intruder would cling to him, swearing her eternal love. She’d deleted every contact in her phone just to prove he was her “everything.” I grabbed a heavy bronze statuette from the vanity. “At least you’re not completely blind!” I snarled. The statuette whistled through the air. This time, the scream was higher. Amber had stepped in the way to “protect” him and took the hit to her shoulder. “Amber!” Steven shouted. She slumped against him, sobbing. “I’m okay, Steven. It’s my fault. Please, don’t be mad at her.” She leaned into his chest. “I… I feel dizzy.” Steven had reached his limit. He scooped Amber up into his arms, heading for the door. He stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of pure rage. “You’ve lost your mind. If you don’t apologize to Amber by tonight, don’t expect me to step foot in this house again.” He slammed the door. He was sure this “threat” would break me. It always did. He didn’t see me bolt for the bathroom. I fell to my knees in front of the toilet and retched until I thought my lungs would come out. I have to thank my body for that. For seven years, the intruder had tried to get physically intimate with Steven. But every time he touched her, every time she even thought about it, this body would recoil. It was a biological rejection so deep no “soul” could override it. 13 When I was done vomiting, I slumped against the cold tile, feeling like a bruised peach. My fingers brushed against my phone. I picked it up, my thumb trembling over the screen. Who could I call? My parents? They’d disowned me years ago. They’d think I was lying or high. Nelson? It had been seven years. Why would he ever believe me? With shaking hands, I typed in the number I had memorized a lifetime ago. My finger hovered over the ‘Call’ button. Buzz. An unknown number flashed on the screen, cutting off my dialer. I answered it on instinct. “Hello?” my voice was like sandpaper. A young woman’s voice came through. “Hello, is this Mrs. Ward? Your son got into a fight at the preschool. We’ve been trying to reach his father, but his line is busy. Could you come down and handle this?” My son. My son. I had nearly died giving birth to him, and I hadn’t seen his face once. “Is he hurt? Is it bad? I’m coming! I’m on my way!” I was babbling, ignoring the confusion in the teacher’s voice. “He’s not hurt, ma’am… it’s just… your son was the one who did the hitting.” 14 I drove like a woman possessed, blowing through every red light. When I burst into the school office, my eyes scanned the room like a hawk. I saw the teacher and then… two little boys in the corner. One was wearing designer clothes, his chin up, looking arrogant. The other was wearing a plain, slightly dusty outfit, his face marked with red scratches. My heart broke just looking at him. The boy in the designer clothes saw me and made a face at the other kid. “You’re dead! My mom’s here to wreck you!” He ran toward me, arms open. I walked right past him. I dropped to my knees in front of the boy with the scratches and pulled him into my arms. “Let me see. Where does it hurt? Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy’s here. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.” The relief was so immense I thought I’d drown in it. But as the words left my mouth, the room went silent. The boy in my arms stiffened. The boy in the designer clothes looked stunned. The teacher cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mrs. Ward… that’s Toby Thorne. Your son, Parker, is over there. Are you… feeling okay?” I didn’t care. I traced the little boy’s face with my fingers. He was a mirror image of me, but those eyes—those were Nelson’s eyes. Parker, the designer-clad boy, screamed in frustration and tried to shove me. “Madeline! Let him go! If you touch him, I’m telling my uncle!” That’s right. Parker wasn’t Steven’s. He was the secret love child of Steven’s older brother. Steven had taken him in to curry favor with the family, and the intruder—desperate to play “happy family”—had claimed him as their own. She’d raised him as her “son” while my actual child was treated like a stranger. When Parker shoved me, Toby—the boy who hadn’t fought back until then—suddenly lunged like a little lion. He was fast and fierce. The office descended into chaos. Parker was wailing, and I pulled Toby back. He looked at me, his eyes red and defiant. “Go ahead and yell at me,” Toby whispered. “I know you told me never to hit him. But my dad said a man has to protect his mom. I won’t let him push you.” For seven years, the intruder had pampered Parker and forbidden Toby from calling her “Mom.” To the world, Parker was the beloved prince. Toby was the “unwanted” child from a broken engagement. “I heard his mom is just some gold-digger who left him,” people would say. And if Parker ever hit Toby, the intruder would defend him blindly. “Parker is younger! You have to let him win!” or “If you touch my son, I’ll make you regret it!” Toby had learned that his own mother would always choose someone else. He was waiting for the scolding. Instead, I took his small, shaking hands in mine. “Did you hurt your hand? Next time, use something to protect your knuckles, okay? We don’t want you breaking a bone.” Toby’s eyes went wide. I brushed his hair back. “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” Toby’s lip wobbled. But he remembered what his dad said—men don’t cry. 15 I felt a surge of maternal fury that made my blood boil. I turned to Parker, who was still faking a sob. “Listen to me, you little brat. I am not your mother. Your mother is the mistress your father keeps in the city. If you’re upset, go cry to him. Stay away from my son.” The room was dead silent. I didn’t give them time to breathe. “And we’re not done here. You’re going to apologize to my son. And your ‘uncle’ is going to pay every cent of the medical bills and the emotional distress you’ve caused.” I tore the “perfect family” mask off right there in front of the windows where other parents were eavesdropping. “Oh my god,” a whisper came from the hall. “Parker isn’t even hers?” “And she’s been treating the Thorne kid like garbage? How cruel.” Parker’s face went white. He wasn’t used to this. “You’re lying! I’m telling Uncle Steven! He’ll kill you!” The intruder would have been terrified. But I wasn’t her. I was Madeline Thorne. And I was done being a host for someone else’s mission. 16 “Mrs. Ward… I mean, Ms. Thorne… surely there’s a misunderstanding?” The teacher tried to play peacemaker. “Parker is usually so well-behaved. Toby was the one who lashed out today. Maybe we can just call it even?” That was the old routine. The school helped the intruder keep the peace. Toby looked at me, a sad, knowing smile on his face. He wiped his eyes and looked down. “It’s okay, Mommy… I mean, Madeline. You don’t have to help me. I’m used to it. I tripped. It wasn’t Parker.” He paused. “I won’t tell my dad.” My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. My son. The boy I’d almost died for. I’d missed seven years of his life because of that intruder, and he was already so broken he was trying to protect me from the fallout of his own bullying. The fire in my head exploded. I pointed a finger at the teacher. “Call it even? How dare you.” “My son’s face is scratched to hell, and you want to call it even? Because the ‘Ward’ name scares you?” I pulled Toby closer, tears finally breaking through. “This is my son. He is my flesh and blood!” Click. The office door opened softly. I looked up through a blur of tears and saw Nathaniel standing in the doorway. He looked like he’d been standing there for a long time. Seven years. His eyes were red. My heart stopped.

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I had spent six months begging my wife, Janet, to go to the championship game with me. It was a pilgrimage, a chance to see my favorite player’s jersey retired, a final goodbye to an era. But as the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, Janet was nowhere to be found. I’d called her a dozen times. Every single one went straight to voicemail. Then, the notification popped up—a new post from Toby. The caption read: “Shoutout to this legend for pulling two all-nighters and still coming out to support me at the Invitational.” The photo was a punch to the gut. Toby and Janet were at a crowded e-sports arena, their arms wrapped around each other, grinning and throwing peace signs at the camera. I didn’t hesitate. I powered off my phone, turned my back on the gate, and walked toward the customer service desk to check my bags. This game was supposed to be a tribute to a legend’s final stand. As it turned out, it was the perfect wake-up call for the end of my marriage. 1. I didn’t turn my phone back on until my flight landed back in Chicago five days later. Five days. Not a single missed call from Janet. Not even a text. The sky was bruising over O’Hare, a torrential downpour turning the tarmac into a gray blur. I stood at the arrivals curb for twenty minutes, watching the “No Cars Available” spinning wheel on my Uber app. That’s when my phone vibrated. Janet’s name flashed across the screen. Her voice was clipped, cold. “Where are you? Come pick up Toby and me from the terminal.” I didn’t say anything. A week ago, I would have been fuming. I would have demanded to know why she blew me off for a kid ten years younger than us. Now? I just didn’t have the breath to waste on her. “Bennett? Did you lose your tongue?” Janet snapped. “I’m at the airport entrance,” I said quietly. There was a beat of silence. “What are you doing at the airport?” “I just got back from the game.” Silence followed. It took her a few seconds to remember—to realize she had promised to be there with me. Before I left, I’d seen the hospital’s internal shift schedule. My heart had skipped a beat when I saw she’d traded several shifts for “personal time.” I’d foolishly thought she was clearing her schedule for us. I never imagined that “personal time” was for Toby’s gaming tournament. “Where exactly? We’ll find you,” she said. I gave her my location and hung up. Before she could arrive, a driver finally accepted my ride request. The black sedan pulled up just as Janet and Toby appeared through the sliding glass doors. Janet didn’t even look at me. She pulled Toby by the hand and slid into the backseat of the car I had ordered. “Toby’s exhausted,” she said, looking out at me through the open door. “I’m going to drop him off and get him settled. I’ll come back for you in a bit.” Before the door closed, Toby rolled down the window. His smile was thick with a smug, boyish triumph. “Thanks for the ride, Ben. You’re a lifesaver.” I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. Janet frowned at him, though her hand was already reaching out to smooth his hair. “Don’t bother with the thank-yous. Close the window, Toby. If the rain gets in, you’ll start complaining about the damp again.” Her tone was a mock-scolding, the kind mothers use for favored children—or lovers use for their pets. The car was a mid-sized sedan; it could have easily fit three. But in Janet and