Author: Momo Chan

Whenever Victoria does interviews, she loves to smile and tell the press that I’m the man behind her success. She says it’s my unwavering support that allowed her to become the undisputed queen of corporate law. And I’ve just spent the last six months negotiating the final pieces of her biggest triumph yet—a massive, multi-billion-dollar cross-border merger. Once the ink on this contract dries, Shaw Legal will officially secure its place among the global elite. I was heading to the airport, folders of final merger documents tucked under my arm, preparing to board my family’s private jet to fly to Wall Street for the signing. But I was stopped right at the boarding gate. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hayden,” the gate agent said, looking down at her tablet. “Ms. Shaw gave explicit instructions. Today’s flight is reserved for the young master and Mr. Ward’s vacation to Switzerland. No outsiders are permitted on board.” Outsiders. The word struck my ears like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily speechless. Through the glass door of the VIP lounge, I saw Victoria sitting inside. She was holding a little boy, about three years old, in her lap. Sitting right next to her was Adrian Ward—her college sweetheart, the one who had walked away years ago. The child was snuggled deeply into her chest, his tiny fingers clutching her lapel. He held her with an ease that suggested he had been carried this way since the day he was born. “Mommy, Daddy said we’re going to fly on the giant plane to see the snow!” Victoria didn’t correct his choice of words. Instead, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. The tenderness in her expression was entirely foreign to me. “That’s right, sweetie. Are you excited?” The three of them leaned in close, forming a picture-perfect family portrait. I watched them for a long, quiet moment. Finally, a soft, dry laugh slipped past my lips, and I pulled out my phone to dial my personal attorney. “I need you to pull up every authorization, funding agreement, and power of attorney I’ve signed over to Victoria Shaw and Shaw Legal over the last ten years.” If she truly believed she had built this empire entirely on her own strength. Then I would gladly tear up the road I had spent a decade paving for her. … The voice on the other end of the line faltered, audibly stunned. “Mr. Hayden, what… what is happening?” I didn’t offer an explanation. I only added in a cold, level voice: “And one more thing. Freeze the flight path for my private jet immediately.” The second I hung up, a wave of commotion broke out inside the VIP lounge. The pilot walked quickly over to Victoria, bowing his head apologetically. “Ms. Shaw, I’m terribly sorry, but the flight path has been suddenly frozen. We cannot take off today. I’m waiting for further instructions…” Victoria’s gaze finally drifted away from Adrian and the boy. She looked up, and her eyes met mine through the glass. A flash of genuine delight washed over her face, and she quickly rose, walking toward me. For one absurd, fleeting second, my mind tried to rationalize the scene. I wanted to believe it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But the domestic tableau remaining behind her in the lounge anchored me to the reality of the betrayal. “Joseph! What are you doing here?” She reached out, attempting to wrap her arms around me as she always had. I took a quiet, deliberate step backward, letting her arms fall through empty air. “Why is that child calling you Mommy?” The easy smile on Victoria’s face stiffened. Her brow furrowed, her eyes reflecting nothing but irritation and confusion. “Joseph, please. That’s Adrian’s son, Toby.” “Adrian’s wife passed away recently, and Toby is so young to be without a mother. I only wanted to give him a bit of warmth so his childhood wouldn’t feel so empty.” She softened her tone, stepping closer, speaking to me as if she were coaxing a stubborn child. “You’ve always been the most generous, compassionate man I know. I knew you’d understand, right?” Before I could respond, a flight attendant approached us. “Ms. Shaw, the master bedroom on board has been completely remodeled. It’s now the young master’s private playroom.” “We followed the exact specifications sent over by your firm’s administrative director. I hope you find it to your liking.” My fingers clenched around the folder in my hand, the paper crumpling under my grip. That jet had been left to me by my father. Every piece of custom furniture in that master bedroom had been personally used by him before he passed. Years ago, because of my stubborn refusal to stop funding Victoria’s ambitions, my father had stripped me of my inheritance at Hayden Enterprises. Since then, that cabin was the only place left on earth where I could still feel his presence, surrounded by the things he loved. Yet Victoria hadn’t even bothered to ask before gutting it to build a playroom for Adrian’s son. She simply gave the flight attendant a brief, indifferent nod, as though the destroyed pieces of my father’s memory were nothing more than eyesores she had finally cleared away. Then she turned back to me, her voice tinged with a mild, exhausting sigh. “Joseph, Adrian is going through such a difficult time. He’s trying to raise a toddler alone while attempting to rebuild his career from scratch.” “We’ve all known each other for so long. Helping him out a little is only natural, isn’t it?” I took a slow, deep breath, but my chest felt so tight it ached. Helping him out? To the point where the entire staff of her firm was instructed to call this child ‘the young master’? Adrian walked out of the lounge, cradling Toby in his arms. He wore an expression of perfect, fragile contrition. “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Are we… are we causing a fight between you two?” Toby reached his small arms out toward Victoria. “Mommy! Carry me!” Without a single second of hesitation, Victoria took the boy into her arms, her touch incredibly gentle. They stood shoulder to shoulder—peaceful, harmonious, complete. And I stood opposite them, a stranger who had overstayed his welcome in his own life. The pilot walked out to join us. “Ms. Shaw, we’ve received updated clearance. The jet’s flight path has been modified. We are cleared to fly to New York.” Victoria blinked, a sudden look of triumph lighting up her face. “Joseph, the merger papers—you got them signed?” Without waiting for me to answer, she immediately turned to Adrian, her voice soft and endlessly patient. “Adrian, we have to make a quick detour to New York for a very important contract signing.” “Once we finish there, we’ll fly straight to the Swiss Alps so Toby can see the snow, okay?” With that, she turned, carrying the boy toward the shuttle bus on the tarmac. Only when she reached the doors did she look back, offering a bright, effortless smile. “Joseph, Adrian, come on! Hurry up!” Her tone was so natural, so utterly convinced that I existed solely to sweep away her obstacles and facilitate her life. Adrian offered her a small smile, then paused beside me, keeping his voice incredibly low. “You see it too, don’t you, Joseph?” “Victoria is always so exhausted when she’s with you. Around you, she has to be the partner—cold, powerful, never allowed to make a mistake.” “But with Toby and me, she actually gets to be a woman.” I let out a quiet, hollow laugh. Exhausted. Ten years ago, a tearful Victoria had sat in my apartment, pouring out her grand ambitions, her desperate hunger to prove herself. I hadn’t hesitated for a single second. I gave her everything I had. To secure the capital for her startup, I knelt outside my father’s study for three days and three nights. I begged him to divert Hayden Group resources to her fledgling firm. My father’s face had turned ash-gray with fury, his hand trembling as he pointed at me. “Joseph, are you throwing away basic business logic for a woman?” “Fine. If you’re going to be this stubborn, you are no longer the heir to this family!” I traded my birthright, my future, just to give her the leverage she needed. At the time, she had clung to me, sobbing against my chest. “Joseph, I’ll make them see. I’ll build an empire so great the Hayden family will have to admit you didn’t choose wrong!” And now, Adrian was telling me she was too tired around me. By the time my mind drifted back to the present, I had already been pulled onto the jet. Toby saw me, shrinking back into Victoria’s embrace. “Mommy, that uncle looks mean. I don’t like him.” With a cold expression, I turned on my heel and walked toward the restroom. Adrian followed, shutting the door behind him. “Are you still lying to yourself, Joseph?” “Deep down, Victoria has only ever loved me. You were nothing but a convenient stepping stone.” “Do you honestly believe she stayed with you all these years out of love?” “Do you remember that night she got drunk during the conference? She called me to her hotel room…” The blood rushed to my head, and I spun around, my voice a low, lethal snarl. “Shut up.” The door was pushed open, and Victoria immediately stepped inside, physically putting herself between Adrian and me. “Joseph! What is wrong with you? Adrian is dealing with enough trauma right now, and you’re acting like a jealous child over nothing! Do you have even a shred of basic empathy left?” I looked at her, and a profound, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. I nodded slowly, my voice sounding so cold it surprised even me. “You’re right. I have no empathy. I’m the bad guy.” Without another word, I pushed past them, walked into the small restroom compartment, and pulled out my satellite phone. “Are the documents finalized?” “Yes, Mr. Hayden. Everything is prepared.” “Good. As of this moment, revoke every single authorization, license, and asset transfer under my name associated with Victoria Shaw and Shaw Legal.” When I stepped back into the cabin, the three of them were sitting close together. They were laughing, sharing a quiet, domestic warmth, as if my brief outburst had never happened. Adrian gestured toward the leather armchair across from him, his tone effortlessly polite. “Grab a seat, Joseph. Don’t be polite.” He spoke as though he were the host, and this was his living room. Victoria held Toby, a soft smile lingering on her lips. She looked up at me, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, Joseph, about this merger signing… I’ve decided to let Adrian act as the lead counsel.” “He was a brilliant international corporate attorney before his setback. This merger is exactly what he needs to rebuild his reputation and get back into the field.” Lead counsel. I had literally just revoked the entire deal. There was no merger left for anyone to lead. I nodded calmly. “Sure.” Victoria’s brow pinched. “Joseph, what is that supposed to mean?” I looked her dead in the eye. “Using a man who was disbarred two years ago for corporate bribery to head a multi-billion-dollar international acquisition.” “Victoria, is this really how you handle your fiduciary duty to your firm?” Adrian’s eyes immediately welled with tears. He lowered his head, his voice cracking slightly. “Victoria, forget it. Joseph doesn’t want me here. I’ll step down.” “I don’t want to be the reason you two fight.” I had no desire to watch him perform. I walked over to a corner sofa, sat down, and closed my eyes. The temperature in Victoria’s voice plummeted. “Joseph, when did you become so incredibly petty? You honestly disgust me.” Toby began whimpering. “Mommy, is Daddy not allowed to work anymore?” Victoria quickly hushed him, her voice dripping with sweetness. “No, sweetie, Daddy is going to work. Mommy has the final say here.” Then she turned her frigid glare back to me. “Joseph, you already have everything. Can’t you just let him have this one victory?” I opened my eyes, staring at her blankly. “What exactly do I have, Victoria?” “A forfeited inheritance?” “A law license that was suspended for two years because I took the fall for your firm’s compliance scandal?” “Or the fact that I wasn’t even there to hold my father’s hand when he died because I was halfway across the world fixing your mess?” Victoria’s face drained of color for a brief fraction of a second. “Joseph, I… I haven’t forgotten those things.” “But right now, Adrian needs the help more.” So she hadn’t forgotten. She remembered exactly what I had lost. She knew the exact depth of my sacrifices. It was just that none of it mattered compared to Adrian’s fragile ego. In that exact moment, whatever flickering ember of affection I had left for her died completely. But then, a violent, tearing pain exploded in my stomach. For years, I had run myself ragged keeping Shaw Legal afloat. There were months where I lived on nothing but black coffee and adrenaline. Over time, it had eroded my stomach, leaving me with a severe, chronic ulcer. The spasm hit me now with a vicious intensity, like a fist grabbing my internal organs and twisting. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead, and my breathing grew shallow and ragged. I pressed a hand hard against my abdomen and rasped toward the flight attendant in the forward galley. “Go to the medical bay… grab my medication…” The flight attendant stepped forward, her face twisted in a look of sheer awkwardness. “Mr. Hayden, I’m so sorry… Ms. Shaw had the medical bay cleared out. It was converted into Mr. Ward’s walk-in closet for his suits.” My head snapped up, staring at Victoria in absolute disbelief. She was the one who had insisted on installing that medical bay in the first place, terrified of my sudden flare-ups. She knew exactly how dangerous my condition was. Victoria’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before she recovered her defensive armor. “Joseph, the flight is only a few hours. Just push through it.” I stared at her, my mind flashing back to a night years ago. She had held my hands, tears streaming down her face as she pressed a bottle of pills into my palm, swearing she would never let me suffer like that again. A sudden, warm rush of fluid surged up my throat. The world went dark around the edges. I doubled over. A thick spray of dark crimson splattered across the light gray carpet. The flight attendant shrieked. “Mr. Hayden! Oh my god!” She spun toward Victoria, her voice trembling with panic. “Ms. Shaw, Mr. Hayden is throwing up blood. We need to contact air traffic control immediately and request an emergency landing!” But Victoria merely stared down at me, her expression hardening into profound disappointment. “Joseph, is this how low you’re willing to go? Throwing up fake blood just to keep Adrian from getting this signing?” I was in too much agony to speak, my body curling into a tight, trembling ball on the floor. Victoria stepped closer, a bitter sneer on her lips. “The last time you had a stomach hemorrhage, the blood was dark, almost black. This is bright red.” “And it just happens to flare up the exact moment I hand Adrian the lead counsel position.” “You really disappoint me, Joseph.” Adrian stood up, his voice filled with a beautifully calculated panic. “Victoria, look at him, he’s coughing up blood. Don’t push him anymore.” Toby buried his face in Victoria’s chest, crying loudly. “Mommy, I’m scared!” Victoria’s eyes grew completely dead. “Joseph, cut the act. You’re terrifying Toby!” I lay there, clutching my stomach, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Victoria turned to the flight attendant, her voice clipped and cold. “Drag Mr. Hayden into the utility hold so he can rest. Don’t let him stay out here and traumatize the child.” The flight attendant hesitated, looking down at me with pure dread. “Ms. Shaw…” Adrian stepped up, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Let me help you.” He reached down, grabbing my arm to hoist me up. To anyone else, it looked like a supportive lift. But his fingers dug deep, hard, directly into my agonizingly tender stomach. A spasm of pure agony racked my body, but I didn’t even have the breath left to scream. With the flight attendant holding my other side, they dragged my dead weight down the narrow corridor and poured me onto the floor of the dark utility hold. The pain in my abdomen was a white-hot knife, twisting over and over. Once we were inside the small room, Adrian turned to the flight attendant with a gentle, soothing tone. “I’ve got him from here. Go back and check on Toby; the poor thing was terrified.” The attendant hesitated for a second, then nodded and slipped out. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the warmth drained from Adrian’s face, replaced by a cold, sharp sneer. He knelt down in front of me, letting out a soft, amused chuckle. “Look at you, Joseph. Victoria herself ordered you to be locked in here.” I forced my eyelids open, staring up at him through a haze of tears and sweat. He slowly straightened the cuffs of his expensive shirt. “You really are pathetic. The great, powerful heir to the Hayden fortune, reduced to a dog on the floor all for a woman.” “And now she can’t even bear to look at you.” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Honestly, if you were to just slip away in here, it would make things so much easier for everyone.” “Victoria would finally be free of the guilt of holding you back.” “And Toby would officially have a mother, inheriting the multi-billion-dollar empire you built for her.” I glared at him, my throat burning as I choked out three words. “Don’t… flat… ter yourself.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed my shoulders and hauled my upper body up, forcing me head-down over a low storage chair. The sudden gravity sent the blood from my stomach rushing directly up my esophagus. Within seconds, my trachea filled with thick, metallic fluid. My eyes widened in terror as I tried to inhale, but only drew more blood into my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. Adrian smiled, thoroughly satisfied. “Save your strength, Joseph. No one out there is coming for you.” He turned on his heel, walked out, and I heard the heavy deadbolt click into place from the outside. For the rest of the flight, Victoria never once checked on me. She was busy helping Toby build a Lego set, feeding him slices of fresh fruit. She was whispering quiet, intimate jokes with Adrian. The bright, happy sounds of the child’s laughter drifted through the thin gaps of the utility door. They were loud. Piercingly loud. When the plane finally touched down, the cabin doors opened. The three of them walked down the steps together. Not a single person asked where Joseph Hayden was. The moment Victoria stepped onto the tarmac, she turned her phone back on. Within seconds, her screen lit up with an avalanche of urgent messages and missed calls. “Ms. Shaw, all of the firm’s bank accounts have been frozen!” “Ms. Shaw, four of our anchor clients just sent over immediate termination notices!” “Ms. Shaw, federal investigators are at the office with a warrant regarding Adrian Ward’s fraud case from three years ago.” “Ms. Shaw…” The color drained from Victoria’s face, leaving her entirely hollow.

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I spent five years chasing Beck King, and he had finally agreed to marry me. But on our very last anniversary before the wedding, he showed up an hour late, holding a marriage certificate with Claire. “Iris, Claire has severe schizophrenia,” he said, his voice entirely too calm, too rational. “Just bear with her for a little while.” I didn’t say a word. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a velvet box, and opened it. Inside was a brilliant blue sapphire necklace. “Our wedding is still on, Iris. Nothing changes. I bought this for you. I know how much you wanted it.” My eyes drifted past him, landing on Claire, who was standing just a few feet away. Right there, around her neck, was the exact same blue sapphire necklace. Beck didn’t understand. A divided heart is a broken thing. It never ends well. Right then and there, I decided to leave him and go far away. Six months later, Beck finally remembered my existence. He called me. “Iris, stop acting out. Come home and marry me.” But at that exact moment, I was standing in a white dress, holding my new husband’s hand. I heard that later, Beck lost his mind. … When Beck placed the sapphire necklace before me, the murmur of the crowd in the ballroom swelled. It was a multi-million-dollar piece, the kind of jewelry that made people gasp. The fact that Beck was handing it over so casually seemed, to everyone else, like the ultimate proof of my victory. “Look at that. Beck really does adore her. I heard he outbid everyone at the charity auction just to get it.” “He did say it was meant for the woman he loved.” The whispers drifted through the warm, expensive air of the lounge, settling over me like a suffocating blanket. Everyone was watching, waiting for my reaction. But I didn’t move. I didn’t reach out to touch the velvet box, nor did I look at the deep blue stone catching the chandelier light. I just looked at him. The silence stretched too long, and the whispers turned sharp. “What is she doing?” “Iris has been chasing him for five years. She’s basically been his shadow. Everyone knows she’d do anything for him.” “And now he’s proposing, and she’s just standing there?” “Maybe she’s trying to play hard to get.” “That’s the problem with giving a woman too much. She starts thinking she’s the one in charge.” Someone let out a quiet, mocking laugh. “If you ask me, she has a right to be pissed. Beck made her wait in this lobby for an hour on their anniversary, and he spent that hour getting legally married to Claire.” “Yeah, that’s a pretty loud slap in the face.” “Even a lovesick puppy has some pride.” Beck must have caught those words. I watched his fingers twitch as he instinctively tried to push the marriage certificate deeper into his breast pocket, trying to shield his betrayal from the light. But when he met my cold, unyielding gaze, he realized he couldn’t hide it anymore. He cleared his throat, stepping closer to lower his voice. “Iris, Claire’s been in a terrible place since her divorce. Her schizophrenia has gotten severe. She’s having delusions, thinking I’m her ex-husband. The doctors said if I didn’t play along, she might hurt herself. I only signed the papers to keep her stable.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a persuasive whisper. “We’re completely platonic, I swear. Nothing happened. I’ll handle the divorce before our actual wedding day. You’ve loved me for so long, Iris. Surely you have the grace to understand this?” Before I could answer, his friends stepped in, eager to smooth things over for him. “Come on, Iris, Beck’s just trying to do the right thing.” “Yeah, he’s basically doing a charity deed. Don’t be difficult.” “You guys have been together for five years. You’re not going to throw away a lifetime of love over a sick girl, are you?” I remained silent. The easy, confident smile on Beck’s face slowly began to curdle. After five years, I knew every line on his face. I knew that slight tightening of his jaw meant he was losing his temper. He was annoyed that I was making him look bad in front of his peers. Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, his best friend lost his patience entirely, scoffing openly. “Iris, be smart. Take the necklace and let it go. Don’t ruin his night.” They spoke in chorus, their voices a united front of condescension. None of them cared about my humiliation. None of them thought Beck had done anything wrong. In their eyes, because I had spent five years earning his affection, I had volunteered for this treatment. I had volunteered to be second best. I looked past Beck’s shoulder at Claire. She was standing near the entrance, her chin tilted up, wearing the exact same sapphire necklace. And suddenly, the exhaustion hit me. It was a physical weight, settling deep into my bones. This entire relationship felt incredibly cheap. Under the watchful, mocking eyes of the room, I ignored Beck’s outstretched hand. I reached out, took the velvet box, and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Five years of devotion, discarded in a single, quiet second. The dim light of the hallway hid the stinging redness in my eyes as I looked at him, my voice steady and cold. “Beck, we’re done.” By the time I walked out of the venue, a light snow had begun to fall. The cold flakes melted against my cheeks, shocking me back to reality. I got into a cab and pulled out my phone to call my brother, Declan. Our parents spent most of their time overseas managing the family business, so Declan had practically raised me. When I told him I was coming back home to Boston, I could hear the immediate relief in his voice. “I’m booking your flight right now,” Declan said. “It’s only a couple of hours. I’ll be waiting for you at Logan tomorrow morning.” “Thanks, Dec,” I murmured. My voice must have sounded thin, because he paused. “Iris… did Beck do something?” Declan had been against the relationship from the very beginning. He believed that a man who let a woman chase him for five years was a man who would never know how to cherish her. He saw how Beck treated my affection as a given, a commodity he could draw upon whenever he pleased. Back then, I was too blinded by my own hope to listen. I thought if I just loved him hard enough, he would eventually see me. Now, the irony of it was bitter. I had spent my youth on a man who didn’t respect me, but at least I was stopping now. I was cutting the cord before I sank any deeper. “You’re doing the right thing,” Declan said softly, sensing my quiet grief. “He never deserved you anyway. Let the trash stay in the past. When you get back, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. A proper setup. You deserve to be cherished, Iris.” When I got back to the apartment, I started packing. I gathered all of Beck’s things. They were expensive—designer watches, Italian leather shoes, bespoke suits. I didn’t want them in my space, but throwing them in the garbage felt like invited drama. I decided the cleanest way to handle it was to hand them back directly. I called him, but the line just rang out. I hated loose ends, so I took a deep breath, loaded the bags into a cab, and drove back to the venue. The party was still going. Beck hadn’t left. In fact, he didn’t look like a man whose fiancée had just walked out on him. He was standing in the center of the private lounge, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing with his friends. I reached for the doorknob, but stopped when I heard my name. “Iris actually leave me?” Beck’s voice drifted through the gap in the door, dripping with arrogance. “Please. She’s been obsessed with me for five years. She’d tolerate a lot worse than this. She’s just throwing a tantrum because she’s embarrassed. I’ll buy her a nice dinner tomorrow, and she’ll be begging for my forgiveness.” He took a sip of his drink, his laughter echoing. One of his friends grinned. “So you really do like her, huh? I’ve never seen you bother to apologize to anyone.” Beck scoffed. “Like her? You guys don’t get it.” He leaned in, his voice taking on a locker-room cadence that made my stomach turn. “She looks like a pure, innocent girl on the outside, but she’s incredibly submissive in bed. She does whatever I want. A girl that obedient is hard to find. It makes my life so easy.” The room erupted into crude laughter. “I thought you liked girls with a bit of a bite, Beck. You’ve been playing with this sweet girl for so long, aren’t you bored?” “Yeah, especially now that Claire’s back and you guys are legally married. Why don’t you just keep both?” Beck chuckled. “If Claire weren’t so unstable, maybe. But Iris is clean, she looks good on my arm, and most importantly, she stays quiet when I’m busy.” “Busy? Like those frequent check-ins at the hotel downtown?” Beck didn’t deny it. He just offered a knowing smirk and drained his glass. “A man needs variety. Iris is sweet, but she can be incredibly boring.” The laughter that followed felt like physical blows. Every word was a knife, carving away the last remnants of my foolish hope. My five years of patience, my quiet accommodation of his moods, my love—it was all just a joke to him. A convenience. I looked down at the bags in my hands. “Thank you, Beck,” I thought, the tears finally spilling over my cold cheeks. “Thank you for making this so easy to walk away from.” I didn’t open the door. Instead, I walked down to the lobby, scheduled a courier to deliver his bags to his penthouse, and left. While packing the last of my things at the apartment, I found the ring he had given me. I remembered how happy I had been the day he slipped it onto my finger. But later, when Claire had returned from abroad and saw it, she had smiled a cold, mocking smile. “Oh, Iris. You actually wear that?” she had said. “Beck bought that for me years ago. He was going to propose, but I chose Paris instead. I’m glad it’s not going to waste, though.” At the time, I had made excuses for him. I had told myself it didn’t matter because he was with me now. But my endless capacity for forgiveness had only taught him that my boundaries didn’t exist. I tossed the ring into the box with his other jewelry, sealed it, and handed it to the courier. Shortly after the courier left, the apartment doorbell rang. When I opened it, a heavily intoxicated Beck was leaning against the doorframe, supported by Claire. “Iris, he’s drunk,” Claire said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I brought him back. And please, don’t be mad about the marriage license. I had an episode because I heard you two were getting married. Beck only did it to keep me safe. We’re just friends, I promise.” I looked at her. Her small, triumphant smile was entirely visible beneath her feigned concern. If she truly cared about my feelings, she wouldn’t have brought a drunk man to my door in the middle of the night. I didn’t move to take Beck from her. I just stood there, blocking the doorway. Claire struggled under his weight. “Beck, wake up. I brought you to Iris. I’m going to go now.” Beck mumbled, his arms tightening around Claire’s waist. “Don’t go, Claire… stay with me. I don’t want to be with Iris. She said we’re done anyway. Let her go. She’ll come crawling back to apologize tomorrow anyway. She loves me too much.” He was right. I had loved him too much. But that person didn’t exist anymore. As I began to close the door, Beck’s hand shot out, catching the frame. His eyes flared with a sudden, ugly flash of sober anger. “Iris, are you really doing this? You’re actually breaking up with me?” I nodded. “I’m not joking, Beck. Your things have been sent to your place. We’re done.” He stared at me, shocked by the finality in my voice. “Fine!” he snapped, his pride reasserting itself. “Break up. But don’t you dare regret it, Iris. Because once you walk away, there’s no coming back.” I didn’t answer. I just shut the door.

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For three years, my life had revolved around my mother’s hospital bed. Today, as I was wiping her down with a warm, damp cloth—just as I did every Saturday morning—she suddenly looked up at me, her expression hardening into a cold, unfamiliar mask. “You’re quite the actress, aren’t you, Lauren?” she said, her voice dripping with venom. I froze, the washcloth dripping onto the linoleum floor. “What?” “Don’t act dumb. You think I don’t know why you’re playing the dutiful daughter? You just want everyone to praise you, and you want a cut of my estate.” She let out a dry, rasping laugh. “Well, don’t even dream about it. I’ve already had my will notarized. My two houses are going to your sister and your brother. You get nothing.” A cold numbness spread from my chest to my fingertips. For thirty-six months, I had given up my weekends to care for her. On weekdays, I rushed to the clinic after work, barely having time to breathe. I paid for her private nurses, her medications, her co-pays, and her specialized meals entirely out of my own pocket. I had done it out of love, believing that she would eventually see my devotion. Instead, she saw a performance. I thought about the social media posts I had scrolled past on my phone just minutes before entering her room. My older sister, Clara, was posting photos of a beachside dinner in Hawaii. My younger brother, Austin, was sharing videos of his family splashing around at a resort in Orlando. While they chased the sun, I was knee-deep in antiseptic smells and hospital bills. And this was my reward. I squeezed the washcloth, then let it drop heavily back into the plastic basin. I looked at her, letting a slow, bitter smile touch my lips. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “I was playing a part. And you know what? I’m done. Let your actually ‘devoted’ children take care of you from now on.” … The washcloth hit the soapy water with a splash, spraying a few drops onto her arm. “See? I knew it!” she shrieked, wiping her skin with a tissue. “I expose you, and you immediately drop the act! You don’t even have the decency to pretend anymore!” She glared at me, her voice sharp and mocking. “Clara and Austin are the only ones who actually love me. At least they’re genuine. They don’t have a calculating bone in their bodies. Every time you walk in here looking so worried, it makes me sick.” I stared at the puddle on the floor, a quiet, hollow laugh escaping my throat. For three years, I had bled myself dry for her. Clara and Austin only showed up once a month, bringing a cheap gift basket and staying for ten minutes. Yet, they were the golden children. I was the viper in the grass. The warmth left my body, replaced by a profound, freezing indifference. Without looking at her, I took out my phone. “Fine. If they’re so devoted, let’s see them step up.” I dialed Clara first. As soon as she picked up, I bypassed the pleasantries. “Clara, Mom needs you. She wants you to come and take over her care.” The background noise on her end was a mix of ocean waves and laughter. She clearly thought I was just asking her to pay a quick visit when she got back. “What do you mean, take over? Aren’t you there? You’re her primary caregiver, Lauren.” “Mom wants you to do it,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Permanently.” The silence on the other end stretched for several agonizing seconds. When Clara finally spoke, her tone had lost its relaxed vacation vibe. “Lauren… what are you talking about? You’ve been managing fine. Why would you just stop? Besides, I have so much on my plate once I get back from Hawaii. How am I supposed to find the time?” I didn’t argue. “It’s what Mom wants. The message has been delivered. Do what you want with it.” I hung up and immediately called Austin. He was currently at a water park, his kids screaming happily in the background. I repeated the exact same words. Austin gasped. “Lauren, are you out of your mind? I have a full-time job and a family to support. I don’t have the luxury of sitting in a hospital room all day.” I let out a soft laugh. Because, apparently, I didn’t have a job or a life of my own. My mother listened to both conversations. Even though she heard them make excuses, she didn’t look angry. Instead, she tossed her crumpled tissue into the basin and sneered. “Do you think making those calls makes you look good? They love me, they’re just busy with real responsibilities. They aren’t like you, constantly calculating.” She believed I was throwing a tantrum, staging a little show to force her into apologizing. I picked up my coat from the chair. “I hope they don’t keep you waiting too long.” I walked out, shutting the heavy door behind me. Almost instantly, my phone buzzed with a notification from the hospital’s billing department: “Dear Ms. Davies, your mother’s account currently has an outstanding balance of $3,000. Please settle this immediately to avoid service disruption.” For three years, I had absorbed every single cent of her medical expenses. During the first year, I had tried to ask my siblings for help. Clara had texted back: “Lauren, I’m strapped for cash. She’s your mother too, and you make decent money. Just cover it for now.” Austin had replied: “I’ve got a mortgage and preschool fees, Lauren. I literally have nothing to spare.” Yet, one was in Hawaii, and the other was at an expensive Florida resort. I checked my bank account balance: $5,000. Five years of hard work, and my savings had been entirely devoured by this hospital. All to be branded a liar. I stared at the screen, took a deep, shuddering breath, and locked my phone. I wasn’t paying it. Not anymore. The next morning, I was sitting at my desk at work, holding a cup of coffee, when my phone chimed. It was a text from my mother. “Where is my breakfast? Are you trying to starve me to death?” For three years, I had ordered her favorite breakfast diner delivery to her room at exactly eight in the morning. I typed back: “Call your devoted son and daughter.” I set my phone face down and focused on my spreadsheets. Thirty minutes later, the sibling group chat erupted. Clara @’ed me: “Lauren, what is wrong with you? Are you seriously trying to starve Mom? I had to log into my delivery app all the way from Maui to get her food. Can’t you do anything right?” I felt a cold rage bubble up, and I let myself type freely. “Wow. You ordered one breakfast in three years and you’re already exhausted?” “I’ve done it every day for a thousand days. Tell me again who isn’t doing enough?” The chat went silent. It took Clara several minutes to type her response. “But you’re right there in the city! Why should I have to manage this from thousands of miles away?” Then, she did something so profoundly petty I almost couldn’t believe it. She sent a split-bill request to the group chat for $50. “I paid for the delivery. We split it three ways. That’s only fair, right?” $25 each from me and Austin. She pressed a button on her phone and expected a medal. Meanwhile, my three years of labor and savings were treated as my default duty. I ignored the request. Suddenly, a voice message from my mother popped up in the chat. “You think I care about your miserable breakfasts? Those bland, tasteless meals were practically elder abuse!” She attached a photo. Clara had ordered her a greasy spread of bacon, pancakes, and syrup. It was exactly the kind of food the doctors had strictly forbidden for her recovery. I had spent hours researching low-sodium, high-fiber diets to keep her healthy. What a fool I had been. I locked my phone and spent the rest of the day burying myself in my work. When the clock struck five, I thought I could finally go home and rest. But then, the hospital’s head nurse texted me directly, asking about the monthly caregiver payment. The private nurse’s agency fee was $3,500 a month, always paid by me. I didn’t hesitate. I copied Clara and Austin’s contact details and sent them over. “Please contact these two numbers for all future financial matters.” The nurse replied with a polite acknowledgment. But an hour later, she messaged me again. “Ms. Davies, I’ve tried calling both numbers and sent several messages, but no one is responding.” Of course they weren’t. As soon as money was involved, they turned into ghosts. I sent her their husbands’ and wives’ phone numbers. “Try these.” An hour after that, the sibling chat exploded again. Clara @’ed me, furious: “Lauren, are you insane? The nurse called Tyler while he was in a business meeting demanding money! If you don’t care about your reputation, I care about mine!” I replied calmly: “If you cared about your reputation, you would have paid the bill when they called you first.” Clara sent a flurry of angry voice notes, her voice screeching through the speaker. “We thought it was a scam! You’ve always handled the bills! Have you lost your mind?” I typed: “I handled them. Key word: handled. I am no longer responsible.” Austin, who usually stayed quiet to avoid conflict, finally piped up. “Lauren, you can’t be serious. She’s our mother. We’re a family. Why are you being so calculated about this? If you don’t take care of her, who will?” The absolute entitlement of his words made my blood run cold. “You will,” I replied. “Which is exactly what you should have been doing for the last three years.” He stopped typing. A moment later, Clara posted another split-bill request. “The nurse costs $3,500. I just paid it. We split it three ways. Send me your share.” She added: “And don’t forget the $25 from breakfast.” I didn’t reply. A few hours later, the private nurse herself messaged me. “Ms. Davies, I’ve been let go. Your sister told the agency that a full-time nurse is a waste of money and that they are switching to a part-time home health aide who only visits for three hours a day. I’m so sorry. I know how much work your mother requires.” Clara thought she was saving money. She had never had to empty a bedpan or clean up after a paralyzed patient who had lost all bladder control. She had no idea what she was doing. The part-time aide wouldn’t be enough, and my mother would soon realize what it felt like to be left completely alone in her own mess. But that was no longer my concern. Over the next few days, an unspoken truce of silence settled between my mother and me. We didn’t exchange a single text. On the third day, Clara returned from Hawaii. She posted a selfie from the hospital room. In the photo, my mother’s hair was greasy and uncombed, and her hospital gown was stained. The part-time aide only did the bare minimum before her shift ended, leaving no one to help her with personal hygiene. On the fifth day, Austin returned. On the sixth, he took his wife and kids to visit. Right after his visit, he messaged me in the group chat. “Lauren, why hasn’t the hospital bill been paid? The nurse literally cornered me in the hallway. Do you know how embarrassing that was? Wire me the money right now so I can pay them.” I had received the late notices on my phone earlier that day. I had simply deleted them. I replied: “If you’re embarrassed, pay it yourself.” Austin started typing, but Clara cut in first. “Lauren, when are you going to pay me back for the nurse and the food? I have to pay my daughter’s tuition. Send me the $1,200 now.” Clara had been sending payment requests daily, which I had consistently ignored. Austin chimed back in: “Fine, I’ll pay the hospital bill. But we are splitting it. Every single cent.” They both sent new split-bill requests. I actually laughed out loud. I had been waiting for them to bring up the finances. They had just handed me the perfect opening. I pulled up the spreadsheet I had spent the last week compiling. It was a meticulous record of every single co-pay, nurse fee, medication cost, and dietary expense from the last thirty-six months. I uploaded the PDF to the chat. Then, I sent a split-bill request of my own. $80,000. “Three years of expenses. $120,000 total. Your share is $40,000 each. Pay me, then we can talk about splitting this month’s bills.” The group chat went dead. It stayed silent for a long, heavy minute. Finally, Clara typed: “Lauren, is this really necessary? We’re family. Why are you dragging up things from years ago?” Austin followed: “Exactly. She’s our mother. Why are you acting like a debt collector?” They had no problem requesting $25 for a delivery order, but when it came to their actual responsibilities, we were “family.” “If we aren’t counting pennies,” I replied, “then let’s talk about the houses. We’re family, so I should get my equal share, right?” Austin quickly typed: “No way!” He deleted the message two seconds later, but I had already seen it. My heart sank, though I wasn’t surprised. My father had left two properties when he passed away ten years ago. They had been kept under my mother’s name. I had foolishly assumed that, as one of three children, I would be treated equally. Instead, the three of them had quietly sliced up the pie and left me with the crumbs. Then, my mother sent a furious voice note. I tapped it, and her voice echoed in my quiet apartment. “I knew it! I knew you were only sniffing around for the properties! Thank God I saw through your little act and left everything to Clara and Austin. Take your miserable money, and don’t you dare call yourself my daughter ever again!” A moment later, a notification popped up on my phone. To my shock, a bank transfer of $120,000 had hit my account. It seemed my mother had used the entirety of her personal savings—money she had been hoarding—just to pay me off and prove she didn’t need me. I tapped “Accept” without a single shred of guilt. I stood up, walked to my desk, and pulled out a letter of resignation I had drafted days ago. Over the past three years, five different major firms had tried to recruit me, offering double my current salary. Every time, my answer had been the same: “Thank you, but my mother is paralyzed, and I need to stay close to her hospital.” The recruiters had always been understanding, offering their sympathies. And so, I had stayed at a high-stress, low-paying job just to be near her. She had been my entire world. I walked into my manager’s office and placed the letter on his desk. He looked at it, sighed, and nodded. He knew I was overqualified for the position anyway. Within twenty-four hours, my exit paperwork was finalized. A few days later, I had an interview with a firm I had always admired. The HR director smiled warmly. “Ms. Davies, we’d love to have you, but the position is based at our corporate headquarters.” “Where is that?” I asked. “Seattle.” Nearly two thousand miles away. I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.” We agreed on a start date for the beginning of the next month. With a few weeks of freedom ahead of me, I decided to treat myself to a vacation. I booked a flight to Miami. I muted the sibling group chat, but I couldn’t help but see my mother’s public social media updates occasionally. On the first day of my trip, she posted: “So blessed to have my wonderful oldest daughter bring me these amazing health supplements.” Then, she messaged me privately: “My life is so much more peaceful without your fake attitude. Clara is ten times the daughter you’ll ever be.” I read it and chose not to reply. On the second day, she posted a picture of a takeout box: “My son bought me dinner tonight. Real love.” She messaged me again: “You think I can’t survive without you? You really thought you were indispensable. Keep ignoring my messages, let’s see how long you can keep up this childish silent treatment.” Again, I ignored her. By the third day, her messages stopped. On the seventh day of my vacation, I was standing in the airport, dragging my suitcase toward the security line, when my phone rang. It was the hospital. As soon as I answered, the nurse’s stressed voice filled my ear. “What is wrong with you people? Your mother is sitting in her own waste, she hasn’t eaten in twelve hours, and she’s practically delirious. Does anyone in your family actually care about her?”

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I was the biological daughter the Aldridge family only bothered to find after eighteen years of wandering. Yet, my own brother, Christian, found my rough edges too embarrassing to bear. He stood by and watched when his beloved foster sister, Daisy, pushed me down the grand staircase of their estate. I ended up in a sterile hospital room with a shattered leg and zero family visits. Only Thomas—my fiancé, Thomas King—showed up every day, bringing me warm soup and wiping my feverish skin. He fought Christian for me, kicked Daisy out of the house, and eventually staged a grand proposal that felt like a movie. He promised to love me forever. I thought I finally had a home. Until I stumbled upon a viral thread online. “Have you ever seen what real favoritism looks like?” A comment with millions of likes caught my attention. “I’m technically the foster sister, but my brother refuses to acknowledge his blood-related one. Even the real sister’s fiancé is completely wrapped around my finger, loving me to the absolute core. To make it up to me, he said he’s going to dump her at their wedding tomorrow—right in front of everyone.” “Surely no one is favored more than me!” Then, a brand-new reply appeared: “My sweet girl deserves to be a princess forever. Anyone who makes you upset—I’ll handle them.” The avatar was hauntingly familiar. It belonged to the secret burner account of Thomas King, the man who had sworn to love me for the rest of his life. … My fingertips turned white, and my phone nearly slipped from my hand. I tapped on Thomas’s private burner account, my thumb trembling as I scrolled through his past posts, one by one. Not a single one was about me. Instead, they were filled with flirtatious exchanges with Daisy. Every word cut like a knife. I scrolled back to two weeks ago—my twenty-eighth birthday. It was the first birthday I had celebrated since returning to the Aldridge house four years ago. I remembered closing my eyes and making a wish as the candle flickered, my heart full of hope. I wished for a peaceful life, for Thomas to love me forever, and for us to finally build a home of our own. But at that exact second, Thomas had sent a message to Daisy: “Got the strawberry cake you wanted.” Daisy’s reply came a second later, dripping with affection: “Hurry up and come see if the flowers I bought look pretty.” Thomas’s indulgent reply followed immediately: “Wait for me. I’ll head over as soon as I deal with this nuisance.” While I had been closing my eyes, praying for our future, he was flirting with my sister. The pain was so sharp it made me choke. The heavy rain pouring outside my window today was identical to the storm on my birthday. We had been at a bakery when Daisy called. He stood up immediately, without even bothering to wish me a happy birthday. He told me there was an urgent crisis at the office and he had to leave. I had foolishly held onto his sleeve. “The rain is too heavy outside. Can you please just stay until we finish the cake?” He had ripped his hand away with so much force that I stumbled, hitting the corner of the table. Frosting smeared onto my clothes. “Maeve, be reasonable. The company’s business is important.” Back then, I had kept lying to myself, whispering that Thomas simply had no choice. I sat alone, eating the bitter cake in silence. But the truth was, he simply didn’t belong to me. My hands shook violently as I dialed his number. It rang twice before he answered, his voice dripping with impatience. “Maeve, what is it? I’m exhausted trying to coordinate everything for the wedding tomorrow.” Beneath his voice, a woman’s soft, deliberate giggle drifted through the receiver. “Hang up. Focus on playing with me.” My lips trembled, but before I could utter a word, the line went dead. I stared blankly at the screen. Below the chat log on the burner account was a photo of two holding hands. The larger hand had a small mole on the index finger and wore the matching band I had bought him last month. Inside were engraved the initials “M & T”—Maeve and Thomas. But the hand he was holding wasn’t mine. Thunder rumbled outside, echoing the hollow ache in my chest. I deleted every single photo of Thomas from my phone, then dialed Wyatt Mercer’s number. The sound of the rain drowned out my quiet, resolute tears. I spoke clearly, letting every syllable land. “Wyatt, I’m not going to the wedding tomorrow. I’m choosing a different groom.” Hearing my shaky breath, Wyatt was silent for a brief moment before he spoke with absolute certainty. “Wait for me. I’ll marry you.” Barely ten minutes after I hung up, the front door clicked open. Thomas stepped inside, bringing the cold night air with him. In his hand was a box containing a strawberry cake—the exact same brand he had taken from the bakery on my birthday. His eyes held nothing but tired obligation. “I know you’re upset,” he said, his tone flat. “I bought your favorite strawberry cake. Stop throwing a tantrum.” I sat on the sofa, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I don’t like strawberry cake.” Thomas froze, his impatience showing. “How is that possible? You literally ate it on your birthday.” “For as long as I can remember, I have loved mangoes and hated strawberries.” I stared into his cold, unfamiliar eyes. “Thomas, you’ve never actually remembered a single thing I like, have you?” He seemed to notice my pale face for the first time, but he remained silent. My legs throbbed with a dull, familiar ache. “The woman’s voice on the phone earlier… who was it?” His tone turned defensive and self-righteous. “It was Daisy. She was kicked out of the Aldridge house because of you. She lost everything that should have been hers.” He took a step closer, looking down at me. “You took her brother, and you took the fiancé she loved for years. Maeve, my spending time with her and comforting her is just my way of paying back your debt.” “Paying back my debt.” How laughably absurd. Nobody paid back “my” debt when I was pushed down the stairs and left to heal alone. Nobody paid back my debt when I was shivering and neglected in the orphanage. The girl who caused all the pain received nothing but adoration, while I, the victim, was expected to carry the weight of her sins. A quiet, hollow laugh escaped my lips. It turned into a sob, and tears spilled down my cheeks without warning. In the middle of the suffocating silence, the doorbell rang. The maid opened it, revealing Daisy standing there in a white dress, looking timid and frail. “Maeve, Thomas left his wedding gift for me at his place, and I forgot to take it. I came to return it.” She walked slowly into the living room and set down a gift box. With one glance, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Hanging around her neck was my jade pendant. It was the only piece of my past I had kept during my eighteen years of wandering. It was the token that proved my identity to the Aldridges, and eventually, the token of love I had given to Thomas, believing he would treasure it. I had told him it was the most precious thing I owned. But he had given it to Daisy. I bolted upright, the old injury in my leg screaming in pain as I stumbled forward. “Give it back! That’s mine!” Daisy shrank back, deliberately letting her grip slip. The jade pendant fell, striking the marble floor. A sharp, agonizing shatter echoed through the room. In the chaos, Daisy fell to the ground with a cry, her forehead grazing a sharp edge. “Sister, don’t push me! I was giving it back!” But my hands were already on the floor, ignoring her, trying to gather the broken shards. The sharp stone sliced into my palms, and blood welled up instantly. The physical sting was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. I crouched there, weeping, trying to piece together the fragments. This was the last piece of myself I had left. The next second, a harsh force ripped me away. Thomas rushed over, shoving me aside so hard that I crashed onto the floor. He lifted Daisy into his arms with absolute care. When he looked back at me, his eyes held nothing but pure disgust. “Maeve, you are genuinely wicked. You couldn’t even let her keep a pendant? You deliberately hurt her. You’re vile, and you will never compare to Daisy.” He carried Daisy out of the house, his steps hurried, never once looking back at me as I lay bleeding on the floor. Outside, the rain poured. Inside, I was left alone with shattered jade and bloodied hands. I had lost the pendant, lost my hope, and finally, lost myself. Blood dripped from my fingers onto the floor. The coldness of the tiles seeped into my skin, and my phone began to ring. It was Mother Martha’s nurse from the hospital, her voice trembling with panic. “Maeve! You need to get to the medical center right now! Mr. King’s men turned off Mother Martha’s ventilator! Her oxygen levels are dropping fast! He said… he said if you don’t behave and apologize to Daisy, he won’t let them turn it back on!” My entire world crumbled. Mother Martha was the only light in my eighteen years of darkness. She was the one who shielded me when others beat and bullied me. Thomas had found my only weakness, and he was crushing it. I scrambled to my feet, stumbling out of the house into the downpour. The rain lashed against my face, blinding me as I hailed a cab. By the time I reached the hospital, I was soaked to the bone. At the end of the long hallway stood Thomas, immaculate in his black suit, holding Daisy, who had a small bandage on her forehead. When he saw me shivering and drenched, a cold, mocking smile touched his lips. My knees gave out, and I fell onto the hard floor. I looked up, stripping away every ounce of my dignity. “Thomas, please. Turn the ventilator back on. Save her. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fight you anymore.” Daisy leaned into his chest, her voice sweet and fragile. “Thomas, Maeve didn’t mean to push me. Let’s just forget it…” But Thomas’s voice was merciless. “If you want to save her, fine. Wear those wet, dirty clothes and crawl from this ward all the way to the outpatient clinic. Apologize to Daisy with every step.” Nurses, doctors, and patients stopped to stare, their eyes burning into me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. For Mother Martha, I had to do it. I dragged my broken, aching body forward, my knees hitting the cold tiles over and over. Every movement felt like my leg bone was being snapped in half. The wind howling through the corridor was freezing, and my vision began to fade. With trembling hands, I dialed Christian. “Christian… please, tell Thomas to stop. Ask him to save Mother Martha. It hurts so much.” On the other end, my brother’s voice was ice. “Maeve, you brought this on yourself by hurting Daisy. Don’t humiliate the family any further.” He hung up. The last string holding me to sanity snapped. I kept crawling, repeating my apologies like a broken machine. My knees were raw and bleeding, completely numb. When it was finally over, I looked up at Thomas. “I did it. Turn it on.” Thomas gave a curt nod, instructing his assistant to restart the machine. He didn’t even spare me a glance. The adrenaline faded, and the world went black as I collapsed. When I opened my eyes, the nurse beside my bed looked at me with deep pity. “Maeve, you’re four weeks pregnant. And… the elderly woman from the orphanage passed away thirty minutes ago. We couldn’t save her.” Pregnant. And orphaned again. The double blow left my mind completely blank. I was carrying Thomas’s child, while his hands had effectively pulled the plug on the only person who had ever truly loved me. My tears soaked into the white sheets. I didn’t scream or wail. I just felt an empty, freezing void in my chest. The door opened, and Thomas walked in, looking perfectly calm. He walked to my bedside, his voice flat. “The wedding schedule is finalized. Get up and try on your dress. Don’t be late.” I kept my eyes closed, silent. He didn’t seem to care. He walked out to the balcony to take a call, leaving the glass door slightly ajar. His assistant’s hesitant voice drifted in: “Mr. King, are you really going to humiliate Maeve at the wedding by broadcasting those private photos? She’s been by your side for so long. Do you really want to put her through that publicly?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into the fresh stitches on my palms. The scent of blood filled my nose as I held my breath, waiting for his answer. After a brief silence, Thomas spoke with cold determination. “Just this once. Making her apologize publicly is the final peace offering for Daisy. Once the wedding is over, I’ll put the past behind me and build a quiet life with Maeve.” “Just this once.” The agony I was forced to endure was merely a gift to appease another woman. I closed my eyes, the final spark of my love for him dying out. Thomas stepped back inside, his warm fingers brushing my cheek. He leaned down and kissed away my tears, his voice tender, just like all the times he had comforted me before. It was as if he hadn’t been the one who forced me to crawl on my knees just yesterday. “Maeve, did you have a bad dream? Don’t blame me. You love me too much to stay angry, right?” I trembled, my tears spilling onto his lips. “Wake her up in five minutes if she doesn’t get up,” he instructed the nurse as he left. As soon as the door closed, I pressed the call button and requested a medical abortion. The procedure was agonizingly painful, but compared to the hollow ache in my chest, it was nothing. Afterward, I discharged myself, went to the crematorium, and held Mother Martha’s ashes close to my chest. In this vast, cold world, it was just her and me again. I packed my belongings and quietly left the city behind. Before I left, I had a courier deliver three items to the wedding venue. A certified medical record of the abortion, a signed document legally cutting ties with the Aldridges, and a gold-embossed red wedding invitation. The invitation read: “Groom: Wyatt Mercer. Bride: Maeve Henderson.” At the Aldridge estate’s wedding hall, guests were waiting for the bride. Christian crushed his cigarette under his shoe and looked at Thomas. “This is the last time. Maeve is still my sister.” Thomas gave him a mock shove. “I know. If I didn’t want your family to finally appreciate her and accept her fully, I wouldn’t have gone through with this ‘apology’ stunt.” Daisy ran over, holding a box. “Look! Maeve sent this.” The box was opened, and both Thomas and Christian turned deathly pale.

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The day before my father’s scheduled kidney transplant, Chris redirected his donor kidney to someone else. I stood frozen outside the Chief of Surgery’s office, listening to my husband’s calm, measured voice filter through the heavy oak door. “Charles is sixty-five,” Chris was saying to the lead transplant coordinator. “He’s lived a full, rich life. But Sadie is only twenty-two. Her life is just beginning.” “Dr. Miller, the allocation list is highly regulated—” “Even if Charles gets the kidney,” Chris interrupted, his tone carrying that absolute clinical authority I had once admired, “his body might not survive the post-op rejection phase at his age. But Sadie? She’s young. She has a future. Schedule the surgery for Sadie tomorrow. I’ll sign off on the clinical override.” Sadie. His late mentor’s daughter. His favorite student. … She was only a senior in college when she was diagnosed with end-stage renal disease. When her parents died in a car accident four years ago, Chris had stepped in as her self-appointed guardian, her protector, her constant shadow. The heavy door swung open abruptly. My eyes locked with Chris’s. I was holding a past-due notice from the hospital’s billing department, the paper trembling slightly between my fingers. For a long moment, neither of us said a word. Chris blinked, looking momentarily startled, before his features settled into a tired, familiar mask. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a soft sigh. “Since you heard everything, I suppose I don’t need to explain it to you.” He stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. “Your dad is stable on dialysis. As long as we keep up the treatments, he isn’t in immediate danger. I have a consultation in ten minutes, Grace. Go home.” I looked down at my worn flats. “Okay,” I whispered. Chris reached out, patting my head with a small, satisfied smile. “I knew you’d understand. Thank you for not making this difficult.” He turned back toward the office, and through the closing gap of the door, I heard his voice soften into a tone he never used with me anymore. He was already dialing his phone. “Don’t worry, Sadie. I’ve secured the kidney. I’ll perform the procedure myself tomorrow morning… No, don’t worry about the deductible. I’ve taken care of it. Just be a good girl, get some rest, and I’ll come by your room to check on you in a bit.” I turned around, and the tears finally spilled over, hot and silent. Deep down, a cold, surreal wave of realization washed over me. I wasn’t even surprised. It was the quiet, hollow feeling of a heart finally breaking for the last time. Four years of swallowed bitterness, of quiet endurance, of convincing myself that I was just being paranoid—it all evaporated in an instant. The final thread of love I held for Chris was cut. When my father first fell ill, Chris had claimed he couldn’t act as his primary physician, citing a rule about treating immediate family to avoid emotional bias. But now, he had no qualms about abusing his position to strip my father of the organ he had waited two agonizing years to receive, all to save Sadie. The doctors had warned me that while my father’s condition seemed stable, dialysis was a ticking clock. A transplant was his only real chance at survival. I had spent twenty-four months coordinate-calling UNOS, praying for a match, only to have my husband steal it away with a single clinical sign-off. Since we married, I had put my own career on hold to manage our home and care for my father. Every month, Chris gave me an allowance. I spent only what was absolutely necessary, saving every spare penny in a joint account. The account was in his name, but it was funded by my thriftiness and the thirty thousand dollars I had secured by selling my father’s modest cottage in Oregon. It was our collective safety net—our fertility savings, my father’s medical fund. We needed fifty thousand dollars to cover the hospital’s transplant deposit and post-op care. But when I had walked up to the billing desk this morning, the clerk told me the account was empty. Chris had cleared it out. Every single cent. My best friend, Paula, had warned me. “The day Chris brought Sadie into your home,” she’d said, “was the day he stopped being your husband.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, felt the cold weight of the voice recorder in my purse—a habit I’d picked up to log Dad’s complex medical instructions—and walked out of the ward. “Hi,” I told the administrative assistant at the front desk, my voice devoid of emotion. “Could you point me toward a notary? I need to print some divorce papers.” When I returned to the hospital wing with the paperwork tucked into my bag, Chris wasn’t in his office. The man who claimed he was too busy with pre-op consultations was sitting comfortably in Sadie’s private room. They were sharing a quiet, intimate moment, their heads bent close over a book of poetry. I stood at the threshold, watching them. I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel jealous. I just felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment for the foolish girl I had been for seven years. Sadie’s eyes were bright, a delicate flush on her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I wish we had met when the world was younger,” she quoted softly, her voice dripping with romantic melancholy. “Or perhaps, I wish I had been born a little sooner.” Chris chuckled, reaching out to gently pinch her chin. “What kind of game is this? Are you trying to tell me I’m getting old, kiddo?” Sadie wrapped her fingers around his wrist, her touch lingering. “Never. It’s just… a tragic sort of timing, isn’t it?” Chris’s expression softened into something intensely tender. “We make our own timing.” “If I don’t survive tomorrow…” Sadie whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Will you carry me in your heart, Chris?” “Don’t talk like that,” Chris said firmly, brushing the tear away with his thumb. “You’re going to live, Sadie. I’ll make sure of it. I promise you.” She leaned forward, burying her face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his white doctor’s coat. I cleared my dry throat twice. Sadie flinched as if she had been struck, pulling away from Chris in a flurry of panic. Before I could even open my mouth, her eyes filled with tears and she began to stammer. “I-I’m so sorry, Grace. I was just… I’m so scared about tomorrow, and Chris is the only family I have left to comfort me. Please don’t be mad at him. There’s nothing going on between us, I swear.” Chris stood up, clearing his throat, his face hardening slightly as he looked at me. “Sadie has severe pre-surgery anxiety, Grace. She’s incredibly dependent on me for support. Don’t start making up scenarios in your head.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my phone vibrated violently in my hand. “Is this Grace Collins?” a sharp voice asked from the other end. “Your father has just gone into acute cardiac distress. We need you in the ICU immediately.” The world tilted on its axis. I forgot about Chris. I forgot about Sadie. I turned on my heel and ran toward the elevators. My mother had passed away when I was a toddler. My father was the only person in the world who had ever loved me unconditionally. As I ran, the tears finally broke through. “Please, Dad. Just hold on. Please.” Four excruciating hours later, the red light above the ICU operating room finally turned off. The attending physician stepped out, looking exhausted. He pulled off his mask and offered a sympathetic, weary look. “We stabilized him, Grace, but his kidneys are failing rapidly. We can’t keep doing this. He needs that transplant. If we don’t get him into surgery within the next forty-eight hours, I don’t think his heart will survive another episode.” I nodded, my chest aching so acutely I could barely breathe. As we wheeled my father back to his room, the charge nurse caught my arm, pulling me into a quiet corner. She handed me a slip of paper. “Mrs. Collins, with this latest emergency intervention, your father’s outstanding balance is at ten thousand dollars. More importantly, the hospital requires a forty-thousand-dollar deposit to keep him on the active recipient list for emergency matching. If we don’t receive the payment by tonight, the system will automatically bypass him.” I stared at the numbers. Fifty thousand dollars. Since my father’s illness had progressed, I had exhausted every resource. I had borrowed from every relative, every old family friend, until their voices turned apologetic and distant. Paula had already lent me her savings—five thousand dollars—but it was a drop in the ocean. My husband was my only remaining option. I called Chris’s cell phone over and over. It went straight to voicemail. I checked Sadie’s room, but he was gone. Desperate, I drove back to our suburban home. I walked into our bedroom and found him sleeping deeply, preparing for Sadie’s surgery the next morning. My father was fighting for his life in a sterile room, and my husband was tucked safely under our duvet. A wave of blind fury took over. I grabbed the edge of the blanket and ripped it off him. Chris jolted awake, his face twisting into instant irritation. “Grace! What the hell is wrong with you? I just got to sleep. You know how critical Sadie’s surgery is tomorrow. I need my rest!” I threw the empty joint debit card onto the mattress. “Where is the money, Chris?” His eyes flickered with a brief, guilty shadow before settling into defensive coldness. “Your dad doesn’t need the transplant immediately. I used the funds to cover Sadie’s deductibles and secure her surgical slot.” I stared at him, a terrible, dry laugh escaping my throat. “That was joint marital property. How could you clear out our account without telling me?” “Because I earned every cent of it, Grace!” he snapped, sitting up and glaring at me. “I am the provider in this house. I have the right to allocate my income where it actually matters.” The words cut like a physical blade. This was the man who, on our wedding day, had kissed my knuckles and promised that his success would always be our success. This was the man who had insisted I quit my stressful job to manage our life. My stomach cramped violently. I folded over, clutching my midsection. “You earned it? Chris… thirty thousand dollars of that money came from the sale of my father’s house. How dare you call that yours? How dare you give it to Sadie when my dad is dying?” Chris threw his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his face. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Charles is stable. He can wait.” “He was in the ICU today!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “He almost died, Chris! The doctor said if he doesn’t get the transplant tomorrow, there won’t be a next time. Please. I am begging you. Go to the hospital, reverse the transfer, and reinstate my dad’s priority. Please.” Chris stood up, gently but firmly removing my hands from his shirt. “Grace, look at the reality here. Your dad is old. Even if we put him on the table tomorrow, there’s a high chance his heart won’t take the anesthesia. We’ve spent a fortune on his dialysis already. And even if the surgery works, the anti-rejection medications are thousands of dollars a month. We don’t even have children of our own yet. Do you have any concept of our future? Why put him through the trauma of a major surgery at sixty-five?” “Shut up!” I cried, slapping my hands over my ears. “Shut your mouth! My dad has no pre-existing conditions other than his kidneys. He passed every single cardiac clearance! He would survive it! You stole his chance. You stole his money!” Chris remained silent, his jaw clenched. I sank to my knees on the hardwood floor, the last shreds of my dignity crumbling. I grabbed the hem of his trousers, looking up through a blur of tears. “Chris, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll sign whatever post-nuptial agreement you want. I’ll work three jobs. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying you back. Just save my dad.” He didn’t move. When I looked up, I didn’t see sympathy in his eyes. I saw disgust. He pulled away, leaving me kneeling on the floor. “Get up, Grace. You’re acting like a hysterical, manipulative child. If you want the truth, fine: I did it on purpose. I knew that if you couldn’t clear the deposit, the donor match would automatically default to Sadie. She’s young, she’s brilliant, and she has her whole life ahead of her. This kidney belongs to her. Let your dad wait for the next list. I’ll make sure he’s prioritized next time.” He grabbed his coat and keys from the dresser. “I’m going to stay at a hotel tonight. I can’t deal with your drama before a major operation.” The front door clicked shut. The house fell into a deafening, suffocating silence. I sat on the cold floor, staring at the empty wall. There was only one person left who could stop this. I wiped my face, picked up my phone, and dialed Sadie’s number. “Grace?” her soft, innocent voice answered. “Sadie,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “Please. I’ve helped take care of you for four years. I cooked your meals, I washed your clothes, I sat by your bed when you were sick. Please tell Chris to give my dad back his match.” There was a brief, chilly pause on the other line. When she spoke again, the sweet, childlike tone was gone, replaced by something smooth and cold. “Grace, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The hospital handles the donor lists. I have nothing to do with it.” “Don’t play dumb with me, Sadie,” I whispered. “I know Chris transferred my dad’s deposit money to your account. I will make a deal with you. If you give the money back so my dad can have his surgery, I will divorce Chris tomorrow. You can have him. Just save my father.” Silence stretched over the line. Then, Sadie let out a quiet, mocking laugh. “Honestly, Grace, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. It’s just that all my money is tied up in Chris’s investment portfolios. He handles everything for me. He told me that if I liquidated my accounts now, I’d lose thousands in interest. Besides… Chris wants me to have this kidney. Why would I reject his gift? This kidney was always meant for me.” Before I could say another word, she hung up. I stared at the screen as the dial tone beeped in my ear. I sat in the darkness of our bedroom, laughing and crying until my throat was raw. How blind had I been? For four years, I had treated this girl like a younger sister. I had managed her diets, massaged her aching limbs, and cleaned her bathroom. And she had looked me in the eye every day, waiting for the perfect moment to strip away the only family I had left. I sat in that room all night, watching the shadow of the window frame move slowly across the floor. The next morning, when I arrived at the hospital, Chris was already in the operating room, performing Sadie’s transplant. I didn’t even make it to my father’s room before the head nurse grabbed my arm, her face pale. “Mrs. Collins! Your father went into sudden, acute renal failure ten minutes ago. He’s in the emergency resuscitation room now! Come with me!” My legs turned to lead. I felt as if I were moving through water. Over the next three hours, doctors and nurses rushed in and out of the double doors. I lost count of how many consent forms I signed, my hand scribbling my name automatically. Then, the doors swung open one last time. The attending physician walked out, his head bowed. He didn’t have to say a word. “I’m so sorry, Grace,” he said softly, putting a hand on my trembling shoulder. “His system just couldn’t fight anymore. The toxins built up too quickly, causing a domino effect of multi-organ failure. We did everything we could.” My father was dead. He was gone. Only twenty-four hours away from the surgery that would have saved him. If Chris hadn’t stolen his kidney, if Chris hadn’t cleared out his account, my father would be recovering in a warm room right now. I didn’t cry. My chest felt cold, empty, and perfectly still. I pulled out my phone and dialed Paula’s number. “Paula,” I said, my voice flat. “Help me. I’m divorcing Chris.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538969”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was my twenty-sixth birthday, and the clock on the office wall had ticked two hours past closing. For the fifth time, I spoke up, my voice tentative. “Can we go eat now?” A few desks away, Gary, my boyfriend of five years, and Camille, my childhood best friend, were huddled over a laptop. They were completely lost in a heated debate over whose pitch deck they should present to the clients tomorrow morning. Neither of them even blinked. Ever since Camille joined Gary’s boutique investment firm three months ago, this scene had replayed itself in an endless, agonizing loop. They were both finance majors. They shared the same sharp, fast-paced rhythm, the same vocabulary of margins and acquisitions. I, on the other hand, had been a contemporary dance major. Shortly after graduation, Gary had practically begged me to take a job at his reception desk, only because he said he wanted me close to him. “Laurie,” Camille called out, using my nickname without looking up from the screen. “We need an outside perspective. Don’t you think my risk assessment strategy is much cleaner?” I stood up, smoothing down my skirt, ready to walk over. But Gary didn’t wait for me to reach them. He glanced up, his brows knitting together in that familiar gesture of irritation. “She’s a receptionist, Camille. All she’s thinking about right now is where we’re going for dinner. Why are you even asking her?” My feet froze on the carpet. The humiliation was a cold, sharp needle in my chest. He had heard me. He had heard me every single time, and he had simply chosen to ignore me. He turned back to Camille, his expression instantly softening into that warm, indulgent smile he used to reserve only for me. “Fine. You win. I can never argue with you anyway. We’ll use your deck.” They leaned back in, their shoulders practically touching, sealing the invisible wall that kept me on the outside. I stood there, suspended in my own awkwardness, my hands clutching my purse. It was a miserable feeling—being a ghost in a room you were supposed to belong in. Looking at the easy, intimate slope of their shoulders, a sudden, heavy exhaustion washed over me. If you have to beg for a seat at the table, maybe it’s time to stop trying to sit down. … The fluorescent lights of the office suddenly felt too bright, burning the backs of my eyes. I balled my hands into fists, trying to find my voice. “I’m going to go grab dinner,” I said. Still, nothing. They didn’t even spare me a passing glance. The realization that I was entirely disposable settled over me. I grabbed my coat and walked out of the glass-walled office. Just before the heavy door clicked shut, I looked back through the glass. Camille said something that made Gary throw his head back and laugh. He reached out, his hand moving with an effortless, practiced familiarity as he tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. The intimacy of it felt like a physical blow to my collarbone, leaving me breathless. I walked down the street to the small, lively Cajun seafood shack on the corner. It was loud, crowded, and smelled of Old Bay, garlic, and cayenne pepper. I sat in a booth by myself and ordered a steaming bag of their extra-spicy Cajun crawfish and shrimp boil. While waiting, I opened our group chat and scrolled back to the message I’d sent at noon. Me: Don’t forget it’s my birthday tonight! Let’s get that messy, spicy Cajun boil downtown! Camille: Can’t wait! Gary: Camille and I don’t really want to get our hands dirty. Let’s do the steakhouse instead. I had agreed instantly, even though I hated the stuffy, heavy meals at that steakhouse. We had been so busy lately, and we hadn’t sat down for a proper meal in weeks. Before Camille moved back to the city, Gary and I used to crave spicy, casual food together. We used to seek out the messiest crab shacks in town. But ever since she became a permanent fixture in our lives, spicy food had been quietly erased from our vocabulary. I felt incredibly foolish. How did it take me this long to see that his consideration for her had quietly eclipsed his love for me? The steaming bag of seafood was brought to my table, drenched in a fiery red garlic butter sauce. Through the window, across the rain-slicked street, I watched Camille and Gary step out of our office building. Camille had her hand resting casually on Gary’s forearm. In his other hand, Gary was carrying a small, elegant bakery box with a pink ribbon. My throat tightened. I had ordered that cake myself and had it delivered to Gary’s office so we wouldn’t have to carry it from home. They had seen the cake, picked it up, and walked out with it, completely forgetting who it belonged to. I pulled my gaze back, cracked open a crawfish, and forced myself to eat. The cayenne burned my tongue and my throat, but I welcomed the heat. An older man sitting at the booth next to mine gently slid a bottle of mineral water toward me. “A bit too much cayenne, huh? Looks like it’s making your eyes water, kiddo.” I wiped my cheeks, grateful for the excuse. “Thank you. Yeah, I guess I can’t handle the heat like I thought.” “Hates the heat but still orders the extra-spicy boil,” the man muttered with a fond, puzzled shake of his head. “Kids these days…” I kept my head down, pretending to focus on my phone. By the time I finished the meal, my phone remained entirely silent. No text from Gary, no call from Camille. When I got back to our apartment, the living room lights were on. Gary was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his laptop. The moment I closed the front door, his voice flared with irritation. “Laurie, where the hell did you go? You just walked out without saying a word. Do you have any idea how late it is? I was worried sick.” He was so worried that he couldn’t manage a single text. “I told you I was leaving,” I said, my voice flat as I hung up my coat. “You were just too wrapped up in Camille to hear me.” A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face. Then, his speakerphone crackled to life. It was Camille. “Is Laurie back? Oh, thank God. She’s always been so skittish in the dark. Now that she’s home safe, I’ll let you go, Gary.” I looked down at his screen. The call duration was thirty-two minutes. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You say you were worried about me, but you spent the last half hour chatting on the phone?” Gary’s face hardened. “Does everything out of your mouth have to be so passive-aggressive? Camille was genuinely concerned about you. She’s been waiting on the phone this whole time.” I didn’t say another word. I turned on my heel and walked toward the bathroom. Behind me, Gary’s tone shifted back to that soft, comforting register as he spoke to Camille. “Don’t mind her. She always throws these childish tantrums. She has no idea how hard we’re working. She thinks the world revolves around her…” I locked the bathroom door, pressing my back against it, fighting the tremor in my chest. After showering, I crawled into bed. A text from my mom popped up: Happy birthday, my sweet girl! Did Gary take you somewhere special? My mom had no idea that Gary hadn’t actually spent a birthday with me in three years. The first year, he had an emergency business trip with Camille and left me with a half-eaten takeout box. The second year, he agreed to play Camille’s fake boyfriend to get her overbearing parents off her back. And now, today. The dam finally broke. Tears, hot and silent, streamed into my pillow as I typed back: Mom, I made a mistake. I want to come home. I want to move down to Charleston with you and Dad. Gary didn’t come to bed. When dawn filtered through the blinds, the bedroom door clicked open. He tugged gently at my blanket, using that patronizing voice reserved for placating a stubborn toddler. “Alright, it’s a new day. Are we done pouting?” This was his playbook. He never explained, never apologized. He just froze me out until he decided I’d had enough time to get over it on my own. I looked up at him. The morning light caught the sharp lines of his jaw—a face I’ve known and loved since we were kids playing in adjacent backyards. I spent my youth chasing after him. When my parents relocated to Charleston for business after my graduation, I begged them for a month to let me stay behind. I turned down an apprenticeship with a prestigious contemporary dance company—giving up a passion I’d poured fifteen years of my life into—just to sit at his reception desk and feel close to him. But ever since I introduced Camille to the firm, everything changed. The man who once promised to put me first now only asked: “Why can’t you be more mature, like Camille?” Decades of shared history made me hold on to a final shred of hope. “Gary, yesterday was my birthday. You promised we’d have dinner. You forgot.” His composure faltered, but only for a second. Then his brow furrowed again. “So this is what this whole dramatic display is about? You’re taking your frustrations out on Camille because of a missed dinner? Laurie, you have a birthday every year. Missing one isn’t the end of the world.” I stared at him, numb. Even now, his instinctive reflex was to protect Camille’s feelings. Sensing my silence, his tone softened slightly, and his phone buzzed. He Venmoed me $500. “Here. Go buy yourself something nice.” He sighed. “We’re drowning in work, Laurie. I don’t have the bandwidth to keep coaxing you out of these moods.” We. When did he and Camille become a “we”? My fingers clenched the edge of the duvet until my knuckles turned white, then slowly let go. The last embers of whatever I felt for him quietly turned to ash. “I understand,” I said quietly. Relieved by my compliance, his shoulders relaxed. “Good. I have to run and pick up Camille for our lunch meeting. Make sure you eat some breakfast.” Gary never drove me to work. He claimed it was to “maintain professional boundaries” at the office. In the five years I’ve worked there, no one except Camille knew we were together. But for Camille, there were no boundaries—he drove her back and forth constantly. When I asked him about it once, he said she was his top producer and my closest friend, so keeping her happy was just good business. What a convenient lie. When I arrived at the office, Katie, the other receptionist, leaned in with a look of pure gossip. “Laurie, did you see? Mr. Cross and Camille arrived together again today. Since you’re so close to her, tell me—are they together?” I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. “Maybe they are.” “Oh, they definitely are! I teased them about looking like a power couple in the elevator, and Mr. Cross just smiled. He didn’t even deny it!” The words pinned me to the spot. It wasn’t professional boundaries he was protecting. It was just me he was hiding. A strange sense of peace washed over me. I sat down at my computer, typed up my formal resignation, and hit submit. Around noon, Gary and Camille walked into the lobby. Camille was sporting a brand-new designer handbag—a gorgeous leather piece I had seen on Gary’s phone screen under his recent orders. It cost over three thousand dollars. The birthday transfer he sent me was five hundred. A month ago, when the collection first launched, I had pointed it out to him. He’d asked, “Do girls really like these?” and I’d replied eagerly, “Absolutely, Camille and I both love this brand.” I had allowed myself to hope it was a birthday surprise for me. As they passed my desk, Gary stopped. “Laurie, bring two coffees to my office, please.” In front of others, his tone was always that of a cool, detached boss. When I carried the tray inside, Camille was sitting on his leather sofa, her blouse draped off one shoulder. Gary, his ears slightly flushed, was carefully dabbing antiseptic onto a scrape on her collarbone. Seeing me enter, Camille quickly pulled her shirt back up. “Oh, Laurie, don’t get the wrong idea. An electric scooter clipped me when I was getting out of the car. Gary was just helping me clean it up.” I set the tray down, my voice flat. “It’s fine. You can take your shirt off. Let him finish.” Gary’s face darkened immediately. “Laurie, what is wrong with you? Apologize to her.” I looked him dead in the eye, a cold smile touching my lips. “Did I say something incorrect?” My defiance only angered him more. “Camille got hurt because of you in the first place, and you have the nerve to stand there acting bitter!” I blinked, caught off guard. “What?” “She heard you submitted a resignation in some fit of pique. She was so worried she ran out to find you and got hit! You need to stop this childish behavior. Honestly, if I knew you’d act like this, I never would have hired you.” Even knowing where his loyalties lay, his words hit like ice water, chilling me to the bone. I couldn’t do this anymore. “Gary, we’re done. It’s over.” The office fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Finally, Camille reached out to grab my hand. “Laurie, what is going on with you? Gary is under so much pressure right now. Please don’t do this. There’s nothing going on between us. Don’t let me ruin your relationship. Just apologize to him…” I wrenched my hand out of her grip, staring her down. “Is everything always my fault in your eyes, Camille? I recommended you for this job so you could build a career, not so you could stand beside my boyfriend and lecture me.” Camille’s face turned pale. “Enough!” Gary snapped, stepping between us and pulling Camille behind his shoulder. His eyes held nothing but cold irritation. “Camille actually has talent. Unlike some people who can only handle filing and making coffee but still demand the world revolve around them.” He picked up his desk phone and dialed HR. “Process Laurie’s resignation immediately. I want her out of here in two days.” Camille feigned distress. “Gary, don’t do this. Don’t let her walk away like this!” Gary placed a hand on her arm, looking down at me with cold condescension. “She wants to play games? Let her. Go ahead, Laurie. Walk away. But tell me—without me, with your degree, where do you think you’re going to go?” So that was my worth to him. A helpless dependent. A charity case. I touched my eyes. They were dry. Thank God I’d run out of tears for him. I straightened my shoulders, my voice completely steady. “Then I’ll expect HR to have the paperwork ready shortly, Mr. Cross.” I turned and walked out, leaving them behind. Camille made a half-hearted move to follow, but Gary caught her wrist. “Let her go. It’s always the same drama. She’ll crawl back and apologize in a couple of days.” He was right. Every fight we’d ever had ended with me swallowing my pride, begging for his attention. The few times he had reached out first were only because Camille convinced him to. But not this time. Back at the front desk, Katie was chatting up a middle-aged couple. She spotted me and whispered frantically, “Laurie! You won’t believe this. Camille’s parents are here. They said they came to meet their future son-in-law!” She grinned. “Guess who it is? Mr. Cross! I knew they were together!” My mind flashed back to last winter. Camille had claimed her parents were pressuring her into an arranged marriage and begged Gary to pretend to be her boyfriend for a weekend. I had begged him not to go, but he brushed it off as “just helping out a friend.” I guess if you play a role long enough, you start to believe it. I picked up the desk phone and dialed Gary’s extension. “Mr. Cross, your future in-laws are at the reception desk to see you.” A heavy silence stretched over the line. Then, his voice comes back, dripping with irritation. “Laurie, what kind of game is this? Are you trying to use her parents to make a scene? Grow up.” Camille rushed out of the back office. She bit her lip, whispering, “Laurie, I am so sorry. My parents just dropped by unannounced. I just need Gary to play along one last time to keep them quiet. I promise, this is the absolute last time.” I looked at her, feeling nothing but a profound sense of exhaustion. “We broke up, Camille. You don’t need my permission.” Gary stepped into the lobby, greeting her parents with a smooth, polished charm. Then, he turned to me, his voice commanding. “Laurie, don’t just stand there. Bring some tea up to the conference room.” Camille’s mother cast a critical look at my uniform. “Gary, dear, you really should set higher standards for your front desk. Obviously, we can’t expect everyone to be as accomplished as our Camille, but you don’t want just anyone representing your firm.” Gary offered a polite, agreeable smile. “Of course, Mrs. Porter.” I stood there, listening to their polite chatter, and realized that the hollow ache in my chest had gone completely numb. At five, Gary left with Camille and her parents for dinner. I went back to the apartment we shared, packed my life into two suitcases, and checked into a quiet boutique hotel down the street. The next morning, I returned to the office to sign the final exit papers. The moment I stepped into the lobby, Katie rushed over, her face pale. “Laurie, it’s a disaster! The major acquisition deal we were closing today? It fell through!” I stopped in my tracks. “Word is, someone leaked the valuation model to the competitor. The client is threatening to sue.” My phone buzzed. Gary’s name flashed on the screen. Come to my office. Now. When I walk in, Camille was already there, her eyes red-rimmed. “Laurie, how could you do this?” she gasped. “Do you have any idea how many people’s bonuses were riding on this deal?” The accusation hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Gary. “You think I did this?” Gary looked at me with a complicated, heavy expression, but he didn’t say a word to defend me. Panic and anger flared in my chest. “On what grounds? Why would you think it was me?” Gary stood up and walked over to his desk. “Yesterday, you were the only one who came into my office unsupervised while the files were out.” My hands shook so hard I had to ball them into fists. “That’s a lie. Camille was in here. Her parents were in here. They all had access. Why aren’t you checking the security cameras?” Camille broke into fresh sobs. “Laurie, I know you were angry about yesterday. I know my parents made you feel unwelcome. But this project was the lifeblood of this firm. If you had a problem with me, you should have taken it out on me, not ruined everyone else’s hard work!” Gary looked at me, his eyes cold and utterly drained of warmth. “You’ve gone too far this time, Laurie. The damages are severe. The penalty clause is a hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You’re going to pay for this.” The blood rushed to my ears. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice tight and dangerous. “I will not take the fall for something I didn’t do. If you think I’m a thief, call the police.” I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving my desk completely untouched. As I crossed the open-plan office, whispers trailed in my wake. “I heard she did it to get back at Camille.” “Always thought she was too quiet. Guess she wanted a payoff on her way out.” “She’s going to get sued. Serves her right.” A text from Gary lit up my screen: Laurie, if you issue a formal apology to the team, I will cover the settlement fees myself. I let out a dry, bitter laugh, powered down my phone, and stepped out into the crisp morning air. That evening, Gary returned to his parents’ house in the suburbs, utterly exhausted. Managing the fallout and pacifying the staff had taken all day, and the loss of the account left a heavy, sour taste in his mouth. He sank into his childhood sofa, staring at his screen, refreshing our text thread. Still nothing. His mother entered the living room, setting down a cup of tea. She looked at his worn face and sighed. “Laurie has really crossed a line this time. You’re working yourself to the bone, and instead of taking care of you at home, she runs off in the middle of a tantrum.” Gary froze, looking up. “What do you mean, Mom?” “She’s gone, Gary. You didn’t know? Her parents came and picked her up this afternoon.” Gary stood up so fast his phone clattered to the hardwood floor.

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My best friend, Cheryl, was the absolute queen of the “BOGO” deal. She was the kind of person who lived to manipulate algorithms for a discount. She’d bundle online orders to hit the free-shipping threshold, split Uber rides down to the exact cent, and drag me out to dinner every single day just to exploit a “buy-one-get-one-half-off” coupon. My boyfriend, Douglas, used to complain about it constantly. “Can’t you get her to give us some space? You’re with her so much that I barely get to see you anymore.” I’d always smile and try to soothe him. “She just grew up having to pinch pennies. Don’t let it get to you.” Until Valentine’s Day. Douglas and I were at a romantic dinner when Cheryl texted, saying the restaurant had a “parties of three get a free dessert platter” promo. She practically begged to join. When I looked up from my menu, I froze. They were wearing matching leather couple’s bracelets. It was the exact set I had fawned over last week while shopping with Douglas. He’d scoffed at them, called them tacky, and refused to buy them. Noticing where my eyes had landed, Douglas offered a perfectly casual, rehearsed explanation. “Oh, Cheryl said they were buy-one-get-one-free. I just helped her make up the difference.” Cheryl slid her arm through his, entirely at ease. “Thanks, Doug. Saved me another twenty bucks.” He looked down at her and smiled, dropping a piece of steak onto her plate. I calmly pushed the complimentary dessert platter toward them. “Enjoy,” I said softly. “I’m going to go powder my nose.” At the front desk, I smiled at the cashier and handed her my card. “Table eight. The couple over there will be paying for themselves. Charge them full price, please. No discounts.” If you both love bundling so much, you can be bundled together forever. … 1 “Isabel, did you really have to pull a stunt like this on Valentine’s Day?” The moment I stepped out of the restaurant and into the crisp February air, Douglas’s call came through. He sounded livid. In the background, I could hear Cheryl’s soft, theatrical whimpering. I stood on the sidewalk, watching happy couples walk by under the city lights, my voice entirely flat. “What stunt?” “What stunt?” Douglas’s voice spiked. “You have the nerve to ask me that? What did you say to the hostess? ‘The couple will be paying for themselves’? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” “Cheryl was just trying to keep things lively. She was trying to save us a buck, and you humiliate her in front of the entire waitstaff?” I raised my hand and hailed a passing cab, pulling open the door. “If it was all about saving money, what does it matter who paid?” I replied, stepping in. “She said the dessert was on her anyway. Consider the dinner your treat to each other.” The line went dead quiet for two seconds. Douglas exhaled sharply, pivoting to that condescending, coaxing tone he always used when he wanted me to back down. “Izzy, you used to be so generous. You aren’t like this.” “Cheryl just went through a brutal breakup. She’s alone on Valentine’s Day. She just wanted to be around some love, to catch some of our good energy.” “And besides, the bracelets—that was a complete misunderstanding.” So he was finally addressing it. I leaned my head against the cold glass of the cab window, watching the streetlights blur into long yellow streaks. “A misunderstanding?” “Yeah. Last week, when we were looking at them, I honestly thought they looked cheap. They weren’t right for you. But today, Cheryl mentioned she was buying one and the second was free, so I figured I’d help her out. It was a practical choice.” He explained it with such absolute, righteous certainty, as if my discomfort were a hysterical overreaction. “Izzy, you know how hard I’m working to climb the ladder at the firm. I’m stressed out of my mind trying to save up for a down payment on a house for us. She was trying to help us save money, and instead of being grateful, you humiliate her. Where is the supportive, understanding girl I fell in love with? Since when did you become so materialistic and petty?” I looked down at my bare wrist. Last week, standing in front of that display case, I had lovingly held the bracelet against his wrist, imagining us wearing them. He had pushed my hand away, scowling, saying wearing something that childish would make him look like a joke in front of his clients. And now, that “childish joke” was sitting snugly on his wrist, matching Cheryl’s. “Right. I’m the petty one.” I had no energy left to argue. I hung up. My screen buzzed almost immediately with a text from him. “I’m going to drop Cheryl off first. I ordered an Uber for you, so we’re even. Let’s just put this behind us.” “I’ll bring home those spicy tuna rolls you love on my way back. Be good. Stop throwing tantrums.” I stared at the glowing words, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t reply. It was his classic playbook: inflict a wound, then throw a cheap bandage over it. No matter how deeply he hurt me, a mild peace offering was supposed to buy my immediate forgiveness. When I got back to the apartment we shared, it was pitch black. I left the main lights off, allowing only the dim yellow glow of the entryway nightlight to guide me. I walked over to the coffee table, intending to pack away the marketing pitch I’d been drafting the night before. But as I opened the drawer, a thick white envelope caught my eye. It was unsealed. The corner of a blue ticket stub peeked out. I pulled it out. Two VIP, side-by-side tickets to the Celtics game in Boston this upcoming weekend. And printed clearly in the billing details were two names: “Douglas Fitch, Cheryl Dennis.” 2 I stared at those tickets. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, I slipped them back into the envelope and placed them exactly where I had found them. I didn’t tear them up. I didn’t take a picture to use as ammunition for a screaming match. I just closed the drawer. My palms felt numb, and somewhere deep inside me, a door swung shut, locking out the cold. Cheryl and I had been friends for seven years. Right after college, her family had gone through a massive financial crisis. She could barely afford groceries. My heart bled for her. I took her into my tiny apartment, paid for her food, and covered her rent. Later, when she finally got a job, she developed this pathological obsession with splitting costs and hunting down discounts. I had always categorized it as a trauma response—a deep-seated lack of security. So I accommodated her. Even when Douglas and I went on dates, and she’d ask to tag along to “make up the numbers” for a group discount, I’d agree just to spare her feelings. Every time Douglas complained and told me to keep my distance from her, I was the one defending her. I told him she was just set in her ways, that he shouldn’t judge her. It turns out, giving people an inch only invites them to take a mile. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was Harvey, my business partner. “Isabel, you need to get to the studio right now! The pipe on the second floor burst, and the water is pouring straight down into the server room!” Harvey’s voice was laced with pure panic. “The main servers are completely waterlogged. If we don’t save the data tonight, the gallery exhibition project we’re delivering next week is completely dead!” I bolted upright, nearly dropping my glass. “I’m on my way. Shut off the main power first!” I grabbed my car keys and sprinted out the door. As I navigated the wet night streets, I called Douglas. He was the one who had helped set up our local servers; he was a systems architect. In an emergency like this, he was the only one who knew how to rescue the data without corrupting it. The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Izzy, didn’t I tell you I’d be home a bit late? I already picked up the sushi.” He sounded relaxed. In the background, I could hear the faint murmur of a television show. “Doug, a pipe burst at the studio. The server room is flooding.” I gripped the steering wheel, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Can you get over there right now? We need to migrate the local databases immediately. Harvey doesn’t know how.” There was a brief pause on the other end. Then, Cheryl’s sweet, high-pitched voice drifted through the receiver. “Doug, the toilet is still leaking. Can you tighten that screw for me again?” My foot froze over the gas pedal. “Izzy, look, the toilet in Cheryl’s rental is totally busted, and her landlord isn’t responding. She’s just a single girl, and her bathroom is flooded. She can’t handle it.” Douglas lowered his voice, speaking into the receiver. “If your studio is flooding, call the building manager. I’m not a plumber.” “But the servers—the database—” “Don’t you have a cloud backup?” he interrupted, his tone sharp and irritated. “You always blow these minor things out of proportion. Cheryl’s place is literally underwater. She doesn’t even have a dry spot to step on.” “I’ll head over as soon as I’m done here. Just handle what you can.” With that, he hung up. I listened to the dial tone, utterly numb. My studio, my livelihood, was on the verge of ruin. And in his eyes, it didn’t even rank higher than a leaking toilet at Cheryl’s place. When I arrived at the studio, the water on the first floor was already ankle-deep. Harvey was drenched in sweat, desperately pushing a broom to sweep the water out the door. Without a word, I rolled up my jeans, waded into the freezing water, and began lifting heavy equipment. It took us three agonizing hours, and a small fortune to hire an emergency restoration crew, to minimize the damage. By 2:00 AM, I was sitting on the damp, muddy concrete floor, shivering, completely soaked. My phone lit up. It was a notification. Cheryl had updated her Instagram story. In the photo, Douglas was wearing his old, faded loungewear t-shirt, crouching on the bathroom floor to fix a pipe. The angle captured his focused profile perfectly. Her caption read: “The ultimate Valentine’s Day savior. Even when life is a messy flood, there’s always someone who shows up to make you feel safe.” The location tag was her apartment building. I locked my phone and stared at the water-stained blueprints pinned to the wall. Douglas had drawn those himself last year. He had promised me that once we saved enough money, we’d buy this studio space and convert it into our dream home. I pulled out my phone and dialed our landlord. “Hi, Mrs. Adler. Sorry to call so late.” “Our lease is up this weekend. We won’t be renewing.” 3 The next morning, when I walked back into our apartment, Douglas was asleep on the sofa. On the coffee table sat a bag of sushi. The receipt taped to the box proudly displayed a BOGO discount. Hearing the door, he rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Where were you last night? I brought the sushi back and you were gone.” He frowned, his voice laced with accusation. “The studio flooded. I told you on the phone,” I said, setting my keys on the counter. I didn’t look at him. Douglas blinked, as if only now remembering the call. “Did you get it fixed? I was exhausted after helping Cheryl last night, so I just crashed on the couch. I didn’t check my phone.” He stood up and walked toward me, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. I stepped aside, slipping past him. His arms remained suspended in mid-air, and his face instantly darkened. “Isabel, that’s enough. I apologized for Valentine’s Day, and I brought you the food.” “What else do you want from me? Am I supposed to grovel forever?” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I felt a profound sense of exhaustion. I didn’t even want to fight. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. I’m going to take a shower. I have a client meeting later.” I walked into the bathroom and turned the lock. As the hot water poured over me, I closed my eyes, but all I could see was the image of him crouching on Cheryl’s floor, fixing her toilet. That afternoon, I went back to the studio to organize the salvaged files. Harvey approached me, his expression troubled. “Isabel… did you lease out the exhibition space on the East Side to someone else?” I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, confused. “No. That’s the venue we secured for next month’s gallery. I already paid the non-refundable deposit.” Harvey sighed and handed me his phone. “Then you should take a look at this.” On the screen was Cheryl’s public social media profile. In a video, she was standing in the middle of our rented gallery space, directing a group of workers who were setting up tables. A banner hanging behind them read: “Cheryl’s Curated Thrift & Vintage Flea Market.” The caption read: “So incredibly grateful to a certain someone for making this happen. Zero venue fees! The ultimate thrift queen’s dream come true.” My ears started to ring. I had spent two weeks pleading with the venue owners, pulling every favor I had, just to lock down that space. I grabbed my keys and drove straight to the East Side gallery. When I pushed open the heavy double doors, Douglas was standing on a stepladder, helping Cheryl string up fairy lights. Cheryl was holding the ladder, laughing up at him. When they saw me walk in, both of their smiles instantly evaporated. “Isabel? What are you doing here?” Douglas climbed down, looking slightly flustered. I walked past them, pointing at the cluttered racks of secondhand clothes scattered across the polished concrete. “Who gave you permission to use my venue?” Cheryl shrank behind Douglas, her voice dropping to a meek whisper. “Isabel, please don’t be mad. Doug said you guys aren’t using this place until next month anyway. It was just sitting empty.” “I just wanted to host a little weekend market to make some extra pocket money.” Douglas stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Isabel, the venue was going to waste. Cheryl is tight on cash right now. What’s the harm in letting her use it for a couple of days?” “A couple of days?” I let out a dry, cold laugh. “This is a professional exhibition space. You’re dragging dusty, used junk over specialized flooring. Who’s going to pay if the finishes get ruined?” “I’ll pay for it!” Douglas raised his voice, clearly losing patience. “Why have you become so incredibly cold? So business-minded? Where is your decency?” Looking at his familiar face, I realized he felt like a complete stranger. “Fine. Pay me.” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “The security deposit was five thousand dollars. Since you’re being so generous, transfer it to my account right now.” Douglas’s face faltered. He avoided my gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I don’t have the funds in my checking account right now,” he mumbled, lowering his voice. “I used it to help Cheryl buy inventory.” 4 The air in the gallery grew thick and suffocating. I stared at Douglas, watching the quick flash of embarrassment turn into defensive anger on his face. “You used the limit on my authorized user card?” Douglas frowned, immediately defensive. “What do you mean, “your” card? I’m the one who pays the monthly bill on that account.” “Cheryl needed short-term capital for her inventory. The interest rates on personal loans are predatory. I just gave her a temporary bridge loan. She’ll pay you back as soon as the flea market wraps up.” He stepped forward, trying to grab my hand. “We’re all friends here. We help each other out. Don’t be so petty.” I pulled my hand back, turning my gaze to Cheryl, who was cowering behind him. She kept her head low, looking like the victim of a terrible injustice. “Cheryl, you wanted inventory, so you used my venue, spent my money, and put my boyfriend to work.” I stared at her. “That is an incredibly efficient way to run a business.” Cheryl’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Isabel… I didn’t know! I don’t have that kind of money. The clothes haven’t even sold yet. Doug told me he was lending me “his” money. He never said it was yours…” Douglas panicked. “Isabel, do you really have to make a scene out of this? The market starts this weekend, and you’ll get every cent back! You have a successful business; do you really care about a measly five grand?” I didn’t bother arguing. I unlocked my phone and dialed my bank’s customer service number. “Hi, I need to report my card ending in 4589 as stolen. I have unauthorized charges.” Once I hung up, I walked out and drove straight back to the apartment. For the next two days, Douglas didn’t come home. He sent me a few texts, claiming the market was chaotic and he needed to stay on-site to help manage the vendors. I didn’t reply. I simply went online and booked a moving company. On Sunday morning, just as I taped up the last cardboard box, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification from Cheryl. It was a photo of her and Douglas sitting in first-class seats on a train, holding VIP tickets to the Celtics game in Boston. Her caption read: “The market was a massive success! Huge thank you to my favorite person for bundling this weekend getaway together to see my favorite team play.” In the corner of the photo, Douglas’s wrist was clearly visible. He was still wearing the matching bracelet. I scrolled past the post with complete detachment. I opened my contacts, selected both of their names, and blocked them. The movers arrived shortly after. “All of this goes, ma’am?” the driver asked, gesturing to the stack of boxes in the living room. “Yes. Everything.” I took one last look around the apartment where I had lived for three years. The framed prints we had picked out together still hung on the walls. The mint plant he had potted sat on the balcony. But I left nothing behind. I cleared it all out—including the space he had once occupied in my heart. Two days later, Douglas walked out of the elevator, carrying a bag of pastries from my favorite bakery, humming a light tune. He pressed his thumb against the biometric lock, but the keypad flashed red, beeped, and denied him entry. Confused, he pulled out his key and tried the deadbolt, only to find the key wouldn’t even slide into the slot. As he reached for his phone to call me, the building’s security guard came down the hall on his rounds. The guard stopped, looking surprised to see him. “Oh, Mr. Fitch. That unit was vacated. The tenant moved out all her things. What are you doing here?”

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The moment I realized Adam didn’t love me anymore—or at least, not the way he used to—I started picking fights. I became difficult, needy, constantly testing the boundaries of his patience. I looked for reasons to spark an argument, desperate for some kind of friction, some proof that he still cared enough to push back. But we’d barely trade two sentences before he’d shut down, treating me like white noise. Staring at his cool, indifferent profile, I would slam the door and storm out into the cold. I never went far. I’d tell myself: “If he comes after me in the next ten seconds, I’ll forgive him.” Ten seconds would stretch into ten minutes. “If he comes looking for me now, I’ll go home with him.” I ended up freezing on a New York sidewalk for four hours. No open door. No text. No missed call. Eventually, I walked back on my own. The apartment was loud, bursting with life. Adam had thrown an impromptu get-together for his friends. A gorgeous woman leaned against him on the sofa, laughing as she held a glass of wine to his lips. The confrontation I’d prepared on my walk back dissolved, popping like the silent, fragile bubbles in a glass of champagne. He looked up, saw my wind-bitten, flushed face, and offered a careless shrug. “Done throwing your tantrum?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and answered softly, “Yeah. I’m done.” … There was a palpable exhaustion in Adam’s eyes. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the smoke curling between us. “Then stop picking fights over every little thing.” We had argued four times in the span of three days. “I waited in line for thirty minutes after work to get you that cake, and you complained it was the wrong flavor. You refused to eat it and made a scene.” “Last night, I missed your call because I was at a business dinner. You locked the bedroom door and wouldn’t let me in.” “This morning, I asked what you wanted for lunch, and you stayed silent. The moment the food arrived, you threw a fit and said you weren’t hungry.” “And now, because I invited some friends over, you lose your temper and threaten to walk out.” He reached out, his warm hand pressing against my freezing cheek. “Amelia, if you’re not tired of this, I am.” “If you’re going to storm out next time, at least remember to bring a coat.” “When you’re done cooling off and realize you have nowhere else to go, you know where the door is. Just let yourself in.” If this had been a few hours ago, I would have cried. I would have screamed, fighting tooth and nail against his version of the truth. But now, I just pressed a hand to my aching chest and forced a smile. “Okay.” From the living room, one of his friends watched me walk away and nudged him. “Aren’t you going to go after her? You used to drop to your knees if she so much as frowned.” Adam glanced casually at his watch. “Back then, chasing her meant playing the puppy dog. It took days of begging just to get her to smile.” “Now? I leave her alone, let her think it through, and she’s back in four hours.” He let out a low, easy laugh. “Looking back, I wasted a lot of energy. Honestly, I regret it.” “Regret.” The word echoed in my mind. During those four hours in the biting cold, I had counted so many ten-second intervals. I kept worrying he was looking for me and we’d somehow missed each other, so I paced the block. I held my phone high above my head, desperately searching for a signal, ignoring the strange looks from passersby. A little boy playing nearby looked up at me, curious. “Is the signal bad, or is my phone broken?” I muttered to myself. “Why isn’t anything coming through?” The boy bounced on his heels, eager to help. “Let me see!” I handed him the screen, which was open to my chat with Adam. “Whoa, lady, you sent this guy a ton of messages.” “He barely wrote back. Are you waiting for him?” He tapped the screen with the solemn gravity of an expert. “Your phone isn’t broken, lady.” “Nobody’s texting you.” “You’re kind of silly.” Just then, the screen lit up. My heart leaped, and I snatched it back. It was a push notification from an app. The phone was fine. Adam just hadn’t reached out. Our chat history ended the night before. Every message I’d sent had gone unanswered. I went from asking what time he’d be home, to wondering if he’d even seen my texts, to a hollow, aching sadness. “Are you that busy? Just text me when you’re done, okay?” And finally, after three of my calls were forwarded straight to voicemail, I had descended into a frantic panic. “You’re seeing these. Why aren’t you replying?” “Did I say something wrong? Why are you ignoring me?” But my unraveling—my tears, my desperation—had met a wall of absolute silence. Just like today. While I was shivering on a street corner waiting for him, he had already filled the house with people to keep him company. My presence, my absence, my voice—none of it made a dent in Adam’s world anymore. The speech he’d made, listing all my faults, had been recorded by someone in the room and uploaded online. The caption read: “How do high-maintenance girls like this get such amazing boyfriends? Why can’t I find a guy like him?” By the time I saw it, the internet had already unleashed a tidal wave of vitriol. “If I worked a ten-hour day only to come home to a princess like that, I’d kick her to the curb.” “Bro, take my advice. If she plays these games, dump her. A guy with your looks and money can do way better. She’ll come crawling back.” “He spoiled her too much. If you ignore them, they fall right back in line. That’s how I handle my girl.” “Where does she get off? Let’s go humble this spoiled brat in the comments.” Even Adam’s friends joined the fray, commenting that my real-life behavior was actually worse than what was shown in the video. The harassment intensified. The clip spread like wildfire, eventually reaching my coworkers and even trickling down to my family. It turned out the video had been posted by Victoria—the girl who had been feeding Adam wine. When I confronted him, Adam was scrolling through the comments, utterly unbothered. “I talked to Victoria. She said she was just mad on my behalf. She wanted some outside perspective, she didn’t think it would go viral.” “The guys were just sticking up for me, too.” “I’ll tell her to take it down. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” “I mean, the video isn’t wrong about what happened. You got a few mean comments online, but it didn’t actually affect your real life. Just let it go.” Before the video was even taken down, a notification popped up on my feed. “Adam liked this video.” Seeing me stare at his screen, he quickly unliked it, his expression casual. “Slip of the thumb.” I didn’t say whether I believed him, but his brow furrowed in immediate annoyance. “Are you going to start another fight?” “I’m exhausted, Amelia. I don’t have the energy for this.” “Just go cool down. You tend to figure things out faster when you’re left alone.” I did figure things out. I stripped away every habit Adam found “difficult.” I stopped asking if he loved me. I stopped getting upset over his late nights. I stopped checking in on him. Adam called it “finally growing up.” Since I no longer watched his every move, he started coming home later and later. One night, Victoria brought him home. She fluttered around our living room, pouring him water, gently massaging his temples to ease his hangover. Then, as if suddenly remembering my presence, she offered a sweet, apologetic smile. “Oh, I should go. I’m sure Amelia wants to take care of you, Adam.” She said the words, but she didn’t move an inch. Adam reached out and caught her hand. “Victoria. My head hurts.” She looked torn, glancing between us. “Adam doesn’t want me to leave.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching them like a spectator at a mediocre play. “Then stay.” The jacket Adam had tossed onto the sofa still carried the heavy trail of Victoria’s perfume. It took me back to the night our fights first started. Same jacket. Same scent. I had sat on the sofa waiting for him until three in the morning. “You were MIA all day because you were with Victoria?” “Yeah,” he’d said carelessly, loosening his tie as he headed for the bathroom. “She just got back to the city. A bunch of us got together to welcome her.” He didn’t look at me. I had followed him, feeling like I was standing on the edge of a cliff. “Adam, did you forget what you promised me? You said you wouldn’t see her.” He shot me a look of deep, barely concealed irritation. “Are we really doing this again? How long ago did she confess to me? It’s ancient history.” “Can you stop being so incredibly insecure?” “Do me a favor and focus on something productive.” He brushed my hand off the bathroom door and closed it in my face. Shutting me out. Dividing our lives into two separate worlds. I wasn’t blind to the changes. He’d park the car in the garage and sit in it for an hour before coming upstairs. We couldn’t exchange three sentences before he’d sigh, tell me he was tired, and turn his back to me. I used to wonder if he was going through something difficult at work. But eventually, I realized he was just bored of me. Bored, impatient, and completely checked out. I had panicked. The more terrified I became of losing him, the more sensitive I grew. The tighter I tried to hold on, the faster he slipped away. After that night he came home smelling like her, our home became a battlefield of constant arguments. But Adam only grew colder. He started putting on his headphones the moment I opened my mouth, or he’d simply walk out of the room. Once, I chased him down and ripped the headphones off his ears, tears streaming down my face. “Adam, do you think I want to fight with you?” “I don’t feel a single shred of affection from you anymore! I just want an explanation. I want you to hold me, to reassure me. Is that really so hard?” I had pleaded, shedding my dignity. “What happened to us? Did I do something wrong? Can we please just talk?” Adam didn’t say a word. He snatched his headphones back, put them over his ears, and said: “Do whatever you want.” The sound of Victoria’s soft laughter from the guest room snapped me back to the present. I forced myself to look away. I stopped myself from reaching out to him. I ate alone. I slept alone. I lived alone. I was slowly adapting to the silence, but I never expected my grandmother to intervene. Apparently, she had tried to get in touch with Adam several times, but he had ignored her calls. When I arrived at his office building, my grandmother was in the lobby, apologizing to Adam on my behalf. She looked so small, offering quiet pleas while Adam sat there, accepting her humility as if it were his birthright. “If only Amelia were as reasonable as you, Nana,” he said smoothly. There was no chair for my grandmother. She stood before him, looking anxious and ashamed. “Adam, I saw that video online and wanted to talk to you,” she said gently. “But I couldn’t reach you, so I came here today. I’ll say my piece and go. I don’t want to be a bother.” “I’m so sorry. Amelia was wrong, and I want to apologize for her.” “Please, don’t hold a grudge against my girl.” One of Adam’s friends laughed from the sofa. “With all due respect, ma’am, a simple apology doesn’t just erase the headache she’s caused him.” A hot spike of anger flared behind my eyes. I rushed into the room, grabbing my grandmother’s arm to lead her away. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, patting my hand. “We have to talk things out nicely.” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “The cake you waited thirty minutes for?” I spat, staring directly at Adam. “You sat in the car while your assistant bought it. It was mango flavor. I am highly allergic to mango. How was I supposed to eat it?” “And you say I locked you out? What about the hours I spent texting you while you ignored me? You had time to hit ‘decline’ on my calls, but you couldn’t spare a second to tell me when you’d be home.” “You claim I never told you what I wanted for lunch. I booked a reservation a day in advance and sent you the details. You agreed to it, and then you forgot. The food you ordered had ingredients I can’t eat.” “And your friends? The ‘friend’ you brought over is the girl who confessed to you. The girl I caught kissing you, whom you promised never to see again.” “Adam, I’m done trying to sort through this mess. It’s pointless.” “But how dare you stand here and let my grandmother apologize to you? How dare you humiliate her?” My voice cracked on the final shout. Adam sat up a little straighter, his posture stiffening. Before he could answer, the door swung open and Victoria walked in. She swept past me without a glance, heading straight for Adam. “Adam, I loved that restaurant you took me to tonight. Let’s go there again tomorrow!” So, the man we couldn’t reach had been spending his evening with her. I felt nothing—just a dull, numb acceptance. But my grandmother’s breathing grew shallow as she put the pieces together. “So you’re the one sneaking around, and you’re the other woman trying to ruin a relationship. Yet you turn around and paint my granddaughter as the villain.” Her hands shook with rage. “Where is your decency? Were you raised with any morals at all?” Victoria’s face twisted in an instant. “What did you just call me, you crazy old woman?” She shoved my grandmother. On the hard marble floor, the sound of her fall was sickeningly loud. Victoria gasped, stepping back toward Adam. She grabbed his arm, her voice instantly dropping into a trembling whine. “Adam, I didn’t mean to. She fell on her own.” The world faded into static. I couldn’t hear their voices anymore. All I could hear was my grandmother groaning in pain on the floor. I fell to my knees beside her, terrified to touch her, my hands shaking so violently I dropped my phone three times trying to dial 911. The paramedics arrived quickly. But as they tried to wheel the stretcher out, Victoria blocked the doorway, clinging to Adam’s arm. “Adam, they insulted me first. Are you just going to let them leave like this?” She whispered fiercely, “Everyone is watching. My friends are here. Am I just supposed to take this humiliation?” “She’s your girlfriend. You have to make this right.” Adam remained silent for a long moment, then looked down at me. “Amelia, apologize to Victoria.” “Apologize, and you can go.” I looked up at him, my temples throbbing, my teeth clenched so hard they ached. “Get the hell out of my way,” I rasped. “Let the paramedics through.” Victoria stepped forward. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Adam pulled her behind him. His lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. “Amelia, I thought you’d finally grown up.” “Since a simple apology is too much for you, how about a formal bow?” He sat back down, crossing his legs, his eyes icy. “I have all night. We can stay here as long as it takes.” He glanced toward the stretcher. “But I don’t know if your grandmother has that kind of time.” For a second, my mind went entirely blank. All those fights, all those tears—I had only wanted to know if he still cared. And now, the truth I had been too terrified to admit stared me in the face. He didn’t love me. It was over. I wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. My grandmother was pale with pain, her eyes squeezed shut. I stood up from the floor, wiping the tears from my face. And then, I bent my spine. Victoria scoffed. “That’s barely an effort.” I lowered myself further, bowing deeply to both of them. “I’m sorry.” A single tear fell, splashing onto the polished floor. With it, the final remnants of the love we had built since high school shattered into dust. Fortunately, my grandmother was strong for her age. It was only a hairline fracture. She squeezed my hand from her hospital bed. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I only made things worse for you.” “I saw you in that video… you looked like you were about to cry. It broke my heart.” “I knew how much you loved him. I just wanted things to be okay between you two.” I buried my face in her palm, my tears soaking her skin. Adam and I “had” been happy once. I remembered high school, when he would take a detour across the entire city just to walk me home after evening study sessions. I remembered our trip abroad when we got pickpocketed. With only fifty dollars left to our name, Adam went hungry, insisting I use the money to get a warm meal. I remembered the night we graduated college, when he slipped a ring onto my finger and promised I could be as difficult as I wanted for the rest of my life, because he would always be there to hold me. Adam used to hate the smell of smoke. He never touched a cigarette around me. Once, after our worst fight, I had gone on a business trip to another city. He drove through the night to find me, pulling me into his arms and whispering that no matter where I went, he would always chase after me. He had loved me then. Truly. My grandmother stroked my hair. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. Just you and me. Okay?” I stopped crying and nodded quickly. “Yes. Let’s go home.” Adam showed up at the hospital later, but it wasn’t to check on my grandmother. The tables had turned. Someone had filmed the incident in the lobby and posted it online. The public hadn’t forgotten about the “dramatic girlfriend” from the previous viral video. Seeing the sudden plot twist, the internet turned its wrath on Adam and Victoria. Adam looked exhausted, his expression tight. “I already had the video taken down.” “Victoria posted a statement explaining we’re just friends.” “But people are still harassing her in the comments and DMing her horrible things.” “I need you to post a clarification. Just say your grandmother tripped and fell on her own, and that Victoria had nothing to do with it.” “And clarify that you know Victoria and I are just friends. There’s nothing going on.” “After all, your grandmother was the one who insulted her first.” Right then, his phone rang. It was Victoria. Her voice, thick with tears, came through the speaker. “Adam, did she agree to post it yet?” “People are being so mean to me. I’m so scared. Can you please come back and stay with me?” Adam looked up at me. “You hear her?” “Victoria is in a really bad place right now. Let’s keep our issues between us and leave innocent people out of it.” I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I thought you said getting dragged online was no big deal? It’s just some strangers on the internet, right?” Adam raised a hand, cutting me off. “Don’t start with the dramatic act again. You walked away fine, didn’t you?” “Amelia, don’t be suffocating. We have real problems to deal with, and you’re still obsessing over your petty jealousy.” Disgusted, he reached out to grab my phone to write it himself. I stepped back, keeping the screen out of his reach. “No need. I’ll post it.” Adam froze, slowly dropping his hand. His phone kept buzzing in his palm—Victoria was losing her patience. In his contact list, my name had been moved to the bottom, marked with a mute icon. Since I had agreed to his demands, he didn’t care to linger. After he left, I helped my grandmother discharge from the hospital. On our way home, the taxi drove past the apartment Adam and I used to share. The familiar building flashed by, quickly swallowed by the city skyline. I unlocked my phone, drafted the post, and hit upload. Within ten minutes, my phone began to vibrate violently. Texts flooded in from friends, acquaintances, and people I hadn’t spoken to in years. And then came Adam. The man who hadn’t initiated a conversation with me in weeks sent a barrage of texts. The final notification was a voice note, his tone dripping with barely controlled fury: “Amelia, what the hell did you just post?” “What is your problem?”

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My boyfriend Hudson’s childhood friend is a social media influencer who specializes in “prank” videos. The first time, she deliberately flashed her bikini photos to him while I was sitting right there, secretly recording his reaction. The second time, she let her towel slip in front of the camera during a FaceTime call to see how he’d react. The third time, under the watchful eyes of everyone at a party, she suddenly grabbed him and kissed him on the mouth, laughing it off with a breezy explanation: “Don’t be mad, Miranda! It’s just a ‘Kiss Your Best Friend’ challenge for my channel!” This time, it was at our proposal party. She grabbed the microphone, her eyes rimmed with red. “Hudson, I’m pregnant.” The entire room fell into a dead silence. Hudson froze. Then, she burst into a loud, mocking laugh. “Gotcha! Just kidding!” But right at that moment, a row of glowing, translucent text floated across my field of vision, like a live chat stream: [Girl, wake up! This time it’s actually real!] [The night you two had that massive fight because of the kiss and went cold turkey? He got wasted and slept with her!] I stared blankly at Hudson, who was quietly letting out a sigh of relief. A cold smile touched my lips. “I’m pregnant too,” I said softly. “And it’s not yours.” … 01. The face of Manhattan’s golden boy instantly turned a dangerous shade of ash. “Miranda, say that again. I dare you.” He grabbed my wrist, a dark, raging storm brewing in his eyes. I looked at him, completely calm. “Just kidding.” But Hudson’s anger only flared hotter. He gripped my shoulders hard, his voice echoing through the silent room. “Miranda, you think a pregnancy is something to joke about? Are you messing with me?!” I glanced over at Lexi. Then I looked back into Hudson’s cold, menacing gaze, a faint smirk playing on my lips. “Why? Lexi can joke about it, but I can’t? How many times has she made a fool out of you? Why aren’t you angry at her?” My nails bit into my palms. I forced down the crushing ache in my chest. Hudson stiffened. The aggressive fire in his eyes died out instantly. The guests shifted uncomfortably, barely daring to breathe. I took a deep breath, pushed him away, and turned to leave. Behind me, Lexi’s loud, scoffing voice carried across the room. “Oh, so this tantrum is directed at me? Is she crazy? I was just trying to add some flavor to their proposal party. Was that really necessary?” She raised her voice, making sure every word reached my ears. I wasn’t about to pretend to be deaf. I snatched a bottle of champagne from a passing tray and smashed it violently at Lexi’s feet. She shrieked, jumping back. “Miranda, you’re insane!” I gave her a polite, empty smile. “I was just trying to make the party more exciting. Was that really necessary?” Infuriated, Lexi grabbed a heavy wine bottle from the table and lunged to throw it at me. As I braced to dodge, Hudson suddenly threw himself in front of me, locking me in a tight embrace. The heavy glass bottle struck the back of his head with a sickening thud. Shattered glass rained down, and blood immediately began to pour down his neck. “Hudson! Oh my God, call 911!” The crowd erupted into chaos, rushing toward him. And I, standing in the middle of the madness, calmly dialed the police. At the precinct, Lexi refused to back down, loudly claiming I had started the fight. But the security footage was clear: I had targeted the floor; she had aimed directly at a human head. Lexi shook with rage. “Miranda! Are you really not going to let this go until I’m locked in a cell?” “Shouldn’t you be held accountable for what you do?” I asked quietly. Just then, Hudson walked in. He should have been in the ER. “Officer, I’m the victim here,” Hudson said, his voice flat. “I want to drop the charges. We’re settling this privately. She doesn’t need to be detained.” Lexi’s eyes welled with tears, and she threw herself into his arms, sobbing dramatically. Hudson’s body went rigid as he looked at me, his lips parting as if to explain. I simply smiled, picked up my purse, and walked out into the cool night air. The autumn breeze cleared some of the fog in my head. Hudson caught up with me quickly. “Miranda, wait! Just hear me out!” He grabbed my arm, his tone laced with a familiar, impatient frustration. “It was just a stupid spat. Did you really have to take it this far?” The floating text flickered across my eyes again. [Just got back from reading the future chapters—the countdown starts now.] [She’s going to apply for that three-year medical aid program in Southeast Asia, but she’ll let him torture her emotionally for another two weeks before actually breaking up!] A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Why wait for a countdown? “Hudson, let’s break up.” The arrogant, untouchable smirk on his face completely froze. He narrowed his eyes. “Break up? Are you kidding me?” 02. We didn’t see each other again until a week later. Hudson blocked my car in the hospital parking garage. His imposing frame hovered over me, his voice raw and laced with irritation as he cornered me against the driver’s side door. “Miranda! What the hell are you still mad about?” I had been with Hudson for three years. In the beginning, I knew exactly what this was: a rich heir’s passing amusement, a game he wanted to play. If he hadn’t crashed his motorcycle and ended up in my clinic that day, our worlds would never have crossed. He was relentless in his pursuit, and I didn’t have the energy to fight him off. I figured I would just wait until he got bored and let the relationship die a natural death. But when did I start falling? When did I become foolish enough to think we actually had a future? I blinked back the sting of tears and took a deep breath. “The night Lexi said she was pregnant… was she really just joking?” Hudson let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Are you serious? You’ve been freezing me out for a week because of that?” “Miranda, I’ve told you a thousand times! We grew up together. She’s like a sister to me. Honestly, I don’t even see her as a woman!” The comments flashed rapidly in front of me. [Liar! That time she sent him the bikini pic, he stared at it and saved it to his private folder!] [And she cornered him in the restroom at that club to get him alone. He smirked and asked her when she got so bold, and she literally teased him, asking if he wanted to find out!] [When she dropped her towel on camera, he cornered her in a bathroom later and told her to stop playing those games. His face was pure jealousy, not brotherly concern.] My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I looked up at him, meeting his patronizing stare with a cold, mocking look of my own. “Then tell me. The night we had that fight—the night I walked out—where did you go after you got drunk?” The usually unbothered, wealthy heir suddenly looked cornered. He ran a hand through his messy hair, taking a sharp breath before speaking. “Fine. I admit I went to Lexi’s place that night.” “But I already explained this to you! Making those stupid videos is her job. She does it for views, she didn’t mean anything by it! But you had to make a scene, slamming the door and walking out in front of all my friends. Do you have any idea how that made me look?” “I was angry, and I went over there to spite you. But nothing happened between us!” His dark eyes searched mine, filled with an anxious sincerity I had never seen in him before. “Babe, I swear to God, I would never cheat on you.” [Well, he’s technically not lying. In his mind, he just got blackout drunk and passed out at her place.] [She lied and told him nothing happened, and he actually believed her. He has no idea she’s actually pregnant with his kid!] I looked into his eyes. “Why did you drop the charges against her?” He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “She’s my friend, Miranda. Was I supposed to let her go to jail?” “If she had hit me with that bottle instead of you, would you still have dropped the charges?” Hudson fell silent for a moment. Then he muttered, “No. If she hurt you, I’d make her pay.” I laughed. Perhaps my laughter was too sharp, because his brows furrowed, and he leaned in to kiss me—a hard, punishing kiss. “Fine, I didn’t handle the boundaries well. I admit that. But don’t you dare think about breaking up.” I closed my eyes, too exhausted to fight him. “Let’s make a bet.” “If you can prove what you just said—that you’d make her pay if she hurt me—I’ll take back the breakup.” 03. Lexi’s account uploaded a new video. “Title: Announcing I’m Pregnant at my Best Friend’s Proposal Party to See the Bride’s Reaction!” A few normal viewers commented: “This isn’t funny. It’s incredibly disrespectful.” Her army of fans immediately swarmed the comments, hounding the users until they deleted their posts. I shut off my phone, getting ready to leave after my shift. The comments floated up again. [Miranda, run! Someone is waiting to jump you.] [Lexi made a fake account and told her fan club that you beat her up and put her in the hospital.] [Her rabid fans hired some local thugs. They’re waiting in the hospital garage right now!] An alarm blared in my head. Instead of taking the elevator, I crept down the fire stairs. Sure enough, there were three shady-looking men loitering near my car. I snapped a quick photo of them and dialed Lexi directly. She seemed surprised to hear from me, but her tone quickly turned smug. “Hudson and I are at a friend’s estate for a pool party. You want an invite?” When I arrived, they were in the middle of a loud, drunken game of Truth or Dare. The crowd was chanting for Hudson and Lexi to share a one-minute kiss. Seeing me walk in, Lexi smirked and wrapped her arms around Hudson’s neck, leaning in. Hudson immediately pushed her off, looking at me with a mix of panic and eager submission. “Babe, what are you doing here?” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around me, but I stepped right past him and slapped the photo onto the table in front of Lexi. “Your doing?” Lexi glanced at it. A flash of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a cold scoff. “Are you out of your mind? What is this trash?” I stared her down. “Lexi, I thought you crossing boundaries and throwing yourself at someone else’s boyfriend under the guise of ‘pranks’ was the lowest you could go.” “I didn’t realize you literally had no bottom line.” “Let me make this clear: I am not a pushover. If you try to use these disgusting, cowardly tactics to hurt me again, I will ruin you.” The entire room went dead silent. To Hudson’s friends, I had always been the quiet, rational doctor who never lost her temper. When Lexi kissed Hudson in public before, I had simply grabbed my bag and left without a word. They never expected me to humiliate Lexi so fiercely in front of everyone. The atmosphere turned incredibly tense. Hudson tried to soften his voice, reaching out to soothe me. “Babe, there has to be a mistake here…” I let out a bitter laugh, holding up my phone. “A mistake? Did I hire these thugs myself?” “She incited her fans to attack me. If I hadn’t noticed them in time and slipped away, what do you think would have happened to me tonight?” My voice shook with raw anger. Hudson sighed, pulling me toward him. “Miranda, calm down. You weren’t actually hurt. And a photo doesn’t prove anything. For all we know, someone is trying to set her up…” The last thread of my patience snapped. I shoved him away with all my strength, screaming, “Do you remember promising me that if she ever hurt me, you’d make her pay?!” “So what, I have to be kidnapped, beaten, or assaulted before you’ll believe me?!” “Hudson! I don’t care if you believe me or not! You can let her trample all over our three years together, you can let her run wild in our lives, and you can believe her lies blindly!” “But you do not have the right to stop me from protecting myself!” I was shaking violently, completely pushed to the brink. Hudson had never seen me like this. Lexi bit her lip, looking at Hudson with a face full of tragic victimhood. “Hudson, we’ve known each other for twenty years. Are you really going to let your ex-girlfriend stand here and humiliate me like this?” She suddenly grabbed a wine bottle, smashed it on the table, and held a jagged edge to her wrist. Hudson panicked. He shoved me aside, rushing to wrestle the broken glass from her hand. “Are you insane?!” She collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically. “Let me go! You’re a jerk, Hudson! I hate you!” I watched the spectacle. With a cold, mocking laugh, I turned to walk away. Terrified, Hudson broke away from her and lunged to grab my wrist. “Miranda, wait!” “Get lost!” I swung around and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t you ever come near me again.” As I slammed the door behind me, I heard Hudson’s furious roar from inside the house. “Miranda, if I ever chase after you again, I’m a goddamn dog!” 04. Our ugly breakup became the talk of our social circles. A few days later, my hospital colleagues invited me out for a karaoke night to cheer me up. As I walked past a VIP lounge down the hall, I heard my name. “Who does Miranda think she is, slapping Hudson like that?” “Hudson’s a billionaire heir. He was just playing around with some middle-class doctor, and she actually thought she was special.” “Well, she got nothing out of it. Not a single cent of a parting gift.” I ignored them and walked into the restroom. But as soon as I turned on the faucet, the lights suddenly went out. Everything went black. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the couch in the very lounge I had just passed. My body was completely heavy, and I couldn’t even summon the strength to make a sound. The men standing over me were Hudson’s friends. One of them leaned over, studying my face, a sleazy grin spreading across his lips. “Are we sure about what Lexi said? This doctor is hot as hell, but if Hudson actually cares, he’ll destroy us.” Another guy snorted. “Lexi said she’s just trash Hudson threw away. Don’t believe me? Watch.” He pulled out his phone, dialed Hudson’s number, and put it on speaker. Hudson’s impatient voice came through the line. “What?” The background on his end was loud, filled with music and laughter. He was at a club. “Hey, man, we’re over at the Blue Night Lounge tonight. Guess who we ran into?” “Your ex, Miranda!” There was a pause on the other end. Then, Hudson’s cold, detached voice responded. “So? What’s that got to do with me?” The guys exchanged thrilled glances. “Well, she insisted on coming into our room to have a few drinks with us. We couldn’t even stop her.” “Just wanted to check in with you first. We wouldn’t dare touch your ex without your green light.” I fought with everything I had to scream, but my lips were entirely numb. My throat felt closed shut; not a single gasp of air could escape. Then, Hudson’s sneering, indifferent voice echoed through the speaker. “Do whatever you want. What she does is none of my business.” “I’ve already moved on.” The line went dead. The guy holding the phone smirked. “See? Hudson’s got a new girl. She’s nothing to him now.” He grabbed my hair, forcing my head back onto the leather cushions. A cold shiver ran down my spine, and hot tears spilled over my temples. One of the other guys hesitated. “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t actually do anything. We all know Hudson’s temper. He almost proposed to her. Let’s not cross the line.” In the end, they didn’t touch me sexually. Instead, they brutally tore open my shirt, exposing my shoulders. One of them slapped my face hard to force me to look at the lens, while the other snapped photos and videos. I heard the shutter clicks. I heard the blood rushing in my ears, a roaring, desperate sound of pure helplessness and fury. They dumped me out of a car onto the empty street in the dead of night. It was past 3:00 AM. My coworkers probably assumed I had left early because I wasn’t feeling well. My phone was full of missed calls. I sat on the cold curb. Suddenly, brilliant fireworks erupted in the night sky over the city harbor. In the midst of the glittering light, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Glowing text began to drift across my vision again. [That absolute trash of a male lead is literally putting on a massive firework display for Lexi right now to announce they’re together. I’m sick to my stomach!] [Lexi is already planning her next ‘prank’ video. She’s going to use a fake number to pretend to be Hudson, begging Miranda to get back together, just to publicly humiliate her when she agrees.] [If Miranda actually takes him back after this, she deserves what she gets.] I stared blankly at the comments floating in the dark. The fog in my mind cleared, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve. You love pranks, Lexi? Fine. Let’s play.

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My father was dying, and his last wish was to see Amelia and me married. I begged her for weeks to move up the wedding date, and she finally agreed. But when he passed, taking his final, lingering regrets with him, she was nowhere to be found at the courthouse. Instead, my best friend Jude posted a series of photos of her having dinner with his family on social media. “Wedding prep in full swing. Mom and Dad absolutely adore their future daughter-in-law.” Looking at the intimacy in those photos, my chest tightened. I couldn’t stop myself from calling her, my voice shaking with a mix of grief and betrayal. Amelia dismissed my call with effortless ease. “Jude’s parents are getting older, Christian. They just want to see him settled down. I’m only helping him play a part to put them at ease. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?” When I stayed silent, her voice sharpened, heavy with irritation. “I honestly can’t stand this stubborn attitude of yours. If you keep acting like this, we’re done.” That was the 101st time she had threatened to break up with me because of Jude. This time, I didn’t beg her to stay. And this time, she was the one who would regret it. … By the time I finished making the arrangements for my father’s funeral, night had fallen. Amelia hadn’t tried to call or text me once. Jude, however, had been relentlessly spamming our group chat with a barrage of photos. They were choosing diamond rings. Trying on wedding dresses. Jude kept tagging me: “Hey Christian, look at this suit. Does it match the shoes Amelia just bought me?” “Ugh, Amelia bought another mountain of supplements for my parents. They haven’t even finished the last batch she sent. There’s barely any room left in the house—can you help me convince her to stop?” In our six years together, Amelia had never bought me a single gift. She had never once visited my parents of her own accord. Every time I brought it up, her excuse was always the same: she was too busy, too overwhelmed with work. Yet in the photos Jude posted, Amelia—the woman who claimed she didn’t know how to boil an egg—was hovering in the kitchen, carefully chopping vegetables and pouring tea for Jude’s parents. The ease in her movements made it painfully clear that this wasn’t her first time playing housewife in their home. I scrolled up. In that three-person group chat, my presence was a ghost. They discussed their wedding, mapped out their future. My occasional messages hung there, isolated and unanswered, pushed up and out of sight by their domestic chatter. I didn’t want to be the third wheel in my own life anymore. With a few taps on my screen, I left the group chat. Then, I blocked both of their numbers. A few hours later, a call came through from Amelia on an unknown number. Her voice was cold, distant, and dripping with annoyance. “Christian, what kind of tantrum is this? You do this every single time. Aren’t you tired of it? I already explained it to you—Jude’s family was pressuring him, and I was just doing him a favor. Can you stop being so unreasonable?” I lost my voice for a moment. Unreasonable. Looking back, the only one who had ever been unreasonable in this relationship was Amelia. She threatened to break up if I couldn’t secure her a limited-edition designer handbag. She threatened to break up if my wire transfers fell short of five figures. And if Jude was having a bad day, she somehow twisted it to blame me, capping it off with yet another breakup threat. She knew how deeply I loved her. She knew I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. So, whenever things got difficult, she would casually throw out that icy ultimatum: “If you can’t handle it, let’s break up.” For six years, I had bowed my head. I had compromised a hundred times. This was the hundred and first. And this time, I refused to bend. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father is dead, Amelia. We don’t have to keep pretending for the sake of his health anymore.” A heavy silence fell over the line. When she spoke again, her tone had softened, laced with sudden panic. “I… I didn’t know. Christian, wait for me. I’m coming over to be with you right now.” More than an hour passed. Amelia never showed up. Instead, a sudden, violent downpour swept over the city. I was running through the storm, trying to find shelter near my father’s old place, when my foot slipped on the muddy slope of the hill. I tumbled downward, my head colliding violently with a jagged rock. The world went black. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed with thick gauze wrapped tightly around my head. The room was empty. The nurse told me I had severe exhaustion and a mild concussion, requiring a couple of days of observation. For two days, Amelia never appeared. All I had to keep me company were Jude’s constant social media updates. “Worst luck ever. Caught a terrible cold right before the big day, but thank god I have my fiancée here to nurse me back to health.” “Craving those late-night loaded sliders from that diner upstate, and Amelia drove all night through the rain to get them for me. Someone who truly loves you will always meet your needs, no questions asked.” Not long ago, Amelia and I had fought because she wanted a limited-edition art toy. I had stood in line under the scorching sun for over three hours to get it for her. The heat was relentless, and I ended up passing out on the sidewalk from heatstroke. When I called her to come pick me up, she answered with nothing but sheer impatience. “Christian, can you stop being so dramatic? I’m not like other women—I have a career to build. My time is extremely valuable, and I can’t afford to waste it on your attention-seeking stunts.” When she said those words, she seemed to have forgotten that the very career she was so proud of was built on the back of my own sacrifices—sacrifices I made out of love, stepping aside so she could shine. Yet now, she could cast her precious career aside without a second thought, spending days cooking and cleaning for Jude. A dull, hollow ache settled in my chest. I didn’t even know how to label the emotion anymore. Jude had been my best friend. When I first introduced them, Amelia acted as though she despised him. She would complain to me constantly about how dense and irritating he was, leaving me caught in the middle, trying to smooth things over. But gradually, imperceptibly, Jude’s name began to slip into her conversations more and more. And the words she directed at me grew fewer and fewer, until we were nothing but strangers sharing a roof. I didn’t want to drown in this crowded relationship anymore. I drafted a message to Amelia and officially called it off. Her reply came almost instantly this time. “Stop playing games, Christian. I’m incredibly busy right now and can’t get away. Meet me at the airport tomorrow. I’ll fly back with you, and we can talk about this face-to-face.” I didn’t wait at the airport like a loyal dog this time. I booked my own ticket and boarded the plane. During the flight, I drifted into a long, feverish dream. I dreamed of the early days, when Amelia and I were consumed by each other, long before Jude ever cast a shadow over us. When she wanted to start her own business, I emptied my savings to fund her. When she needed a solid foundation, I resigned from my own position to manage her life. When my family looked down on her modest background, I fought them tooth and nail to defend her. Back then, we were the couple everyone envied. The shift—the slow, rot-like decay—began on the day of the car accident. I forced myself awake, unable to bear the weight of those memories. When the plane landed, Amelia was not there. I took a cab home alone. It wasn’t until the late hours of the third night that she finally showed up at the house. “I told you to wait for me so we could come back together. Why did you break your promise?” Jerking awake from a shallow sleep, my head throbbed. “So you expected me to sit at the airport for three days and three nights?” Amelia pressed her lips together. “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Get up and make me a grilled cheese sandwich.” I didn’t answer. I simply pulled the duvet over my shoulders and turned my back to her. She let out an annoyed huff and tossed her suitcase onto the floor. “I swear, marrying a man like you is the worst curse of my life.” With that, she slammed the door and left. I didn’t set an alarm, sleeping in until the sun was high. In the past, I would have been up by six, ironing her clothes and preparing a gourmet breakfast. But it was never enough. She would always complain that my ironing wasn’t as crisp as Jude’s, or that my home-cooked meals were either too bland or too oily. A meal I spent hours preparing could never compete with a bowl of instant ramen made by Jude. If my efforts were nothing but a chore to her, I saw no reason to keep playing the servant. But today, Amelia had actually made breakfast herself. She was quietly eating a bowl of oatmeal, keeping her eyes cast down. “I’m sorry about your dad, Christian. I really am. But you don’t need to pick a fight with me on a day like today.” “What day?” I asked, genuinely lost. She pulled a beautifully wrapped gift box from behind her. “Christian, you’re truly disappointing. How could you forget our sixth anniversary—” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze freezing on my forehead. “What happened to your head?” “While you were playing nurse to Jude, I finished burying my father, slipped down a muddy hill, hit a rock, and got drenched in a rainstorm,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “It’s fine. His cold was obviously much more critical.” Amelia stared at me, her dark eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. After a long pause, she murmured, “Just eat. I made the New England clam chowder you like. Once you’re done, open your gift.” “No thanks,” I said quietly. “Today is July twentieth. Our anniversary was June twentieth. It passed a month ago. And more importantly, I’m allergic to shellfish.” Late gifts are worthless. And late love is even cheaper. Jude was the one who loved New England clam chowder. Jude was the one who loved receiving gifts. All I had ever wanted from Amelia was her presence. Amelia fell silent for a moment. “Work has been overwhelming lately. Don’t overthink things. Jude’s parents are getting older, and his family doesn’t have the kind of financial safety net yours does. His parents are in poor health and constantly worry about his future. I only stepped in to help so you wouldn’t feel pressured to support him…” Whenever Jude was the topic, Amelia’s words flowed effortlessly. I didn’t have the energy to tear down her excuses. I certainly didn’t want to ask what had happened during the two weeks she spent living under Jude’s roof. “Believe whatever makes you feel better,” I muttered. My indifference struck a nerve. She slammed her chopsticks onto the table. “Christian, can you stop being so incredibly childish? You’re a grown man living comfortably off my hard work. What more do you want? Look at yourself lately—you don’t even compare to Jude. Can you really blame me for not wanting to come home to this?” The version of me she despised was a direct result of the injuries I sustained trying to save her years ago. I didn’t argue. I stood up and began packing my bags. Amelia continued her lecture, shadowing my movements. “I’m talking to you! What are you doing? All you do lately is scroll mindlessly through stupid videos. Why can’t you focus on doing something productive with your life? Look at Jude. His family had nothing, but he’s hardworking and ambitious. He’s ten times the man you are!” Everything she and Jude currently owned—the business, the lifestyle, the status—was built entirely on my capital and my industry connections. And now, she was throwing my lack of utility in my face. Humans really are insatiably greedy. “I have to go,” I said. “Christian, I’m not finished talking to you!” Amelia reached out to grab my arm, but I flinched away, physically repulsed by her touch. In six years, she had never truly listened to a word I said. Any attempt at a real conversation ended in her threatening to leave, throwing a tantrum, and making a scene. I had run out of patience to soothe her ego. As I turned toward the door, Amelia suddenly shrieked, “Stop right there!” She was holding my father’s last keepsake high in the air—a delicate jade Buddha pendant. “If you take one more step, I’ll smash this to pieces!” “Amelia, that was my dad’s!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “He literally got that to protect our home!” When my father was terribly sick, his greatest worry was the future Amelia and I would share. He had forced his failing body to drive hundreds of miles to a sacred temple, kneeling for hours to pray for this jade pendant to guard our peace. At the time, Amelia had wept with gratitude, kneeling by his bedside and swearing she would cherish me forever. Now, she was using his final blessing as a weapon to hold me hostage. Shaking with pure rage, I lunged forward to snatch it back. But Amelia flinched and hurled the jade pendant directly at me. The heavy base struck me squarely on my already injured forehead. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as the jade shattered into a thousand glittering shards on the hardwood floor. Amelia gasped, visibly shaken by the sight of the blood trickling down my face. She reached out, her hands trembling. “Christian, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to scare you. I didn’t mean to actually hit you.” Shards of jade bit deep into the palm of my hand as I leaned against the floor. The physical pain was nothing compared to the sickening wave of guilt and grief that washed over me. I pushed her hands away, my voice dropping to a harsh, icy whisper. “Get out.” In six years, I had never spoken to her with such raw venom. She froze, the flicker of remorse vanishing from her face, replaced by indignant pride. “You’re actually screaming at me? Fine. I’m leaving. Let’s see how long it takes before you come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.” She grabbed her purse and slammed the door behind her. Over the years, she had staged countless exits over the smallest perceived slights—a meal that wasn’t perfect, a gift that wasn’t expensive enough. If I didn’t immediately bend the knee and beg, she would punish me with weeks of freezing silent treatment. But this time, I wasn’t going to call. Our cold war dragged on. Because our lives and assets were deeply intertwined with the company, I reached out to a lawyer to begin sorting through the wreckage. Amid the paperwork, a text from Amelia flashed on my screen: “Urgent. Come to the office.” After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to go. The relationship was dead, but I wasn’t about to let the company I sweated blood to build crumble under her mismanagement. The moment I stepped into the lobby, I heard stifled laughter. The young receptionists were giggling into a speakerphone, chatting with Jude. “You were totally right, Jude. All you have to do is send a text from Amelia’s phone, and he comes running like a loyal little lapdog.” A moment later, the elevator doors slid open, and Jude stepped out, looking incredibly smug. “Hey, Christian. Looking for Amelia? She’s swamped right now. She doesn’t have time for outsiders.” He put a cruel, lingering emphasis on the word “outsiders”. Over the past few weeks, the two of them had practically announced their upcoming nuptials to the world, branding themselves as the ultimate power couple. Meanwhile, I—the silent benefactor who financed their entire existence—was reduced to an unwanted ghost. I let out a dry laugh and pointed directly at the receptionists. “You three. Pack your things and get out of my building.” This company was built entirely on my initial investment. Even if I had stepped away from daily operations, I wasn’t going to let low-level employees mock me in my own lobby. Jude’s face darkened instantly. “Christian, who do you think you are, throwing your weight around? You’re a relic. A nobody. Amelia and I run this place now.” Before I could dial her number, Amelia marched out of the back offices. “What is going on out here?” I assumed she would be mortified by the scene. In the past, whenever I visited her at work, she would treat me like an embarrassment, snapping at me to leave. But this time, her expression held a strange, triumphant satisfaction. Jude immediately put on his victim act. “Amelia, I don’t know what’s wrong with Christian. He just burst in here, started yelling, accused us of sleeping together, and threatened to fire everyone.” Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she glared at me. “Christian, is there no end to your drama? I can tolerate you being dull, and I can tolerate you being useless, but this pathetic, paranoid jealousy of yours makes me sick.” She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I honestly regret every single day I’ve spent with you.” The receptionists hid their smirks behind their hands, and Jude stood beside her like a victorious king. But to my own surprise, I felt absolutely nothing. The pain had gone numb. Or perhaps, deep down, I had always known she would say this. In the past, Amelia had frequently taken Jude to high-profile business dinners while keeping me hidden away. When major clients questioned the propriety of her assistant acting like her spouse, she would defend herself with vicious casualness: “You have no idea how high-maintenance Christian is. He has zero talent but a massive ego. He can’t even play the supportive partner right. Jude is polished, handsome, and actually presentable. Christian can stay home and work on his fitness—maybe if he becomes presentable again, I’ll let him out of the house.” She had no idea that those major clients only agreed to meet with her because of my family’s reputation and my personal backing. My devotion had been rewritten in her mind as the weakness of a coddled kept man. Fine. If that was how she saw me, I would take back every single resource, every single dollar, and see how long her “polish” lasted without my money. Sensing my silence as defeat, Amelia pressed harder, deploying her favorite weapon. “Silent now? Guilty conscience? No wonder we couldn’t keep Joy. A man like you isn’t fit to be a husband, let alone a father. If I could go back, I would have chosen Jude from the very start.” The mention of our lost baby felt like a physical blow to my chest. Every single time we argued, Amelia would aim directly for my deepest, bleeding wound. She loved to push me to my absolute limit in public, waiting for me to snap so she could look at the onlookers with a pitying sigh, as if to say, “See what I have to deal with?” But this time, the storm inside me vanished, replaced by an eerie, absolute stillness. “Then let’s stop forcing it,” I said, my voice steady as I handed her a document. “Here are the divestment papers. We’re done.” As I handed her the folder, I reached out and calmly plucked a long, synthetic-looking bronze-brown hair from the lapel of her blazer. Amelia’s eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp panic. She opened her mouth to explain, glancing nervously at Jude before trying to regain her cold composure. “Christian, stop seeing ghosts everywhere. You know damn well you can’t survive without me.” I kept my eyes locked on hers. “Is that so? Amelia, have you truly forgotten how you got everything you own today?” “Christian!” she hissed, her voice cracking with desperation. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and stepped closer. “Do you really want to push me, Amelia? Do you want me to stand right here, in front of your employees, and tell everyone what really happened the day we lost our daughter?”

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