Author: Momo Chan

1 In the eight years my mother worked as a housekeeper for the Mercer family, I only stepped foot into their estate seven times. She always believed I hated their son, Gavin. Until the night she brought home a tote bag packed with high-end dinner leftovers. “How can a woman have so little self-respect?” my mother muttered, unpacking container after container. “The young master is getting engaged, and she’s still clinging to him like a leech.” She shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’ll give her credit, though—she’s slippery. Mrs. Mercer has been digging for months and still hasn’t figured out who she is. Mrs. Mercer said when she finally catches her, she wants to meet the girl’s mother to see if the apple fell far from the tree.” My mother kept talking, completely oblivious to how pale my face had turned. That exact night, in a private high-rise downtown, I told Gavin it was over. I sobbed until my throat was raw, while Gavin sat in total silence. When my cries finally faded into ragged breaths, he lit a cigarette, looked down at me, and laughed—a cold, dismissive sound that cut straight to the bone. “Break up?” he sneered, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Tess, did you actually think we were dating? Don’t forget who you are. You’re just the maid’s daughter.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “We were just having fun. But listen to me carefully—if you walk out that door, I’ll make sure everyone knows it was you who seduced me.” An hour earlier, I was sitting on my battered motor scooter outside the gates of the Mercer estate, scrolling through my phone while waiting for my mother to finish her shift. Suddenly, a sharp, furious shriek echoed from inside the manor. “I will track down that shameless little tramp if it’s the last thing I do!” I flinched, my eyes darting toward the main entrance. A moment later, my mother walked out, carrying heavy plastic bags that stretched her arms, the veins on the back of her hands bulging against the strain. The moment she spotted me, her tired face broke into a warm smile. “Honey, come grab these.” I stepped off the scooter, took the bags from her, and arranged them carefully in the front basket before handing her a helmet. “Why were you running so late tonight?” She strapped on the helmet with a sigh. “Mr. Gavin came back for dinner with his fiancée tonight. The whole house was upside down catering to them.” Boom. My mind went instantly, terrifyingly blank. Gavin… was getting married. I froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. My mother, noticing my trance, patted my shoulder briskly. “What are you staring at? Let’s go before it gets dark.” “It’s nothing,” I mumbled. I twisted the throttle, and the scooter rumbled out of the gated neighborhood. The suffocating summer air rushed past us, mixing with the cold sweat prickling my forehead. Behind me, my mother’s voice drifted over the engine roar, eager to share the high-society gossip. “It was a mess in there tonight,” she called out. “Mr. Gavin and Miss Audrey were right in the middle of dinner when some woman called his personal cell. He didn’t even care that his fiancée was sitting right across from him—he just got up and stepped outside to take it.” She chuckled nervously. “Mrs. Mercer looked like she swallowed glass, but she had to keep her composure. We found out later that this girl has been harassing Mr. Gavin for years.” My mother’s tone turned sharp with disdain. “Word is, she’s just a nobody. No family name, no background. Can you imagine the delusion? Who does she think she is, trying to climb into a family like the Mercers?” “The young master is about to get engaged, and she’s still trailing after him like a lost dog. Absolutely shameless,” my mother sneered. “Mrs. Mercer was so furious she swore that when she finds out who the girl is, she’s going to track down her parents and ask them how they raised such a disgraceful daughter.” A wave of dizziness hit me. My fingers twitched uncontrollably on the handlebar. The scooter jerked violently, losing balance. The heavy tote bags tumbled out of the basket, crashing onto the asphalt with a sickening spill. Containers popped open, scattering delicate sea bass, butter-poached lobster, and expensive truffles across the dusty pavement. My mother gasped in horror. She scrambled off the bike, dropping to her knees to gather the ruined food, before whirling around to snap at me. “What is wrong with you?! Why would you brake like that?!” she yelled, her voice tight with anger. “Do you have any idea what this is? This was the leftover spread from the Mercer dinner! Top-tier food I had to beg the head chef for! Normal people like us could never afford this!” I crouched beside her, watching the dusted gourmet spread on the ground. A bitter sting burned behind my nose, and the dam inside me finally broke. “Mom, can you please stop bringing home their trash?” I choked out. “Just stop, please.” “What do you know?!” Her voice spiked, filled with frustration and disappointment. “Do you know what level the Mercers are on? People work their whole lives and never touch food like this! If I had money, do you think I’d spend my days scrubbing another woman’s floors?” She wiped a streak of dirt off a container, her voice softening into a familiar, painful lecture. “If you had any ambition, if you managed to marry someone with status, would I have to slave away like this?” There it was again. It was always about marrying into status. Always about finding a wealthy man to lift us out of the dirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing down the suffocating wave of shame and grief. Without another word, I dropped to my knees and helped her pick up the spilled containers. Once everything was repacked and she climbed back onto the passenger seat, I revved the engine again. We rode in silence. The grand wrought-iron gates and manicured lawns of the Mercer estate faded into the distance, replaced gradually by the cramped, concrete sprawl of our low-income apartment complex. The stark contrast was stripped bare right before my eyes. When we walked into our dim, narrow apartment, exhaustion washed over me. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bedroom and disappear. But as I stepped toward my room, my mother called out from the kitchen. “I’ll make a couple more dishes with what we saved. Go out to the balcony and trim the veggies.” I walked to the balcony, my thumb numbly snapping off the ends of greens. The warm night breeze carried the humid stench of the alley below. “Oh, by the way,” my mother’s voice floated through the doorway. “Your Aunt Jenna called again today about that guy, Andrew. He asked about you again.” She let out a sharp sigh. “Jenna says she’s embarrassed to keep bringing it up because you keep turning him down. I really don’t get you, Tess. What kind of man are you looking for?” “A family like ours needs to stay grounded,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “Find a decent guy with a stable job, settle down, and live a quiet life.” She paused, as if remembering her earlier gossip. “Just don’t end up like those foolish girls who reach for things way above their station. Reaching for the stars when you’re stuck in the mud only makes you a laughingstock.” My fingers froze. A bright green leaf snapped clean between my nails. “Mom,” I said quietly, my voice eerily still. “Tell Aunt Jenna… I’ll meet him.” 2 Late that night, I lay awake in the pitch-black bedroom. The moment I closed my eyes, an obnoxious car horn began blaring from the alley below. I glanced at my phone on the nightstand. It was completely powered off. It has nothing to do with me, I told myself, pulling the duvet over my head. But the horn was relentless, piercing through the quiet night like a weapon. Angry shouts erupted from neighboring windows. “Hey! Some of us have to work in the morning!” “Who park a luxury sports car in an alley at two in the morning?! Show some respect!” My heart hammered against my ribs. My mother suffered from severe insomnia and depended on heavy sleeping pills just to get a few hours of light rest. If this noise continued, she was going to wake up. I dragged myself out of bed, crept over to the window, and parted the blinds. Parked under the dim streetlamp was the sleek, recognizable silhouette of Gavin’s Aston Martin. I gritted my teeth, grabbed a jacket, and hurried downstairs. Gavin was leaning casually against the driver’s door, a lit cigarette held loosely between his fingers. As I stepped into the shadows, his eyes locked onto mine instantly. He had known, with absolute certainty, that I would come down. A faint, mocking smile touched his lips. Furious, I pulled open the passenger door and slid inside without looking at him. He tossed the cigarette stub into a trash bin, got into the driver’s seat, and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The car roared to life, shooting out of the alley. Neither of us spoke a word. I knew why he was angry. I had turned off my phone. Gavin’s need for control was pathological; on normal days, if I took more than ten minutes to reply to a text, he would freeze me out for days. Shutting off my phone and cutting off contact for an entire night was a direct strike against his authority. So he had broken our unwritten rule—he had driven straight into my dilapidated neighborhood, using public humiliation to force me out into the light. The air inside the vehicle was suffocating. The speedometer climbed higher and higher, the engine whining as the wind whipped violently against the glass. Suddenly, a black sedan sped up alongside us, sharply cutting into our lane. The driver rolled down his window, yelling, “Hey kid! Think owning a high-end car gives you the right to own the road?!” Gavin didn’t even blink. He slammed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine screamed. The two cars lunged forward into a reckless, terrifying race down the empty midnight highway. At first, I tried to stay numb. But as the speed needle hit terrifying numbers and Gavin swerved aggressively around curves, panic overtook me. “Stop it, Gavin! Please!” My voice broke into a terrified sob. “Gavin, stop!” He flicked a cold glance sideways at me. The faint smile was still plastered on his face, but it was hollow. I knew him too well. The angrier Gavin was, the calmer he looked. With a brutal twist of the steering wheel, he cut off the other driver, left them behind, and dived straight into the underground garage of a high-rise residential building. The car glided into a private spot and engine cut off. The rush of speed vanished, leaving me frozen in the seat, my back soaked in cold sweat. Silence swallowed the interior. Gavin leaned over, unbuckling my seatbelt. His dark eyes fixed on mine, heavy and unreadable. Seeing me sitting there frozen, his voice softened just a fraction. “Get out.” Everything I had bottled up over the last twenty-four hours—the news of his engagement, the razor-sharp insults from my mother, the suffocating shame—erupted all at once. I buried my face in my hands and broke down, crying hysterically. Gavin’s frame went tense. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the tears spilling down my cheeks. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. “I’m right here. What are you scared of?” The bitter absurdity of his words burned in my chest. What was I scared of? I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t explain the endless loop of shame and desperation strangling me. Gavin sighed softly, pulling me firmly against his chest. Overwhelmed by a sudden, violent surge of hatred, I bit down hard on his shoulder. I bit him with everything I had, pressing deeper until the copper taste of blood flooded my mouth. I snapped back to reality, my chest heaving. Oh god. Gavin never allowed me to cross the line. Before I could pull back, his hand clamped tightly around my jaw, forcing my head up. His eyes were dark, swirling with a dangerous, possessive heat. “Getting brave, aren’t we?” he whispered coldly. Without giving me a chance to answer, he scooped me up into his arms. This apartment was our secret sanctuary—a luxury condo registered under his friend’s name specifically to keep it hidden from his mother’s private investigators. It was the place he kept me hidden away from the world. The second the front door clicked shut, all gentleness evaporated. Driven by the dark mood he had harbored all night, he pressed me up against the wall. The sheer intensity was overwhelming. Lost in tears and distress, I lifted my arm and brought my palm violently across his cheek. SMACK. The sharp sound echoed through the entryway. Gavin froze instantly. The darkness in his eyes flickered, and his movements subconsciously softened. This was the only time Gavin ever tolerated my defiance. When we were behind closed doors, he allowed me to scream, to hit, to cry out all my frustrations—as long as I remained his. I sobbed until I could barely breathe, my voice hoarse as I repeated the same words over and over: “I hate you, Gavin. I hate you so much.” 3 He let out a low, vibrating chuckle against my neck. “Good. Hate me.” “But your body isn’t saying that at all.” My lips trembled. The question I had suppressed a thousand times burned in my throat: What am I to you? In the end, I kept my mouth shut. When it was over, Gavin patiently cleaned me up with a warm towel. He pulled me against his bare chest, his arms wrapping gently around my waist. “Are you hungry?” he murmured, his voice soft against my hair. “I can have something delivered.” Inside this hidden apartment, away from his title and his family’s expectations, Gavin allowed himself to drop his arrogant armor. He treated me with a gentle affection that felt agonizingly real. My chest hurt. I turned around and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He didn’t push me away; he just held me in the quiet darkness. Then, like a splash of ice water, the events of the afternoon invaded my mind. Mrs. Mercer’s ruthless insults. My mother’s casual disdain for “that shameless girl.” I stiffened, pushing him away with all the strength I had left. Gavin’s brows furrowed. Thinking I was just being moody, he exhaled patiently. “What do you want to eat? I’ll call the kitchen at the club. Whatever you want.” “Mango pudding? Strawberry cheesecake?” He paused, looking down at me. “I know how much you love sweets.” That was how Gavin had always been. He ran a vast corporate enterprise and held absolute power, yet he remembered every single detail of my life—my minor quirks, my favorite foods. It was that exact attention that had kept me trapped for years, making it impossible to pull myself away. But that tenderness was a golden cage. It was cheap, and it was deadly. I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to answer. I turned my back on him and began putting my clothes on, completely ignoring his presence. “What is this supposed to mean?” Gavin’s patience snapped. He stepped forward, snatched the belt from my hands, and pinned my wrists behind my back, pressing me flat against the cool wall. His massive frame hovered over me, heavy and suffocating. He stared down into my eyes, his tone laced with irritation. “What are you throwing a tantrum for now?” he demanded. “Jealous? You should be used to how things work by now. Or are you just trying to pick a fight?” I stared back at the face I had loved and feared in equal measure, and forced out every syllable clearly: “Gavin, let’s end this. We’re done.” The air in the room instantly turned to stone. The grip on my wrists tightened until it bruised. “What did you just say?” “Say it again.” I stared into his dark, storm-filled eyes, my own filled with tears, and raised my voice: “I said we’re done!” Gavin slowly loosened his grip. He looked down at me, his expression turning ice-cold. “Give me a reason.” “You’re getting engaged. You’re getting married,” I whispered, my voice shaking with raw exhaustion. A cruel, mocking smile slowly spread across his lips. “Because of that?” My heart shattered into a million sharp pieces. “What do you mean, ‘because of that’?!” I screamed. “While you were sitting at dinner with your fiancée today, your mother was calling me trash! She told everyone I was shameless, that I was leeching off you to climb social ladders! And my own mother—my own mother joined in, laughing at how desperate I must be!” I choked back a sob, laying bare every ounce of humiliation I had suffered. Gavin just stood there, looking down at me like I was a tragic, ridiculous child. “You’ve been with me for eight years, Tess,” he said softly, his voice chillingly calm. “And now you suddenly feel dirty?” “Who told you we were ‘together’?” He stepped closer, leaning down until his lips almost brushed my ear. “Did you actually believe we were dating?” He let out a short, terrifying laugh. “Don’t forget your place. You’re just the maid’s daughter.” He straightened up, his eyes locking onto mine with ruthless finality. “If you dare step out of this room tonight, I will make sure the whole world knows. I’ll tell everyone it was you who used every dirty trick in the book to seduce me.” 4 I hailed a cab home in the dead of night. The yellow streetlights flickered against the passenger window, reflecting my red, swollen eyes. Tears fell quietly, soaking through the sleeves of my jacket. So that was all I was to Gavin Mercer. A scheming, low-class girl who had tricked her way into his bed. No one knew that this secret, humiliating affair had held me hostage for eight long years. It had all started back in high school. After my parents’ messy divorce left us with nothing, my mother landed a job as a live-in housekeeper for the Mercer family. Using her employer’s influence, she managed to get me transferred into the city’s top private preparatory academy. She repeatedly drummed it into my head that I had to show utter devotion and gratitude to Mrs. Mercer. I remember standing awkwardly at the gates of the Mercer estate that first day, clutching a heavy paper bag filled with dried fruits my grandmother had packed from our rural hometown. Teenage Gavin was even colder and more arrogant than he was now. He had spared me a single, indifferent glance before walking straight past me into the house without a word. I didn’t dare leave. I stood under the sweltering sun until Mrs. Mercer finally returned. When I nervously handed her the gift, she offered a polite, practiced smile and thanked me—but she never once reached out to take the bag. I stood there, paralyzed, not knowing whether to put it down or carry it away. Just then, Gavin came down the grand staircase. He glanced toward the foyer. “What’s that?” With just those two words from her son, Mrs. Mercer’s posture changed instantly. She turned to me with a warm, maternal smile. “What a sweet girl. Why don’t you wash some of those for Gavin?” I washed the fruit carefully and held the bowl out to him. Gavin looked at it, didn’t take a piece, and stepped past me, his broad shoulder lightly brushing against mine. My heart hammered in my chest. After he left the room, Mrs. Mercer took my hand in hers, her voice dropping into an intimate, conspiratorial tone. “Tess, you’re at the same school as Gavin now. I need to ask you a favor.” She squeezed my hand tight. “Gavin is distant. He never opens up to us. I want you to keep an eye on him. If any girls try to get close to him—if he shows signs of teenage romance—you come tell me right away, okay?” She wanted me to spy on him. I hated the idea, but I knew I couldn’t say no. Mrs. Mercer was our savior. Without her, my mother wouldn’t have a job, and we wouldn’t have a roof over our heads. So I nodded. From that day on, I reported Gavin’s every move to his mother. Until one afternoon, rumors spread that a girl had asked Gavin to meet her on the school roof. I snuck up the stairwell behind him. The rooftop was vast and completely empty. There was no girl. As I turned to leave, I saw Gavin standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, a dark, mocking smirk on his face. “I was wondering how my mother knew every single detail of my daily schedule,” he whispered softly. “Turns out I have a little traitor living under my roof.” My blood ran cold. I realized he had set a trap for me. Everyone at school knew Gavin Mercer had a terrifying temper. Trembling, I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” Before I could back away, he stepped forward, grabbed my wrists, and smashed his lips against mine. I froze, my eyes wide with horror. When he pulled back an inch, his smile was twisted and cruel. “Go tell my mother. Tell her I kissed you.” I shoved at his chest, shaking uncontrollably. “Don’t touch me! I’ll tell Mrs. Mercer—I swear I will!” He didn’t care. He stepped closer, backing me against the brick wall. “Go ahead,” he sneered. “Let’s see who believes the maid’s daughter.” That was the moment he broke me. My mother had just escaped an abusive marriage and finally found a stable job. It was her only source of dignity, our only lifeline. I couldn’t gamble with her survival. From that afternoon on, Gavin owned me. He used that threat to push my boundaries again and again. What began on a quiet high school rooftop bled into my college years, and then into my post-grad life. Eight years. Eight years of being a dirty, hidden secret in the shadows. Whenever I went to the Mercer estate to pick up my mother, I deliberately avoided him. If we crossed paths in the hallway, I immediately lowered my head and took a detour, pretending to despise him. My mother genuinely believed I hated the wealthy, pristine young master. She often scolded me for being unreasonable, begging me not to harbor prejudice against our benefactor’s son. I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t even bring myself to harbor anger. Gavin always believed I was dragged into his bed against my will. But the terrifying truth was… I had willingly surrendered. I knew the distance between heaven and earth separated us. I knew he was possessive, manipulative, and dangerous. But in my dark, impoverished youth, Gavin was the only brilliant moon hanging in my sky. He was right there, shining down on me—how could I stop myself from reaching up to touch the light? Eight years of delusion. Eight years of pathetic self-deception. It took today for me to finally wake up. To the moon I had spent eight years worshiping, I was nothing more than dirty, cheap, and conniving trash. I was finally, truly done.