Toby’s world, there was no room for me. I stood there, my suitcase at my side, getting soaked under the terminal awning. Eventually, I was the only one left. By the time the rain let up, Janet still hadn’t called. Instead, I saw her Instagram story. “Taking the kid to his big game. A little wish fulfillment and five days in Vegas.” It was a carousel of photos. I scrolled through the bright lights and the hotel suites until I hit the last one. My thumb froze. In the photo, Toby and Janet were lounging in a hotel room wearing matching silk pajamas—the exact set I had bought for our anniversary months ago. She’d told me they were “too much” and “not her style.” She’d refused to wear them with me, let alone post them for the world to see. In seven years of marriage, I had never appeared on her social media. She claimed she liked to “keep her private life private.” Apparently, she just liked to keep me private. The things I had spent seven years starving for, Toby had been handed on a silver platter. I had spent nearly a decade trying to melt the iceberg that was Janet Miller, only to realize she wasn’t frozen at all. She just wasn’t melting for me. I locked my phone and felt a strange, jarring laugh bubble up in my chest. It was the sound of a man finally realizing he’d been running a race that didn’t exist. I dragged my suitcase to the airport Hilton and checked in for the night. Going home now would just be an exercise in humiliation. 2. The next morning, I was at the hospital by 6:00 AM. Our hospital is one of the most prestigious in the state. Janet is a primary shareholder and a chief of surgery; I’m “just” an Associate Professor of Neurology. I hadn’t even had a sip of coffee before I was paged to the ER for a trauma consult. I ran into Janet right at the double doors. A pregnant woman had been brought in after a multi-car pileup. She was in critical condition, requiring a coordinated effort between OB-GYN and Neurosurgery. When we were working, Janet and I were seamless. We dropped the personal baggage and operated with a cold, clinical precision. It was the only language we still shared. When the surgery was finally over and the patient was stabilized, the scrub nurse leaned against the counter, grinning. “You two are seriously a powerhouse. Dr. Miller and Dr. Miller… it’s like you can read each other’s minds. It’d be a crime if you guys weren’t together.” Janet’s face darkened instantly. She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp correction, but I beat her to it. “Don’t start rumors,” I said, my voice flat as I stripped off my gloves. “I’m just a staff doctor. I’m hardly in Dr. Miller’s league.” Most of the hospital didn’t know we were married. Janet insisted on it, saying she hated “nepotism” and “mixing business with pleasure.” In the past, whenever someone suggested we’d make a great couple, I’d smile secretly, comforted by the idea that even strangers saw our connection. Now, the comparison made my skin crawl. “So, what’s the ‘dream girl’ look like then, Dr. Miller?” the nurse teased. Janet’s silhouette flashed in my mind—the way she looked in the light of an OR, the way she used to look before she got tired of me. I paused, pretending to think. “Honestly?” I said. “Aside from my career and my bank account, I don’t have room to love anything else.” The nurse burst out laughing. Behind me, Janet’s voice cut through the air. “Dr. Miller, I have a question about the post-op vitals. My office. Now.” The nurse took the hint and hurried off. I followed Janet to her office and sat across from her mahogany desk. “What’s the question?” I asked. Janet didn’t look at the charts. She looked at me. “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you? You know how I feel about cleanliness, Bennett. If I find out you were out doing something…” A smirk touched my lips, cutting her off. “Dr. Miller, we’re on the clock. This isn’t the time for personal matters.” I remembered a year ago, when I’d texted her during a lunch break to ask what she wanted for dinner. She’d pulled me into a hallway, checked for witnesses, and hissed at me about “professionalism” and “boundaries.” I hadn’t brought up our personal life at work since. Janet looked like I’d slapped her with her own rulebook. She sat there, stunned, before her face hardened into a mask of irritation. “Fine. Get out.” As I reached for the door handle, I turned back and gave her a small, polite smile. “Dr. Miller, while you’re at it, could you ask my wife if it was ‘appropriate’ for me to come home last night, given the circumstances?” She winced. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes, but I didn’t wait for her to process it. I shut the door behind me. Just before my shift ended, I got a text from her. It was a screenshot of two tickets to a Broadway touring show for that night. I knew what it was. An olive branch. A “get out of jail free” card she thought she could play. I sent a final confirmation to my lawyer, checked my rounds, and headed out. I planned to go, if only to use the intermission to talk about the divorce. But as I walked out of the main entrance, I saw Janet’s silver Porsche idling at the curb. Toby was in the driver’s seat. Janet walked right past me, climbed into the passenger side, and they sped off together. Five minutes later, my phone chimed. “Toby had an emergency. Something he needs help with. Wait for me at the theater, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I didn’t go to the theater. I went straight to my lawyer’s office. After we finished the paperwork, I