Author: Momo Chan

Three years of long-distance. I flew back to Boston a week early, heart in my throat, ready to surprise my fiancé. On the cab ride over, I was mindlessly scrolling through a local viral thread on a gossip subreddit. [UPDATE: Faking a confession to my boss so I wouldn’t get laid off.] “You guys can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’re officially together.” “Two years of enemies-to-lovers tension. Turns out, even the coldest corporate king can be brought to his knees. ;)” The photo attached to the post was meant to be a casual flex—two hands intertwined, showing off matching couple’s rings. My thumb froze over the screen. Right there, on the webbing of the man’s hand between his thumb and index finger, was a faint, jagged scar. My fiancé had the exact same one. “We got into a stupid fight yesterday and he’s been icing me out. Ugh. But a smart woman knows when to drop her ego and coax her man.” “Anyway, I’m literally standing outside his gated community right now.” The image on my screen slowly bled into the reality unfolding in front of me. I looked up, dazed. A gorgeous, vibrant girl in her early twenties was standing just outside the wrought-iron pedestrian gate, flashing me a brilliant smile. “Hey! Could you do me a huge favor and scan me in?” 1 The scanner beeped, recognizing my face, and the heavy iron gate clicked open. The girl thanked me profusely, took two steps inside, and then spun back around. “Oh, by the way, do you know which way Phase Two, Unit Three is?” She stuck her tongue out playfully. “I came completely unannounced. Trying to give my boyfriend a surprise.” Phase Two was a newly developed, ultra-exclusive row of townhouses. There were only a handful of units in that specific section. Carter Dalton lived in Unit Three. A familiar scar. A matching address. My fingertips went numb. A surreal, hysterical feeling bubbled up in my chest. It’s impossible. I looked at the girl. Her username was Kelsey. She was a vision of youthful, effortless beauty. Voluminous beach waves, a flawless natural makeup look, and pristine French tips. The spring air was still biting and cold, but she was braving it in a tiny pleated skirt. Anyone looking at her would smile at the sheer, unstoppable force of young love. I pointed her in the right direction, and she beamed. “Wait, which way are you heading?” she asked. I swallowed the sandpaper in my throat. “That way, actually.” “Oh, perfect!” She immediately looped her arm through mine, pressing in close like we were old friends. “I was low-key terrified of walking through this massive place by myself.” Kelsey was exactly like her online persona: a relentless chatterbox. In the short walk down the manicured path, she filled the silence. Every third sentence circled back to her boyfriend. “He’s actually the VP of our division. When I first started, my numbers were awful, so I fake-confessed my love to him just to make him uncomfortable. But guess what? The tips of his ears turned bright red!” “After that, he magically crossed my name off the layoff list.” “He acts so tough, but he’s incredibly possessive. Once, I wore a dress that was a little too low-cut to a client dinner. He looked like he wanted to murder someone, dragged me into the hallway by the restrooms, and kissed me breathless.” As I listened, the suffocating cloud of dread in my chest began to dissipate. Her boyfriend got jealous. He lost his temper. He picked petty fights that lasted until dawn. That sounded absolutely nothing like Carter. My Carter was a baseline of steady, unwavering gentleness. I almost laughed at my own paranoia. Right. A scar on the hand wasn’t exactly a one-of-a-kind birthmark. And Carter wasn’t the only person who owned property in this zip code. Long-distance really did make people crazy. It made you invent ghosts in the dark. How could I ever doubt the boy who had literally taken a knife for me? Thank God, I thought, the tension bleeding out of my shoulders. Thank God I’m home. Kelsey pouted, letting out a dramatic sigh. “We fought all night yesterday, and he wouldn’t even reply to my texts. So here I am, delivering myself to his doorstep as an apology.” She shook her designer tote bag, revealing the corner of a familiar dark blue box. She caught me looking, her eyes dropping to the modest diamond on my left ring finger, and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Let me guess, you’ve been away from your husband for a while? Do you have any of these at home? I can spare a few if you need them.” Heat rushed to my face, and I looked away. “N-no, I’m good.” Kelsey giggled, playfully trying to press the box into my hands. “Take some! I bought two jumbo packs. We’ll never get through all of them.” My hands froze mid-push. It was a specific luxury brand. A specific ultra-thin line. Carter hated change. He only ever bought this exact kind. My heart dropped like a stone. Suddenly, a phone rang. Kelsey answered it, her voice instantly dropping into a coquettish whine. “Mmm? How did you know I was outside your house?” A pause. “Are you tracking my location again? Honestly, Mr. Dalton, you need to reel in your control issues.” Mr. Dalton. My feet stopped moving. I felt anchored to the concrete. “Okay, okay, I know. Just forgive me this once, please?” She hung up, gave me a hurried, ecstatic wave, and practically skipped toward the heavy oak door of Unit Three. The door opened. She flew like a joyful little bird straight into the arms of the man standing in the foyer. He looked down, his arm circling her waist with practiced ease. Through the half-open wrought-iron gate of his courtyard, from barely ten feet away, I had a front-row seat. It was clear as day. It was my Carter. 2 “You’re freezing. You never dress for the weather.” The words were a reprimand, but the tone was thick with indulgence. Carter stripped off his cardigan and draped it over her shoulders in one fluid, habitual motion. As if sensing a shift in the air, his eyes flicked upward toward the gate. “Who’s that behind—” Kelsey cut him off, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing against his jaw. “I hand-delivered myself to you, and you’re looking at someone else?” “Mr. Dalton,” she whispered, loud enough to carry through the crisp spring air. “I bought a new set. Today… I’ll let you do it anywhere you want.” “The kitchen island, the sofa, the balcony… let’s try them all.” Carter didn’t say a word. But I knew the subtle darkening of his eyes. I knew the way his jaw tensed. He was turned on. The heavy front door slammed shut. It locked out the rest of the world, leaving me standing alone in the biting wind, surrounded by the blooming spring I had been so desperate to return to. How? How could it be him? But my eyes didn’t lie. When I was three years old, my parents moved us to a house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Five-year-old Carter Dalton had marched right up to me, pinched my cheek, and then blushed furiously. “Are you going to live next door?” When we were nine, playing house in his backyard, I claimed the role of the mom. Carter shoved the other boys aside, smiling that easy, brilliant smile. “If Natalie is the mom, then I have to be the dad.” When I was eighteen, a home invasion turned violent. A man cornered me in the kitchen. In the second before the blade sliced across my neck, Carter lunged, grabbing the raw edge of the knife with his bare hand. Blood poured down his wrist, staining my shirt crimson. By the time the paramedics arrived, he was ghost-pale, yet he still managed to smile at me while they bandaged his ruined hand. “Don’t cry, Nat. You’re safe. Your protector isn’t hurting at all.” The nerve damage left him with a permanent tremor in that hand. I chose to go to medical school because of him. During our undergrad years at different colleges, every guy who tried to ask me out was “coincidentally” intercepted by Carter. He played the role of the overprotective older boy next door, scaring them all away. Until one night, smelling of cheap beer and desperation, he pinned me against the wall outside my dorm, his voice ragged. He said it over and over. “Natalie, I don’t want to just be the boy next door anymore. I can’t do it.” Four years after we officially got together, I was accepted into a prestigious medical fellowship in London. Knowing how heartbroken I was to leave, Carter gathered both our families and all our closest friends for a massive farewell dinner. Right there, in front of everyone, he dropped to one knee. His eyes were entirely mine. “Nat, go chase your dream. When your fellowship is over and you come back to me, we’re getting married.” I believed him. I suppose fate loves nothing more than making a mockery of fools who believe in things too deeply. It only took one look. Twenty years of devotion, of shared history, of an unbreakable bond. Obliterated in a single, earth-shattering second. The spring rain started to fall. Fine, misty droplets hit the pavement. I couldn’t tell if my face was wet from the rain or from my own tears. It wasn’t until I pulled out my phone that I realized my hands were shaking violently. It took me four tries to hit his contact name. Ringing. Ringing. Voicemail. I didn’t stop. I knew he was up there. Separated from me by nothing but brick and drywall. But I didn’t have the courage to walk up to that door and confront them. So I just stood in the rain, pressing redial. Over and over. Like a complete idiot. Half an hour later, he finally picked up. His voice was rushed, the underlying breathlessness poorly concealed. “Nat? Hey, baby, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” I swallowed the jagged glass in my throat. “Nothing… I just missed you.” “Where are you?” I heard the subtle exhale of relief on his end. “I’m still at the office. Things are just crazy right now, lots of fires to put out…” He didn’t even get to finish his lie. A sickeningly sweet female voice drifted through the receiver, entirely too close to the mic. “Mr. Dalton, this project is very urgent. We really shouldn’t waste any time.” The muffled friction of skin and sheets cut through my ear like a serrated blade. Carter cursed under his breath and hurried to hang up. “Nat, I’ve got to go handle this. I’ll call you back later tonight. I love you.” Every single time we hung up, Carter ended it with “I love you.” Today was the day I learned the truth. I learned that he could say those three words to me, while physically inside someone else. My phone vibrated again in my palm. I frantically wiped my eyes. “Mom.” “Yes. My flight landed. I’m back.” She was practically glowing through the phone. “Oh, honey! Have you seen Carter yet? Have you guys set a firm date for the wedding?” It was spring. The cherry blossoms were blooming everywhere. On a FaceTime call last year, Carter had planned it all out: “Nat, you’ll be back right when the weather turns. We’ll do an outdoor garden wedding. It’ll be perfect.” I opened my mouth, but only the bitter taste of ash came out. “Mom.” “There’s not going to be a wedding.” 3 It wasn’t until I was back in my childhood bedroom that the freezing dampness of the rain began to fade. My mother hovered in the doorway, her face etched with careful concern. “Did you two have a fight?” When I didn’t answer, she seemed to take it as confirmation, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Natalie, listen to me. When two people have been together as long as you have, friction is normal.” “Your father and I watched Carter grow up. You two have practically spent your whole lives together. You don’t just throw away a wedding over a little spat.” Right. From the time we were three, up until today—my twenty-seventh birthday. Every single brilliant, sunlit memory of my life was tethered to Carter Dalton. When did it rot? When did the foundation turn to sand? I stopped listening to my mother’s reassurances. I offered a hollow nod and gently closed the door. I turned my phone back on. I pulled up Kelsey’s profile. I scrolled all the way to the very first post, and I started reading. She hadn’t lied about a single thing. It had all started with that ridiculous, brazen confession to save her job. Carter’s attitude toward her had slowly shifted into something ambiguous. Something dangerous. He had saved her job, then promoted her three times in two years, bumping her all the way up to his executive assistant. Drunk on her own success, Kelsey had only grown bolder. “I complained yesterday that I couldn’t sleep without someone next to me, and he brought me back this custom room spray from his business trip! Does anyone recognize the brand?” My finger hovered over the photo. It wasn’t a brand. I had made it myself. Carter had always struggled with insomnia. While studying in London, I took an apothecary class, carefully blending lavender, cedarwood, and chamomile, and tucked the bottle into his suitcase the last time he visited. When I asked him on the phone if it helped him sleep, he had evaded the question, his voice dropping low. “Nothing works when you aren’t here.” I had been too busy blushing at the compliment to realize he had handed my handmade devotion straight to his assistant. The betrayal had started so long ago. Fighting the sharp, agonizing spasms in my chest, I kept scrolling. Last March, Kelsey had been hospitalized for an acute stomach ulcer. I recognized the extravagant arrangement of pink Stargazer lilies in the corner of her hospital room photo. I had ordered them. That was the night Carter called me at 3 AM London time, frantic, saying a close friend had collapsed. I spent hours on the phone, leveraging connections with visiting American doctors to get his “friend” bumped into a VIP private room. I sat awake in my cold apartment the entire night, terrified that he was the one who was sick and hiding it from me. It was her. It was always her. And then, the post from two days ago. Kelsey standing under a massive, sprawling oak tree. “My boss finally brought me to his childhood home.” “I dug up the time capsule he buried ten years ago. Honestly, who cares about a childhood sweetheart? I am his future now, and as of today, I’ve claimed his past too.” The caption was aggressive. Pointed. I understood exactly what she was doing. My heart, piece by piece, turned to ice. Inside that time capsule was a Polaroid of me and Carter. On the back, in his messy handwriting, he had written: “To my Natalie. Now and forever.” Kelsey knew exactly who I was. Our encounter at the gate wasn’t an accident. It was an ambush. A notification popped up at the top of the screen. Kelsey had just posted a new update. A selfie of her flushed, glowing face, with torn blue wrappers scattered across the hardwood floor behind her. It wasn’t even subtle anymore. A wave of pure nausea hit me, so violently I had to grip the edge of the desk. I forced myself to breathe. Then, I dialed Carter’s number. “Nat, baby, I’m so sorry, I was just slammed with—” “Carter,” I interrupted him, my voice dead flat. “You once told me you would do anything for me. Is that true?” “…” “Of course it is.” “Your new executive assistant. I don’t like her.” “Fire her. Right now.” 4 Dead silence on the other end of the line. When Carter finally spoke, his voice was tight. Defensive. “…Where is this coming from?” “Who’s been talking to you?” He was struggling to keep his temper in check. “Kelsey is just an assistant. I kept her on because she gets the job done. It’s not easy for a young girl trying to make it in the corporate world. You expect me to just fire her on a whim?” Perhaps realizing how harshly he was snapping at me, he took a breath and softened his tone. “Nat, is this just pre-wedding jitters? Are you feeling insecure because we’ve been apart for so long?” “I promise you, I only have eyes for yo—” I let out a breathless, broken laugh. The tears were falling freely now, hot and fast. “Carter.” “I never even told you her name.” Before he could say another word, I ended the call. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, walked over to my safe, and opened it. When my fingers brushed the cold, heavy gold of the vintage bangle inside, I froze. During my medical rotations, I had seen so much death. Unrequited love, bitter divorces, grudges held for decades, the inability to let go. In the end, it all just turned into ash by a hospital bed. Life is too short. Loving someone fiercely is never a mistake. And walking away when it’s broken isn’t a failure either. Even if… even if it ends as ugly as this. Making the decision took less than a second. I opened my contacts and sent a mass text to every single family member and close friend who had attended our engagement dinner. The next afternoon. The private dining room of our favorite country club slowly filled up. Everyone who walked in greeted me with a knowing, teasing smile. “Well look who’s back! Planning a massive surprise for Carter, huh? Absence makes the heart grow fonder!” Every single person in that room thought I had called them here to fast-track the wedding. Only Carter’s parents looked slightly confused. “Natalie, sweetheart, why all the secrecy? The courthouse is already closed today, isn’t it?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “Are you two planning an elopement? Wait, where are your parents?” I didn’t answer her directly. I poured her a cup of tea and set it gently in front of her. “Mr. and Mrs. Dalton. My parents felt it was best they didn’t attend today.” Mrs. Dalton frowned, opening her mouth to ask another question, when the heavy mahogany doors burst open. Carter rushed in, his hair disheveled. He made a beeline for me, grabbing my hands, panic radiating off him. “Nat, when did you get back? Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” “Whatever you heard about her, I swear to God it’s just office rumors, you have to belie—” He cut himself off. He finally looked around the room, the color draining from his face. “What… why is everyone here? Mom? Dad?” For a few agonizing seconds, he just stared. And then, his panicked expression smoothed out into a fond, exasperated smile. His eyes filled with that familiar, indulgent warmth. “Oh, I get it. You were just messing with me yesterday, weren’t you? Making me sweat for this big surprise.” The jagged scar on his hand was pressed directly into my palm. I looked down at it. Then I looked up, meeting his incredibly convincing, deeply affectionate gaze, trying to find the man I thought I knew. Kelsey’s aggressively floral perfume still clung to his collar. On his right hand, the silver band she had bought him was gone, leaving only a faint indent in his skin. I wanted to ask him how he did it. How he could look me in the eye and pretend absolutely nothing had happened. But I realized that asking him would only invite more lies, stretching this nightmare out indefinitely. I was done. I slowly, deliberately pulled my hands out of his grip. I picked up the heavy velvet box and slid the heirloom Dalton bangle across the table to his parents. The room went dead silent. Every person in our circle knew exactly what that bangle meant. “Mr. and Mrs. Dalton. The wedding is off.” Carter’s pupils blew wide. The charming smile contorted into genuine anger. “Natalie! Do not make jokes like this in front of my parents!” “The wedding is off? Twenty years of our lives, and you’re just throwing it away? Over what? Office gossip?” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice barely above a whisper. “Over what?” “Carter. When you were balls-deep in Kelsey Monroe yesterday, playing me for an absolute fool, did you think about our twenty years then?”

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My husband and I were the youngest tenure-track professors at the university. I had just officially stepped aside, giving him my slot for the prestigious international research fellowship in London, when he came home to make a confession. “June, I’ve fallen in love with someone else. She only finished high school, but she’s… vibrant. Pure. She has a kind of courage neither of us ever had.” He paused, looking at me with a mixture of pity and resolve. “You’re not like her. You’re established here; you have a brilliant career ahead of you in the States. But her? She needs to get out. Going with me is her only chance at a real life.” He took a breath, then added, “I’ll leave you everything in the divorce. The house, the savings—take it. It doesn’t matter. Once I’m overseas, I’ll have everything I need.” I nodded slowly, my voice trapped in my throat. I agreed to his terms. Then, as soon as the door closed behind him, I dialed the Provost’s office. If he was so intent on leaving with nothing, he could start by leaving behind the fellowship I’d gifted him. 1. Arthur actually had the audacity to chuckle when he saw the shock in my eyes. “Daisy is just… she’s a beautiful soul, June.” “She used to bring me late-night takeout when I was pulling all-nighters in the lab. She’d just leave it at the door and text me a heart.” “When the pressure got too high, she’d just sit next to me in silence. She doesn’t understand the physics, but she’s willing to try and understand me.” In that moment, I forgot how to breathe. The year Arthur was finishing his PhD, he worked himself into a literal stomach ulcer. I was the one who stayed by his hospital bed for three days and nights, feeding him broth spoonful by spoonful. The first time his grant proposal was rejected and he locked himself in his office, I was the one who climbed through the window with a bottle of scotch and sat on the floor with him until dawn. I thought those things didn’t need to be said. We were a team. We had crawled out of the same state-run group home together, two kids with nothing in this world but each other’s ambitions. But now, the very things that were supposed to be understood—the years of silent, grinding support—were being used as his justification for leaving. I forced my hands to stop shaking and found my voice. “You’re thirty years old, Arthur. She’s eighteen. She’s a child.” He didn’t even flinch. “I know. Age is just a number when two souls connect.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You started university at sixteen. You have a doctorate. You’re a rising star in academia. She’s a girl who barely passed her GED.” Arthur’s brow furrowed. “June, don’t be an elitist. Education isn’t the same thing as character. I won’t have you looking down on her.” I felt like he’d doused me in ice water. Maybe my expression was too horrific to look at, because his tone softened slightly. “Look, June, you don’t need to cling to me. You have your work. You have your chair. You’ll be fine without me.” I waited for the ‘but.’ “But Daisy is different,” he continued, his eyes glazing over with a sickening kind of tenderness. “Her parents split when she was a toddler. She was raised by a grandmother who died last year. She’s been alone since then. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a girl like that? No degree, no connections, just scraping by in a world that wants to chew her up?” He actually looked misty-eyed. “She needs this. She needs a fresh start in a place where no one knows her past. She needs me to save her.” It was absurd. I was six when I was dumped in that group home. When I was twelve and burning up with a 104-degree fever, the staff told me to “tough it out.” I was the one who crawled out of bed and walked two miles to the clinic alone. When I got into the best prep school in the state on a scholarship at sixteen, I didn’t have money for the meal plan. I spent my weekends scrubbing floors to pay for my books. I had clawed my way up every single inch of the mountain. But he didn’t see that. He only saw the girl who was “pure” enough to play the victim, the one who made him feel like a hero. Just this afternoon, the Provost had called me into his office. He told me there was only one opening for the prestigious fellowship in London this year. After looking at the publications, they wanted me. I declined. I told him Arthur needed the opportunity more, that his research direction was better suited for the European labs. I told him I was happy to stay behind and manage our department. The Provost had been surprised, but he’d smiled. “You’re a supportive wife, June.” I wasn’t a “supportive wife.” I was just the girl who remembered being twelve years old when the home gave out one piece of candy per child, and Arthur gave me his. I remembered being fifteen when some local kids tried to jump me, and Arthur ended up with a broken nose protecting me. I remembered being eighteen, both of us broke in college, and him eating ramen for a month so he could buy me a decent coat for my first internship. I thought we were family. And now, the moment I handed him his future on a silver platter, he was planning to use it to fly another woman away. She needed a new life. What about mine? I grabbed the glass of water from the coffee table and hurled it at him. “Get out!” The glass clipped his shoulder and shattered against the floor, soaking his expensive wool sweater. He didn’t move. He just reached into his bag, pulled out a manila envelope, and set it on the table. “The divorce papers are already signed,” he said quietly. “Like I said, I’m taking nothing. The house, the equity, the accounts—it’s all yours. Everything we built here stays with you.” He hesitated. “Think about it. When you’re ready to be rational, we’ll go to the courthouse.” 2. Arthur left, and I knew he wasn’t coming back tonight. The silence in the living room was deafening, punctuated only by the drip of water from the table. I walked into the bathroom and stared at the woman in the mirror. I saw the lack of sleep in the dark circles under my eyes, the subtle fine lines at the corners of my lids, the way my face had thinned out from years of stress and ambition. I looked like a woman approaching thirty who worked sixty hours a week. I didn’t look like an eighteen-year-old girl. But I had been eighteen once. I had been the one with the glowing skin and the bright eyes, looking at him as if he were the sun. I had been the one who skipped three grades and started my Master’s alongside him because I couldn’t bear to be behind. Because I loved him, I had nearly erased myself. I edited his papers. I polished his grant proposals. I stayed up until 3:00 AM pulling data for his projects. In the beginning, he was guilty about it. “June, thank you. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. We’ll go to the Caribbean as soon as this is over.” Then it became: “Can you just take one more look at this?” And finally: “Finish this and email it to me when you’re done.” The year he got his Associate Professor title, I had even let him put his name as lead author on one of my papers. He’d said his tenure track was more “precarious” than mine, that he needed the win more. I was the fool. I hadn’t realized that while I was building a pedestal for him, I was digging my own grave. I hadn’t realized that at twenty-nine, I was already the more successful academic. I was the youngest full professor in the department’s history. And I had almost given it all to him. I looked at my reflection and slapped myself. Hard. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the rot in my chest. June, you absolute idiot. Betrayal by a man is one thing. Betrayal of your own potential is an unforgivable sin. My phone buzzed. A mutual friend had posted a photo to a group chat. There was Arthur at a local dive bar, his arm draped around a girl with messy blonde hair and a crop top. He was laughing. He looked… unburdened. I didn’t reply. I walked back into the living room, picked up the divorce papers, and signed my name with a steady hand. Then I called the Provost back. “Sir? About that London fellowship. I’ve had a change of heart. I want it.” There was a long silence on the other end. “Are you sure, June? Arthur just submitted his resignation for his current position. If you take that slot, he’s… well, he’s going to be out of a job and a project.” This time, I didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure. That was his choice. It has nothing to do with me.” I wasn’t a supportive wife anymore. And I was going to be an even worse ex-wife. 3. A few days later, I was at the federal building to expedite my visa paperwork when I ran into her. Lexie—the “pure, vibrant” girl Arthur was so obsessed with—was currently at the service counter, screaming at a clerk. “What do you mean I can’t get a long-stay visa without a sponsor or a work permit? That’s literally discrimination!” The clerk was trying to remain patient. “Ma’am, as I’ve explained, you don’t meet the educational or professional requirements for this specific visa category. You need a different form of application.” She wasn’t listening. Her voice rose an octave. A manager finally stepped out to escort her to a side seating area. I stayed in my line. When it was my turn, I handed over my university credentials and my fellowship award letter. The process was seamless. As I turned to leave, Lexie blocked my path. She pointed a finger at me and yelled at the manager, “Why does she get to go through and I don’t? Look at her! She’s way older than me! If she can go, why can’t I?” The manager sighed. “Ma’am, her qualifications and documentation are in order. This has nothing to do with you.” Lexie turned her glare on me. It was pure venom. “I know who you are. Artie told me everything. He said you’re a stalker who won’t sign the papers. Are you following him to London? Are you really that desperate?” She stepped closer, her breath smelling like cheap energy drinks. “You’re clinging to a man who doesn’t want you. You’re literally trying to be a third wheel in our relationship. Don’t you have any dignity, you old hag?” I’ve met all kinds of people in my life, but the sheer audacity of this girl was something new. I gave her a cold, thin smile. “Let’s get one thing straight. Arthur and I are still legally married. In the eyes of the law, I am his wife. You? You’re just a girl he’s using to feel young because he’s terrified of his own mediocrity.” She let out a harsh laugh. “What century are you living in? The one who isn’t loved is the real outsider. Do you know Artie drives forty minutes out of his way every night to bring me my favorite cupcakes? He stays up until 2:00 AM watching reality TV with me even when he has an 8:00 AM lecture. He tells everyone he’s ‘at the lab’ just so he can sneak out to see me.” My heart did a slow, painful somersault. All those nights I thought he was grinding away at his research. All those nights I stayed up late proofreading his work so he could “sleep,” he was actually with her. I had been fighting for our future while he was playing house with a teenager. “He also said you’re like a dead fish in bed,” she sneered, leaning in. “That’s why he’s leaving. You’re boring, June.” I didn’t think. My hand moved on its own. The slap echoed in the marble lobby. But before I could pull my hand back, a grip tightened around my wrist. It was painful. Arthur was suddenly there, his face contorted with rage. “June! What the hell are you doing?” Lexie immediately collapsed into him, her voice turning into a pathetic whimper. “Artie, I just wanted to help with the visa stuff so we could be together… and she just started calling me names… she said she was going to kill me…” Arthur’s eyes were like flint. “June, we signed the papers. We’re done. If you have a problem, take it out on me. Leave her out of this.” People were starting to whisper. “Is that the ex? God, how embarrassing.” “She looks so professional, but she’s acting like a crazy person.” The comments stung, but I kept my eyes on Arthur. This was a man I had known for twenty years. From the group home to our wedding day. I thought I knew every fiber of his soul. Now, he was a stranger. I took a deep breath and smoothed my coat. “Done? Fine. But if we’re truly ‘done,’ then I want everything back. The papers I wrote for you. The data I collected for your experiments. The projects I secured for you. And especially that lead-author credit on the paper that got you your promotion. Do you want to return those, Arthur?” I said it calmly, but Arthur’s face went white. In our world, that wasn’t just a divorce dispute. That was academic fraud. It could end his career in a heartbeat. His grip on my wrist loosened. “June… let’s not be dramatic.” I didn’t answer. I rubbed my wrist, turned around, and walked out into the sunlight. 4. For the next few days, my phone was a graveyard of texts from him. At first, he tried the “reasonable” approach: June, what happened at the federal building was a mess. Let’s just move on with our lives. Don’t say things you’ll regret about the papers. Let’s keep this civil. I didn’t reply. Then he started fishing, trying to see if I was actually going to report him for academic dishonesty. When I still didn’t respond, he turned nasty: June, think very carefully. If you try to burn me down, I’ll take you with me. We can both lose our jobs. Don’t be a spiteful bitch. I swiped the notifications away and turned off the screen. Eventually, the texts stopped. He probably assumed I was just blowing off steam and didn’t have the guts to follow through. He started posting on Instagram again. Photos of him and Lexie with captions like: When you finally find the one, time doesn’t matter. Arthur, who used to hate being in front of a camera, was suddenly grinning in every shot. Our mutual friends were losing their minds. People were tagging me, asking if we’d split, asking who the “mystery girl” was. He didn’t hide it. He went into the group chats and announced our divorce as if it were a victory. “Some people look good on paper,” he wrote, “but in real life, they’re just calculators. They don’t know how to live. My Lexie is pure. She hasn’t been corrupted by the ‘system’ like some people I know.” Everyone knew who he was talking about. The chat went silent for a few seconds. I received a dozen “I’m so sorry” texts. I ignored them all. The day my fellowship was officially processed, the university called me in. They were finalizing the travel grants and the formal announcement. As I walked toward the administration building, I saw them. Lexie was clinging to Arthur’s arm, practically hanging off him. When she saw me, she made a face and buried her head in his shoulder. Arthur stopped as I approached. He looked down at me with a strange kind of pity. “June,” he said softly. “It’s over. We’re moving on. It’s better this way.” I said nothing. He took a few steps past me, then looked back over his shoulder. He looked like a man who thought he’d won—the man who got the girl and the career, while his “boring” wife was left in the dust. We were called into the conference room. The Provost was there, along with the Dean of Sciences and a few people from the Ethics Committee I didn’t recognize. Arthur stood confidently at the head of the table. Lexie hovered by the door, trying to peek in. The Provost looked at us and picked up a folder. “We’ve called you here to announce the final selection for the London Fellowship. This year’s recipient is—”

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Reid had been a genius since we were in pull-ups. When we were kids, I would stay up until one in the morning, nursing a cold cup of tea and highlighting textbooks until my eyes blurred, while he’d be out like a light by nine. And yet, every single time, he’d beat my scores by thirty points without breaking a sweat. In college, it was the same story. It took me a full semester of grueling library sessions to wrap my head around advanced calculus; he’d glance at the problem set once and solve it before the professor finished writing on the board. Even when I spent six months meticulously preparing for the state revenue service exams, he just flipped through the study guide a few days before the test. Predictably, he took the top spot in both the written and oral rounds. Luckily, there were two openings. I had placed second. I went to the HR department with him, my hand steady as I held my folder of certification documents, ready to sign my future into existence. But before I could reach the desk, Reid reached over, snatched my papers, and ripped them into a dozen jagged pieces. He didn’t even look at me. He just stared at the hiring manager. “You want me on your team? Fine. But Lexi comes with me.” The manager looked like he wanted to laugh, but the expression curdled into disbelief. “Do you realize she didn’t even pass the written exam? She’s not even on the list.” Reid let out a cold, sharp laugh. “That’s my condition. Either Lexi gets a desk next to mine, or your number one recruit walks out that door right now.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my own throat. He was a talent, sure. But in the sea of people clawing for a career in the public sector, talent was the only thing we had in surplus. Suddenly, I realized: if he walked, I wasn’t just second place anymore. I was the new number one. 1 The white scraps of my life’s work fluttered down like mocking snow, landing on my shoulders and the scuffed linoleum floor. My hands shook as I reached down to grab the remnants of my certifications. I looked up at Reid, my voice a strangled whisper. “You’ve completely lost your mind.” Reid ignored me, his gaze locked onto the manager with a chilling confidence. “Lexi goes where I go. If she’s not hired, I won’t accept the position. I’ll give you some time to think about it.” “Reid!” I finally found my voice, sharp and trembling. “Those were my papers! I earned the second slot. You have no right—” He turned to me then, flashing that signature, crooked smirk—the one that used to make my heart skip a beat when we were teenagers, back when I thought he was my protector. “Relax, Norah,” he said, his tone infuriatingly patronizing. “We grew up together; I know how much you hate being away from home. Lexi doesn’t like long-distance either. Just be a good girl and wait, okay?” “You—” The manager cleared his throat, his face a mask of professional restraint. “Mr. Scott, I’ve seen your scores. Your aptitude is undeniable. I truly hoped you would join us.” “And I will,” Reid said, leaning back. “As soon as you process Lexi’s paperwork.” “But Lexi Wells failed,” the manager snapped. “She is ineligible for public service. We cannot hire her.” “Then you don’t get me.” “I see.” The manager took a deep, steadying breath, his jaw tight. “Fine. If she doesn’t come, you don’t come? Message received.” He stood up, smoothing his tie. “You can leave now.” Reid’s eyebrows shot up. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with arrogance. “Thank you for understanding.” He tossed a smug look over his shoulder at me. “See you at home, Norah.” The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him. I stood there, clutching the shredded paper, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Sir…” The manager didn’t say a word. He reached into a drawer, pulled out a fresh set of forms, and slid them across the mahogany desk toward me. “Fill these out. Go get your documents reprinted and notarized,” he said, his voice level. “Since he’s declined, the top spot moves to you by default.” My breath hitched. A spark of pure, unadulterated triumph lit up in my chest. “As for the second opening,” the manager continued, “it will go to the candidate who placed third. Someone who actually wants to work.” I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “Thank you, sir.” I almost wanted to run after Reid and thank him. Did he really think the real world was like our prep school? Where the dean would bend every rule just to keep the ‘golden boy’ happy? He was about to find out that out here, everyone is replaceable. 2 By the time I got back to campus, the news had already traveled through the grapevine. A group of seniors was huddled near the career center, their voices loud with excitement. “Did you hear? Reid basically forced the State Revenue Department to hire Lexi! Oh my god, that is literally like something out of a romance novel!” “I’m so jealous. Here I am, getting rejected by every internship, and Lexi gets a government job handed to her on a silver platter because her boyfriend is a genius. I need a Reid in my life.” I pulled my backpack straps tighter and tried to walk past them, but they spotted me. “Norah? Hey! Didn’t you take the exam too? Why are you at the career fair? Didn’t you get in?” “Of course she didn’t,” a familiar, sugary voice rang out. Lexi stepped out from the crowd, her arm linked with Reid’s. She looked at me with a pitying smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Norah. I guess it’s another win for me. It seems like history is repeating itself. Just like your mom couldn’t keep your dad from my mother… you just can’t seem to beat me, can you?” I turned my gaze to Reid. He knew. He knew everything. My father’s betrayal, the way he walked out on my mother and me to start a ‘real’ family with Lexi’s mom—it was the defining trauma of my life. When it first happened, Reid was the one who held me while I cried. He was the one who skipped class to stand outside Lexi’s house, shouting at my father for being a coward. Until the day Lexi finally opened the door. I remember the moment clearly. Reid had frozen mid-sentence, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of Lexi’s face. From that second on, he never said another word against her mother. He shifted his allegiance so fast it gave me whiplash. Now, he just stood there, watching Lexi bait me with a lazy, satisfied smile. I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t scream. I just smiled back. “Why would I compare myself to you, Lexi?” She blinked, caught off guard. In the past, I would have dropped my bags and fought her tooth and nail. “Instead of looking for a cheap ego boost here,” I said calmly, “you should probably focus on polishing your resume. You’re going to need a backup plan.” Lexi’s face twisted. She turned to Reid, her lip trembling. “Reid! She’s being mean to me!” Reid laughed, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Don’t mind her, babe. When someone fails as hard as she did, they tend to get bitter. She’s just jealous that I’m taking care of you.” Lexi smirked, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I guess I can let it slide since you’re so pathetic. Good luck finding a job that pays more than minimum wage, Norah. You’ll need it.” I didn’t say another word. I just watched them walk away, basking in the sunlight of their own delusions. Over the next few weeks, they went into full ‘celebration’ mode. While the rest of us were grinding through finals and final interviews, my social media feed was flooded with photos of them at beach resorts and high-end restaurants. The whispers in the hallways turned into muffled snickers whenever I passed. “What’s the point of being a straight-A student if you can’t even land a job?” “I heard the department didn’t want her because she’s a total stiff. No social skills.” I stayed silent. I did my work. I waited for the moment the hammer would drop—the moment they realized the offer letter they were waiting for was never coming. But before the truth could reach them, fate threw a curveball. The director of the Federal Bureau of Finance reached out to Reid directly. “We heard you declined the State Revenue Department. We have a prestigious opening here. Are you interested?” 3 Reid was, objectively, a brilliant candidate on paper. It wasn’t surprising that other agencies were headhunting him. When he saw the email, he frowned. He typed back a reply with the casual arrogance of a man who thought he held all the cards: I didn’t decline. I simply stated that I will not accept an offer that doesn’t include my partner. If you can accommodate us both, we can talk. The reply came back almost instantly: But the State Revenue Department already filled their vacancies with the second and third-ranked candidates. Haven’t you seen the public notice? Lexi was leaning over his shoulder. Her eyes widened as she read the screen. She looked at Reid, her voice small and uncertain. “The manager didn’t agree to let me take Norah’s spot?” Reid scoffed, reaching up to pinch her cheek playfully. “Of course he didn’t—not yet. My scores were leagues above the others. This is just a tactic. They’re trying to scare me into thinking I’ve lost the spot so I’ll come crawling back. It’s a classic negotiation move.” Lexi’s face cleared, and she beamed at him. “I knew it. You’re the best.” Reid typed his final response: Sorry, but my partner and I have our hearts set on the State Revenue office. We’ll wait for their call. The Bureau responded after a long pause: We’ve reviewed Lexi Wells’ file. While she doesn’t qualify for the analyst track, we have a clerical position in our regional office that she could fill. If you’re willing to relocate to the Bureau, we can create a spot for her. When I heard about this through mutual friends, I was stunned. The Bureau. That was the big leagues. Even the “clerical” spot they were offering Lexi was something thousands of people would kill for—a job that usually required passing a rigorous screening she had failed. If I hadn’t been so focused on staying local to help my mom, I would have applied there myself. But a week later, more news trickled down. Lexi had decided the Bureau’s office was too far from the mall and her favorite yoga studio. She made Reid turn it down, insisting they hold out for the State Revenue job because it was “closer to home.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Finals ended. Graduation passed. My bags were packed, and my career was set. I decided to head back to my hometown for a week before my start date. But the moment I walked through the door, my mother looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 4 “How could you let that girl win again?” My mother broke down in tears the moment she saw me. When she said “that girl,” she meant Lexi. And by extension, she meant Vanessa—Lexi’s mother, the woman who lived in the upscale development across the park with my father. My mother’s voice was thick with suppressed rage and heartbreak. “It was bad enough when that woman took your father. Now her daughter is taking your future! Lexi isn’t half as smart as you, yet Reid Scott is carrying her into a government career while you’re coming home with nothing! Do you have any idea how Vanessa is gloating? She’s telling everyone you’re a failure!” My younger sister, Chloe, poked her head out from the hallway, her eyes wide. “Norah, everyone at school is saying you’re just a bookworm who couldn’t cut it in the real world. They say Lexi is the one who really won…” “Go do your homework, Chloe!” my mother snapped, rubbing her temples. She looked at me, her face lined with exhaustion. “You should probably go back to the city. Start looking for something—anything. A retail job, maybe?” I set my suitcase down and looked at her. “Go back for what, Mom?” “To find a job! You’ve already lost to Lexi. Are you just going to sit here and let them bury us?” I let out a soft, tired laugh. “Mom… is it possible that I’m actually the only one who got the job?” 5 My mother froze. She looked up at me, blinking through her tears. “Mom,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m the only one going to the Revenue Department. Reid and Lexi? Neither of them got in. They’re unemployed.” She stayed paralyzed for a long moment. Then, a bitter, hollow laugh escaped her lips. “You’re lying to make me feel better. You’ve never been a good liar, Norah.” She reached onto the sideboard and shoved a thick, cream-colored envelope into my hand. I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was my father’s—elegant, bold, and utterly devoid of remorse. In celebration of our daughter Lexi Wells and our dear family friend Reid Scott on their prestigious appointments to the State Revenue Department. We cordially invite our friends and neighbors to a gala in their honor. The date was set for this Friday. “They’ve already booked the ballroom at the country club,” Mom whispered. “The whole neighborhood knows. How could it be a lie if they’re throwing a party?” I looked at the ink on the paper, a cold smirk spreading across my face. I tucked the invitation into my pocket. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to the party. I want to see how this ends.” 6 I stayed at the house for the rest of the week. My mother didn’t understand, but she stopped crying. I spent my days sleeping in and catching up on my reading, enjoying the quiet before the storm. Then came the afternoon I ran into them. I was walking back from the local market, carrying a heavy gallon of water for my mom, when I turned the corner and saw a crowd gathered near the park entrance. At the center were Reid and Lexi. My father was there, too. He had his arm around Lexi, his face beaming with the kind of pride he used to reserve for me. Seeing him like that—the same way he used to carry me on his shoulders when I was five, telling everyone, “This is my girl! Isn’t she the smartest?”—it felt like a physical blow to the stomach. I tightened my grip on the handle of the water jug and tried to slip past. “Norah.” Reid’s voice cut through the air. The crowd went silent, all eyes turning toward me. He looked at me with a strange mix of pity and disapproval. “You don’t have a job yet,” he said loudly. “Why are you back in town so early? You should be out there pounding the pavement.” The neighbors started whispering, their eyes scanning me like I was a cautionary tale. I stopped and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me, Reid. I’ve got my future sorted. Maybe you and Lexi should spend more time checking your own status instead of worrying about mine.” “Norah!” My father stepped forward, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What right do you have to speak to them like that? Lexi and Reid are starting careers that people dream of. You’re just… well, you’ve always been a bit of a recluse. Don’t let bitterness ruin your character.” Vanessa, Lexi’s mother, stepped up next to him, smoothing her expensive silk dress. “Oh, Robert, let her be. Some people just can’t handle losing. She’s just like her mother—all pride and no substance. Norah, honey, Lexi isn’t heartless. If you’re struggling for rent next month, I’m sure she’d find a way to help you out. Wouldn’t you, Lexi?” I felt my knuckles turning white. Lexi stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She reached out to take my hand, her voice a mock-whisper. “Sister, it’s okay. The job market is hard. It’s not your fault you’re not as… connected as we are. Besides, a girl doesn’t really need a career if she finds the right man to take care of her, right? If you need anything, just ask.” She squeezed my hand. I felt a surge of pure, white-hot fury. “Let go.” “Norah, are you upset?” she asked, her voice rising so everyone could hear. “I was only trying to be nice—” “I said, let go!” I yanked my hand back, pulling the heavy water jug toward me for leverage. Lexi let out a theatrical gasp. She didn’t just let go—she threw herself backward, stumbling over her own feet and landing hard on the grass with a muffled cry. “What is wrong with you!” Reid reacted instantly, shoving me aside so hard I nearly fell. He dropped to his knees, pulling Lexi into his arms. He looked at her tear-streaked face and then glared at me, his teeth grit. “I’m the one who took the spot, Norah! If you’re mad at someone, be mad at me. Stop taking it out on her!” My father pushed me, too, his eyes cold and full of shame. “Get out of here, Norah. Look at what you’ve become.” I started to laugh. It was a jagged, ugly sound. “I pulled the jug toward myself. She threw herself backward. Are you all actually blind, or just choosing to be?” “Enough!” Vanessa snatched the water jug from my hand and, in a fit of calculated rage, poured the entire gallon over my head. The cold water soaked through my clothes, clinging to my skin. She stood over me, trembling with fake sobs. “So what if you can’t find a job? Does that give you the right to assault my daughter? My Lexi was trying to help you! You’re a monster, Norah. Just like your mother!” The neighbors swarmed in, offering tissues to Lexi and glares to me. “She needs to learn some manners.” “Sad. All that education and she’s still a failure.” I wiped the water from my eyes, ready to lung at Vanessa, but a hand caught my wrist. It was my mother. She had seen the whole thing. Her face was bright red, her eyes brimming with tears of humiliation. She didn’t say a word to them. She just dragged me back toward our house. Once the door was shut, she turned on me. “Can’t you just let me have some peace? Just once?” “Mom, she faked it—” “I don’t care!” she screamed. “They’ve won! They have the jobs, the money, the reputation! We just have to stay quiet and wait for them to leave. We are not going to that party tonight.” “No,” I said, my voice like ice as I stripped off my soaked shirt. “We are absolutely going to that party.” 7 The ballroom was packed. It wasn’t just the neighbors; my father had invited everyone—his business associates, old college friends, even the local press. He wanted to cement his new family’s status as the town’s elite. Lexi had even invited a dozen people from our graduating class. My mother and I sat at a small table in the back. She was mortified, her face flushed as people whispered around us. “Isn’t that the girl who was supposed to be so smart? Guess Lexi really showed her.” I ignored them, calmly pouring my mother a glass of juice. Lexi spotted us from across the room and sauntered over, a glass of champagne in her hand. “Oh? You actually showed up? I thought you’d be too busy crying into your textbooks.” One of her friends chimed in, snickering. “Give her a break, Lexi. She probably just wants to soak up some of your success by osmosis.” Lexi laughed, her eyes flashing with malice. “Success is earned, sweetie. You can’t just wish for it. I’d offer you some of this good luck, but I don’t think you’d know what to do with it.” The table erupted in laughter. Someone called out, “Hey Lexi, Reid! Tell us again—which department did you guys get into? Was it the State Revenue office?” Lexi tossed her hair back. “The State Revenue Investigative Division. Reid already talked to the director. We start Monday.” A guy from our class, a quiet kid named Leo who was always on his phone, suddenly frowned. “Wait, really? I just checked the official state portal for the final roster. I didn’t see your names.” Lexi’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about? Reid handled everything.” “But the public notice is up,” Leo said, holding up his phone. “It’s on the main landing page.” He tapped the screen and read aloud: “Candidate Reid Scott has officially withdrawn his application for personal reasons. The final appointments for the State Revenue Department are as follows:” The room went deathly silent. “1. Norah Scott.” “2. Silas Thorne.”

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The day I graduated, my parents handed me their primary debit card. “Maren, honey,” my mom said, her voice thick with that practiced fragility she wore like a shawl. “You’re out there on your own now. We can’t do much, but this is our life savings. It’s our retirement fund—our safety net. We want you to have it.” I looked at that thin piece of plastic, feeling a weight in my chest that didn’t feel like gratitude. It felt like a debt. I knew how hard they’d worked, so I made a silent vow. Every month, I’d transfer fifteen hundred dollars back to them from my salary, just to make sure they were taken care of. That lasted until my younger brother, Tyler, decided it was time for him to get married. He didn’t ask. He demanded. “Maren, Mom and Dad gave you the entire family nest egg. I’m trying to put a down payment on a house and I’ve got nothing. You owe me sixty thousand dollars. Now.” I stood in their kitchen, drying a dish, and didn’t even turn around. “I don’t have it,” I said flatly. “Not a dime.” 1 Tyler exploded. He slammed his fork onto the table, the silver clattering against the porcelain. “Do you even have a soul, Maren? There was over a hundred and fifty grand in that account! I’m asking for sixty, and you’re acting like I’m robbing you!” “Don’t be greedy, Tyler,” I replied, finally turning to face him. My dad snapped then, glaring at Tyler. “Sit down! Who do you think you’re talking to? Your sister is a single woman living in a brutal city. That money was meant to be her protection.” “Dad, you’re being ridiculous! You’re totally playing favorites!” My mom reached over and swatted Tyler’s arm, though there was no sting in it. “Hush! A man provides for his own wife. Besides, didn’t we try to help you talk to the bank about a loan?” “Nobody’s lending right now!” Tyler shouted, pacing the linoleum. “I don’t care. Maren, you have the card. Give it to me.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You want money? You’ll have to cut it out of me. Go ahead, Tyler. Give it your best shot.” “You—!” Tyler lunged forward, but Mom caught him by the waist. “Stop it! She’s your sister!” “She’s a hoarder! She’s sitting on our family assets while I can’t even start a life. That money belongs to me just as much as her.” My dad slammed his fist on the table, making the water glasses jump. “That money belongs to me until the day I’m in the ground! And while I’m breathing, I’ll give it to whoever I damn well please!” Tyler shrunk back, muttering under his breath. “Fine. But at least give me fifteen. For the earnest money. The good listings don’t stay on Zillow for more than a day.” I shrugged. “Like I said. Not a dime.” “You’ve changed, Maren. You’re obsessed with money. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars… five years of interest alone should be twenty grand. You’re crying poverty? No one believes you.” I smirked. “You don’t believe me? Fine. Let’s go to the bank tomorrow. We’ll pull the full statement.” “Fine! Let’s go!” Mom suddenly looked panicked. She grabbed Tyler’s arm and then reached for my hand, her palm sweaty. “Oh, stop it, both of you. Fighting over money like this… it’s embarrassing. What would the neighbors think?” I pulled my hand away. Dad stood up and grabbed Tyler by the ear, hauling him toward the back bedroom like he was ten years old again. I could hear Tyler’s muffled protests as the door slammed. I didn’t stick around. My apartment in the city was only a forty-minute train ride away. Within the hour, I was staring at my ceiling, the silence of my own space finally wrapping around me. Then, the phone rang. Mom. “Maren, don’t be hard on him. He’s just stressed about the wedding. His fiancée, Brittany… she won’t walk down the aisle without a deed in her hand.” “Sounds like a Tyler problem,” I said. “Maybe I should just give the card back to you and Dad.” “No!” Mom’s voice spiked, nearly a shriek. She caught herself quickly. “I mean… no, honey. We gave it to you. It’s yours.” I felt a chill go down my spine. “Well, it’s a shame,” I said, my voice dripping with irony. “Uncle Pete and the rest of the family aren’t exactly flush with cash either, or I’m sure they’d lend to you.” “Money is tight everywhere,” she sighed. “I hate that you’re being put in this position.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice steady. “Actually, I can help. I’ll text you the numbers for a few private lenders and some personal loan officers I know. They can get Tyler the cash.” “Maybe you could even take out a second mortgage on your house. You’d get the sixty thousand easily.” There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she finally whispered. 2 “Why not? If the family won’t help, that’s the only way. Unless… you want the card back?” “No! Goodnight, Maren!” She hung up abruptly. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled up the family group chat and dropped the contact info for three high-interest lenders. @Dad @Mom, check these out. They’re legitimate lenders for quick cash. My dad replied almost immediately: What loans? Mom said you guys were struggling to find the down payment for Tyler. These guys are fast. The chat went silent for ten minutes. Then Dad: Forget about it. Just focus on your job. Your mother and I will figure it out. Mom added: I was just venting, Maren. Don’t worry. We would never touch your money. Then Tyler entered the chat like a wrecking ball. Maren, you’re a piece of work. Mom asks for help and you send her to a loan shark? Who does that? I typed back with a smile: You’ve got a clean credit score, Tyler. You could probably pull a hundred grand on your own. Then you wouldn’t even need a down payment; you could buy in cash. Try it. Tyler’s response was a sixty-second voice note. I didn’t even play it. I knew the tone: the high-pitched vitriol of a boy who had been told ‘no’ for the first time in his life. I silenced my phone and went back to my laptop. My coworker, Ben, looked over from the next cubicle. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve been in a war zone.” “My family wants sixty thousand dollars for my brother’s house,” I said, not looking up from my spreadsheet. “Sixty? God. I know you make good money, Maren, but that’s insane. Do they think you’re a bank?” I just shrugged. I let the information sit there. I wanted the people around me to know the situation—a preemptive strike in case Tyler decided to show up at my office and make a scene. I’d worked hard for my life. I had a condo, no husband, a six-figure salary, and a reputation for being untouchable. That made me a target for people like Tyler. I knew he wouldn’t let it go. I just didn’t expect them to show up so soon. That Friday, as I walked out of the glass lobby of my office building, there they were. Mom, Dad, and Tyler. Standing by the fountain like a welcoming committee from hell. “Must be nice,” Tyler sneered the moment he saw me. “Designer suit, corner office, playing the big-shot executive while your family rots.” I nodded. “It is nice. I worked sixty hours a week for four years to get that annual bonus. It was fifteen thousand this year. And you’re not seeing a cent of it.” Tyler looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. Dad grabbed his shoulder. “Knock it off. We just came to see your place, Maren. Tyler, if you can’t behave, get back in the car.” Tyler fumed but stayed quiet. I led them to my condo—a spacious, sun-drenched loft with floor-to-ceiling windows. Mom’s jaw practically hit the hardwood. “Maren… this is… how much does a place like this even cost?” “With the current market? Around eight hundred thousand,” I said casually. “Between my salary and the savings I’ve built up, the mortgage is manageable.” Tyler was spiraling. “Eight hundred thousand? You’re living in a million-dollar palace and you won’t give me sixty grand? You used Mom and Dad’s retirement to buy this, didn’t you? You thief!” 3 I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “You think so? Fine. You want the card? Take it.” I reached into my purse, pulled out the “nest egg” card, and tossed it at his chest. “Here. The PIN is your birthday. Go ahead. Go to the bank and see what’s in there. Get the full transaction history while you’re at it.” Tyler caught the card, stunned. “You’re… you’re serious?” “Dead serious.” The grin started to spread across his face, but Mom lunged forward and snatched the card out of his hand. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed at me. She tried to shove the card back into my purse. “Don’t listen to him, Maren. We just came to visit.” Tyler’s eyes went red. “Mom, stop it! You’re being so biased it’s sick! Brittany said if I don’t have a house, the wedding is off. She’s pregnant, Mom! Do you want your grandkid living in a rental? Do you want me to be a loser forever?” He actually sat down on my designer rug, looking like a broken child. Dad sighed, looking exhausted. “If we can’t afford a house, we can’t afford a house. People rent all the time.” Mom turned on Dad, then on me. “It’s because he isn’t like you, Maren. You were always the smart one, the capable one. Look at this place! Look at your life! And look at your brother…” Dad waved a hand dismissively. “Enough. Let’s not fight. Diane, go in the kitchen and start some dinner. We’re all hungry.” As Mom headed into the kitchen, I followed her to “help.” Outside in the living room, I could hear Dad trying to talk sense into a sobbing Tyler. In the kitchen, Mom leaned over the island, her voice a low, desperate whisper. “Maren, I know you’ve worked hard. But he’s your only brother. I’ve been thinking… I can scrape together ten thousand. If you could just find another fifty… maybe ask your boss for an advance? You said you got that bonus…” I looked at her. Really looked at her. I saw the desperation, but I also saw the calculation. “You want me to go into debt for him, Mom? I have a mortgage. I have bills.” “But you’re so successful! Please, Maren. For me?” I stayed silent for a heartbeat. “I’ll think about it.” Mom visibly deflated with relief. After dinner, while my parents were “napping” in the guest room, I pulled Tyler aside. I slid the debit card back into his hand. “While they’re asleep, grab their IDs from Mom’s purse. I’ll drive you to the bank right now.” “You mean it?” “Yeah. Let’s settle this.” Tyler didn’t hesitate. He was a greedy moth flying straight into a blowtorch. He swiped the IDs, and we were at the bank branch the moment it opened the next morning. He shoved the card into the ATM, his fingers trembling as he punched in his birthday. The screen flashed. Balance: $0.00. He whirled around, shouting in the quiet lobby. “Maren, you bitch! You played me! There’s nothing in here!” I feigned a gasp. “What? That’s impossible. I never touched that money. Get a printed statement, Tyler. We need to see where it went.” “You’re lying! You spent it on that condo!” He was screaming now. “The card was with you! Where else would it go?” “I didn’t take it,” I said, my voice calm and loud enough for the bank manager to look over. “Get the receipts.” He stomped over to the teller desk, demanding a printout. While the printer hummed, my phone vibrated. Mom. “Maren? Where are you? My ID is gone!” “We’re at the bank, Mom. Tyler wanted to check the balance. We’re getting the statements now.” A sharp, choked gasp came from the other end. “Who told you to do that? Stop! Stay right there, I’m coming!” I didn’t stop. I took the stapled pages from the teller and tucked them into my bag. Tyler sneered at me. “Acting’s over, Maren. Give me the papers.” “No. The money isn’t with me. If you think I stole it, call the cops.” “Fine! You think I won’t? I’m doing it!” He pulled out his phone, his face contorted with rage. “911? I want to report a theft. My sister stole a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from my parents’ retirement fund.” 4 He was howling in the middle of the lobby. Saturday morning customers were everywhere, their necks craning, their eyes wide with the kind of voyeuristic glee that only comes from watching a family fall apart in public. I just crossed my legs, leaned back on the velvet bench, and waited. A few minutes later, my parents burst through the doors, breathless and pale. They saw Tyler, then they saw me. Mom looked like she was about to faint. She grabbed Tyler’s arm. “What are you doing? Stop this madness!” Tyler’s eyes were bloodshot. “Mom, she took it! It’s all gone! Every cent of your retirement! She bought that luxury loft with your blood and sweat, and now she’s letting me rot! She’s a monster!” Mom’s hand flew out. Slap. The sound echoed through the bank. Tyler froze, his cheek blooming red. Mom’s lips trembled; she couldn’t find the words. She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in her eyes. She knew. The crowd began to murmur. You could hear the judgment in their whispers. “Can you believe her? Stealing from her own parents like that.” “Look at that bag she’s carrying. Probably costs three grand.” “Typical. The successful child thinks they’re entitled to everything while the brother gets nothing.” I didn’t move. I just watched Tyler. Tyler, sensing the crowd was on his side, played it up. “They worked their whole lives for that money! They sacrificed everything so she could go to college, so she could have a career! And this is how she pays them back? By leaving them with nothing?” Mom grabbed his arm again, her voice a panicked hiss. “Tyler, shut up! This is family business! Let’s just go home!” “No! I want everyone to see what she is!” Dad tried to grab my arm to pull me up. “Maren, get up. We’re leaving.” I shook him off. “Why are you in such a hurry, Dad? Afraid of what the police will find?” “You’re being a brat! Your brother is emotional, but you—you should know better!” “I know exactly what’s going on,” I said. “And I’m not going anywhere.” Across the lobby, a teenager had his phone out, livestreaming the whole thing. I looked directly into his camera and gave a small, chilling smile. The comments on his screen were flying by: Toxic sister! Absolute gold-digger! Justice for the parents! One comment caught my eye. It was from a profile I recognized. A guy from my office. I know her. She’s a total ice queen. Always acting like she’s better than everyone. Figures she’s a thief. I pulled out my own phone, found the stream, and replied: I know you too, Dave. You’re the guy who asked me out, tried to make me pay for your $12 avocado toast, and then complained to HR when I said no. Keep talking. My phone buzzed. A text from my boss: Maren, what is happening? Fix this. Do not let the company’s name get dragged into a family spat. I replied: Don’t worry, sir. The truth is about to come out. Finally, two police officers walked in. Tyler ran to them like they were his saviors. “Officers! She did it! She stole the money! A hundred and fifty thousand!” The officers looked at me—the woman in the expensive suit looking perfectly composed—and then at the disheveled, screaming brother and the trembling parents. “Is this true, ma’am?” the officer asked. I stood up slowly. “No, Officer. I didn’t take a cent. But I do have the bank statements right here.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the stapled packet.

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I’m a midnight driver. My business is… specific. My passengers even more so. It’s the kind of work that would break most people within a week. One evening, my mentor, Gus, told me to pick up an old friend of his. He described the man as a “heavyweight”—someone whose soul carried the weight of an empire. I didn’t take the assignment lightly. I’d prepared the traditional offerings—high-end spirits, artisanal cakes, the things that smooth the transition from this world to the next. I was driving through the quiet, wooded outskirts of Kingsport when I saw three figures waving frantically by the roadside. It was pitch black. No other cars, no streetlights. Against my better judgment, I felt a flicker of human pity. I thought I’d give them a lift to the nearest station. The second I pulled over, a man drenched in designer labels—from his Gucci loafers to his padded Moncler vest—shoved his way into the passenger seat. He didn’t say hello. He just slapped a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills against my cheek. “Downtown. The Royal Meridien,” he barked. “And stop at a CVS. I need a few boxes of Magnums.” His two friends piled into the back, trampling over the silk-wrapped gift boxes I’d placed carefully on the seat. “What is this junk?” one of them complained. “There’s no legroom with all these baskets.” Before I could protest, I heard the dull thud of my offerings hitting the asphalt. They’d tossed the expensive fruit and the hand-crafted cakes out into the dirt like common trash. My blood ran cold. The effort, the respect I’d put into this mission—discarded in a second. I felt my face tighten, my skin prickling with a heat that had nothing to do with the car’s heater. “Get out,” I said, my voice low. “I’m not taking you.” The man in the passenger seat barked out a laugh, as if I’d just told a hilarious joke. “You’re a cab driver, sweetheart. You don’t get to ‘not take’ us. One phone call and I’ll have your hack license shredded before sunrise. You’ll never work in this city again.” The two in the back joined in, their laughter sharp and jagged. “Do you even know who he is?” the girl, a blonde in a micro-skirt, sneered. “This is Barrett Huntington. You should be thanking him for the privilege of having his ass in your seat.” “He’s the guy who owns the skyline you’re driving toward, loser,” the other guy added. “Show some respect or start looking for a cardboard box to live in.” I gripped the steering wheel. I didn’t know much about the “Huntington” social circle, but I knew the Veil. And in my world, the living were the ones who didn’t belong. 1 “Did you hear me? Drive,” Barrett snapped. He reached over and slammed his palm onto the horn, the blare echoing through the silent woods. The girl, Tinsley, giggled. I cursed my moment of empathy. I’d invited a curse into my car. I forced myself to take a breath, trying to stay professional. “Look, I’m sorry, but this car is pre-booked. I have a VIP pickup. I can drop you at the gas station two miles up—it’s well-lit and easy to catch an Uber from there.” Silence followed, then a hand reached from the back and whipped a stack of bills across my face. The edges of the paper stung like a series of tiny papercuts. “The car is booked by me now,” the guy in the back said. “How much? Name a price. Everyone has one.” I pushed the money away, my heart hammering. “It’s not about the money. I’m on a schedule. The city isn’t on my route.” Suddenly, a heavy boot slammed into the back of my driver’s seat, jolting my spine. “I could crush you like an ant and not even lose sleep over it,” Barrett hissed, leaning into my personal space. “Drive. Now.” They weren’t leaving. And I couldn’t exactly pull out my Sanctum ID and explain that I was a courier for the dead without making things worse. I decided to get them to the gas station and handle it there. Within minutes, the cabin was thick with the acrid stench of expensive cigars. I started to cough, the smoke stinging my eyes. “Could you please not smoke in here?” The guy in the back let out a plume of smoke. “This cigar costs more than your monthly rent, honey. You’re getting the secondhand high for free. You should be paying me.” “Exactly,” Tinsley added, grinding her cigarette out directly onto the leather upholstery. The smell of burning hide filled the car. “If our Maybach hadn’t broken down, we wouldn’t even be in this piece of junk.” My heart ached. This wasn’t just a car; it was a custom SSS-Class Shadow Vessel, enchanted and rare. “What are you doing? You have no idea what this car is worth!” They erupted in another round of shrill laughter. “Worth? My family has sixty cars in the garage,” Barrett said, checking his gold watch. “Any one of them could buy your life ten times over. This bucket of bolts is filthier than my dog’s kennel. Stop acting like it’s a Ferrari.” My knuckles were white on the wheel. I had a job to do. I couldn’t let these parasites derail me. When we reached the gas station, I pulled over firmly. “This is it. You have phones. Call a car, call a friend, I don’t care. I’m not charging you for the ride. Just get out.” They exchanged a look and, surprisingly, piled out. I let out a long, shaky breath, thinking the nightmare was over. I stepped out for a moment to see if I could salvage any of the fruit from the trunk to offer as a gesture of apology to the VIP. When I walked back toward the front of the car, my heart stopped. Every window had been shattered. My phone, which had been on the dashboard, was a mess of glass and plastic on the pavement. Barrett stood there, twirling my driver’s license between his fingers, a smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. It turns out our little driver is a fraud,” he said. “A ‘Gold-Tier Veil Courier’? What kind of delusional psych-ward bullshit is this?” 2 Panic flared. That license was my only protection in the darker corners of the city. I lunged for it, but Barrett was faster. He shoved me back, and I stumbled, my palms scraping against the grit of the parking lot. “Using a fake ID to run an illegal taxi? That’s a felony, isn’t it?” he mused, leaning against the ruined door of my car. “Maybe we should call the cops. See how they feel about your ‘Veil’ business.” Dealing with the living was so much more exhausting than dealing with the dead. I bit my lip, tasting copper. “What do you want?” Barrett pulled Tinsley close, kissing her deeply before looking back at me with cold, bored eyes. “Nobody says no to me. Not in this city. You tried to play tough, and now you’re going to pay for it.” He stepped closer, his breath smelling of expensive bourbon and malice. “You’re going to be my dog tonight. You go where I say, when I say. Right now, Tinsley wants to see the moon over the river. Get in.” “I can’t,” I whispered. “Please. I have somewhere I have to be.” He tutted, reaching out to slap me. I flinched away, and the movement seemed to trigger something feral in him. “You dare move?” he roared. “In Kingsport, I’m the closest thing to a god you’ll ever see. You should be crawling on your knees for the chance to serve us.” Tinsley and the other guy drifted closer, their faces twisted in mockery. “Look at her,” the guy said. “Driving an illegal cab with a crazy-person ID. She’s probably a high-end hooker who lost her mind.” “I bet if we check the back, we’ll find used needles,” Tinsley added. I hated myself for stopping. I hated my own kindness. But Barrett’s expression suddenly shifted into something disturbingly calm. “Tell you what,” he said, flipping my ID like a coin. “I’ll give you a break. Drive us to one more spot—just one—and then you can go back to your ‘VIP.’ If you don’t, I call the police, hand them this ID, and tell them you tried to rob us.” The location he named was, by some miracle, on the way to my original destination. I didn’t know what he was planning, but I was running out of time. Punctuality wasn’t just a professional habit in my line of work; it was a matter of spiritual life and death. Gus had recruited me because of my “unfortunate” disposition—I was born with a “Thin Veil” constitution. I saw things I shouldn’t. I was a magnet for bad luck until Gus found me. “Working for the Sanctum builds merit,” he’d told me. “Do this, and maybe in the next life, you’ll be the one in the back of the Maybach. It’s a government job, kid. Just… a different branch of government.” He was right. Usually, the powers that be on both sides of the line gave me a wide berth. I drove them to the spot Barrett requested—a secluded stretch of road near the cliffs. The moment I put the car in park, the night was flooded with light. A dozen black SUVs switched on their high beams, surrounding us. Before I could even process the trap, my door was ripped open. A hand tangled in my hair and dragged me out onto the cold hard ground. Barrett’s voice was like ice. “Total the car. And then, break her legs.” 3 My scalp screamed in pain. I felt the sting of gravel on my face, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “You gave me your word!” I choked out. Barrett stood over me, looking down like I was a bug he was considering stepping on. “I said I’d let you drive us here. I never said I’d let you walk away.” Several men in dark suits approached my car with sledgehammers. The first blow shattered the hood with a sickening, heavy thud. Again and again, they swung. The enchanted metal groaned, the interior being ripped into shreds of leather and wire. And then, they doused it in gasoline. That car was a masterpiece of the Other Side, a vessel for souls. Watching it burn was like watching a living thing die. I tried to scream, to run toward the flames, but my arms were pinned behind my back. In the flickering orange light, Tinsley clapped her hands. “It’s so much prettier this way, don’t you think?” I looked at her, my eyes burning. “You have no idea what you’ve done. That car was for a Guest. If he isn’t picked up on time, the shadow he leaves behind will tear this city apart.” Barrett just laughed and tossed a titanium credit card onto my chest. “It’s a car. I’ll buy you ten of them.” “I don’t want your money, Barrett. Some things can’t be fixed with a check.” He pulled out my license again, grinning. “In this town, there is nothing I can’t fix. But you, Riley? You’re a special kind of crazy.” He signaled to one of the men. “Check her file. I want to know who this ‘Veil Courier’ really is.” A man with a tablet stepped forward. “Riley St. Claire. Her grandmother was a ‘spiritualist’ in New Orleans. Classic nutcase. Riley was kicked out of boarding school for claiming she saw ‘shadow people.’ Spent two years in Saint Jude’s Psychiatric.” I remembered Saint Jude’s. That’s where I met Gus. He was the only one who didn’t try to medicate the ghosts away. Tinsley rolled her eyes. “Great. We got a ride from a literal psycho. No wonder the car smelled like a funeral home.” I looked at them, a cold dread settling in my gut. They didn’t understand the debt they were accruing. “You should leave,” I said softly. “The clock is ticking.” Barrett knelt beside me. “I want to see if your knees are as tough as your car.” He wasn’t joking. I felt a shiver of pure, primal terror. I was outnumbered and broken. “Barrett, please,” I whispered, my pride dissolving into a desperate need to survive. “I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me go.” I lowered my head to the dirt, the ultimate sign of submission. Barrett stayed silent for a moment, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “A little late for that, isn’t it? But fine. If you take us to this ‘Guest’ of yours, maybe I’ll reconsider.” I shook my head violently. The Guest was not for the living. To bring these people into his presence would be a death sentence for their entire bloodline. “I can’t. For your sake, I can’t.” Barrett’s face twisted. He stood up and signaled to the man with the sledgehammer. The heavy iron swung down. I heard the crack of my own bone before I felt the pain—an agonizing, white-hot explosion in my knee. I collapsed, howling, my world narrowing down to the pulsing rhythm of the trauma. 4 “Take us there. Now.” Barrett was obsessed. He thought this was a game of status, a secret club he was being excluded from. He didn’t realize he was banging on the door of a tomb. I gasped for air, bile rising in my throat. “You won’t… you won’t like what you find.” Tinsley tugged at Barrett’s arm. “Barrett, let’s just go. She’s pathetic. Look at her.” Barrett ignored her and kicked me hard in the ribs. The air left my lungs in a wet wheeze. I spat blood onto his shoes. “Fine,” I managed to choke out. “I’ll take you.” I had warned them. I had tried to save them. But the universe has a way of balancing the scales. If they wanted to walk into the abyss, I would be their guide. They dragged me into the back of one of the SUVs. My leg was a twisted mess of agony, but I forced myself to stay conscious. I gave them the coordinates. A private, high-security hospice tucked away in the hills—The Evergreens. As we wound higher into the mist, Barrett’s bravado began to flicker. “This… this is where my grandfather stays,” he muttered. “He doesn’t see anyone. Not even the board members.” He turned to me, his eyes wide and suspicious. “Who are you, Riley? How do you know this place?” I didn’t answer. Suddenly, Barrett’s phone buzzed. He answered it, his face turning the color of ash. “Sir?” a voice crackled through the speakers. “Where are you? Your grandfather… he just passed. Ten minutes ago. Your mother is frantic. You need to get here.” The car became deathly silent. Tinsley whispered, “It’s just a coincidence, Barrett. She’s a stalker. She must have known he was sick.” I clutched my shattered knee, staring out at the dark trees. I knew better. When we pulled up to the main gates, a woman in a black designer suit—Barrett’s mother—was waiting. She saw Barrett first, her face a mask of grief and fury. “Barrett! Your grandfather is gone, and you arrive smelling like a bar? Have you no shame?” Then she saw me being hauled out of the car, my leg dripping blood. Her jaw dropped. “Miss St. Claire? What… what happened? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. We had an arrangement.” I looked at Barrett’s horrified face and felt a cold, sharp satisfaction. “You should ask your son, Mrs. Huntington,” I rasped. And then, a wave of oppressive, freezing air rolled out from the hospice doors. A darkness so thick it swallowed the porch lights began to bleed into the night.

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During dinner, Jordan suddenly set her fork down. She looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Who is Clementine Frost?” My hand froze, mid-air. My heart skipped a beat, then hammered against my ribs. Clementine Frost. That was a name Chase and I had invented during a bender one night, a fictional person born from a bottle of cheap bourbon. We’d made a pact: if one of us ever got into trouble—real trouble—and couldn’t be reached, we’d use “Clementine Frost” as a distress signal. Apart from the two of us, no one in the world knew that name existed. And Chase had been missing for exactly thirty days. He had gone to Tulum for a solo “soul-searching” trip. He never came back. I looked at Jordan’s face. She looked perfectly composed, almost bored. My stomach began to sink, a cold, heavy weight settling in my gut. How did she know that name? … We came up with the name Clementine Frost the night we graduated from college. We were sitting on the bleachers of the football field, halfway through a case of beer, watching the moonlight hit the empty turf. Chase had his arm around my shoulder, his speech slurred and thick. “Miles,” he’d said, “we need a code. A failsafe.” “A code for what, man?” “Just… life. If one of us goes off the grid, or if things get dark. If you hear that name, you know I’m in over my head. You know it’s time to move.” I’d laughed at him, calling him a paranoid action-movie junkie. But we spent an hour brainstorming anyway. We settled on Clementine Frost because it sounded like the heroine of a trashy airport romance novel—the exact opposite of our aesthetic. The only two people who knew the weight of those three syllables were me and Chase. And Chase had been gone for thirty-one days. Before he left for Mexico, he’d FaceTimed me from the airport lounge, shouting over the terminal noise. “Miles! What do you want? I’m bringing you back something ridiculous!” That was the last time I saw his face. After that, his texts went grey. The calls went straight to voicemail. His Instagram feed froze on a picture of a sunset over the Caribbean. I’d called the police. His parents had called the embassy. The Mexican authorities were “investigating.” But there was no body. No trace. Chase had simply evaporated. And now, my wife, Jordan—a woman who technically moved in different circles than Chase, a woman who rarely even liked his photos—had just dropped that name into the middle of a Tuesday night dinner. “What’s with the face?” Jordan asked, a small, playful smile touching her lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “It’s nothing,” I said, forced myself to look down, and shoved a piece of steak into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. “Just never heard the name before. Where’d you get it?” “Oh, just something a colleague mentioned,” she said, taking a casual sip of her wine. “Just curious.” She pivoted the conversation to her office politics, her voice smooth and melodic. I didn’t hear a word of it. My mind was screaming. How does she know? How the hell does she know? After dinner, Jordan went to take a shower. I sat on the sofa, my palms slick with sweat. I listened to the sound of the water hitting the tiles, then stood up and walked toward her phone on the dining table. I knew her passcode. Our wedding anniversary. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through her messages, her call logs, her notes. Nothing. It was too clean. It was unnervingly clinical. No one’s phone is that pristine. I moved to her laptop in the study. She never kept it from me; our lives were supposedly an open book. I went through her browsing history, her downloads, her cache. Then, I opened a travel booking app. My heart stopped. A month ago, Jordan had told me she was going to Chicago for a three-day corporate retreat. I’d even driven her to the airport. But the booking record showed she hadn’t gone to Chicago. She had booked a flight to Cancun. She’d departed one day before Chase. She’d returned two days after he went missing. The shower stopped. I slammed the laptop shut, retreated to the living room, and pretended to scroll through TikTok. Jordan walked out, towel-drying her hair, glancing at me. “Still up?” “Yeah, just unwinding,” I said, flashing a smile that felt like it was cracking my face. She went into the bedroom and turned off the light. I stared at the dark doorway, my fingers digging into the upholstery of the sofa until my knuckles turned white. Jordan. What were you doing in Mexico? The next morning, I told Jordan a “fire” had broken out at a project site and I had to head out of town for a few days. She was putting on her earrings, not even turning around. “Where to?” “Atlanta.” “When will you be back?” “Three, maybe four days. It’s a mess.” She caught my eye in the mirror and smiled. “Be safe, Miles.” “You too,” I said. I didn’t go to Atlanta. I caught the noon flight to Cancun. When I landed, the air was a wall of heat and humidity that made my head spin. Chase’s last photo was taken in this city. A vibrant market, neon lights, the press of the crowd. He’d been standing in front of a taco stand, giving a thumbs-up, grinning like an idiot. I didn’t have time for grief. I went straight to his hotel. I’d seen the booking confirmation Chase had sent me before he left—a boutique place called The Lotus Courtyard on the edge of the jungle. At the front desk, I pulled out a photo of Chase and spoke to the clerk in hurried English. “This man stayed here a month ago. Do you remember him?” The clerk shook his head. “His name is Chase Reed,” I added. He checked the system and nodded slowly. “Yes. He stayed three nights. He never checked out. His luggage is still in our storage room.” My chest tightened. He never checked out. His life was still sitting in a suitcase in a basement. I swallowed hard and asked the question I was terrified to voice. “A month ago, was there a woman staying here? An American woman?” I handed him a photo of Jordan. The clerk looked at the screen, his expression shifting to something hesitant. “Yes. She stayed five nights.” Five nights. Longer than Chase. “What room?” “312.” “And Chase?” “315.” Same floor. Two doors apart. I stood there, the world tilting on its axis. My first thought was the most clichéd one imaginable: They were having an affair. They were in Mexico together, in adjoining rooms. But as soon as the thought formed, I rejected it. Chase hated Jordan. Not a polite, “I don’t really get her” kind of hate, but a vocal, visceral dislike. We’d had dinner once, the three of us, and Chase had gotten a few drinks in him and told me straight to my face: “Miles, your wife is a black box. There’s too much happening behind those eyes. Watch yourself.” Jordan’s face had turned to stone. They hadn’t looked at each other since. They weren’t here for an affair. So why was she in the room next to him? What was she doing? “I need to see your security footage,” I told the clerk. He looked uneasy. “Sir, I would need to ask the manager… and perhaps the police.” “My best friend is missing,” I interrupted, my voice low but vibrating with a terrifying intensity. “He’s been gone for a month. This is the last place he was seen. Do you want the police involved? Because I can make that happen very quickly.” The clerk went quiet. Then he picked up the phone. Twenty minutes later, the security head led me to a cramped room filled with monitors. He pulled up the footage from a month ago, starting with the day Chase arrived. I watched the screen, my heart in my throat. Day one: Chase walks in, dragging his battered duffel bag, chatting with the girl at the desk. Seeing him move, seeing the back of his head, made my throat ache. Then, in the bottom corner of the frame: A woman enters. White linen shirt, baseball cap, oversized sunglasses. It was Jordan. She didn’t go to the desk. She sat in the lounge, holding a magazine up to her face. But her eyes never left him. She watched him check in. She watched him take his key. She watched him enter the elevator. A cold shiver raced down my spine. “Fast forward,” I said. Day one, afternoon: Chase leaves the hotel to go for a walk. Two minutes later, Jordan follows. Same hat, same glasses. Keeping a steady twenty-yard distance. Day one, evening: Chase is eating at the hotel restaurant. Jordan is in the corner with a drink, positioned so she can see his every move. Chase never notices her. Day two: Chase goes to a local ruin. Jordan is there. Chase goes to the night market. Jordan is there. Chase stops to pet a stray dog; Jordan is across the street, pretending to check her phone. In every shot, every frame, she was a shadow. My hands started to shake. This wasn’t an affair. People having affairs don’t wear masks and stalk each other from twenty yards away. They hold hands. They share meals. She hadn’t spoken a single word to him. Chase had no idea she was even in the country. This wasn’t infidelity. This was hunting. “What about day three?” I asked, my voice cracking. The security guard pulled it up. Day three, morning: Chase leaves the hotel. He has a map in his hand and looks energized. He heads east, away from the beach. Two minutes later, Jordan exits through a side door, following the same path. And then, the footage ends. The hotel cameras only covered the perimeter. Beyond that fifty-yard radius, they vanished into the world. “Is there more?” I asked. The guard shook his head. “Only the street cameras, but you’d need the local police for that.” I stood there in the silence of the room. I opened the maps app on my phone. Chase had headed east. Following that road led through a small market, past a gas station, and finally to the coast. A cliffside overlooking the ocean. I stared at the map, my fingers ice-cold. He went there. She followed him. And then he was gone. I rented a scooter and drove the route. The road ended at a rugged stretch of coastline. The cliffs were high, the waves crashing against jagged rocks below. The wind was fierce, threatening to knock me off my feet. It wasn’t a tourist spot. There were no railings, just a dirt path overgrown with weeds leading to the edge. I looked down at the rocks and the thick brush below. If someone fell from here… I couldn’t finish the thought. I started asking around. There was a small fishing village nearby, just a few scattered huts. I showed Chase’s photo to anyone I could find. No one recognized him. I was about to leave when I saw a boy, maybe seven or eight, sitting under a large tree playing in the dirt. He was holding something. A phone. It had a black case with a tiny, faded sticker on the back. It was a photo-booth sticker Chase and I had taken the night of our graduation. Two idiots, squished together, grinning like morons. I had stuck it on his phone myself as a joke. My brain went numb. I walked over, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hey, kid. Where did you get that phone?” The boy looked up, instinctively hiding the phone behind his back. “Is it yours?” I asked softly, kneeling to his level. “No…” he whispered. “I’m not a bad guy,” I said, looking him in the eye. “That phone belongs to my brother. He’s lost, and I’m looking for him. Can you tell me where you found it?” The boy bit his lip. There was something in his eyes that shouldn’t be in a child’s—fear. Not of me, but of a memory. “Did you see something scary?” I asked. His lip trembled. He stayed silent. I pulled out a handful of pesos and held them out. “Tell me, and I’ll buy you something good to eat, okay?” He looked at the money, then at me. He hesitated for a long time. Then he whispered, “I found it at the bottom of the hill.” “Which hill?” He pointed toward the cliffs. My heart dropped into my stomach. “Did you find anything else?” The boy didn’t answer. He looked away. “You found something else, didn’t you?”

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I was known across the internet as the ugliest daughter of Hollywood royalty, the grotesque shadow standing behind my universally adored, drop-dead gorgeous younger sister. When my parents first brought my sister home—born with a severe facial deformity—they wept over her suffering and begged me to step back from the spotlight, to hand over my modeling contracts and acting roles so they could build her up. I did. But slowly, terrifyingly, my own skin began to break out in weeping, cystic pustules. Meanwhile, my sister’s birthmarks faded. Her features sharpened into something breathtaking. She even snatched the exclusive global beauty campaign right out from under my fiancé’s nose. In the dressing room before a major gala, my makeup artist looked at the surgical mask hiding the lower half of my face and sighed. “It’s just the genetic lottery, honey. Your sister has a perfect canvas. Try not to let it eat at you.” I forced a smile, my voice muffled by the fabric, trying to explain that we shared the exact same genetics. The makeup artist’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Then how on earth did your face end up rotting like that?” The words were a physical blow. I thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I went home and subjected my skin to brutal chemical peels, aggressive anti-aging lasers, and even rigorously applied a bespoke, holistic poultice my sister had sworn by. Now, fresh off the operating table from a desperate jaw-shaving surgery, my face swathed in bloody bandages and my body trembling from the anesthesia, I looked up at the television in the recovery room. There was my sister—the girl doctors once said would never have a normal face—clutching the trophy for a massive, televised international beauty pageant, smiling with practiced, flawless grace. 1 I slumped against the sterile leather of the recovery room chair, feeling the warm, metallic seep of blood against my bandages. I pressed a trembling hand to my jawline, gasping as a sharp, electric pain shot through the fresh incisions where the surgeon had shaved down the bone. My eyes were glued to the flat-screen mounted on the wall. Blair Montgomery stood center stage, bathed in the blinding glare of the pageant’s spotlights, a diamond crown nestled in her hair. She was my biological sister. When our parents finally tracked her down and brought her into the Montgomery estate two years ago, her face had been a map of twisted cartilage and deep, sprawling discoloration. The Blair on the screen today possessed a complexion like poured cream and features carved by an absolute master. The camera cut to the judges, their microphones picking up breathless whispers. “Utterly flawless. That right there is a generational beauty, given straight from God.” A live feed of social media reactions scrolled rapidly across the bottom of the screen. [Oh my god who is this absolute goddess!!!] [Blair Montgomery is the IT GIRL! The real Montgomery heiress hits different!] [Where’s her sister though? Heard she botched her face trying to keep up lmaooo] I gripped the edge of my hospital gown, my knuckles bleeding of color. Two years ago, when Blair first stepped foot into our Bel-Air mansion, a dark, bruised-purple port-wine stain had consumed the entire left side of her face, dragging from her temple down to her jaw. Her nasal bridge was collapsed, her eyes spaced unnervingly far apart. I still remembered the top Beverly Hills plastic surgeon sliding the scans across his mahogany desk, his voice laced with pity. “It’s a congenital bone and vascular malformation. The probability of surgical correction is next to zero.” Slowly, I raised my hand, my fingertips grazing the swollen, throbbing mass of flesh beneath my bandages. I used to be the beautiful one. The golden child. By eighteen, I had locked down three international luxury campaigns. The tabloids called me the undisputed muse of young Hollywood. Then, a year ago, the nightmare started. My skin erupted. Deep, painful cysts colonized my forehead and cheeks. I flew to the top dermatologists in New York, underwent the most excruciatingly expensive laser treatments, and took every experimental pill they threw at me. Nothing worked. My face decayed a little more every day. And every day, Blair’s face healed. My phone buzzed against my thigh. A text from my mother, Evelyn. [Blair won the crown! She is the pride of this family! Stay at the clinic and rest, Camilla. Don’t come out and make a scene.] I stared at the glowing pixels until they blurred, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eyes. I let my head fall back against the wall, the memories from a year ago rushing in to fill the quiet, sterile room. It was shortly after Blair had moved in. My father, Richard, had sat across from me in his study, staring at his scotch glass. “Camilla, your sister has survived a lifetime of cruelty out in the real world,” he had said, his voice heavy. “That face of hers… people stare. They point.” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I’m asking you for a favor. Step out of the limelight for a bit. Hand your current PR resources and brand contacts over to her. Let her build some confidence. Once she finds her footing, I swear to you, I’ll make it up to you tenfold.” My mother had been sitting on the velvet sofa, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Your sister is so broken, Camilla. You’re the older sister. Is it really so hard to share?” I had caved. I thought bleeding myself dry was the price of a whole, happy family. The moment I stepped back, Blair consumed it all. She took my agents, my campaigns, and eventually, she even moved into the master suite that had been mine since childhood. I opened my eyes and pulled up Blair’s Instagram on my phone. Her latest post was a candid shot of her with Tristan Croft. Tristan’s arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The caption read: [My Blair. The most beautiful girl in the world.] Tristan was my fiancé. A tremor started in my fingers and quickly hijacked my entire hand. I remembered the first time Tristan had met Blair. He hadn’t even bothered to shake her hand. Later, in the privacy of my car, he had shuddered. “Your sister,” he had muttered, adjusting his Rolex. “Christ, she’s hard to look at.” Now, he couldn’t take his hands off her. Another notification slid down my screen. A text from Blair. [Cam! I won! I’m still shaking! Btw, are you still applying that botanical poultice I gave you?] [My holistic guru just gave me an upgraded formula, I’ll overnight it to you. You HAVE to keep applying it every night! Love u ~ ] I stared at the little pink heart, biting the inside of my lip so hard I tasted copper. The door to the recovery room clicked open. My surgeon walked in, holding a manila folder, his expression grim. He pulled off his reading glasses. “Camilla… I’m incredibly sorry,” he started, his voice adopting that quiet, devastating professional tone. “The post-op tissue rejection from the jaw-contouring is much more aggressive than we modeled.” He hesitated. “We are seeing signs of localized nerve necrosis in your lower face.” “Meaning?” I whispered, my voice scraping like sandpaper. “Meaning, if the necrosis spreads… your face will never return to a baseline state of normalcy. The damage is permanent.” I didn’t move. I just sat perfectly still against the leather chair, while on the screen in my hand, my sister continued to smile. 2 Three days later, I walked into the hospital lobby to pick up my pathology reports. I kept my head down, the oversized sunglasses and medical mask hiding the fact that the skin around my jaw was peeling in angry, red flakes. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since the surgery. I was just turning the corner toward the elevators when I heard a familiar voice echoing off the marble. “Hey, slow down. You’re going to twist an ankle in those heels.” I froze. It was Tristan. I glanced over my shoulder. Blair was walking down the sunlit corridor, her arm threaded through Tristan’s. He had one hand hovering protectively over the small of her back, the other carrying her Chanel bag. This was the man who used to let heavy glass doors slam in my face because he was too busy checking his emails. “Are you tired, B?” Tristan murmured, leaning in close. “Want me to carry you to the car?” “Stop it, Tristan, you’re being embarrassing,” Blair giggled, shoving his shoulder playfully. Then, she looked up. Her eyes locked onto me, standing like a ghost in the shadows of the alcove. The flirtatious smile vanished, instantly replaced by wide-eyed, theatrical concern. “Camilla!” She let go of Tristan and practically sprinted over, her eyes raking up and down my form. “Are you here for your follow-up? How is the healing going?” She leaned in, her gaze dropping to the visible edges of my ruined skin, her pupils dilating with something that looked sickeningly like hunger. I quickly shoved the manila folder containing my necrosis diagnosis behind my back. “…Fine.” “Oh, thank god! I’ve been making myself sick worrying about you.” She reached out and grabbed my free hand, squeezing it tight. Tristan strolled over, his gaze sweeping over me with barely concealed pity, before his lips pressed into a tight, strained line. “Camilla,” he said, giving me a stiff nod. The elevator pinged. The steel doors slid open, revealing my parents. My mother’s face immediately soured the second she saw me. “What are you doing out of the house?” she snapped. “I told you to stay out of sight until you healed.” But the moment her eyes shifted to Blair, her entire posture softened into mush. She pushed past me and grabbed Blair’s hands. “Blair, darling! Oh, look at that dress on you. You could wear a trash bag and make the cover of Vogue!” “Mom, I just came for a routine check-up,” Blair said, resting her head on Evelyn’s shoulder. Tristan chimed in, practically preening. “Evelyn, Blair has a global shoot for LUMINE next month. They’re flying her to Paris. The creative director personally requested her.” He offered my mother a deferential, charming smile. “It’s going to be massive for the Montgomery name.” Evelyn beamed, showing all her teeth. “Well, obviously! Blair is the face of this family now. She’s our little miracle.” My father stood a step behind them, nodding emphatically. “Damn right. She’s doing us proud.” I stood three feet away, entirely invisible, listening to them build a world I was no longer a part of. After a long moment, Evelyn finally turned back to me, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Camilla, have those disgusting cysts cleared up yet?” A few nurses walking by turned their heads at the volume of her voice. I swallowed a thick knot of humiliation. “…No. Not yet.” Evelyn’s brow furrowed, her mouth pulling down into a harsh scowl. “Do you know how much money we’ve burned on your dermatologists? Does any of it actually work? It’s like you’re not even trying—” My father sighed, adjusting his golf polo. “Tristan has that charity gala next week. He’s expecting you to be on his arm. You can’t go looking like… that.” I gripped the edge of my medical file so hard the paper tore. I didn’t say a word. Blair tugged gently on our mother’s sleeve. “Mom, leave her alone. She’s trying.” She turned to me, tilting her head with an innocent blink. “Speaking of trying, Cam… have you been using that bespoke botanical poultice I sent you? The one from the apothecary?” I opened my mouth, the memory of that thick, foul-smelling paste rising in my throat. I had been slathering it on twice a day, exactly as she instructed. “…Yes. I use it.” “But it doesn’t work. If anything, the breakouts are spreading, and my skin feels like it’s burning.” Blair’s eyes widened to comical proportions. She looked down at her own porcelain, flawless hands, and then back up at the raw, angry skin peeking out from my bandages. “Really? That is so weird…” she murmured. “Whenever I use it, my skin feels like silk.” She tilted her head, her gaze locked onto mine. “Maybe your genetics just… reject it? I’ll ask my guru if there’s a modified batch he can make—” “Don’t bother.” I cut her off, taking a step backward. “I need to go.” I turned on my heel and power-walked toward the lobby doors. Behind me, I heard my mother’s voice, sharp and embarrassed. “Look at her attitude! You try to help her, Blair, and she acts like a petulant child.” Blair let out a soft, forgiving sigh. “She’s just hurting, Mom. Don’t be mad at her…” Just before the heavy glass doors swung shut, I caught a glimpse of Blair in the reflection. She wasn’t sighing. The corners of her mouth were curled up in a triumphant, razor-sharp smirk. 3 I walked into the ground floor of a high-end luxury department store. My doctor had prescribed a specialized neuro-repair serum to slow down the nerve death, and the only place that stocked it was the clinical beauty counter here. As I approached the cosmetic aisles, a massive, backlit billboard caught my eye. It was Blair. Printed in elegant, minimalist font in the bottom right corner were the words: [LUMINE Global Ambassador: Blair Montgomery.] That contract had been mine a year ago. I tore my eyes away, ducking my head and walking faster toward the pharmacy section. I barely made it two steps before someone screamed. “THAT’S HER!!!” A teenage girl, clutching a glossy magazine with Blair’s face on it, lunged out from behind a display counter. Before my brain could even register the movement, the girl reached out and violently ripped the mask off my face. I let out a choked gasp, throwing my hands up to cover my cheeks. The cool, air-conditioned air hit the raw surgical incisions and weeping pustules. It burned like battery acid. The girl blocked the aisle, putting her hands on her hips, and screamed at the top of her lungs. “HEY EVERYONE! Look! It’s Camilla Montgomery!” “Blair’s psychotic older sister! The one who’s trying to sabotage her contracts and steal her campaigns!” All the color drained from my face. “What are you talking about—” “Don’t play dumb! We know everything!” The girl spat, her eyes wild. “We know you’ve been calling the brand reps behind Blair’s back, trying to tell them you deserve the LUMINE deal! You’re so jealous you’re actually sick. It’s pathetic!” “I never did that! I’m just here to pick up a prescription!” The girl sneered, her eyes dropping to the manila folder I had instinctively tucked against my stomach. “Medicine? What kind of medicine does a botched plastic surgery freak need? What’s in the folder? Show us!” “No—” I tried to twist away, but she was faster. She yanked the pathology report right out of my hands. Her eyes scanned the bold text at the top of the page, and a malicious bark of laughter erupted from her throat. She waved the paper in the air, turning to the crowd of shoppers that had started to gather. “Oh my god, you guys, she’s actually trying to surgically copy her sister’s face! She got her jaw shaved and the surgery failed!” “She’s got facial nerve necrosis! She’s literally a rotting, stitched-together Frankenstein!!!” The crowd closed in. Phones were whipped out, camera lenses pointing at my face like the barrels of guns. I heard the rapid-fire click-click-click of shutters. “Jesus, that’s her sister? The genetic drop-off is insane…” “Trying to look like her little sister? That is profoundly unhinged.” “Karma, honestly. Blair is a natural beauty, and this girl is just butchering herself.” The whispers hit me like physical blows. I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails broke the skin of my palms. “It’s not true! I wasn’t trying to look like her! I—” The girl took a step closer, shoving her phone camera right into my face. “You’re what?” she sneered. “If my face looked like roadkill, I’d blow my brains out. Do us all a favor and drop off the grid. You’re disgusting.” I curled my shoulders inward, a violent tremor wracking my body. “That is quite enough!” I was about to scream when a hand clamped down hard on my shoulder. It was Evelyn. She pulled me behind her, her face dark with fury, though not at the crowd. At me. “Stop making a scene!” she hissed in my ear. “Are you trying to humiliate us? Get in the car, now!” “Mom—” “Do not call me Mom right now!” Evelyn stepped into my personal space, her voice a venomous whisper. “Look at you! Everywhere you go, you drag drama behind you like a stray dog! Your sister is finally at the peak of her career, and you’re out here getting photographed looking like a leper! Are you trying to drag her down with you?” I bit down on my trembling lip, the metallic taste of blood returning. Suddenly, Blair appeared from the crowd, looking like a distressed angel. she reached out and gently gripped my arm. “Cam, it’s okay. Ignore them.” She turned to face the mob of onlookers, offering them a deeply apologetic, sorrowful look. “Please, everyone, stop taking photos. My sister… she’s struggling right now.” She paused, letting a perfect tear well up in her eye. “She’s had a really hard time processing some… cosmetic procedures that didn’t go as planned. Her mental health hasn’t been stable. Please, just give her some grace, okay?” She pressed her palms together, bowing her head in a gesture of pure, saintly humility. Someone in the crowd murmured, “Blair has such a big heart… having a toxic sister like that must be exhausting.” The fight drained out of me completely. My arms fell limp at my sides. I shook Blair’s hand off my arm, turned around, and walked away. I made it all the way to the underground parking garage before my legs gave out. I collapsed into a crouch behind a concrete pillar, pressing my face into my hands, choking on my own tears. Then, a voice echoed from the stairwell. “Yeah? Hey B, it’s done. I did exactly what you said…” I froze. “Yeah, tore the mask off, grabbed the medical records. She was literally sobbing in the middle of the store…” “Mhm, don’t worry about it, B. The crowd was mostly the extras I hired off Craigslist…” “Two grand, right? Perfect. I’ll text you my Venmo.” It was the girl from the department store. I knelt there in the oily darkness of the garage, holding my breath. I did exactly what you said. Extras I hired. Slowly, I lowered my hands. I wiped the tears from my ruined face, my fingers curling into tight, cold fists. 4 I pushed the heavy oak door of the house open, my face completely blank. The foyer was dark, save for the ambient light bleeding in from the street. A figure rose from the living room sofa and walked toward me. “Camilla?” Damon Royce frowned as he took in my appearance, his hands coming up to gently grasp my arms. “What happened? You look like you’re going to pass out.” Damon was my husband. To the world—and to my family—he was just a nobody. A guy with no money and no pedigree who married into the Montgomery wealth because I had insisted. Nobody knew he was actually the sole heir to the Royce conglomerate, an empire that could buy and sell my father’s company ten times over. He kept his identity hidden and endured my family’s constant belittling because of a promise he made to me years ago. But right now, I didn’t have the mental capacity to think about his secret billions. “It’s nothing,” I lied, dropping my gaze. “Just came from the doctor. He said healing takes time.” Damon studied me for a long moment, seeing right through the lie. Without a word, he pulled me flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Whatever it is,” he murmured into my hair, “I’ve got you.” I leaned my weight against him, burying my face in his shirt, and finally let out a long, shaky breath. Hours later, fresh out of the shower and lying in the dark, I stared at the ceiling. I mentally rewound the tape of the last twelve months. That bespoke botanical poultice Blair sent me. The smell was vile—like iron, rotting flowers, and old copper. Every time I put it on, it felt like my skin was in a frying pan. When I told Blair, she assured me it was “cellular purging” and that the toxins had to come out before the skin could heal. I had religiously applied it for three months. For three months, my face decayed at an accelerated rate. But the morning after I applied it, Blair would always wake up looking positively radiant. Glowing. Buzzing with energy. None of it made sense. Blair survived on a diet of vodka, sugar, and late-night Taco Bell runs. She slept three hours a night, never washed her makeup off before bed, and baked in the sun without a drop of SPF. With a lifestyle like that, her skin should have been a wrecked, inflamed mess. But she didn’t have a single pore out of place. Meanwhile, I lived like a monk. No dairy, no sugar, gallons of water, sleeping by ten PM, slathering on the most expensive barrier-repair creams money could buy. And my face was literally rotting off my skull. I sat up slowly in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs. A terrifying, impossible thought clawed its way into my brain. What if her beauty wasn’t hers? What if she was stealing it from me? I turned my head. Sitting on my nightstand was the fresh jar of the poultice Blair had just overnighted to me. The thick, black paste sat behind the glass, radiating that faint, sickeningly sweet, metallic smell. My phone lit up. A text from Blair. [Cam! Did the new batch arrive? You HAVE to put it on tonight! This one is ten times stronger than the last! Put on a thick layer! Sweet dreams ~] Followed by three pink heart emojis. A year ago, that text would have made me smile, grateful that my sister cared. Tonight, it made the blood in my veins run cold. I threw the blankets off, marched over to my vanity, and grabbed a heavy-duty trash bag. I swept every single glass bottle, serum, prescription cream, and chemical exfoliant off the marble into the bag. Then, I picked up the jar of the ancient poultice, unscrewed the lid, and dumped the foul, black sludge directly into the trash can. I didn’t even flinch at the stench. I picked up my phone, opened Postmates, and ordered eighty dollars’ worth of greasy fried chicken, loaded fries, and a massive chocolate milkshake. Damon, who had been leaning against the bedroom doorframe watching my manic purge, raised a single, dark eyebrow. “Going scorched earth, I see?” “If my face is going to rot, I might as well enjoy the ride,” I mumbled around a mouthful of a crispy chicken thigh twenty minutes later. “I haven’t eaten a carb in three years. This is so f*cking good.” After I ate, I stayed up until 4 AM playing Call of Duty, eventually passing out and sleeping until noon. For the next seven days, I abandoned everything. I threw away my diet. I ate jalapeño poppers and drank cheap wine. I stayed out late with Damon at dive bars. I stopped washing my face. I stopped moisturizing. I stopped avoiding the sun. On the night of the seventh day, my phone began to vibrate violently. The screen flashed Blair’s name. Over and over. I ignored the first three calls. On the fourth, I hit accept. “CAMILLA! What the hell have you been doing for the past week?!” Blair’s voice was frantic, breathless. I took a bite of a spicy barbecue wing, dragging out my chew before answering. “Eating ribs. Why?” “No—what about your poultice?! Mom told me she saw you throw all your skincare away! Have you lost your mind? Your face is literally falling apart and you’re just going to give up?!” Her voice hit a shrill, hysterical pitch that I had never heard from her before. Hearing the absolute, naked panic in her tone, I smiled. I finally had her.

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After realizing I was nothing but a disposable background character in someone else’s grand romance, I pivoted. I became the female lead’s absolute best friend, and when she inevitably left the country, I gladly took her brooding, wealthy, hopelessly devoted runner-up of a suitor off her hands, ensuring she and her bad-boy soulmate could ride off into the sunset. But ten years later, she returned. She announced her newly single status to the world, and in our long-dormant college alumni group chat, she dropped two simple texts. [I’m back. Let’s all get together soon.] [@Colin, you’ll be there, won’t you?] The group chat instantly exploded. Everyone remembered Vanessa. She was the radiant, untouchable IT girl of our graduating class. The fact that she had walked away from Colin—the brilliant, ice-cold valedictorian who had spent four years worshipping the ground she walked on—was a tragedy our classmates still gossiped about. I looked down at Colin sleeping soundly beside me. I raised a single eyebrow. I felt a little tragic about it too. After all, his assets weren’t entirely in my name yet. 1. [Colin has to go, right? The man waited ten years for Vanessa. That’s some Gatsby-level devotion!] [Seriously! The guy hasn’t even been spotted with another woman. He’s the ultimate romantic.] [I could obsess over this dynamic forever. It’s too good.] I stared at the screen as the notifications rolled in, my fingers unconsciously tightening around my phone. My gaze drifted back to Colin. He slept so peacefully. His breathing was steady, the sharp, handsome lines of his profile softened by the amber glow of the nightstand lamp. Fifteen years. It had been exactly fifteen years since my senior year of high school, when I had that sudden, shattering epiphany. I realized I was living in a world where I was a nameless extra, a girl destined to fade into the wallpaper of Vanessa’s spectacular life. The moment I got to college, the first thing I did was orchestrate a way into her orbit. Vanessa. The dazzling protagonist of our universe. Relying on my uncanny intuition of how “her story” was supposed to go, I appeared exactly when she needed someone. I said the exact words she craved when she was crying. Seamlessly, inevitably, I became her absolute best friend. Everyone used to say, Claire, you’re so lucky to be in Vanessa’s inner circle. Only I knew the truth. I was just basking in her main-character aura, using her blinding light to carve out a slightly easier path for my own life. For four years, I shadowed Vanessa to every exclusive party and elite networking event. That was how I met everyone in her world. Including Colin. He came from old money. He had a razor-sharp intellect. But his eyes only ever saw Vanessa. Until graduation year, when Vanessa chose Tristan, the notoriously wealthy, rebellious trust-fund kid, and moved to Europe with him. Before she left, she took my hands in hers. Her smile was as blinding as ever. “Claire,” she said, “Colin is a truly good man. You two should be together. I’d feel so much better knowing you’re with him.” I looked at her radiant face, knowing the truth better than anyone. Colin only loved her. And I knew that according to the invisible script of our lives, ten years from now, Vanessa would return, and Colin would scoop up our child and run straight back into her arms. But so what? Colin’s family pedigree, his Ivy League credentials, his relentless capability—these were stepping stones a girl from a blue-collar background like me could never reach on my own. Marrying him meant I could climb. I could access a higher echelon of society, build my own wealth, and secure my future. As for love? I never expected it. I never even asked for it. So when Vanessa played matchmaker, I accepted Colin’s proposal without a second thought. At the time, I was as cold and calculating as a corporate merger. I had mapped out every single step. I would use Colin’s resources to launch my own startup. I would build my capital. And when Vanessa finally came back and Colin inevitably cheated, I would file for a very public, very lucrative divorce, take half of everything, and walk away a queen. But I had calculated everything except the treacherous, softening nature of the human heart over time. By our third year of marriage, my company was taking off, largely due to the quiet, subtle ways Colin funneled industry contacts my way. By our fifth year, our son, Noah, was born. Colin was the one clumsily learning to change diapers. He was the one waking up at 3:00 AM to warm bottles. He memorized my coffee order, remembered I hated cilantro, and always knew to keep a heating pad ready when my cramps were bad. By our eighth year, when my company faced a brutal financial crisis, he liquidated his own personal portfolios without a word to pull me back from the brink. Ten years. Everyone told me, Claire, you married a saint. And God help me, I almost fooled myself into believing it. I almost believed that living like this forever wouldn’t be so bad. But now, Vanessa was back. The plot was finally snapping back into place. Watching the alumni chat light up, the last, pathetic remnants of my hesitation were ruthlessly crushed by my own logic. Fine. I would give him one last chance. If he chose me, if he chose this family, I would pretend none of this ever happened and we would carry on. But if he chose Vanessa… Then it was time to execute the exit strategy. 2. The next morning, pale sunlight spilled through the gap in the curtains. Colin was already awake. He was lying on his side, watching me. When my eyes fluttered open, he reached out, his fingers gently brushing the hair from my face. His voice carried that deep, gravelly rasp of sleep. “Morning.” “Morning,” I murmured. I stretched, feigning a casual yawn. “Oh, by the way, the college group chat was losing its mind last night. Vanessa is back in the States. She’s talking about a reunion this weekend. Are you going?” His hand paused in my hair. Just for a fraction of a second. Then he rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. His tone was perfectly flat. “No.” “Why not?” I propped myself up on one elbow, studying his profile. “I mean, back in the day, you guys—” “There’s no point,” he cut in, turning his head to meet my eyes. His gaze was steady, unblinking. “It’s all in the past. Besides, those things are exhausting. A bunch of people pretending to still be close, inflating their resumes. I’m not interested.” I didn’t say anything. I just waited. He reached out, pulling me down by the waist until my head rested on his chest. He pressed his chin against the crown of my head. His voice vibrated against my ear, sounding slightly muffled. “You shouldn’t go either.” “Why?” “Noah has his ballet evaluation this weekend. He needs one of us there. If you go play catch-up, who’s going to take care of him?” I lay against his chest, listening to the rhythmic, steady thud of his heart. I let the silence stretch for a few heavy seconds before I spoke. “You’re right. I’ll skip it.” Colin pulled me tighter, pressing a long kiss to my forehead. “Good girl.” Friday night, Colin came home earlier than usual. At dinner, he plated a piece of salmon for me, his voice light and affectionate. “By the way, I’m going to have to go into the office this weekend. We’ve got a massive push for the new acquisition.” My fork hovered over my plate. I looked up at him. “Both days?” “Yeah. It’s going to be a late one, too,” he nodded, pouring himself a glass of water. “I’m going to drop Noah off at my parents’ place tomorrow morning. Let them spoil him for the weekend. You should just rest. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately.” I looked at his face. It was the same gentle, trustworthy face I had woken up to for a decade. I forced a soft smile and nodded. Deep inside my chest, the last glowing ember of hope hissed and went dead. “Okay. Don’t work yourself to the bone. Make sure you actually eat something.” Colin looked at me, his eyes softening with what looked incredibly like love. “What would I do without you?” Saturday morning, Colin slipped out of bed with the practiced silence of a considerate husband. I kept my eyes shut, breathing deeply. I felt the mattress shift as he leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. He tucked the duvet securely around my shoulders, then tiptoed out of the room. The moment I heard the heavy thud of the front door closing, my eyes snapped open. Ten minutes later, dressed in a nondescript trench coat, a baseball cap, and oversized sunglasses, I was sitting in the back of an Uber, trailing Colin’s Audi. He didn’t take the highway toward the financial district. Instead, the car wound its way toward the east side of the city, pulling into the manicured driveway of a highly exclusive, private country club. I told my driver to idle across the street. Through the tinted window, I watched my husband step out of his car. And then, I saw her. Vanessa. She was wearing a striking crimson dress, her dark hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. She stood near the ivy-covered entrance, laughing. A bright, intoxicating laugh. Ten years hadn’t touched her. She was still the breathtaking, radiant girl who owned every room she walked into. Colin walked toward her. Vanessa met him halfway, seamlessly slipping her arm through his. She tilted her head back, smiling up at him, her lips moving as she whispered something meant only for him. Colin looked down at her. The sharp angle of his jaw caught the morning light—the exact, tender expression I knew so intimately. Then, Vanessa unspooled her arm from his, stepping fully into his space, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Colin froze. His whole body went rigid. But he didn’t push her away. They stood there, wrapped in each other in front of the club, like two star-crossed lovers reuniting after a lifetime apart. I sat in the back of the idling Uber, perfectly still. My heart wasn’t racing. I didn’t feel the urge to cry. There was only a cold, sweeping expanse of clarity. That pathetic, fragile expectation I had harbored? Extinguished. Gone. I pulled out my phone, zoomed in on the two figures, framed the shot perfectly, and tapped the shutter button. “Sir,” I said to the driver, my voice steady. “Take me to the financial district. I need to see a lawyer.” 3. The air conditioning in the law firm’s conference room was running too high. The air was frigid. I slid my phone across the polished mahogany table. On the screen was the crisp, high-resolution photo of Colin and Vanessa embracing outside the club. My lawyer, Diane, was a sharp, pragmatic woman in her late forties. She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, examining the photo with professional detachment before looking up at me. “Claire, a single photograph of a hug is circumstantial at best. If you’re looking to leverage adultery for a heavily skewed asset split, the court requires a much higher burden of proof. We’re talking explicit photos, undeniable text threads, or—even better—a paper trail of marital assets being spent on the affair.” I smiled faintly and took my phone back. “The evidence will come. Diane, I want you to start drafting the paperwork. My terms are very simple: I am surrendering primary physical custody to him. In exchange, I want every single cent of my rightful half of the marital estate. No negotiations.” Diane raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the sheer lack of emotion in my voice, but she nodded sharply. “Understood. I’ll get the initial drafts moving. But honestly, if you can secure harder evidence of infidelity, especially financial infidelity, it puts us in a much stronger negotiating position.” “I know.” I stood up, smoothing the front of my coat. “Email me the drafts when they’re ready. I’ll be waiting to sign.” By the time I left the firm, it was early afternoon. I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to Newbury Street. I spent an hour browsing a high-end boutique and bought a beautiful, ridiculously expensive silk dress. Then I treated myself to a two-hour facial. It was past four when I finally walked through my front door, shopping bags in hand. The house was dead quiet. Predictably, Colin wasn’t home. I made myself a simple bowl of pasta. I had just taken the last bite when my phone buzzed on the counter. An incoming multimedia message. From an unknown number. I opened it. It was a ten-second video. The lighting was dim, clearly a private booth in a lounge. Colin had Vanessa pressed against his chest. His head was bowed, his lips moving against hers with a desperate, reverent kind of hunger. The resolution was sharp. You could see the exact contours of his face. You could see the faint trembling of his eyelashes as he kept his eyes squeezed shut. As soon as the video ended, a text bubbled up from the same number. Claire. I really think a marriage only works when a man actually loves his wife. Don’t you agree? I saved the video to a secure cloud folder. Then I took a screenshot of the text message and saved that, too. At 7:00 PM, my phone rang. It was Colin. “Hey, honey,” his voice filtered through the speaker. The background was strangely quiet. No clinking glasses, no restaurant chatter. “I got dragged into a vendor dinner. It’s going to run late. Don’t wait up for me.” “Okay,” I said, my voice smooth and perfectly pleasant. “Don’t drink too much on an empty stomach.” I hung up. I moved to the living room, curled up on the sofa, and turned on a random movie. It was a terrible movie. I fell asleep halfway through. Sometime in the middle of the night, I felt the mattress dip. Someone was slipping into bed, moving with agonizing slowness. He smelled faintly of expensive gin and someone else’s perfume. Colin reached out in the dark, pulling my back flush against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of my neck, breathing in my scent. Then, barely louder than a whisper, he murmured: “I’m sorry…” I didn’t move a muscle. I kept my breathing deep and even, playing the part of the sleeping wife. But in the dark, my mouth twisted into a bitter, silent laugh. What was this? A sudden strike of conscience after sleeping with his true love? Or did the guilt just make him want to throw me a crumb of counterfeit tenderness so he could sleep better at night? Colin held onto me for a long time. Eventually, his breathing leveled out, and he fell asleep. I opened my eyes, staring at the moonlight cutting across the bedroom floor. My chest felt completely, utterly hollow. 4. Over the next few weeks, Colin’s “late nights at the office” multiplied exponentially. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays—he always found a flawless excuse not to walk through the front door until well past 10:00 PM. “We’re pushing to meet the Q3 deadline.” “Client dinner ran long.” “Mandatory team-building drinks.” The excuses were varied, but the outcome was always the same. He was gone. And Noah, who usually only spent one night a week at his grandparents’ house, was suddenly spending three or four nights there. Every time Noah came back home, the way he looked at me shifted. The coldness in his little eyes grew sharper, the disdain more pronounced. “Mom, why are you always in such a bad mood? You look crazy.” “Mom, why are you never home? Is it because you don’t love me?” “I hate you! You’re a bad lady! Go away, I don’t want you here!” …I knew exactly what was happening. Vanessa had started spending time with him. The plot of the book was unfolding, practically word for word. Colin was going to take our son, and together, they would run into Vanessa’s waiting arms to form their perfect, fated family. And me? The stepping-stone wife? It was my cue to exit stage left. But I refused to leave this stage without taking every single prop I was owed. I hired a private investigator to do a deep forensic dive into Colin’s assets. The results made my blood run cold. In the span of just one month, the deeds to three of our investment properties, shares from two shell companies he operated, and the bulk of our liquid savings had been quietly siphoned offshore. The name on the receiving account? Vanessa. But the final nail in the coffin was the corporate account. Colin had diverted over three million dollars in company funds—embezzlement, plain and simple—directly into Vanessa’s offshore trust. I methodically took photos, downloaded PDFs, and archived every single wire transfer, deed transfer, and falsified invoice. I compiled it all into a massive, encrypted dossier. I sent the file to Diane. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. Her voice was pure, lethal professionalism. “Claire. Your husband isn’t just breaching his fiduciary duty by dissipating marital assets. The corporate embezzlement is a federal crime. This is wire fraud territory. The evidence you’ve provided is enough to strip him of everything in civil court, and practically guarantees he’ll be facing criminal prosecution.” “I strongly advise we file for divorce immediately and file an emergency injunction to freeze all his accounts.” “I know.” I stared at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen. My voice was a calm, steady hum. “Diane, draft the final injunctions. I have a specific date in mind. I’ll tell you when to pull the trigger.” “When are you planning to serve him?” I paused, a specific chapter from the original novel floating into my mind. Vanessa’s birthday was coming up. In the book, she throws a massive, opulent gala at a country estate. And during that party, overcome by the sheer magnetism of their fated love, she and Colin sleep together in one of the VIP suites. In the novel, that gala is the climax of their reunion arc. It’s where she publicly announces her divorce, her return to high society, and her rekindled romance with Colin. “Give it a few days,” I told Diane. “Right after her birthday party.” I hung up the phone. I pulled up my desk calendar and stared at the date circled in red ink—three days from now. Vanessa’s birthday. I traced the red circle with my fingertip, a slow, freezing smile pulling at my lips. Vanessa. I really hope you like the gift I got you.

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I ran into my wife Judy and her assistant Liam having sex in a BMW downstairs from the company. Watching the shaking, heaving car body, I sneered and floored the gas pedal, ramming straight into it. They were so scared they didn’t even have time to put their clothes on before they scrambled out and ran. When Judy realized it was me about to hit them, she stormed over furiously, pointing at my nose and cursing. “Charlie, Liam and I were just playing games in the car, and you dare ram into me?!” Her assistant also fanned the flames beside her: “If Judy hadn’t taken you in, you would have starved to death on the streets long ago. You’re nothing but a dog Judy keeps!” I looked at Judy, who had already cheated a hundred times, smiled slightly and said: “You just wait to go bankrupt!” “What? You’re going to make me go bankrupt? Who the hell do you think you are! What ability do you have to bankrupt me?” Liam wrapped his arm around Judy’s waist right in front of me, lowering his head to kiss her sexy red lips. “This waste must have been driven crazy by the two of us to dare threaten you like this. Just treat his words like a fart—let it go and forget about it.” They thought I was just bluffing them, that I couldn’t stir up any real trouble. If it weren’t for the fact that Judy’s grandfather once saved my grandfather, I never would have accepted their forced arranged marriage and married Judy. During these three years, I’d done enough for Judy’s family. I’d repaid the debt of gratitude. What I wanted now was the attitude of Judy’s father. I called six times before her father answered. “Thiago, your daughter has cheated a hundred times. Today I caught her in the act, and she still won’t change her ways. I just want to ask you—what punishment does she deserve!” To my surprise, Thiago scoffed: “Only a hundred times, so what? If she likes it, she can cheat ten thousand times and it’s not your place to comment, you waste.” “I really don’t understand what my father was thinking, actually making my precious daughter marry garbage like you with your unknown origins.” After hearing Thiago’s dissatisfaction with me, I finally understood a principle. What they call the evil of human hearts. I’d risked life and limb for Judy’s family, helping Thiago Group step by step reach today’s glory. Even without merit, there was hard work. How had I become a waste in their eyes? They even denied the contributions I’d made for them. I wanted Thiago’s attitude, and now he felt that Judy’s family had grown strong wings and no longer needed me as their guide. Fine. The day after tomorrow was when Thiago Group would announce going public. I decided to send them a generous gift. The debt of gratitude—I’d already repaid it for my grandfather long ago. After doing so much for Judy’s family, it was actually Judy’s family that owed me. “You hear that, waste? Even my dad agrees with me, which proves I did nothing wrong.” “Everything you have now was given by our family.” “Not only are you ungrateful, you even fantasize about bankrupting our family.” “If you dare interfere with me again, watch out—I’ll kick you out of my house, and you’ll end up as a beggar on the streets.” After saying this, she stopped hiding and instead openly threw her arms around Liam in return, going in for a French kiss. Around us, many colleagues who had just finished overtime had unknowingly gathered. Various voices humiliating me reached my ears. Not a single person could stand on my side and consider things from my perspective. These people clearly all knew I’d done many things for the company, didn’t they? Yet now they all surrounded me to watch the spectacle of my humiliation. Only then did I realize that when they called me Mr. Charlie, it was just a surface greeting. Deep down, they looked down on me entirely. “Hey, waste, what are you standing there stupidly for? Hurry up and go buy us condoms.”

“Don’t you want me to wear one?” “I’m just trying to leave you some dignity. After all, being a man to this extent, you’ve really lost all face for men.” As soon as he finished speaking, he released Judy, walked to the front of the car, pulled out the keys and threw them at me. “This car is a supercar Judy gave me. Now that you’ve damaged it, shouldn’t you compensate?” I smiled slightly: “This car is mine. If I’m not mistaken, Judy drove it over to give you as a birthday present, right!” As soon as the words fell, Judy’s expression instantly darkened: “Your car? How shameless.” “Every cent you spend, doesn’t it come from my family?” “Since you’re spending my family’s money, I have the right to decide the car’s fate.” Hearing this, I shook my head and laughed voicelessly. “You damn waste, what are you laughing at?” What Judy and Liam hated most about me was that no matter the situation, I could remain calm in danger and instead mock my opponents. They felt I was humiliating them now. “Judy, whether I’ve spent your family’s money or not, you and your father know best.” “I’ve never been a waste living off others, and I’ve never spent a single cent of your family’s money.” But Judy didn’t believe it at all, insisting I was lying. “Just because you say you haven’t doesn’t mean you haven’t. Who would believe that?” “I used to think you were just useless, but now! I’ve discovered you’re not only a waste but also full of lies.” “Come with me to city hall tomorrow. Let’s get this divorce done quickly.” When she said this, her eyes were full of disdain and weariness toward me. And I felt a sense of desolation. Husband and wife for several years, yet I couldn’t enter her heart, couldn’t warm her up, and she cheated time after time. And my colleagues’ words made me even more disappointed. “See that? Trash should recognize its own position. Go back to wherever you came from.” “We all graduated from prestigious universities. Our work abilities aren’t worse than his. Why should he get to enjoy benefits by relying on a woman, always lording it over us?” “The company goes public the day after tomorrow, and there’s no place for him anymore. What great news.” Facing a dozen pairs of eyes condemning me and waiting to see my humiliation, I didn’t feel sad but instead felt a cold laugh rising within. I was very strict in management, especially cautious when responsible for projects and following up on contract signings. If the company was to go public, certain rules and agreements had to be established. I never expected my dedication would be seen by them as me lording it over them. And getting Thiago Group to the point of going public, creating new benefits for them—wasn’t that something I fought for them? If it weren’t for me, those who should resign would resign, those who should be fired would be fired. Because Thiago is a cunning fox who only exploits employees—how would he give them benefits! Now one by one they act like this, as if afraid I’m not hurt enough, calling Liam “Mr. Liam” right in front of me. “Ms. Judy, I think Liam’s abilities are quite good. You could promote him to a higher position.” “Right, the Market Director position would be perfect.” The Market Director position—wasn’t that the position I currently held? This was blatantly pulling me down, and also a bargaining chip to please Liam. I clenched my fists tightly. They were going too far. I wanted to see how, in the end, they would be treated by the very person they were working so hard to please. They want me to get lost, right? Then don’t cry later. “Charlie, did you hear everyone’s opinion?” “It’s not that I want to pull you down, but everyone wants to pull you down.” “You’re such a failure, and you also disgust me—to think I was husband and wife with you for so long.”

She was the one who disgusted me, okay? If it weren’t for repaying my grandfather’s debt of gratitude, how could I possibly have married her? Talking to a dog was simply a waste of time. Fine, I’ll leave. But just as I was about to leave, Liam blocked my path again. “You want to leave without compensating me for the car?” Facing such a shameless person, I couldn’t help but get angry. “I told you, the car is mine. I can ram it if I want.” Because I had plenty of cars—I didn’t lack this one at all. “Big words. This was clearly bought with Judy’s money. How can you say it’s yours?” “I have evidence to…” “Enough, I don’t want to hear your nonsense anymore. If you don’t compensate Liam, then I’ll use my own methods to make you willingly pay.” I narrowed my eyes and stared at Judy: “What do you mean?” She just smiled coldly. I clearly saw calculation in her cold smile. Just then, my phone rang. “Mr. Charlie, come home quickly!” “Your dog has been tied up and hung in mid-air.” My heart couldn’t help but tighten. Even I, who was usually so calm, showed panic. Seeing that I’d finally shown a change in expression, Judy became even more certain of how much I cared about that golden retriever. She immediately laughed with delight, determined to use the golden retriever to force me to apologize to Liam. I had no time to think about their schemes, my only thought was to rush home and save my golden retriever. The golden retriever was a relic my mother left me, also my emotional support. Through countless lonely times, it was the golden retriever that accompanied me. Judy knew how much I cared about this pet, yet she dared to use it to threaten me. When I rushed back, I found it tied by its feet and hung upside down, four meters above the ground. If they let go, it would definitely fall to its death. My breathing became rapid, my heart panicked beyond control. I kicked open the courtyard gate. The violent impact made a huge noise. I sprinted over quickly: “You’re looking for death, daring to treat my pet like this.” “Lower it down slowly, or I won’t spare you.” I never liked joking around, but when they heard my words, they didn’t care at all. “What waves can a waste like you stir up? Hahaha, and you dare speak so boldly in front of me.” Thiago, surrounded by bodyguards, swaggered out. The moment our eyes met, he truly wanted me dead, felt that my identity lowered Judy’s family’s dignity. “So it seems the idea to tie up my pet was yours.” Thiago nodded without thinking: “Yes. What can you do to me?” “It’s just a beast. Killing it is as easy as turning my hand.” He looked at the entrance. Judy was bringing Liam, walking over step by step. Thiago suddenly smiled coldly: “Judy, see that!” “For those who resist, you must reach out and grab them by the throat, making them unable to resist.” “Then he’ll obediently submit and let you dispose of him as you wish.” Judy nodded obediently: “Got it!” As soon as she finished, she turned back to look at me with a smile, but her words weren’t directed at me. “Someone, throw this disobedient biting dog to its death.”

“No! Stop right now.” Judy knew how important the golden retriever was to me. No matter how cold and ruthless she was toward me, she couldn’t kill the innocent! My eyes turned red as I stared at her viciously: “What do you want me to do before you’ll let it go!” Seeing me finally willing to lower my head to her, Judy, Liam and the others smiled with satisfaction and mockery. Looking at the three people working in collusion before me, I really wanted to rush up and beat them. Liam laughed loudly and walked in front of me, punching me in the face. “I want to see if this coward dares to resist!” Unprecedented rage surged to my head. I couldn’t help but reach out and grab Liam’s neck. But he wasn’t scared at all—instead, he smiled arrogantly. “You really dare to resist!” “But… your resistance will only result in it being smashed to pulp.” After speaking, Liam raised his hand in a gesture, and the bodyguard on the roof let go. My breathing became rapid as I roared in desperation: “Stop!” Just as it was about to hit the ground, Liam shouted “Stop,” and the bodyguard pulled the rope back. This frightened the golden retriever into howling and barking in mid-air, apparently receiving an unprecedented shock. No matter how much I wanted to kill Liam, I had to swallow this anger first. I slowly released my hand, making Liam even more unbridled. After gaining his freedom, he patted his neck, then viciously raised his foot and kicked me down. I was forced to kneel before him, like fish on a cutting board, at the mercy of others. “It seems this dog is very important to you. Judy told me it’s a relic your mother left you.” “Then I’m sorry, but it might die here tonight.” I raised my head and glared at him angrily: “If you dare kill it, I’ll definitely castrate you.” “Castrate me? I’m afraid you don’t have that ability.” “Because I want you to bark like a dog first.” He stepped on my head, and then Judy brought over a divorce agreement for me to sign, leaving with nothing. “Just worried you wouldn’t leave with nothing. If you don’t want it to fall to its death, sign the contract unconditionally.” I wanted to resist and push away Liam’s foot, but suddenly thought of something and swallowed this anger. “If you want me to sign, then take your foot off!” Liam lowered his head, patting my face with vicious arrogance. “Before signing, bark a few times for me to hear!” “You… don’t go too far.” “I’m going too far—what can you do to me!” “You damn waste, can’t even satisfy your wife. I have to help you out.” “Are you going to bark or not?” For my pet, I had to bark. “Woof woof!” “No, your barking has no emotion. You need to sound as sorrowful as if a family member died, understand?” Liam hooked one arm around Judy’s waist while giving me orders. My face turned blue with bulging veins, but I had to do as they demanded. The two burst into laughter, treating me like a dog. Suppressing my unquenchable rage, I picked up the pen and quickly signed my name. “Not bad. This is what a good dog does.” “Can you let the golden retriever go now?” Liam clicked his tongue: “What are you all standing around for? Throw this beast to its death!” “Liam! You’re going back on your word!” He twisted his waist, doing his self-created dance moves and winked at me: “To a waste like you, what promise is there to speak of?” “Drop it!” “No…” As soon as the words fell, my golden retriever was thrown alive to the ground. I punched Liam again and urgently ran over to hold it. Its mouth was full of blood that couldn’t be stopped at all. Since my mother’s death, I hadn’t shed a single tear, but tonight, at this moment, I cried again. Liam was still there laughing, and Thiago also left satisfied with a wave of his sleeve. I quickly picked up the golden retriever and ran out. If I couldn’t save it, I would definitely destroy Judy’s family and castrate Liam. After leaving Judy’s house, I took out my phone and contacted my subordinates. “Bankrupt Judy’s family! Whoever dares help them dies together with them.”

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After my billionaire parents brought me and my twin brother Mueller back home, my brother, who had always matched my grades, threw away his books and started living a life of extravagance. Seeing that I still studied diligently, he mocked me with disdain: “I’ve got it all planned out. Once the SATs are over, I’m going to study abroad in Europe. Our parents are billionaires—what’s the point of being a bookworm? You need to learn how to network with high society.” He constantly bragged to me about which heiress he’d met today, which heir he’d made plans to hit the bar with. Seeing me clutching my books, Mueller laughed contemptuously: “Can’t help it—after all, I’m the boy. I’ll be the heir in the future. You’re a girl, so all you can do is study hard to please our parents.” How laughable. What era does he think this is, that he can still claim an advantage based on gender? Doesn’t he realize that both Mom and Dad graduated from top global universities? The Franklin family’s first rule is clear: only those who get into Harvard are qualified to be the heir.

I didn’t take Mueller’s words to heart and continued attending classes attentively and working hard on practice problems after school. Say what you will, the faculty at this elite private school was genuinely exceptional. Until the day we had to submit our competition registration forms, I couldn’t find mine anywhere. I remembered the last time I saw my registration form, Mueller happened to be right beside me. “Competition registration form?” Mueller said casually. “I didn’t see it.” I grew anxious. “Think harder. Tomorrow’s the final deadline—if I don’t submit it, I’ll lose my eligibility!” He snorted. “Why bother with that thing? I already told you last time, learning all this stuff is useless. You’re a girl—no matter how good your grades are, you’ll still end up getting married.” “Come with me after school to Rivers’s birthday party. Learn how to deal with people. It’ll help you manage business for me in the future.” I looked up at him and asked calmly, “Mueller, I’m asking you one more time. Did you take my registration form?” Students around us noticed the tension between us and turned to look. I knew it. He’d hidden it. I held out my hand. “Give it back.” He suddenly laughed derisively. “Can’t give it back. I burned it. It’s in the trash can—go look for it yourself.” My hand involuntarily tightened into a fist, anger surging through me. “Why?” Mueller said indifferently, “Who told you not to listen to me? You kept going against me, so I had to make you understand who’s in charge of this family!” I froze. I never imagined that my brother, who’d grown up with me since childhood, would turn into this. I looked at him deeply, then turned to go to the office to ask the teacher for another form. But the teacher told me, “No one from our school has ever participated in this competition. I had to pull strings just to get that one form.” Even though I was confident I could place well, without a registration form, I didn’t even have the qualification to compete. I laughed coldly. If Mueller could only pull these petty tricks, he wasn’t worth worrying about. I’d only signed up for this competition to see what the Washington competition was like anyway. As I left the office, Mueller blocked my way. “Well, since you can’t participate anyway, you can finally come with me to Rivers’s birthday party, right?” Only then did I realize why he’d burned my registration form. I looked at him coldly. “I’m not going. I’m going home to study.” He scoffed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Why do you only know how to study like a bookworm?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that Rivers likes you. His family owns one of Washington’s top tech companies. If you just keep him happy, isn’t that better than participating in some stupid competition?” Rivers walked over, putting his hand on Mueller’s shoulder with a smile. “Olivia, don’t listen to Mueller. I don’t think studying is useless.” “It’s just that today’s my birthday. Do me a favor, okay? Plus, I invited a lot of classmates.” Mueller wasn’t wrong about one thing—Rivers’s family company did have business relations with mine. I didn’t want to make things too awkward, so I glanced at the time and reluctantly agreed. “I need to be home by nine-thirty.” But unexpectedly, Rivers took our group to a bar. The bar was chaotic and noisy. Mueller raised his glass and shouted, “Come on, let’s toast to Rivers’s eighteenth birthday!” I didn’t drink alcohol. What I raised was juice. Mueller’s face turned cold. “Olivia, what’s your problem? Everyone’s drinking, and you’re the only one with juice. What are you trying to prove?” I took a deep breath and looked at this brother who was only born minutes after me, saying calmly, “You forgot—I’m allergic to alcohol.” Mueller was about to say something when Rivers stepped in. “Come on, I’m the birthday boy and I haven’t said anything. Why are you getting worked up?” I stood up to go outside for some fresh air. But suddenly Rivers blocked me at the door of the private room. “It’s my birthday. How about you give me a gift?” A bad feeling crept over me. I forcefully pushed away his face as it came closer. “I’m going home.” But the next second, Rivers suddenly grabbed my wrist, pressing his whole body against mine, his breath inches away. Every hair on my body stood on end. I turned my head and yelled, “Mueller!” At that moment, I still instinctively relied on Mueller. But whether it was because the bar was too noisy or not, Mueller didn’t hear me. He didn’t come out. I desperately tried to avoid Rivers’s touch, my voice urgent and rapid. “Rivers, both our families are respectable. Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell my parents what you’re doing?” I could only hope my words would intimidate him. But unexpectedly, Rivers scoffed. “Come on, have you had enough of this playing-hard-to-get act?” He blew smoke in my face. “Mueller already agreed to let you keep me company. Even if you complain, he can testify that you seduced me.” My scalp went numb instantly. Gritting my teeth, I shouted fiercely, “Mueller, get out here right now!” “I’m your sister! How dare you do this to me? Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?” My voice was so loud there was no way he couldn’t hear me. But there was no response. The door behind me remained closed. Just as Rivers’s hand touched my shoulder and he forcefully tried to tear my clothes, I gathered all my strength and suddenly lifted my leg, kicking him hard in the groin. Rivers let out a piercing shriek. His whole body collapsed to the ground, his face deathly pale. The door behind me burst open with a bang. Mueller rushed in. “What happened?” Seeing Rivers’s miserable state, he froze for a moment. He frantically helped Rivers up, and seeing Rivers clutching his groin, he angrily questioned me, “Olivia, what did you do to Rivers!” I stood up, straightened my clothes, and walked over to Mueller. Furious beyond measure, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face.

I was too angry—one slap wasn’t enough. I raised my hand to slap him a second time. Mueller suddenly grabbed my hand. “Are you crazy?” My eyes locked onto Mueller’s. “Do you know what Rivers was just doing to me?” “My life was almost ruined!” Mueller lost his patience, frowning at me. “Olivia, stop being so ungrateful!” “It’s only because you’re my sister that I’m thinking about your future. You’re a girl—what other path do you have besides marriage?” “If you keep Rivers happy and marry him in the future, you can be a comfortable rich wife. Isn’t that good?” “All this talk about studying hard—you just want to fight me for the inheritance. Well, let me tell you, no way!” I looked at Mueller, who stood half a head taller than me. For the first time, I felt this brother I’d grown up with was a complete stranger. Before today, I’d always thought he was just a bit narrow-minded. But I never imagined he could be both stupid and vicious. I laughed coldly. “Mueller, this isn’t over between us.” “You’d better pray the Franklin heir is me. Otherwise, I have ten thousand ways to make you bankrupt and homeless.” “And you, Rivers,” I looked at him with icy eyes, “a good-for-nothing punk like you probably doesn’t know that attempted rape is also a crime, right?” “This time, I’ll let you off for the sake of our families’ business relationship.” My voice grew increasingly oppressive. “I suggest you stay away from me from now on. If you piss me off again, I won’t mind sending you to prison to experience life there.” Rivers’s face darkened, but he couldn’t utter a single word of rebuttal. He could only watch helplessly as I picked up my backpack from the floor. Mueller looked at me mockingly. “You’re a girl, and you think you can compete with me for the heir position? As if you’re qualified.” “Make me bankrupt and homeless? Ha!” I knew he didn’t take me seriously at all. I looked at him quietly, my eyes frighteningly calm. “Mueller,” I said mockingly, “so you want to be the Franklin heir?” I paused, my gaze sweeping over everyone who was watching the drama unfold. Finally, my eyes landed on Mueller’s face, full of mockery and contempt. “Then let’s each rely on our own abilities.” From that day on, I started treating Mueller like air. I continued studying hard every day, working through practice problems. Every exam, I held steady in first place in the entire school. But after the brief attention I received when I first ranked first in school, I practically disappeared from view. I didn’t care whether anyone paid attention to me. I only wanted to work hard toward my goal. While I studied, Mueller thrived in the elite school. He used his identity as the billionaire’s son to form cliques. Until just before the SATs, Mom and Dad specially held a grand recognition banquet. They formally introduced us to society as the children of the Franklin family. I looked at the important figures before me—people I’d only seen on TV and in magazines—and felt involuntarily nervous. But Mueller was completely different. He moved through the crowd with ease, wine glass in hand. As the banquet ended, Mueller stopped me, his tone smug. “Did you see that?” “Many of the people who came today are parents and relatives of our schoolmates. They don’t even recognize you, but they praised me highly.” “Mom and Dad were so happy just now. I brought them so much honor.” His eyes showed contempt and disdain as he said matter-of-factly, “What’s the use of you being first in your class every day?” “In society, it’s all about who has the wider network and knows how to deal with people, right?” “Look at those big bosses and rich people—how many of them were first in their class? Understanding how to navigate social relationships is more important than anything.” I looked at him calmly. “So?”

Seeing that I remained unmoved, Mueller’s face showed a trace of annoyance. “Olivia, apologize to me properly right now.” “In the future, when I take over Mom and Dad’s fortune, I can give you a little more.” I smiled mockingly. “No need.” Mueller glared at me. “Fine, fine, fine. Don’t you dare regret it. Even if you kneel and beg me in the future, I won’t show you any mercy!” I shrugged, not taking it seriously. But unexpectedly, on SAT day, Mueller locked me in the house. I pounded on the door. “Mueller, let me out!” His careless voice came through. “Olivia, I told you studying was useless, but you never listened to me. I had no choice but to lock you at home.” I shouted the housekeeper’s name. Mueller scoffed. “Stop shouting. I sent everyone away. I hid your phone a long time ago too.” I was both shocked and furious, asking in disbelief, “Why won’t you let me take the SAT?” His voice was cold. “Sorry, Olivia. I need to eliminate every opportunity you have to compete with me for the heir position.” “Since my grades aren’t good, you shouldn’t get to win against me through exams.” I took a deep breath. “Mueller, if you don’t open the door right now, we’re done being siblings!” Mueller fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was resolute. “Then let’s be done. I’ll make you understand the consequences of going against me!” I closed my eyes, completely disappointed in Mueller. I wasn’t released until the first day of testing was over. He was triumphant. “Even if you do well, it’s useless. I’m the one qualified to inherit the Franklin family. I’m helping you accept your fate sooner!” I didn’t cry or make a scene. Instead, I lowered my eyes and laughed mockingly. Mueller probably didn’t know that my target was never the SAT—it was Harvard. And among the conditions for Harvard admission, the SAT was never mandatory. I’d only wanted to take the SAT to give myself closure after twelve years of hard study. I just never imagined Mueller would go to such lengths for his own selfish desires. If I hadn’t applied to Harvard early, Mueller would have really succeeded. I didn’t attend the remaining two days of testing. Mueller thought I’d truly accepted my fate. He came to persuade me again. “Rivers said what happened last time was a misunderstanding. As long as you’re willing to be with him, after I take my position, he’ll help me maintain my place as the richest.” “After you two get married, just focus on being a good wife and mother.” I looked up and coldly spat out one word: “Scram.” Mueller held a grudge. He picked a time when both Mom and Dad were home and deliberately apologized to me. “Olivia, I’m sorry. I was just thinking that since you didn’t take the SAT, you can’t even get into community college. Rivers is a well-known young master in Washington.” “His family’s situation isn’t much worse than ours. Since he likes you, you should seize the opportunity. I didn’t expect you to be so resistant. It’s all my fault.” The more he spoke, the more aggrieved his voice became, as if everything were my fault. Mom and Dad’s expressions grew increasingly surprised as he spoke. Mueller looked determined to succeed. “Olivia, Rivers really likes you. Why don’t you give him a try?” Dad put down his fork, frowning as he interrupted Mueller. “Who told you Olivia can’t even get into community college?” “Don’t you know she’s already been accepted to Harvard?” I smiled slightly at Mueller. “Mueller, you didn’t know, did you? In our Franklin family, we don’t support freeloaders. Only those who get into Harvard are qualified to be the heir.” All color drained from Mueller’s face instantly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “379582”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster