Author: Momo Chan

I fell for Nate Cross the moment he walked into my dad’s dive bar looking for a part-time shift. I was nineteen, persistent, and perhaps a little too enamored with the brooding intensity in his eyes. It took six months of my relentless chasing before he finally gave in and asked me out. A few weeks before his graduation, we were at the same cramped, hourly-rate motel near campus we always frequented. The air smelled of cheap bleach and stale cigarettes. After we finished, he rolled away, lit a cigarette, and stared at the peeling wallpaper. Out of nowhere, he asked, “So, when girls like you finally decide to ‘retire,’ do you just go back to some small town and find a boring, honest guy to marry?” I sat up, pulling the thin sheet over my chest. “What do you mean, ‘girls like me’? And what defines an ‘honest guy’?” He took a long drag, the cherry of his cigarette glowing in the dim light. “You know. A guy who doesn’t ask too many questions about your past. Someone willing to pay your siblings’ tuition. Someone… blissfully dim-witted.” I walked out of that motel room and never looked back. I blocked his number before I even hit the sidewalk. We didn’t cross paths again until four years later. By then, my father’s old dive bar had been gutted, renovated, and reborn as The Gilded Lily—the most exclusive private club in the city. I had just finished a training session with the floor staff when the heavy mahogany doors swung open. Nate walked in, flanking a high-profile client. He looked the same, yet entirely different. He caught my eye, his brow arching in a look that was both surprised and mockingly familiar. “Still here, Tracy?” he said, his voice carrying that old, condescending edge. “I figured you’d have aged out of the business by now. Beauty like yours has a short shelf life.” He turned to the man beside him with a smirk. “Mr. Sterling, why don’t we have her join us tonight? She used to be quite the bargain back in the day—a hundred and fifty a night. Given her age now, maybe I’ll offer you a flat hundred, Tracy? For old times’ sake.” I looked past him to the man at his side. The client—Xavier Knight—was watching the exchange with a strange, unreadable expression. “A hundred dollars?” Xavier asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Will a million get you to at least sit down and have a drink with me tonight, Tracy?” 1. Nate glanced back at Xavier, his star client, looking utterly bewildered. Then he looked at me, waiting for a reaction. When I remained silent, he quickly masked his confusion with a professional grin and ushered Xavier toward the VIP lounge. Xavier didn’t move immediately. He looked at me with a pouting, almost puppy-like desperation until I gave him a sharp, warning glare. Only then did he let out a long sigh and slowly trail after Nate. I turned to head back to my office, but Nate slipped out of the lounge before the door could fully close. He caught my arm, though I pulled away instantly. “Hey, if you set us up with the premium bottle service, do you get a commission on that?” he asked, leaning against the velvet wallpaper. “I assume the kickbacks here are better than they were at the old bar.” Since he was technically a paying guest, I kept my tone professional. “No, I don’t. But you’re right; the sales margins in a place like this are significantly higher.” He clearly still hadn’t grasped the reality of the situation. He thought I was just a glorified hostess. To be honest, four years is both an eternity and a heartbeat. Nate had changed. He still had that “love at first sight” face, but the clean-cut, academic charm had fermented into something greasy. There was a desperate, calculating look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “The guy inside is a whale,” Nate whispered, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “My entire year’s performance review hinges on this deal. He’s loaded, but he’s a total snob. Don’t take what he said about the million bucks seriously—he’s just showing off. Don’t let him play you.” He paused, then let out a dry, cynical laugh. “Then again, you’ve been in these clubs for years. You’ve probably seen every trick in the book. Why am I even worrying about you? It’s almost funny.” He straightened his tie, looking back toward the lounge. “Just go in there, get us the good scotch, and find some of the younger girls. Someone pretty, someone fresh. Tell them to take extra care of Mr. Knight. No offense, but girls who’ve been in the game as long as you have… well, you tend to get a bit jaded. You forget how to put on a real show.” I gave him a thin, joyless smile. “I’m afraid you can’t afford my appearance fee, Nate.” He snorted. “A million dollars a drink? Right. Don’t let your ego get ahead of your paycheck, babe.” 2. I watched him walk away, a strange sense of vertigo washing over me. It was a jarring realization: the man who had whispered “I love you” against my neck in a cramped dorm room was the same man who just tried to price me out like a used car. The breakup had been a slow, agonizing death. For months, I had lived in a state of mourning, my pillow soaked with tears, wondering what I had done to deserve his sudden cruelty. It took years for the salt to wash out of the wound. I stared at the closed door of the lounge for a moment before waving over one of the floor managers. “If the guests in 512 ask for me, tell them I’m unavailable. Don’t offer any explanations.” I turned to leave, but a hand clapped onto my shoulder. I spun around to see a woman with a bright, predatory smile. “Harlan? No, wait—Tracy! It is you,” she chirped. “I can’t believe you’re still working this circuit. I guess the old man’s bar getting a facelift means you got a promotion to ‘Head Hostess’ or something?” It was Brooke Harrington, Nate’s old college mentee. Her father owned a series of pet food manufacturing plants—wealthy, but the kind of wealthy that always felt like it was trying too hard. “Did you see Nate?” she continued, not waiting for an answer. “He’s in there with a huge client. My dad set the whole thing up. Nate’s about to hit the big leagues. It makes you think, doesn’t it? If he had stayed with you, he’d probably be behind the bar right now, instead of being served at it.” She emphasized the word “served” with a look that suggested she knew exactly what kind of “services” she thought I provided. I never quite understood why Nate’s time working at my dad’s bar was framed as a “inspiring story of a self-made man,” while my time working there was treated like a criminal record. “Anyway, I’ve got to get in there,” Brooke said, smoothing her silk dress. “You probably shouldn’t come back in. Your perfume is a little… drugstore. It might ruin the vibe.” 3. I had known about Brooke since the day I started dating Nate. He was the golden boy of the Economics department—tall, handsome, and brilliantly sharp. It was only natural that girls like Brooke would hover around him. At the time, I wasn’t threatened. I was young and naive enough to believe that being the “pretty one” was an invincible shield. And I was pretty. I took after my mother, a B-list actress who had retired from the screen to marry my father. I had her bone structure and her haunting, cinematic eyes. When Nate first accepted my advances, he told me, “You’re breathtaking. I noticed you the second I walked into that bar.” He was my first real love. I was all in. I wanted every second of his time, but he could never give it to me. He had classes, student council, and three different part-time jobs. He was fiercely, stubbornly proud. He never talked about his family, and he never applied for financial aid, but the frayed cuffs of his shirts and his thrift-store shoes told the story of his poverty. To spend more time with him, I started sitting in on his lectures. I helped him with student events. I worked side-by-side with him at my dad’s bar. Because I was always there, hustling for tips and wearing off-brand clothes to blend in, he assumed I was just like him—a girl from the wrong side of the tracks trying to scrape together enough for tuition. The closer we got, the harder it became to tell him the truth. I kept waiting for the “right moment,” but that moment kept getting pushed further away by his pride and my fear of losing the connection we shared. 4. As graduation approached, Nate became a ghost of himself. He was juggling his own thesis, ghostwriting papers for wealthy slackers to make extra cash, and dealing with constant, frantic calls from his parents. They had just had another baby—a “miracle” child that Nate saw only as another mouth he would have to feed. I overheard a call once. His mother’s voice was thin and shrill through the receiver. “You’re the eldest son, Nate. The whole family is counting on you to bring us into the light. Once you graduate, we expect five hundred a month. Don’t go wasting your money on girls. Stay frugal. Your father and I have sacrificed everything for this day.” After those calls, Nate would spiral into a dark, suffocating silence. He would stare at me—or through me—with a look of profound resentment. He started spending more time with Brooke. She was “recruiting” clients for his ghostwriting business, acting as his gatekeeper to the wealthy students. I tried to cheer him up. I bought him a high-end leather briefcase and a designer watch for his upcoming interviews. I thought he’d be happy. Instead, his face contorted with anger. “Where did you get the money for this, Tracy?” Before I could answer, Brooke walked up, eyeing the gifts with a sneer. “Oh, Nate, look at the stitching. They’re obviously knockoffs from a street corner. Those girls who work the lounges always buy fake luxury to make themselves feel ‘high-end.’ It’s a classic status play.” Nate’s eyes turned cold. I could see the wheels turning in his head. If I told him they were real, he’d assume I’d earned the money in some illicit, shameful way. “If you don’t like them, I’ll just return them,” I whispered, my heart breaking. 5. When people are under immense pressure, they look for an outlet. During those final weeks, Nate’s physical affection for me turned into something desperate and almost violent. He was obsessed with me in a way that felt like he was trying to reclaim something he was losing. I mistook that desperation for passion. I thought it meant he loved me. Then came that afternoon at the motel. The “honest man” comment. “What exactly is ‘a girl like me’?” I had asked him, standing there shivering in the cold AC. He looked me up and down, his gaze stripped of all tenderness. “Girls like you. From some backwater town, clawing your way up, using your body as your only collateral.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “You think I’m… selling myself? After all this time, that’s what you think of me?” I realized then that all the “firsts” I had given him—moments I thought were sacred—were, in his eyes, just cheap, used-up scraps. The irony was sickening. I walked out. I sent the breakup text. I moved on. Or so I thought, until a floor runner burst into my office four years later. “Ms. Rosemary, there’s a fight in Lounge 512. Guests are getting violent.” 6. I sprinted toward the VIP wing, barking orders at the runner. “Don’t call the police yet. Let me see if I can de-escalate. If things get out of hand, hit the silent alarm for security.” The runner looked terrified. “Shouldn’t we call the owner? Or at least the bouncers? You going in there alone is dangerous.” “It’s fine,” I said, my voice steady. “I know the people involved. They aren’t that brave.” I threw open the doors to 512. Nate was huddled in the corner, clutching his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers. Shards of a crystal tumbler were scattered across the floor. Before I could say a word, Xavier Knight stood up, smoothing his Italian suit jacket. He looked at me with the most indignant, “who, me?” expression I had ever seen. “Tracy, I swear, I didn’t want to cause a scene,” Xavier said, sounding like a victim. “But I couldn’t sit here and listen to their filth anymore. If I’d known these were the kind of people I was dealing with, I never would have agreed to this meeting.” He stepped over the glass toward me. “My schedule didn’t even have this on it. An old partner begged me to meet this ‘rising star,’ and since it was at your place, I thought, why not? But let the record show: it was self-defense. I’m not the aggressor here.” Nate let out a strangled groan from the corner. “Self-defense? You hit me with a glass! I didn’t even touch you!” Brooke jumped in, pointing a manicured finger at me. “You! You’re the manager, right? Do your job! We paid for this room to conduct business, and our guest was assaulted. You are liable for this!” Xavier suddenly stepped closer to me, his tone shifting to something soft and almost whiny. “Honey, they were talking shit about you. They were dragging your name through the mud, and I just… I lost it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess at your work.”

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I accidentally ruined the designer beanbag chair his new girlfriend had bought. To make it up to her—to soothe her performative pout—my father shoved my mother inside the oversized velvet slipcover while she was pleading for my sake. He didn’t just zip it shut; he took a heavy upholstery needle and stitched the opening closed, a twisted game to prove a point. While he and the woman laughed and flirted in the bedroom, I crawled across the hardwood, my small fingers frantically searching for a zipper tab that wasn’t there. My mother’s muffled pleas grew faint, then died into a terrifying silence. I hammered on my father’s door, sobbing, but his voice came through the wood, sharp and impatient: “It’s just a damn slipcover, Daisy. Your mother is a grown woman. If she wants out, she’ll find a way out. Stop being dramatic.” The security detail held me back. I was forced to watch as the shape inside the velvet stopped struggling. Five days later, on my birthday, my father returned. He tossed a cheap, generic teddy bear at me, his face a mask of irritation. “I ended things with her. I hope your mother is happy now. Tell her to quit hiding and get out here.” I pointed at the heavy beanbag he was sitting on, my voice a hollow whisper. “Mommy is bleeding.” 1 I stayed curled against the velvet, huddled in the ghost of my mother’s presence for two days until the gnawing in my stomach became unbearable. I finally crept out to find food. Joe, the neighborhood security guard, was at the gate. He started to wave, but as I drew closer, his face twisted into a mask of confusion and disgust. “Kiddo? What’s that… what’s that smell? And where’s your mom?” I took his hand and pulled him toward the silent, cold house. I pointed to the beanbag in the center of the living room. “Mommy’s trapped. She can’t get out.” Joe muttered something under his breath about “rich people and their sick games,” but when he stepped closer to the chair, the color drained from his face. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own boots. The velvet had sagged, taking on the unmistakable, gruesome silhouette of a human form. The air was thick with the stench of decay. Joe lunged forward, shielding my eyes with one hand while his other trembled as he reached for his radio. “This… this is a crime scene,” he choked out. I didn’t understand. To me, Mommy was just resting. She had spoken to me only two days ago. Joe carried me outside, running past the neighbors who were out walking their dogs or checking their mail. They recoiled from us, whispering behind manicured hedges. “I heard David brought some trophy girl home last week. Claire hasn’t been seen since.” “Typical. She had no family, no safety net. She probably just took the abuse to keep the lifestyle. For the sake of the money.” “Poor kid. Look at her. Abandoned in that mansion with no one to even give her a bath.” Joe’s tears were hot on my face. He kept whispering “God forgive them” as he handed me over to Mrs. Gable, the woman who lived in the townhouse behind ours. Then he ran back to his post to call the police. I leaned against Mrs. Gable’s shoulder, watching my house grow smaller. She cried as she scrubbed the grime and the smell of death from my skin. She made me a sandwich, and I ate half, tucking the other half into my pocket. “Daisy, honey,” she said, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to save food. There’s plenty.” I shook my head. “Mommy hasn’t eaten in days. I have to bring her something.” Mrs. Gable dropped her fork. She pulled me into a hug so tight I could hear her heart thudding, and she sobbed into my hair. “Those monsters. Those absolute monsters.” I didn’t cry. Mommy was waiting. She was the only one who ever truly loved me. I wouldn’t leave her behind. But when I returned home, the beanbag was gone. The house was swarming with men in dark windbreakers with “POLICE” stenciled in yellow. Joe was there too, wiping his eyes. I walked up to him and handed him the squashed half of my sandwich. “Don’t cry, Joe. I’ll be good.” Joe’s hand shook as he took the bread. He turned to one of the detectives. “Look at her. Look at this child. What happens to her now?” A detective knelt in front of me, his expression soft but his eyes hard with repressed anger. “Daisy, where is your father?” I shook my head. “He left with the pretty lady. He hasn’t come back.” The detective’s hand on my shoulder trembled. I looked past him. “Can I see Mommy now? The food is getting cold. She has a sensitive stomach; she needs it warm.” The room went silent. Every officer looked at me with the same devastating pity. The detective lowered his head, his shoulders shaking. After a long time, he looked up and whispered, “Sweetheart… do you have any other family? Anyone at all?” I nodded. Two days ago, before the silence took her, Mommy had whispered a string of numbers to me. Over and over. A phone number. I took the detective’s phone and dialed. It picked up on the second ring—a deep, authoritative voice. “So, you finally remembered you have a father? It took you long enough to call…” I interrupted him, my voice small. “Are you my Grandpa?” 2 Grandpa was out of the country. He wouldn’t reach the city until tomorrow at the earliest. Mrs. Gable tried to take me home with her, but the police insisted on reaching my father first. When they finally got him on the line and explained the situation, I heard his voice crackle through the speaker—derisive and cold. “I checked it myself. It was a slipcover, for God’s sake. Claire has nails like talons; if she wanted out, she would have clawed through the fabric.” I pulled on Joe’s sleeve and whispered, “It wasn’t normal fabric.” The detective had told Joe earlier—the slipcover was industrial-grade, puncture-resistant synthetic velvet. It was designed to be indestructible. Even with a knife, it would have been a struggle. And with the zipper teeth intentionally jammed with adhesive, she never stood a chance. My father must have heard me. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Daisy, stop it. I know your mother coached you to say this. It’s pathetic.” Joe tried to argue, but my father cut him off. “This is the last time I’m dealing with this drama. I’m at an awards gala with Tiffany. If you keep helping Claire lie to the police, I’ll have your contract terminated the second I get back.” He hung up. Joe cursed under his breath, and the police allowed Mrs. Gable to take me for the night. But in the middle of the night, I slipped out of her guest bed. I climbed through a window and walked back to my house. It still smelled like Mommy’s perfume. I curled up on the rug in the foyer and fell into a dreamless sleep. I woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. My father was standing over me, looking haggard and furious. “I broke up with Tiffany. Are you happy now? Is your mother finally satisfied?” He spat the words at me, then tossed the same ragged teddy bear from before at my feet. “There. Happy birthday. Now, where is she? Why is the house a mess?” I didn’t answer. I just pointed to the spot on the floor where the beanbag had been. “Mommy bled a lot.” He scoffed, but then he saw it—a dark, brownish stain on the expensive hardwood where the fluids had pooled and seeped. He jumped back, his face contorting. “Stop it, Daisy. You probably spilled some juice or used some animal blood to freak me out. Your mother is fine. Tiffany told me she bought a standard beanbag. It’s impossible to suffocate in one of those.” He knew. He knew what it was, and he had still sewn her in. I stared at the stain. I remembered the detectives using words like “excruciating” and “asphyxiation.” I felt a sudden, sharp heat in my chest. I lunged at him, hitting his legs with my small fists. “Bad daddy! Give her back! Give Mommy back!” He had never had patience for me. He snarled, swinging his arm to shove me away. “Knock it off!” The force of his strike sent me flying. I crashed into someone entering the house behind him. A woman shrieked, clutching her stomach as she stumbled. It was Tiffany. She looked at my father with watery, manipulative eyes. “David… I’m pregnant. I came back to tell you. Are you really going to throw me away?” The fury on my father’s face vanished, replaced by a look of manic joy. He kicked me aside to get to her, hovering over her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been miserable all night.” Tiffany gave a demure smile, but then she winced, pressing her hand harder against her belly. “The doctor said the first trimester is fragile. When Daisy hit me just now… it really hurt, David.” Without a word, my father turned and backhanded me. Stars exploded in my vision. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine. Tiffany pretended to look concerned, but the corners of her mouth were twitching upward. I remembered that smile. It was the same smile she wore the day they sewed Mommy in. She had leaned down and whispered in my ear: “Your mother can’t win against me. And neither can you.” I forced myself to stand, staring at her. She let out another tiny whimper. “David, maybe this is a mistake. Look at the way she’s looking at me. I’m scared of what she’ll do to our baby.” My father’s face turned purple. He unbuckled his leather belt. The belt lashed across my arms and legs. I screamed, begging for him to stop. But the more I screamed, the harder he swung. He started yelling toward the second floor: “Claire! Do you hear this? If you don’t come out right now, I’m going to beat this brat half to death!” But Mommy couldn’t answer him. He raised the belt again, but a thunderous voice shattered the air from the doorway. “Stop! Drop that belt right now!” 3 Joe came charging in, pulling me into his arms, shielding me with his own body. “David, for God’s sake, she’s a child! Are you trying to kill her too?” My father lowered the belt, chest heaving. “Joe, you’re fired. Get out of my house. Now.” “Fire me. I don’t care,” Joe shouted, pointing a finger at Tiffany. “This woman brought that death trap into this house. That fabric was reinforced—Claire never had a chance. My biggest regret is letting her in that gate.” Joe was sobbing. My father remained cold, a statue of denial. “Tiffany is kind. She’s gentle. She’s nothing like Claire and her pathetic mind games. My daughter is my business. Get out.” He shoved Joe toward the door and turned back to me, the veins in his neck bulging. Tiffany sat on a small side chair, watching with a satisfied smirk as my father grabbed me by the collar, dragging me from room to room, searching for my mother. The collar choked me. He was screaming her name now, his voice cracking, looking for her in closets, under beds, in the pantry. When he found nothing, he pulled out his phone and dialed her number. A ringtone began to play in the living room. My father found her phone under the sofa. He looked at the lock screen—a photo of the three of us from years ago. We were all smiling. For a second, his resolve flickered. He rubbed his eyes, then knelt in front of me, gripping my shoulders too hard. “Daisy. Where. Is. She?” Tiffany started to speak, but the doorbell rang again. Two detectives entered, carrying a small, heavy box. Their eyes immediately landed on my bruised, bleeding skin. “Are you the father?” the lead detective asked, his voice like ice. My father stared at them, then started to laugh. He pinched my arm hard and looked at the officers. “Claire is good. I’ll give her that. Hiring actors to come to the house? Brilliant.” He shoved me toward them. “I’m not her father. I’m just an actor she hired, just like you. If you see her, tell her she owes me for the overtime.” The detectives looked at him with utter confusion. Then they looked at me. After a long silence, I spoke. “He’s not my daddy.” My father died the day Mommy did. The detectives sighed, looking pained. They handed the small box to me. “Sweetheart, these are your mother’s ashes. We will get her justice. We promise.” I clutched the box to my chest. It was cold, but I imagined I could feel her warmth through the wood. After they left, I walked out to the garden alone. I wanted to bury her here, among the flowers she loved. She always told me that when she and Dad were starting with nothing, his first gift to her was a rosebush he’d planted himself. He used to tell her that as long as the roses bloomed, he’d be by her side. Now, he had discarded us for a woman and a lie. My tears hit the dirt as I dug. The soil was loose. I pulled something out—a handmade doll. It had Mommy’s birthday written on it in black ink. And it was stuck full of sewing needles. “I knew it,” a sharp voice snapped behind me. I turned to see Tiffany clutching her stomach, sinking to the grass. She pointed at the doll in my hand, her voice shrill. “I knew I felt a curse! She’s trying to kill my baby from the grave!” 4 “But this doll has Mommy’s birthday on it…” Before I could finish, my father’s hand clamped over my mouth. His face was a mask of iron. He didn’t even look at the doll. “Claire, you’re a monster.” “You couldn’t give me a son, so you try to kill Tiffany’s? I can’t believe I ever loved a woman so vile.” He glared at me. “And I can’t believe I fathered this little brat.” He snatched the urn from my hands and hurled it against the ground. I screamed—a sound that didn’t feel like it came from a child—as I watched the grey dust scatter like rain over the dying roses. Without Mommy to water them, they were wilting, just like everything else in this house. “Pathos. Is she really cursing herself now? What kind of actress commits this hard?” my father muttered, looking at the empty box. Tiffany let out another cry. She had moved the needle-stuck doll so it sat right next to my hand. “David, it hurts… I’ve never done anything to her, but she hates me. She hates our son!” My father abandoned the urn and gathered Tiffany into his arms. “Don’t cry. You’re the most important thing in this family now. No one will touch you.” Tiffany smiled. She ground her designer heel into the dirt, mixing Mommy’s ashes with the mud. Then she picked up the doll and whispered something into my father’s ear. He hesitated, then nodded. Tiffany took my hand—her grip was like a vice—and led me into the house. I was numb. I was still thinking about the ashes in the dirt. Then, a sharp, white-hot pain flared in my palm. My father and Tiffany held me down. They took the needles from the doll and began to drive them into my hands. “Tell us where she is, Daisy! Stop the games!” my father roared, pushing a needle into my skin. Tiffany was worse. She drove a long steel pin under my fingernail. As I shrieked in agony, she leaned in, her breath smelling of peppermint and malice. “Your mother deserved it. She was in my way. And you’re just a nuisance. Join her, or learn to serve me. Those are your only choices.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I lunged forward and bit down on her ear as hard as I could. Tiffany screamed, a raw, ugly sound. It took my father slamming my jaw shut to make me let go. Her ear was a jagged, bloody mess. I looked at her with a cold, hollow satisfaction. My father looked at me as if I were a demon. “What did she turn you into?” I looked at him, slowly pulling the needles out of my hands, one by one. “Mommy only taught me to love you,” I said. “But you killed her. You aren’t my daddy anymore.” “When my Grandpa gets here, he’s going to destroy you.” My father froze for a second, then burst into a jagged laugh. “Grandpa? Daisy, your mother was a nobody from a backwater town. She had no family. She had no one but me.” His eyes turned dark and predatory. He dragged me to the corner of the room and tied my wrists to a radiator pipe. Then he went to the hall closet and pulled out a baseball bat. “Let’s see how long your mother can watch this.” The first blow hit my ribs. The world went white. Through the haze of pain, I saw Mommy. She was smiling at me. “Mommy… are you here to take me home?” I whispered. Something warm and metallic leaked from the corner of my mouth. My father hesitated, the bat trembling in his hand. He reached out to touch me, but a massive hand caught his wrist and twisted. I was lifted into a pair of strong, trembling arms. A voice, deep and resonant with ancient fury, boomed through the house. “My daughter is dead, and you think I will let you touch her child?”

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I grew up in the shadow of a girl named Hannah. We were the kind of “best friends” people tell stories about—the boy next door and the girl who shared his every secret. But to get into the good graces of my roommate, Logan, she did the unthinkable. She got me drunk, tucked me into bed, and locked the bedroom door from the outside. By the time I clawed my way out of sleep, my phone was a graveyard of unanswered calls. I had missed my Multivariable Calculus final. My GPA, my standing, my future—all of it felt like it was slipping through my fingers. … Around noon, she finally showed up. She was carrying a box from the local patisserie, the one that made the dark chocolate mousse she knew I couldn’t resist. “It’s just one exam, Nate,” she said, her voice airy, as if she were talking about a missed bus. “College isn’t a real experience unless you fail a class or have a messy breakup. You’re too high-strung.” “I missed the final, Hannah. I sat in a locked room while the clock ran out.” “I’m so sorry. It’s a habit, locking the door when I head out. And my phone was on Do Not Disturb for a departmental meeting.” She swung the box in front of my face, a playful pout on her lips. “To make it up to you, I got the good stuff. You can just take a make-up exam later. It’s not a tragedy.” I stared at her. This was the face that had occupied the center of my universe for fifteen years, the face I had seen in every dream of my future. But looking at her now, the image was blurring. “Did you trap me here for Logan?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her smile faltered. It didn’t vanish, but it turned brittle. That was all the answer I needed. “Hannah, you’d really do anything for him, wouldn’t you? Even if it meant breaking me.” I felt a hollow ache in my chest, a physical need to get away from her. I turned to leave, but she grabbed my sleeve, her eyes suddenly frantic. “Nate, listen. You’re brilliant. You’ve had the Presidential Scholarship for two years straight. Just let Logan have this one win. If he gets the top mark this semester, his resume will actually look decent for the fall recruiting cycle. He needs this more than you do.” The honesty was more devastating than the lie. I closed my eyes and took a long, jagged breath. “Hannah, stay out of my life. I’m blocking you.” The cake box hit the floor with a dull thud. The mousse inside probably turned into a smeared mess, but I didn’t look back. I dragged myself back to the dorm, exhaustion weighing down my bones. Just as I threw myself onto my bed, my phone buzzed. A banking notification. Hannah had transferred $2,000 to my account. The memo read: Logan says the scholarship you’re worried about is worth a grand. Here’s two. He gets the honors, you get the cash. Everyone wins. Please stop being mad. They had known each other for exactly one week, and she was already calling him by pet names, protecting his ego like it was her job. I had known her for fifteen years, and she still treated me like a safety net she could cut whenever she needed more slack. That’s the difference between love and whatever it was she felt for me. For a decade and a half, I had been running toward her. My family had nothing, so I studied until my eyes bled just to keep up with her, just to get into the same university, just to be in the same city. I refused to believe she couldn’t feel the weight of my devotion. But she thought my dignity had a price tag. Those two thousand dollars felt like a public execution. I started laughing. It was a sharp, ugly sound. I suppose when the heart finally shatters, the only thing left to do is find the humor in the wreckage. I transferred every cent back to her account. My mind drifted back to a few weeks ago, to a casual FaceTime call we’d had. Logan had walked into the background of my frame, shirtless and grinning. Hannah’s eyes had lit up instantly. She hung up on me without a word and sent a flurry of texts. Nate, who was that guy? He looks like a literal Abercrombie model. Why haven’t you introduced me? I remember staring at the screen, my hands going cold. That’s Logan. He’s in my program. He moved in this semester because he didn’t get along with his old roommates. I need his number. Now. Don’t be a gatekeeper. She’d phrased it as a joke, but I couldn’t breathe. I never gave her the number, but Hannah’s aunt was a dean in the humanities department. Within forty-eight hours, she’d tracked Logan down. When Hannah wanted something, she was a force of nature. For the next week, she vanished from my life, too busy on marathon phone calls with Logan to check if I was still breathing. Our dorm room became a personal purgatory. Every night, I heard them—the hushed whispers, the suggestive giggles, the sound of a romance blooming on the other end of a speakerphone. Each word was a needle under my fingernails. They talked until two, three in the morning. I’d lie there, staring at the dark ceiling, the acid rising in my throat. One night, unable to sleep, I turned on my desk lamp to try and focus on my thesis. Logan let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. He threw on a hoodie and stomped out of the room. A moment later, I heard his voice echoing in the hallway, muffled but clear. “I don’t know what his problem is, Han. He’s acting out. Turning on the lights at 1 AM just to flex how much he studies. He doesn’t care that people are trying to sleep.” A pause. “I don’t know how you’re friends with him. He’s like a robot. No personality, just textbooks and silence. I’m a human being, you know? I can’t compete with a machine that doesn’t sleep. He’s been top of the class for two years, and I’m sick of being the runner-up because I actually have a life.” I sat there, stunned by the sheer audacity of it. He was the one keeping the room awake with his flirting, yet somehow, I was the villain. I didn’t want a fight. I clicked off the lamp, climbed back into bed, and shoved my earplugs in so deep they hurt. The sound of footsteps and laughter pulled me back to the present. Logan was back, flanked by our other roommates, Tyler and Jordan. “Man, that steak was incredible. Thanks for the treat, Logan,” Tyler said, patting his stomach. “I still don’t get Nate,” Jordan added, shaking his head. “The guy lives in the library, then just… doesn’t show up for the biggest exam of the year? There goes his 4.0. Looks like the King is dead. Congrats on the top spot, Logan. Long time coming.” “Stop, guys, you’re embarrassing me,” Logan said, though his voice was dripping with smug satisfaction. They walked into the room and froze when they saw me sitting on my bed. The air turned thick with awkwardness. “Oh… hey, Nate,” Tyler said, breaking the silence. “Where were you today? We missed you at the exam.” Before I could speak, Logan’s phone chimed. He looked at the screen, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. He hit play on the voice note. “Logan, is Nate with you? I think he’s actually upset. Tell him we’re all getting lunch tomorrow. We need to clear the air.” Logan looked at me, his eyes dancing with malice. “Did you hear that? My girlfriend wants to take you to lunch.” The word girlfriend felt like a serrated blade across my chest. I actually flinched. “I’m not going,” I said, my voice tight. He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at me. “If you don’t go, how are we supposed to ‘clear the air’?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You spent the night at my girlfriend’s place. Just the two of you. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? Or are you just going to keep pining after her like a pathetic loser? Is that why you wouldn’t give me her number? You wanted her all to yourself?” “Say something!” The room went silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler nudge Jordan. They slipped into their chairs, backs turned, desperate to disappear from the confrontation. I felt the blood drain from my face. My head spun, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. They hadn’t made it official until now. I thought they were still in the “talking” phase. That’s why, when Hannah invited me over for her birthday, I had been stupid enough to hope. I had asked her, Is Logan coming? No, she had said. Just the two of us. A quiet celebration. I had dressed up. I had bought her a gift I couldn’t afford. I had planned to finally tell her how I felt, to ask her to choose. She had cooked a massive dinner. She kept pouring the wine. Before I could even get the words out, the world started tilting. I felt heavy, drugged. She told me to sleep it off in the guest room. I trusted her. I never saw the lock on the door. Logan saw my silence as a confession. He sneered, a look of pure disgust on his face. “Using ‘friendship’ as a cover to try and sleep with someone else’s girl… you’re a special kind of low-life, Nate.” My throat tightened. I wanted to scream, to tell him what she’d done, but the words died in my throat. Tears blurred my vision, and I couldn’t let him see me break. I bolted for the door. As the door slammed behind me, I heard him talking into his phone. “Hey, babe. I tried, but he’s being a prick. He won’t come.” I ran until my lungs burned, the tears finally spilling over. He was right about one thing. I was pathetic.

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Winter break was coming up, and my Aunt Teresa called me with a “suggestion.” She told me to cancel my Amtrak ticket and just hitch a ride with my Uncle David. “Money is tight these days, Riley,” she’d said, her voice dripping with practiced maternal concern. “Why waste a couple hundred bucks on a train? Save where you can. Besides, it’ll be faster.” I fell for it. I trusted her. Instead of a smooth four-hour train ride, I spent eighteen agonizing hours crawling through a blizzard-induced gridlock on I-95. By the time we finally pulled into my parents’ driveway, my bones felt like glass and my head was thumping. I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape the cramped backseat, but the locks didn’t click. Teresa turned around in the passenger seat, her eyes sharp and expectant. “So, honey, that’ll be a thousand dollars.” I froze, my hand still hovering over the latch. “Aunt Teresa? I thought you said you were just giving me a lift since you were heading this way anyway.” She didn’t even blink. Her expression remained perfectly composed, as if she were reciting a weather report. “We were giving you a lift, yes. But we never said it was free.” “Look at the trip we just had,” she continued, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “Gas, tolls, the wear and tear on the SUV… it adds up. And don’t forget, when we were stuck at that rest stop in Jersey, I bought you that twelve-dollar corn dog. Honestly, a thousand is a steal.” I nearly laughed out of pure, hysterical spite. My train ticket had been two hundred and forty dollars. Even if I’d taken an Uber to and from the stations, I wouldn’t have cracked three hundred. David sat behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, tapping his fingers impatiently on the leather. “Come on, Riley. We’ve got places to be. Just Venmo her.” The locks stayed engaged. I felt like a hostage in my own driveway. With a shaking thumb, I opened the app and transferred the thousand dollars—practically my entire semester’s savings. Click. The doors finally unlocked. I dragged my suitcase out, the cold air hitting my face, but it didn’t cool the white-hot anger simmering in my chest. Once I got inside and slumped onto my bed, the injustice of it started to itch under my skin. I picked up my phone. “Hey, Nana?” “Hi, sweetheart! Are you home? I can’t wait to see you for the New Year’s dinner!” I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “Nana… I don’t think I can make it this year. I’m probably just going to stay home.” 1 Nana’s voice sharpened instantly. “What? Riley, what happened? You were so excited to come over. Did something go wrong at school?” A lump formed in my throat. I tried to keep my voice level, but the hurt was leaking through. “It’s nothing, Nana. It’s just… money is a little tight right now. I realized I don’t really have enough to buy everyone gifts, and I’d feel terrible showing up empty-handed.” “Rubbish!” Nana cut me off. “Your presence is the only gift I care about. Since when do you worry about buying us things? Tell me the truth, Riley. Who upset you?” Under her relentless, grandmotherly interrogation, the whole story came pouring out. I told her about the canceled ticket, the eighteen hours of traffic, and the thousand-dollar “fee” at the finish line. The line went silent for a few beats. Then, I heard the low, dangerous hum of Nana’s temper. “The absolute nerve of those two,” she hissed. Then, her voice softened just as quickly. “Riley, don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve heard enough.” “Nana, it’s fine, it’s just—” “It is not about the money, Riley. It’s about the principle. It’s about how we treat family. You leave this to me. I’ll make sure you get that thousand dollars back, and when you come over on New Year’s Eve, I’m giving you a massive ‘stress-relief’ bonus myself. Now, go get some sleep.” Hanging up, I felt a tiny bit of the weight lift. I headed downstairs where my parents were waiting. My dad grabbed my suitcase while my mom pulled me into a suffocating hug. “My God, you must be exhausted. Eighteen hours? I told David the train was better, but he insisted.” I forced a weak smile. “I’m okay, Mom. Just… a little broke.” “Broke?” They both paused, looking at me with concern. “What do you mean? Did you lose your wallet?” I shook my head and looked them in the eye. “Teresa charged me a thousand dollars for the ride. I had to give her almost all of my scholarship money just to get out of the car.” The living room went dead silent. “What?” My dad’s brow furrowed into a deep V. “A thousand dollars? For a carpool? David… he actually went along with that? Are you sure you didn’t mishear her?” My mom’s face transformed. It wasn’t shock; it was a cold, hard realization. “David wouldn’t have the guts to come up with that on his own. It’s her. It’s Teresa.” She turned to my dad, her voice vibrating with fury. “Mark, I told you when they got married—that woman has dollar signs where her soul should be. Charging her own niece for a ride home? It’s predatory.” My dad was still struggling to process it. “But even if it was her idea… David is her uncle. How could he just sit there?” They went back and forth, their anger building with every sentence. “No,” my mom said, pacing the rug. “We aren’t letting this slide. Riley worked her tail off for that scholarship. She isn’t subsidizing Teresa’s new handbag.” My dad nodded, his expression grim. “You’re right. This isn’t just about the cash. If we let them do this now, what’s next? We need to have a word.” They reached a consensus within minutes. My mom pulled out her phone and dialed David. “Hey, Dave! Are you guys settled in? Listen, we haven’t seen you two in ages. Why don’t we do a nice family dinner tonight? Our treat.” I could hear David’s voice on the other end, sounding hesitant. “Oh, hey, Sarah. Tonight’s tough, you know? End of the year, lots of errands, we’re pretty wiped…” My dad stepped in, leaning toward the speaker. “Come on, Dave! Even busy people have to eat. We already booked a table at The Sterling. I hear their dry-aged steaks are incredible.” There was a two-second beat of silence. At the mention of the most expensive steakhouse in the city, David’s tone flipped like a switch. “The Sterling? Oh… well, if you’ve already got the reservation… let me talk to Teresa. Yeah, okay, we’ll be there at seven!” 2 Seven o’clock arrived, and the restaurant was glowing with holiday lights and the scent of expensive bourbon. We had been seated for ten minutes when David and Teresa strolled in. Teresa was dressed to the nines, clutching a brand-new designer tote. She scanned the opulent dining room with a predatory sort of glee before plastering a bright smile on her face. “Sarah! Mark! You guys really shouldn’t have,” she cooed, sliding into the leather booth. “This place is just magnificent.” David followed her, looking slightly more sheepish. He caught my eye for a split second before looking down at his menu. As the appetizers arrived—delicate plates of tuna tartare and wagyu sliders—the conversation stayed light. My dad poured David a glass of heavy red wine, chatting about work and the holidays. After a few drinks, David started to loosen up. He sighed, leaning back. “I’ll tell you, Mark, the economy is killing me this year. Business is slow, expenses are up.” “I hear you,” my dad said smoothly, taking a sip of his water. “Costs are rising everywhere. That’s why the kids love the train so much. Amtrak is quick, easy, and honestly, it’s usually cheaper than driving.” “Like Riley,” my mom added, her voice conversational but sharp. “Her ticket was only two-hundred-something. Even with a couple of Ubers, she would’ve been home for under three hundred bucks. So much simpler.” David’s smile faltered. His fork hovered over a slider. “Yeah… yeah, the train is fine, I guess…” Teresa gave him a sharp nudge under the table. She beamed at my mom. “Well, Sarah, driving is just more flexible, isn’t it? You can pack what you want, leave when you want. It’s just the holiday traffic that’s the killer.” “We were miserable,” Teresa continued, oblivious to the trap being set. “Eighteen hours! I thought my back was going to snap.” “I know,” my mom said, putting her spoon down and looking Teresa directly in the eye. “Riley told me all about it. It sounds like quite an ordeal.” “Especially at that rest stop,” my mom continued. “I heard you even treated her to a corn dog? That was so sweet of you, Teresa. I told her she shouldn’t have let you pay.” Teresa’s smile froze. David cleared his throat. “It was just a corn dog, Sarah. No big deal.” “Right, no big deal,” my mom nodded. Then, as if it were a casual afterthought, she added, “Oh, but Riley also mentioned that right before she got out of the car, you charged her a thousand dollars.” “Gas and tolls, apparently? I’ve been trying to do the math in my head, but even with the worst traffic in history, a thousand dollars… it seems a bit steep, doesn’t it?” David’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. He set his wine glass down, his lips trembling as he searched for words. “Well… Sarah, look, the thing is… the expenses on the road…” “The expenses were high, I’m sure,” my dad interrupted, his voice losing its friendly edge. “But Riley is a student. She hitched a ride with family. Ordinarily, she’d be the one saying thank you. But a thousand dollars? I’d love to hear the breakdown on that. I’m always looking to learn about logistics.” Seeing David flounder, Teresa’s survival instincts kicked in. She straightened her posture and raised her voice. “Mark, don’t take that tone with us!” “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a buck these days? We went out of our way to pick her up to save her money. Doesn’t gas cost money? Aren’t tolls expensive? What about the wear and tear on our vehicle? That’s an investment!” “It was the holidays! We spent our precious time sitting in that traffic. Is our time worth nothing? And that traffic was stressful! A thousand dollars is just a flat fee for the trouble. We barely broke even!” 3 She spoke with such frantic speed you’d think she was the victim of a grand heist. I decided it was time to pop her bubble. “To save me money?” I asked, my voice cutting through her rant. “Aunt Teresa, did you forget that you were the one who begged me to cancel my train ticket?” “You told me the train was a waste of money. You said Uncle David’s car would be faster and cheaper. I only did it because I believed you.” Teresa’s face went ghostly white. Her eyes darted toward David, who was now staring intently at a piece of broccoli as if it held the secrets to the universe. “And as for the gas and tolls,” I continued. “I checked the route on my phone. Even with the surge in holiday prices, the total cost for that trip is five hundred dollars, max. And that’s if you’re driving a tank.” “Plus,” I added, leaning in, “if you hadn’t insisted on getting off the highway for three hours to hit that designer outlet sale for your new bag, we wouldn’t have been caught behind that ten-car pileup. We wouldn’t have been stuck for eighteen hours at all.” “You… you little brat! What are you talking about?” Teresa’s finger was suddenly inches from my face. “That’s a lie! I never told you to cancel your ticket! You’re making things up because you’re grumpy from the car ride!” She turned to my parents, her face twisted into a mask of wounded dignity. “Sarah, Mark, look at her! Is this how you raised her? To slander her own family? We did her a favor, and now she’s vilifying us?” “That thousand dollars was a fair reimbursement! You can’t let a child dictate how adults handle their finances!” My dad’s face was now like thunder. My mom’s knuckles were white as she gripped her napkin. I looked at Teresa—at the way her lip curled in that ugly, greedy snarl—and I didn’t hesitate. I pulled my phone from my pocket. I tapped the screen a few times. I hit play and set it in the middle of the table. Teresa’s voice, bubbly and forced, filled the quiet space of the booth: “…Oh, Riley, honey, just cancel the Amtrak! It’s so overpriced. Money is so hard to come by these days, you have to be smart! Just hop in with your uncle, it’s basically just the cost of a little extra gas. It’s faster anyway! We’re family, we look out for each other. We’ll be at the dorm gate to pick you up!” “…Traffic? Don’t be silly! We’ll leave early and beat the rush. Trust me, Riley. Cancel the ticket!” The recording was short, but it hit like a gunshot. My dad’s eyes were burning as he looked at David. “Dave! Talk to me. Is the recording lying too?” David opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked like he was about to faint. “Okay, so maybe the kid misunderstood the ‘free’ part,” Teresa spat, her voice dropping the facade. “But what about the traffic? The bag? That’s all speculation!” “It’s not speculation,” I said calmly. “We can check the dashcam. Or we can just look at the timestamp on the receipt for that bag in your purse.” Teresa was trapped. Her face went from white to a sickly, mottled purple. David looked at me, and for a second, I saw it—a flash of pure, pathetic resentment. He wasn’t embarrassed that they’d scammed me; he was angry that I’d caught them. My dad pointed a shaking finger at Teresa. “Teresa, have you no shame? You looked this girl in the eye and lied to her just to pocket her scholarship money?” “She’s twenty years old! She stayed up until 3:00 AM every night to earn that money, and you thought you could just… snatch it?” 4 My mom’s eyes were brimming with tears—not of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated rage. “David, I’m your sister,” she whispered. “I have looked out for you since we were kids. When you were struggling in college, I sent you half my paycheck from my waitressing job so you could eat.” “When you bought your house and you were short on the down payment, Mark and I gave you twelve thousand dollars without asking for a single cent in interest. We never asked for anything in return! We did it because you’re my brother!” She took a ragged breath and turned to Teresa. “And you! Three years ago when you broke your leg, who was at your house every day for a month cleaning your floors and cooking your meals? When your mother needed surgery, who called every contact I had to find a specialist and fronted the deductible?” “We did those things because we loved you. And now, my daughter hitches a ride with you, and you think it’s an opportunity to shake her down?” “You invented ‘wear and tear’ fees to steal from your own niece? Do you even have a soul?” My mom’s words were like scalpels. David looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. Teresa, however, finally snapped. She dropped the “sweet aunt” act entirely. “Oh, spare me the history lesson, Sarah!” she shrieked, her voice drawing stares from the neighboring tables. “That was years ago! This is now! In the real world, people pay for services!” “Does the car run on magic? Do the tires not wear down? Is our time not worth a premium? Why should she get a free ride while we do all the work?” “A thousand dollars? Honestly, we’re still losing money on the deal! We suffered for eighteen hours! Who’s compensating us for our stress?” David muttered under his breath, “Sarah, look, Teresa’s a bit blunt, but she’s got a point. Things are tough for us. Riley’s an adult now. It’s time she learned that nothing in life is free.” My dad let out a dark, sharp laugh. “Nothing is free? David, this is extortion. You lured her into that car with a lie and then held her suitcase hostage for a thousand bucks.” “You two are unbelievable. Your skin is thicker than a brick wall.” “Watch your mouth, Mark!” Teresa was in full combat mode now, hands on her hips. “We provided a door-to-door service. You see what a private car service costs for a four-state trip? It’s more than a thousand, I’ll tell you that!” “You just want to freeload because we’re ‘family.’ Well, family doesn’t pay my mortgage!” “Freeload?” My mom’s voice was ice. “I have never seen someone so delusional.” “Teresa, I’m going to make this very simple. I don’t care about the money. But you are going to refund every single penny of that thousand dollars to Riley, right now.” “It’s not about the cash. It’s about the fact that you aren’t going to steal from my child.” “Refund? In your dreams!” Teresa screamed, nearly spraying her wine across the table. “The money is gone! It was a fee for service! You think you can just book a ride and then ask for your money back? Get real!” “That money is mine now! If anything, I should’ve charged fifteen hundred!” She was shaking with adrenaline, pointing her finger at my parents. “You think your daughter is so special? You think she’s too good to pay her way? You’re all just a bunch of users!” “I’m not giving back a cent. And you know what? You’re paying for this dinner, too. You invited us to a five-star restaurant to show off? Fine. Enjoy the bill!” She grabbed the bottle of red wine from the table, took a long, classless swig straight from the bottle, and smirked. “What are you gonna do about it? David’s my husband. He listens to me. You ‘family’ types are just easy marks.” She crossed her legs, swinging her heel back and forth in a victory dance. “The world belongs to people with money, Sarah. Not people with ‘feelings.’ You aren’t getting that grand back if God himself walked through that door.” Just as my parents were about to explode, the heavy oak door of the private dining area swung open with a soft thud.

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My brother has always had the pathological habit of reading my diary. To cure him of it once and for all, I decided to lean into his worst nightmare. I sat down and penned a masterpiece of pure fiction: “I think I’m falling for my brother. This forbidden pull… it’s agony, but I’m addicted to the pain of loving him.” The result? My brother looked like he was having a literal stroke. He spent the next forty-eight hours trying to build a metaphorical Berlin Wall between us. But just when he was about to lose his mind avoiding me, a pair of luxury SUVs pulled up to our driveway. A couple draped in old-money couture burst through our front door, threw their arms around him, and sobbed, “Oh, thank God! We finally found our son!” Me: ??? So… we aren’t actually related? In that case… does the stuff I wrote in the diary still count as a prank, or is it a prophecy? 1 For as long as I’ve had memories, Beckett Miller has been there. When I first learned to speak, his was the first name I called out. My dad loves to tell the story of how I said “Beck” before I even said “Dada,” like I’d been practicing the name in a past life. At my first birthday party, dozens of relatives tried to pass me around like a prize, but I wouldn’t have it. I screamed until my tiny fingers were wrapped firmly around Beckett’s thumb. I wouldn’t let go for anything. As far as brothers go, Beck was the gold standard. When I was six, I mistook a bottle of orange-scented dish soap for juice and ended up in the ER. Beck stayed by my hospital bed for two days straight. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep; he just sat there looking like a ghost, guarding me. When I was ten, I decided it was a good idea to try and ride the neighbor’s Golden Retriever across a busy street. My dad was halfway across the yard with a belt in his hand when Beck stepped in. He shielded me like a mother hen protecting a chick. Dad’s hand slipped and caught Beck across the face, but he didn’t even flinch. He just stood his ground. When I was fourteen, we were watching some teen drama where the main characters stole their birth certificates to run away and elope. Beck looked at my dad, genuinely curious. “Why would they bother stealing a piece of paper?” My dad laughed, leaning back in his recliner. “Because they wanted to get married, son. Getting married means putting both your names on the same legal documents forever.” By then, Beck was already pushing six feet, with that clean-cut, athletic look that made every girl in his high school class trip over their own feet when he walked by. He took in my dad’s words with a look of sudden, profound realization. “Oh, I get it,” Beck said seriously. “Then I should just marry Sloane.” My dad nearly choked on his beer. “Excuse me?” “Well,” Beck continued, completely unfazed, “our names are already on all the same papers. We’ve lived in the same house since she was born. It’s efficient.” My dad stared at him for a long beat, then slowly reached for the nearest throw pillow to hurl at Beck’s head. Beck ducked, laughing, and turned to me. “What do you think, Sloane? Makes sense, right?” I was young and naive, so I just nodded enthusiastically. “Whatever Beckett says is right!” My dad stopped mid-swing, sighed deeply, and muttered something about needing a stronger drink and a locked door for his daughter’s room. 2 Fast forward twenty-some years, and we were still the “perfect” siblings. At least, on the surface. Last week, Beck and I had a blowout fight because he wouldn’t “allow” me to go to a guy’s birthday party at a lake house. When he realized he was losing the argument, he did the unthinkable: he started quoting a private entry from my diary to mock my “immaturity.” That was the moment I realized the bastard had been snooping for years. I was so livid I kicked him in the shin and stormed upstairs. Sure, I had sneaked a peek at his journals a few times in high school, but I wasn’t a sociopath—I didn’t throw it in his face! I’d read his secrets under my covers and giggle to myself. He, on the other hand, was using my private thoughts as tactical weaponry. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted blood. To get my revenge, I went out and bought a brand-new journal—one with a pathetic little heart-shaped lock that I knew he could pick in seconds. I filled the first few pages with mundane nonsense about work and coffee. Then, I dropped the nuclear bomb. I wrote: “I’m a horrible person. How can I feel this way about my own brother? People say this kind of obsession is a sickness, that it’s immoral, and I know I should stop.” “But I can’t help it. Every time he looks at me, I feel like I’m suffocating. Maybe the internet is right—maybe we were meant for each other in another life…” To finish the masterpiece, I took a red felt-tip pen and drew a messy, dramatic heart right after the final period. Beckett didn’t disappoint. The next afternoon, he came into my room with a bowl of fruit, acting like a peace offering. He immediately saw the diary lying “accidentally” open on my desk. I watched from the crack in the door. He stood there for five seconds. Just five. Then, those long, familiar fingers reached out and expertly flipped the page. He had this smug, “I’m just checking on you” look on his face—the look of a man who thought he held all the cards. By the second line, his smugness didn’t just fade; it evaporated. His jaw dropped so hard I thought it might hit the floor. His fingers started trembling, the veins in his forehead popped, and his eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated horror. I stayed hidden, clutching my stomach to keep from howling with laughter. That’s what you get, you creep. 3 Beckett didn’t just leave the room; he practically teleported out of there. For a guy who’s six-three, he moved with the frantic, uncoordinated grace of a panicked rabbit. He didn’t even notice me standing in the hallway as he bolted past. He slammed into the bathroom, turned the faucet on full blast, and started splashing ice-cold water onto his face. When the splashing stopped, I strolled over and leaned against the doorframe. “Everything okay, Beck?” The silence from inside was deafening. After a long pause, his voice came out strained and shaky. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” “Okay,” I said airily. “I’m going back to my room then.” “Wait!” The door flew open. Beck stood there, water dripping from his chin, looking at me with an expression so complex it could have been a modern art piece. “Sloane… have you, uh… been seeing anyone lately? Like, is there someone you’re into?” I feigned total confusion. “Not really. I’m buried in my internship. Why would I have time for a boyfriend?” Beck went dead silent. He searched my face for what felt like an eternity, trying to see if I was lying. When he decided I was telling the truth, he let out a breath so heavy it sounded like a balloon deflating. He probably convinced himself the “brother” in the diary was some K-pop idol or a fictional character. I hid a smirk. “Anyway, I’m going to go read.” I turned around and “accidentally” let a book slip out of my bag and onto the floor. The title was printed in bold, unmistakable letters: The Step-Brother’s Secret. I heard Beck’s breath hitch. Then, I saw him literally press his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if trying to keep his brain from exploding. 4 He lunged for the book, snatching it off the floor before I could touch it. “Sloane! If I catch you reading this trashy, brain-rotting garbage again, I’m telling Mom!” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly. “Sure thing, Beck,” I said, playing the part of the dutiful sister. He huffed, turned on his heel, and ran upstairs. His retreat was anything but dignified. I was practically vibrating with silent laughter. To really twist the knife, I knew he’d be back for a “midnight inspection” of the diary. So, I added a few more lines: “Beck is avoiding me. Is he disgusted? Does he want to leave? What do I have to do to keep him by my side forever?” Then, the clincher: “108 Ways to Make Him Stay. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives, no matter what it takes…” I closed the book, went downstairs to heat up some milk, and when I came back, the journal had been moved exactly two inches to the left. Success. That night, around 2:00 AM, I heard a muffled groan from the room next door. “Oh God… I’m a monster… why me?” 5 The next morning, I tried to keep things normal. “Morning, Beck!” Beckett didn’t even look at me. He kept his head down, shoved past me, and practically sprinted to the kitchen. My dad watched him go, brow furrowed. “Did you two have another fight?” Before I could answer, Beck jumped up from his chair like it was electrified. “Dad, she’s her own person and I’m mine. Let’s stop lumping us together, okay?” My mom blinked, startled. “But you two are usually inseparable.” Beck’s face was a mask of grim seriousness. “Mom, we’re adults now. There should be boundaries. Space. Dignity.” He turned to me, his tone ice-cold. “Sloane, you hear me? Stop hovering. I have my own life to live, and so do you. Don’t follow me today.” I knew exactly what he was doing—the classic “distancing” maneuver. I just didn’t realize my fake diary entries had enough power to make my overprotective shadow of a brother want to file a restraining order. He finished his coffee in one gulp. “I’m out. See you.” As he walked to the door, he threw one last warning over his shoulder. “Do. Not. Follow. Me.” 6 For the next few days, Beckett treated me like I was radioactive. He left before I woke up and came home long after I was in bed. If we happened to cross paths in the living room, he’d stare at the wall as he walked past, refusing to acknowledge my existence. If it weren’t for the fact that I could still hear him pacing in his room at night, I would have thought he’d moved out. I decided I’d had my fun and it was time to come clean. But then, I realized my “prop”—the diary—was missing. I searched everywhere, but the little heart-locked book was gone. While I was tossing my room looking for it, my best friend called to invite me out to a bar. Usually, Beck would have a list of twenty reasons why I shouldn’t go, but today… I went downstairs and found him sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at a book. He looked miserable. “Hey, Beck. I’m going out with the girls tonight. Might stay over at Maya’s.” Beck’s hand tightened on the edge of his book. He didn’t look up. “Beck? Can I go?” It took a long time for him to answer. When he did, he forced a tight, brittle smile. “Why are you asking me? We should both have our own lives. I’m not your keeper.” His voice was quiet, hollow. “Really? Awesome! Bye, Beck!” I grabbed my purse and bolted. Beck didn’t say another word. He just let the fake smile drop and stared out the window into the twilight.

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My grandmother died because of a phone call that was never answered. She’d had a massive stroke. The kind where every second counts, where you need the best neurosurgeon in the city on the line immediately. I was desperate, drowning in a sea of hospital bureaucracy, so I called the one person who had the power to save her: Charlotte, the woman I’d loved for five years, the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire. But Charlotte didn’t pick up. Sebastian, her “creative director” and the flame she’d never quite extinguished from her past, intercepted the call. He didn’t just ignore me; he blocked my number. I raced to her office, winded and trembling, hoping to plead my case in person. I was met by a wall of security guards—men Sebastian had personally instructed to keep me out. I begged. I screamed until my throat was raw. I was met with nothing but cold, corporate silence. Five hours later, a nurse placed a hand on my shoulder and told me my grandmother was gone. When Charlotte finally emerged from the building, looking radiant and polished after a long day of “closing deals,” she saw me slumped on the curb. She didn’t offer a hug. She didn’t ask why my eyes were bloodshot. She just narrowed her eyes in distaste. “You’re missing work to sit on the sidewalk? What is this, Nate? Some kind of performance?” I looked up at her, and for the first time in half a decade, I didn’t see the woman of my dreams. I saw a stranger. I let out a dry, jagged laugh. “Charlotte, we’re done. Don’t ever call me again.” — “I just got out of a five-year nightmare,” I said, looking across the small café table. “Are you sure you want to deal with someone like me? I’m still… processing.” The girl sitting opposite me, Sophie, didn’t flinch. She just offered a soft, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “It’s okay. I’m not looking for a perfect version of you, Nate. I’m looking for you. I don’t care about your past.” I stared at her for a long beat, feeling a strange, unfamiliar warmth settle in my chest. I nodded, my voice thick. “Give me one week. I need to settle things there. Then we leave this city. We get married. We start over.” I waved goodbye and stepped down into the subway entrance. It had been four days since my grandmother’s funeral. I’d spent them in a haze of grief, navigating the cold machinery of city departments to file the death certificate and settle her meager estate. Everyone in my small circle knew the woman who raised me was gone. Everyone except Charlotte. She’d never bothered to learn the details of my life. My world was a “distraction” from her trajectory. Since she’d inherited her family’s conglomerate, her time had become a currency too valuable to waste on someone as ordinary as me. She didn’t know that while she was signing a merger, the only person who ever truly loved me was dying in a cold hospital room because I couldn’t reach the “right” people. The moment the hospital called with the time of death was the moment my heart finally went cold for Charlotte. As I climbed out of the subway station, the sky turned a bruised purple, and a sharp wind began to howl between the skyscrapers. My phone buzzed. It was Sebastian. Charlotte’s “right-hand man.” Her childhood sweetheart. My constant shadow. “Nate,” he said, his voice dripping with that casual, high-society arrogance. “We’re out of umbrellas at the office. Head back to the penthouse, grab two of the large ones, and get them here in twenty minutes. It’s about to pour.” He always spoke to me like I was the help. Even now, with my soul feeling like it had been scraped hollow, his voice felt like a serrated blade against my nerves. For five years, Sebastian had been the third person in our relationship. Charlotte shared everything with him—including the intimate details of our life. He knew things he shouldn’t; he made jokes about our private time right in front of me. When I’d blow up at her about it, Charlotte would just look at me with that patronizing “you’re so small-minded” expression. “He’s just joking, Nate. Don’t be so fragile. It’s embarrassing when a man has no sense of humor. I asked him to look out for you because you’re clearly overwhelmed by the city. Try to be grateful for once.” I used to apologize. I used to think I was the problem—the “country boy” who didn’t understand the sophisticated boundaries of the elite. Sebastian was educated, polished, and indispensable to her business. I was just… Nate. But today, I just smiled at the phone. If she wanted Sebastian so badly, she could have the whole package. “I’m on my way home, Sebastian. I don’t have time to be your delivery boy. If she needs an umbrella, call an Uber or send an intern. You know the code to the penthouse anyway.” There was a stunned silence on the other end before Sebastian let out a sharp, nasty little chuckle. “Bold move, Nate. I’ll make sure Charlotte hears exactly how much you ‘care’ about her comfort.” He hung up. I squeezed the phone until my knuckles turned white, forcing down the bile. I was the “official” boyfriend, yet I was treated like a footnote in my own life. I stepped out into the rain. Three hours later, I arrived at the penthouse, soaked to the bone and shivering. My mind was eerily calm. The grief had moved past the stage of tears and into a quiet, cold resolve. I kicked off my shoes and headed for the master bathroom, needing a hot shower to wash away the city’s grime. The door swung open before I reached it. Charlotte stepped out, a cloud of expensive steam trailing behind her. She was wrapped in a plush white towel that hugged her curves, her skin glowing. For a split second, that old familiar ache of attraction hit me. Then, a man stepped out behind her. “Charlotte, babe, you should blow-dry your hair or you’ll catch a chill,” he said softly. The steam cleared. It was Sebastian. He was standing there in a pair of leather slippers—my leather slippers. They were a cheap pair Charlotte had bought me during our first year together. I cherished them because they were the first gift she’d ever given me. Now, they were damp and ruined, stretched out under his feet. I actually laughed. It was the most absurd thing I’d ever seen. “I see the ‘after-work’ activities have already started,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll leave you two to it.” I turned to walk away, but Charlotte grabbed my arm, her face twisting into an angry mask. “Nathaniel, stop it. Don’t start with the jealousy. We’re only here because you refused to bring the umbrellas. We got caught in the downpour, we were freezing, and I let him use the guest shower. What is wrong with you?” I didn’t want to fight. I was there to pack a bag and leave a ghost. But seeing him stand there, literally treading on the only sentimental thing I had left, snapped something inside me. “Is that why you have those marks on your neck, Charlotte?” Her hand flew to her collarbone. She and Sebastian had clearly been distracted. I knew those marks. I’d spent five years putting them there. Charlotte’s face hardened. Sebastian stepped forward, his voice a practiced silk. “Nate, I know you’ve always been insecure about us, but this is low. Charlotte was bitten by something at the garden party today. Don’t be disgusting.” He was good. He made himself the victim and me the villain in three sentences. Charlotte’s eyes flashed with ice. “Apologize to him, Nate. Right now. You have no right to slander our friendship with your pathetic imagination. If you don’t, I swear, I’m done with you.” I looked at her, really looked at her. “I’m not apologizing. Not now, not ever.” I walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. She didn’t come to bed that night. It was her favorite weapon: the cold shoulder. She expected me to crawl to her office the next morning with flowers and a tearful apology, begging for her “forgiveness.” But she was playing a game I’d already quit. The next afternoon, she did something unusual. She brought home a bouquet of roses and left them on the dining table. She pointed to a vase, her tone clipped and haughty. “I saw them on the way back. They were pretty. Fix them.” This was her version of a peace offering. A command disguised as a gift. In the past, I would have been so relieved by the “thaw” that I would have jumped to do it—ignoring the fact that I’m deathly allergic to pollen. I didn’t move. I called over the housekeeper. “Mrs. Higgins, could you put those in the trash? Or take them home? I don’t want them here.” Charlotte’s head snapped up. She marched over and shoved the bouquet into my hands. “I am trying to move past your tantrum, Nate. Don’t be petty. Sebastian is my most vital asset; he knows secrets that could sink this company. If your ego drives him away, do you have any idea what that would cost me?” My heart gave one last, final throb of pain. We had met in college. She was the heiress; I was the scholarship kid with a tattered resume. She’d been kind once. She’d brought me dinner when I worked late. She’d driven me home in the rain. When I proposed a “real” relationship on Valentine’s Day, she’d said yes without hesitation. I thought we were building a life. But the moment Sebastian returned from his “consulting firm” in London, I became the inconvenient roommate. I dropped the roses on the floor. “If he’s so vital, marry him. Maybe then he’ll stop charging you by the hour for his ‘loyalty’.” “How dare you—” “Charlotte, I’m leaving.” My voice was drowned out by the front door opening. Sebastian walked in like he owned the place. “Charlotte, the gala starts in three hours. We need to move.” Charlotte stood up immediately, grabbing her coat. She didn’t look at me. She treated me like a piece of furniture as she followed him out the door. I waited until the elevator chimed, then I took my resignation letter to the office. My manager looked at me with genuine pity when I walked in. “I’m so sorry, Nate. I tried to fight for you. I thought for sure you’d get the Director position after I moved up, but the executive board said your ‘performance metrics’ weren’t there.” I wasn’t surprised. I’d worked eighteen-hour days for five years. Charlotte had told me once that if I made Director on my own merit, she’d finally agree to a wedding date. I’d chased that carrot until my feet bled. I was the top salesperson every single month. But every year, my review came back “Inadequate.” I’d asked Charlotte to look into it, thinking it was a glitch. She’d just looked at me with disdain. “Don’t blame the system for your own lack of talent, Nate. I’m your girlfriend, not your shortcut. I won’t give you a handout.” Now I knew the truth. “It’s okay, Sam,” I said, handing him the envelope. “I’m done. I’m moving on.” As I walked toward HR to finalize my exit, I heard voices around the corner. “Nate’s review came back as a fail again,” a voice whispered. “He’s probably going to quit.” “He should,” Sebastian’s voice replied, sharp and mocking. “Did he really think he could climb his way into her bed and her boardroom? As long as I’m her chief of staff, that social climber stays at the bottom. If he doesn’t take the hint, keep cutting his year-end bonuses like I showed you. Let’s see how long he lasts on a basic salary.” A hot wave of fury crashed over me. The missed bonuses, the “lost” gift cards, the snubbed promotions… all of it. Sebastian had been strangling my career while Charlotte watched, convinced I was just “untalented.” I didn’t think. I rounded the corner and swung. My fist connected with Sebastian’s jaw. He tumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. “You’ve been sabotaging me for five years,” I spat. “I don’t care about Charlotte anymore, Sebastian. You want her? Take her. But don’t you ever talk about my career again.” Sebastian looked past me, his expression shifting instantly from shock to terrified fragility. He dropped to his knees. “Nate, please! I was just following Charlotte’s orders for the reorganization! I didn’t mean to upset you! Please, don’t hit me again!” The change was so fast it made my head spin. A second later, a stinging slap landed across my face. Charlotte stood there, trembling with rage. “Nathaniel! What is wrong with you? This is a place of business! You do not get to come here and assault my staff because you’re throwing a fit!”

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At our “Welcome Home” dinner, Bennett Miller suddenly stood up to leave. He’d just received word that the power had gone out in the dorm room of his student, Lexi. I caught him by the hallway, my voice low and pleading, trying to keep the peace in front of our families. “I’ll book her a suite at the Four Seasons,” I whispered, reaching for his arm. “I’ll send my assistant to pick her up right now. You don’t need to—” Bennett didn’t even let me finish. He shook his head, his expression hardening into that patronizing “professor” look he used when I was being ‘unreasonable.’ “She’s sensitive, Claire. She’s not like you. A hotel isn’t necessarily safe for a girl like her when she’s panicked. If something happens to her on my watch, it’s my professional failure.” A sharp knot tightened in my chest. The anger I’d been suppressing for months bubbled up, coated in acid. “Is she actually afraid of the dark, Bennett? Or does she just want you there to hold her hand?” His face went pale, then flashed with a cold, sudden fury. He turned to walk away. “Bennett!” I called out, my voice trembling but clear. “If you walk out that door today, we’re done. I mean it.” His gaze dropped to my stomach, where our child was barely a bump beneath my silk dress. “Calm down,” he said, his voice terrifyingly level. “High emotions aren’t good for the baby.” Then, he disappeared down the corridor. That night, Lexi posted to her Instagram story. It was a photo taken from the passenger seat of Bennett’s Volvo. She was holding two iced lattes, her face partially obscured by a stray blonde curl. The caption read: Huge thanks to Professor Miller for the midnight rescue! I’m such a klutz… I accidentally tripped the main breaker and lost my mind in the dark. 1 The table was filled with expensive food, steam rising in the quiet room, but no one moved their silverware. My father slammed his scotch glass onto the mahogany table. My mother gripped my hand, her face a mask of restrained outrage. Bennett’s parents tried to play the peacemakers, their voices frantic. “Claire, honey, you know how Bennett is. He has such an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. The girl was probably just terrified…” My mother cut them off. “What student is more important than his wife and unborn child? This was a family celebration. Does he have any respect for my daughter at all?” My father looked directly at me. “Claire, what do you want to do?” I sat down, my movements mechanical. I felt strangely hollow, as if the person who had been screaming inside me had finally run out of breath. “Let’s eat,” I said quietly. “The food is getting cold.” I began serving my parents, my hands steady. They didn’t know that this wasn’t the first time Bennett had abandoned me for Lexi. Last month, he was supposed to take me for my twelve-week ultrasound. At the last minute, he’d texted saying an “academic emergency” had come up. I told him it was fine, that I was a modern woman and could handle a routine check-up alone. I didn’t expect to see him at the very same hospital. He was supporting Lexi, whose arm was draped over his shoulders. He told me she’d been in a “horrific car accident.” Looking back, Lexi had been the one to describe the “crash” in such vague, dramatic terms that Bennett assumed she was near death. In reality, a teenager on a bicycle had clipped her shoulder while she was looking at her phone. But every single time, Bennett chose to believe her version of reality. My parents didn’t bother being polite to the Millers after that. Bennett’s parents left shortly after, looking small and defeated. The moment the front door clicked shut, the strength evaporated from my limbs. A wave of nausea hit me, and I swayed. “Claire!” My mother caught me, her eyes wide with worry. “I’m okay,” I whispered, leaning into her. “I’m just… I’m so tired, Mom.” Back in my old bedroom, I locked the door and checked my phone. There was a message from Bennett sent twenty minutes ago. She’s still pretty shaken up. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me. Go to sleep. Not a single “I’m sorry.” Not a hint of remorse. A few minutes later, I refreshed Lexi’s feed. I’d added her a year ago when she was an intern at my design firm, back when she used to call me “Ma’am” with wide, admiring eyes. Now, her posts were nothing but thinly veiled provocations. We had been together for five years before we married. He was the brilliant academic; I was the entrepreneur building a luxury lifestyle brand. We were supposed to be a power couple—partners who admired and supported each other. I rarely bothered him with my problems. When I was sick, I drove myself to the doctor. When the water heater burst, I called the plumber. I thought this was what a mature, loving marriage looked like. I realized now I was just at the very bottom of his list of priorities. I pressed my hand against my stomach. It was still flat, yet it held a life. How ironic. He could leave his pregnant wife and his entire family for a girl who couldn’t find a fuse box. The low hum of an engine sounded outside. I walked to the window and moved the curtain an inch. Down on the street, Bennett was climbing out of his car, locking the doors while talking intensely on his phone. Under the glow of the streetlamp, his profile looked focused and tender. I didn’t need to guess who was on the other end. I let the curtain fall and walked into my home office. My inbox was full, but one email stood out—an invitation from the University Alumni Association. They wanted me to attend the Centennial Gala as a “Distinguished Alumna.” I heard footsteps in the hall. The door opened just as I clicked “Accept.” Bennett stood there, looking at me with a practiced, weary tenderness. “Still up? I told you not to wait. It’s not good for the baby to lose sleep.” He walked over and rested his hands on my shoulders—the same hands that had probably been steadying Lexi an hour ago. “About today… I’m sorry. But I couldn’t just leave her in that state. You understand, right?” I didn’t move. He leaned down, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Are you still working? Maybe you should step back from the firm for a while. You don’t need to work this hard, Claire. Your husband can take care of you.” I froze. In all the years we’d been together, Bennett had rarely used that “provider” tone. It felt less like a promise and more like a bribe. I tilted my head back to look at him. “You’re being awfully sweet tonight. Why?” He leaned down to kiss me, but I turned my face away. He laughed softly, unbothered. “I’m just telling the truth.” He headed into the bathroom to shower. As soon as the water started running, his phone on the desk buzzed twice. The notification popped up on the lock screen. Is she calmed down? See, I told you that line would work. You’re welcome! The breath left my lungs in a cold shiver. I closed my eyes and pretended I hadn’t seen it. 2 The night of the Alumni Gala arrived. I didn’t tell Bennett I was going; I just showed up. The grand ballroom was packed. From across the rows of velvet seats, I could see Bennett’s profile in the faculty section. Lexi’s performance was third on the program. Under the roar of applause, she walked onto the stage, looking radiant and ingenue-like in a white silk dress. She stepped to the microphone with a playful pout. “Good evening, everyone. I am so incredibly embarrassed, but there’s been a technical glitch with my backing track.” She scanned the front rows until her eyes landed on Bennett. “I don’t suppose I could convince my mentor, Professor Miller, to join me on stage and help me out with a live accompaniment?” The room went quiet for a beat, then broke into encouraging, indulgent applause. The lighting tech, clearly in on the joke, swung a spotlight onto Bennett. He looked surprised—but not too surprised. He looked up at the stage where Lexi stood bathed in light, her eyes shimmering as she watched him. “Go on, Professor!” a student shouted. Bennett stood up, giving a helpless, charming shrug to the crowd, and made his way to the stage. As he passed my row, he paused for a split second. He saw me. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his face, but he didn’t stop. On stage, she sang a soulful, yearning ballad while he played the piano. The lighting cast their shadows onto the backdrop behind them, silhouettes leaning toward each other, almost touching. When she reached the bridge—I want you by my side, through the dark and through the light—she turned her head to look at him, her expression one of pure, raw devotion. I sat in the darkness, my hand resting protectively over my stomach. I didn’t see Bennett again for the rest of the performance. At the after-party, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows with a glass of orange juice. My old college roommate, Joanna, walked up and squeezed my arm. “That was quite the show,” Joanna whispered, her eyes narrowed at the stage. “Are you actually okay with this? Because the way that girl looks at him… that is not ‘purely academic.’” She stepped closer. “You’ve got a marriage certificate that’s barely dry, Claire. Does he know how this looks?” I forced a thin smile. “The Arts Department has a long history of… drama.” Joanna scoffed. “I’ve seen duets, but I’ve never seen a professor and a student perform a love song like they were auditioning for a rom-com. ‘I want you by my side’—spare me.” She mimicked Lexi’s breathy vibrato and rolled her eyes. I actually laughed, but the sound died in my throat. Bennett had appeared behind Joanna, his face tight. He’d clearly heard her. “Lexi was just saving the performance,” he said, his voice laced with warning. “There’s no need to project your cynicism onto a girl who’s six years younger than you.” Joanna glared at him, unimpressed. “Bennett, have you forgotten how hard you chased Claire? Are you losing your mind? For a student—” I reached out and caught Joanna’s hand, stopping her. “It’s the Gala, Joe. Let’s not do this here.” She shot me a look of pure pity and sighed. Bennett’s expression softened, seemingly satisfied that I had defended him. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his voice dropping into that “concerned husband” register. “You’re pregnant, Claire. You shouldn’t be listening to petty gossip.” Suddenly, a burst of raucous laughter erupted from the other side of the hall. A group of theater students was gathered in a circle. Lexi was in the middle, holding a piece of chocolate cake. A male student had a glob of frosting on his finger and was trying to smear it on her face. She was laughing, dodging him, shrieking playfully, “Stop it! Please, don’t!” The boy caught her wrist, and as they struggled, they moved closer together. I felt Bennett’s breathing hitch. His chest began to rise and fall rapidly. Without a word to me, he dropped his arm and strode toward the group. Joanna nudged me, her voice sharp. “Claire, he’s literally running to play the hero. Are you going to just stand there?” I took a slow sip of my juice, my eyes following my husband. “That’s not a hero,” I said quietly. I paused, watching Bennett grab the student’s wrist, his face a mask of cold authority. A bit of frosting fell onto Lexi’s dress. She let out a small gasp, looking down at the stain with a devastated expression. “That,” I told Joanna, “is a man who is jealous.” Bennett pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket—one I had bought him for our anniversary—and handed it to her. When she looked up at him with those wide, helpless eyes, he actually leaned down and began dabbing the frosting off her skirt himself. I set my glass down on a passing waiter’s tray. “Claire—” Joanna started. “It’s fine. I’m going to the restroom.” I turned the faucet on and watched the cool water wash over my hands. The door swung open, and Lexi walked in. She froze when she saw me, then a sweet, triumphant smile spread across her face. “Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were here.” Her voice was like spun sugar. “Professor Miller was looking for you earlier.” I looked at her through the mirror. “Was he?” She bit her lip, tucking a lipstick into her clutch. “Yeah. He’s so sweet. My dress got ruined, and he was so worried. You shouldn’t be mad, though. He just feels like I’m young and need a little extra guidance.” 3 I turned off the tap and turned to face her. “Lexi.” “Yeah?” “You’re twenty-four, right?” She blinked. “Yes…” “When I was twenty-four, I had already finished my Master’s, launched my firm, and cleared my first seven figures.” Her smile faltered. “What’s your point? You just grew up with money. It’s easy to be successful when you’re born at the finish line.” “If I had your background,” she continued, her chin lifting with a newfound spark of defiance, “I’d be twice as successful as you. Besides, maybe it’s because I don’t have your perfect life that Bennett feels more protective of me. He sees the real me.” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “And tell me, Lexi, besides this ‘pathetic protection,’ what exactly do you have?” I took a step toward her. She flinched. “I suggest you stop trying to build your future on the back of a married man and start focusing on your actual coursework. You’re not a ‘delicate muse,’ Lexi. You’re a cliché.” Her face went bone-white. I pushed past her and walked back into the ballroom. Almost immediately, the Dean of the University spotted me. His face lit up, and he hurried over. “Claire! I was just looking for you. The endowment for the new scholarship… we are absolutely floored by your generosity!” His voice wasn’t loud, but in the quiet of the gala, it carried. Bennett, who was standing nearby, whipped his head around. The Dean took my hand. “A full-ride scholarship for the Arts Department? You’re going to change so many lives. The University is honored to call you one of our own.” I smiled graciously. “I just wanted to give back to the place that gave me so much.” The Dean beamed. “The signing ceremony is next week. We’ll have a full press release. We want the students to see what real excellence looks like!” After the Dean moved on, Bennett approached me, his eyes wide with shock. “A scholarship? In my department? Why didn’t you mention this to me?” “I just decided.” He frowned, his voice dropping. “Claire, you should have consulted me. People are going to talk. You setting up a fund in my department? It looks…” “It looks like what, Bennett?” I looked him dead in the eye. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face. “Let’s talk about this at home.” “There’s nothing to talk about. The funds have been wired. Are you suggesting I ask for them back?” He grabbed my wrist, his grip tighter than usual. “You know I’m up for tenure this year. It’s a sensitive time. People will think—” “Think what? That I have too much money? Or that the ‘great’ Professor Miller needs his wife to buy his department’s loyalty?” He took a sharp breath, trying to stifle his anger. “It’s a nice gesture, Claire, but you need to think about my position before you act on impulse.” I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt a deep, soul-crushing exhaustion. “What is your position, Bennett? Are you worried about the school’s politics, or are you just worried that your ‘sensitive’ student will realize who actually holds the power in this family?” His pupils contracted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Claire, don’t be so small-minded. Not everything is about your insecurities.” I nodded slowly. “You’re right. You’re not ‘small-minded,’ are you? Then prove it.” Before he could respond, I turned to leave. Joanna caught up with me at the valet. “Claire, let me drive you.” In the car, Joanna gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. “Is he blind? That little sociopath was practically marking her territory on his lap, and he thinks he’s just being a ‘good mentor’?” My phone buzzed. Claire, we need to talk. I didn’t reply. A moment later, another one. How many times do I have to tell you? We are perfectly professional. She actually just told me she wants to apologize to you in person for the misunderstanding… 4 I didn’t expect him to actually bring her to our house. After the Gala, I’d moved back to my parents’ estate for a few days. My mother was helping me pack some essentials when Bennett showed up—with Lexi in tow. The moment they walked through the door, Lexi’s eyes filled with tears. “Claire, please,” she sobbed. “Professor Miller and I… there is nothing going on. Please don’t be mad at him because of me.” She looked like a Victorian orphan. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have called him that night. I shouldn’t have ruined your dinner. You can hate me, you can resent me, I don’t care.” “In the future,” she gasped, “even if I’m dying, I won’t call him. I promise.” Bennett looked pained. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder briefly. “Don’t say things like that, Lexi. You’re my student. It’s my job to look out for you.” Lexi was supposedly there to apologize to me, but her eyes never left Bennett’s face. She looked like she was sacrificing herself for him, playing the martyr to my “villain.” Bennett looked at me with a touch of reproach. “Claire, everything is out in the open now. Can we please stop this drama?” My mother stepped in front of me, her voice trembling with rage. “Bennett Miller, what is the meaning of this? You bring this girl into my daughter’s home? This isn’t an apology. This is a slap in the face.” Lexi spoke up, her voice trembling. “Ma’am, you misunderstand. I just want them to be happy. Claire’s sudden scholarship… it’s made things so difficult for the Professor at work. If she keeps being this impulsive, it will—” Slap. The sound echoed through the foyer. My mother’s hand had connected with Lexi’s cheek. Lexi stumbled back, falling—quite gracefully—into Bennett’s arms. Bennett’s face went dark. He looked at Lexi’s reddening cheek and then turned a cold, murderous gaze on my mother. “I have always respected you as an elder,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “But Lexi is an innocent kid. She doesn’t deserve this. You will apologize to her. Right now.” “Innocent?” my mother spat. “An innocent girl doesn’t follow a married man into his home in the middle of the night. What kind of self-respecting woman behaves like this?” Bennett let out a harsh, cold laugh. “If we’re talking about self-respect… Lexi is trying to fix a marriage she didn’t even break. What does that say about your daughter? Getting pregnant to lock down a man before the wedding? Is that what you call ‘good parenting’?” “Bennett!” I screamed, staring at him in horror. He seemed to realize what he’d said, flinching slightly, but he didn’t take it back. My mother clutched her chest, her face turning a terrifying shade of gray. She began to gasp, her breath coming in short, ragged hitches. “Mom!” I lunged for her. “Bennett, call 911! She has a heart condition!” Bennett didn’t move. He just stood there, holding Lexi. I scrambled for my phone on the hallway table, but Bennett stepped forward and snatched it out of my hand. “You want an ambulance?” he said, his eyes hard and glassy. “Then she apologizes to Lexi first.” I looked at him and realized I was looking at a stranger. Lexi, tucked against his side, had a flicker of something that looked like triumph in her eyes. Bennett watched my mother’s face go pale as she slumped against the wall. “I’ve seen your mother’s theatrics before, Claire. She’s fine. She just wants a way out of the embarrassment she caused. This ‘heart attack’ is just a cheap trick to make me feel guilty.” “Claire,” he said, his voice steady. “The ‘victim’ act doesn’t work on me anymore. Apologize.” Suddenly, a high-pitched ping came from my mother’s wrist. Her Apple Watch had detected an irregular, dangerously high heart rate and had automatically dialed her emergency contact—my father. The moment I heard my father’s panicked voice coming from the watch’s speaker, I screamed, “Dad! Mom collapsed! Get the paramedics to the house now!” Within ten minutes, a medical team was swarming the foyer. I didn’t breathe until my mother was stabilized and loaded into the ambulance. As they wheeled her out, I turned to Bennett, who was standing paralyzed in the corner. I took my phone back from his limp hand. I didn’t look at him. I dialed my firm’s head of legal. “This is Claire. I want Bennett Miller ruined by morning. Pull every cent of investment from the Miller family’s holdings. Cancel the contracts. I want every single person with the last name Miller out of this city’s business circles within thirty days.”

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On the eve of our engagement, my father died on a construction site. It was a project owned by my fiancée’s first love. I wanted justice. I wanted blood. But Morgan, my lawyer fiancée, didn’t stand by me. Instead, she crossed the aisle to defend him—the man responsible for my father’s death. She didn’t just abandon me; she ensured my father would go to his grave with his name dragged through the mud and the truth buried under legal jargon. When I was at the edge of the ledge, Madeline appeared. She was the one who found the evidence Morgan had tried to hide. She was the one who forced a half-million-dollar settlement out of them. The betrayal and the grief broke me. I slipped into a depression so deep the world turned gray. Madeline gave up her career as a forensic pathologist to take me abroad, away from the ghosts of my past. In the darkest hours, when I begged for the lights to go out, she would hold me, her eyes red from weeping, and beg me to stay for her. She proposed to me a thousand and one times. She swore that even if the whole world turned its back on me, she would be my sanctuary. But today is our tenth anniversary. And standing outside the cracked door of our living room, I heard her laughing with her friends. “Half a million for a human life,” one of them said. “I still can’t believe you pulled that off, Madeline.” “His father could have been saved,” another voice whispered, chillingly casual. “Who would have guessed you’d just… perform the autopsy while he was still clinging to life?” “If Miles ever found out that you were in on it with them from the start, he’d lose his mind, wouldn’t he?” I froze. The air in my lungs turned to shards of ice. … 1 Then, I heard Madeline’s voice—cool, detached, and utterly unfamiliar. “Marrying him cost me my life,” she said. “I don’t owe him a damn thing anymore.” “But Miles is fragile, Maddie. The depression… if he finds out the truth, he’ll break. He’ll go nuclear.” Madeline’s response was a shrug I could practically hear. “I spent ten years babysitting him in Europe just to keep him from going back and making trouble for Trevor. It’s been a decade. Even if he finds out, where’s he going to go? He has nothing. He has nobody but me.” A single door stood between us, yet her words leveled the world I had built. I gripped the doorframe, my knuckles white, my body trembling so violently I thought I might shatter. “Trevor is the sun,” she continued softly. “I couldn’t let Miles be the smudge on his perfect horizon.” I backed away, one step, then two. I couldn’t listen anymore. I bolted into the study, locking the door behind me. My chest burned with a physical agony, a rhythmic thumping in my ears that sounded like a mockery of the decade I’d spent worshipping her. I thought of the “settlement.” I thought of the “accident.” My eyes fell on her laptop, still logged in. My hand shook as I gripped the mouse. I opened her messages—a secondary account I had never seen before. A secret life. There was a group chat with Trevor and Morgan. Ten years of history laid bare in digital ink. Ten years ago, my father was impaled by a falling rebar on Trevor’s site. Negligence. Plain and simple. Back then, Morgan—my fiancée at the time—dumped me the second the incident happened, stepping in as Trevor’s lead counsel to bury the evidence. That was when Madeline “coincidentally” appeared. She was the doctor on call. she was the one who drove through twelve red lights to get him to the hospital. And yet, by that afternoon, she was handing me a death certificate. She was a forensic pathologist. She knew exactly how to make a heartbeat stop and call it “procedure.” Then came the five hundred thousand dollars. She told me it was a “mercy gift” from Trevor, a way for me to move on. She told me to let it go. She took me to London, telling me we needed to start over. It was a setup. A decade-long con performed by the three people who had ruined me. I let out a jagged, hollow laugh. I reached up to wipe my face and realized I was soaked in cold tears. I stayed there for a long time, breathing through the nausea, until I managed to screenshot every single message and send them to my private cloud. Then, I called an old contact back in the States—a lawyer who had never stopped believing the original case was rigged. “I need the original autopsy report from my father’s death ten years ago,” I whispered into the phone. “I need to look at it again. All of it.” When I finally emerged from the study, I ran straight into Madeline. She looked startled, her eyes darting toward the study door. “What were you doing in there?” she asked, her voice sharper than usual. She seemed to realize she sounded defensive. She softened instantly, reaching out to hook her finger through mine—the familiar, intimate gesture that used to make my heart melt. “I couldn’t find you. I got worried. Did you take your meds today, Miles?” If I hadn’t seen those messages, I would have fallen for it. I would have leaned into her touch. Now, her skin felt like a snake’s. When I didn’t answer, she stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her breath brushed my cheek, making my skin crawl. “We’re moving back home next week,” she murmured. “I don’t want any more surprises.” That snapped me back to reality. I pushed her away, gently but firmly. “Why?” I asked, my voice flat. “We’ve lived here for ten years. Why move back now?” She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “My parents are getting older. And you’re stable now, Miles. It’s time to face the world again.” “Is it about your parents?” I asked, looking her dead in the eye. “Or is it about Trevor?” The smile on her face stiffened. She recovered quickly, though. “Don’t be like that. Trevor is like a brother to me. My parents practically raised him. He’s family. He’s going to be your brother-in-law, in a way.” She gave me a playful, dismissive pout and walked into the bedroom to start packing. I watched her back, knowing the truth. She didn’t want a brother. She wanted the man she had killed my father to protect. “Is he really worth all of this?” I whispered to the empty hallway. 2 I laughed at my own stupidity. Fine. If she wanted to go back, we’d go back. But it wouldn’t be the homecoming she imagined. The flight was the next morning. Madeline spent the whole trip in a state of barely suppressed electric excitement. The second we landed, I ceased to exist. She was already scanning the crowd, her pace quickening as we headed toward the arrivals lounge. I lagged behind, watching her run toward Trevor and Morgan. Trevor took her suitcase with an easy, practiced intimacy. He reached out and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. Madeline didn’t pull away. She looked at him like he was the only source of light in the room. Morgan was the first to notice me. She arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Miles? Look at you. Ten years in hiding. Is the depression finally cured, or are you just better at faking it?” It was a verbal slap, delivered with all the cruelty of the woman who had left me when I was at my lowest. I clenched my fists at my sides, the bile rising in my throat. “Miles,” Trevor said, stepping forward. He looked pained, his voice dripping with performative guilt. “Ten years… I’ve wanted to say I’m sorry every single day. That accident with your dad… it was a tragedy. I hope you can finally find it in your heart to forgive me.” He looked so vulnerable. So “innocent.” It was the act that Madeline lived for. Before I could say a word, Madeline stepped in front of him, shielding him from me. She gave me a warning look. During the flight, she had told me a dozen times: The past is the past. Don’t bring it up. For my sake. “He’s already forgiven you, Trevor,” she said lightly, dismissing my father’s death like a spilled drink. “It’s ancient history. Don’t worry about it.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. To them, it was just time passing. To me, it was the loss of the only man who had ever truly loved me. When I remained silent, Madeline nudged my arm, her eyes flashing with irritation. “Miles, what is wrong with you? You’ve had a sour face since we landed. You got the settlement money. It’s been ten years. The investigation cleared Trevor of everything! Why can’t you just be civil?” She hissed the last part into my ear. Whenever Trevor was involved, her logic evaporated, replaced by a fierce, maternal protectiveness. I stepped back, creating space between us. “If he’s so innocent,” I said, my voice cold and clear, “then a new investigation shouldn’t bother anyone.” Madeline’s face went dark. She opened her mouth to snap at me, but Morgan cut her off. “Anyway,” Morgan said, holding Trevor’s hand and flashing a massive diamond ring. “I’ve booked out the Heights for Trevor’s birthday. It’s also our engagement party. You two are just in time to celebrate with us.” I watched Madeline’s eyes drop to their joined hands. For a second, a look of pure, raw agony crossed her face. Her “Golden Boy” was officially off the market. “Congratulations,” she whispered, her voice sounding like it was being pulled through gravel. I looked at her and felt nothing but contempt. She had sacrificed her soul to save this man, only to hand him over to someone else. “I won’t be there,” I said. “I have plans.” Madeline and Morgan both looked offended. Trevor’s eyes turned watery. “I knew it. You still hate me. But Miles, I’m basically Madeline’s family. We’re going to be related. Why hold onto a grudge this long?” Madeline couldn’t take it. She turned on me, her voice trembling with rage. “Miles! Enough! What do you want? If you’re going to act like a child, then just leave. Go!” Every word she spoke was a needle in my heart. Trevor’s birthday. The date of the party. It was the anniversary of my father’s death. In London, she used to spend that day holding me while I cried. She hadn’t forgotten the date. She just didn’t care anymore. Not when Trevor was the one blowing out the candles. Madeline grabbed Trevor’s arm and led him away, not even glancing back at me. As Trevor passed, he leaned in, his voice a low, triumphant whisper. “The two women you’ve loved most in your life? They both chose me. You’re a loser, Miles. You always have been.” I went to the party anyway. Morgan had spared no expense. The ballroom was draped in gold and white. Madeline had contributed, too—I saw the massive digital billboard she’d rented outside, flashing Trevor’s face across the city skyline. All the power players of the city were there, clinking glasses and laughing. Trevor stood between Morgan and Madeline, looking like the king of the world. He spotted me and leaned into Madeline. “Maddie, look. Miles is here. But he looks so miserable. Is he… is he jealous of us?” Madeline stiffened. she walked over to me and dragged me into a quiet corner. “I don’t know what your problem is,” she hissed. “But it’s Trevor’s night. Can you please just put on a smile for once? Everyone can see you’re holding a grudge.” My heart felt like a dead weight. I looked into her eyes—the eyes I used to think were my North Star. 3 “I haven’t said a word,” I replied, my voice carrying further than she liked. People began to turn their heads. “If you love him so much, Madeline, why didn’t you just marry him yourself?” The room went silent. Trevor’s face went pale. He managed to squeeze out a few tears. “Miles, you can hit me, you can scream at me… but don’t insult Madeline. She’s like a sister to me. I just wanted us to be a family…” Madeline’s grip on my arm tightened until it bruised. “Are you insane?!” “Today is the anniversary of my father’s death,” I said, my voice shaking. “How exactly am I supposed to be ‘happy’?” Madeline’s hand froze. She let go of my arm, her expression flickering with a momentary, haunting regret. For ten years, she had been my anchor on this day. Today, she had traded my mourning for Trevor’s celebration. “Miles… I… I didn’t mean… Look, as soon as the cake is cut, we’ll leave. I’ll spend the rest of the night with you—” Before she could finish, a commotion broke out near the stage. Trevor had collapsed into Morgan’s arms. He was shaking, his eyes rolled back in his head. Madeline didn’t even look at me. She screamed his name and shoved through the crowd, leaving me standing in the corner alone. A moment later, Morgan was in my face. She didn’t care about the guests. She swung her hand and slapped me so hard my vision blurred. “Are you happy now?” she spat. “Trevor has a heart condition because of the stress from ten years ago! He’s living on an artificial heart because there are no donors! And you just keep pushing him! Your father has been dead for a decade, Miles. If you miss him that much, why don’t you just go join him?” The room spun. I looked toward the doors and saw Madeline cradling Trevor as the paramedics arrived. She didn’t look back. She looked at me with nothing but cold, sharp loathing. I stood there long after the room emptied. My phone buzzed. It was the private investigator I’d hired. He’d sent a video file—old, grainy CCTV footage from ten years ago. In the video, my father is lying on the ground, a mangled mess of blood and bone. And standing over him are Madeline and Trevor. They weren’t calling for help. They were talking. In that moment, every beautiful memory I had of Madeline turned to ash. I forwarded everything to my lawyer friend. He called me immediately. “Miles… this is heavy. I didn’t think they’d actually do it. But it’s been ten years. Are you sure you want to open this cage? Madeline will go down with him.” I gritted my teeth, my eyes burning. “Yes. I want them to bleed. I want them to lose everything.” Madeline didn’t come home that night. I didn’t text her. The woman I thought was my savior was actually the one who had held the blade. I packed my things and moved out of the house. I took every cent she had ever given me—every ‘allowance’ and ‘gift’—and put it all into a single bank account to be returned. While I was packing, Trevor sent me a string of photos. Photos of him and Madeline. The most recent one was of them kissing in his hospital bed. Miles, poor Madeline is so miserable with you, his text read. Whenever Morgan isn’t around, she’s all over me. To the world, she’s a refined doctor. To me, she’s just a dog begging for scraps. She’s happy to be my little secret. A month ago, this would have killed me. Now, I just felt a dull, echoing numbness. I printed the photo out and placed it next to the divorce papers on the kitchen table. I was walking out the door when a notification popped up.

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I stumbled across a post from one of my company’s employees by chance. “The company hasn’t had any income for three months now. It’s about to go bankrupt. Please, someone help me figure out how to get the boss to fire me!” “Oh, and of course, I need every penny of that severance package!” The comment section was packed with drama-loving bystanders, all eagerly offering their advice. “Deliberately eat smelly food in front of the boss. Blue cheese for breakfast, pickled herring for lunch!” “You could play the idiot! Buy Coke for business partners, only order McDonald’s when dining with clients. Once you screw up enough deals, the boss will definitely get rid of you!” “Right! And if the boss can’t stand you anymore and fires you, you can livestream yourself playing the victim, accusing the company of exploiting employees. Once you go viral, that’s another source of income!” I stared hard at the poster’s familiar face, barely stopping myself from throwing my phone. The employee bonus slip I’d been signing every single month without fail suddenly felt impossible to sign. Fine then! If they hated the company this much, they could all just go home!

There was one week left until New Year’s Day. I pulled out the work records, preparing to organize the monthly employee bonuses. Ever since I took over the company my father founded, I’d always stuck to an employee-first principle. Not only did I max out meal allowances and benefits, I also maxed out monthly bonuses. I even made sure all employees’ family members had comprehensive health and accident insurance. Just then, broken fragments of conversation drifted in through the crack in the door. “Did you guys hear? Finance Manager Margaret just said our company hasn’t had any income for three consecutive months!” “Starting this month, they probably won’t even be able to pay full salaries!” The speaker’s voice wasn’t quiet. All the employees were startled, letting out sharp gasps of surprise. “No way! Ever since Mr. Sullivan took over the company, he’s never been late with our salaries. All the benefits have been even better than before…” “Exactly… maybe… maybe the company’s just going through temporary difficulties, so…” A few veteran employees voiced their disagreement in small voices. But the man who’d spoken first cut them off sharply with his piercing voice. “You people are ridiculous! You’ve all been fooled by these little tactics the company uses to win hearts!” “Why do we work so hard every day like corporate slaves? Isn’t it all for that paycheck? If a company can’t even pay salaries, why should we sympathize with capitalists?” “If you ask me, we should get out before the company goes under. If we’re lucky, we might even squeeze out some severance money!” I raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help standing up, walking to the one-way glass window to carefully examine the employees outside. Perhaps because his words were too harsh, the employees who’d always been passionate about their work all wore thoughtful, worried expressions. As for the person brazenly stirring up trouble… It was none other than the young man my dad had just shoved into the company last month, supposedly the “son of a good friend”… Zachary Sullivan! That afternoon, Zachary knocked on my office door with an embarrassed expression. As soon as he entered, he plopped himself down across from me without ceremony. “Mr. Sullivan! I’m Zachary Sullivan, a new employee who just joined last month. I’m here to ask a question on behalf of all the company’s employees!” I suppressed the urge to laugh and nodded slightly, indicating he should continue. “It’s like this! As far as I know, the company’s financial situation is very bad. Even though we’ve always had projects in progress, starting three months ago…” “None of our partners have delivered payments on time!” “As the boss, don’t you know the company account situation? Are you planning to delay our employees’ salaries and benefits next?” I lowered my eyelids slightly and responded at the right moment. “Sullivan Corporation has been established for over ten years. In all that time, the company has never delayed employee salaries or benefits.” “In certain aspects, we at Sullivan Corp far exceed other companies.” “Where did you hear that we’re about to delay employee salaries?” Zachary was stumped by my response. He coughed dryly before stammering out a reply. “I… I’m just… being cautious…” “After all… after all, the company has so many employees. I’m just trying to find peace of mind for everyone!” Under my half-smiling gaze, Zachary’s face turned red and he turned to leave directly. I didn’t take this little episode seriously. Because ever since my father founded Sullivan Corp, most employees had grown alongside the company. Although the company wasn’t huge, I believed no one would be foolish enough to trust a newly hired idiot over the company itself. But that evening, a viral local post shattered my assumptions.

After dinner, I was scrolling through videos on my phone as usual. But a clickbait post caught my attention. “The company hasn’t had any income for three months and is about to go bankrupt. Please help me figure out how to get the boss to fire me!” “Oh, and of course, I need every penny of that severance package—and hopefully I can squeeze out even more!” The familiar phrasing made my eyebrow twitch involuntarily. This… It couldn’t be posted by a Sullivan Corp employee, could it… Even though I didn’t want to believe it, my finger unconsciously clicked into the post. Perhaps because the title was explosive enough, the post had very high engagement. The comment section had gathered thousands upon thousands of modern-day employees, all enthusiastically offering advice to the poster. “Listen to me—only by getting actively fired by the boss can you get severance. Don’t be stupid enough to resign directly!” “Eat blue cheese right in front of your boss every day. No boss can stand that smell assault!” “Blue cheese is nothing! Since you want to get fired, go all in! Blue cheese for breakfast, pickled herring for lunch!” I stared at the comment section, dumbfounded. These employees’ brains were truly not to be underestimated! Thank goodness they weren’t my company’s employees. Otherwise, if they pulled stunts like this on me every day, I really might not be able to tolerate them. The next morning, I shook my slightly foggy head and arrived at the company an hour early. Yes! Even though I knew deep down it was impossible, I still couldn’t resist the urge to investigate. So I came to the company early to lurk around, wanting to find the truth. As soon as I entered the company, I locked eyes with Zachary’s smiling face. I politely said hello, then looked up and down at his workstation. But inside, I couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. At least this guy wasn’t like that poster, actually using those tactics to challenge the company’s bottom line. Just as I was mentally mocking myself for overthinking, laughter and commotion came from the break room. “Hahaha! Hurry up and eat, it’ll be work time soon!” “Yeah! Don’t let Mr. Sullivan see you, or he might dock your pay!” “Ugh! Dock my pay? Right now I just hope the salary gets paid on time!” My face turned iron-blue as I glanced over. Sure enough, I saw seven or eight veteran employees gathered around the large dining table in the break room, having a lively meal! “This is the office! The company’s rules clearly state that you’re not allowed to…” Before I could finish, Zachary hurried over. “Boss! Come on! It’s not even work time yet!” “Besides, isn’t the break room exactly where employees eat? Right?” “I’m sure the company isn’t that authoritarian! Not eating breakfast makes you tired all day, you know!” Sitting in my office chair, I couldn’t help clicking into that post again. The poster had already posted a new update. “Hahaha! Thanks for the great advice, everyone! Today I deliberately brought breakfast and let the boss see me eating at the company!” “Who would’ve thought! That coward didn’t dare say a word, just pretended not to see and walked away!” “Tsk tsk tsk… Looks like this crappy company really is about to go under. Otherwise, how could they just let it slide so easily?” The more I read, the angrier I got. Even though the post’s content didn’t match my company, just thinking that I might also be seen as an idiot by my employees made me furious. I sat there in a daze all morning. It wasn’t until my phone chimed with a text notification that I was dragged out of my internal turmoil. “Mr. Sullivan, congratulations on successfully winning the bid. To ensure smooth cooperation, please come to XX Grand Hotel tonight for further discussion…” My eyes reddened with excitement. The project I’d worked on for three whole months finally had results. With this thought, I couldn’t care less about those petty schemes. I immediately replied to the text. “Mr. Webb, you absolutely must honor us with your presence tonight. I’ll arrange everything. Let’s celebrate our successful cooperation in advance!” After having my secretary arrange dinner in advance, I arrived at the hotel first. But to my surprise, when I entered the private dining room, Zachary was already sitting at the table waiting.

Seeing me enter, Zachary’s attitude was extremely humble. “Mr. Sullivan, Secretary asked me to bring colleagues from the PR department to make arrangements. We’ll definitely provide excellent hospitality tonight!” I nodded slightly. Seeing several female colleagues from the PR department nearby, the unease in my heart settled down. But when the servers brought out a table full of dishes, I was dumbstruck. Zachary stood up with a big smile. “Mr. Webb! Mr. Sullivan! You’re always out dining for business, eating rich foods every time—what’s the point?” “Today, our PR department’s Lily specially ordered stomach-friendly dishes for you!” “Look at this—mini burgers, fries and chicken wings, and pizza! Every single dish is a viral internet favorite!” “Chloe even specially went to get bubble tea! Everything is good for your health! You absolutely must eat more!” Zachary acted as if he couldn’t read the room at all. Completely ignoring the dark expressions on everyone’s faces, he enthusiastically kept piling food onto the business partner’s plate. I frantically gave signals under the table until my hand cramped. But the employees who were usually so perceptive all acted blind, desperately echoing Zachary’s words. Not until this very moment. If I still couldn’t see that they were doing this deliberately, then I really would be brain-damaged. The business partners ate this meal with stiff expressions, then all left in fury. The first thing I did when I returned to the company was personally write up termination notices and withhold all severance pay. I knew Zachary wouldn’t let this go easily, but I didn’t expect him to move so quickly. That very afternoon, that familiar Instagram account posted Zachary’s video. He cried pitifully, accusing the company on camera. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but during my time at work, I always gave my all. I finally helped the company secure a project, but all I got in return was a termination notice!” “And! The company didn’t even give half an explanation about the termination compensation!” The live comment section exploded. “Holy crap! Real-life employee exploitation? It’s happening!” “Which company is this? Dude, hurry up and expose them so we can be careful when job hunting!” “Go to labor arbitration right away! Don’t let these people take advantage of you!” I almost couldn’t stop myself from laughing in anger. Just ten minutes ago, I’d received a text from the business partner saying the project was under review. This guy screwed up my multi-million dollar contract, and now he’s transformed into an exploited employee. Is that appropriate? The next morning, as soon as I walked into my office, several veteran employees knocked on the door with troubled expressions. The project department head opened with a devastating blow. “Mr. Sullivan! I know the company’s in trouble lately, but it can’t be so bad that you have to withhold severance pay from a few employees, right?” “Don’t you know the company’s been trending online now? We’re famous!” Business department manager Marcus nodded in agreement. “Exactly! This morning alone I’ve received seven or eight project cancellation notices!” “If this continues, our company… might really go bankrupt…” I waved my hand, signaling them to leave, then clicked into the Instagram app again. Zachary was still playing the victim on camera, looking pitiful. “I’m not doing this for money, but for every single hardworking employee at Sullivan Corp!” “I just joined and already received this kind of unfair treatment—what about those veteran employees who grew with the company?” As soon as he said this, the livestream exploded with virtual gifts. And these gift-sending IDs were all familiar to me. It seemed… Zachary had completely won over the company employees’ hearts. Thinking about how I’d done my utmost to consider the employees, always seeking benefits for them everywhere. Now, just for these immediate gains, they so easily betrayed me. It felt so not worth it! Perhaps I was too easygoing, which made them forget their place! As for Zachary… the truth would come out very soon!

In the following days, Sullivan Corp was essentially at a standstill. Because of the online storm, all ongoing and negotiating projects at the company were completely halted. Even many regulatory departments, due to complaints from internet users, came for inspections every few days. My secretary looked like she wanted to say something but held back. “Mr. Sullivan! Does it really have to come to this?” “But the company was slandered!” My face showed no expression as I nodded calmly. “Deep-rooted diseases must be broken through. This company has been rotten from the very core…” Just as I was busy applying for bankruptcy liquidation of Sullivan Corp, I suddenly received an invitation to a TV program. “Mr. Sullivan! Your company is quite famous online now. Mr. Zachary Sullivan going on the mediation show is also to give everyone a space to resolve the issue.” “Don’t you want to seize this opportunity?” I pondered for a long while, holding the document just mailed over by the private investigator, my heart a jumble of emotions. Yes. I’d always been careful in business, never failing. Yet now I’d stumbled over my own family. How could that not be foolish? The next morning at 7 AM, I arrived at the TV station on time. Due to Sullivan Corp’s recent online popularity, this mediation show attracted an especially large audience. Zachary sat on stage with his head held high. And in the front rows of the audience seats were clearly a group of Sullivan Corp employees. They waved glow sticks, constantly cheering and supporting Zachary. The host said with a smile, holding up the microphone. “We’re honored to have Sullivan Corp’s CEO, Scott Sullivan, here in person. Regarding the recent viral incident online, he also has something to say!” Zachary looked pitiful and spoke at the right moment. “I’ve never had any malice toward the company. I just want an apology.” “I can forgo the withheld severance pay, but I don’t want to be dismissed so unceremoniously…” On the large live broadcast screen below the stage, the comment feed was filled with “Apologize!” “Make Scott apologize!” “Capitalists should apologize! Making all that money without any conscience!” I took the microphone handed over by the director, walked confidently onto the stage, and looked straight into the center camera. “I’m sorry!” The stage and audience erupted in chaos. Zachary turned his face, unable to hide the curve of his lips. And those Sullivan Corp employees below the stage all cheered. I even faintly heard them saying: “Haha! I knew Zachary was awesome! The method he suggested really worked—he actually apologized!” “Exactly! As long as he’s willing to apologize, that’s good. Now truth is on our side. When we go back, we’ll demand compensation!” “As long as Scott doesn’t want the company to go bankrupt, to keep us veteran employees, he’ll definitely have to pay big!” “Right, although jobs are hard to find now, with Sullivan Corp’s reputation, it’ll be even harder to recruit employees! Scott will have no choice but to pay up!” My face remained expressionless as I held up the microphone and continued. “I’m not apologizing because of so-called severance pay, but because I failed to judge people correctly!” “I had no self-awareness, treating employees like family without reservation, which only fed their ambitions!” “However, I acknowledge my mistake!” “Sullivan Corp completed bankruptcy liquidation before today. As for subsequent employee matters, a liaison will contact you to handle them.” My words were like thunderbolts, making the entire studio completely silent. I ignored their incredulous looks and continued announcing. “Also! Regarding former Sullivan Corp employees Zachary Sullivan, Chelsea Martinez, Margaret…, who deliberately damaged the company’s image, stole confidential documents, and profited through abuse of position—” “I’ve already reported this to the police!” As my words fell, I returned the microphone to the host and turned to leave. Just as Zachary snapped back to reality and lunged at me with red eyes to stop me— A group of uniformed police officers rushed up from below the stage and pressed Zachary to the ground. “Zachary Sullivan, right? You’re suspected of involvement in a case of leaking trade secrets. Please cooperate with our investigation!”

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My daughter’s life was hanging by a thread. I knelt on the ground, clutching at my husband Lucas’s pant leg. But he shielded his first love beside him, looking down at me with cold eyes. “She just lost a bit of blood. Winona’s been traumatized because of Sweetie—her situation is more urgent.” Later, he personally blocked every way out, letting our child grow cold bit by bit. I signed the divorce papers with a smile and disappeared without a trace. Three years later, he searched the entire city, red-eyed as he cornered me outside my newly opened gallery. “Vivian, I was wrong. Our daughter…” I wrapped my arm around my new boyfriend’s and interrupted him casually. “Mr. Lucas.” “That child died the day you chose to save someone else.” The day my daughter participated in the dance competition hosted by Lucas Corporation, the stage collapsed. I held my blood-covered daughter and begged Lucas to take us to the hospital. But he coldly stepped past me, turning instead to help up Winona Sullivan, who had only minor scrapes, along with her crying daughter. “Vivian, you know Winona has a heart condition. Sweetie’s been traumatized too. If we don’t get them to the hospital and her condition flares up, it could be life or death.” I felt my daughter’s warm blood soaking through, and enormous fear made my voice tremble. “Natalie’s bleeding so much. Please look at her! Your daughter is seriously injured.” Lucas glanced at our daughter, hesitated for only a second, then frowned. “Lucas Corporation’s medical team will be here any minute. Natalie probably just has surface wounds. You stay here with her—I’ll take Winona to the hospital.” Lucas left with his arm around Winona and her daughter. All my strength drained away in an instant. My daughter’s face was deathly pale in my arms. I held her, not daring to move. “Quick, Assistant, please help me get Natalie to the hospital.” Assistant looked at me expressionlessly. “Mrs. Natalie, Mr. Lucas instructed that since the situation happened suddenly, it needs to be handled properly. We can’t have any negative press. The others aren’t seriously injured—only Miss Natalie lost some blood. There’s no need to alert the hospital.” “No need to alert the hospital?” My hands were shaking. “Can’t you see Natalie’s covered in blood? She’s already unconscious! This is Lucas’s child. If something happens to her, can you take responsibility?” Assistant glanced at Natalie once, then turned away to calmly direct staff members to evacuate and comfort the other participants. I forced myself to stay calm. After laying Natalie down, I frantically searched for my phone with shaking hands. I’d just pressed 9-1-1 when Assistant snatched the phone away. “Mrs. Natalie, Mr. Lucas instructed us not to alert the hospital.” Tears fell uncontrollably. My blood-covered hands desperately clutched at Assistant’s pant leg. “Give me back my phone. Natalie’s unconscious—I’m begging you, look at her! Lucas won’t blame you. This is his daughter.” Assistant hesitated for a second, but still refused coldly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Natalie. I’ll urge the medical team to hurry.” I cried out desperately. “I don’t want the medical team! I need to take my daughter to the hospital! Please, I’m begging you—take my daughter to the hospital!” A staff member ran over after hearing my cries. Seeing Natalie’s injuries, they instinctively moved to help, but Assistant stopped them with a single look. I knelt beside my daughter. “Please, someone call 9-1-1. My daughter really can’t hold on.” Parents and children who’d come for the competition looked over. Some wanted to help, but Lucas Corporation staff quickly ushered them away. Soon, only Lucas Corporation employees remained in the venue—plus me and my blood-soaked daughter. No one would help me. I could only rely on myself. I picked up my daughter, letting fresh blood drip onto the floor as I tried to rush outside, but Lucas Corporation workers blocked my way. “Assistant, Mrs. Natalie is trying to take Miss Natalie to the hospital.” Assistant forcibly took my daughter from my arms. I screamed with every fiber of my being. “Don’t touch my daughter!” But no one cared what I said. Two security guards came forward and grabbed my arms. Assistant gave cold orders. “Take Mrs. Natalie and Miss Natalie to the break room.”

I was dragged toward the break room. My daughter’s blood left a trail the whole way. I cried and pleaded. “Please, my daughter needs a hospital. Please, call an ambulance.” The staff members had mixed expressions. A young woman couldn’t help but try to comfort me. “Ma’am, we’ve already called the medical team. They’ll be here soon.” “It’ll be too late when they arrive.” I shouted in complete breakdown. “She’s lost too much blood. Please, just look at her!” The next second, the break room door slammed shut. “Watch them. No one leaves before Mr. Lucas returns.” Time crawled by, each second like torture. Natalie’s body temperature was dropping. Her little hands were ice cold. I pounded on the break room door, my voice hoarse but still shouting. “Go find an ambulance! If anything happens to this child, you’re all accomplices! Lucas won’t let you get away with this!” Soon, the break room door opened. Lucas Corporation’s medical team entered. “She’s lost so much blood. She needs surgery. Please help her.” The medical team examined Natalie’s injuries, their brows furrowed tightly. “The situation really isn’t good. She needs immediate surgery. We don’t have the conditions for surgery here. We need to immediately—” “Mr. Lucas is calling.” Assistant handed his phone to the doctor. I couldn’t hear what was said on the other end. But the doctor’s expression changed from grave to hesitant, and finally to calm as he hung up. “Mr. Lucas instructed us to use the best medication to stabilize her condition and wait for him to return before making any decisions.” My whole body went cold. I looked at the white pill in the doctor’s hand and shook my head frantically. “No, you can’t. What is that medication? My daughter can’t take that. She needs to go to the hospital. She needs surgery.” The doctor remained expressionless, coldly pushing the pill closer. I couldn’t tell if my face was covered in my daughter’s blood or my own tears. I turned to Assistant, who’d been giving all the orders. “Assistant, look at Natalie! She’s just a child! She’s covered in blood! She’ll die if we don’t go to the hospital! If anything happens to her, Lucas won’t forgive you. Neither will I.” A flicker of emotion crossed Assistant’s cold face. Suddenly, his phone rang again. After hearing just one sentence, the hesitation on his face vanished instantly. “Yes, Mr. Lucas.” He hung up, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Mr. Lucas’s orders: follow the medical team’s conservative treatment plan.” As soon as he finished speaking, two security guards immediately came forward and pulled me away. I struggled desperately, but my body was pinned down. I could only watch helplessly as they forced the white pill into my daughter’s mouth. “Natalie, my baby, you’re killing her! You’re killing her! I’ll kill you all—I’ll kill all of you!” Assistant frowned and instructed the doctor. “Mrs. Natalie is out of control. Give her a sedative so she doesn’t hurt herself or Miss Natalie.” Cold liquid pierced my skin. I collapsed to the floor, finally achieving complete “calm.” Tears fell uncontrollably. I’d once naively believed that this marriage arranged between families could be warmed if I just tried hard enough—that I could eventually melt Lucas’s heart of ice. I respected him, loved him, holding onto humble hope. I thought that by giving birth to our child, I could preserve at least a thread of affection between us. I never imagined that in the face of Lucas’s first love, I—his legally wedded wife—and the daughter I’d risked my life to bear were nothing more than pawns in his eyes. Pieces to be sacrificed at any moment to maintain his and Winona’s dignity and safety, all in service of family duty. I stared at that small figure in the distance, her clothes soaked through with blood, my heart sinking into an abyss. “Lucas, if anything happens to Natalie, I will never forgive you.”

The sedative made my consciousness fade gradually. I sank into the break room sofa, watching my daughter in the distance as despair washed over me. Suddenly, I dimly heard the doctor respectfully call out “Mr. Lucas.” Hope flickered instinctively within me. I thought Lucas had remembered us, thought he was going to send Natalie to the hospital. I struggled to cry out. “Lucas, is that you? Take Natalie to the hospital quickly—she needs surgery immediately.” The doctor glanced at me with a complicated expression, then pressed the speakerphone button. However, what came through was Winona Sullivan’s affected voice. “Vivian, are you and little Natalie okay? Lucas is with Sweetie for a full-body checkup and can’t get away, so he specially asked me to check on you both.” Hearing her voice, I went numb, unable to even react. Winona’s tone lifted with a hint of laughter. “Lucas said that what happened to the children at Lucas Corporation today absolutely cannot get out. Lucas Corporation has a medical team—there’s no need to make a big fuss going to the hospital and tarnishing the company’s reputation. So you all know what to do.” “Winona Sullivan.” I couldn’t believe it. My voice trembled. “Let Lucas answer the phone. I want to hear him say it himself.” A contemptuous laugh came from the other end. “Vivian, how can you still not face reality? Right now Lucas only has eyes for traumatized Sweetie. Where would he find time for you two? Tell little Natalie to hold on a bit longer—it’s just some blood loss. She won’t die. It’s all for Lucas Corporation’s greater good.” Assistant looked at Natalie on the sofa, his brow furrowed. “Miss Sullivan, Miss Natalie really has lost quite a bit of blood. She still hasn’t woken up. We have a medical team here, but we don’t have the conditions for emergency treatment. Could we perhaps ask Mr. Lucas if we could send her—” “Assistant.” Winona cut him off sharply, her voice ice cold. “She just got hit by a falling prop. How serious could it be? If she won’t wake up, feed her more pills. If the bleeding won’t stop, wrap her with gauze—layer after layer until it doesn’t leak. Do I have to teach you everything?” The doctor nearby paled. “Miss Sullivan, that won’t work. The child’s condition really requires a thorough examination at the hospital. If we continue treating her this way, in case—” “In case what?” Winona’s tone grew increasingly impatient. “Children all heal quickly. What could possibly happen? Lucas gave me his phone—his meaning is my meaning. Don’t you understand?” “Think carefully, all of you. If the media catches photos of a blood-covered child being carried out of Lucas Corporation today, how much will Lucas Corporation’s stock price drop tomorrow? Who among you can take that responsibility? Are you really going to destroy Lucas Corporation’s reputation for the sake of one little girl?” I shook my head frantically, tears mixing with blood. “Impossible. Lucas wouldn’t do this. Natalie is his child. Winona Sullivan, you crazy woman, you’ll get what’s coming to you! This is murder! You can’t listen to her, you can’t—” Winona sounded like she’d heard the funniest joke in the world. “Vivian, don’t you understand even now? In Lucas’s heart, what you gave birth to has never counted as his child.” The call was mercilessly disconnected. I looked desperately at Assistant. “Don’t listen to that woman. Lucas wouldn’t do this to his own child. He wouldn’t…” But he simply avoided my gaze, coldly giving orders. “Do as Miss Sullivan said. Get more medication—increase the dosage. Find more gauze to… stop Miss Natalie’s bleeding.” He didn’t even dare look at Natalie again as he added: “Everything else waits for Mr. Lucas’s return.”

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