drove to the cinema near my hotel. I picked up a ticket for a sci-fi flick—something Janet always called “childish” and “a waste of brainpower.” I sat in the dark with a bucket of buttery popcorn and a large soda. In the past, I had force-fed myself her “refined” tastes. I’d eaten the kale salads, the unseasoned fish, the “clean” lifestyle she insisted on. But according to Toby’s Instagram, she’d spent the last five days eating tacos and greasy burgers with him. I had spent seven years trying to be the man she wanted, only to realize she didn’t even want that man. There was no other path left. 3. After the movie, I grabbed a beer at a dive bar by the river and sat there until nearly midnight. When I finally walked into the house, I was surprised to see the lights on. Janet was sitting on the sofa. For the last three years, she’d been “busy” with Toby until the early hours, or she just didn’t come home at all. In the beginning, we were the classic “power couple”—two doctors, always working. When she first took over the hospital’s board, I did everything to support her. I’d spend my few off-hours slow-cooking bone broths and medicinal stews to keep her strength up. She’d just called me a ” glorified manny.” She said my hovering was suffocating. Then Toby appeared. The “suffocation” disappeared, replaced by her absence. I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the slight fog from the beer. Janet was staring at me, her eyes icy. “You’re drinking, Bennett? You know I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on you.” I blinked. I didn’t bother defending myself. I knew that her “likes” and “dislikes” were entirely dependent on the person involved. When Toby got wasted at a frat-style party, she was there to tuck him in and give him IV fluids. When I had two beers after a fourteen-hour shift, I was “disgusting.” Double standards were Janet’s specialty. I was just done playing the game. When I didn’t engage, she looked genuinely confused. Usually, when she stood me up for Toby, I’d be waiting at the door, ready to demand an explanation, ready to fight for some scrap of her attention. I turned to head toward the guest room. “Do you even know what today is?” Janet asked suddenly. I glanced at the clock. It was 12:15 AM. “It was my birthday,” I said. “Technically, it was yesterday.” Usually, for the month leading up to my birthday, I’d drop hints. I’d try to steer her toward a restaurant or a gift. If she was in a good mood, I’d get a tie. If she was stressed, she’d tell me that “adults don’t need to celebrate aging.” This was the first time in our marriage she’d brought it up herself. I yawned. “It’s just a birthday, Janet. It doesn’t matter.” She looked frustrated. She reached over to the coffee table and tossed a small, wrapped box at me. Her voice had an uncharacteristic tremor of guilt. “I got you something. Just… see if you like it.” If her remembering was a shock, her buying a gift was a miracle. A year ago, I would have been on my knees with gratitude. I would have photographed the box from every angle and posted it everywhere. I picked the box up off the floor and set it carelessly on the dining table. “Thanks. I’m sure it’s great.” My indifference was clearly driving her crazy. “I know I missed the show. I apologized. But this attitude is getting old, Bennett. Toby’s sister asked me to look out for him on her deathbed. I have a responsibility to him.” I was busy checking a text on my phone. “Right. Total responsibility. Five nights in Vegas with a ‘kid’ is very responsible.” Janet flinched. Her face went from pale to a dark, ink-stain red. She waited for me to keep shouting, to give her something to fight against so she could feel like the victim again. But I just kept replying to my lawyer. Divorce was my only priority now. She eventually walked over, trying to peek at my screen. “What are you looking at?” I locked the phone. “Just some consulting work.” I grabbed a pillow from the sofa. “I’ve been drinking. I’ll sleep in the guest room so I don’t offend your ‘cleanliness’.” I didn’t wait to see her expression. I shut the door and slept better than I had in years. 4. The next morning, the courier delivered the formal separation agreement. I shot Janet a text: Come home early tonight. We need to talk about something important. She replied almost instantly: I’ll be there. I waited until 10:00 PM. She wasn’t there. I didn’t get angry; I just used the time to pack my essentials into two suitcases. At midnight, the front door finally opened. Janet walked in looking flushed and satisfied. She wasn’t surprised to see me waiting in the living room—that was my role, after all. The loyal dog by the fireplace. “Toby’s cat was having kittens,” she said, giving me the same rehearsed line she always used. “I had to stay and help. It was a mess.” I felt a ghost of a laugh. Last month, it was a “leak in his ceiling.” The month before, a “panic attack.” “I’m sure you were a big help,” I said, my voice steady. “Sit down. I have something for you.” She sat beside me, looking bored. As she moved, the scent hit me—heavy, floral lavender. I sneezed. I’ve been allergic to that specific scent for years. It was Toby’s signature cologne. Janet froze for a second, then smoothed her hair. “The hospital switched to a new soap in the doctors’ lounge,” she lied. I didn’t even bother to look at her. I pulled the envelope from my bag and slid it across the table. “Read it. If you agree, sign it. Let’s stop making each other miserable.” I checked my watch. “I checked the forecast today. It seemed like a good day for an ending.”

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I have a high-paying client who frequently commissions me to hand-knit custom scarves for astronomical prices. Until this latest order, when he transferred an extra three thousand dollars with a note: Make this one perfect. She’s the one I like best. The day after I shipped it to him, my gorgeous, brooding, and devastatingly poor boyfriend quietly handed me a familiar package. I stared at it. “…You knit this?” He pressed his lips together, looking almost shy. “Yeah. Do you like it?” I smiled, my teeth grinding so hard my jaw ached. “I love it. In fact, why don’t you knit me one every single week?” 1 I gripped the impossibly soft yarn of the scarf, letting out a breathless sound of amazement. “The stitching, the cast-off… it’s flawless. Roman, you put so much heart into this!” The more I praised him, the tighter my fingers curled into the wool. I was squeezing it so hard the fabric was warping out of shape. His slightly overgrown dark hair fell across his brow, half-concealing those striking, intense eyes. A faint, bashful smile touched his lips. “As long as you like it.” I tilted my head, pouring concern into my voice. “It must have taken you forever, right? To knit something this intricate as a beginner? It’s honestly incredible.” I kept my eyes locked on his face, watching for the slightest fracture in his expression. He paused—a hesitation so microscopic you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Then he let out a soft hum, his voice a cool, clear baritone. “It was a little difficult. But if you like it, it was worth it.” My hands balled into fists before I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. I laughed, a bright, brittle sound. “I love it to death. In fact, why don’t you knit me one every single week?” The air in the room flatlined. Half a minute passed. Then, he agreed. “Okay.” A few seconds later, his hand hovered over my shoulder. “Are you… shaking?” Yeah. With absolute rage. My smile twisted, growing rigid against his shirt, and I forced a wet, choked sound into my throat. “I’m just so happy. It’s the first time anyone has ever made something by hand just for me. I feel so lucky. Just… impossibly lucky.” By the end of the sentence, I was literally grinding my teeth. My eyes were red—not from tears, but from the sheer, blinding heat of my anger. Roman awkwardly, mechanically, rubbed my back. “If you like it, I’ll just keep knitting them for you.” 2 After Roman walked me back to my dorm, a notification pinged on my Depop app. Z: [I need you to knit me one a week. Can you do that?] My thumbs flew across the glass screen: [Five thousand dollars a piece.] Normally, I charged anywhere from a hundred to maybe three hundred bucks for a custom knit, depending on the yarn. I got steady clients, and it was a decent side hustle to pay for my textbooks. That was, until this user named “Z” slid into my DMs. When he first reached out, I had typed up a whole paragraph explaining the different price points for merino wool, cashmere, and cable-knit patterns. He ignored it and immediately transferred a thousand dollars via Venmo. [Just use the best.] It screamed clueless rich guy with more money than sense. If he was offering, I wasn’t going to say no. After that, he became a regular. I even set up a hidden, exorbitant listing on my shop just for him to click and buy. Once finished, I’d overnight the scarves to the address he provided. It was right here in the city. Unsurprisingly, it was a zip code that belonged to an ultra-exclusive, gated enclave in the hills. The kind of place where the driveways are longer than my entire street. But not in a million years did I think “Z” was my sweet, beautiful, perpetually broke, tragically brooding boyfriend. The moment I sent the five-thousand-dollar price tag, my screen lit up. Z: [?] Me: [High demand lately. My rates went up.] The chat bubble stayed empty for a long time. Just as I debated deleting the message and backpedaling, a notification popped up. He had purchased five of my standard thousand-dollar listings. I let out a cold, hollow laugh. I immediately opened the Amazon app, found a bundle of cheap, machine-knit scarves for twenty bucks, and had them shipped to my dorm. Once they arrived, I’d just slap a new label on them and mail them to his mansion. It didn’t matter. I was the one who was going to end up receiving them anyway. After checking out, I opened iMessage. The only pinned thread at the top of my screen had a new text: Roman: [At work. Thinking about you.] My brow furrowed. I hit the FaceTime icon immediately. It rang and rang, the digital tone echoing in the quiet of my room, until it automatically disconnected. Twenty minutes later, he texted: [Manager caught me looking at my phone and yelled at me. Everything okay?] Me: [Nothing. Just missing you too.] In those twenty minutes, I had grabbed my bike and pedaled furiously across town to the dingy little diner where he supposedly worked. I walked in, breathless. “Carol, hey, about that guy from my psych class I recommended—” Before I could finish, the diner owner cut me off, her eyes wide and exasperated. “Look, Harper, I only hired him because you were one of the best waitresses I ever had!” “What happened?” “Day one, and he picks a fight with a customer! He was wearing some crazy watch—a vintage Patek Philippe, or something? The customer made a joke about it, asked to see it, and your boy told him to back off because if he broke it, he wouldn’t be able to afford the repair in ten lifetimes!” Carol pressed a hand to her chest, her face flushed with residual stress. “Who even knows if the damn thing was real? If it’s fake, why couldn’t the guy look at it? And if it was real… what the hell is a guy like that doing bussing tables in my diner? Were you trying to play a joke on me?” A cold tremor started at the base of my spine. My voice shook. “Is… is he still here in the back?” “He quit twenty minutes into his shift!” Carol barked a harsh laugh. “Turned my dining room upside down and walked out without even asking for his tips.” I stood there, anchored to the sticky linoleum. I didn’t know what to say. When I finally stepped back outside, the night wind carried a biting chill. It swept through my thin jacket, and a violent shiver wracked my body. Carol waved me off from the window, her face twisted in disgust. “Go home, Harper. I don’t know what kind of sick game you college kids are playing, but we always treated you right here. Unbelievable.” “I’m sorry,” I mumbled to the glass, though she couldn’t hear me. On the bike ride home, I pulled over under a flickering streetlamp and scrolled through my text history with Roman. I knew he was poor. I knew he skipped meals to save cash. So, whenever I finished a big knitting commission, I would quietly Venmo him a fifty or a hundred bucks here and there for “groceries.” It wasn’t much. But it was money I had scraped together from my own meager living expenses, money left over only after I made the monthly payment on the massive debt my deadbeat father had left behind when he died. My mother and I bled ourselves dry every month just to keep the collection agencies at bay. I thought Roman and I were the same. Two bruised, exhausted people huddling together for warmth in a freezing world. Turns out, I was just a prop in his little poverty-tourism roleplay. And he was cheating on me. All those other scarves I had meticulously knitted over the months—they went to someone else. As the recipient of the one he “liked best,” was I supposed to feel honored? 3 By the time the initial, violent wave of emotion crested and broke, a chilling clarity settled over me. After careful consideration, I decided it wasn’t time to blow the lid off this thing yet. After all, I was currently positioned to extract five thousand dollars a week from this guy’s trust fund. And I didn’t even have to knit the damn things anymore. If Roman was getting off on playing the starving artist and acting out some indie-movie romance with a tragic poor girl, exposing him now would ruin it. His ego would bruise, his novelty would wear off, and I’d lose my golden goose. While the novelty was still fresh, I needed to bleed him for all he was worth. Still. Was there a way to mess with him without breaking the illusion? I sat on my dorm bed, plotting. Three days later, I called him. “Are we still on for our date tomorrow?” His voice was smooth, immediate. “Absolutely.” I softened my tone, dialing up the sweetness. “Is the scarf ready? It’s been a few days, and since we haven’t seen each other, I just know you’ve been working so hard on it, right?” A beat of silence on the line. “…Right.” “Great. See you tomorrow.” The second I ended the call, my Depop notification went off. Z: [Is it done?] I glanced at my desk, where the cheap, machine-made Amazon scarf I’d picked up from the mailroom was sitting in a plastic bag. I read the message and ignored it. Z: [Rush order.] Z: [Can you deliver it tonight? Your shipping is always next-day, so we must be in the same city.] Me: [That’s going to be difficult.] A notification from Venmo appeared at the top of my screen. Z paid you $5,000.00. Me: […Fine.] Me: [Same address as before?] Z: [Yes.] Another notification. Z paid you $1,000.00. Z: [For the inconvenience. Bring it yourself or hire a courier, I don’t care.] I picked up the twenty-dollar Amazon scarf, inspecting it. Honestly? The machine tension was probably more even than my hand-knitting. I opened an app to hail a local courier. It was past midnight, and the estate was on the complete opposite side of the city, tucked high in the hills. The app suggested a $200 fee. I winced and hit ‘Request’. No one took it. I bumped it to $300. I waited thirty minutes. Still nothing. Any higher and I’d be cutting into my own ridiculous profit margin. Sighing, I grabbed a black baseball cap, oversized sunglasses, and a surgical mask. I stuffed the cheap scarf into a nice boutique gift box I’d saved, and snuck out of my dorm into the night. 4 The gated community was a labyrinth of aggressively manicured hedges and winding asphalt. Even after the security guard at the front gate called the house to clear me and gave me a map, I got turned around three times before I finally found the sweeping, modern architectural monstrosity that matched the address. I pulled out my phone. Me: [I’m at the gate.] I pulled the brim of my cap down further, pushed my sunglasses up my nose, and pinched the wire of my mask tight over the bridge. Before I left, I had even spritzed myself with my roommate’s sickeningly sweet vanilla perfume, just to mask my own scent. I absolutely could not let him recognize me. But standing there in the cold, staring at the massive frosted-glass double doors, a treacherous thought crept in. What if he does? What would that scene even look like? But reality quickly informed me that I was overthinking it. A girl in a sleek, tailored wool coat, a Birkin resting casually in the crook of her arm, walked up the driveway right beside me. She punched a code into the digital keypad with practiced ease. The heavy doors swung inward. A blast of heavily heated air rushed out, carrying the thumping bass of a house track. There were dozens of people inside. It was a massive, pulsing party. The girl turned her head, her perfectly winged eyeliner sharp as she assessed me. Her gaze dropped to the boutique box in my hands. “Delivery? Who bought it? Was it Ro? What’s inside?” She reached out, tapping the cardboard with a perfectly manicured nail, though she didn’t try to open it. I kept my mouth shut, my eyes locked on the scarf wrapped around her neck. My scarf. The thick, cream-colored merino wool I’d spent two weeks knitting last month. She rolled her eyes, bored by my silence. “Whatever. Want me to just take it in for him?” Right at that moment, a voice cut through the thumping music. Low, lazy, and magnetic. “Why are you standing out there? It’s freezing.” The girl and I turned at the same time. Roman was leaning casually against the doorframe. His dark hair was pushed back, untamed, revealing the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. Gone was the brooding, silent, down-on-his-luck college boy. This guy looked like he owned the world. His dark eyes drifted from the girl to the box in my hands. “I ordered that. Bring it in for me, will you?” “Sure,” the girl chirped, snatching the box out of my hands. The amber lighting from the foyer spilled out onto the driveway. Roman stood up straight, preparing to pull the door shut. He cast a careless, dismissive glance my way—but then his gaze snagged on my sunglasses. In that microsecond, my heart slammed against my ribs. In my rush to leave the dorm, I had grabbed the first pair of sunglasses I found. They were a cheap, plastic pair Roman and I had won at a boardwalk carnival game a month ago. One of his dark eyebrows arched upward. His lips parted. “You the seller?” I gave a stiff, jerky nod. He let out a short, derisive scoff, casually looking me up and down. “Wearing sunglasses at midnight? Take the grand I tipped you and buy yourself a decent designer pair. Those look ridiculous.” I froze. With that, Roman turned his back, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind him. The pulsing music and the golden warmth were instantly severed, leaving me alone in the biting cold. I walked slowly down the long driveway until I hit a streetlamp. I pulled the sunglasses off my face, running my thumb over the cheap plastic frame. The paint was already chipping. It was uneven, fading at the edges. When I won them at that rigged carnival game, I was so thrilled. I thought they looked chic and edgy. I remembered putting them on, turning to Roman with a massive grin. “How do I look?” The tips of his ears had gone pink. He had nodded softly. “Beautiful.” Because of that, I had worn them to death. I cherished them. But looking at them now, under the harsh, buzzing glow of the streetlamp? They just looked cheap. Pathetic, even. 5 The next morning, I walked out of my dorm building. As I passed the communal dumpsters, my hand reaching into my tote bag, I locked eyes with Roman. The moment he saw me, the corners of his mouth tipped up into that familiar, quiet smile. My hand stopped mid-air. I had forgotten to throw the sunglasses away last night. I was planning to toss them this morning. Roman closed the distance between us. He pulled a scarf from his bag and gently wrapped it around my neck. The twenty-dollar Amazon special. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. I stretched my lips into a smile, pulling my hand out of my bag empty. “You knit this so beautifully. I love it.” His smile deepened, not a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “I’m glad.” I let him take my hand. I didn’t even bother trying to interrogate him about his “job” at the diner or the late nights “knitting.” He wouldn’t panic; he’d just smoothly spin another lie. We took the bus to the local amusement park. Just as we queued up for the first ride, a slender, terribly familiar figure appeared in my peripheral vision. It was the girl from the mansion. She was wearing a designer trench coat and carrying the same Birkin. She was staring right at us. Instinctively, I looked up at Roman. He met her gaze. I saw the microscopic lift of his eyebrow—a silent warning. A bright, overly sweet smile bloomed on the girl’s face as she marched over to us. “Roman! This must be your girlfriend.” He gave a noncommittal hum. I kept my face perfectly blank. “A friend of yours?” Roman stared at the girl for a few seconds, lacing his fingers through mine. “Not really.” “Hey,” she pouted, a playful, bratty sound. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” She tapped her chin, feigning thought. “Hmm… Roman grew up struggling, right? So my family hired him to tutor me in high school. I guess that makes me his former boss.” As she said it, she looked right at Roman, her eyes dancing with wicked amusement. Roman’s gaze turned icy. “Boss?” “Yeah. You should be a little nicer to your employer, don’t you think? Poor boy.” She beamed. If I didn’t know the truth, my heart would have broken for him in that moment. I would have hated this rich, entitled girl for humiliating my hardworking boyfriend. Knowing what I knew now? I just wanted to laugh until I threw up. Were they seriously flirting right in front of my face? “What are you guys riding? Let me tag along.” The girl pulled out her phone, waving it at Roman. “I actually need someone to carry my bags and hang out with me today. Five hundred bucks to be my personal assistant for the afternoon. Good deal, right?” Roman’s expression went completely dead. He glared at her. “Don’t ruin my date with my girlfriend.” The girl looked at me. “Five hundred dollars is a lot of money. You’re going to stop your boyfriend from earning a living?” “Do you want to earn it?” I asked Roman, my voice totally flat. He hesitated for two seconds. “Might as well.” I dropped the subject. I didn’t say another word. Roman’s thumb stroked the back of my hand. He leaned in, whispering, “I’ll transfer the money to you tonight.” I just smiled. Before we got on the drop tower, the attendant told everyone to remove loose articles, including scarves. The girl leaned against the metal railing, waving us off. “I hate heights. You two go ahead.” Roman pulled me toward the seats. “Scared?” “No,” I said. His lips pressed together. “Well, I am.” I glanced at him. Those dark, bottomless eyes were locked onto mine, waiting. Expecting me to comfort him. Despite everything, the muscle memory kicked in. I reached up and brushed my knuckles against his cheek. You play the part so well, rich boy. When the ride was over, Roman held my hand tightly as we walked back to the lockers. I noticed a small crowd gathered around the cubbies. When we pushed through, I saw my scarf—the Amazon one—soaking wet, covered in a thick, sticky green liquid. The girl was standing there, examining her manicure without a shred of remorse. “Oops. I bought an iced matcha and it just slipped right out of my hand. How much was it? I’ll Venmo you.” It didn’t look spilled. It looked like she had taken the lid off and poured the entire venti cup directly onto the fabric. I looked at Roman, pouring devastation into my voice. “But… you made this for me.” The girl crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Since when do you knit?” Roman looked down at the ruined scarf, his face completely devoid of emotion. Then he looked at me. “It’s fine. I’ll just knit you another one in a few days.” 6 “Bella. My patience is running out.” Roman was staring blankly ahead, rhythmically flicking a silver lighter open and closed in his hand. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. I was standing perfectly still behind the corner of the churro stand, my eyes cast downward, listening to every word. Bella rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Your little girlfriend reeks of student loans and thrift stores. Aren’t you embarrassed being seen with her in public?” “She’s gorgeous,” Roman replied flatly. “The guys and I have a betting pool on how long you can keep this up. I’m dangerously close to losing. If you’re struggling to shake her, I can help you.” Roman scoffed. “Fuck off. I’m not bored of her yet.” Bella sighed. “You’re sick, you know that? Did you seriously tell her you knitted that scarf yourself?” “You think I’m going to spend hours knitting a scarf just to play house?” A few seconds of silence passed. “Wait,” Bella said, her tone shifting to suspicion. “That scarf you gave me… is it from the same seller as hers?” “Yeah.” His voice was utterly bored. Bella hesitated. “Did you buy different price tiers? Because the one you gave me is pure, heavy cashmere. I looked closely at hers today—the yarn was cheap acrylic. The stitching was fine, but it was absolutely not the same quality as mine…” Roman’s brow furrowed. I could hear the shift in his posture. “What?” Bella let out a triumphant laugh. “The seller scammed you! They probably realized you have deep pockets and started sending you garbage to widen their margins.” Me, hiding behind the corner: … Don’t ruin my hustle, you spoiled brat! I already lost my relationship, am I going to lose my business too?! I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, a second later, a notification from “Z” popped up, demanding an explanation. I swiped it away. I’d play dumb until I got back to my dorm. “You don’t even need to worry about it,” Bella drawled lazily. “Your girlfriend clearly can’t tell the difference anyway. She can’t spot cheap yarn, and she can’t spot a fake poor boy. God, she is spectacularly stupid…” “Enough.” Roman’s voice dropped ten degrees, slicing through her sentence. “I’m taking her to a movie. Stop following us.” Bella clicked her tongue. “Fine. Have your fun for now. Just don’t forget we’re supposed to announce our engagement soon.” My head snapped up. For a second, all the ambient noise of the amusement park—the screaming on the rollercoasters, the carnival music—completely faded out. After a long, suffocating silence. I heard Roman’s voice. Clear. Resigned. “I know.” I turned on my heel and walked away. I don’t know how much time passed before Roman found me. He took my freezing hands in his, rubbing them. “I thought I told you to wait inside the bakery. Why are you out in the cold?” I didn’t say anything. Just then, a park employee pushing a roving merchandise cart spotted us and trotted over, beaming. “Are you two a couple? We’re running a promotion today! Show me your admission tickets, and I’ll take a free Polaroid for you!” She reached into her cart and pulled out a fuzzy headband with cat ears. “These look so cute in the photos.” I shook my head instantly, taking a step back. “No thanks.” Roman’s eyes drifted to the headband, then down to me. “I want to see it.” The employee sensed a sale. “Come on! You’re both so ridiculously good-looking. It’s a great souvenir.” Roman gently squeezed my hand, his dark eyes softening. “Just one picture. Please?” Whatever.

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