Author: Momo Chan

On my wedding day, my best friend, Bianca, hid my wedding dress. My fiancé, Lorenzo, searched everywhere but couldn’t find it. With the ceremony minutes away, I told her to give it back. She only shrugged. “Lorenzo! You’re not taking Serena from me that easily. Keep looking!” Lorenzo laughed. “Still trying to beat me when it comes to Serena after all these years?” Then he turned to me. “See what your best friend is putting me through? This time, I’m finding that dress myself. I’m finally going to win one against her.” Listening to them, I grew more anxious by the second. “Stop fooling around. We’re going to miss the ceremony.” Lorenzo didn’t seem concerned. “A few minutes won’t make a difference. And this time, you’re not allowed to take her side.” Bianca scoffed. “If you can’t find it, I’m not letting you marry Serena.” Then the two of them ignored my protests and started bickering and teasing each other, just like they always did. Here we go again. I glanced at my phone. Only five minutes remained before the ceremony, but a message suddenly lit up the screen. [If you change your mind, come outside. I’m waiting at the east entrance of the church.] The message was from Marcello Ferrante, the man who had been in love with me for years. He was the Don of the Ferrante family—and the man who ruled the East Coast underworld. I replied: [Give me five more minutes.] His answer came almost instantly. [All right.] If this farce wasn’t over in five minutes, I would leave this church with a different groom. I was done playing along with their ridiculous wedding game. When I put my phone down, the two of them were still at it. I walked over to Bianca. “Where is my dress? Give it back.” She froze for a moment, then smiled. “Lorenzo hasn’t found it yet. I can’t give it up that easily.” “If he can’t even find your wedding dress, how am I supposed to trust him with you?” I ignored her excuse and looked directly at Lorenzo. “Lorenzo, the ceremony starts in five minutes.” “I know.” He reached over and ruffled my hair as if I were a child. “As soon as I find the dress, we’ll start. Just wait a little longer, Serena.” Bianca pinched him. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying our Serena is desperate to marry you?” “You should be grateful she agreed to marry you at all. Keep looking. If you can’t find it, admit defeat.” Lorenzo tugged at the bow on her wrap with an indulgent smile. “Don’t get cocky. Even if it takes until nightfall, I’m finding it myself.” Then he went back to searching through the cabinets in the bridal suite. Bianca deliberately got in his way, and Lorenzo never once lost his temper with her. I stared at their backs, my nose stinging. They had always turned loving me into a competition. I had believed marriage would change things. At least, I had believed that until today. Now I finally understood how wrong I had been. I raised my voice. “Bianca, give me the dress. The game is over. I’m getting married today.” My tone left no room for argument. But Bianca looked at Lorenzo with wounded eyes. “Is Serena mad? Maybe I should just give it back and end the game.” “But you have to admit you lost. I’m only letting you off because Serena asked.” Lorenzo glanced at her, then at me, his tone turning cold. “Admit defeat? That phrase isn’t in my vocabulary. No matter what, I’m finding it.” One of Lorenzo’s groomsmen tried to smooth things over. “Serena, you know how they are. They always have to settle who wins. Just be patient a little longer.” “Exactly. Lorenzo’s still marrying you. It’s not like anyone’s taking him away.” … Just then, the wedding coordinator pushed open the door. Seeing me still dressed in a white silk robe, he immediately urged, “Miss Valenti, why aren’t you in your gown yet? The ceremony is about to begin.” I said calmly, “It’s fine. Even if I have to go in wearing this, I’ll be there on time.” Impatience crossed Lorenzo’s face. “Serena, stop making a scene, okay?” “I’m not making a scene.” I was simply planning to replace the groom.

The wedding coordinator frowned and was about to speak when my mother hurried into the room. “Lorenzo, what exactly are you doing? The priest is ready, and representatives from every family are waiting.” Lorenzo hesitated, but Bianca cut in. “Mrs. Valenti, Lorenzo still hasn’t found the dress. How can they go to the church?” “This is my final test for him. If he passes, maybe he’ll finally prove he deserves her.” I walked over, linked my arm through my mother’s, and gently patted her hand. “Mom, it’s all right. My wedding will go ahead today.” Then I whispered a name into her ear. Only then did some of the tension leave her face. Before my mother could respond, Lorenzo spoke first. “Serena, you’re being unreasonable today. Bianca only wants our wedding to be perfect.” “Why are you turning this into a family crisis? We can push everything back a few minutes.” I checked my phone. Another minute had passed. I looked up at him. “Lorenzo, what exactly am I doing wrong?” “So any time I refuse to go along with the two of you, I’m throwing a tantrum?” “Isn’t it?” Lorenzo said through clenched teeth. “I already told you. If I don’t find the dress, I’m not going to the church.” The answer had always been yes. Whenever we went out to eat, we chose whatever suited the two of them. If I suggested a restaurant I liked, I was “ruining the mood.” Even the alterations to this dress had been decided by Bianca. When I said I didn’t like the design at the waist, Lorenzo laughed and asked if I was jealous because Bianca had better taste. He told me not to be petty. I was about to marry him, so I swallowed my resentment rather than argue. But I had never imagined the two of them would behave this outrageously today. Bianca hurried over and took my arm. “Serena, stop. Lorenzo’s getting angry.” The wedding coordinator looked at me. “Miss Valenti, what would you like us to do? Should I tell the priest to delay the ceremony?” I shook my head. “No. We start on time. I’m going out there now.” At the same time, I texted the man waiting outside. [Is the dress ready?] A photo arrived immediately. It showed a breathtaking ivory mermaid wedding gown. [It’s ready.] [No one has worn it. No one has touched it. It belongs only to my bride.]

Hearing me, Lorenzo leaned against the wall and watched me with a cold smile. “Serena, if I’m not going out there, who exactly are you planning to marry?” I was about to answer when my phone rang. “Hello, I’m calling about a sofa delivery to the Vescari residence. Will someone be available to sign for it today?” “A sofa?” I hadn’t ordered one. Thinking they had the wrong number, I was about to hang up when Bianca snatched the phone from my hand. “Today doesn’t work. Deliver it tomorrow.” Then she ended the call and shoved the phone back at me. “Bianca, what sofa?” She shrugged as though it were nothing. “The Italian black leather sofa you picked was too gloomy. It was too dark and formal. I ordered a cream velvet one instead.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “That was supposed to be my home. Did you even ask me?” She pointed at Lorenzo. “I discussed it with Lorenzo. He agreed the velvet would be more comfortable and make the living room feel less oppressive.” “And when you choose furniture, you always choose whatever looks proper for the family. You have no idea what makes a house feel like a home, so I took care of it.” Lorenzo nodded. “I approved it. Bianca even paid for the sofa herself. You should be thanking her.” Bianca smiled as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Exactly. Since all three of us will be spending so much time there, I wanted the living room to be comfortable.” “Oh, and I replaced the old silverware in the dining room too. Everything you picked looked dated.” My mother’s expression darkened instantly. “Bianca, what exactly do you mean by that?” Bianca took my mother’s hand and smiled. “Mrs. Valenti, the three of us have never been apart. Of course we’ll still live together after Serena gets married.” “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way tonight—no matter what I hear.” My mother stared at her in disbelief. “Bianca, you’re supposed to be Serena’s best friend.” I stared hard at Lorenzo. He looked away, making it obvious that he had known all along. I had known none of it. Bianca covered her mouth with a laugh. “That’s exactly why Serena won’t make a fuss over something so small, right?” I looked at her coldly. “Who said this was small?” Every argument I could have made rose to my lips, then died there. I nodded. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Buy whatever you want. Throw out whatever you want.” I didn’t care anymore. I would never live there. How they decorated the place had nothing to do with me now. At that moment, the wedding coordinator opened the door. “Miss Valenti, it’s time.” I nodded. “All right.” Lorenzo called after me. “Serena! Without a wedding dress or a groom, what do you think you’re going out there for?” I walked out without looking back.

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I was waiting for my coffee when a young woman suddenly sat down across from me. “You’re the one going on a date with Adrian?” I was a little confused. “A date? Adrian is my husband. We’re married.” She froze, then let out a laugh of pure disbelief. “Husband? Gold diggers really do say the funniest things.” “Don’t bother waiting. He’s not coming.” “I’m his actual girlfriend. I’ve met his family.” “God, are you really that desperate? You know he has a girlfriend and you’re still throwing yourself at him?” When I didn’t answer, her eyes lit up. She raised her phone, opened Instagram Live, and shoved the camera in my face. “Since you’re this desperate, let me put you up online. Maybe someone can find you a sugar daddy.” “Save the rest of us from watching a nobody gold digger chase after other women’s boyfriends.” I raised an eyebrow. The moment I realized Adrian had cheated on me, I actually laughed. I pulled out my phone and, one by one, froze every asset in his name and every authorized user card he had. Then I looked up and smiled softly into the camera. “You think I’m the one chasing him?” “Sit tight. You’re about to watch him crawl over here on his knees, begging me to forgive him.” … The air went still for a second. Chloe Ramsey burst out laughing. “Wow. A homewrecker with an attitude?” “From the look of things, this isn’t your first time going after someone else’s boyfriend, is it?” “A serial homewrecker, huh?” I paused and looked at her. “You’re calling me a homewrecker?” “You have proof?” “What you just said is slander. The kind that gets you sued.” “Slander?” Her expression darkened in an instant. “You’ll do it, but you won’t own it?” She swiped on her phone, zoomed in on a screenshot, and thrust it in my face. “You know exactly what you did. Playing innocent?” “You’re really going to make me put the receipts out. Disgusting.” I glanced down, and my brow tightened. It was, in fact, a message I had sent Adrian the night before. The iMessage screenshot was complete. 【You should be back today, right? I’ll be at the café downstairs at six-thirty.】 Below it was a selfie of me fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around my chest, my hair still half-wet. The live comments were scrolling fast. 【She literally sent thirst traps to a taken man】 【The delusion is insane. Get therapy.】 【”Oops wrong number” energy incoming lmaooo】 【Chloe babe you’re way too nice, I would’ve thrown that latte already】 【Homewreckers really have no shame these days】 I stared at that screenshot, feeling nothing but disbelief. Adrian had been away on business for three days. I was his wife. What was wrong with sending him a selfie? And I was here today because he had told me on the phone, in his own voice, that he’d meet me. How had those two things twisted, in Chloe’s mouth, into evidence that I was seducing him? Before I could sort my thoughts out, Chloe pointed at me and shouted. “You see that?” “Sending Adrian nudes in the middle of the night, then setting up a meet-up right outside his office. What do you call that if not seduction?” “If I hadn’t been up last night scrolling through his phone, I wouldn’t have even known a piece of trash like you existed.” Something rang in my head. “You were with him last night?” Chloe smirked. “Where else would I be? I’m his girlfriend.” “Last night was our three-year anniversary.” “Because of that photo of yours, I was furious for a full hour.” “Adrian had to order me a limited edition Hermès in the middle of the night just to get me to forgive him.” At some point, a small crowd had gathered around us. Most of them were employees from Adrian’s company. They recognized Chloe and started whispering to each other. “Everyone at the office knows Ms. Ramsey is Mr. Cole’s girlfriend. How does this woman have the nerve to show up?” “Right? Mr. Cole and Ms. Ramsey took three days off to go away together. Word is he proposed.” “Ms. Ramsey has the patience of a saint. I would’ve thrown her out already.” “Yeah, especially since Mr. Cole gave this café to Ms. Ramsey…” Chloe’s face lit up. She slowly raised her right hand, showing off a diamond ring. “He proposed. I said yes.” “Adrian’s mom said we’d pick a date in a few days.” I almost laughed out loud. So the three-day business trip had been him celebrating their anniversary with his homewrecker and getting engaged. No wonder his authorized card had been bleeding money for three days straight. And I had been stupid enough to think he was working hard, wining and dining clients. But what Chloe didn’t know was that the great CEO of Cole Group, Adrian Cole, was nothing more than an orphan my family had funded since he was a child. There was no “Adrian’s mom.” That woman didn’t exist. Seeing me stay silent, she poked my shoulder. “Let me spell it out for you. Adrian already told me everything.” “A friend of his tried to set you two up, but he turned it down from the start. You’re the one who’s been throwing yourself at him.” She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth curling up. “But honestly, I can’t be bothered to deal with you.” “You have one minute to get out. Don’t dirty up my café.” I came back to myself and let out a cold laugh. Then I walked to a table further back and sat down. “You’re this excited over one cheap little rock.” “Guess Adrian hasn’t been treating you all that well.”

I picked up the coffee that had just been brought to my table and took a sip. Chloe stared at me for a full two seconds, her face burning red. “Cheap? This is a diamond from Sotheby’s. One point five million.” “Adrian fought a bidding war down to the last second to get this ring. You’re just eaten up with jealousy.” One point five million? I glanced at it. That was clearly a Tiffany display piece. Priced under eighty thousand. But whatever. Whatever the price was, I’d square every last dollar of it with him. Chloe suddenly turned her head and pointed at the staff behind the counter. “Are you all blind? How dare you make her a coffee in my store?” “Who made this cup? Get out. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” A girl with a ponytail hurried over, trembling, and reached for my cup. “I’m… I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re not allowed to serve you…” I placed my hand on the cup and frowned. “Whether this store belongs to her isn’t up to her.” “Don’t be scared. She can’t fire you.” The girl looked up, her eyes full of confusion. I didn’t explain. The property deed for this café had my name, Vivienne Ashford, written on it in plain black and white. How could Adrian have possibly given it to Chloe without my approval? Not to mention, every operating cost, every paycheck came out of my account. By any reasonable measure, I was the employer. What right did she have to fire my people? “You!” Chloe was trembling with rage. “What are you trying to say?” Then her eyes went wide, and she pointed at me like she’d just cracked the case. “I get it now.” “You’ve been chasing Adrian because you wanted this café.” “You? You think you can replace me as the owner’s wife? Are you out of your mind?” I didn’t answer her. I set the cup back down and picked up my phone. My assistant had just sent me a message on iMessage. 【Ms. Ashford, all assets and authorized cards under Mr. Cole’s name have been frozen.】 “What are you doing?” Seeing me ignore her, Chloe leaned in. “I’m talking to you.” The next second, my hand was empty. She’d snatched the coffee from my hand and thrown it in my face, drenching half of me. I hadn’t seen it coming. I shot to my feet. “What is wrong with you?” Chloe stepped back, looking pleased with herself as she slowly lowered her hand. “In my store, no one would say a word to me even if I threw acid on you. Coffee is nothing.” “This is what happens when you don’t take me seriously.” The live comments were scrolling faster than before. I didn’t read a single one. But the whispers around me came through, sharp and cutting. “Wow, the nerve on her. She’s actually planning to wait until Mr. Cole gets off work?” “I’m dying. The date didn’t even happen and she’s already trying to take his store?” “Ms. Ramsey really is a boss. For a gold digger who won’t take a hint, a splash of coffee is getting off easy.” “Ms. Ramsey should just call him. Let her see for herself who Mr. Cole has in his heart.” That last one lit Chloe up. She glanced down at the phone streaming the live and shoved it into the hands of the woman next to her. Then she pulled out another phone and dialed with sharp jabs. “Since you don’t know when to quit, let everyone watch Adrian reject you to your face.” “Let’s see what kind of nobody you really are.” The call connected. Adrian’s voice came through. “Baby, I’m in a meeting. What’s going on?” I was dabbing at the coffee on my face with a napkin. My hand paused. That voice. I’d listened to it for five years. There was no mistaking it. I suddenly remembered our wedding day, when he’d held me and sobbed, promising he would never hurt me. But now, behind my back, he’d been with Chloe for a full three years. The moment Chloe heard his voice, her tone pitched up into a whimper. “That woman! Your… your date!” “She really is waiting at the café for you!” “If I hadn’t come by today, she would’ve latched onto you again!” “Adrian, please come…” The other end of the line went silent for a long moment. Then Adrian’s voice came through, panicked. “Chloe! Didn’t I tell you to leave her alone? Why did you go…” “Just… just stay right there. Don’t move. I’m coming down.”

The line went dead. Chloe thought Adrian’s panic was concern for her. She lifted her chin at me, looking smug. “You hear that?” “Adrian doesn’t take you seriously at all.” “The second he gets here, I’m going to make you get down on your knees and apologize to me.” I balled up the napkin and tossed it in the trash. “Sure.” “I was starting to worry he wouldn’t have the guts to show up.” The whispers around us picked up. The customers who didn’t recognize Chloe started murmuring. “That woman doesn’t seem nervous at all. Something feels off here.” “Wait. What if the assistant is the actual homewrecker?” That set Chloe off. She whipped around, half her face flushed red. “My boyfriend proposed to me. You think that’s fake?” She sneered and scanned the room. “You all think I’m making this up?” “Fine. I’ll call Adrian’s mother right now.” “When she gets here, all of you can apologize alongside this shameless woman.” She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Mrs. Cole, are you nearby?” “There’s a shameless woman here trying to force a date on Adrian. I’ve had enough.” “Can you come down here?” Whatever the other end said, I couldn’t be bothered to listen. I just glanced at the iMessages Adrian had sent me. 【Vivienne! My car’s been immobilized! They said you gave the order! Tell them to release it now!】 【And what the hell happened to my cards?! They’re all suspended! I can’t even get a ride!】 I laughed. I texted back. 【Adrian, you can’t even catch a ride without me. Where do you get the nerve to keep a homewrecker?】 【You have thirty minutes. Walk here.】 Then a shadow fell across me. My phone was snatched from my hand and slammed to the floor with a sharp crack. Chloe stood in front of me, gloating. “Scared now? Trying to call for backup?” “I’m telling you. Too late.” She stomped down on my screen. “It doesn’t matter who you text now.” Just then, the café door opened. A well-dressed woman walked in. “Chloe, what’s going on?” “Who dares to harass you on Adrian’s turf?” The crowd stirred immediately. “Isn’t that Mr. Cole’s mother? I’ve seen her before. That’s definitely her.” “Wow, even Mr. Cole’s mother came down. Looks like Ms. Ramsey and Mr. Cole are the real deal…” “Can’t wait to see how that woman gets herself out of this. Ha.” I turned toward the voice, and the next second I almost laughed out loud. Of course it was her. Our housekeeper. Martha Bennett. The moment Chloe saw her, she rushed over, her voice cracking into a sob. “Mrs. Cole, that woman has been horrible!” “She refuses to leave, and she said even if you came, she wouldn’t be scared!” Martha frowned and took a deep breath. “Unbelievable. Doesn’t she know this entire building belongs to Adrian?” “How dare she treat…” Her head turned. The moment she saw me, her whole body flinched backward. “Ms… how are you…” Chloe didn’t notice. She shook Martha’s arm as if it were obvious. “Mrs. Cole, Adrian gave this café to me right in front of you.” “She’s the one trying to break us up. What right does she have to be here?” “I say we blacklist her right now. Ban her from ever coming back.” “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Cole?” Martha’s eyes darted elsewhere. She couldn’t meet mine, and she took half a step back. “What are you saying?” “A café is a public place. Anyone can walk in.” She paused, her eyes landing on me before darting away again. “You, on the other hand. Aren’t you going to apologize to Ms. Ashford?”

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Five years I’ve been married to Nero Marchetti. Five years the Family still won’t call me his wife. Because five years running, that antique Colt has fired live rounds into my chest. They call it the Vow Roulette. Oldest tradition in the Marchetti bloodline. Six chambers, five live, one blank. Pull the blank and the Family accepts you. Pull a live one and you wait a year. Five years. Five bullets. Five sets of cracked ribs, five smiles for Nero as he kissed my forehead and whispered maybe next year, cara. I don’t get a seat at the family council. I don’t get the Donna’s ring. I don’t even get to have his kid. Sabrina Conti — the consigliera — gets all of it instead. She takes my chair at every dinner. Wears the Donna’s ring “in trust.” Stands next to Nero at every sit-down I’m locked out of. She’s not filling in for me anymore. She’s just become the wife. Tonight I snuck into the Sanctum. I was going to swap out a bullet. But when I cracked the cylinder open, I didn’t do a thing. Closed it back up and walked out without a word. At dawn, Nero ran the ceremony for the fifth year running. Whole Council watching. Then he came to me. That regretful look. Warm brass casing in his palm. “I’m sorry, cara. Still not the blank.” He squeezed my hand. “One more year. I swear it. They’ll accept you.” I didn’t cry. Didn’t fight like I used to. I just smiled. “It’s fine.” He doesn’t know I’m done waiting. You can’t pull a blank from a gun that never had one loaded. Nero’s hand is still hanging in the air. Guess my it’s fine threw him. Every other year I broke. My eyes would go glassy and I’d hit him with the same question: “We’re legally married. Why do I still need some ritual to say I’m your wife?” And he’d pull me in and feed me the same three lines. The Code can’t be broken. Just a little longer. I’ll find a way. Bullshit. All of it. This year I skip it. I turn around and walk out into the cold April dawn. Behind me, Sabrina’s voice, sweet as syrup: “Don’t take it hard, Nero. She’s just upset. I’ll talk to her.” Four a.m. the next morning. Nero’s already gone. The Marchettis take the Renewal seriously. Doesn’t matter what deals are on the table, what wars are brewing. Every man in the family flies back to the Sicilian estate for it. Candles at the Sanctum before dawn. Blood on the register by noon. Every year I sit on the edge of the bed and watch the sky go gray. Wait. He does his rites. Comes back in the afternoon. Flies me home to New York. Year after year. Not this year. I’m done waiting. I fold the last shirt into my suitcase. Zip it shut. Five years of marriage and this is all I’ve got. One suitcase. Dragged back and forth between New York and Sicily like a dog on a leash. The door swings open. No knock. Sabrina. Slim black suit, arms crossed. That smile of hers, sharp enough to cut. “Miss Bellini. I told you two days ago. New rule this year.” “Any wife the Family hasn’t recognized has to do the penitenza during the Renewal. Since the Colt turned you down again—” She checks her watch. “—you should already be on your knees at the Sanctum. Head down, mouth shut. Baciamano for every Capo who walks past. White dress. No jewelry. Seven hours.” I don’t answer. Everyone in this house knows what Sabrina’s rules really are. They’re not tradition. They’re not even about the Family. They’re just her way of grinding me down, year after year, one humiliation at a time. I told Nero once. Twice. Said I wouldn’t do them. First year, he backed me up. But after round three of live shells, he changed his tune. “Sabrina grew up in this family, cara. She knows la tradizione. Just listen to her.” Don’t you want to be recognized, cara? She cornered me a week before we flew out too. Laid down this year’s penitenza. I let it slide. Because a week before the flight, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to fight. For the baby, just this once. My plan was simple — sneak into the Sanctum, palm one of the live rounds, drop a blank in its place. Just one blank. Once the Family “accepted” me, no one in this house could touch the kid. Except when I cracked that cylinder open, all six chambers were live. There was no blank to swap. There never had been. “Miss Bellini.” Sabrina sighs, patient as a saint. “I don’t want to push. But rules are rules, and the Capos are already downstairs. If you don’t show, what am I supposed to tell them? I’m just the consigliera.” I don’t fold this year. I laugh. Short. Ugly. “Sabrina. You got that much free time on your hands? Making up new rules for me every week just to feel important?” She stiffens. I step closer. Voice low. “Say the Family won’t have me. Fine. But don’t forget — the state of New York does. I’m his wife. That’s paper you can’t burn.”

Sabrina goes still. I don’t wait. “Five years, Sabrina. You’ve made up more rules than I can count.” “Not one of them came from the Family. Every single one is out of your own head. You think I’m stupid?” She stares at me. Something moves in her eyes. She shuts it down fast. Then she smiles. Nods. Pulls her phone out. Taps a few times. Turns it around and shows me the screen. I freeze. Then I lunge for it. She yanks it back. Laughs. “Your mom’s transplant, Aria. She was on the waitlist till next year. Nero made a few calls. Got her bumped up to this month.” I stare at her. “The money went through a week ago.” Nero told me himself. Paid in full. Done. “Oh, it went through.” Sabrina drags out the word. “But Nero said all Family money moves through me. I’m the consigliera, remember?” She tucks the phone back in her pocket. Slow. “You want your mom on that table? Then you kneel. Seven hours. Sanctum steps.” “You do it, I release the money. She gets her surgery.” “You don’t—” she shrugs. “I send it back. Tell Nero you refused. Tell him you didn’t want the help.” My nails cut into my palm. Nero gives me anything I ask for. Except this. The Code doesn’t bend, cara. That’s what he always says. He’s never broken it. Not once. Not for me. And now Sabrina’s got the money. If I walk away, she wires it back. And getting Nero to move it again? Won’t happen. It’s not that he won’t help. It’s that the Code won’t let him. My mom has waited years for this heart. The surgeon. The money. Everything lined up at once. If I lose this window, there won’t be another one. Outside, the Sanctum bell starts ringing. I unclench my fist. I turn around. I walk out. Last month I flew back to New York to see her. She’d lost so much weight. But she smiled at me from the bed and squeezed my hand. “Nero sent flowers again,” she said. “He remembered the white roses. That boy.” I smiled. I didn’t say anything. She didn’t know. Every bouquet. Every gift. Every card with his name on it. I paid for all of it. Kneeling. Bleeding. Smiling with cracked ribs. She didn’t know any of it. She just kept saying, “He’s a good man, honey. Mama can go easy now.” She kept saying, “He loves you. Anyone can see it.” She kept saying, “You did good.” Mama. I didn’t do anything good. Everything he ever gave me, I paid for on my knees.

The stone under my knees is like ice through the thin white dress. Capos start rolling in. Twos and threes. Some slow down to stare. Some walk past like I don’t exist. “Who’s the girl?” “Nero’s. The one that still can’t get a blank.” “Oh, right. The American.” “Why’s she on her knees?” “Sabrina’s call. Says the girl needs breaking in. Maybe this year the Family bites.” “Ha. Should’ve been Sabrina in that dress from day one. She’d have gotten a blank first pull.” Low laughter drifts back from the courtyard. I keep my head down. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sabrina on the top step. Black suit, waist nipped in tight, that little smile. Nero’s next to her. Head bent, listening to one of the old Capos. He hasn’t looked at me once. Sabrina glides down toward the group. Warm laugh. “Please. Don’t tease. Until the Don’s wife is properly recognized, I’m only keeping her seat warm.” “When the right one comes into this house, I’ll teach her the rules myself.” The right one. Not the woman he legally married five years ago. The right one. Like I’m some intern nobody’s planning to hire. I remember my first year in this house. Sabrina had just been made consigliera. Day one, she wrote a new rule — an unrecognized wife can’t touch Family business. The consigliera handles it for her. Nero thought it was fair. “She grew up in this, cara. She knows how it works. Let her carry the load.” So for five years I’ve been the wife on paper and the mistress in the house. No job. No voice in anything. Not at a single table that mattered. Sabrina sat in for me at dinners. Stood in for me at every event. Walked into the Sanctum with my name in her mouth. Someday, when the Family accepted me, she’d teach me how to be a wife. Five years. She kept sitting in until the seat became hers. And Nero got used to her being in it. Up on the steps, he finally looks up. Sees me through the fog. His jaw tightens. He comes down. “Why are you out here?” Sabrina glides in behind him. “This year’s rule, padrone.” “Five years, no blank. The Family’s telling us something. She kneels every morning of the Renewal. The Council signed off.” Nero doesn’t say anything. I know this beat. This is the part where I shut up. Every time I’ve ever pushed, Sabrina purrs it’s for her own good. And he tells me to swallow it. For the bigger picture, cara. Muscle memory. Fighting him goes nowhere. I try anyway. “Nero.” I grab his leg. “The surgery money. Send it straight to the hospital. Please.” He blinks down at me. Cuts his eyes to Sabrina. “It’s already with her. Family finances run through the consigliera. You don’t need to be in it.” “I’m not asking to be in it, I just—” “Enough.” His voice drops. Gentle on the surface. Iron underneath. “Five years without a blank, cara. The Family isn’t pleased. Kneeling won’t kill you.” He crouches. Tips my chin up with one finger. “When I’m done up there, we’ll fly to New York. Together. Go see your mother.” I open my mouth. The chopper roars up on the pad. Swallows my voice. “Padrone. We need to move.” Sabrina’s hand on his elbow.

I look down at the ground. Five years of kneeling for that money. My phone buzzes in my pocket. New York area code. “Miss Bellini, your mother’s crashed. She won’t make it to mid-month. We need the payment through today. Dr. Keller’s only got the window right now.” I’m on my feet and running before she’s done talking. “Nero!” He stops. Turns. I catch his hand. “The hospital just called. Mom needs the surgery today. Please. Wire it. Now. Right now—” Something shifts in his face. Before he can answer, Sabrina’s voice slides in behind me. “Miss Bellini.” Polite. Doubtful. “I checked in with them yesterday. They said your mother was stable. What could’ve changed overnight?” She’s already got her phone out. Thumbing through it. “Don’t get worked up. Let me have the nurse pull up a video. Then we’ll know.” She dials, right there in front of everyone. Puts it on speaker. “Nurse Perez. How’s Mrs. Bellini doing this morning? Send me a video, quick.” Fifteen seconds later, it comes through. There’s my mom. Propped up in bed. Newspaper in her hands. Talking to a nurse. Cheeks pink. Fine. Sabrina angles the phone so everyone in the courtyard can see. “Miss Bellini.” All soft concern. “She looks fine to me. Does that look like a woman who won’t last two weeks?” She sighs. “You want that surgery paid for? Follow the Family’s rules. You don’t have to hide behind your mother.” My ears start ringing. Nero’s face closes. Disappointment settles behind his eyes. “I didn’t—” My voice cracks. “Nero. Call the hospital yourself. Please. Just call them—” “That’s enough.” He cuts me off. Tired. “Stay here. Don’t make another scene. If you do—” He pauses. “—I’ll pull Keller off the case.” Everything in me goes still. Dr. Keller. Without the Marchetti name, I couldn’t get him to pick up the phone. “Padrone. The Council’s waiting.” Sabrina, at his elbow. Nero looks at me one last time. Nothing there but the tired look of a man dealing with a wife who doesn’t know when to stop. “Let’s go.” He turns. Walks. Sabrina throws a smile over her shoulder. “Told you. Rules are rules.” I take a step back and almost lose my balance. I watch her catch up to him. Lean in close. Say something. He tilts his head to listen. The corner of his mouth lifts. And standing there in the fog, I honestly can’t remember how I ever fell in love with him.

I met Nero at Vincenzo’s. That’s the restaurant the Marchetti family owns on Mulberry Street. White tablecloths upstairs. Underground fight club in the basement. I was nineteen, working two jobs, and Vincenzo’s paid better than anywhere else in Little Italy, as long as you kept your mouth shut about what happened downstairs. Nero was the Don’s son. Twenty-one and untouchable. He’d sit in the corner booth every night, drinking Amaro he didn’t pay for, picking fights with kids from the Castellano family, wrecking the place because nobody could tell him no. Nobody liked serving his table. I did it because the tips were good. Then one night in November, two men walked in wearing the wrong kind of coats. I saw the gun before Nero did. I don’t know why I moved. I wasn’t thinking. I just dropped the tray and shoved him sideways off the booth. The first bullet went through my thigh. The second went into the wall where his head had been. I don’t remember the rest. I woke up in a private clinic three days later. Nero was in the chair next to the bed. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just held my hand. He changed after that. Stopped brawling. Stopped drinking through the day. Started showing up at the restaurant just to sit at my station and watch me work. Learned which bakery on Arthur Avenue made the sfogliatelle I liked. Had them delivered to my apartment every Friday morning. The night I turned twenty, he took me down to the harbor. Late. No one around. Just the water and the lights of the city on the other side. He pulled me in. “Aria mia. The whole world can come for me. I don’t care. I’m going to give you everything.” That man. And the one on the helipad, smiling at another woman. Same face. Same voice. Different person. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there when the phone rings again. New York. “Miss Bellini, your mother’s crashing. Dr. Keller is still on site. If you can get here to sign the consent, we can move her into surgery right now.” My head empties out. “I—” My throat closes up. “I’m coming. I’m on my way.” I hang up. My mind is racing. Down the mountain on foot — forty minutes to the road. Cab to the airport. Wait for a flight. JFK. Cab again. Four hours if I’m lucky. The chopper does it in an hour and a half. I hit Nero’s number. Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. I hit it again. Voicemail. My eyes start to burn. Then I remember. Last spring he took me up in the chopper once. Sabrina got me off the mountain within twenty minutes — not allowed. But I saw where they land it. Halfway up the mountain there’s a shelf with the family plot. A small villa sits next to it. The pad is on the villa’s north side. I start running. The trail up is steep. Loose stone. Thornbrush. My knees are already torn from the Sanctum steps. The brambles rip them wider. I don’t stop. Fifty minutes in, I see the rotors. I cut across the grass toward the villa. Twenty feet from the door I hear Sabrina’s voice through an open window. “…Nero. What happens if she figures it out? That there was never a blank in the cylinder. That you were never going to make her your real wife. What if she loses it?” “She won’t figure it out.” Nero. Flat. Bored, almost. “She does what she’s told. Even if she found out — she wouldn’t do a damn thing.” Does what she’s told. I freeze at the wall. Nails cutting into my palms. So that’s who I am to him. Five years of eating every rule this family threw at me. Five years of smiling through cracked ribs. And in his head, all of it was me being good. Not love. Not trust. Just a woman who knew her place. Fine. Whatever I had left for him, it wasn’t worth much anyway. Get Mom through the surgery. That’s all that matters. Then Sabrina can sit in the Donna’s chair. She’s been warming it long enough. I reach for the door handle. Sabrina speaks again. “…And the baby? What about Aria’s baby?”