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Back in high school, when Declan’s voice hadn’t yet dropped, the boys cornered him in the locker room. They shoved him against the tiles, mimicking his high pitch, calling him “Princess.” I was the one who stormed into the boys’ locker room, screaming at them until they backed off, too stunned to even look up. He hid behind me, his eyes red. “Sloane,” he whispered, “you are the only light I have.” Years later, he became the youngest VP at our firm. His suits were impeccably tailored, and his voice—deliberately trained over the years—was a smooth, commanding baritone. But at the company dinner, our new intern, Harper Evans, let her hand slip. Half a glass of Cabernet splashed directly down the front of my white silk dress. Before she even apologized, Harper’s eyes welled with tears. Declan immediately reached for a napkin, gently dabbing at the drop of wine that had splashed onto Harper’s fingers. “Did you scrape yourself against the table?” he asked softly. I stood there, my dress ruined, staring at him. I hadn’t even spoken yet. He barely glanced at me, his tone lazy and dismissive. “It’s just a dress, Sloane. Don’t make a scene with the new girl.” Later that night, when he passed out drunk on our living room sofa, I heard his phone light up. It was a voice note from Harper. I hit play. “Don’t be afraid of her,” I heard Declan’s recorded voice reply. “She’s just been with me so long, she thinks she can keep me chained to the past. Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of what a pathetic loser I used to be.” Standing in the doorway, I realized these last six years were a joke. Declan, I thought, if my presence humiliates you that much… then keep your glory. I don’t want it anymore. And don’t you dare hand me your messes ever again. 1 At the morning briefing the next day, I had just projected the pitch deck for the Apex Innovations account onto the screen when Declan reached over and hit the power button. The conference room plunged into sudden silence. He pulled my flash drive from the laptop and tossed it across the mahogany table. It slid right in front of Harper. “Take this version and revise it,” he said. Harper froze, fumbling to pick up the drive. “Declan—Mr. Hayes, I mean… this is Sloane’s deck. I couldn’t possibly—” “I said revise it.” Declan leaned back in his leather chair, his tone as casual as if he were ordering a coffee. “New talent needs a portfolio. You can’t stand in other people’s shadows forever.” I stared at him. “I’ve been the lead on the Apex account for four months.” He looked up and offered a thin smile. “Exactly. Which is why you’re the perfect person to act as her safety net.” No one in the room dared to breathe. Harper bit her lip, her voice trembling. “Sloane, please don’t be mad. I just want to learn from you. I’m not trying to steal your thunder.” Declan dropped his pen onto the table with a sharp click. “She’s not that petty.” “Are you speaking for me now?” I asked. He held my gaze, his voice dropping a fraction—half-coaxing, half-warning. “Sloane, you’re lightyears ahead of her. Don’t fight a junior associate for a little spotlight. You used to be the one who could hold the room together.” My fingers went numb. Used to be. Coming from his mouth, the phrase felt like a rusty nail. By the afternoon, Harper dropped the revised deck into the team’s Slack channel. Slide one: The title was changed from “Apex Annual Growth Model” to “Into the Light.” The subtitle read: From Doubt to Dominance: The Declan Hayes Blueprint. I clicked through the document. When I hit slide three, the blood froze in my veins. She had included the story of his high school bullying. She hadn’t explicitly named the locker room, but the bullet points—overcoming vocal insecurities, enduring peer isolation, transforming weakness into executive presence—were blindingly obvious. I grabbed my tablet and walked straight to Declan’s office. The door was ajar. Harper was standing by his desk, her eyes rimmed with red. “Mr. Hayes, did I cross a line? I just thought your journey was so inspiring.” Declan wasn’t looking at the screen. He was handing her a tissue. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I pushed the door open. “Delete slide three.” Harper’s shoulders flinched. Declan looked up, an instant crease forming between his brows. “Why are you terrorizing her?” I dropped the tablet onto his desk. “Apex is a corporate pitch, Declan. It’s not an exhibition of your scars.” His expression hardened. Harper quickly interjected, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was a sore subject! I just felt that because Mr. Hayes is so successful now, his past just proves how incredible he is.” Declan was quiet for two seconds. Then, he looked at me. “Harper isn’t wrong.” I blinked, genuinely stunned. He pushed the tablet back toward me. “I’m not afraid of people seeing it anymore.” “Are you not afraid?” I asked softly. “Or do you just not want her to know you’re afraid?” His eyes went icy. “Stop looking at me like that, Sloane.” “Like what?” “Like I’m still that pathetic kid hiding in a bathroom stall, waiting for you to save me.” The realization hit me with a quiet, devastating clarity. It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid. He would rather tear his own scars open for a crowd than admit, in front of me, that they still hurt. Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside; people were slowing down to listen. Harper tugged gently at his cuff, her eyes shining. “Mr. Hayes, please don’t fight. This is all my fault.” Declan reached over and patted the back of her hand. When he looked back at me, his tone softened. “Sloane, I know you think you’re protecting me. But just because you saw me at my lowest doesn’t give you the right to dictate what I can and cannot share.” He paused. “I’m not the boy who needs you to shield him anymore.” The words felt like a physical slap. I nodded. “Understood.” He must have thought I was gearing up for an argument, because his voice took on that placating rhythm. “I’ll take you to that Italian place you love tonight. Drop the attitude. You know I don’t compromise easily.” I looked at him and smiled. He delivers the deepest cuts, and then offers a bowl of pasta to stop the bleeding. As if I’m supposed to fall to my knees in gratitude because he tossed me a crumb of affection after breaking my ribs. I turned and walked out. Back at my desk, the HR portal was still open on my monitor. The internal transfer application I had saved in my drafts six months ago was quietly waiting. Destination: Boston Branch. Duration: 3 Years. In the justification box, I typed my final sentence: Having successfully managed core HQ accounts, I am requesting a transfer for independent leadership development. Right after I hit ‘Submit,’ Declan’s text popped up. [Are you actually mad?] [Sloane, you never used to be this hard to please.] I stared at the screen and typed a single word: [Yeah.] I used to be easy to please. Because back then, I thought that since he knew what it felt like to hurt, he would never hurt me. 2 On the day of the corporate promo video shoot, HR came by and took the tailored white blazer I had brought for the occasion. “Where are you taking that?” I asked. The coordinator shifted uncomfortably. “Declan said… he said Harper is a better fit to be on camera.” When I walked onto the soundstage, Harper was standing under the bright lights, wearing my blazer. The sleeves were an inch too long. Declan was standing right in front of her, head bowed, carefully rolling the cuffs up for her. His movements were painstakingly slow, his fingers pressing the fabric as if afraid he might bruise her. Harper looked up at him. “Mr. Hayes, will Sloane be upset that I’m wearing her clothes?” Declan smiled. “She doesn’t need clothes to command a room.” I stood by the heavy studio doors. The director spotted me and waved frantically. “Sloane, perfect timing. Declan said you know the run-of-show. Can you feed Harper her prompts?” I walked over and picked up the clipboard. The theme of the campaign had been altered to: From the Valley to the Peak. Harper’s very first line was: “Mr. Hayes, rumor has it you struggled with vocal confidence in high school. How did you overcome that?” I looked at Declan. His face was a mask of corporate ease, but the knuckles of the hand gripping his water bottle were bone-white. “Cut this line,” I said. Harper immediately panicked. “Sloane, did I say something wrong again? But Mr. Hayes said he didn’t mind people knowing.” Declan looked at me. “Keep your personal emotions out of this, Sloane. We’re at work.” I closed the clipboard. “You think this is a personal emotion?” He stepped closer, dropping his voice so only I could hear the venom. “Every time you flinch when someone brings it up, it’s like you’re stripping me naked in public all over again. Has it ever occurred to you that what hurts the most isn’t the memory—it’s the way you constantly throw yourself in front of me like a martyr?” I stared into his eyes. “So I was wrong to protect you?” He went silent for half a beat. Then, the charm clicked back on. He smiled, lifting a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was as intimately devastating as it had always been. “Don’t be so defensive. I’m not blaming you.” But his next breath was a knife. “I just wish you wouldn’t always position yourself as my savior.” My shoulders locked. He pretended not to notice, his thumb grazing my jawline. “Be good. Let Harper film this today. When we’re done, I’ll take you shopping. We’ll buy you a new blazer. I’ll make sure it’s a different designer.” This was Declan’s superpower. He could slide the blade between your ribs and then gently wipe away the blood. Under the ring lights, Harper murmured, “Mr. Hayes? Are we ready?” When Declan turned to her, he gave her every ounce of his warmth. “Don’t be nervous. I’m right here.” The cameras rolled. When Harper got to the part about his “vocal confidence,” she stumbled over her words twice. On the third take, she stopped entirely and looked at Declan with wide, glossy eyes. “Mr. Hayes, I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t be asking you this.” Declan shook his head magnanimously. “There’s nothing you can’t ask.” He took the microphone from her. “I was bullied as a kid.” The studio went dead silent. He intentionally dropped his register—deep, resonant, flawless. The voice of a man who had practiced speaking in the mirror thousands of times. “But you can’t live in the past. And you can’t rely on other people to prove your worth.” On that final sentence, his eyes found mine. The studio lights were blinding, but I felt like I was drowning in ice water. After the shoot, HR posted the raw cuts in the company Slack. In the video, Harper stood next to Declan, looking up at him with a potent mix of absolute worship and tender pity. The messages flooded in: [Harper really gets him.] [Who wouldn’t melt seeing someone look at them like that?] Harper replied to the thread with a shy emoji. Declan didn’t say a word to stop the narrative. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. Declan. [The team is just joking around. Don’t overthink it.] A moment later: [Don’t be jealous tonight. I ordered a slice of that Basque cheesecake you love.] I didn’t reply. He called me directly. The moment I picked up, I heard him chuckle. “Still pouting? Sloane, you’re really making me work for it lately.” “I’m busy,” I said flatly. “With what?” “Transfer paperwork.” The line went dead quiet. Then, the tension bled out of his voice, replaced by weary annoyance. “Are you trying to threaten me with that again?” I said nothing. He sighed, low and heavy. “Sloane, maybe I pushed it a little today. But you know I hate being treated like I’m fragile. You’re the only one who still does it.” “So it’s fine when Harper brings it up, but a crime when I do?” He hesitated. “She doesn’t know the reality of it.” “But I do. And for that, I’m guilty?” His voice darkened. “Stop twisting my words.” I hung up. At 11:00 PM, he walked into the apartment carrying a small bakery box tied with a pink ribbon. He slid it across the kitchen island, his tone like a parent humoring a toddler holding her breath. “Alright, I’m sorry. How much time do you need me to dedicate to making it up to you? Is thirty minutes enough? If not, we can extend it.” I just looked at him. He laughed, reaching out to pinch my cheek. “Stop looking so miserable. You hate it when your face gets puffy.” My appetite vanished. His phone buzzed on the counter. A voice note from Harper. Her voice was thick with tears: “Declan… did I cause a fight between you and Sloane?” Declan glanced at me, then pressed the microphone button to reply. “No. That’s just how her temper is. Don’t worry about it.” Deep in my chest, I felt something very small, and very final, quietly snap. 3 At the Apex Innovations celebration dinner, Declan seated me at the secondary table. I stared at the empty chair next to him at the main table. “That is my seat.” Declan was busy pulling the chair out for Harper. “Richard Cole specifically asked to see Harper tonight.” I let out a dry laugh. “Richard Cole asked to see the person who built the growth model.” Declan looked up, his jaw tight. “Stop trying to hoard all the credit, Sloane. She contributed.” “To which part? The part where she turned your locker room trauma into a clickbait inspirational quote?” His face went instantly cold. Harper shot up from her chair. “Sloane, please don’t say that. Mr. Hayes isn’t afraid of his past anymore. Why do you insist on acting like he’s still hurting?” Declan glanced at her, his voice gentle. “Sit down, Harper.” Then he looked at me. “You sit down, too. Don’t make a scene in front of the client.” I sat at the secondary table. When the dinner began, Richard Cole predictably brought up the promo video. “That story of yours, Declan—very raw. Young people eat up that kind of underdog narrative.” Harper picked up her wine glass, her smile painfully sweet. “Mr. Hayes is incredible. He taught me that you can’t wait for someone to save you. You have to walk out of the dark yourself.” She cast a covert, triumphant glance my way. Richard Cole followed her line of sight. “Sloane, you and Declan go way back, right? You must know all the skeletons in the closet.” Before I could open my mouth, Declan laughed. “She knows too much. That’s why she’s always trying to manage me.” The table erupted in polite corporate laughter. He made it sound like an affectionate joke, but it firmly nailed me to the floor. Harper blinked innocently. “Sloane just cares about you too much, Mr. Hayes.” Declan caught the pass effortlessly. “She’s just used to it.” He looked directly at me. “Back in the day, if anything happened to me, she panicked before I even had the chance to. It’s the same now. She makes a federal case out of every minor inconvenience.” My fingers slowly tightened around the stem of my glass. “Childhood sweethearts,” Richard chuckled. “It happens.” Declan shook his head lazily. “Not sweethearts.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “She’s my lifesaver.” He said the word lifesaver so lightly. It sounded like gratitude, but it acted as a boundary line. Someone at the table whistled. “That’s deep, Declan.” Declan raised his glass with a charming smile. “Gratitude is gratitude. Business is business.” I finally met his eyes. He was looking at me with that familiar cocktail of impatience masked by a soft, coaxing gaze. Don’t make a fuss, his eyes said. I gave you your credit. Suddenly, Harper stood up to propose a toast. “Sloane, to you. Thank you for taking care of Mr. Hayes back then, and for taking care of me now.” As she reached over to clink my glass, her hand violently jerked. Red wine splashed directly across my chest. It was infinitely worse than the last time. The dark liquid bled rapidly down the front of my white silk blouse, pooling at my waist. Harper’s face drained of color, and the tears fell on cue. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to—” Declan’s first instinct was, once again, to grab a napkin for her. The same shaky hands. The same tears. The same immediate, desperate look toward Declan for salvation. I stood there dripping, feeling like I was watching a poorly rehearsed play. Richard Cole frowned. “Sloane, maybe you should go get that sorted out?” I was about to walk to the restroom when Declan tossed his car keys onto the table. “I have a spare jacket in the trunk. Go grab it.” I stared at him. “Me?” “Harper’s shaken up,” he said smoothly. “I need to stay here and calm her down.” Harper frantically waved her hands. “No, Mr. Hayes, it’s fine! You should go with Sloane—” Declan put a heavy, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She can handle it better than you can.” There it was again. She can handle it. She can swallow the humiliation in silence. I took the keys and walked down to the underground parking garage. In the backseat of his Audi, there were two shopping bags. One held a women’s black blazer in my size—a clearly impulsive guilt purchase. The other held a silk scarf. It was the exact scarf Harper had posted on her Instagram story that morning, talking about how much she wanted it. When I returned to the private dining room holding the blazer, the door was slightly ajar. Harper was sobbing inside. “Declan, should I even be here? Is Sloane going to think I’m trying to steal her place?” Declan’s voice was low, intimate. “Don’t overthink it. She’s just been with me for so long, she thinks she has a monopoly on everything in my life.” “Are you mad at me?” “No.” A two-second pause. “She’s a debt I can’t pay off. You’re a clean slate.” Standing in the hallway, I let out a quiet laugh. I wasn’t his light. I wasn’t his lifesaver. I was a debt he was desperate to write off. When we got home that night, Declan acted as if the evening had been flawless. “The jacket looks good on you. See? I take care of you.” “What about the silk scarf?” I asked. His face twitched, but the smile returned quickly. “You saw that?” “Yes.” “Harper was terrified tonight. I gave it to her to calm her nerves. You get a blazer, she gets a scarf. That’s fair, isn’t it?” I looked at him. “You think this is about being fair?” He stepped closer, reaching out to button the jacket for me. “Sloane, stop comparing yourself to her.” His fingers lingered over my heart. His voice dropped to a whisper. “She has nothing. You’ve had me for all these years. Isn’t that enough?” That sentence was crueler than any blatant favoritism. I took a step back. “Declan, I don’t want it anymore.” His hands froze in mid-air. “You don’t want what?” I didn’t answer. My phone screen lit up. It was an email from Marcus Reed, the VP in Boston: [Transfer approved. We need you to report by Friday.] I locked my screen. I don’t want you. And I don’t want the years I spent begging for crumbs while pretending I was full. 4 Thursday morning, the legal team at Apex Innovations sent over a cease-and-desist. A massive breach of NDA. The bottom-line pricing for the upcoming merger had been leaked. The entire project was frozen. When Declan slammed the legal notice onto the conference room table, no one dared to breathe. Harper sat to his right, her eyes swollen as if she’d cried all night. The moment I walked in, Declan shoved a printed screenshot across the wood toward me. “Explain this.” It was a system log showing an email sent from my account to an external, encrypted address. The attachment was the Apex pricing model. The timestamp was 11:20 PM last night. I scanned it. My first instinct was protocol. “Who touched my laptop?” Harper’s face went chalk-white. “Sloane, what are you implying?” I turned to her. “You borrowed my laptop last night, claiming you needed my software to render the promo video.” The tears spilled instantly. “I was just rendering a file! I have no idea how this happened.” Declan’s voice cracked like a whip. “Sloane, this is not the time to deflect blame.” I stared at him. “Pull the IT audit logs. Check the MAC address, the IP routing, and the export pathways. It’ll take ten minutes.” He didn’t move. The last remaining warmth in my chest went completely cold. “You’re not going to check?” Declan held my gaze, his jaw rigid. “Apex wants a head on a platter, not an internal witch hunt.” “And so?” “You’re suspended pending investigation.” Someone at the end of the table actually gasped. Harper stood up, sobbing hysterically. “Declan, no, please! Sloane probably just made a mistake in a moment of panic. She would never sabotage the firm on purpose!” I laughed. “A moment of panic?” Harper shrank back toward Declan as if my laugh had physically struck her. “I know you hate me, Sloane. You think I took your project, took your spotlight. But I swear, I never wanted to compete with you.” Declan raised a hand, stepping slightly in front of her to shield her. It was a small gesture. But it was everything I needed to see. I looked at him. “Do you honestly believe I did this?” Declan was silent for two agonizing seconds. “I want to believe you didn’t.” “You want to?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “Sloane, you’ve been incredibly erratic lately. How am I supposed to trust you?” “You can check the logs,” I repeated. He slammed his hand on the table. “Can you stop backing me into a corner?” He was trying to keep a lid on his temper, but his voice was jagged with rage. “You do this every time. You have to force me to admit you’re right in front of everyone. You have to prove that I can’t survive without you. That if it weren’t for you, I’d still be cowering in a corner.” Harper’s sobbing quieted. The room was deathly still. Declan looked like he was ripping open a rotting wound. His eyes were bloodshot. “Sloane, I haven’t forgotten what you did for me.” He gave a bitter, twisted smile. “But just because you saved my life once, doesn’t mean I have to spend the rest of it bowing my head to you.” I looked at the man I had loved for six years. So this was it. This was how he saw it. Every time I protected him, every time I stood in front of him, he logged it as a humiliation. “So you need me to take the fall for this?” I asked. He didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched until it felt like a physical weight. Finally, he said, “You’re a senior director. You can survive the hit.” You can survive the hit. When I took those punches for him outside the locker room, he had asked, “Sloane, does it hurt?” When I stayed up for three days straight fixing his botched pitch early in our careers, he had said, “I will never let you work this hard again.” When I took the blame for a compliance error he made two years ago, he had said, “I owe you my life for this.” I guess a lifetime isn’t very long at all. Just long enough to reach: You can survive the hit. I reached up and unclipped my employee badge. Clack. I dropped it onto the mahogany table. Declan’s expression faltered. “What are you doing?” I pulled out my phone and forwarded a zip file to the entire company Slack channel. My formal resignation from the HQ account. My transfer orders to the Boston branch. The complete, unedited version history of the Apex project. And a formal request to the IT department for a full system audit. “Sloane!” I looked at him. “I didn’t leak that pricing. If you audit the system right now, you might still salvage the Apex account. If you don’t, you can sit here and wait for the real mole to drag you down with them.” Harper looked like she was going to be sick. Declan, however, only had eyes for me. “You’re doing all this over Harper?” I shook my head. “It’s not about her.” He stopped breathing. “It’s about you.” I pushed the glass door open. A chair scraped violently behind me. Declan chased me out into the lobby, catching my wrist just as I reached the elevators. “Sloane, is this tantrum over yet?” I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist. “Let go.” He didn’t. Instead, he lowered his voice, slipping back into that coercive, coaxing tone. “Fine. I was wrong. I’ll announce to the whole floor that the project is yours. I’ll transfer Harper to another department. Just stop threatening to quit.” I smiled. “Do you think I’m doing this to negotiate an apology?” The elevator doors chimed and slid open. I ripped my arm out of his grasp and stepped inside. He threw his arm out to block the doors from closing. “Where are you going?” “Boston.” For the first time, his face completely shattered. It wasn’t anger anymore. It was sheer, primal panic. “Today?” I didn’t answer. His eyes darted down to the carry-on suitcase beside my feet. Then, he looked past me to the reception desk, where I had left an envelope containing the keys to our apartment. Written on the front in black marker were three words: Return to sender. It looked as though he had been shot in the chest. His phone started ringing in his pocket. Harper calling. For the first time, he ignored it. As the doors began to slide shut, his eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking. “Sloane, don’t do this. I didn’t mean what I said in there.” I looked at him through the narrowing gap. “Declan, didn’t you say looking at me reminds you of everything you hate about yourself?” The color drained from his lips. “Starting today, you never have to be reminded again.” I hit the button. The last thing I saw was Declan standing there, completely paralyzed, looking exactly like the terrified boy hiding in the bathroom all those years ago. But this time, I didn’t run back to save him. As my Uber pulled out of the corporate plaza, Declan ran out through the revolving doors. He slammed his hand against the window of the moving car, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Sloane! You can’t just abandon me!” I rolled the window down two inches. “Declan, you’re the one who decided my presence was a liability.” The window rolled up. He stood frozen on the pavement, watching the taillights disappear into the traffic. He finally realized it. I wasn’t bluffing. I really didn’t want him anymore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “539815”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Just after closing a massive business deal, my contractor added me to an exclusive VIP gym group on Snapchat. The chat was buzzing with activity. One guy, boasting a profile picture of his abs, sent a message: [My girl is so obsessed with getting pregnant. She takes me to this high-end oyster bar and buys me $500 stamina IV drips every single day just so I can go all night. She’s absolutely hooked.] Another replied, [That’s nothing. My girl bought me this emerald-encrusted Patek Philippe after winning a brutal bidding war at a private Sotheby’s auction last week.] A third chimed in, [I hate to brag, but my girl said a body like mine belongs in a mansion away from other women’s eyes. Boom. She bought me a $15 million Malibu beach house just like that.] I thought they were just a bunch of gym bros flexing online, so I ignored it. But then, they started posting photos. My blood ran cold. Those exact items—the watch, the mansion—were things my Oscar-winning wife had just taken from me under various excuses. She was using my money to pamper her little boy toys? And the worst part? There weren’t just one or two. There were eight of them. A useless, pretty-faced actress. I’m done with her.

The Snapchat group was still popping off. It seemed none of them realized they were sharing the same woman. I took a deep breath, saved our wedding photo, and dropped it right into the chat. The group chat went dead silent. But within seconds, someone tagged me: [@Ethan, isn’t that Seraphina Sterling, the Oscar winner and CEO of Astra Entertainment?!] [Holy shit! Yes! Rumor has it she’s not just an actress, but she actually owns Astra Entertainment!] [Bro, this is insane! I can’t believe I’m in the same gym group as Seraphina’s husband!] [We gotta meet up sometime, man! Can you get me an autographed poster?] The chat exploded with excitement, but the guys who had been bragging just a moment ago suddenly went quiet. A few minutes later, I received eight friend requests accompanied by aggressive messages. [Are you brain-dead from lifting too hard? That AI edit is so fake! Take it down right now!] [What is wrong with you?! Why did you crop my girl’s face onto your trash photo?!] [My girl is an Oscar winner! We’ve been secretly married for years! Posting this ruins her reputation! I can sue you for defamation!] [Don’t think you can seduce my wife just because you’re a fanboy! If you try to clout-chase using her name, I will ruin you!] [What kind of pathetic loser tries to pose as her husband? You picked the wrong day to mess with the real deal!] [Even your Instagram is filled with photos of my girl? You creep!] [Oh, you’re that annoying stalker she always complains about, aren’t you?] [A homewrecker like you can work out all you want, but you’ll never have her. She’ll dump you soon anyway!] My hands began to shake. Just a second ago, I was desperately hoping it was all a bizarre coincidence. But looking at the endless stream of toxic messages, the truth stared me in the face: Seraphina was cheating on me. The only reason these guys hadn’t exposed her in the group chat before was probably because Seraphina had strictly forbidden them from doing so. But Seraphina was nothing more than a talentless, pampered industry plant. Even her Oscar and her CEO title were bought with my family’s money! Without me, she’d still be handing out flyers on the streets of Hollywood. How did she dare do this to me? I gritted my teeth and declined every single friend request. Seeing that I ignored them, they took their anger back to the Snapchat group. [Seraphina has never once made her marriage public. You photshipped a wedding picture. What does that prove?] [Exactly. Who the fuck do you think you are, pretending to be Seraphina’s husband?] [The guy is desperate for clout. Rent-boys are everywhere these days, even sneaking into private gym groups!] [He probably wants to leech off Seraphina’s fame so he can sell his body for more money later!] [I can’t believe the gym admins let this shameless pig ruin the group. Aren’t you guys scared of getting a cease-and-desist letter from Astra Entertainment?] My body trembled with pure rage. This VIP gym actually belonged to one of my business partners. He knew my wife liked working out, so he had gifted me a five-year premium membership. Because Seraphina was a public figure, I had joined the chat first to check out the vibe before bringing her here. I never expected to find a whole collection of green hats waiting for me. I was about to reply when a notification popped up: *You have been kicked out of the group chat.* I looked up at the massive wedding photo hanging in our living room. It felt like a slap in the face. After firing off a few cold texts to Seraphina, I grabbed my coat and rushed straight to the hospital. Since she had so many men lined up to give her babies… Then the IVF embryos we had successfully created could go straight into the trash!

The moment I arrived at the hospital, I headed straight for the IVF department. Seraphina didn’t know about this yet, but it was better to cancel the whole thing before she found out. As I passed one of the consultation rooms, I heard my mother-in-law Victoria’s voice echoing from inside: “So his pre-pregnancy test results are out? He’s fertile, right? Please double-check everything for me.” I froze in my tracks. Peering through the gap in the door, I saw Victoria resting her hand on a young man’s shoulder, her face full of concern. I recognized him. It was Marcus, one of the guys from the Snapchat group. My blood instantly turned to ice. Not only did my mother-in-law know Seraphina was keeping men on the side, but she was actively bringing them to the clinic to run fertility tests? Before I could turn to leave, Victoria opened the door and walked out. Her face fell the moment she saw me. “What are you doing here instead of staying at home?” I looked past her at Marcus, who was still inside the room. “Who is he?” Victoria panicked for a split second before stepping in front of me to block my view. “Have you lost your mind? Are you stalking us? What do you want?” Then, she put on her usual dramatic, victimized face. “My poor Seraphina must have sinned in her past life to marry someone like you!” “We’ve been married for six years, and you’re still useless in bed! My poor daughter doesn’t even have a child because of you!” “I came all the way to the hospital to get some fertility meds for you out of the goodness of my heart, and you have the nerve to interrogate me? Unbelievable!” She grabbed my arm and tried to drag me toward the exit. “Do you have any idea how much our relatives laugh at us behind our backs? Go home! Stop embarrassing us in public!” I looked at her, feeling a sudden sting in my eyes. For the past six years, we hadn’t had any children. In the beginning, whenever Victoria made passive-aggressive comments about my fertility, Seraphina would defend me, even screaming at her mother to move out. But later, the medical reports showed that Seraphina had severe PCOS, making it incredibly difficult for her to conceive. To protect her feelings, I kept it a secret from everyone, including her mother. Yet, Seraphina found out. Every night, she would hold me tightly and cry: “It’s all my fault. It’s my bad body that’s keeping us from having a baby.” “But don’t worry, I’ll do the IVF treatments. Once I’m pregnant, I’ll retire from acting and focus on our family.” Watching her go through the painful IVF process broke my heart. But now, I realized she wasn’t just doing IVF with me. I snapped out of my thoughts and violently shook her hand off. “If you find me so embarrassing, tell Seraphina to sign the divorce papers!” She gasped. I didn’t want to waste another second arguing with her, so I turned to find the doctor to destroy my embryos. Suddenly, Marcus rushed out of the room and grabbed me by the collar. “I know you! You’re the creep who posted that fake photo in our Snapchat group!” “Unbelievable! You actually dare to show your face here!” Seeing this, Victoria quickly grabbed Marcus’s arm. “Marcus, sweetie, the doctor said you need to conserve your energy! Don’t waste your stamina on this loser! Save it for tonight…” But Marcus refused to let go, his grip tightening on my shirt. “If he hadn’t posted those photos of my girl, I wouldn’t have gotten so distracted at the gym that I almost dropped a barbell on my groin!” Hearing this, Victoria didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. “So it was you! You’re sterile, so you want to make other men sterile too? How can you be so evil!” “If my daughter can’t have a baby because of this, I will destroy you!” The sudden slap left my head spinning. But I quickly stood tall, wound back, and slapped her right back. Victoria stumbled, completely shocked. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “How dare you! You worthless piece of trash, you actually struck me!” As she reached out to claw at my face, I slapped her again, harder this time. “Why wouldn’t I?!” “You’re actively helping your daughter cheat and breed bastards with random men. I should have slapped you years ago!” “Cheat? Bastards?” Marcus let go of my collar and shoved me back. “What the hell are you talking about!” I pulled out my phone and dialed Seraphina’s number, putting it on speaker for everyone to hear. “Call Seraphina here right now, and you’ll find out exactly what I mean!” The call rang out. I tried three times, but nobody picked up. Victoria scoffed, her face twisted in mockery. “My daughter is the CEO of Astra Entertainment. She doesn’t have time for a nobody like you.” Marcus pulled her arm, looking confused. “Mom, who is this guy anyway?”

Victoria gave me a disdainful side-eye. “Just some toy my daughter keeps around for fun.” “Marcus, honey, just focus on marrying into our family. Take good care of my daughter, make sure she gets pregnant with a boy, and she’ll treat you like royalty.” Seeing that I remained silent, she stepped closer to me, whispering viciously, “Ethan, did you really think my daughter is still the same submissive girl from six years ago?” “She’s worth over a hundred million dollars now. You’re way out of her league!” “She only keeps you around out of pity!” By now, a crowd of bystanders had gathered around us, whispering. “What’s going on? Did she say her daughter is the CEO of Astra Entertainment?” “Is she talking about Seraphina Sterling?” The crowd grew excited, and several people pulled out their phones to start live-streaming on TikTok. “Wait, is this Seraphina’s secret husband? And is the other guy her side piece?” “Wow, the Oscar winner is wild!” Looking at the camera lenses pointed at us, I felt like laughing. Good. Now the other seven lovers—and my parents—would see this. Marcus finally processed what Victoria was saying. His face contorted with rage, and he grabbed my hair, slamming my head against the hospital wall. “I knew it! You’re just a delusional stalker!” “Harassing my girl for so long… have you no shame?!” The violent impact made my head spin. My left leg, which had been operated on after an accident a few weeks ago, flared with excruciating pain. I collapsed against the wall, clutching my leg. Instead of stopping him, Victoria cheered him on. “He always acts so weak and pathetic in front of Seraphina just to turn her against me.” “It’s about time you got a lesson! Let’s see if you dare to creep around her again!” I squeezed my throbbing leg, crying out to a nurse passing by: “My leg… it hurts. I think the metal plate inside just cracked…” The nurse looked alarmed and tried to rush over, but Victoria blocked her path. “Cracked?! He’s faking it!” “He can’t even get my daughter pregnant. Who cares if his leg is broken? He’s useless anyway!” When the nurse tried to bypass her, Marcus stepped in, looking menacing. “Do you know who built the new wing of this hospital? My girl donated millions for it!” “If you help him, I’ll make sure you’re fired by tonight!” The nurse looked at me sympathetically, but ultimately took a step back, too afraid to intervene. Marcus crossed his arms, looking smug. “In case you didn’t know, the wing my girl donated is called The Milton Wing!” “It’s named after me! Milton is my middle name!” “And you dare to claim you’re her husband? You’re asking for death!” Is that so? I endured the burning pain in my leg and let out a cold laugh. I was the one who donated that wing. It was named “Milton” because it was my mother’s maiden name. What did it have to do with him? I couldn’t believe Seraphina would even use my charitable donations to flatter her gym toy! But the pain in my leg was becoming unbearable. Cold sweat poured down my face, and I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. Victoria kicked my injured leg a couple of times, sneering. “Pathetic trash. You came to the hospital to hurt my sweet son-in-law, didn’t you?” “Lucky I caught you, or else I would have made sure you left in a body bag!” The bystanders started murmuring, pointing at me. “Trying to harm the real husband? What a toxic stalker.” “No wonder Seraphina kept her marriage a secret. She was probably trying to protect her real husband from this psycho.” “Well, the stalker’s face is all over the internet now. His life is ruined.” Right then, my phone buzzed. It was Seraphina. Her voice was panicked and breathless through the speaker: “Ethan, wait for me. I’m almost there!” She must have seen the live stream. Marcus saw the caller ID, snatched the phone from my hand, and smashed it onto the tile floor. “You still dare to call my girl!” “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!” He grabbed my hair and began dragging me toward the main lobby. “Let’s show everyone what a disgusting homewrecker looks like!” I stumbled, losing my balance, and was dragged across the cold floor. A thick trail of blood smeared behind me. Finally, a bystander realized something was wrong and yelled, “Stop! His leg is actually bleeding! You guys are going to kill him!” Marcus glanced back but didn’t let go. “So what if his leg is broken? He’s a home-wrecking rat. He deserves to die!” Victoria hesitated, probably realizing I wasn’t faking it. As Marcus dragged me across the floor, the loss of blood made me dizzy, and I was on the verge of passing out. Just then, a frantic scream echoed through the lobby: “Stop! Stop! Don’t touch my husband!” It was Seraphina. Behind her, looking equally terrified, were my parents.

The moment Marcus saw Seraphina, he immediately let go of my hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist, looking incredibly aggrieved. “Babe, you’re finally here!” “If you had come any later, this psycho stalker would have ruined my life!” The crowd went wild, flashing their cameras. “Oh my God, it really is Seraphina Sterling!” “Wow, she’s even prettier in person!” “Who cares if she’s pretty? She’s a cheater!” Hearing the whispers, Seraphina desperately waved her hands, signaling her security guards to push the crowd back. She turned to Marcus, her voice hushed but frantic: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” My parents pushed past her. My mother quickly took off her expensive coat and wrapped it around my bleeding leg, screaming at the front desk: “Are you people blind?! We need a doctor here right now!” Just then, two more fit men pushed through the crowd. If I remembered correctly, they were Jax and Tyler, two of her other lovers. They went berserk the moment they saw Marcus hugging Seraphina. Jax threw a punch, sending Marcus stumbling back. “You’re her husband?!” “Are you insane? How dare you claim her!” Tyler joined in, shoving Marcus. “Exactly! I’m her husband!” Victoria realized things were spinning out of control. She screamed at the bystanders to turn off their live streams. Then she pulled Jax and Tyler back, whispering urgently, “Calm down, boys! You worked so hard at the gym to build those bodies for my daughter!” “Save your energy for tonight! Don’t disappoint me!” The crowd erupted in shock. “Who are those two? What does she mean by that?!” “Is Seraphina running a whole harem?!” My parents’ faces were incredibly dark. Seraphina was so terrified she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. She reached out, trying to touch my shoulder. “Ethan, let the doctors look at your leg first. We can talk about the rest later.” Before I could push her hand away, her lovers shoved each other to get to her side. “Seraphina, babe! I know you have a lot of pressure as an actress. I can forgive you for having fun on the side!” “As long as I’m the one you truly love!” “Get lost! She loves me! I’m her husband!” Then, several more muscular men pushed their way into the lobby. They immediately started shoving each other. “Get your hands off my wife, you shameless home-wrecking bastards!” Seraphina’s face turned paper-white. She frantically waved her hands at me. “Ethan, it’s not what it looks like. It’s all a misunderstanding.” Marcus, who had been pushed to the edge of the group, cried out to Victoria, “Mom, what is going on?!” Victoria held her head high, her voice loud and stubborn. “My daughter is a successful, talented woman! What’s wrong with her wanting to breed the most perfect child?!” “As long as you boys can pass down your perfect physical genes to her baby, you are all my sons-in-law!” “Besides, she isn’t pregnant yet. Once the baby is born, we’ll do a DNA test to see who the real father is!” The entire lobby went dead silent. Then, an even louder roar of laughter and disgust erupted. “Holy shit, she really thinks she’s a queen choosing her concubines!” “Some Oscar winner she is, having her mom manage her harem!” “Does she really think her genes are that special? This is disgusting!” The flawless, elegant public image Seraphina had spent years building shattered into pieces in a single second. She quickly grabbed her assistant, desperately trying to bribe the crowd: “Delete the videos! I’ll pay you! Delete them!” “Otherwise, my legal team will sue every single one of you for invasion of privacy!” The hospital security finally intervened, pushing the crowd out of the lobby. The lovers exchanged looks, finally understanding Victoria’s words. They all turned their eyes to me, puffing out their chests. “My sperm is definitely the most elite! I’m the best choice!” “This loser is the root of all our problems. If he hadn’t posted those photos, my girl wouldn’t be in this scandal!” “Exactly! Who cares if she has other men?!” “As long as it doesn’t ruin her career, I don’t mind sharing!” Looking at them, I felt nothing but pity. They were actually willing to share a worthless, broken woman. My father glared at Seraphina with absolute disgust. The coldness in his eyes made Seraphina drop to her knees instantly. “Mr. Vance, I swear I don’t even know these men!”

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The house we had spent six months renovating rejected me at every turn. At 5’3″, I stood in front of the master bathroom vanity. The water from the faucet splashed directly onto my collarbone. The hanging rod in the walk-in closet was so high that I could barely touch the edge of it, even when I jumped with all my might. Yet, when 5’9″ Chloe Higgins pushed the door open and walked in, she looked like she had just returned to her own home. She casually hung her purse on the top hook in the hallway and leaned comfortably against the kitchen island. “This counter height is perfect. No bending over to prep veggies or wash fruit.” Ethan Carter’s eyes flashed with pride, and he smiled in agreement. “Of course. I had the contractor use your exact measurements during the design phase.” Seeing my face turn pale instantly, Ethan offered a half-hearted explanation. “The designer was rushing me, and you were working overtime at the office. So, I just used Chloe’s measurements.” “If you think it’s too high, you can always use a step stool.” It turned out that the sanctuary I had emptied my savings to build was actually a love nest custom-made for someone else. I let out a bitter laugh. If that was the case, I was going to tear this house apart. And I didn’t want this fiancé anymore, either.

The faucet was still running. I stretched on my tiptoes to reach the handle. My sleeve brushed against the wet counter, and cold water poured down my wrist. It washed away the very last shred of hope in my heart. Ethan stood at the doorway, his voice dripping with impatience. “It’s only a difference of a few inches. Do you have to throw a tantrum over this?” “Six inches.” I shut off the water. When my heels finally touched the floor, my calves were shaking from the strain. “On the blueprint, the vanity was supposed to be 31 inches. Now it’s 37 inches. The closet, the kitchen cabinets—everything has been raised.” Ethan looked up. “You actually measured all of that?” “This is where I am supposed to live.” I had spent ten sleepless nights tweaking that initial design draft inch by inch. For the sake of that 31-inch counter, I had visited seven different renovation companies. But during the late stages of construction, I had to work endless overtime to make up for the renovation costs, so I left the on-site supervision to Ethan. He only sent partial photos in our WhatsApp group chat. It wasn’t until today that I realized all the measurements I had circled in red ink had been changed. “Can’t I just grab things for you in the future?” He said it so naturally that, for a split second, I was reminded of three years ago. Back then, the counters in our old apartment were too high. Ethan had stayed up all night with his tools, lowering every single cabinet shelf and even sawing down the legs of my desk. He had promised me that in our future home, everything would be tailored to my size. He would never make me stand on my tiptoes again. But now, he presented me with a house where I needed a step stool just to wash my hands or hang a coat. And he told me he could “occasionally” help. “Ethan, I don’t want to have to ask for help every time I need to reach something in my own home.” “It’s just a couple of step stools. How much could that possibly cost?” He dodged the point entirely. Outside, the sky had turned completely dark. The motion-sensor lights in the living room didn’t turn on automatically. I walked to the center of the room and spoke to the smart speaker. “Turn on the living room lights.” “Voice unrecognized. Please try again.” I repeated it. Still failed. Chloe gave a soft cough. “Turn on the living room lights.” Instantly, the recessed lights throughout the house lit up tier by tier, and even the smart curtains slid open automatically on both sides. The twilight from outside spilled in. Chloe stood right in the center of the light, looking like the true owner of this home. “Welcome home, Chloe.” When the robotic female voice echoed through the room, silence fell over us. I looked at Ethan. He avoided my eyes. Chloe blinked her watery eyes, looking at me with total innocence. “Aria, please don’t overthink this. Ethan asked me to help him test the smart system two days ago, and he must have forgotten to delete my profile…” “Ethan, go ahead and delete my access right now, so she doesn’t get upset again.” Ethan reached out to grab my hand. “Everyone is here today. Let’s not ruin the mood over such a small thing. I’ll record your voice and fingerprints tonight.” I pulled my hand away from his touch. “Redo the furniture. Clear her access from the system, and then record mine.” His brows furrowed immediately. “Can you stop making a scene? The custom woodwork is already finished. Ripping it out and redoing it will cost at least twenty thousand dollars!” “But I paid for more than half of the renovation costs!” “You put in the money, but Chloe and I put in the time. We can’t just tear down the whole house just because you find it slightly inconvenient.” The man in front of me suddenly felt so foreign that I felt a chill run down my spine in the middle of summer. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. A few friends who came to tour the new house walked in. “Wow, this place looks so spacious! Those aesthetic photos Chloe posted on Instagram made this place look so high-end.” “Look at these raised cabinets. Only tall people can pull off this kind of design.” When they noticed my wet shirt, someone snickered. “Oh, if you can’t reach the faucet, don’t force it. I’ll buy you a toddler step stool tomorrow!” Ethan pulled me aside and lowered his voice. “They didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t make things hard for Chloe. She ran so many errands to help us with this place.” Every single word out of his mouth was about defending his female best friend. He had never once considered me. “Ethan! How do I open these motorized blinds? Come teach me!” “Coming!” Ethan turned and walked away without hesitation. I picked up the house keys from the console table, hesitating. The robotic female voice echoed again. “Welcome home, Chloe.” I pushed the door open and walked out, leaving behind the home that had been customized for someone else.

After returning to my rented apartment, I came down with a low fever. Ethan didn’t call me until the next morning. I picked up the phone, my voice incredibly raspy. He didn’t even notice. His tone was demanding. “Everything was fine during the final walkthrough yesterday. Why did you suddenly storm off?” “My clothes got wet, and I got a fever.” There was a brief silence on the other end. Ethan softened his tone slightly. “I’ve already had them add your voice profile. Let’s leave the furniture alone for now. We can modify the inconvenient parts together after we get married and live there for a while.” This was the first time he had made a concession. I looked at the “how to call off a wedding” search page on my phone. My finger hesitated, and I didn’t press enter. Three years of history, and the wedding invitations had already been sent out. I decided to give him one last chance to fix this. That afternoon, I took some fever medicine and drove to the bridal shop. Chloe was there too. She was wearing a long dress, sitting on the sofa and flipping through a catalog. Seeing me enter, she stood up immediately. “Aria, don’t get the wrong idea. Ethan doesn’t know anything about wedding dresses, so he asked me to come along and give some input.” I ignored her and looked straight at Ethan. He walked over and touched my forehead, frowning. “Why are you so hot?” The familiar warmth made my nose sting. Back in college, when I had a high fever, he had stayed by my bedside all night, changing the cold towel on my forehead every thirty minutes. But in the next second, Ethan withdrew his hand. “Why are you running around with a fever? Let’s get the fitting over with quickly so you can go home and rest. Don’t delay the schedule.” It wasn’t that he had never loved me. It was just that his patience was no longer reserved for me. The consultant wheeled out the reserved wedding dress. It had a massive train and was completely covered in hand-stitched crystals. This was not the minimalist gown I had originally chosen. I turned to the consultant. “I want to try on the dress I originally picked.” The consultant looked troubled. “Mr. Carter came in with Ms. Higgins later and changed the order.” “This is the sample dress Ms. Higgins tried on. Mr. Carter requested us to lock in the order using her measurements and paid the full amount.” “If we switch back to your original choice now, we would have to reschedule the delivery date.” Chloe walked over, her fingertips brushing against the hem of the dress. “This dress looks amazing when it’s on. I tried on a similar style at a brand event before.” “Aria, you’re petite. We can just hem it shorter, and it’ll work.” I looked up at Ethan. “You promised that I could choose my own wedding dress.” Ethan avoided my gaze, looking slightly annoyed. “Just try this one first. If it really doesn’t fit, we’ll talk.” Inside the fitting room. The consultant zipped me up and tightened the waist, but there was still a massive gap at the back. As I took a step forward, the excess fabric pooled heavily at my feet. The consultant brought out a dozen safety pins. “The size difference is quite large. If we force alterations, it will ruin the silhouette of the waistline. Mr. Carter gave us measurements for a 5’9″ frame.” Ethan explained from outside the curtain. “Chloe said this style looks the best, so I had the shop reserve it in her size first. You can just get it altered. Don’t be so dramatic.” I stared at myself in the mirror. The shoulders were sagging, and the waist was barely held together by a row of pins. I looked like a child who had snuck into someone else’s closet. I yanked the curtain open. Outside, Chloe was picking up the sample wedding ring from the jewelry box. She smoothly slipped it onto her ring finger. “Aria, I’m just checking to see if the diamond setting is secure for you.” The ring sat perfectly at the base of her finger. The size was flawless. She took it off and handed it to me with a smile. I took it and slid it onto my ring finger. The band slipped right past my knuckle and fell straight to the floor, landing with a soft thud on the heavy train of the dress. I didn’t bend down to pick it up. I stared directly at Ethan. “Even my wedding ring was ordered in her size?” Ethan’s face stiffened for a second. “She helped me pick out the style, and the jeweler just happened to reserve the sample ring in the size she tried on.” “The final ring can still be resized.” I found it laughable. “The dress, the ring, the house—everything can just be ‘resized’ or ‘modified’ for me to use, right?” “Do you have to look at it that way?” He bent down to pick up the ring, his voice turning completely cold. “Reordering a custom dress will take another two months. What about the venue booking? What about our families and friends?” “You can’t just throw all of our plans out the window over a few inches.” I gripped the oversized satin of the dress. “I don’t want this dress.” Ethan tossed the ring back into its box. He didn’t look at me again. “Aria, when did you become so high-maintenance?” I looked at the mirror, staring at the sharp safety pins pinned along my back. They were forcing something that didn’t belong to me onto my body. And they pierced right through my last shred of self-delusion. I turned back into the dressing room. Behind me, Ethan turned to the consultant and told her to start taking down the alteration measurements. He didn’t even bother to ask. If I still wanted to wear it at all.

I was about to change out of the wedding dress when Chloe’s high heel stepped firmly onto my train. I stumbled forward, my elbow slamming hard against the sharp edge of the mirror frame. Before the sharp pain could even register. Ethan reached out almost instantly. But the person he caught was Chloe. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Chloe leaned against his arm, patting her chest. “Aria lost her balance. It scared me to death.” Ethan turned to look at me, his brows knit tight. “Be more careful when you’re changing. Stop making such a scene.” My elbow was already swelling and turning red. The shop assistant brought over an ice pack. Ethan looked at it and seemed about to take it, but Chloe let out a soft gasp. Her hand had a tiny scratch on it from a sequin on the wedding dress. Ethan immediately bent down to inspect her hand. I took the ice pack myself and pressed it against my elbow. In the end, the wedding dress was not reordered. Under the guise of “holding the date,” Ethan had the shop pause the alterations, saying he would give me three days to think about it. He acted as though he was giving me the ultimate freedom of choice. When we walked out of the bridal shop, I opened the passenger door of his car. The seat was pushed all the way back, and the backrest was almost completely reclined. When I sat down, my feet couldn’t even reach the floor mat, and the seatbelt pressed tightly against my neck. I reached for the seat adjustment button. The dashboard screen popped up with a notification. “Overwrite Chloe’s Profile?” I stared at the words. Ethan got into the driver’s seat. Glancing at the screen, he said casually, “Don’t overwrite it. Chloe has long legs. It’s a pain to adjust it back every time.” I said quietly, “Ethan, even the passenger seat of our future car is customized for her now. Do you actually remember who you are getting married to?” He looked at me with cold eyes. “It’s just a seat memory profile. Is it really necessary to get this worked up over something so petty? Is this fun for you?” He probably realized his tone was too harsh, so he reached over to loosen my seatbelt. “I’ll save your profile under Slot 2. You can just switch to it when you get in.” I watched him lean close. This was the posture I was most familiar with when he first bought this car. Back then, he would adjust the mirrors for me, push the seat forward inch by inch, laugh at my short legs, and tell me that the passenger seat would always be reserved for me alone. Chloe stood outside the car door, rubbing her knee. “Maybe I should just sit in the back. It’s a bit cramped, but I can manage.” Ethan sat up straight. “Get in the front. You have long legs, the back seat will be uncomfortable for you.” Then he looked at me. “Aria, go sit in the back. It’s only a short drive anyway.” I didn’t move. “Who exactly is your fiancée?” Ethan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What does a car seat have to do with your status? She’s not feeling well today. Can’t you just let her have it for once?” Chloe lowered her head and reached for the door handle, her voice muffled. “Forget it, I’ll just call an Uber. I don’t want to cause trouble between you two.” Though she said she was leaving, her hand never let go of the door handle. Ethan got out of the car immediately and opened the passenger door for her. “Stop it. Just get in.” This was his choice. I unbuckled my seatbelt, got out of the car, and climbed into the back seat. Chloe got into the passenger seat, exactly as she wanted. The seat slid back automatically, reclining to the perfect angle for her. Her phone connected to the car’s Bluetooth, and her favorite playlist started playing through the speakers. I leaned back against the rear seat. The ice in the pack was starting to melt, and cold water dripped slowly down my wrist.

My phone buzzed. Chloe had just posted a new Snapchat Story. In the photo, she was sitting in the passenger seat with her long legs stretched out. The caption read: “When you are cherished, even the car seat remembers your shape.” Ethan glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Let’s get dinner tonight. My treat, to make it up to you.” “Where?” He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and quickly named a place. It was the trendy sushi restaurant that Chloe loved. I put my phone back into my bag. “You two go ahead.” When the car stopped at a red light near the curb, I pushed the door open and stepped out. As I bent down to grab my bag, a slip of paper fell out from the crease of the back seat. I picked it up and held it in my hand. Only after I closed the car door did I see what it was. It was a ticket for a couples’ pottery class, with a photo attached to it. The date was the 17th of last month. That day, Ethan had told me he was stuck at the construction site doing inspections until 11 PM. He had missed my birthday dinner. I had sat alone at the restaurant waiting for him for two hours. When he finally showed up, he was covered in dust. I had felt so bad for him working so hard that I immediately served him a slice of cake. But in the photo, Ethan and Chloe were sitting side-by-side in front of a pottery wheel. Their hands, covered in wet clay, were clasped together, shaping a cup. The time stamp in the corner of the photo read 7:40 PM. Right when my birthday candles were burning halfway down. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Ethan. “I saved a seat for you at the restaurant. Stop acting like a child. Come over so we can finalize the wedding dress payment.” I stared at the message for a long time. Then, I opened our family group chat. They were currently discussing the wedding favors. Ethan’s mother had sent over a few custom design options. She hadn’t tagged me. Instead, she tagged Chloe. “Chloe, help me look at these. Which one looks better? I also added that cedarwood scent you love.” Chloe replied quickly. “The second pink one is beautiful! Ethan said it looked very elegant too.” No one remembered that I was severely allergic to cedarwood. And pink was my absolute least favorite color. I didn’t reply in the group chat. I closed the chat window and sent a single text to Ethan. “I won’t pay the remaining balance. The wedding is cancelled.” My phone rang immediately. “Aria, what are you throwing a fit about now?” In the background, I could hear Chloe calling the server to order more sweet shrimp. I sent him the photo of the pottery class. The phone went dead silent for a few seconds. When Ethan spoke again, his voice was much quieter. “The pottery studio was right next to the home improvement market. We were bored waiting for the material samples, so we just went in for a bit.” “Was my birthday also just a boring day to you?” “Didn’t I come back to spend the rest of the night with you anyway?” “Aria, stop. We can change the furniture. Cancelling the wedding will make both of our families look ridiculous.” He was finally willing to change the furniture. But the only thing he cared about was still his own reputation. “Ethan, I’m giving you one last choice.” “Leave Chloe right now. Come find me.” “And explain everything face-to-face to both of our parents.” Through the phone, I heard Chloe letting out a soft, painful cough. Ethan quickly said, “Chloe’s stomach is acting up tonight. I can’t leave her here alone. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I closed my eyes and hung up the phone. Then, I officially submitted the cancellation request for our wedding venue.

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To give my husband, Julian, a surprise for his birthday, I went to the elementary school to pick up our son, Leo, early. But when I got there, Leo was nowhere to be found. Panic setting in, I searched everywhere. Finally, I spotted Julian’s black SUV parked in the dark corner of the underground garage.As I walked over, confused, I froze. A familiar red jacket was pinned flat under the heavy front tire. My seven-year-old son was crushed beneath the wheel, his mouth coughing up thick, crimson blood. “Mommy…” Leo gasped, his voice trembling with agonizing pain. “I saw Daddy. But Daddy didn’t see me. He reversed the car and hit me. Mommy, it hurts so bad…” I went completely wild, throwing myself against the tinted car window, banging with all my strength. But the only response I got was the rhythmic, violent rocking of the SUV. My hands shook as I unlocked my phone and connected to our car’s dashcam app. The live feed loaded instantly. Inside, on the leather passenger seat, was my husband. And on top of him was Vivian, his secretary. Forgetting my anger, my only thought was saving my boy. I dialed Julian’s number frantically, over and over. Then, a text message popped up on my screen from Julian. [Babe, don’t worry about throwing me a birthday party tonight. You and Leo are already the greatest gifts of my life.] My heart turned to ice. On the pavement beside me, the little hand that had been gripping my coat slowly lost its strength and fell limp. Leo’s soft whimpers faded into nothing. At that exact moment, Julian’s voice echoed through the dashcam speakers, breathless and laughing. “God, Vivian, this is so much more thrilling! You are the best birthday gift I’ve ever received in my life!”

I kept pounding on the window like a lunatic until the people inside finally noticed the commotion. On the phone screen, through the dashcam feed, Vivian glanced toward my direction and smirked. Without a second thought, she slammed her foot on the gas. The heavy SUV rolled forward, running directly over Leo’s tiny body once more. My son’s face froze in a final spasm of agony as a fresh torrent of blood spilled from his lips. “No!” The scream ripped from my throat. The pain in my chest was so sharp I couldn’t breathe. Tears blinded my eyes. I never could have imagined that Julian, in his pursuit of a cheap thrill, would make our son a casualty of his sick game. I screamed for an ambulance and held my cold, lifeless boy all the way to the emergency room. Because of his critical state, Leo was rushed straight into the trauma bay. As I stood paralyzed in the sterile hospital corridor, I saw Julian and Vivian walking toward the waiting room. “Julian, it’s all my fault,” Vivian sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. “I accidentally hit someone. My life is over! My mom is still in the ICU waiting for my support…” Before she could even finish, she dissolved into hysterical tears. Julian’s brow furrowed, but his hands were incredibly gentle as he stroked her hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I won’t let you go to prison,” he murmured, his voice laced with terrifying indifference. “The kid was probably some street urchin anyway. He won’t survive. At worst, we’ll just write his family a massive check to shut them up.” To put Vivian at ease, he turned around and grabbed a passing nurse by the scrub top. “I am the chief trustee of this hospital’s donor board,” Julian declared, his tone casual, as if he were ordering a coffee. “A kid who got run over was just brought in. I order you to stop all resuscitation efforts on him immediately. Do it now, or I will pull my family’s multi-million dollar funding from this entire pediatric wing!” The words flowed from his mouth so easily. To him, the child under his tires wasn’t a living, breathing human being. My poor Leo. Just an hour ago, he had been bubbling with excitement, picking out a teddy bear as a birthday present for his dad. And now, the father he adored had not only stolen his life, but was actively acting as the executioner’s accomplice. Julian’s eyes drifted sideways, and our gazes locked. “Claire? What are you doing here?” A flash of genuine shock crossed his face, and he immediately rushed to my side. He wrapped his arms around me just like he always did, his fingers gently brushing my forehead. “Do you have another migraine, babe? Did you see the text I sent you? Don’t overwork yourself. It breaks my heart to see you tired.” In the past, I would have melted into his warm embrace. But now, looking at his handsome face only made me want to vomit. I violently shoved him away and pointed a finger directly at Vivian. “If I told you that the child she ran over was your own son, Julian, would you still protect her?” Julian’s face instantly darkened, and he snatched his hand back. “That’s enough, Claire. Are you seriously cursing our own son now? Leo isn’t even out of school yet!” He scoffed, rubbing his temples in annoyance. “If you want to throw a tantrum, do it at home. Some of us actually have real work to do. Stop using these pathetic lies to get my attention, okay? It’s exhausting!” “I only help Vivian because she reminds me of how hard I had to work when I was young. It doesn’t mean I have feelings for her!” Julian gave me a frustrated push. But as his hand brushed against my dress, his fingers caught on the damp, sticky red patches. “Wait… what is this? Is this blood?” My soul felt dead. “Wake up, Julian! That is your son’s blood!” Julian froze, staring at his red-stained fingers. Then, his eyes widened. “Did you… did you have a miscarriage?”

Julian reached out, his face filled with sudden, intense pain, trying to touch my cheek. I snapped my head back, dodging his hand. “Claire, why must you be so stubborn?” he sighed, his voice thick with guilt. “You had a miscarriage, and you didn’t even tell me? Even if it’s my birthday, you should have called…” In that instant, I understood everything. While dragging Leo out from under the car, I had accidentally smeared his blood onto my dress. Because of where the stains were, Julian’s arrogant mind immediately leaped to a miscarriage. How pathetic. Julian always assumed the entire universe revolved around him. Even when I was covered in our son’s lifeblood, his narcissism allowed him to believe it was just a dramatic stunt to gain his affection. Vivian, sensing the shift in the air, quickly wrapped her arms around Julian’s bicep. “Julian, I should have never agreed to drive your car for your birthday wish,” she whimpered, squeezing out fake tears. “Now Claire hates me. She’s even accusing me of killing Leo… Oh God, I can’t live with this accusation! I’d rather die!” My expression hardened into ice. “My son is still in there fighting for his life. Save your cheap tears for your own funeral.” Julian looked between me and Vivian, his guilt quickly hardening into cold anger. “Claire, have I spoiled you too much?” he growled. “First you attack Vivian with these wild accusations, and now you’re literally wishing death on her? You’re the one who started this sick lie about our son just because you’re jealous!” “Enough of this drama. Go home. I’ll explain everything to you tonight. But right now, you need to apologize to Vivian!” I didn’t move an inch. My only reason for living was lying inside that operating room, hanging by a thread. I had nothing left to lose. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Julian’s eyes turned dangerously cold. “If you don’t apologize right now, I will freeze every single one of your credit cards. Let’s see how long you can keep up this little act without a dime!” “No!” A jolt of panic shot through me. If he froze my cards, I would have no money. I wouldn’t be able to pay for Leo’s emergency surgeries. Vivian, who had been hiding her face in fake tears, let out a tiny, triumphant smirk. Thinking of my boy’s pale, bloodied face, I swallowed my pride. My fingers gripped the hem of my dress. Ignoring the pain in my feet from my high heels, I let my knees slam heavily onto the cold hospital floor. Thud. “I’m sorry. It was my fault,” I whispered, staring at the floor. “Please… don’t let Julian freeze my cards. I beg you…” I bit my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood burst in my mouth, but I barely felt it. Vivian gasped with fake shock and rushed forward to help me up. But as she leaned down, she pressed her lips close to my ear, her voice a poisonous whisper. “Don’t blame me, Claire. I just love Julian too much. But his eyes are always on you. If you and Leo don’t disappear, I’ll never get to be the real Mrs. Miller.” Before I could react, Vivian grabbed my shoulder and threw herself backward, landing perfectly into Julian’s waiting arms. “Claire, I know you still don’t trust me, but why did you have to push me?!” she cried, clutching her stomach. “I’m… I’m pregnant…” Before she could finish the word “pregnant,” Julian slapped his hand over her mouth. I saw the flash of warning in his eyes, but his voice remained incredibly soothing as he comforted her. “Vivian, she was out of line today. I will make sure you are taken care of.” Terrified by his look, Vivian quickly swallowed the rest of her words and nodded. Julian turned his gaze back to me. It was colder than the winter wind. “As for you—forget about your cards. You refuse to apologize, and now you’re physically attacking people? Go home and think about what you’ve done. Don’t come back until you’re ready to act like a civilized wife!” With his arm wrapped tightly around Vivian’s shoulders, Julian turned and walked away. My mind flashed back to college. He once sprinted across an entire basketball court just to shield me from a stray ball. But today, when I was the one shattered on the floor, he chose her. Julian stopped for a fraction of a second before reaching the exit. “I’ll call Maria and tell her to make you some restorative herbal soup,” he said, not turning around. “A miscarriage is a serious matter. Next time, remember to call your husband.”

I didn’t have time to cry. I scrambled to my feet and pulled out my phone, frantically scrolling through my contacts. But during our eight years of marriage, Julian’s extreme jealousy and control had isolated me from everyone. Every single friend had been driven away. Every message I sent out into the world bounced back unanswered. The double doors of the OR swung open. A nurse pushed a small, white-sheeted gurney out. I threw myself toward it. “Please! Just give me a little more time! I will get the money for his medical bills, I swear! Please, keep treating him!” The nurse looked at me, her eyes filled with pity and sorrow. “Mrs. Miller, our hands are tied. The administration gave the order. We need the Miller Foundation’s funding to keep this hospital running.” I slid down the side of the gurney, collapsing onto the floor. The pain in my chest was so intense that I literally ground my teeth until they cracked. Just this morning, we were a happy family. Leo had been tugging at his dad’s sleeve, reluctant to let him go to work. “Daddy, I’m going to get you a birthday present you’ll never, ever forget!” Julian had scooped him up in one arm while pulling me close with the other, pressing a sweet kiss to my forehead. “I don’t need any presents, buddy. I just want you to grow up healthy and strong so we can protect Mommy together…” Now, those words felt like a cruel joke. My dying son had been stripped of his medical care by his own father. Even in his deep coma, his tiny fingers were still weakly clutching the toy teddy bear he had bought for Julian. The man who had promised to protect me had become the weapon that destroyed our lives. “Mommy…” A tiny, frail hand brushed against mine. I grabbed Leo’s ice-cold fingers, tears streaming down my face. “Leo, Mommy’s here. Don’t be scared. The doctors are going to save you, okay? Just hold on a little longer. Don’t close your eyes, sweetie…” Leo stared at me, his eyes wide and glassy, as if trying to memorize my face. Every time he tried to breathe, dark blood spilled from his lips. “Mommy…” he whispered, struggling through the pain. “I’m glad I got to be your son first. Next time, it’ll be my turn to protect you…” “I love you so much. And I love Daddy too. Don’t be mad at Daddy for hitting me. I know… I know he didn’t mean to…” “Mommy, I’m sorry. I love you…” My tears fell onto Leo’s face, washing away the dried blood on his cheeks. My poor, sweet boy. Even as he died because of his father’s neglect, his last words were begging me not to hate Julian. The heart monitor flatlined into a continuous, piercing beep. But blood was still seeping from his mouth. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do anything. I pulled his little body into my arms, hugging him as tight as I could, but he felt so light. It was as if he were turning into air, slipping away from me forever. I carried him out of the hospital myself. I buckled him into his car seat, just like I did every day. “Leo, let’s go home. Mommy’s taking you home…” But the moment I turned the ignition, a deafening blast shattered the windows. Within seconds, a wall of roaring fire engulfed the entire car.

It had to be Vivian. To ensure our safety, I had my car serviced every single week. There was no way it could have spontaneously exploded. And only Vivian and Julian knew my license plate and parking spot. A wave of absolute despair washed over me as the heat singed my skin. My mind went blank. Maybe dying like this wasn’t so bad. I could catch up to Leo. In our next life, I could be his mother again. I closed my eyes and waited for the fire to take me. But then, in the glowing embers, I saw my son’s face. “Mommy… help me get justice…” Leo kept his promise. Even as a spirit, he used his last bit of strength to wake me up. Coughing violently, I grabbed the scorching door handle and threw myself out onto the asphalt. But by the time I screamed for help and tried to drag Leo out, it was too late. The flames were too high. The firefighters couldn’t separate my son’s body from the melted metal of the car. He was gone. And he didn’t even leave a whole body behind. My vision blurred with tears as I sat on the curb, my hands covered in severe burns. Through the haze, I saw Julian running toward me. Ignoring my injuries, he grabbed my shoulders and violently shook me. “You psychopath! You set the fire and killed our son! How could you murder your own flesh and blood?!” Vivian rushed up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist to “comfort” him, though a sick, victorious smile played on her lips. “Julian, please don’t cry… you’ll make yourself sick,” she whimpered. “I’m sure Claire didn’t mean to do it. She must have been mentally unstable and damaged the fuel line herself to cause the leak.” It was her. How else could she know the exact cause of the fire before the investigation even started? A wave of pure, unfiltered hatred erupted inside me. I lunged at Vivian. But Julian slammed his fist into my chest, throwing me to the ground. “Claire, enough! You already murdered my son! Now you want to kill my unborn baby too?!” The words hit me like a physical blow. Vivian dropped her hand, revealing her slightly rounded belly, her eyes filled with mocking triumph. Her child was a baby. But what about my Leo? Was he not a child? I slowly wiped the tears from my face and stood up. My heart had died with Leo in that fire. There was nothing left in this world that could hurt me. “Fine, Julian. Keep her close,” I said, my voice dead and empty. “And get ready to hear from my lawyer.” To prepare for the trial seven days later, I mortgaged everything I owned and took out a massive high-interest loan just to pay for a legal team. Vivian showed up at court with her pregnant belly proudly on display, looking incredibly smug. “Claire, for the sake of your past marriage with Julian, if you plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter, we’ll agree to a settlement based on your mental illness,” she whispered before the judge entered. “But if you insist on fighting us, you’ll end up with nothing but a prison sentence.” I let out a cold laugh, not even deigning to look at her. “Save your breath, Vivian.” She sneered and turned to wrap herself around Julian. Julian held her mechanically, but his eyes were locked on me, filled with a chaotic mix of emotions. A moment later, my phone buzzed. It was a text from him. [Stop being so stubborn. Is it really that hard to admit what you did? If you drag this out, you will be completely ruined. I won’t be able to save you then!] I looked at the message, blocked his number, and deleted the contact. Across the room, Julian’s face turned pale. To maximize my humiliation, Vivian had arranged for her PR team to live-stream the entire trial on TikTok and Snapchat. She had hired the most expensive, high-profile defense attorneys in the country and even produced several “witnesses” who claimed I was mentally unstable. When I presented Leo’s death certificate to prove he died before the fire, Vivian’s lawyer immediately claimed I had forged the document. The comment section on the live-stream exploded with hate. [They say even tigers don’t eat their own cubs. This woman actually burned her own son to death just to frame a secretary!] [What a toxic monster! She deserves to be burned alive too!] [Mr. Miller is a brilliant billionaire, how did he end up with such a psycho wife?] The internet was completely against me. But my heart remained absolutely still. “Your Honor, I would like to submit my primary evidence.” I carefully placed Leo’s burnt toy teddy bear onto the evidence table. Vivian actually laughed out loud in the middle of the courtroom. “Are you insane? What is a burnt toy going to prove? Are you going to claim your son’s ghost is inside it?” I smiled coldly, raised my hand to quiet the room, and gently pressed the bear’s nose. The little heart on the bear’s chest popped open, and a bright laser beam projected a video feed onto the large screen on the courtroom wall. It wasn’t just a toy. It was a high-tech nanny cam with a built-in projector, and the nose was the power switch. The video that began to play was the recording from the moment of the crash.

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I lost a game of Truth or Dare. My boyfriend, Carter Bennett, was forcing me to go eat a pickle right off the tray of Caleb Vance, the school’s charity case. “What are you waiting for, Maya? Go! I can’t wait to see that freak lose his mind.” I rubbed my eyes. Was I dreaming? I was back in high school? Seventeen again? I walked straight up to Caleb. Under his cold, piercing gaze, I reached down, grabbed a slice of pickle from his plate, and popped it into my mouth. He looked up. His eyes were dark, freezing cold. Then, with everyone in the cafeteria watching, I dumped my entire container of expensive salmon sushi onto his tray. “Hey, Caleb. Sorry about the pickle. Consider this an upgrade. Hope you don’t mind.” I looked at the boy who would one day rule the entire tech industry, and gave him my brightest smile. “By the way, I’m Maya. Nice to finally meet you.” This year, we were both seventeen. Back then, he was drowning in insecurity, and I was the radiant, spoiled rich girl. But in this lifetime, I would never let those jerks hurt him again.

When I opened my eyes again, my boyfriend, Carter, was grinning like an idiot, nudging me to go mess with Caleb’s food. Our wealthy friends around the table immediately chimed in. “Yeah, Maya! I can’t wait to see that arrogant loser look totally humiliated.” “Ugh, so what if he gets straight A’s? He’s just a broke nobody. After graduation, he’ll probably end up fetching our coffee, haha!” Listening to them mock Caleb, I let out a cold laugh. Carter and I both came from filthy rich families. We grew up in the same gated community. Childhood sweethearts, they called us. Naturally, our circle was exclusive—only the rich and powerful. But I hated this circle. I didn’t have a choice, though. My parents controlled my life, and they didn’t let me hang out with anyone outside our tax bracket. In my past life, ten years ago, I had listened to them. I went over and snatched a pickle from Caleb’s plate. But out of guilt, I had slipped a chocolate bar onto his desk afterward. That was the only interaction we had during our entire high school years. Back then, Caleb always walked with his head down. So low, it felt like he was trying to disappear into the dirt. Ten years later, I had completely forgotten about him. Until we met again at a hot dog cart on a rainy street. By then, he was the famous tech billionaire, a powerful tycoon in Silicon Valley. And I, because of my father’s prison sentence and my ex-husband’s betrayal, had become the biggest joke in the city. “Why did we walk so far just to buy a hot dog from a street cart?” a girl carrying a brand-new Hermès Birkin complained nearby. “Oh, come on. That’s not just a hot dog. That’s a ‘golden hot dog’ made by an ex-senator’s daughter.” “Wait, is that really Maya? She looks like she’s in her late thirties.” “It’s her, alright. After her dad’s company went under, Carter dumped her. That’s why she ended up like this.” “How pathetic…” The girl with the Birkin bag smirked and walked up to my cart. “Hey, give me ten more hot dogs. Make sure they’re good. I’m going to feed them to my maid and driver.” I forced a polite smile. “Sure thing, ma’am. You’re as kind as you are beautiful.” Hearing me call her “ma’am” made her puff up with pride. “Make it twenty.” The man next to her pulled her back. “Why are you buying so many? You’re not even going to eat them.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “As if I’d ever eat garbage food made by lower-class people.” Lower-class food. Once upon a time, I used to buy street food just to feed stray cats, never taking a bite myself. At that moment, the boomerang of my youth hit me right between the eyes. I bit my lip and forced myself to grill faster. “Let me help you with that.” When Caleb, dressed in a bespoke designer suit, suddenly appeared in front of my cart, I froze. He took me in. I was homeless, and he took me to his private estate. There was no locking me up, no forcing me into anything, nothing inappropriate. He simply acted like an old friend. He gave me a safe place to live and helped me find a decent, respectable job. I was so grateful to him. I kept trying to think of ways to repay him. But I didn’t know how. On many nights, when I went downstairs to get a glass of water, I would see Caleb standing by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. A lit cigarette would be resting between his pale fingers. The cold moonlight would wash over him, leaving him completely isolated in a sea of loneliness. More than once, I wanted to walk up and hug him from behind, to comfort him. But I had no right. I was nobody to him.

Time passed. He truly wanted nothing from me. He had everything. Maybe he brought me home simply because he felt sorry for me. Just like the way I used to pick up stray dogs and cats when I was a kid. Until he fell ill from years of overwork. Cancer. He still remembered my birthday. He insisted on having me blow out the candles right by his hospital bed. He said, “Maya, a birthday always needs to be celebrated properly.” Yes, later on, he loved calling me Maya. Due to the brutal chemotherapy, he had lost so much weight. His eyes were sunken, and he looked like a shadow of his former self. Even his hand, as he placed the candle on the cake, was deathly pale, his wrist bones sharply protruding. He forced a weak smile. “Maya… happy… birthday.” His voice was barely a whisper. I had to lean my ear right next to his lips to hear him. I looked at him through my tears, but he just kept smiling at me. “Go on… blow out the candle.” The way he looked at me made it feel like he was trying to burn my face into his memory forever. Still smiling, his eyes slowly closed. The hand holding mine suddenly lost all its strength and slipped off the bed. The taste of grief hit me, thick and heavy, like wet leaves after a torrential storm. It hurt so bad I couldn’t breathe. Trembling, I blew out the candle and closed my eyes to make a wish. God, for my twenty-seventh birthday, please let me go back to when I was seventeen. To my absolute shock, my wish came true. When I opened my eyes again, my rich friends were pushing me. “Maya, what are you spacing out for? Go! I can’t wait to see him lose his temper.” They were grinning maliciously, looking toward Caleb’s table. Seventeen-year-old Caleb was sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, eating alone. The lighting was dim over there, and his back looked so lonely. Just like he did when he was twenty-seven. Whether he was dirt poor or filthy rich, he was always entirely alone. Seeing him young and healthy again made my eyes sting with tears. I picked up my tray and walked straight over to him. As I approached, intending to sit next to him, he noticed. He immediately squeezed himself further into the cramped corner. His tray was practically empty. Just two slices of plain toast and some pickles. An agonizing pain shot through my chest. When he had cancer in my past life, he could have fought longer with chemo. But the doctors said his body was too weak. He had suffered from severe malnutrition during his teenage years, which had permanently ruined his health. In the end, he couldn’t even survive the second round of chemo. Looking at his thin, pale face, my throat felt incredibly tight. “Hey… can I… can I have…” I tried to control my emotions, but I couldn’t even finish the sentence. He must think I’m a total psycho right now. Taking a deep breath, I stopped talking. Under his shocked gaze, I used my forks to grab a piece of his pickle and put it in my mouth. It was salty, sour, and tasted like cardboard. Caleb, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m late.

When I looked up, his expression was incredibly cold. “You know, they give out free pickles at the counter. Please stop playing these stupid games.” By now, half the cafeteria had stopped eating. Everyone was watching us, whispering loudly. The table right in front of us was the loudest. “Haha, Maya is savage. She actually went to mess with the Jinx. Did you know his nickname in middle school was ‘The Curse’?” “Wait, why?” “Because he literally got his own parents killed, and his little sister too—” Hearing this, Caleb’s fist clenched so hard the veins on his pale hand bulged. Before the girl at the front table could finish her sentence, I stood up and slammed my hand down. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to talk trash behind people’s backs?” Still furious, I snapped, “Oh, wait, you actually have parents, but clearly, they forgot to teach you any manners.” The girl, knowing my family was powerful, didn’t dare fight back. She just muttered under her breath, “Did she lose her mind? Wasn’t she trying to bully Caleb too?” I was so angry I was about to step out of my seat to give her a piece of my mind. But then, a cold touch wrapped around my wrist. It was Caleb. He was holding me back. “Just sit down and eat.” His tone was flat, and his face had already returned to a calm, emotionless mask. I sat back down. In front of everyone, I dumped all of my premium salmon sushi onto his plate. I gave him an apologetic smile. “This is for the pickle. Please don’t hate me.” “Oh, and by the way, even though we’ve been in the same grade forever, we’ve never officially met.” “Hi, seventeen-year-old Caleb. I’m seventeen-year-old Maya.” I flashed a bright smile and extended my hand to him. My words came out like a rapid-fire machine gun. He just stared at me, dumbfounded. “I’m done eating,” he said quietly after a long silence. He stood up and walked away. Leaving me sitting there, holding a chocolate bar in my hand that was already starting to melt from the heat of my palm. In my past life, even though I knew it was wrong, I had listened to Carter and took Caleb’s food. Because I found his food disgusting, I threw it straight into the trash. Then, out of pure guilt, I left a chocolate bar on his desk before leaving. Carter had laughed, saying that chocolate would be the most expensive thing Caleb would ever eat in his life. But ten years later, while helping Caleb organize his study, I found that exact same chocolate bar on his desk. Caleb had kept it inside a beautiful, sealed glass case. At that moment, a thousand thoughts had rushed through my mind, and my heart had broken into a million pieces. That chocolate bar was the key to his deepest, most hidden secret. But back then, the massive gap in our social status made me bury all my feelings. Besides, it was just a piece of chocolate. Did it really mean anything? I was no longer a rich senator’s daughter back then. I had no right to stand by his side.

“Maya, that was brutal. Dumping your leftovers on the Jinx? Damn, when it comes to humiliating people, you really take the crown.” Carter slid into the seat next to me, grinning. I stared at him, disgusted. So in their eyes, what I just did was a form of humiliation? Did… did Caleb think so too? Oh my god, I’m such an idiot. I just wanted him to have a decent lunch, but my execution was terrible. Jaxson Sterling sat down on my other side, speaking in his usual slow, arrogant drawl. “But why did you defend him? Those girls weren’t lying. Caleb did kill his parents and his sister. If you get too close to him, his curse might rub off on you.” Jaxson was the principal’s son. He basically ruled the school. He was violent and loved bullying weaker students, always calling it “just playing a little game.” In my past life, after my family went bankrupt, Carter’s attitude toward me did a complete 180 overnight. He actually tried to push me into Jaxson’s bed just to secure a business deal for his family. And back then, I was stupid enough to think they still cared about me. Until we went on a joint family trip, and Carter went to another room while Jaxson walked into mine. That was when I realized our entire circle was rotten to the core. I rolled my eyes at Jaxson. “Are you seriously that superstitious? If curses are real, you should be worried about getting struck by lightning for being such a piece of trash.” Jaxson’s face instantly turned red with rage. “What did you say, Maya? Say that again.” Seeing the tension, Carter quickly stepped in to play peacemaker. “Whoa, chill. Jaxson, she’s just having an off day. Don’t take it personally.” I violently slapped Carter’s hand away. “You’re no better, you absolute parasite.” Both of them stared at me, completely stunned. They couldn’t understand why the usually compliant Maya had suddenly turned into a tiger. Before they could react, I grabbed my bag and headed straight to the classroom. I couldn’t stand being near these disgusting people for another second. By the time I got back to the classroom, the bell had already rung. I would have to wait until after class to explain to Caleb that I didn’t mean to insult him with the sushi. This period was AP Calculus—my absolute worst subject. Even though my mind was racing, I forced myself to pay attention. In my past life, because I neglected my studies, I ended up at a mediocre college. After graduation, I immediately married Carter. I spent the first half of my life relying on my dad, and the second half relying on my husband. That’s how a person becomes completely useless. Because I had no real skills and a useless degree, I ended up flipping hot dogs on the street. Since God gave me a second chance, I was going to make it count. But looking at the complex math problems, I sighed and glanced around the room. My eyes landed on the left front row. Caleb was staring intently at the board. His frame was thin, his face pale. Compared to the intimidating billionaire he would become in ten years, the current him was just a shy, insecure boy. “Maya! What are you staring at? Stand up and answer the question!” Because I was staring at Caleb too intensely, the math teacher caught me red-handed. I stood up calmly and said with a straight face, “I was looking at Caleb.” The entire class gasped. Caleb kept solving his math problem, but his pale ears flushed a bright, unmistakable red. The teacher was furious. “Oh really? And what exactly are you looking at? Tell us, or you’re staying after class.” I smiled brightly. “I was looking at him because he’s handsome.” The classroom erupted into chaos.

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Four years into my marriage with Ethan Miller, he brought a seafood pizza to the table. I looked at it and said, “I’m allergic to shrimp, remember?” His hand, holding the fork, froze. “Wait, aren’t you allergic to mangoes?” Never. On the top right corner of the fridge, there was still a sticky note he had written himself: “Hazel’s Allergies: Shrimp, Penicillin, Pollen.” It had been there for four years. The corners were curled. He opened the fridge at least five times a day; all he had to do was look down. The person allergic to mangoes wasn’t me. I didn’t press him. I just picked the shrimp off and ate the mangoes he bought later. They were sweet. He looked relieved, thinking we were past it. That night, while cleaning the kitchen, I peeled the sticky note off. It left a clean, white square on the fridge door. I folded the paper neatly and slipped it under his car keys on the counter. He would grab those keys tomorrow morning. If he saw the note and asked why I took it down—it meant he still remembered what was on it. If he just took the keys and left— Then it was time for me to leave, too.

“Babe, I’m heading out!” 7:28 AM. Just like every other morning, he walked out of the bedroom, his hair still slightly damp. He bent down by the shoe rack to put on his shoes. On the entryway table, his car keys pressed down on the folded sticky note. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching him. His hand reached for the keys. His fingertips brushed the edge of the paper. He paused for maybe a fraction of a second. Then, he gripped the keys. The folded paper slid off the table and fluttered to the tiled floor. He didn’t look down. As he took a step forward, his left shoe left a dusty print right on it. The door clicked shut. The elevator chimed down the hall, and then there was only silence. I walked to the door, knelt, and picked up the paper. The gray footprint ran right over the words “Hazel’s Allergies”, completely covering my name. I stared at it for ten seconds. The creases were already fraying. I tossed it into the trash can. Time to go. Packing didn’t take long. In four years of marriage, the things that actually belonged to me were laughably few—a few seasonal clothes, an eyeshadow palette, my passport, and my driver’s license. There was one more thing in the study’s safe. It was the “Observation Journal” I had drawn for Ethan. I started it the year he went through severe depression, recording every single day. All my original sketches were tucked inside. The password was my birthday. I opened it, pulled the journal out, and stuffed it into the lining of my suitcase. The moment I zipped it shut, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Ethan. It was Valerie, his secretary. She sent me an Instagram screenshot. It was posted to a custom group—but she had accidentally left Valerie in. Or maybe Valerie wanted me to see. The picture showed a mango Frappuccino sitting on an office desk. In the background, you could see a sliver of a dark gray suit sleeve. The caption read: “It feels so good when someone remembers your little preferences~” The poster: Chloe. In the bottom right corner was a location tag: Ethan’s office building. Valerie attached a message: “This new intern has been crossing the line lately. I thought you should know.” I saved the screenshot. I booked a business hotel, called an Uber, and walked out with my suitcase. The elevator mirror reflected my face. I wasn’t crying. My eyes weren’t even red. My lips, however, were dry and peeling. I couldn’t remember the last time I drank water. The hotel receptionist smiled. “How many nights will you be staying?” “I’m not sure.” I slid the keycard in. The curtains opened automatically, revealing a wide, empty view from the twenty-third floor. My phone buzzed again. 2:17 PM. Ethan. I didn’t answer. Second call, 2:19 PM. Third call, 2:21 PM. On the fourth call, I picked up. “What is your problem today?” His voice was accompanied by the sound of rapid typing. He was clearly busy. “The house is a mess, and you’re not even there. Where did you go?” “I took the sticky note down,” I said. “You didn’t notice.” “What sticky note?” Two seconds of silence. He really didn’t remember. “The one on the fridge,” my voice was steady. “The one that had been there for four years. I put it under your car keys. You stepped right on it.” The typing on the other end stopped. After a moment, he let out a frustrated laugh. “All this over a pizza? Hazel, have you gotten more and more dramatic these past two years?” “It’s not about the shrimp.” “Then what is it about?” “Figure it out yourself.” “I don’t have time for riddles,” he lowered his voice, likely because someone was passing by his office. “Just come home. Stop acting up.” I said, “Ethan, you can’t even remember what I’m allergic to. We need some space.” He let out a cold scoff through the receiver. “Space? How long do you need? We have the quarterly presentation tomorrow and a client dinner the day after. You choose “now” of all times to throw a tantrum?” “Get back to work.” I hung up. Outside, the city lights were flickering on. I lay on the unfamiliar bed, staring at the smoke detector on the ceiling. Its little red light blinked silently, like an unblinking eye. My screen lit up again at 11:03 PM. Ethan: “Hazel, where the hell are you? Come back so we can talk.” I didn’t reply. Second text: “You really have to be like this, don’t you?” Third text, forty minutes later: “Fine. Throw your tantrum. See if I care.” I flipped the phone over, face down on the nightstand. The screenshot of the mango Frappuccino flashed in my mind. “It feels so good when someone remembers your little preferences.” Good. Must be nice.

“Hazel? I brought you some things.” The next day at noon, there was a knock on my hotel room door. It was Valerie. She stood in the hallway holding a dark brown paper bag, a conflicted look on her face. “Ethan asked me to drop this off. He hopes you can cool down.” Inside the bag was a cake box with a cream-white finish and a gold-foil logo. I knew this bakery. It was a trendy spot where people lined up for thirty minutes. I had mentioned wanting to try it once, but he hadn’t even looked up, just saying, “Maybe another day.” “Where is he?” “At the office,” Valerie paused. “He said he’ll come pick you up himself after his meetings this afternoon.” I took the box. “Thanks, Valerie.” She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but ultimately just sighed and left. After the door closed, I set the box on the table and opened it. A three-layer mousse cake, topped with meticulously sliced mangoes. Mango. I used a small fork to nudge the top layer aside. The filling was mango, too. I couldn’t help but laugh. But it wasn’t a happy sound. He knew I didn’t eat shrimp, but he couldn’t distinguish between my shrimp allergy and a mango allergy. Now, to apologize, he bought a mango cake. How many things on Ethan’s “Hazel’s Preferences” list were actually accurate? At 3:30 PM, he arrived. He pushed the door open, his suit jacket draped over his forearm, sleeves rolled up twice. He looked like he had run all the way. But his watch face was turned toward the back of his hand—a subconscious habit. He was checking the time. “Did you eat the cake?” He immediately looked at the table. The box was open, the fork sticking out of it, practically untouched. “I had a bite.” “How was it? The line was incredibly long.” “Did you stand in it?” He paused. “I had the intern grab it, but I placed the order.” The intern. Which one? I didn’t need to ask. “Ethan,” I sat in the chair by the window, not bothering to stand. “This cake is mango.” “Yeah.” “I don’t like mangoes.” His expression stiffened for a second before he suppressed it. “But aren’t you… didn’t you say you weren’t allergic?” “Not being allergic and liking it are two different things. We’ve been married for four years, and there has never been a single mango in our fridge. Whose taste buds were you thinking of when you ordered this?” Silence fell over the room. He threw his jacket onto the bed, gripped the edge of the table, and looked down, avoiding my eyes. “Can you not always jump to conclusions?” “Which conclusions?” “You know what I mean,” he looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Chloe is just a fresh grad interning at the firm. I’m just looking out for her—” “She posts your ‘care’ all over Instagram.” He shut his mouth. “‘It feels so good when someone remembers your little preferences’—did you order her a separate takeout? Did you specifically tell them no mangoes?” “That’s because on her first day, a colleague ordered mango milk tea for her. She took one sip and her lips swelled up! Of course I had to remember. It’s basic managerial duty—” “And what about your basic duty as a husband?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it seemed to choke him. Silence stretched between us. He stood; I sat. Then, he snapped. “Hazel, enough,” he pulled out a chair and sat down, his knees nearly slamming into the table leg. “She’s just a girl with a mango allergy. I’m her boss, so I know her medical limits. How does that translate to an affair in your head? Have you just been a stay-at-home wife for too long? Are you so out of touch with the real world that you’re this insecure?” “Stay-at-home wife. Out of touch. Insecure.” None of these words were new. Four years ago, when his startup failed, he completely broke down. He wouldn’t eat, shower, or leave the house. I quit my job as a lead illustrator at an art studio to care for him 24/7. When he woke up at 3:00 AM from nightmares saying life wasn’t worth living, I hid every sharp object in the house. That was when I started drawing the “Observation Journal”—tracking his daily progress, sketching him eating, capturing the first time he smiled. That journal got him through his darkest six months. Now, he stood across from me, telling me I was out of touch. “Ethan, not only is your memory failing, but so is your conscience.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Take the cake with you,” I stood up to grab my suitcase. “I’m staying with Maya.” “You—” “Don’t follow me.” I dragged my suitcase through the hotel lobby. It wasn’t cold, but the wind felt harsh against my face. At checkout, the receptionist asked, “Need me to call a cab?” “No, thank you.” While waiting at the crosswalk, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: “Fine. Go stay with your best friend for a couple of days to clear your head. Just don’t take too long.” As if he were granting me permission to take a breath of fresh air. I didn’t reply. I put my phone in my pocket and crossed the street.

“Hazel, Ethan says you absolutely have to be there.” A week later. Valerie’s call came through while I was hanging laundry on Maya’s balcony. It was his company’s fourth-anniversary gala. “What were his exact words?” Valerie cleared her throat. “He said, ‘Everyone knows how hard Hazel worked these past four years. She has to be there. Put her at the best table.’” In the living room, Maya rolled her eyes, silently mouthing: “Disgusting.” I remained silent for five seconds. “What time? Where?” “Saturday, 7:00 PM. The Grand Ballroom on the 18th floor of the Westin. Should I have your dress sent over, or—” “No need. I have my own.” I hung up, and Maya immediately rushed over. “You’re not actually going, are you?” “I am.” “Hazel, wake up! This is clearly him throwing you a bone to give you an out—” “I’m not taking his out,” I shook the duvet, sending a cloud of dust swirling into the sunlight. “But I want to see with my own eyes who is sitting in my seat.” Saturday, 6:55 PM. I arrived. Two young receptionists were handling check-ins at the door. They froze when they saw me, flipping through the list for a while before finding my name. “Your seat is at the VIP Table, Seat 3.” Seat 3. Ethan was Seat 1. I pushed open the frosted glass door of the private dining room. The round table was covered in a deep red tablecloth, with a floral centerpiece. Ethan sat in the host seat, leaning over to talk to the person next to him. She was wearing a cream-white satin dress, sharply tailored to show off her collarbones. A small pearl brooch was pinned to her neckline. I looked down at my own dress. Same brand. Same collection. Just a different color. Hers was the newly released spring limited edition. Chloe. Twenty-three, round face, bangs brushing her eyebrows. She looked as innocent as a fresh college grad. She was in Seat 2—to my right, right next to Ethan. And she was leaning over, carefully picking the raw onions out of his salad and piling them onto a side plate. I had done that for four years. Ethan hated raw onions; he couldn’t stand the sharp taste. She did it with practiced ease. “Hazel’s here!” Chloe saw me first and jumped up. Her chair scraped loudly against the carpet. “Please, sit! I was just helping Ethan proofread his speech and forgot to swap seats. I’m so sorry.” Her tone was light, her smile reaching her eyes. Ethan stood up briefly, tugging at his suit jacket. “You’re here? Go sit over there. The view from the opposite side is better.” Opposite. I used to sit right beside him. Now, he wanted me across the table. Chloe stood there, waiting to see my reaction. I walked over and sat in Seat 3. I said nothing. “Alright, everyone, let’s raise a glass!” The toasts began. After a few rounds, Ethan had quite a bit to drink, his face flushing. During the third round, the head of engineering came over to toast him with a glass of chilled white wine. Before Ethan could reach for it, Chloe stood up. “Let me drink this one for Ethan,” she took the glass, smiling at the manager. “Hazel doesn’t come to these dinners often so she doesn’t know, but Ethan’s stomach has been acting up lately. He can’t have cold drinks.” The manager turned to look at me. Two nearby colleagues laughed to ease the tension. “Chloe is so considerate.” “Stomach acting up.” There was absolutely nothing wrong with Ethan’s stomach. But he had started taking antibiotics last week for an inflamed wisdom tooth—a three-day prescription. You can’t mix antibiotics with alcohol. She didn’t know that. She only knew he hadn’t been drinking much lately, so she made up a “bad stomach” story to look caring. I stood up. I walked over. And I snatched the glass right out of Chloe’s hand. Her eyes widened. “Hazel—” I splashed the wine straight onto the table. The chilled white wine splattered, soaking half the tablecloth. “His stomach isn’t bad. He’s on antibiotics,” I said, staring at her. “Mixing antibiotics with alcohol can kill him. You don’t even know that, and yet you’re eager to play the doting wife?” The entire table went dead silent. Chloe’s lips trembled, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Hazel, I was just worried about him… I didn’t know he was on medication…” “Oh, you seem to know plenty,” I cut her off. “You know how to pick out his onions, you dare to edit his speeches, you remember all his little tastes. Are you twenty-three, or twenty-three months old? You don’t even know basic drug interactions, yet you’re so desperate to step into my shoes?” Ethan slammed his hands on the table and stood up. His chair tipped over. “Hazel, have you lost your mind?” He marched around the table, putting himself directly in front of Chloe—shielding her. “She was just trying to help. Do you have to be so vicious?” “Help?” “Can you just—” I slipped the platinum band off my left ring finger. It was a simple, lightweight band, engraved with our wedding date on the inside. I dropped it onto his plate, right on top of the pile of discarded onions. “Enjoy the gala,” I said. “Ethan, happy early divorce.” I turned and walked out. As the door closed behind me, I heard Chloe cry out, “Ethan…” in a whimpering voice. He didn’t chase after me.

“Hi there. I’m Chloe.” I heard that voice again three days later. I had gone back to the apartment to get the last of my things from the safe—my “Observation Journal”. When I pushed the door open, I froze. The safe was open. It was empty. The password was my birthday, which anyone could guess if Ethan had told them. I called him immediately. “Did you take the journal?” “Oh,” his tone was casual, as if discussing a piece of office stationery. “Chloe took an illustration project about depression and needed some inspiration. I let her borrow it for a couple of days. Your sketches are in there, right? She’ll return it once she’s done.” I nearly dropped the phone. “That is my property.” “We’ve been married for four years. What’s yours is mine. I just lent it out, I didn’t sell it. Why are you overreacting?” His name was still flashing on my screen. I could hear someone giggling in the background—a light, youthful female voice. “Where does she live?” “You don’t need to go there—” “Address.” He sighed, annoyed. “Apartment 2103, Oakwood Heights. Don’t cause a scene.” I hung up and took a cab straight there. Her apartment door wasn’t fully closed. When I pushed it open, the scent of lavender incense filled the air. Chloe was sitting at a small desk, her back to the door. On the desk lay my journal—or what was left of it. She was cutting it. Page by page, she was using an X-Acto knife to slice along the borders of my illustrations, separating my drawings from the written entries. The cut-out sketches were lined up next to a scanner; seven or eight had already been scanned. The desk was littered with paper scraps. The shredded journal entries—the words I had written to Ethan back then—lay in pieces. “Ate half a bowl of oatmeal today.” “He smiled for the first time.” “I’ll wait for you to get better.” My messy handwriting had been sliced into jagged fragments. Something crunched under my shoe. It was a tiny scrap of an illustration she had trimmed off and thrown on the floor. It had shoe prints on it. It was a sketch of our old cat. “What are you doing?” She spun around. There was no panic on her face. Instead, she offered a polite, sugary smile. “Oh, Hazel! You’re here. I’m just organizing some references. Ethan said I could use these drawings for inspiration… They’re really good, no wonder he kept them.” “These are my private sketches,” I walked over. “Give them back.” “But Ethan said I could—” I reached for the remaining uncut portion of the journal. About half was left. She slammed her hand down on it. “Hazel, don’t be like this. I’ll give them back as soon as I’m done scanning.” “Let go.” “It’s rude to grab things. Ethan gave me permission—” I pulled hard. She didn’t let go. Instead, she stood up, pinning the journal down with one hand, while her other hand— Something flashed. It wasn’t the X-Acto knife. It was a pair of heavy sewing shears. She must have grabbed them as she stood up. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. I didn’t let go. Neither did she. During the struggle, her grip slipped, and the sharp tip of the shears sliced across the back of my right hand. It wasn’t a superficial scratch. It split open. The sensation of skin tearing was slow. First came a cold numbness, then the searing pain. The blood pooled faster than the pain could register. I looked down. A deep, dark gash ran from my thumb joint to the base of my pinky. The flesh was pale at the edges, and thick drops of blood began to drip, splattering onto the open page of the journal—right over a sketch of Ethan cooking in the kitchen. “Oh my god!” Chloe screamed, stepping back, dropping the shears onto the floor. “You… you’re bleeding! Don’t you dare blame me, you’re the one who tried to grab it—” I couldn’t close my right hand anymore. My fingers wouldn’t bend. Using my left hand, I grasped the blood-stained journal and the loose sketches she hadn’t scanned yet, clutching them to my chest. As I reached the door, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. Ethan had arrived. He took in the scene—the shredded paper, the overturned chair, Chloe sobbing in the corner. Then he walked forward. But not toward me. He shielded Chloe behind him. He glared at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot, like an enraged animal. “Hazel, have you lost your mind? Breaking into someone’s apartment to steal?” “Someone’s?” “Look at how terrified Chloe is—” “Ethan,” I lifted my right hand to show him. Blood was soaking into my sleeve, but my fingertips were dripping red, staining the floor. “Look closer.” He froze for a second. His gaze lingered on my hand. Then he looked back at Chloe’s tear-stained face. “…You terrified her. What do you expect me to say? It’s just a cut. Go to the hospital and get it bandaged. Did you really have to make such a scene?” It wasn’t just a cut. The wound was so deep I could feel the numb ache where the blade had scraped the bone. I was an artist. This was my right hand. My art teacher used to tell me, “Your right hand is your livelihood. Keep it as safe as your eyes.” “I called the police,” I said. “They’re on their way.” His face paled. “What did you say?” “I called them ten minutes ago. Assault, and attempted grand theft—my work is on her computer, the scans are all there.” Chloe broke down behind him. “Ethan, I didn’t steal anything! You told me I could take it! You said I could use it for reference—” Ethan’s jaw clenched. A knock sounded at the door. “Police department. Open up.” I walked out, clutching the bloody journal to my chest with my left hand. As I passed Ethan, he finally noticed my hand dripping blood. Right onto his polished leather shoes. The exact same pair that had crushed my sticky note the day before.

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I was the undisputed sales king of the company, bringing in tens of millions in revenue every single year. But just because I didn’t praise her selfie in the company group chat, she fired me without a second thought. She immediately replaced me with her deadbeat cousin. Fast forward to a month later, and the company’s sales plummeted to absolute zero. Now, she was at my front door, begging on her knees. “Please, Leo, I beg you, come back. Marcus said if you don’t return, he’s going to dump me!” Marcus, my boss, went on a month-long business trip and left his girlfriend, Tiffany, in charge of the company. Who would have thought that her first act of “leadership” would be targeting me. At 10:00 AM, I walked into the office right on time. My coworker nervously pointed toward the boss’s office and whispered, “Tiffany’s here. She told you to get in there the second you arrived.” Tiffany was Marcus’s new girlfriend, and she was notorious for being incredibly arrogant and entitled. If she didn’t like the way you looked at her, she’d scream at you in front of everyone. Once, a female colleague named Lily stayed in Marcus’s office a bit longer than usual to present a report. Tiffany immediately spread disgusting sexual rumors about her, claiming she was sleeping her way to the top. She literally bullied Lily until she had no choice but to resign. But because Tiffany knew how to sweet-talk Marcus in bed, he just let her run wild. I never expected her to set her sights on me. I set down my coffee and pushed open the office door. Before I could even take a step inside, a heavy binder flew straight at my face. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Company policy says we start at eight! Why the hell are you just rolling in at ten?” The sharp edge of the binder cut a thin line across my forehead, drawing a bead of blood. I pressed my hand against my forehead, glaring at Tiffany, who was sitting behind the executive desk like she owned the place. Starting at ten was my exclusive privilege as the top sales representative. It was an unwritten rule that everyone in the company knew and respected. Years ago, when Marcus’s company was on the brink of bankruptcy, he hired me. In my very first month, I brought in five million dollars in sales, single-handedly saving the company. Since then, Marcus treated me like royalty. He consulted me on every major business decision. Tiffany slammed her hand on the desk, her face twisted in a hideous sneer. “Look at your timesheet! You’ve been arriving at ten for a solid month. Do you think you’re above the rules?” “According to our policy, being late three days in a row is grounds for immediate termination!” “Pack your trash and get the hell out of my office!” I stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “You’re firing me? Did you even bother to run this by Marcus?” I generated eighty percent of this company’s revenue. How dared she? Tiffany let out a mocking laugh, looking at me with pure disdain. “You’re just a glorified door-to-door salesman. A pathetic little peddler. Why wouldn’t I fire you?” “This is my boyfriend’s company. I’m the future lady of this house. I fire whoever I want!” Marcus had always been good to me, and I wasn’t about to let this slide without a fight. I sat down on the sofa. “Why don’t you call Marcus right now and see what he thinks?” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Who do you think you are?” She pulled out her phone and dialed Marcus’s number, putting it on speaker. Marcus’s voice came through, sounding incredibly exhausted. “Hey, babe. What’s up?” The voice Tiffany used to scream at me instantly vanished. She switched to a sickeningly sweet, high-pitched baby voice. “Babe, I miss you so much.” Marcus sighed. “I’m in a meeting. Make it quick.” Tiffany shot me a smug, victorious look. “There’s a sales guy here who keeps breaking the rules. He’s always late, and he’s toxic to the culture. I want to fire him.” “Whatever, babe. Do what you want. I need to get some sleep.” Marcus hung up the phone before she could even reply. Tiffany smirked at me triumphantly. “Hear that? I have full authority. Now get lost!”

I let out a cold laugh and looked at Tiffany. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” “If Marcus comes back and finds out you threw me out, he is going to lose his mind.” I was genuinely trying to warn her. Headhunters had been trying to recruit me with insane seven-figure offers for years. I had only stayed this long out of loyalty to Marcus. If I walked out that door, my life wouldn’t change a bit. But Tiffany? She was playing with fire. Tiffany glared at me, her face contorting with rage. “Who do you think you are? You’re just a replaceable employee! I am his future wife. Do you honestly think he would choose a servant over me?” Hearing her words, I simply shook my head. Fine. Have it your way. I turned around and walked out of the office. Outside, my coworkers had heard the entire shouting match. They were all staring at me in shock. “What happened, Leo?” I calmly began packing my things into a cardboard box. I smiled. “Nothing much. I just got fired.” The coworker’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Fired you? Is Tiffany completely out of her mind? Everyone knows you’re the backbone of this place! Isn’t she terrified Marcus will dump her?” I shrugged. “Not my problem anymore. It was her decision, and she’ll have to live with the consequences.” “Besides, I’ve been working non-stop for years. I could use a good vacation.” I had already made enough money to retire comfortably. I just never had a good reason to walk away. This was the perfect excuse. My coworker was furious. “But why? What did you even do to trigger her?” I thought about it for a second. “Remember when she spread those disgusting rumors about Lily? I was the only one who stood up and called her out.” “She’s hated me ever since. She’s been looking for an excuse to get rid of me.” Just yesterday, Tiffany had posted a heavily edited glamor shot in our Snapchat work group. Everyone was spamming fire emojis, calling her gorgeous. I was the only one who left her on read. That was probably the final straw. “Should I call Marcus?” my coworker offered. “The company can’t function without you.” I shook my head with a smile. “Don’t bother. If I ever come back, it’ll be after she’s out of the picture. I can’t stand her drama anyway. Let’s see how this plays out.” After packing my box, I walked over to the finance office to collect my final paycheck. I had only worked ten days this month, but my commission alone was over ten thousand dollars. I explained to the accountant, Amy, that I had been terminated and asked her to process my direct deposit. Suddenly, Tiffany barged into the room, glaring at me. “Leo! I told you to get lost! What are you still doing here?” I looked at her coldly. She was practically vibrating with unearned authority. It was pathetic. Seeing that I was ignoring her, Tiffany lost her temper. She grabbed my sleeve, trying to pull me. “What are you doing in the finance room? Are you trying to steal company secrets? Get out before I call the cops!” I snatched my arm back, pushing her away. “Touch me again, and we’ll have a real problem.” “I’m just getting my final paycheck. I’m not even asking for severance, which is already incredibly generous of me.” Tiffany turned to Amy. “How much is his payout?” Amy stammered, “Ten thousand five hundred dollars.” Tiffany’s face went pale. “What? How much?” After Amy repeated the number, Tiffany pointed a finger at me. “You violated company policy by being late. Your insubordination has voided your commission. You get nothing!” I scoffed. “A standard lateness penalty is fifty bucks, Tiffany. Can you even do basic math, or did you drop out of middle school?” Tiffany crossed her arms, looking smug. “I just wrote a new policy. Three late arrivals, and you forfeit your entire month’s pay. Now, get out!”

“You don’t have the legal authority to write policies, Tiffany.” She smirked. “This company is going to be half mine soon. I can do whatever I want.” I didn’t want to waste my breath on her. “Fine. Expect a lawsuit from my lawyer.” With that, I walked out. I loaded my things into my car and drove home. Just as I sat down on my couch, my phone buzzed. I hadn’t been removed from the casual Snapchat group yet. Tiffany had posted a message: “From now on, everyone must reply to my messages within ten minutes. If you ignore me, you’ll end up just like the trash I threw out today.” So, it really was because I left her on read. Marcus must have saved a nation in his past life to deserve a curse of a girlfriend like her. The group chat immediately filled with submissive replies. I found it pathetic, so I left the group and blocked her number. My phone finally went quiet. But Tiffany refusing to pay my hard-earned commission? I wasn’t going to let that slide. All of our high-value client contacts were saved on my personal phone. I composed a mass email to all of them, politely informing them that I had officially resigned and would no longer be managing their accounts. Most of these clients were people I had personally brought in. They did business with the company solely because they trusted me. If I was gone, they had no reason to stay. Sure enough, within minutes, my phone started blowing up with Snapchat messages and emails. Clients were asking which agency I was moving to, promising to transfer their multi-million dollar contracts to follow me. I replied to them one by one, explaining that I was taking some time off but would let them know as soon as I made my next move. I spent the entire evening replying to messages until I fell asleep from exhaustion. The next morning, Peter, my former coworker, sent me a text: “Leo, you’re a legend! Half of our major clients just called to cancel their contracts. Was that your doing?” My plan had worked beautifully. I smiled and typed back: “I didn’t do anything. I just told them the truth—that I don’t work there anymore.” “Man, you’re the goat,” Peter replied. “Tiffany came in this morning and absolutely lost it. She started screaming at the sales team, demanding to know why they couldn’t retain the clients. Honestly, three of the guys are already packing their bags. No one wants to deal with her abuse.” It looked like the entire office was on the verge of a mutiny. I couldn’t wait to see how she’d explain this to Marcus. Meanwhile, I contacted my lawyer to draft a formal demand letter for my unpaid commissions. It wasn’t even about the money; it was about making her life a living hell. A few days later, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I picked it up. “Hello?” Immediately, Tiffany’s screeching voice blasted through the speaker. “Leo! You absolute scumbag! Where did you hide the client database? They’re saying they only have your personal number! Hand over those contacts right now. That is company property! I will sue you for everything you have!” I laughed out loud. She was clearly panicking. “How can you be so disgusting? Give me the numbers now, or I swear to God, I’ll make sure you never work in this city again!”

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Working overtime until 11 PM, I dragged my exhausted body into my car. Suddenly, the intern slid into the passenger seat. “Claire, there are no buses running this late. You need to drive me home.” I kept a polite smile on my face. “You live in the far suburbs. It’s over an hour’s round trip. If I drive you, I won’t get any sleep tonight.” She and I didn’t live in the same direction at all. I unlocked the doors and gestured for her to get out. To my surprise, she buckled her seatbelt. “I’ve been working my butt off doing overtime until now. As my manager, shouldn’t you drive me? Or are you trying to corporate-bully a helpless intern?” I was completely dumbfounded. What did this have to do with bullying? Besides, the project didn’t even need her help. She was the one who insisted on staying just to “fit in.” She had spent five hours playing games on her phone. I only kept my mouth shut because she was young and fresh out of college. Before I could refuse, Chloe had already opened her game on Snapchat, kicked off her shoes, and propped her bare feet right on my center console. A sour, smelly odor instantly hit my nose, making my eyes water! She casually picked her nose and wiped it on the leather seat. “Hey, Claire, why aren’t we moving? What are you waiting for?”

I was so angry I almost laughed. I had bought this Mercedes AMG for over a hundred thousand dollars, and I barely let a speck of dust touch it. Yet, the intern Chloe Bennett was treating it like her own personal trash can. Seeing my dark expression, Chloe rolled her eyes impatiently. “We’re colleagues, Claire. There’s no need to look at me like that. Don’t forget, the General Manager, Justin, is my brother’s best friend from college. He specifically told you to take good care of me. From now on, you should pick me up and drop me off. That way, you can mentor me on the road and have someone to talk to. It’s a win-win, right?” Relying on her connection with Justin, Chloe was treating me like her personal chauffeur. My temper flared. I narrowed my eyes and smiled. “Your place is over thirty miles from mine. The gas money alone is a lot. Even if I am your manager, I have no obligation to drive you for free, right?” “Oh, come on. How much could gas possibly be? I’ll split it with you. Just drive. My game is about to start.” Chloe pushed herself back against the leather seat, her dirty feet still resting on the console. “I gotta admit, your leather seats are way more comfortable than the city bus.” I didn’t say another word. I stepped on the gas and drove toward the outer suburbs, stopping at a gas station halfway there. Chloe had just finished a round of her game. “Why did we stop? Claire, we’re still far from my place.” “Didn’t you say we’d split the cost? Transfer me the money first.” Chloe rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Fine, fine. I’ll just Venmo you for the whole month, okay? A bus ticket is only two dollars. I’ll give you a hundred for the month. Consider the extra as a—” Before she could finish, I thrust the gas receipt in front of her. “Chloe, can you even do basic math? I just put seventy dollars of gas in the tank. A round trip to your place eats up a third of it. Twice a day, even with a discount, is at least fifty dollars.” “Plus, you dirtied my brand-new leather seats. A professional detail for this car costs at least a hundred dollars. Carrying someone like you means I’d have to clean it daily. That adds up to over four thousand dollars a month. Venmo me now.” Chloe clutched her phone, her face turning bright red. “Claire, Justin told you to look after me! Why are you being so cheap with me? I’m just an intern. I don’t even make four thousand a month. How am I supposed to pay you that?” “Oh, so you don’t have the money!” I unlocked the doors, reached over, and pushed her out of the car. “Then stop acting like a spoiled brat. Find your own way home.” Feeling a rush of satisfaction, I hummed a tune all the way home. A hundred dollars to use my brand-new hundred-thousand-dollar Mercedes as her private Uber? In her dreams. The next day at the office, my colleagues looked at me with strange expressions. Some were whispering behind my back. I immediately realized what was happening. The intern was mad about being dumped on the highway last night. She was spreading rumors. Someone tapped my shoulder. “Claire, you need to check the local Reddit thread.” I opened it. A post titled “Intern Brutally Bullied: Dumped on the Highway at Midnight by Her Toxic Manager” was pinned at the very top. I clicked on it. One photo showed Chloe looking miserable and shivering on the side of the road. Another was a shot of my back as I got into the driver’s seat. The top comments were vicious: “Isn’t this Claire Miller, the top sales manager from the marketing department? Not only does she exploit her interns, but she also dumps them in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. How can anyone be so heartless?” “No wonder she’s the top sales agent. She built her career on exploiting her subordinates…” The people from my department had all seen the post. They were now crowding around Chloe, offering her comfort. Chloe held her head high, her sharp voice dripping with fake hurt. “I worked so hard until midnight. Instead of getting a simple thank you, I was abused just because I’m an intern.” “I used to think corporate bullying was just something you read about online. Now I know how real it is…” I didn’t care about a few stupid rumors. But normally, I only cared about my work and didn’t socialize much with my team. Now, their attitude was starting to affect the workplace. To prevent this drama from ruining our productivity, I walked over to the main screen and played my dashcam footage for everyone to see. The people who had been pitying Chloe a second ago suddenly distanced themselves from her, their eyes wide with shock. “A hundred bucks for a monthly private Mercedes ride? Is she insane?” “Leaving bare feet on the console is one thing, but wiping boogers on the seat? She looks so clean, but she’s actually so gross…” Publicly exposed, Chloe’s face flushed a deep crimson. She clenched her fists and stormed out of the office. Before she left, she glared at me with pure hatred. This wasn’t over.

Sure enough, the General Manager soon called me into his office. Justin was an Ivy League graduate who had been parachuted into his position. He always carried an insufferable, condescending attitude. “Claire, the company made you the marketing manager because we trusted you. Look at what you’ve done!” “You know we are targeting a younger demographic right now. The last thing we need is negative PR. Because of your toxic bullying behavior, our company is being dragged on TikTok and Reddit. You will personally bear all the financial losses!” Just as I was about to laugh in his face, Justin cleared his throat, pretending to give me a way out. “Tell you what. Make a public apology to Chloe first to control the damage. If there are no further issues, we’ll only dock your performance bonus for this quarter.” He tapped the document on his desk. “This is the disciplinary form. Sign it if you have no objections.” My face remained expressionless, but I was sneering inside. How could I not see through this? He was trying to defend Chloe while using me to establish his authority over the other departments. Too bad I didn’t play that game. “Justin, are you saying that if a dog bites me and I kick it away, I’m the one who has to apologize? Why don’t you just fire me and hire a pack of dogs instead?” Justin’s face twisted in anger. “Claire! I am your boss! I explicitly told you to take care of the new hires. What’s wrong with driving her home and talking about work on the way?” “You need to take responsibility for your mistakes!” I stood up and calmly picked up the disciplinary form from his desk. “First of all, I have no duty or obligation to take care of Chloe outside of work hours. I am not her mother. I don’t owe her a ride home at midnight.” Justin cleared his throat and looked away. I ripped the form to shreds. “Secondly, if you aren’t blind or deaf, you should have seen the video I played. You know Chloe fabricated the whole story to slander me, which is what actually damaged the company’s reputation. If you can’t see that, you should resign. Your IQ is clearly not fit for the GM position.” He slammed his hand on the desk and stood up, glaring at me. I tossed the ripped paper into his trash can. “Lastly, you don’t even have the authority to dock my bonus. Before the Chairman went to Europe for his business retreat, didn’t he tell you that my department reports directly to him?” With that, I smiled politely. “Justin, based on what I just said, I suggest you use your brain and make a more rational decision.” He didn’t realize that my confidence came from how indispensable I was to this company. The only reason he was the GM was because I didn’t want to waste my energy on corporate bureaucracy. By the time I left his office, he was wiping sweat from his forehead. I thought he would back down after this confrontation. Instead, he and Chloe doubled down, trying to rally the entire department to isolate me. During another late night of overtime, Chloe walked up to me, her eyes filled with venom. “Claire, no wonder a low-level manager like you can afford a hundred-thousand-dollar car.” “Turns out you’ve been stealing the bonuses that belong to us!”

I glanced at her coldly. “What kind of drama are you trying to stir up now?” Chloe slapped my payroll sheet onto my desk. “Claire, let’s not even talk about the past. Just look at the last major project. Everyone worked their asses off and stayed up late with you, yet you took fifty percent of the bonus pool for yourself. Doesn’t that money feel dirty?” “Using your seniority to bully interns and steal your subordinates’ hard work—others might tolerate it, but I won’t!” I let out a cold laugh and glanced toward the GM’s office. “Chloe, who gave you my payroll sheet?” Chloe tapped the paper against my cheek mockingly. “That’s none of your business. Claire, you’d better figure out how to explain this to the team.” “I am here to clean up this toxic workplace. Your good days are over!” I didn’t need to explain anything. I used my own network and clients to secure one multi-million-dollar contract after another. My contribution went far beyond what was visible on paper. According to the Chairman’s agreement, I was actually entitled to eighty percent of the bonus pool. The other thirty percent I distributed to my team was money I voluntarily gave out of my own pocket to reward them. But when it came to money, the team immediately sided with Chloe. Everyone united to isolate me. They dragged their feet on my assignments and even posted anonymously under Chloe’s thread: “Turns out Claire didn’t just bully the intern. She’s been screwing over her senior staff for years!” “I can confirm. She’s my manager. We do all the grunt work, and she pockets all the cash!” “Gross. She looks like a total fraud…” Meanwhile, Chloe became their savior. She walked around the office with her head held high, looking incredibly smug. “Don’t worry, guys. I won’t let her rip you off anymore.” “As a Gen Z, I’m here to fix this place. Some corporate parasites won’t be around much longer.” With Chloe egging them on, my team’s behavior grew worse. They didn’t just slow down their work; if I gave them a stern order, they simply went on strike. All my personal history was dug up and posted in the comment section. Overnight, I became public enemy number one. In my ten years of working, I had never felt this disappointed. When the Chairman returned to the country, I visited his house to discuss the upcoming restructuring. If the current team was uncontrollable, I would simply replace them. After wrapping up our meeting, I walked out of the Chairman’s villa and bumped into Chloe, who was out shopping nearby. She waved her phone at me with a smirk. “Claire, do you still have the energy to visit clients at their houses?” Her young face was filled with mockery. It was as if she had already crushed me under her heel and couldn’t wait to gloat. I smiled back. “You should worry about yourself first.” The next day, the staff didn’t even bother whispering. They pointed and sneered at me openly. I could hear words like “climbing the casting couch” and “corporate escort” being thrown around. Before I could figure out what new lie they had cooked up, Justin called me back into his office. “Claire, your disgraceful behavior has caused our stock price to plummet. A simple fine won’t cut it anymore.” “Pack your bags. You’re fired!”

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On the night before my final thesis defense, Ethan Carter smashed my 3D architectural design model into pieces. All because Lily Gray, the newly admitted scholarship girl, said she wanted to see what the structure looked like inside. “It was just a slip of the hand. Do you really have to look at me with that dead, emotionless face?” Ethan carelessly brushed the dust off his hands. “Sera, you’re the campus goddess. You can easily build another one with a snap of your fingers. Lily has never seen anything of this scale. Just consider this as opening her eyes to the real world.” I stared at the shattered pieces of the architectural model on the floor. It had taken me three grueling months of sweat and sleepless nights to build. Now, it was nothing but trash. I didn’t scream or throw a tantrum like I used to. Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone and tapped the cancel button on my thesis defense application. Suddenly, a bright, glowing wall of chat comments flashed before my eyes: [Nooo! Seraphina, don’t do anything reckless! Ethan is just trying to show off in front of his little mentee. You’re the one he truly loves!] [Exactly! Sure, the model was expensive, but didn’t Ethan buy you a Hermes Birkin to make up for it? He knows he messed up. If you break off a ten-year relationship over some stupid plastic model, you’re throwing away your entire youth!] [Look at his hands! He’s shaking because he regrets it already. He’s just too proud to admit it. Give him a way out, and he’ll spoil you rotten again!] [Why is the female lead being so dramatic? Lily is so poor and pitiful. What’s wrong with her taking a look? You’re a billionaire heiress, why do you even care about this?] I let out a soft, mocking laugh. Once upon a time, for the sake of Ethan, I had rejected my acceptance letter from the world’s top architecture school in London, choosing to stay at this mediocre state college instead. I did it for what I thought was love. But now, I was done. It wasn’t just my thesis model that was shattered. Ethan, I am officially opting out of your life.

I grabbed the unopened Hermes box from the table and tossed it directly into the trash can. “Ethan, let’s break up.” Ethan froze for a second, then let out a sharp sneer. He casually wrapped his arm around the innocent-looking Lily, who was standing beside him. “Seraphina, are you out of your mind?” “You’re breaking up with me over this minor accident? Fine. Don’t regret it.” “The moment you walk out that door, even if you beg me on your knees, I won’t give you a second glance.” I ignored him, turned around, and walked straight out of the studio. Behind me, Lily’s timid, trembling voice echoed: “Ethan… did I do something wrong? Seraphina looks really mad…” “Don’t worry about her. She’s just spoiled and throwing a tantrum.” Ethan’s voice was cold as ice. “Within three days, she’ll definitely come crawling back to me in tears.” Well, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed this time. Those three days will be used to pack my bags. And to completely erase you from my life. Outside, the rain was pouring. I walked into the storm without an umbrella, letting the cold water wash away ten years of absolute absurdity. From fourteen to twenty-four. I had treated Ethan like my entire world. Yet, he treated me like a stepping stone to boost Lily’s ego. Disgusting. After blocking Ethan on Snapchat, Instagram, and every other platform, I contacted the London professor who had offered me a spot years ago. “Professor, I’m ready to accept your offer now.” By the time I finished packing and sorting out the details, it was already past midnight. I dragged my suitcase into the lobby of the luxury high-rise apartment near campus. My dad had bought this place for me so I wouldn’t have to commute, but I had left it empty just to share a cramped off-campus apartment with Ethan. As the elevator doors slid open, I noticed a man leaning against the wall of the hallway. He was dressed in all black, casually smoking a cigarette. The tiny, glowing ember illuminated his strikingly handsome, rebellious face. Xavier Thorne. He was the notorious bad boy of Easton University, and Ethan’s ultimate rival. The chat pop-ups in my mind went absolutely wild: [Oh my god! Why is HE here? Run, Seraphina! This guy is extremely dangerous!] [Sera, don’t be stupid! He’s a literal psycho. Ethan might be a jerk, but he would never actually hurt you. This guy is on another level!] [It’s over, it’s over! Quick, call Ethan for help!] [I heard Xavier’s family has deep ties with the underground mafia. You can’t mess with him. Run!] I ignored the screaming chat boxes. Mainly because my smart lock was acting up. The fingerprint scanner was dead, and the keypad kept showing an error. Just as I was about to call a 24-hour locksmith, Xavier pinched out his cigarette. He took a few slow steps toward me, bringing with him the subtle scent of rich tobacco and fresh mint. “Well, if it isn’t the campus goddess. Did you get kicked out of your house?” His voice was deep, laced with a teasing smirk. I was in no mood for his games. “Let me borrow your phone. Mine is dead.” Xavier raised an eyebrow. Instead of reaching for his phone, he stepped closer, leaned past me, and tapped a few numbers on my lock keypad. With a soft beep, the lock clicked open. I froze. Xavier leaned casually against the doorframe, his smile dangerously charming. “I bought this entire penthouse floor. Of course I know the master backup code.” “No need to thank me, neighbor.” With that, he turned and strolled into the apartment directly opposite mine. Leaving me standing there in utter disbelief. Once inside, I plugged my phone into the charger. The second the screen lit up, dozens of angry voice messages from Ethan flooded my Snapchat. “Seraphina, you’ve got some nerve blocking me, huh?” “Let me tell you right now, if you don’t publicly apologize to Lily tomorrow, we are done!” “Your stupid model was garbage anyway. I did you a favor by smashing it so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself at the defense!” The last message was a photo. Ethan had taken Lily to the exclusive lounge we always frequented, throwing a massive party. His caption read: “Celebrating being single. All drinks on me tonight.” In the corner of the photo, Lily was wearing the limited-edition designer dress Ethan had ordered for me last week, laughing like a clown. [Aww, look! He’s just trying to make you jealous! He’s literally waiting by his phone for you to call!] [Sera, just swallow your pride. That dress looks so cheap on Lily anyway. Ethan is definitely thinking about you!] [If you go there right now and give him a kiss in front of everyone, this whole thing will be over!] I let out a cold sneer. Over? Sure. Let’s make it official. I screenshotted the photo and forwarded it straight into my family’s WhatsApp group. My caption: “We broke up. From now on, the Vance family cuts all ties with the Carters.” Less than a minute later, my dad replied: “Understood.” Ethan, your golden days are officially over.

The next morning, I went to the dean’s office to file my withdrawal papers. As I walked out, Ethan and Lily blocked my path. Lily’s eyes were puffy and red, looking like she had been crying for hours. “Seraphina, please don’t drop out of school. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have touched your model…” “At least you’re self-aware,” I interrupted her performance. Lily choked on her words, her tears threatening to spill. Ethan immediately lost his temper. “Seraphina! How long are you going to keep up this pathetic act? Does forcing Lily to apologize make you feel powerful?” “Dropping out? Who are you trying to scare? With your spoiled, fragile personality, what can you even do without Easton University? Without me?” “Apologize to Lily right now, withdraw your paperwork, and don’t make me slap some sense into you.” A crowd of students had gathered around, whispering and pointing fingers at me. To them, I was the spoiled, rich bully tormenting an innocent scholarship girl. The chat boxes started spamming again: [Sera, stop being so stubborn! He’s giving you a chance to save face! If you don’t drop out, you’ll still be the future Mrs. Carter!] [Exactly! Don’t ruin your own future over some green tea drama! Ethan still cares about you, he’s just acting tough!] [Take your mom’s advice, hug him, cry, and apologize! It’s not too late!] I looked at Ethan’s arrogant face and realized just how blind I had been. “Ethan, did you seem to forget something?” I slapped my approved withdrawal form hard against his chest. “My family built the library at this university. We funded the entire science wing.” “Even if I decided to burn this place to the ground, nobody would dare say a single word to me.” “As for you…” I swept my eyes over him with pure disgust. “Without the Vance family backing you, what are you even worth?” The hallway fell into dead silence. Ethan’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He raised his hand, aiming a hard slap right at my face. “Seraphina, you’re asking for it!” But before his hand could reach me, it was caught mid-air. “Crack.” The sound of fracturing bone echoed clearly through the corridor. Xavier had appeared out of nowhere. He held Ethan’s wrist with a single hand, his grip vice-like, his smile deadly. “Hitting a woman, Ethan?” “Are you tired of having hands?” Ethan broke out into a cold sweat from the pain, but he still tried to yell, “Xavier! This is a private matter between me and Seraphina! None of your business!” Xavier tightened his grip, making Ethan scream in agony. “A private matter?” Xavier reached out with his other hand, lazily twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. “How come Seraphina didn’t mention you when she spent the night at my place last night?” Instantly, the crowd erupted into chaotic whispers. Even I was stunned. Since when did this guy become such a liar?

Xavier’s words were like a bomb dropping on the crowd. Ignoring the agonizing pain in his wrist, Ethan stared at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Seraphina, is he telling the truth?” “Are you really that cheap? You jump into another man’s bed the exact same night we break up?” Beside him, Lily gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “Seraphina, how could you… Ethan has a bad temper, but he was always loyal to you…” I opened my mouth to deny it, but suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a hard chest. Xavier leaned down, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “What’s wrong? Shy to admit it?” “Who was the one begging me to go easier on them last night?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. My entire body went rigid. Is this guy a natural-born actor or what? Just as I was about to stomp on his foot, I caught his eyes. They were dark, deep, and filled with an intensity I couldn’t quite read. The chat went completely insane: [Noooo! Seraphina is ruined! How could she sleep with the villain? My ship has sunk!] [Even though Ethan is a jerk, he never touched another girl! Sera, I am so disappointed in you!] [It’s over, there’s no going back now. Is she just throwing her life away?] [Xavier is definitely using her! He just wants to get back at Ethan! Wake up, Seraphina!] I took a deep breath. If Ethan wanted to believe I cheated, then so be it. Either way, I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. I leaned back into Xavier’s embrace, flashing Ethan a dazzling, mock-sweet smile. “Yes, it’s true.” “And honestly, Xavier is a million times better than you.” “At least he doesn’t smash my hard work just to impress some cheap girl.” Ethan trembled with pure rage. “Fine! Fine! Fine!” He snarled, his eyes dark with malice. “Seraphina, you will regret this!” “I will make sure you realize just how miserable your life will be without me!” With that, he grabbed Lily and stormed off, completely humiliated. As the crowd dispersed, I immediately pushed Xavier away. “Done acting?” Xavier didn’t seem bothered. He casually slid his hands into his pockets. “Throwing me away the second I’m no longer useful? How heartless, Seraphina.” He stepped closer, his gaze turning serious. “But just so you know, one thing I said was absolutely true.” “I really am a million times better than him.” I rolled my eyes and walked away. Behind me, his low, amused chuckle followed me down the hall. Back at my apartment, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Sera, what is wrong with that Carter boy? I heard he destroyed your thesis project?” “Mom, I want to transfer to London.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Your father and I support you. As for Ethan, the Vance family will make sure he pays for what he did.” After hanging up, I stared out at the city skyline. For the first time in years, my mind felt incredibly peaceful. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. “Velvet Lounge, 8 PM tonight. If you don’t show up, you’ll regret it.” Attached was a photo of Xavier, beaten up and covered in blood. My heart stopped.

By the time I rushed into Velvet Lounge, the private VIP room was in complete ruins. Ethan was sitting in the middle of the couch, his designer shoe stepping heavily on Xavier’s face. Lily was curled up next to him, feeding him grapes. Xavier was covered in cuts and bruises, yet he was still laughing—a completely mocking, arrogant laugh. “Is this all you got, Ethan?” “Bringing ten guys to jump me? You’re a pathetic clown.” Ethan ground his heel harder into Xavier’s cheek. “Shut up. Right now, you’re nothing but a dog at my feet.” Seeing me enter, Ethan’s eyes lit up. He lifted his foot, looking like a little boy waiting for a prize. “Sera, you came.” “I knew you couldn’t stay away from me.” “Apologize to Lily on your knees right now, swear you’ll never see this street trash again, and I’ll forgive you.” Staring at Xavier, who was bleeding on the floor, a fierce, burning anger roared inside me. The chat comments were still desperately trying to persuade me: [Sera, just kneel! Ethan is just incredibly jealous! He only beat up Xavier because he loves you so much!] [If you just submit to him, Ethan will take Xavier to the hospital! Look how much he cares about your reaction!] [Xavier is just a street thug anyway, he deserved it! Don’t ruin things with Ethan over him!] I marched forward. Before anyone could react, I grabbed a heavy bottle of red wine from the table and slammed it directly over Ethan’s head. “Smash!” The glass shattered into a million pieces. Crimson wine mixed with blood poured down Ethan’s face. Screams echoed through the room. Lily shrieked and fell off the sofa in terror. Ethan clutched his bleeding head, staring at me in absolute shock. “Seraphina! You hit me? For this street trash?” I tossed the broken neck of the bottle onto the floor, looking down at him coldly. “Ethan, that bottle was for my destroyed architectural model.” Then, I pointed at Xavier. “As for him…” “Whoever touched him tonight, I want their hand.” I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a very long time. “Uncle Marcus.” “Bring your men to Velvet Lounge. Someone is laying hands on your niece’s people.” A dark chuckle came from the other end of the line. “Give me three minutes, sweetheart.” Ethan’s face drained of all color. He knew exactly who Uncle Marcus was. Marcus Vance—the undisputed king of the city’s private security and underground syndicates. Even Ethan’s father had to bow and call him “sir” in public. “Seraphina, are you insane? Calling your uncle over a stupid fight?” Ethan panicked, his voice shaking. “We were just messing around…” “Messing around?” I knelt down, gently helping Xavier sit up. Seeing the blood on his lips, my heart twinged with an unfamiliar pain. “Does it hurt?” I whispered. Xavier looked at me, a flash of surprise crossing his dark eyes. Then, he smirked weakly. “It hurts like hell.” “But a kiss from you might make it better.” Even in this state, he was still flirting. I glared at him, taking out my silk handkerchief to gently wipe the blood from his face. At that moment, I could practically hear Ethan’s heart shattering. Along with the desperate screams of the system chat: [Oh my god! It’s over! The ship has completely burned down! She really fell for the bad boy!] [The plot is totally ruined! Where is the regret arc? Why is the male lead being absolutely destroyed?] [I don’t believe it! She must be acting! She still loves Ethan!] Love him? I was blind before. Now, I just wanted to see him rot.

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