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Four years of working at the same Boston firm with my best friend and my girlfriend. Everyone at the office called us the “Three Musketeers,” but there was always a cruel, unspoken edge to the joke. It was less of a tight-knit trio and more of a crowd—and I was always the one standing on the outside looking in. During an after-work happy hour, some of the junior associates got loud and insisted we play a round of Never Have I Ever. Chase was the first to speak, leaning back in his chair with a smug, easy grin. “I’ve never not been Camille’s go-to partner on our biggest cases.” I smiled, keeping my voice steady as I took a sip of my beer. “I’m the boyfriend she actually shares an apartment with.” Chase didn’t even blink. “She drives me to and from the office every single day.” The smile on my face froze. I slowly folded down my first finger. For four years, Camille had told me our schedules didn’t align. She’d look at me with soft pity and tell me to take the T, leaving me to squeeze onto the packed morning subway trains while she drove. Ignoring my pale face, Chase pushed further. “She spends eight hours a day talking strategy with me.” “She pulls all-nighters with me in the office at least three times a week.” “The red silk lingerie she’s wearing under her suit today was a gift from me.” The room erupted into roaring laughter. But as the echoes of their amusement died down, a heavy, suffocating silence took over. By then, I only had one finger left upright. Chase leaned in close, a sharp, knowing smile on his lips. “On Thanksgiving, she blew off your parents’ dinner to have Thanksgiving with mine.” My breath caught in my throat. My chest went entirely numb. I slowly turned my head to look at Camille. She sat there, nursing her drink, entirely unbothered. No wonder she hadn’t answered my calls. No wonder she’d shut off her phone for twenty-four hours—an absolute sin in our line of work. She hadn’t been in an emergency. She had been playing the doting partner to Chase’s parents. My last finger folded down. My hand formed a tight, hollow fist. Without saying a word, I stood up, walked past Camille, and left. … Two hours. I walked the cold, damp streets of Boston for two hours, and my phone didn’t buzz once. No texts. No missed calls. It was as if my absence made no difference at all. After downing an iced Americano in three bitter gulps, I returned to the office to pack up some things. Katie, one of the paralegals, nudged my arm in the hallway, offering a tight, sympathetic look. “Back so soon? Where are the other two?” Everyone at Vanguard Law knew Camille and Chase were the golden duo. They had been the stars of Harvard Law, a perfectly matched set of ambition and brilliant legal minds. To the rest of the office, they were the real couple; I was just the background noise. I couldn’t count how many times people had looked at me with pity. Even when we took a rare day off, colleagues would corner me. “Jesse, don’t you think three’s a crowd? When are you going to bow out?” Back then, I’d just smile like an idiot and say, “We’re going to the movies today. There are plenty of seats. No one’s crowding anyone.” But the moment we stepped into the theater, Chase had muttered something about wanting to go shopping instead. Without a second thought, Camille threw our three tickets straight into the trash can. I can still feel the physical sting of the paper tickets scraping against the back of my hand as she tossed them away. When we bumped into our colleagues at the mall, Chase insisted everyone go out for drinks. Camille didn’t hesitate. She immediately booked a luxury private lounge nearby. Three months of grueling overtime, all for a single day off together, gone in an instant. And through it all, not a single person asked me what I wanted. Before every date, I would practically beg her. Please, let’s just stick to the plan. Let’s not spend dinner talking about your cases. Camille would ruffle my hair, and Chase would playfully stick his tongue out. “Aye, aye, captain!” they’d say. But it always ended the same way. Chase wanted ramen, Chase wanted boba, Chase wanted to try an escape room. The itineraries I spent hours planning, the reservations I made weeks in advance—all of it ended up in the garbage. “I’m so sorry, Jesse,” Chase would say with a sigh. “This new acquisition is killing me. The pressure is insane…” And Camille would immediately take the bait, asking for details. They’d dive into their legal jargon, bouncing ideas off each other, speaking a language I couldn’t understand. I sat there, unable to utter a word, counting the clouds outside the window or watching the condensation drip down my glass. Then I’d sit in the backseat while Camille drove him home. When we finally got back to our apartment and I tried to talk to her, she’d rub her temples and sigh, “Jesse, I’m exhausted. Let’s talk later, okay?” The words would die in my throat, choking me. We had been together for eight years. My parents had been begging to meet her. But she was always “too busy.” To make it easy for her, my parents had booked flights with two layovers just to fly into Boston. She had requested the day off. She chose the restaurant. But when the day arrived, she went completely off the grid. No calls, no texts. The next morning, she casually told me she had been in a minor fender bender and was too shaken up to reply. But now I knew the truth. There was no accident. There was no panic. She was just at a cozy dinner with Chase’s family. My chest throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. I looked at Katie and managed a tight, fragile smile. “You guys were right. Three is a crowd. I’m done being the third wheel.” I had always been the dead weight in Camille’s life. Back in college, when I struggled with my classes, she was the one who tutored me. Back then, she would laugh softly and say, “Jesse is a little slow, but that’s why he has me to look after him.” She didn’t use to look at me with disgust and say, “You’re a grown man, Jesse. Can you stop throwing tantrums and vanishing? It’s pathetic.” She walked past me toward her office, the glass door swinging shut behind her. Chase stood nearby, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, patting my shoulder with mock sympathy. “She’s got a lot of cases on her plate right now. The stress is just getting to her.” I gently pulled my shoulder away. My voice was barely a whisper. “She’s right. I’m fine now.” That afternoon, I handed in my resignation. The HR director slid his glasses down his nose, looking at me in shock. “Jesse, are you sure about this? You worked yourself to the bone to get a foot in the door here with your background. You’re just going to throw that away?” I offered a dry, hollow laugh. Getting into this firm had been the biggest fluke of my life. I wasn’t a lawyer. I was just a legal assistant who struggled to keep up with the terminology and the fast-paced environment. I had only stayed because of Camille. But I was tired. Some things just couldn’t be forced, whether it was a career or a relationship. “I just finally opened my eyes,” I told him. He sighed and patted my shoulder. “Sometimes letting go is the smartest thing you can do.” I went back to my desk to wrap up my remaining files before my final two weeks. Chase strolled over, holding a thick blue folder. He wore a look of exaggerated concern. “Jesse, I know you’re going through a rough patch, but you messed up this filing again…” Again? I stood up, snatching the folder from his hands. I flipped through the pages and shook my head. “You’re mistaken. I didn’t draft this.” Chase’s eyes immediately welled with tears. He lowered his voice, sounding wounded. “Are you mad at me, Jesse? Look, if I did something to upset you, I’m sorry. But this is a law firm. Lives are on the line. You can’t just be careless because of a personal grudge.” Before I could even open my mouth, Camille’s cold voice cut through the air. “Jesse, apologize.” I looked up, staring into her eyes. “Camille… you didn’t even look at the file.” “I don’t need to,” she said flatly, her voice cutting like glass. “With your track record, of course it’s your mistake.” She made her judgment without even glancing at the document. She didn’t know what the issue was, nor did she care. She just instinctively sided with Chase. I looked at her, then at Chase standing close beside her. The last thread holding my dignity together snapped. Whispers and chuckles rippled through the bullpen. “Honestly, I sometimes forget which one is actually her boyfriend,” someone whispered. “Tell me about it. They’ve always been like this.” Camille glared at the gossiping coworkers. Then she reached out and laced her fingers through mine, her tone softening slightly. “Just apologize, Jesse. Don’t make a scene and embarrass Chase. I’ll make your favorite dinner tonight, okay?” I stared down at our joined hands. Her palm was warm, a warmth that used to be my safe haven. We had held hands like this a thousand times. She had once stood up to professors for me, fought for my grade makeups, and asked me to be her boyfriend while I carried her on my back under the autumn leaves. Now, she was using that same touch to force me to take the blame for something I hadn’t done, just to save Chase’s face. For the first time in eight years, I pulled my hand away. I looked at Chase, bowed his head slightly, and said, “I’m sorry.” “Jesse, you don’t have to do that…” Chase murmured, looking guilty. If he actually cared, he wouldn’t have waited until now to play the bigger man. “Stop babying him, Chase,” Camille snapped. “He needs to learn to take responsibility.” They started bickering back and forth, their voices washing over me. I stood there between them like a ghost. An outsider. The bitter coffee I’d chugged earlier began to churn in my stomach, sending sharp, agonizing cramps through my abdomen. I started to tremble, breaking into a cold sweat, but neither of them noticed how pale I had gone. “See, Camille? I told you. One word from you and Jesse folds every time,” Chase chuckled as they walked away. “You owe me dinner tonight…” Their laughter faded down the corridor, leaving a gaping, bleeding hole in my chest. I was practically doubled over in physical pain, and the two people I loved most in the world had used my humiliation as a wager. Gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white, I forced the words out through a tight throat. “Camille. We’re done.” But the only response was the heavy slam of the glass door. I sat in our dark apartment until midnight. She never came home. Instead, my phone lit up with messages from colleagues. Jesse, did you know Camille and Chase checked into a hotel room together last night? Are you seriously okay with this? Honestly, they look so much better together. Just save yourself the heartbreak and let her go. I stared at the glowing screen. My mind went completely blank, then shattered into a million sharp pieces. No wonder she hadn’t picked up my calls last night. She was busy. Tears blurred my vision, turning the text messages into a smear of light. I took a ragged breath, rubbed my eyes, and opened Instagram. Chase had just posted a story. It was a picture of two white hotel bathrobes discarded on the floor, overlapping in a tangled heap. He hadn’t added a caption. He didn’t need to. I stared at the photo until my legs gave out. Yes, Chase was brilliant, charming, and sharp. I was none of those things. I was ordinary. But when I saved him from a gang of street thugs back in college, I never imagined he would end up in my girlfriend’s bed. Back then, Chase was fragile, terrified, and so broke he could barely afford his textbooks. I had working-class parents and worked double shifts at a diner all summer just to give him my savings so he wouldn’t drop out. I remembered how he had cried, clutching my jacket, sobbing that no one had ever cared about him before. I had patted his back like a fool. Don’t worry, man. I’ve got your back from now on. I kept my word. When I landed my internship, I made sure he got one too. When Camille and I went out, I always invited him along. When we relocated to Boston, I practically begged Camille to use her influence to get Chase a position at Vanguard. An older attorney at the firm had once warned me over drinks. “Jesse, keeping a third wheel around that close for too long always backfires.” I had laughed it off. “Not them. They’re my family.” But as they climbed the ranks, their stars rising in tandem, I was slowly demoted to the shadow following behind them. I slid down against the wall of the kitchen, staring at the dark floor, unable to pull myself up. The sun was rising when Camille finally unlocked the front door. She gave me a brief, distracted wave before heading straight into the master bedroom to shower and change. Ten minutes later, she emerged, looking every bit the polished, high-powered defense attorney. I forced my stiff legs to stand and blocked her path. “We need to talk.” “Make it quick, Jesse. I have three minutes,” she said, her eyes glued to her phone as her thumbs flew across the screen. A small, soft smile played on her lips. I looked down and saw the text she was sending: Heading out now, Chase. I’ll be downstairs in ten. A hot, suffocating anger flared in my chest, burning my throat until I could barely breathe. “Jesse! I’m going to be late,” she snapped, checking her designer watch with a flash of irritation. She was perfectly willing to spend an hour fighting traffic to drive across town to pick Chase up every morning, but for me, she could only spare a measly three minutes. I couldn’t even remember the last time she had driven me to work, despite us going to the exact same building. It was always, Chase and I need to review a brief on the way. Just take the subway, Jesse. I had been pathetic. I had gone from hurt to confused, and eventually to numb acceptance. But I was done playing the martyr. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I looked her in the eye. “Let’s break up, Camille.” Her fingers froze over the keyboard. She slowly raised her head. “What did you say?” “I want to break up.” “Why? Give me one logical reason, Jesse.” She grabbed my wrist, her grip tightening until her manicured nails dug into my skin. I didn’t flinch. I just looked at her hand on my wrist. “You shared a room with him last night. Breaking up just saves you the trouble of hiding it.” A flicker of realization crossed her face, quickly replaced by a sharp flare of defensive anger. “Jesse! Chase is your best friend. How can you be so disgusting? How can you think of us like that?” Disgusting. We had been together for eight years. I had packed up my entire life to follow her to this city, leaving my family behind, and this was what my devotion bought me. “We had a massive breakthrough on the Meridian case,” she said, shoving her phone into her purse. “We had a few drinks to celebrate and got too tired to drive, so we got a room with two double beds. Believe what you want, but nothing happened.” She brushed past me, grabbing her keys and slipping into her heels. At the door, she paused. She turned back, her expression softening into something resembling pity. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Calm down and think about it today.” I didn’t get to think about it for long. Ten minutes after she left, my phone rang. It was HR, demanding I come into the office immediately. The moment I walked through the doors of Vanguard Law, Katie pulled me into a quiet corner, her face completely pale. “Jesse, everything is blowing up. Someone leaked the trade secrets for the Meridian Group acquisition. It’s our biggest account. The managing partners are livid—they’re threatening lawsuits.” I thanked her and walked straight to the HR director’s office. He looked up, his face lined with pity. “Jesse, the executive board has reason to believe you were the one who leaked the files. You, Camille, and Chase were the only ones with access to the server that day.” It felt like a physical blow to the chest. “I didn’t do it. You can check the security cameras. I was just setting up the room and handing out hard copies. I sat at the far end of the table. I didn’t even understand half of what they were discussing. How could I leak it? Besides, I already handed in my resignation. Why would I ruin my life on the way out?” The director sighed. “Jesse, I want to believe you, but we received a formal whistle-blower report with evidence.” “From who?” I demanded, my hands shaking as I stood up. The director looked down at his desk. “Your friend. Chase.” My hands clenched into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. “But I didn’t do it,” I choked out. “Camille was there the whole time. She can vouch for me. She knows my access logs…” Before I could finish, the director shook his head gently. “Jesse… the second signature on the report belongs to Camille. Your girlfriend.” The world fell silent. I couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. The words looped in my mind like a broken record: Camille signed it. Camille signed it. I stumbled back to my desk. The whispers from the bullpen felt like physical blows. “I always thought he was a bit slow, but I didn’t think he was a thief.” “He probably knew he’d never make partner, so he sold the client out for a quick payday.” I didn’t say a word to any of them. I walked straight to Camille’s office and pushed the door open. She was sitting at her mahogany desk, silhouetted against the bright window, her face cast in shadow. Before I could speak, her familiar, polished voice drifted across the room. “Jesse, just sign the severance agreement and take the fall for now. I’ll explain everything later.” I walked toward her, forcing myself not to let the tears fall. “You signed it. You actually signed it. Why, Camille? You know I didn’t touch those files.” Camille stood up, walking around her desk to grab my arm. Her eyes softened with a flicker of guilt, but her words were cold steel. “I know you didn’t do it, Jesse. But if you don’t take the blame, Chase’s career is over.” The sheer absurdity of it hit me like a physical shock. I stared at her, completely paralyzed. “You’re just an assistant, Jesse,” she pleaded, her grip on my arm tightening. “You can transition to a different field, or we can find you something else. But Chase… Chase has worked so hard. If his reputation is ruined over a compliance leak, he’ll be disbarred. His life will be over.” My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over. She kept talking, but her face was just a smear of flesh and shadow. “Jesse, you have me to support you,” she whispered, reaching up to wipe a tear from my cheek. “But Chase has nothing. You’re his best friend. You’d do this for him, wouldn’t you?” Her hands were warm against my face, but I felt frozen to the bone. I looked deep into her eyes, seeing my own broken reflection. “And what if I say no?” Camille’s eyes welled with tears, and she shook her head. “It’s too late, Jesse. Chase already fabricated the server log video. The partners have already seen it.” The guillotine fell. She knew. She had known the evidence was forged, and she had chosen to let them destroy me anyway. I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. Suddenly, the door burst open, and Chase threw his arms around me, sobbing. “Jesse, I’m so sorry! I didn’t have a choice… please forgive me…” I pushed him away with every ounce of strength I had left. I looked at Chase, then turned my gaze to Camille. “Get away from me. Both of you make me sick.” I walked out of the office and straight back to the apartment. Within two hours, a moving truck was parked outside our building. Every book, every piece of clothing, every trace of my existence in Chestnut Hill was packed away.

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It was our graduation trip—a two-week escape to Iceland to chase the Northern Lights. But when Sophie’s scarf slipped and whipped away into the freezing wind, the fragile warmth of our trip shattered. My boyfriend, Thomas, immediately unknotted his own heavy wool scarf and wrapped it snugly around her neck. He turned to me, his voice sharp against the howling wind. “Lauren, go grab that for Sophie. You know it’s her favorite.” I ran into the gale, my boots sinking into the deep snow as I chased a streak of white cashmere. By the time I finally caught it and turned back, the green ribbons of the aurora had faded into the dark. They were no longer standing where I left them. A text lit up my screen: “You were taking too long. Sophie was freezing, so I took her back to the hotel.” In a foreign country, in the pitch black, I stood at that icy intersection for six hours. I waved down over twenty cars before a kind local finally agreed to give me a ride. By the time I unlocked the hotel room door, it was past midnight. My limbs were entirely numb, stiff as wood. Inside the heated suite, they were tangled up under the duvet, heads pressed close, scrolling through the photos they’d taken that day. They were laughing, talking about aperture and lighting—a language, a world, I had never been allowed to enter. Thomas looked up, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw me. “What took you so long? I left some warm water on the counter. Go warm up.” I touched the mug. The water inside was stone-cold. A bone-deep, quiet exhaustion washed over me. That was it. I pulled up my airline app, booked the earliest flight back to New York, and cancelled all our upcoming hotel reservations. Some auroras are simply not meant to be chased. … I quietly set down the cold mug and hung the wet scarf on the coat rack near the door. Sophie wriggled out of the heavy blankets and rushed over, grabbing my hands. “Oh my god, Lauren, you’re like ice!” She rubbed my palms between hers, trying to friction some life back into them, before casting a mock-reproachful look at Thomas. “Thomas, I told you we should have waited a bit longer, but you were in such a rush.” Thomas threw his hands up in a playful surrender. “Okay, okay, princess. My bad.” He gently guided her back toward the bed, tucking the duvet tightly around her shoulders. “Your health is fragile and you hate the cold. Why are you trying to warm her up?” Then, he tossed a dry towel at me. “If you’re cold, go take a hot shower. Don’t make Sophie baby you.” The towel hit my face. My frozen arms didn’t even have the reflexes to catch it. I pulled it down slowly, feeling the rough cotton against my numb skin, and walked into the bathroom without a word. As the steaming water hit my shoulders, my body slowly began to thaw, bringing with it a dull, throbbing ache in my lower abdomen. Thomas and I had grown up together. We were neighborhood sweethearts, our lives intertwined since we were toddlers. Sophie was my college roommate. I was the one who introduced them. But they both shared a passion for photography, and soon, they became inseparable. Two naturally quiet people suddenly had a universe of things to discuss when they were together. I had tried, awkwardly and earnestly, to join their conversations. But my naive questions only ever earned me a shared, knowing smile between them. “How do you not know how exposure works?” they’d say softly. When I stepped out of the bathroom, the room was dark. They had already fallen asleep. I crawled to my side of the bed and lay down. Almost instantly, Thomas’s large, warm hand slid over, settling firmly against my lower stomach. “Your period started today, didn’t it? Let me warm you up.” My first instinct was to pull away, but I froze. I greedily drank in the heat radiating from his palm. We had known each other for fifteen years. For as long as I could remember, I had been running after him. He was the golden boy of our block, the natural leader, and I was just his loyal shadow. Five years ago, I gathered the courage to confess my feelings, and to my shock, he said yes. No one thought we’d last, but he had kept me in his heart. He always remembered my cycle. He kept a spare sweater in his backpack because he knew I got cold easily. But ever since Sophie entered our lives, that spare sweater never seemed to find its way to my shoulders anymore. The tears I had held back all night finally slipped silently into my pillow. Sensing my slight movement, Thomas rolled over and pulled me into his chest. “What’s wrong? Are you jealous?” “Sophie has a weak constitution. I’m only looking out for her because you asked me to. I didn’t want you worrying.” “Go to sleep. Sophie gets up early. We don’t want to keep her waiting if we overslept.” My throat felt as if it were stuffed with wet cotton. I managed a thick, barely audible, “Okay.” Soon, his breathing evened out into a deep sleep. I stared into the dark. Perhaps Thomas had entirely forgotten his promise from four years ago—that he would propose to me under the Northern Lights. The lights had come, but the person sharing them with him was no longer me. The next morning, Sophie burst into our room, glowing with excitement. “Let’s go to that michelin-starred spot downtown! I got incredibly lucky and snagged a last-minute cancellation!” Thomas smiled warmly. “Sounds great.” I kept my head down. We had explicitly planned to visit the Golden Circle today. I had already booked and paid for the tour. Yet, everything had to bend to Sophie’s whims. No one asked for my opinion. I packed my things and followed them out. When the taxi arrived, Thomas opened the front door and gently nudged me toward it. “Lauren, you’re not feeling well. You should sit in the front.” He and Sophie climbed into the back. Throughout the entire ride, they chatted endlessly about lighting angles, shutter speeds, and camera bodies. I couldn’t wedge a single word into their dialogue. The driver was a fellow American expat. He glanced at me, then eyed the backseat through the rearview mirror. “On vacation?” he murmured. “Must be lonely, riding shotgun with a couple.” I forced a small smile. “Yeah. It really is.” Their laughter from the backseat completely drowned out our quiet exchange. When we arrived, I pulled my heavy winter coat tight and stepped out. Thomas got out first, immediately pulling a knit scarf from his bag to wrap around Sophie’s neck. He cast a brief, passing glance at me. “Let’s go inside.” At the table, Sophie sat next to me, while Thomas sat directly across from her. Thomas picked up the menu and ordered fluently in English, commanding the waiter with ease. Sophie wrinkled her nose playfully. “Did you order my favorites?” Thomas reached across the table and pinched her nose. “I ordered exclusively what you like. Just wait and see.” When the food arrived, my heart sank. It was almost entirely seafood. I pressed a hand against my aching stomach and settled for chewing on the complimentary bread basket. I have a severe shellfish allergy; the only one who loved seafood was Sophie. Old Thomas would never have allowed a single shrimp on our table. But now, the table was piled high with oysters and lobster, and there wasn’t a single dish I could touch. Thomas peeled a tiger prawn with practiced ease, placing the delicate meat onto Sophie’s plate. Sophie glanced at me, nudging Thomas. “Thomas, peel some for Lauren, too.” Thomas didn’t even look up. “She can’t eat them.” So he did remember. I stared at him blankly. Suddenly, he picked up a roasted fingerling potato from a side dish and dropped it onto my plate. Looking at the steaming potato, a wave of bitterness rushed to my throat. But in the next second, his tone was entirely flat. “Sophie doesn’t like potatoes anyway. You eat it.” My fork froze in mid-air. I stared at the warm potato, completely losing whatever appetite I had left. As Sophie finished her meal, Thomas reached into his backpack and pulled out a thermos. He poured a steaming cup and handed it to her. “Drink some ginger tea to settle your stomach after all that cold seafood.” Then he added, “Lauren doesn’t need any. She didn’t eat much anyway.” By the afternoon, the cold and exhaustion caught up to me. I felt a fever burning under my skin. Thomas was the first to notice. He touched my forehead, then pulled out a thermometer to check. “103.6? Lauren, you really know how to ruin a schedule.” He let out a heavy, irritated sigh. Sophie stepped into the room, her eyes wide with worry. “We should cancel today’s excursion. Lauren is burning up. It’s too dangerous to leave her alone in the hotel.” Thomas hesitated. I forced a weak smile. “Don’t worry about me. You guys go.” “Are you sure? But your fever…” Sophie handed me a glass of water and two ibuprofen. “Here, take these first.” I swallowed the pills. Watching me take the medicine, Thomas glanced at his phone. “The guide is already waiting downstairs. It’s too late to cancel anyway.” “Lauren, I’m leaving the medicine on the nightstand. Remember to take it. We’ll be back soon.” They left. Under the weight of the fever reducers, I drifted off. When I opened my eyes, the room was pitch black. They weren’t back. I called the front desk and ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup. While waiting, I opened Instagram. Two photos on my feed pierced through me like shards of glass. Thomas and Sophie had posted photos taken at the exact same spot, posing in the exact same way. My fingers trembled. I clicked on Thomas’s profile. “Off we go! I have to take better shots than Soph!” “Chasing the aurora with the luckiest girl, Soph.” “The Reynisfjara Black Sand Beach is so lonely, but thank god Soph is here.” Soph… A nickname I had never even heard him use. Underneath his post, a mutual college friend had commented: “Hey man, where’s Lauren? Why isn’t she in the photos?” Thomas’s reply was short and dismissive: “She’s just unlucky. Got a fever, so she’s stuck at the hotel.” When the soup arrived, I set my phone face down. I stirred the hot broth, watching the steam rise. During our senior year of high school, I had caught a terrible flu. Thomas had been absolutely frantic. He had made chicken noodle soup from scratch, blowing on each spoonful before feeding me. He stayed by my side for two days, eventually carrying me on his back to the clinic, demanding the doctor admit me. I had laughed through my tears. “Thomas, I’m fine. Really.” And he had muttered against my shoulder, “But my heart hurts seeing you like this.” I swallowed the lukewarm soup, forcing some strength back into my body. By the time they returned, it was late. “Lauren, look at this! Thomas made my face look so huge in this photo!” Sophie ran over, thrusting her screen in front of my face. It was a selfie of them. Sophie stood in the foreground, and Thomas held the phone high, framing them both perfectly. My chest ached. Back in our school days, before selfie sticks were common, Thomas always took photos of us like this. We had an entire gallery wall in our apartment filled with photos in that exact pose. I couldn’t control the tremor in my voice as I slipped out of bed. “I’m still feeling a bit off. I’m going to lie back down.” The suite went quiet. A moment later, Thomas walked into my room. He reached down to touch my forehead. “The fever’s down.” I turned my head slightly, dodging his touch. His hand hung in the empty air for a second before he pulled it back, his expression hardening. “Lauren, even if you’re sick, you don’t have to be this dramatic.” I looked up at him. “I’m dramatic?” “Sophie knew you couldn’t go out, so she wanted to share her photos with you to make you feel included. Who are you throwing a tantrum at?” “You were the one who insisted on coming to Iceland. We came with you. And now you’re acting like this. Lauren, can you grow up for once?” I stared at him, utterly hollow. “That’s enough.” Sophie had slipped into the room unnoticed. She tugged gently at Thomas’s sleeve. “Thomas, don’t. It’s my fault…” “Don’t defend her,” Thomas snapped, his face dark. “She didn’t dress properly and got herself sick. Did anyone blame her for that? Just because she’s miserable doesn’t mean the world has to stop and cater to her.” Thomas grabbed Sophie’s wrist. “Let’s go. Let her cool off on her own.” Sophie threw me a worried glance before Thomas pulled her out. The door slammed shut behind them. I closed my eyes, exhaustion seeping into my bones. Old Thomas would never have left me alone to “cool off.” He used to say that silence was the quiet poison of any relationship. But this time, I had no desire to reach out first. His first instinct was no longer to protect me. Later, Sophie quietly pushed the door open and stepped in. “Lauren? Are you feeling any better?” I nodded silently. She took my hand, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Why don’t you just apologize to Thomas? As your friend, it really breaks my heart to see you two tearing each other apart like this.” “Why should I?” I whispered, looking at her. She had been my best friend first. But slowly, imperceptibly, she had shifted to his side, always standing there to lecture me on how to be better. “Lauren, you’re just too stubborn. Men need to be handled with a gentle touch. Why ruin things over some silly pride?” I didn’t understand. Thomas was the one who had hurled baseless accusations at me, yet in her eyes, I was simply being prideful. “Sophie, I don’t think I did anything wrong.” Sophie fell silent. After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “If you’re going to be this way, Lauren, there’s nothing more I can say.” The room fell quiet once more. I pulled out my phone, booked the earliest flight back, and began packing my bags. I looked at the very bottom of my suitcase, where a small velvet ring box lay tucked away. I had bought it before we left. With a bitter smile, I closed the suitcase and left the box exactly where it was. When I dragged my suitcase out of the hotel, they were nowhere to be found. Sophie’s favorite scarf was left behind, hanging limply on the coat rack by the door. I guess that scarf wasn’t actually that important after all. On my way to the airport, a text from Sophie popped up: “Lauren, I’m taking Thomas out to clear his head. Get some rest.” I ignored it and opened my chat with Thomas. “Thomas, do you even remember why we came to Iceland?” His reply came almost instantly: “Don’t start overthinking again. I’m taking Sophie to Diamond Beach to take some photos.” I knew him too well. Whenever he didn’t want to deal with something, he dismissed it as me “overthinking.” I sent one final message: “Let’s break up.” During the sixteen-hour flight back to New York, I did nothing. I simply stared out the window into the blank expanse of clouds. All my memories with Thomas came rushing back, crashing over me like waves. When the plane finally touched down, I hesitated before turning off airplane mode. No missed calls. No unread messages. My chat with Thomas was entirely blank. He hadn’t even replied to my breakup text. But my Instagram feed was updating. The latest photo was a shot of Thomas, dressed in a sharp suit, down on one knee, holding a ring up to Sophie—who was wearing a flowing white wedding gown. During my sixteen hours of silent agony, he hadn’t thought of me once. He was busy playing groom for Sophie’s mock wedding shoot. My tears fell onto the glass screen, blurring the image. I tapped the little heart icon and liked the photo. A second later, my phone buzzed. A message from Thomas. “Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s rare for us to be in Iceland, and Sophie just wanted to shoot some commemorative photos.” I wiped my face and typed out a brief reply. “We are broken up. I won’t get the wrong idea.” Then, I blocked both of them. I opened my email, declined the job offer from the prestigious firm in New York City, and texted my mother. “Mom, I’m not staying in New York. I’m coming home.”

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When the photo of my boyfriend and my best friend wrapped in each other’s arms hit the campus forum, everyone else seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. “They’re just so gorgeous together. Honestly, it was only a matter of time.” “I never understood why a guy like Jude, who’s basically campus royalty, was with someone as average as Megan in the first place.” Even my own roommate, Bella, whispered it to someone else when she thought I was out of earshot: “I mean, you have to admit, they really do look perfect together…” Whenever I brought up the gossip, Jude would just run his fingers through my hair, offering that effortless, boyish smile of his. “She tripped, Megan. I caught her before she hit the pavement. Some idiot with a camera made a big deal out of nothing. You’re not actually jealous, are you? You know you’re the only one for me.” And it was true that in public, Jude never hid me. He would introduce me to his colleagues and friends with complete ease: “This is Megan. My girlfriend. We’re getting married right after graduation.” But then came the senior gala. A waiter stumbled, sending a tray of scalding soup flying, and Jude didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, throwing his arm around Valerie’s waist to pull her out of harm’s way. The hot liquid splashed over his hand, but his eyes never left hers. I stood a few feet away, watching the tears spill over my lashes, my chest tight. “Who are you?” I wanted to scream, the words choking me. “What did you do with my Jude? Give him back.” 1 The senior gala was a blur of deafening music and clinking glasses, but in my head, the world had gone dead silent. I couldn’t hear a thing over the rushing sound of my own pulse. My eyes were locked on Jude’s right hand. It was already turning a raw, angry red from the scalding soup, but it was still resting on Valerie’s waist. He froze, realizing what he was doing, and quickly pulled his hand back, stepping toward me. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He wiped the tears from my cheeks, his touch as gentle and reassuring as it had been for the last ten years. “Are you stressed about graduation? You’ve been overthinking everything lately, Megan. I told you, I have everything handled. You just need to focus on being happy.” But I couldn’t stop staring at his hand. I tried to speak, but the words felt like dry ash in my throat. A few feet away, Valerie watched us, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips before she held up her phone. “Jude, the team group chat just pinged. We need to jump on a quick online meeting.” Jude frowned. He grabbed a glass of warm water, plated two slices of the chocolate fudge cake I loved, and gently guided me into a chair by my shoulders. Finally, he pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Wait for me here. You can see me right from this spot.” “Be good. Don’t overthink.” Having arranged my world so neatly, he turned and walked off with Valerie to a table two rows over. Beside me, Bella sighed dreamily. “God, Megan, you are so lucky. Where does one even find a guy like Jude? Ten years, and he still treats you like you’re his whole world.” I looked past her to the two figures sitting side by side, their silhouettes perfectly aligned under the dim venue lights. My smile felt incredibly heavy. On the drive home, Valerie sat in the back, keeping a polite, respectful distance. The car hummed in the quiet night until she suddenly spoke up. “By the way, Megan, one of my mentors is hiring a digital illustrator for his indie game studio. I can put in a good word for you if you’re interested.” Before I could even process the offer, Jude’s brows furrowed as he looked in the rearview mirror. “She’s doing fine as she is. Besides, I’ll be making enough to support us both.” Valerie’s smile stiffened. She leaned back, her voice tinged with mock defensiveness. “Right. Forget I said anything.” The silence in the car grew thick and awkward. I looked at the two of them—each staring stubbornly ahead—and felt my chest tighten. Half an hour later, Jude pulled up to her apartment building. Valerie grabbed her designer bag, gave me a polite goodbye, and closed the passenger door with a sharp, heavy thud. Jude scoffed, shifting the car back into drive. “The attitude on her. We have to work together starting next week, and honestly, she’s already exhausting.” He reached over, taking my hand in his. “Forget about her, baby. I didn’t even get to eat at that meeting, I’m starving. Let’s go home. I want some of that late-night pasta you make.” I looked down at our joined hands, quietly pulling away to stare out the window. His phone kept buzzing with work notifications as we drove through the neon-lit streets, but my mind was miles away. Jude had graduated at the top of his finance class, landing a coveted analyst role at a top-tier investment firm in New York. He was brilliant, ambitious, and destined for success. Everyone praised him, usually followed by a quiet, pitying note about his rather ordinary girlfriend. Back in freshman year, when he and Valerie first went viral on the university forum for their matching looks and sharp wits, I had asked him, terrified, if he would be happier with someone who could run at his pace. He had laughed, tapping my forehead. “What does it matter how successful she is? To me, she’s just a stranger. You’re my home, Megan.” But now, as he unlocked the car door, the question that had been clawing at my throat finally slipped out. “Jude.” “How did you know exactly where her apartment was?” 2 The cold war that followed was unlike anything we’d ever had. It started that night under the streetlamp, with Jude pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Megan, I’ve been in meetings all night. I am exhausted. Do we really have to do this right now? Over nothing?” When I didn’t answer, a bitter laugh escaped him. “How many times do I have to say it? If there was anything between Valerie and me, we would’ve dated years ago.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. For four years, they were the golden couple of the finance department. Yet, Jude had always made it clear to everyone: “I have a girlfriend. She’s an artist. Her name is Megan.” I still remembered the first time I met his college friends. Waiting outside their private booth at the bar, I heard their loud voices drifting through the door. “If Jude turned down Valerie, his girlfriend must be an absolute goddess.” I didn’t miss the subtle flicker of disappointment in their eyes when I finally walked in. It was a silent, collective “Oh. Her?” Even my own friends would whisper, “A guy like Jude doesn’t stay single long once college ends, Megan. Hold onto him while he’s still yours.” It felt like our entire relationship was a ticking clock everyone else was waiting to run out. Now, looking at the untouched bowl of pasta that had gone cold on the kitchen counter, I buried my face in my hands, hot tears slipping through my fingers. The sudden shrill of my phone made me jump. I wiped my face quickly, only to hear Valerie’s exasperated voice on the other end. “Megan, please come pick up your boyfriend. We had a team dinner, I went to the restroom for five minutes, and everyone else bolted. Now I’m stuck here with a completely wasted Jude.” I ordered an Uber and rushed to the restaurant. While I was on my way, Valerie’s complaints kept lighting up my screen. When Valerie and Jude first became the talk of Columbia’s campus, she had actually been the one to approach me. “You’re Megan, right?” she’d said with a bright, easy smile. “Jude and I are just group project partners, I promise. Don’t believe the gossip. Honestly, I find you much more interesting, little artist.” For four years, she was one of my few close friends. She watched anime with me, came to my art exhibitions, and was always the first to comment on my posts: “You are literally a genius!” I once asked her what kind of guy she liked while Jude was busy scolding me for eating ice cream in the winter, snatching the cone from my hand. Valerie had rolled her eyes. “Definitely not someone like him. Too bossy, acts like a dad. Besides, I like being number one. I can’t stand guys who try to outshine me.” But when I arrived at the restaurant, the reality was different. His colleagues were hovering by the table, looking incredibly awkward. “We, uh, we thought you two had a thing going on,” one of them mumbled to Valerie, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were just trying to set you up…” Jude’s face was flushed red. He shifted in his seat, almost slipping off the chair, but Valerie caught him just in time. He sank into her embrace, murmuring something incoherent as his face brushed against her collarbone. The tension in the room was suffocating. Valerie quickly pulled back as if burned, her face turning crimson when she spotted me. “Megan. You’re here.” The colleagues looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them whole. I could hear their hushed whispers as I stepped forward. “So he actually has a girlfriend…” “She’s kind of plain, isn’t she? Must be a high school sweetheart thing.” I took Jude’s heavy arm from Valerie, offering her a tight, polite smile. “Thanks for calling me.” Back at the apartment, I managed to get him onto the sofa. The living room was pitch black. As I turned to fetch a wet towel to wipe his face, his hand suddenly shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. “Don’t fight with me anymore, please,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “It hurts.” A lump formed in my throat, threatening to break me. I tried to pull away, but my foot caught on the edge of the rug. I stumbled, landing right on his lap. And that was when I heard his quiet, slurred whisper against my neck. “I told you Apex’s financial statements were flagged… why do you always have to fight me on this?” “Valerie.” In the dark, my blood ran cold. 3 Once Jude officially started at the firm, his life belonged to Wall Street. An invisible wall grew between us, block by brick. He left before sunrise and returned long after midnight. Our conversations dwindled to nothing. Even on the rare occasions he was home, his laptop was a constant barrier, his fingers flying across the keyboard while I sat at the other end of the couch, drawing random, jagged lines across my screen—ugly scars on otherwise beautiful faces. The only updates I got about his life came from Valerie. “He got praised by the Managing Director again,” her texts would read, mixed with her usual complaints about work. “But honestly, the guy is a machine. He skips lunch completely. His stomach is going to be ruined at this rate.” I stared at my phone, typing back slowly: “He’s been coming home really late.” The status bubble showed “Valerie is typing…” for a long time before she replied: “I guess that’s just the analyst life. We don’t have family money or connections, Megan. We have to work twice as hard to build a life here.” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. “We.” They had started at the firm together, spending twelve hours a day in the same bullpen. When had they become “we,” while I became a stranger? I learned to eat dinner alone. I went to the grocery store alone. I bought a single ticket to the movie I’d been dying to see, sitting in the dark theater by myself. I stopped waiting up on the couch, leaving the hallway light off. Ten years ago, a devastating earthquake in our hometown had left me an orphan. Jude had pulled me from the rubble, refusing to let go of my hand, promising to be my family. Ten years later, I was finally learning how to survive on my own again. The day to visit our parents’ graves was set for Saturday. I was packing my bag when Jude walked out of the bedroom, his phone pressed to his ear. He froze when he saw the suitcase. “Megan? Where are you going?” I stared at him. “I’m going back home. To visit our parents. Did you forget?” His face went blank, then he struck his forehead in frustration. “Dammit, Megan, I’m so sorry. The team has an urgent due diligence review. The client only gave us a twenty-four-hour window. I can’t leave.” He stepped forward, putting his hand on my suitcase to stop me. “Just this once, okay? They’ll understand. Wait for me, and as soon as this deal closes, we’ll start looking at apartments to buy.” Before I could speak, a car horn honked from the street below. Jude gave me a quick, distracted hug, grabbed his coat, and rushed out the door. I walked to the window. Downstairs, he jogged over to Valerie’s sedan. She handed him a travel mug of coffee through the open window, saying something that made her playfully swat at his shoulder. Jude laughed—a genuine, lighthearted laugh I hadn’t seen on his face in months—and slid into the passenger seat. I watched the car merge into the New York traffic until it disappeared. Then I grabbed my suitcase, locked the door, and took the bus back to our small hometown in upstate New York. The cemetery sat on a quiet hill, the headstones of Jude’s parents right next to mine. They were weathered, worn down by a decade of harsh winters. Ten years since the day our lives changed forever. We had been neighbors, childhood sweethearts. When the earth shook, our parents used their last breaths to shield us under the collapsed beams. In an instant, Jude and I became the only family each other had left. Before the SATs, I used to stay up until three in the morning, crying over practice exams. Jude would hold my hands, his voice steady. “If you don’t get into Columbia with me, Megan, I’ll take a gap year and apply again. We go together. No matter what.” He ended up turning down higher-ranked Ivy League offers just so we could stay in the same city. People called him foolish, but he told them, “You don’t understand what Megan means to me. She is my life.” On that quiet hill, with only the wind rustling the branches of the old oak tree, I closed my eyes. I could still see seventeen-year-old Jude, his face covered in dust and dried blood, desperately clawing at the concrete until his fingernails tore, screaming my name. I could see him at eighteen, kissing me under the old oak tree, promising we’d make it out. I could see him at twenty-one, placing his first internship paycheck into my palm, promising to buy us a home. Jude was woven into the very fabric of who I was. How could I just let him go? I knelt down, wiping the dust from the gravestones, and forced a soft smile. “Mom, Dad… please watch over us.” Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The message on the screen made my smile freeze. 4 Jude’s text was simple. He wanted me to deliver a folder of tax documents to an address in the city. Valerie’s apartment. My fingers trembled as I typed out four words: “I’m not doing that.” Within seconds, my phone rang. Jude’s voice was sharp with frustration. “Megan, please. Can you grow up for once? This project is make-or-break for my career. I don’t have time to play games with you right now.” I looked at the cold stone faces of my parents, and a quiet, hollow laugh slipped past my lips. “Jude, I’m at the cemetery. In front of our parents.” The line went dead silent. “I guess that explains why you didn’t ask where I was last night,” I whispered. “Because you weren’t home either.” “Megan…” His voice suddenly sounded very small, very panicked. “I…” “Where were you last night, Jude? Were you at her place?” I hung up and boarded the bus back to the city. Through the window, the trees and hills rolled backward, slipping away just like the last ten years of my life. Jude was waiting at the Port Authority bus terminal, looking pale. He silently took my suitcase, his jaw tight as he opened the passenger door of his car. He let out a long, ragged sigh. “Don’t be mad at me, Megan. I’m so incredibly tired.” I stared at the dark purple bruises under his eyes, but before I could say a word, he kept going. “Do you think I want to spend eighteen hours a day at the office? Do you think I enjoy missing dinners with you? I don’t have a choice. This is how the city works. We don’t have trust funds or safety nets. If I don’t kill myself working, we will never own a home. We will never survive here.” I looked down at my hands. “But Jude, I never asked to conquer New York.” I thought of the warm, loving gaze of my parents on that hill. I reached out, gently touching his wrist. “We could go back home. You wouldn’t have to carry all this…” He flinched, pulling his arm away. His eyes grew cold. “I didn’t spend my entire youth studying just to go back to some dying town and live a mediocre life.” He looked at me, his disappointment cutting deeper than any insult. “Megan, after ten years, you still don’t understand me. Honestly, Valerie understands my ambition better than you do.” I tucked my hands into my sleeves, squeezing my fingers until they hurt. “Okay,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “Then go build the life you want.” After that day, Jude stopped trying to play the part of the attentive boyfriend. He and Valerie were inseparable, working late nights, traveling for client meetings, navigating the high-stakes world of finance side by side. Everyone at the firm spoke of them as a unit. Eventually, even their biggest clients assumed they were engaged, asking when the wedding was. This time, Jude didn’t bother to correct them. My chat history with Valerie had stopped a month ago, right after she texted me to ask what kind of coffee bean roast Jude preferred. “Sometimes I watch him present in front of the board, and I’m just in awe of how brilliant he is,” she had written. They were like two travelers who had finally found the right road after wandering in the dark. And I was just a small, forgotten detour they had passed miles ago. By late June, the project was finally over. Jude slumped onto our couch, loosening his tie, and reached over to ruffle my hair. “The bonus cleared. Go buy that new Wacom tablet you wanted.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. He didn’t even realize that I had bought myself a new tablet three months ago. His phone buzzed, and his face lit up instantly. “It’s Valerie’s birthday. She’s inviting the whole team out to The Sapphire Lounge this weekend.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Great. I’ll pick out a gift for her. Tell her happy birthday for me.” Jude fell asleep on the couch minutes later. I looked out the window at the pale moon, then opened my phone to see Valerie’s latest Instagram post. It was a photo from their closing dinner. She and Jude were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their smiles matching, looking like the perfect power couple. Three days later, Jude texted me the location of the bar, saying he was heading there straight from the office. I looked at my packed suitcase sitting by the door, taking one last look at the apartment we had shared. It was a beautiful place, but it was never going to be our home. I pulled my coat tight, picked up my bag, and walked out without looking back. Ten years of chasing someone else’s dream was enough. It was time to find my own light.

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My boyfriend was the captain conquering the open seas, and my best friend was his indispensable logistical officer. Back at the harbor, everyone called them the Gemini of the Pacific. Meanwhile, I was the one left on the shore, a ghost anchor tied to the land, waiting. I used to beg Baron to tell me about his voyages. I just wanted a piece of his world, to know he was safe under those massive, foreign skies. But Baron would always look at me with that cool, detached expression. “It’s just water, Maeve. Endless, boring water. There’s nothing to tell.” Then Talia went on leave, and I picked up her phone to move it from the kitchen counter. I saw his messages. “We found the pink dolphins today. I wish you were here to see them.” “Look at this. A sunset meant only for the ocean.” “The swells were massive just now. For a second, I thought the ship was going down.” I closed my eyes, the memory fading as I reached into my drawer and tossed the custom engagement ring I’d spent months designing straight into the trash can. I was done asking. I would never ask again. … I sat at the living room table, the draft of my resignation letter glowing on the laptop screen. The front door opened. Baron’s keys hit the console table with a sharp, heavy clatter. Without looking at me, he walked straight into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you come to the pier today? I waited for you for two hours.” He leaned against the doorframe, his brow furrowed. “No dinner either? What’s going on with you today?” My fingers hovered over the keyboard. In the past, every time his ship docked, I would wake up at dawn to prep ingredients, simmering stews and roasting meats, before standing at the windy pier two hours early just to catch the first glimpse of him. Today, I hadn’t prepped a single thing. I hadn’t gone to the pier. “It was raining,” I said quietly, my voice level. “I left my umbrella at the office.” Baron sat beside me, his eyes catching the screen. He let out a long, weary sigh. “You’re quitting another job?” “Why can’t you be more like Talia? She’s been on the crew for eight years. She’s braved worst-case storms and never once complained about wanting to leave.” He reached out and closed my laptop, his tone sliding into that familiar, patronizing rhythm. “You need to grow up, Maeve. Learn to be a little more grounded.” I kept my gaze fixed on the dark, reflective screen. This job wasn’t my choice. Baron had picked it out for me, claiming it was stable with good long-term prospects. But since starting, I’d been working until midnight every single day without a dime of overtime pay. Before I could speak, Baron’s phone vibrated on the table. He swiped it, accidentally hitting the speakerphone. Talia’s bright, familiar laugh filled the room. “Hey, Captain! Crew dinner tonight. You’re the guest of honor, so don’t you dare flake on us.” The hard lines of Baron’s face instantly softened. A faint, easy smile touched his lips. “I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes.” He hung up and grabbed his coat. Just as he reached the door, he paused. “Hey, where are those cartoon band-aids you bought?” I looked at him, confused. “Talia scraped her hand on some kid’s kite string when she was getting off the boat,” he explained, already rummaging through the hallway drawer. “She’s been whining about it all afternoon. You know how she is—total kid at heart. She loves that cartoon stuff.” I watched him sift through the drawers. My mind flashed back to two days ago, when I had texted him a picture of my finger, sliced deep from prepping vegetables. “Baron, my hand is bleeding so badly. It hurts.” Hours later, his reply had come: “Just put a band-aid on it. Don’t be dramatic.” I had gone out, bought those silly cartoon band-aids to cheer myself up, and texted him a photo. He had never replied. Baron finally pulled the box of band-aids from the drawer, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Do you know when the last time you replied to one of my texts was?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. His hand froze on the doorknob. An edge of impatience crept into his voice. “Maeve, I don’t have time for trivial messages when I’m at sea. Every second requires my absolute focus.” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. My phone buzzed with an emergency alert: severe thunderstorm and high wind warnings for the night. I looked at the umbrella he had left behind in the stand. I didn’t move to bring it to him. Instead, I opened my phone. Two new notifications from Talia’s social media popped up. The first was from two hours ago: “Sunset with the Captain. Sometimes, the view from land isn’t so bad either.” The second was fresh, posted just minutes ago: “It’s the little things. Knowing someone always has you covered.” Attached was a picture of the cartoon band-aids I had bought. I closed the app, took Baron’s umbrella, and slid it neatly back into the bin. He didn’t hate drama or trivialities. He just didn’t want to waste his patience on me anymore. I hit submit on my resignation letter. My manager replied almost instantly: “Since you’re still in your six-month probation, we can fast-track this. You’re cleared to leave in three days.” Three days. More than enough time to walk away from Baron. I took a day off to pack my things. The three-thousand-square-foot house was vast, and over eight years, I had accumulated far too much of myself here. When the doorbell rang, I assumed it was the moving company. Instead, Talia stood on the porch, a brilliant smile on her face. “Baron’s still wrapping up his reports at the harbor. He told me to come on in. He’s buying groceries and cooking dinner for us tonight.” My fingers tightened on the edge of the door. “Cooking.” A concept entirely foreign to Baron. He was a severe germophobe; the slightest hint of grease on his hands would send him rushing to wash them ten times over. In our eight years together, he had never once touched a frying pan. A few minutes later, Baron arrived, carrying a grocery bag with a fresh, flopping fish inside. He walked straight past me into the kitchen. I leaned against the kitchen island, watching him. “I thought you hated cooking.” Baron sighed, though there was a soft, indulgent chuckle in his throat. “I lost a bet to Talia on the last run. She wanted a home-cooked meal. A man’s got to keep his word.” The sheer tenderness in his tone was a physical blow. I went back to the living room and continued tape-sealing my boxes. Talia skipped into the kitchen, her voice carrying over the open floor plan. “Baron, your doorbell is so stubborn. I had to press it forever.” Baron stopped what he was doing. “Maeve didn’t let you in right away?” “Oh, no, it’s not that,” Talia said quickly, her voice dropping into a pout. “I think the button is just broken. It’s hard to get it to register.” “Maeve!” Baron called out, his voice sharp with irritation. “Talia is your best friend. Why are you making her wait outside?” He wiped his hands on his apron and pulled Talia toward the smart lock on the front door. “Here, let’s just register your fingerprint. It’ll make things easier for you to come and go.” Talia tilted her head, acting coy. “But this is your place. Won’t it be weird if I just walk in?” “There’s nothing weird about it,” Baron said firmly, pressing her index finger onto the scanner. A sudden, acrid smell drifted from the kitchen. The fish was burning. “Shit,” Baron muttered, running back to the stove. “Maeve, help Talia finish setting up.” As I stepped up to the panel, Talia let out a small, dramatic gasp, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, Maeve, I’m so sorry! I think I hit the wrong button and deleted your fingerprint profile. Can you re-register yours?” Her eyes welled with instant, rehearsed tears. Baron poked his head out of the kitchen. “Don’t worry about Maeve right now. Dinner’s ready.” He began setting the dishes on the dining table, waving Talia over. I looked at the spread: two platters of garlic butter shrimp and crab, and a side of chilled cucumber salad. I walked back to the sofa. Baron’s face darkened, his voice laced with annoyance. “I stand over a hot stove for hours, and you won’t even sit at the table? Who are you throwing this attitude for?” I looked him dead in the eye. “There are three dishes on that table. Two are seafood, and one is cucumber. I am severely allergic to both, Baron. Did you forget?” He froze. The silence stretched. He had forgotten. Or rather, he had only remembered what Talia liked to eat. Baron averted his eyes, brushing it off. “Well, just boil some instant noodles then. Talia and I are going to eat before it gets cold.” After dinner, Baron drove Talia home. By the time he returned, I was taping up my final cardboard box. He stared at the boxes, his jaw tight. “What kind of game is this, Maeve?” “Is this still about the job? Because I gave Talia a little credit for her work ethic, you’re going to act like this in front of her? She’s supposed to be your best friend.” He let out a harsh breath. “You seriously need to work on your insecurity. Look at Talia—she’s easygoing. She doesn’t hold grudges over nothing.” He stepped closer. “Come here. Let’s put your fingerprint back in the lock.” I shook my head. “Don’t bother.” His eyes went cold. “Are you really going to be this petty? It was an accident. Talia didn’t mean to delete it.” The last of my energy drained away. “I want a break. We’re done, Baron.” He let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Don’t use that to threaten me.” “I came back from a long haul, and what did I get? No welcome, no dinner, just cold shoulders and silent treatment.” He grew angrier, his frustration boiling over until he slammed his boot against the wooden coat rack near the door. “I have an incredibly stressful job, Maeve! Can you, for once in your life, show some damn empathy?” The coat rack crashed to the hardwood floor with a deafening thud. In the ringing silence that followed, I looked at him. “The day you got back… when you were watching the sunset on the pier with Talia… were you hoping I’d show up, or praying that I wouldn’t?” “You are completely out of your mind!” Baron spat, slamming the front door as he stormed out. He didn’t return that night. I took a black marker and quietly crossed out another day on the kitchen calendar. Two days left. The next morning, I packed up my rabbit’s hutch and drove to my friend’s place. She looked at me with deep concern. “Are you really sure about this, Maeve? You’ve been with Baron for eight years. You practically built his career with him, from a third-mate crew member to a captain.” Eight years. I had given him the best years of my life. I was allergic to seafood, but I had always been enchanted by the ocean. Baron had once promised me that the day he earned his captain’s stripes, he would use his exclusive family passes to take me on his voyages, to show me the beauty of the deep blue. But in the year since his promotion, I had never once set foot on his ship. “He changed,” I said softly. “Maybe he’s just overwhelmed with the captain duties?” my friend offered gently. I tried to smile, but a tear slipped down my cheek, hot and bitter. “It’s not the work. He’s just not mine anymore.” When I got back to the house, I received a text from Hazel, a junior crew member on Baron’s ship. “Hey Maeve! We’re doing a quick day-trip for dolphin-watching tomorrow. I know how much you love dolphins. I have a spare family pass. Want to join?” Montana had no ocean. If I was leaving the coast for good, I wanted one last memory of the sea. I texted back: “I’d love to. Thank you.” Baron didn’t come home until late that night. He carried the distinct, sickly sweet scent of Talia’s pear-and-freesia perfume. He looked around the barren living room. “Why does it look like half the house is missing?” “Just spring cleaning. I threw away things I don’t need.” He grunted, already looking down at his phone as he walked into the bathroom. When he emerged, he said casually, “The ship has an unscheduled run tomorrow. Don’t wait up for lunch.” “What’s the trip for?” A small, fond smile played on his lips. “It’s Talia’s birthday. We’re going out to track the dolphins.” “I love dolphins too,” I said. Baron’s expression hardened instantly. “Are you seriously doing this? Do you have to make everything a competition with her?” “She’s worked alongside me for eight years. Is it so wrong that I want to grant her one birthday wish?” “I was only going to ask if there was an extra family pass.” Baron ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “No. There aren’t any.” He went into the bedroom and shut the door. “Go sleep in the guest room tonight. You need to clear your head.” The locked door stood between us. I agreed. He was the one who desperately needed to clear his head. The next morning, I boarded the ship, keeping to the very back of the crowd. The sea was calm. I stood on the deck, letting the salty, damp wind whip my hair, looking out at the endless blue horizon I had yearned to see for so long. “Baron, look! Oh my god, they’re right there!” Talia’s voice squealed as she clung to Baron’s arm. Baron reached out, gently stroking her hair. “Happy now?” Talia pouted playfully. “You’re the best, Captain.” I turned to walk back to the cabin, but a hand clamped firmly onto my wrist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Baron’s voice was low, dangerous. “Whose family pass did you take?” I looked at him, letting out a soft, humorless laugh. “I thought you said there weren’t any passes left.” Before he could answer, the ship lurched violently. The sudden roll knocked me off my feet, sending me crashing onto the hard deck. No one reached out to help me. Baron had already wrapped his arms around Talia, shielding her. “The swell is getting bad. It’s not safe out here. I have to get to the bridge.” He hurried off. Talia stayed behind for a moment, walking over to help me up. Her voice was sweet, dripping with venom. “I know how much you wanted to see the dolphins, Maeve. I’m the one who told Hazel to give you that pass.” I raised an eyebrow. “Should I say thank you?” Talia took a step closer to the railing, her eyes bright with a dangerous, triumphant spark. “I’ve always wondered… if both of us were in danger, who would Baron choose?” I smiled, feeling a strange sense of liberation. “I’m not playing this game with you, Talia. I don’t want him anymore.” Talia’s grip tightened on my forearm, pulling me closer to the edge. “A crisis is the only way to see a man’s true heart, Maeve.” The ship took another sharp, aggressive turn. The deck tilted violently, and before I could grab the railing, both of us were thrown over the side, falling into the frigid, churning water. “Man overboard!” a crew member screamed from above. “We have people in the water!” Baron rushed to the deck. “Who is it? Who fell?” “I think it’s Talia and—” Before the crew member could finish, Baron plunged into the icy water alongside the rescue diver. Through the bubbles and the freezing depths, I watched him. He swam past me, his arms reaching out desperately for Talia. He pulled her to his chest, holding her tight. Water flooded my lungs. The cold was heavy, dragging me down into the darkness. “She’s sinking! Someone get the other one!” I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me. When I opened my eyes, the smell of sterile antiseptic filled my nose. Baron was sitting by the bedside, staring blankly at his phone. Seeing me stir, his expression softened into something heavy and complex. “The baby is gone, Maeve. I’m so sorry. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” “Tomorrow is our anniversary. I booked us flights to Iceland. You’ve always wanted to see the northern lights, right?” My hand hovered over my lower abdomen. I felt entirely hollow. A child I didn’t even know existed was gone. My mind drifted back to seven years ago. On our anniversary, he had told me to make a wish. I had whispered that I wanted to see the Aurora Borealis in Iceland. “We can’t afford that right now, Maeve,” he had said, kissing my forehead. “But I promise, as soon as I make more money, I’ll take you.” He made plenty of money now. He just forgot the promise. I stared at the white ceiling. “No. I don’t want to go.” Baron’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get those tickets? I spent three days fighting for them.” “I put so much thought into this anniversary, Maeve. And you’re just throwing it back in my face?” “Go with someone else,” I said quietly. “Are you seriously still blaming me for saving her first?” Baron snapped, his defense mechanisms flaring up. “Talia can’t swim. If I hadn’t grabbed her, she would have drowned.” I clenched my fists beneath the thin hospital sheet. Talia had her swimming certification on her crew file. I was the only one who actually couldn’t swim. “I don’t blame you,” I lied. “Your temper is getting out of hand,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m exhausted, Maeve. I really am.” Before he could continue, the door swung open. Talia bounced into the room, her cheeks flushed with life. “Captain! The VIP wing is so incredibly boring. Maeve’s room is much cozier.” “Oh, by the way, about that Iceland ticket… I’ve decided I want to go. Let’s go together!” I went completely still. Talia bit her lip, looking at me with mock sheepishness. “You won’t be mad, will you, Maeve?” I forced a dry smile. “Not at all. You two should go.” Baron shot Talia a warning look. “Talia, don’t say things like that in front of Maeve.” He turned to me, his tone hurried, transactional. “It’s actually a business inspection trip. The company is thinking about transitioning the ship to commercial sightseeing. I’ll take you next time. I promise.” “Okay,” I said. Baron let out a long breath, visibly relieved. “I’m glad you’re finally listening to reason. You’re being much more sensible now.” He patted my hand, then led Talia out. “Get some rest.” I lay there alone. My phone vibrated with a flight confirmation. My plane to Montana departed in twelve hours. A text from my manager: “Come by the office to sign your final papers and collect your last paycheck.” I pulled the IV needle out of my hand, ignoring the small bead of blood, and called a cab. Walking out of the office with my final paycheck, I took a deep, clean breath. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the weight of that suffocating city on my chest. At the airport gate, I sat with my suitcase, my phone buzzing with social media alerts. Talia had posted again: “Off to chase the northern lights with the Captain! So excited!” An hour later: “Change of plans! We’re doing lavender fields in Provence instead. The Captain really can’t say no to me.” And then: “Two hours until takeoff. Ready for our private getaway.” The comments were filled with hearts and laughing emojis. “Wait, didn’t the Captain say it was a business trip to Iceland?” someone asked. Talia replied with a blushing emoji: “He’s a softie. I told him I wanted France, so he changed the tickets.” I stared at the screen, then saw a text from Baron pop up. “I’ll be back in three days. I’ll bring you a souvenir.” “Make sure you make that braised pork ribs recipe when I get back. I’ve been craving it.” The intercom announced boarding for the flight to Great Falls, Montana. I opened my settings, deactivated my accounts, and walked down the jet bridge.

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In our seven years of marriage, the phrase Carl used more than any other was, “I’m busy.” When I was vomiting from morning sickness until I was entirely hollow, he was busy. When the surgical consent form lay on the clipboard at the hospital and no one was there to sign it, he was busy. When the car crash ended my pregnancy and I lay bleeding, pleading for him to save me, he was still busy. And whenever I asked him about our future—about whether we should try again for a baby, or what furniture to buy for our home—he always had a single, indifferent response: “Whatever.” I used to think it was just who he was. As the youngest senior partner at his firm, Carl was known for his cold elegance and his ruthless efficiency. He was a man carved from marble, and I had simply accepted that marble didn’t bend. Until yesterday. I was using his laptop and accidentally opened a simple, uninstalled application. It was a private notepad. [Bridget’s preferences: No cilantro. Allergic to mangoes. Gets migraines during her period. Loves red tulips. Wears a size six and a half shoe…] Dozens of lines. Everything, down to the smallest detail, was meticulously cataloged. He had even noted down a passing remark she’d made about wanting a specific pastry from an artisanal bakery on the other side of the city, complete with a tiny digital tag: Pick up this weekend. This weekend. Carl, the man who was eternally on the clock, who never had a spare second, apparently kept weekends free. I sat in his study chair, staring at the glowing screen, and a sudden, sharp laugh escaped my throat. It turned out he wasn’t incapable of warmth. He was just incapable of it with me. The realization didn’t bring anger. It brought a profound, heavy exhaustion. A moment later, I called our lawyer. My voice was remarkably steady. “Mr. Arnold, please draft a divorce agreement for me.” … The next day, the papers arrived. When the front door opened, a thick wave of alcohol rolled into the foyer. Carl stood there, stumbling, deeply drunk. Before I could speak, he looked up. Those eyes—usually as cold and distant as a frozen lake—were warm, swimming with an unfamiliar softness. “Bridget…” he whispered, his voice thick and gravelly as he reached out toward me. “Why are you still awake?” My stomach dropped into a cold abyss. I didn’t move. I didn’t correct him. In seven years of marriage, his words to me had been sparse and transactional. Now, he was stumbling toward me like a lovesick teenager. He sank onto the sofa beside me, his arm naturally draping over my shoulder, resting his forehead against mine. “We won,” he murmured, his fingers gently twirling a strand of my hair—exactly as his note said Bridget liked to be comforted. “The contract is ours. I’m taking you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights.” “Do you remember? You said you wanted to touch the stars.” My body went rigid. Iceland. Years ago, when we were young and first starting out, I had told him about that dream. He had laughed back then, promising to bring down the stars for me. But he had forgotten. Or rather, he had simply transferred the promise to someone else. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, counting on his fingers, his eyes glassy. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to that bakery. I learned how to bake those croissants myself, Bridget. I practiced for weeks… and that handbag you wanted? I had it flown in. It’s waiting for your birthday. Surprised?” He rambled on, his face glowing with a tenderness I had never seen. “And the day after?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What about the day after?” “The day after…” He tilted his head, smiling beautifully. “We’re going to the botanical gardens. To see the tulips. You said you loved them. Oceans of deep, vibrant red.” A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and silent. He wasn’t incapable of love. He wasn’t emotionally stunted. He had simply reserved all of his devotion, his patience, and his desperate tenderness for another woman. I remembered when we first met. He had once stood in the rain for hours to buy me a limited-edition book I wanted. He had stayed up all night when I was sick, changing cold compresses on my forehead. He had cut his finger trying to cook me a proper dinner. I had thought I was the exception. Now I realized I was just the default. I was the “whatever.” He kept whispering his dream-like itinerary, patting my back gently to soothe me. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all planned. This lifetime, the next… I’ll always be right here.” I reached up and wiped the tears from my face, cold and resolute. The next morning, Carl woke up rubbing his temples, his face returning to its usual, icy distance. I clutched the cuffs of my sleeves, preparing to bring up the divorce, but he beat me to it, grabbing his coat. “I’m busy. If anything comes up, handle it yourself.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh and handed him the paperwork. “Then just sign this.” He didn’t even look at the pages. He scribbled his signature at the bottom and hurried out the door. I stared at his sweeping signature, a dull ache blooming in my chest. Then, I dialed my director at work. “I’ll take the overseas transfer.” The transfer to the London office had been on the table for seven years. Every year, I had turned it down, held back by the hope of our marriage. This time, I was leaving for myself. During my evening commute, a car rear-ended me. The impact slammed my sedan into the guardrail. I lay trapped in the driver’s seat, warm, sticky blood trickling down my brow and pooling in my eye. I couldn’t move. As my consciousness began to drift, my phone detected the crash and automatically sent out emergency alerts. Ten minutes later, I heard the rapid, familiar stride of his footsteps. For a split second, I thought he was there for me. But then, a raw, agonizing scream shattered the air. “Bridget!” Through the cracked glass of my window, I watched Carl sprint past my side of the car, entirely ignoring me, and throw himself toward the passenger side of the vehicle that had hit me. Bridget was in that car. He smashed the window, carefully pulling her out into his arms. “Are you hurt? Where does it pain you?” He was on his knees before her, his voice trembling with a panic I had never heard from him. Bridget’s eyes were red, her voice trembling. “I’m okay… I just wanted to bring you those design files. I knew you were busy and didn’t want to bother you, so I drove down myself… I didn’t mean to…” “You foolish girl,” Carl scolded, but his brow was furrowed with nothing but pure adoration. “I’ve told you a thousand times—no matter what I’m doing, no matter when, if you need me, you call. Even if the sky is falling, I will come to you.” I lay in the wreckage, listening to his promises. The dull ache in my chest flared, paralyzing my limbs. Then, Bridget’s eyes drifted toward my car. She flinched, pointing a trembling finger. “Carl… is that… is that your wife? Will she hate me?” Carl snapped his head up. His immediate instinct was to pull Bridget behind his back, shielding her completely from me. “I’m so scared,” Bridget sobbed. Carl squeezed her hand, comforting her, but when his gaze finally fell upon me, his eyes held nothing but cold irritation. “Isabel,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s a minor scratch. You aren’t going to die. Just hold on a minute. Don’t scare Bridget.” He pulled Bridget tighter against his chest. “Don’t look, sweetheart,” he murmured, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You remember your PTSD from the accident when you were a kid? You can’t stand the sight of blood. You’ll have nightmares for weeks.” He began to guide her away from the scene. “But your wife…” Bridget whimpered, trying to look back. “She’ll live,” Carl cut her off. “I’ve already called the best emergency response team. They’ll handle her. Your heart is racing, and you look pale. Let’s get you out of here.” He lifted her into his arms and walked away. In the emergency room, the doctor gasped as he cut away my blood-soaked coat. “The laceration is deep. A fraction of an inch closer to the temple and it would have been fatal. Prep for sutures immediately. Her pressure is dropping.” The needle pierced my skin, pulling thread through flesh without anesthesia. Every tug felt like a blade scraping against my skull. I bit my lip, staring at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. But from the curtained bay next door, voices carried over. “It hurts so much, Carl… Is it broken? Will I ever play the piano again?” Bridget’s tearful whimpers echoed clearly. “You’re fine, darling. I looked at the x-rays. It’s just a scrape,” Carl’s voice was impossibly gentle, a tone he had never used with me. “Stop crying now. What do you want to eat? I’ll go get it.” “I want that lavender-honey gelato from the place downtown. And I want you to hold me.” “Anything you want, sweetheart.” I closed my eyes. The nurses prepping the surgical tray whispered among themselves. “God, that guy outside is so handsome. His girlfriend only scraped her knee and he’s completely losing his mind over her.” “Right? Where do you find a man like that?” “Shh, keep it down. The patient here doesn’t have anyone with her.” The doctor tied off the last suture and asked routinely, “Where is your emergency contact? We need a signature. With a head injury like this, you need someone to monitor you overnight for concussion symptoms.” I lay on the cold gurney, my throat dry as ash. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, I turned my head away from the door and whispered, “There is no one.” My parents died when I was young. For fifteen years—from high school to college, through seven years of marriage—I believed Carl was my entire world. Five thousand, four hundred and seventy-five days. And now, listening to Bridget’s giggles and Carl’s soft murmurs through the thin curtain, I only felt incredibly tired. Late that night, Bridget walked into my room. Her eyes were puffy, and she hovered nervously at the foot of my bed. “Isabel…” she choked out, taking a tentative step forward. “I came to apologize.” I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her. “I’m so sorry,” she wept, the tears flowing freely now. “If I hadn’t insisted on seeing Carl, none of this would have happened. It’s all my fault.” I pulled my gaze away. “Save your breath. I don’t accept it.” “No!” she gasped, suddenly grabbing the metal bed rail. “You have to understand! It’s my fault because I couldn’t help falling in love with him. I couldn’t control myself. Carl… Carl never led me on. It was entirely one-sided!” She was sobbing hysterically now. “Please don’t misunderstand him, Isabel. He’s a good man. He’s just so tired, so overworked. Please don’t expose this. His firm is in the middle of a massive merger. If a scandal like this leaks, his career will be ruined.” I stared at her, stunned by the sheer audacity. Before I could speak, the door was slammed open. Carl stood on the threshold, his chest heaving, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He strode over, stepping between Bridget and me as if I were a venomous snake. “Isabel, you are truly malicious.” I looked at him, my throat tight. “I didn’t—” “Don’t bother lying,” he spat, each word designed to cut. “Let me make one thing clear: I love Bridget. I have never loved you. In fact, I despise you.” For a moment, my heart seemed to stop beating entirely. Despise me? Fifteen years of devotion, 5,475 days, reduced to a single word: despise. “Why?” my voice trembled. “What did I ever do to you?” Carl let out a harsh, bitter laugh, the resentment he had harbored for years finally boiling over. He leaned down, his voice dripping with venom. “Are you still going to play the innocent victim, Isabel? If your parents hadn’t died saving my father, do you think I would have ever carried this miserable debt? Do you think I would have spent my entire life forced to watch over you?” He pointed a finger at me. “Do you have any idea how suffocating you are? You’ve been a shadow I couldn’t shake since we were teenagers. I got a girlfriend, and you were there. I went to college, and you forced your way into the same school. I got a job, and you sat around waiting for me to marry you. You are a parasite.” His eyes burned with pure disgust. “I’ve endured it for fifteen years. I hate your self-righteous silence. I hate the way you look at me with those pathetic, pleading eyes, as if I owe you my life. Our marriage was a mistake from day one.” I lay perfectly still. The tears flowed hot and silent, soaking into my pillow. Beside the bed, he gently took Bridget’s hand, whispering, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m here.” I let out a weak, dry chuckle. “Fine,” I whispered. “You get your wish.” Suddenly, Bridget let out a sharp cry. “Carl, it iches! It hurts so much!” A bright red rash began to erupt across her neck and arms at an alarming rate. Carl’s face turned pale. “Doctor! Someone help!” A half-hour later, Carl kicked my door open again. “Isabel! How can you be so vicious?” He stormed to my bedside and ripped the IV stand down, sending it crashing to the floor. The needle tore out of the back of my hand, leaving a trail of blood and a sharp, blinding pain. “I have tolerated your pathetic behavior, but you dare poison her? Bridget is innocent. If you want to take your petty jealousy out on someone, bring it to me!” “I didn’t do anything,” I said, my voice dead. “You’re still lying?” He stepped closer, his jaw clenched. “She was perfectly fine until she stepped into this room. Who else could have done it?” I pointed to the tiny security camera blinking in the corner of the ceiling. “There’s a camera. Check the footage. I never touched her.” “Enough!” he roared. “Still playing games. Who knows what you set up beforehand? You disgust me, Isabel.” He didn’t even glance at the blood dripping from my hand. “Do you know how much she values her appearance? If this leaves a scar… if she suffocates from this reaction… I will make you pay. We are finished.” He slammed the door as he left. Thirty minutes later, my phone began to vibrate violently. Notifications, emails, old high school group chats—hundreds of messages flooded in. I clicked a link, and a video began to play. It was a grainy, old clip from high school. I was trapped in a corner by a group of bullies, crying. But the video had been heavily edited. It cut directly to me staring coldly at Bridget in the hospital room, followed by photos of her severe allergic reaction. The caption read: Jealous wife of prominent executive poisons her husband’s talented assistant. History repeats itself—turns out this ‘victim’ was the real high school bully who drove classmates to suicide. The internet exploded. She deserves to be bullied! Why isn’t this toxic bitch dead yet? What an evil monster. The trauma I had spent a decade trying to bury, the nightmares that kept me awake at night, were dragged into the light by the man I loved, weaponized to destroy me. The pain was suffocating. My soul felt reduced to ash. The next morning, the hallway outside grew loud. A mob of self-righteous “internet vigilantes” burst into my room, recording on their phones. “There she is! The bitch who tried to kill Miss Bridget!” “Go to hell!” Before I could react, a bucket of foul, putrid wastewater was dumped over my head. Spoiled food, eggshells, and garbage rained down on my bandaged head. The impact sent a blinding flash of agony through my stitches. “I didn’t do it…” I whispered, curling into a ball, trying to shield my wounds. “I didn’t poison her…” I tried to crawl away, but a heavy hand slammed me back against the wall. Carl stood at the door, watching with cold indifference. I reached out, grabbing the hem of his trousers, begging. “Carl, please, believe me… just watch the cameras…” He kicked my hand away and pulled out a tissue to wipe his boot. “You brought this on yourself,” he said, his voice flat. “No one is coming to save you. I let them in. Consider it a lesson on what happens when you touch what belongs to me.” He turned and walked away, leaving me in the dark. I dragged myself up, step by agonizing step, toward the window. And I jumped.

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We were on a guided backpacking trip in the mountains, and as we settled down for the night, the guide announced that we only had one double tent and one single tent left. My boyfriend, Dustin, and my best friend, Bess, immediately claimed the double tent. Bess smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Dustin snores like a chainsaw, Hannah. You’re such a light sleeper. I’ll take one for the team and crash with him so you can actually get some rest. Pretty good best friend, right?” Dustin merely scoffed and didn’t argue. He turned to me, his tone flat and reasonable. “Bess always hogs the blankets anyway. I don’t want you catching a cold.” Before I could even speak, the two of them were already tossing their gear inside. It was always like this. I was Dustin’s girlfriend, and Bess was my best friend. Yet they acted like they were the ones who shared a secret language, leaving me on the outside looking in. Every time they left me behind, they dressed it up as a favor. When they went tandem skydiving, they decided I was too afraid of heights, leaving me on the ground to watch them fly through the air, fingers locked tight. When we were submitting our college enrollment decisions, they decided I was too much of a homebody, convincing me to stay at the local state college while they both chose Emory University in Atlanta. Even when there was a “buy one, get one” deal at our favorite diner, they shared it and made me order separately because “Hannah has a bigger appetite anyway.” I looked into the tent now. Bess’s lace bra was draped carelessly over Dustin’s hiking pants. Suddenly, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. The sheer pointlessness of it all. I unlocked my phone and tapped on a message thread I had left unanswered. I typed a single line: “I accept. Yes.” The reply came almost instantly. “Hannah, I just changed your enrollment. See you at Emory.” … I locked my screen. Dustin’s voice startled me from behind. “Hannah, who are you texting? I called your name three times.” I turned off my phone casually. “Just a spam text.” He handed me a loaf of bread. “There’s only one camp chili meal left and a loaf of bread. You can’t handle spicy. Bess and I will take the chili.” My eyes dropped to the yellow packaging of the camp meal. It clearly said “Mild Tomato Pasta”. Inside the tent, Bess was already using Dustin’s personal titanium spork—the one I bought him when he got into the honors program—to taste if the food was hot. He had kept that spork for three years. He never let anyone else touch it. Except me. Until now. I didn’t take the bread. I turned toward the single tent. “No thanks. I brought my own food.” Dustin froze, his hand suspended in the air. He hadn’t expected me to refuse. Before he could say anything, Bess yelled from the tent, “Dusty! Help! I think I dumped too much salt in here!” He immediately turned, muttering under his breath but rushing to her side. “You’re so clumsy.” “Get out of the way, let me do it.” He expertly stirred the meal while Bess watched him, her eyes bright. “You’re a lifesaver, Dusty. If the cafeteria food at college sucks, I’m relying on you.” Dustin smiled, a soft, indulgent look on his face. “Like I’d ever let you starve.” I pitched my tent alone, sat inside, and pulled out a pack of dry crackers. I chewed slowly while studying the trail map for the rest of our hike. This trip was supposed to be our graduation trip. Just the two of us. But on the morning we left, Bess showed up at the trailhead, begging to come. I wanted to say no. We only packed supplies for two. She had nothing. But before I could speak, Dustin was already handing her his sun hat and trekking poles. Now, we were stretching two people’s worth of food for three. I had hinted a dozen times that Bess should head back, but Dustin always dismissed it, calling me petty and jealous of my own best friend. Suddenly, Bess zipped open my tent flap, dragging me outside. “Hannah! What are you doing in here all by yourself? The guide started the campfire. Let’s go!” When we walked out, I saw only one open spot next to Dustin—the camp stool where Bess had been sitting. Bess snapped her fingers. “Oh! Hannah, you sit there. I’ll go squeeze in next to the guide.” Dustin and I grew up together. Wherever he went, I was there. He always saved me a seat. But ever since Bess transferred to our school junior year, that seat had slowly drifted away. Dustin seemed to notice my look. He quickly asked a guy next to him to slide over. I said quietly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll sit here.” I sat down next to a quiet girl I hadn’t talked to much. The camp game started: Truth or Dare. In the first round, the spinning water bottle pointed at Dustin. The guide smirks, looking between me and Dustin. “Alright, Dustin. When and where was your first kiss?” “Oh my god, starting strong!” someone laughed. Dustin’s eyes darted to me, but it’s Bess whose face turned bright red. “Wait, isn’t it Truth or Dare?” she stammers. “Shouldn’t he choose first?” The guide laughed. “Dustin never lies. Truth is way more fun.” Dustin’s face was flushed red. After a long pause, he closed his eyes. “Just now. In the tent.” The crowd erupted into hoots and hollers, their eyes bouncing between me and him. Bess shoved his shoulder, looking flustered. “Dustin, are you insane? Why would you say that out loud?” She turned to me quickly. “Hannah, don’t get the wrong idea! It was pitch black in there, we were setting up the sleeping pads, and we just bumped into each other. You know me—I only like pretty boys, Dustin is totally not my type!” The laughter died down. The atmosphere turned icy. Across the crackling fire, I caught the briefest flash of devastation in Dustin’s eyes. The guide whispered, “Wait, aren’t you guys dating? You aren’t in the same tent?” Everyone went quiet. Dustin was typing furiously on his phone. My phone buzzes: “Hannah, it was an accident. I’ll explain later. Just play along so it’s not awkward for everyone.” I locked my screen, looked up, and smiled. “I prefer having my own room.” Dustin let out a visible sigh of relief. The guide quickly cracked another joke to break the tension. Third round, the bottle pointed to Bess. She chose Dare. A guy suggested, “I heard there are wolves in these woods. Go out to the edge of the tree line and howl.” Before he even finished, Dustin threw his arm protectively in front of Bess. “No way. She’s terrified of wild animals. I’ll take the penalty for her.” He dropped to the dirt and started doing thirty push-ups. My body began to tremble. The girl sitting next to me noticed. She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Your hands are freezing. Are you okay? Why didn’t your boyfriend take the penalty for you earlier?” I bit my lip and shook my head. In the previous round, the bottle had pointed at me. I chose Dare. My dare was to go into the dark woods and collect ten dry branches. Dustin knew I was terrified of the dark. But he didn’t step in. While I was stumbling through the dark, crying silently as I gathered wood, he was busy washing wild berries for Bess. He hadn’t even noticed it was my turn. When the game ended and I returned to my tent, I realized my period had started. The hot water in my thermos was gone. My lower abdomen cramped painfully. I called Dustin. “Dustin, do you have any hot water? My period started.” There was a lot of noise on his end. Finally, his voice came through. “Hannah, just hold on a bit. Bess’s complaining that she needs hot water to wash her hair. I’ll boil some for you after I’m done helping her.” “Ow! Dustin, be gentle! You almost burned my scalp!” Bess’s voice squealed in the background. “If you keep squirming, I’m going to stop,” Dustin replied. “Fine, fine. But scratch a little higher… right there, it’s so itchy.” “Hey, you touched my ear! You know that’s my sensitive spot!” The call didn’t disconnect immediately, and their playful bickering echoed in my ear. A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and bitter. I couldn’t tell if it was from the physical pain or the ache in my chest. I waited until midnight, but Dustin’s promised hot water never arrived. I found some painkillers in my pack, swallowed them dry, and finally drifted off. The next morning, Bess burst into my tent. She saw the stain on my sleeping pad. “Oh, Hannah, did you get your period?” She immediately ran outside, shouting at the top of her lungs, “Dustin! Hannah got her period! Did you bring any pads?” Dustin finally remembered my call from last night. He walked over, looking thoroughly guilty, and crouched outside my tent. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I was so exhausted last night, I just passed out.” My gaze fell on his collar. There was a single strand of pink, wavy hair clinging to the fabric. Bess’s hair. I was the one who went with her to dye it the day after graduation. My hands clenched into fists. The disappointment inside me hardens. Bess kept nagging. “Dustin, I’m talking to you! Go get her a pad!” Dustin looks even more sheepish. “I… I forgot it was that time of the month. I didn’t pack any.” Bess gasps. “How could you forget? You always remember when my period is! How did you forget Hannah’s?” My stomach twisted in another wave of pain. I remembered two weeks ago when Bess got her period. Dustin dragged me to the store, buying ten different brands of pads and tampons to stuff into her locker until it was practically overflowing. “Bess always borrows your stuff,” he had reasoned back then. “This way, she won’t have to take yours.” The next day was my birthday. He replaced the vinyl record he had promised me with a cheap, melted popsicle from the convenience store. “Sorry, Hannah,” he had whispered. “Buying all those supplies for Bess wiped out my allowance for the week. I’ll make it up to you when I save some cash, okay?” I had been hurt, but I couldn’t bear to make him feel bad. I put on a smile and let it go, just like he expected. After all, to them, I was always the soft, forgiving one. But Dustin used to keep my cycle saved in his calendar. He used to brew ginger tea for me before I even had to ask. When I was in pain, his eyes would well up with tears before mine did. When did I slip down his priority list, falling miles behind Bess? Realizing she misspoke, Bess quickly slaps her own mouth. “Hannah, don’t be mad. Dustin only looks out for me because of you. I’ll kick his butt for forgetting your stuff!” She reaches out to swat him, but Dustin grabs her wrist. “Stop messing around. Is your hand still blistered from the water yesterday?” He turned back to her. “I made breakfast. Go eat. I need to talk to Hannah.” Bess pouts, looking back at us three times before finally walking away. Once she’s gone, Dustin sighed. “Hannah, you’ve been upset this whole trip. Is it because Bess and I are going to Emory, leaving you here at State?” I said nothing. He continued his defense. “We talked about this. With your GPA, staying local is the best move. Besides, my mom loves you. Didn’t we agree we’d get married after college? If you stay here, you can visit her, help take care of her, and build a good relationship. It avoids any future mother-in-law drama. I’m thinking about our future.” He sounded so reasonable, so self-righteous. I wanted to laugh. He came from a single-parent home, and his mother had been bedridden for years. Every time I visited his house, I brought bags of groceries and expensive supplements. When he was busy studying, I was the one bathing his mother and changing her sheets. So that’s why he wanted me to stay behind. To be a built-in nurse. I interrupted his speech. “Did you make me breakfast?” Dustin choked on his words, stammering, “I… I thought you brought your own supplies, so I didn’t… and Bess didn’t bring anything, so I had to…” I closed my eyes, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat. “I sent you the updated trail map and itinerary,” I said coldly. “Give it to the guide to double-check.” Seeing how pale my lips were from the pain, Dustin quickly nodded. “Okay, Hannah. Wait for me, I’ll go boil some water for your stomach.” He ran off. But he didn’t return until camp was fully packed and we were ready to move. “Sorry,” he said, handing me a lukewarm thermos. “Emory sent over some pre-enrollment placement materials, and Bess was begging me to explain the math section to her. It took a few minutes.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it.” Maybe my cold tone bruised his ego. Usually, I’m the one who coos over him and softens first. Dustin scoffed, throwing the thermos at me. “Hannah, can you stop throwing tantrums for once in your life?” The heavy metal thermos hit my forearm, and I let out a sharp gasp of pain. I watched him walk away, catching up with Bess. They laughed and shoved each other as they walked down the trail. The boy I’ve loved for years, and my best friend. Left behind. Again. This time, I don’t flood Dustin’s phone with texts asking why he didn’t wait for me. I don’t complain to Bess about how thoughtless he’s being. I simply unpin both of their contacts from the top of my messages. When we’re about two-thirds through the hike, I notice something is wrong. I walk up to Dustin. “Why aren’t we on the path I mapped out?” Because we’re friends with the guide, Dustin and I volunteered to help manage the group. My job was navigation. But we’ve been walking for three hours since the last camp, and the terrain is completely wrong. We’re off-course. If we don’t stick to the trail, we’ll miss the designated supply station, and everyone will run out of water. Bess, oblivious to the danger, smiled. “Oh, I heard there’s a gorgeous wild lavender field near here, and I really wanted to see it. I asked Dustin to take a little detour.” I frowned. “No. Absolutely not.” Dustin stepped in front of Bess. “Hannah, high school is over. Can you stop being such a control freak? Bess just wanted to see the flowers. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Bess looked down, her voice trembling. “Hannah, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” I looked straight at Dustin. “Explain it to the guide yourself.” I walked back to sit with the quiet girl from earlier. Two hours later, there was no lavender field. We were deeply lost. With supplies running low, tempers flared. “Who the hell wanted to see lavender anyway?” “Exactly! We’re out of water and we’re looking at flowers? Are you kidding me?” “Guide, I can’t go any further. I need to stop.” As hikers began collapsing onto the dirt, the guide had no choice but to call for an emergency rest stop. Then, the sky opened up. A sudden, violent mountain downpour. The ground began to shake, mud and rocks sliding down the steep slope above us. A landslide. “Run!” I screamed. “Landslide! Get to high ground!” A massive wave of yellow mud and debris crashed down the slope, fracturing our group. I looked wildly for Dustin and Bess. Suddenly, a hard shoulder slammed into me, throwing me to the muddy ground. It was Dustin. Without a single glance back, he scooped Bess into his arms and sprinted toward the safe ridge. I screamed his name, my voice cracking through the rain. He paused for a fraction of a second. But he didn’t turn back. The torrential rain blinded me. A massive boulder loose from the ridge was hurtling directly toward me. There was no time to move. I looked at his retreating figure, blurrier by the second, and closed my eyes… When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the blinding white of a hospital ceiling. Dustin was sitting by my bedside. The first words out of his mouth made my chest feel hollow. “Hannah, this has turned into a massive mess. The local news is here.” “Bess’s family doesn’t have the kind of connections yours does. You need to take the blame for the navigation error.” “Bess is traumatized. I bought two tickets to Thailand so we can go clear our heads. Just be a good girl, okay? Wait for me to get back.” Before I could answer, he opened the door and let the press in. “The person responsible for the hike has regained consciousness. You can go in.” Flashbulbs popped, and a wave of aggressive questions buried me. But as Dustin walked out, I whispered, “Dustin, we’re done. It’s over.” He didn’t even pause. He shielded Bess with his arm and hurried down the corridor. The next day, my mother, who lived out of state, saw the news. She immediately arranged for a private medical transport to pick me up. When the door to my room opened, I gasped. “What are you doing here?”

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I was officially the laziest actress in the industry. The tabloids loved to hate me; out of every ten behind-the-scenes clips leaked from my movie sets, nine of them showed me curled up somewhere, fast asleep. When I got dragged onto a rustic farming reality show, I spent the entire time masterfully avoiding any actual labor. The internet had dragged me onto the trending topics more times than I could count. [This girl has zero work ethic. Kick her out of Hollywood already.] [Rumor has it she had a kid with some seventy-something billionaire, but he kicked the bucket before she could even secure a prenup settlement.] [Yep, someone analyzed her kid’s profile. He looks exactly like the late Mr. Abernathy.] That was my life until I finally dragged my absolute terror of a son onto a parenting reality show. The live stream had barely started when he snatched every toy in sight and smashed three expensive production cameras. Before I could even open my mouth to discipline him, he pulled his usual stunt, turning on the tears to make himself the victim. “It’s only because you never let me play with toys at home! I couldn’t help it…” “Nobody loves me at home, and now you won’t even pretend for the cameras?” “Are you going to hit me in front of everyone? Is that it?” Staring at his familiar little theatrical routine, I let out a long, weary sigh. “You smashed your grandfather’s nine-figure antique Ming vase, and used a multi-million-dollar Monet sketch as scratch paper.” “Your grandmother has a heart condition and needed her nap, yet you blasted monotone Gregorian chants on a loop right in her ear.” “Your dad was rushing to catch an international flight, and the second he cleared airport security, he opened his carry-on to find you’d swapped his clothes for live goldfish from our backyard pond.” “And this morning, before we left, you squeezed a whole tube of mint toothpaste into my breakfast sandwich.” “Milo, tell me—does a kid like you really not deserve a time-out?” If his father weren’t ridiculously wealthy and competent, this little terror would have bankrupted me ten times over. … “Milo, if you climb over my shoulders one more time, I swear I’m tossing you out the window.” Our luxury van was gliding smoothly toward the filming location for Growing Up Together, a parenting reality show. Today’s shoot was hosted at the home of my arch-rival, Celine. My six-year-old son was currently treating me like a human jungle gym, scaling my torso for his eighteenth successful summit of the afternoon. “You’re lying, Mommy. This is the interstate. Littering is a heavy fine,” Milo retorted in his sweet, baby-pure voice, pressing his tiny thumb directly into my temple. I could feel a vein throbbing in my forehead. From the front passenger seat, my manager, Theresa, turned around. “Deborah, you’re trending again because of the kid’s mystery dad.” She shook her head. “If these people actually knew who you married, their jaws would drop. Half of Hollywood’s distribution and media networks are literally under his name.” I casually scrolled through my phone. Sure enough, someone had just posted a thread claiming my debut was funded by an ancient sugar daddy. They mocked me, alleging that after I got pregnant, the old guy died and left me penniless. The moment the van pulled up to the filming villa and the doors slid open, Milo launched himself out like a heat-seeking missile. Two other families had already arrived. Celine, America’s sweetheart and my resident nemesis, was gently holding her son Parker’s hand. The other group was Chelsea, a washed-up indie singer, with her quiet daughter, Lucy. The live comment feed erupted the second my face appeared on screen. [The Lazy Queen of Hollywood has arrived! How does she have the nerve to be on a parenting show? Does she even know how to mother?] [Five bucks says she finds a couch and passes out within ten minutes.] [Someone ask Deborah how old the baby daddy was! Is he officially in the grave?] I ignored the noise. My only goal was to find some shade and relax, but my son had other plans. Right as Celine was smiling warmly at the camera, explaining how remarkably mature and helpful her little Parker was, Milo charged. In one swift motion, he snatched the limited-edition Transformer right out of Parker’s hands, then swiped the porcelain doll Lucy was cradling. Both kids froze in shock before bursting into tears. Immediate chaos ensued. Milo wasn’t done. Brandishing his stolen loot, he tore through the courtyard. A cameraman tried to dodge but got clipped, tumbling to the ground. His high-end camera crashed onto the concrete, the lens shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. Then Milo pivoted toward a heavy jib camera, grabbing the loose cables and swinging from them like Tarzan. Creeeak—crack! Camera number two went dead. Our director, Director Moore, looked like he was about to have a stroke; his face was a deep, mottled purple. The comments were going ballistic. Celine immediately dropped to her knees, pulling a sobbing Parker into her arms. “Deborah, I know boys will be boys, but you can’t just let him run wild like this,” she said, her voice dripping with maternal concern, though her eyes danced with absolute glee. “Oh dear, what are we going to do? Director Moore’s gear is imported and incredibly expensive. You…” She trailed off, heavily implying I couldn’t afford the bill. She glanced at my calm expression, pretending to be deeply worried on my behalf. “Director Moore, let me cover the damages for Milo. He’s just a child, but as parents, we have to take responsibility.” Director Moore gave me a hesitant look. The live chat was practically catching fire. [Celine is such a class act! Look at Deborah just standing there like a statue. Is she too embarrassed to speak?] [If you’re broke, just say so. Someone offers to pay your tab and you don’t even say thank you? Unbelievable.] [Whatever money she got from that dead old guy is probably running dry. No wonder she’s clutching her purse.] Before I could even open my mouth, Milo, the little drama king, executed a perfect slide-tackle onto the grass right in front of me, big fat tears instantly welling up in his eyes. “Mommy, it’s only because you never let me play with toys at home! That’s why I lost control… Nobody loves me at home. Are you not even going to pretend for the cameras? Are you going to hit me in front of all these people now?” With that single monologue, he successfully painted me as the ultimate wicked mother of the century. The live feed went into a total frenzy. [That poor baby! His natural instincts have been totally repressed. No wonder he snapped.] [I knew Deborah was trash! This is emotional abuse! Production needs to call Child Services!] [Honestly, I’m starting to believe those rumors. She kept the kid, but the dad is clearly… well, out of the picture. We all know how it goes.] Celine looked at me with deep, performative pity, stepping forward as if to shield Milo. “Deborah, he’s just a little boy. Don’t scare him. Let’s talk about this calmly.” She leaned in, dropping her voice so only I could hear. “And about the equipment… if you’re actually struggling financially, just let me know. I won’t make a scene.” I let out a dry laugh and took a step back from her cloying perfume. “Keep your charity, Celine. Go worry about your own kid.” I looked down at the little monster currently wrapping himself around my leg, wailing like he was being tortured, and exhaled a long, heavy sigh. “Milo,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the quiet lawn. “You smashed a nine-figure antique vase in your grandfather’s study, and used an original Monet sketch as drawing paper. Your grandmother needed her afternoon nap for her heart condition, and you blasted monotone Gregorian chants on a loop right next to her ear, nearly sending her to the emergency room. Your dad was rushing to catch an international flight, and the moment he cleared airport security, he realized you’d emptied his carry-on and replaced his entire wardrobe with live goldfish from our backyard pond. And this morning, before we even stepped out the front door, you squeezed an entire tube of mint toothpaste into my breakfast sandwich. So tell me, Milo—does a kid like you really not deserve a time-out?” With every sentence, Milo’s sobbing slowed, his theatrical little face freezing inch by inch. The comments section instantly flipped. [I take it back. If my kid did that, I’d ground him until he was thirty. Not even Jesus could save him.] [Suddenly, Deborah’s chronic fatigue makes complete sense. If I had to deal with this kid every day, I’d choose to be unconscious too.] [Wait, hold on. Is she just making up this crazy rich lifestyle to save face? It sounds like a bad movie script.] [Exactly. And pretending the dad is alive and wealthy? Did she find an even older, richer sugar daddy? Bold lie to tell on live TV. Grab the popcorn, guys, she’s going down.] Ignoring the swirling storm of skepticism, I calmly reached into my designer tote, pulled out a matte black card, and handed it directly to the director. “To cover the cameras. Keep the change.” Director Moore looked down, his hand freezing mid-air. Celine’s eyes darted to the card, and she let out a sharp gasp. “Deborah… is that a Centurion Black Card? How on earth did you get one of those?” Seeing her transparent shock, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Why? Am I not allowed to have one?” She was obviously dying to imply I’d slept my way into securing the black card from some anonymous old benefactor. But with millions watching live, she had to play nice. “Oh, nothing… I was just… surprised.” The chat was still spiraling, trying to dissect my connection to the ‘elderly billionaire’ I’d been photographed with months ago. What connection? He was my husband’s uncle. They shared genetics—of course they looked a bit alike. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my husband: This low-budget show is treating you like a punching bag. Want me to fly in and shut them up? I smiled faintly and typed back: No need. I brought our marriage certificate in my bag. I’ll blind them with it when the time is right. A pale Director Moore cleared his throat and waved his hand to resume filming. The first challenge was announced: “The Ultimate Scavenger Hunt.” The production crew had hidden ingredient cards all over the sprawling estate. Each family had to follow clues to find three cards, which would determine their dinner. “Alright, kids! Let’s find what we’re eating tonight!” the host cheered. Quiet little Lucy clutched her father’s hand tightly. Parker, on the other hand, puffing out his chest like a miniature gentleman, turned to Celine. “Mommy, you rest here. I’ll handle this.” Celine immediately flashed a touched, teary-eyed smile for the lens. “My sweet Parker is always so thoughtful. He’s been taking care of me since he was a toddler.” The live chat swooned. Beside me, Milo’s eyes glazed over for a split second before the mischief reignited in his chest. Completely ignoring the rules of the game, he started leaping over patio furniture and tearing through decorative planters. I didn’t bother chasing him. Instead, I strolled over to a cushioned chaise lounge in the shade, slipped on my silk sleep mask, and drifted off. In my world, sleep was the ultimate priority. [And there it is. Deborah’s signature move.] [Did she seriously just take a nap? Is she leaving her kid unsupervised?] [I know her son is a handful, but this level of checked-out parenting is wild.] I was just about to cross the threshold into deep sleep when Celine’s high-pitched shriek startled me so badly I nearly slipped off the lounge chair. “Milo! Oh my god, why are you digging up those imported Dutch tulips?!” I pushed up my sleep mask. My darling little terror was sitting in a freshly dug pit in the middle of Celine’s pristine flowerbeds, holding a plastic trowel. Parker was standing nearby, tears streaming down his face. “Mommy, I just told him he shouldn’t dig there… and he pushed me and destroyed the flowers!” Milo tossed the trowel aside, crossing his arms stubbornly. “He’s a liar! He told me to dig here! He said there was pirate gold buried under the roots!” “I did not!” Parker sobbed louder. “Did too!” Celine gathered her weeping son into her arms, shooting me a look of pure, icy condemnation. “Deborah, these tulips are incredibly rare. How am I supposed to explain this to my husband?” The comments were merciless: [Lol, Celine is basically asking: Can you even afford these?] [Deborah got caught slipping. Slack off all you want, but this is gonna cost her a fortune.] [This is so embarrassing. She should just pack up and leave the show.] Watching this overly dramatic display of maternal martyrdom, I felt a migraine coming on. I walked over to Milo and looked down at his dirt-streaked face. “Milo, look at me. Did he really tell you to dig here?” Milo nodded vigorously, his bottom lip trembling. “He did!” For all his chaotic energy, Milo never lied about his pranks. I turned to the crew, raising an eyebrow. “Director Moore, do me a favor. Pull the footage from the security camera pointing at this corner of the garden.” Celine’s expression shifted, the maternal warmth faltering for a fraction of a second. “Deborah, really? Are you saying you don’t trust my son—or me? It’s just kids playing. There’s no need to make a federal case out of it. Let’s not ruin the mood.” I completely ignored her, keeping my gaze fixed on the director. Moore hesitated. On one hand, he didn’t want to cause a rift on set; on the other, his phone suddenly buzzed with an incoming text. He looked at the screen, and his face instantly drained of color. “Bring over the playback monitor,” he barked. “Let’s see the footage.” Within seconds, the high-definition playback revealed the truth. Parker had pulled Milo over to the corner of the garden, pointed at the tulips, and whispered something about buried treasure. Then, he had physically handed Milo the trowel before stepping back to watch the destruction with a smug grin. The evidence was undeniable. A heavy silence fell over the lawn. Celine’s expression turned utterly rigid, while Parker’s eyes went wide as he realized he’d been caught. The live feed went wild. [Oh my god! Plot twist of the century! The angel child is actually a little schemer?] [Jesus, the kid definitely learned that from his mother. How can a six-year-old be that manipulative?] [You hit the nail on the head. Celine’s whole saintly mother routine is starting to look super fake.] I turned back to Celine, keeping my voice level and cool. “Still want an apology? Because from where I’m standing, your kid’s got some pretty impressive acting skills for his age.” Celine faltered, her body swaying slightly before she forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “It’s a misunderstanding… just a silly little joke. Parker didn’t mean any harm.” As she spoke, she subtly but sharply pinched her son’s arm under her cloak of comfort. Parker immediately wailed, tears cascading down his cheeks. “Mommy, I’m sorry! I just wanted to play treasure hunt with Milo! I didn’t know they were expensive flowers! I’m sorry, Milo!” The two of them deserved an Academy Award for their synchronized damage control. I let out a soft snort, not even bothering to call them out. Kneeling in the dirt, I brushed a stray curl off Milo’s forehead. The little terror was actually looking genuinely hurt for once, his eyes rimmed with red. “Alright, tough guy, drop the act. If you want to cry, just cry. No one’s going to tease you.” The moment the words left my mouth, Milo’s face puckered, and he let loose a siren-like sob that echoed off the hills. With practiced ease, I pulled a pair of noise-canceling earplugs from my pocket and popped them in. The production crew looked like they wanted to jump into a lake. The drama finally petered out when Milo cried himself to sleep on my shoulder, and the afternoon wrap-up was hastily cut short. By dinner, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. Thanks to Milo’s unscheduled gardening session, our sole bounty for the night was a single card labeled “Boiled Greens.” Celine’s table boasted a massive “Maine Lobster,” while Chelsea and her daughter had scored a thick “Ribeye Steak.” The lobster and sizzling steak sat proudly in the middle of the dining hall, while a pathetic bowl of unseasoned boiled kale sat in front of us. Milo, having finally woken up from his nap, stared at the feast next door, then down at our greens, his little face collapsing. Without a word, he slid off his chair and bolted toward the next table, his little hand reaching straight for Parker’s lobster tail. Celine snatched the plate away, her brow furrowing as she adopted her best lecturing tone. “Oh, Milo, sweetheart, we don’t grab. But then again, I suppose children from single-parent homes miss out on certain boundaries. It’s hard raising a boy without a father figure around.” She sounded like a concerned aunt, but her eyes were venomous, stabbing directly at my supposed status as a struggling single mother. Parker joined in, holding up a piece of meat. “I found this. You didn’t get one, so you can’t have any.” Milo’s cheeks flushed a furious crimson. “I am not! I have a dad! He’s super tall and handsome and rich!” Celine let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Deborah, dear, teaching children to lie isn’t a great habit. We all know how tough it is being a single mom, but feeding him fantasies just to protect his pride isn’t healthy.” Parker chimed in. “Liar! If your dad is rich, why are you eating grass?” Milo’s chin trembled, on the verge of another epic breakdown. But right before the waterworks started, the heavy French doors of the villa swung open. My personal assistant marched in, carrying a massive, insulated catering chest, followed by two professional chefs in crisp white coats. “Ma’am, your late dinner order has arrived,” my assistant announced calmly. The chests were popped open, revealing layers of shaved ice packed with giant King Crab legs, fresh Maine lobsters, and geoduck. I casually picked up a crab leg that was nearly the length of my forearm, turning it slowly in front of the primary camera lens. “My husband was worried his son wasn’t getting enough protein,” I said smoothly. Milo’s tears vanished instantly as he grabbed a massive lobster claw and began happily gnawing on it. The comments immediately caught fire. [She is putting on such a show. There is no husband. She’s just a mistress trying to save face.] [The paparazzi have literally never caught her with a man. She’s building a fake persona for the show.] [If he actually exists, show us! Stop hiding him behind catering boxes.] Right on cue, a deep, rhythmic thrumming echoed from the clouds. A sleek, private helicopter descended over the resort’s manicured lawns, its blades whipping up a mini-tempest. The cabin door opened, and a man walked out—a man whose face was usually reserved for the covers of Forbes and the Wall Street Journal. He squinted against the sun, his eyes locked onto our table. “Who said you could talk down to my family?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538974”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel