Category: English

The year I hated my mother most, she drugged me, tied me up, and threw me into my brother-in-law Caleb’s bed to replace my sister. One night was all it took for my heart to follow my body. I fell for him. Hard. For the next five years, I lived like a ghost in the Blood Moon Pack. Caleb told me I owed it to my sister, Sara Shannon—his fated mate who had died—to repent for the sin of taking her place. He wanted me to focus on raising Kian, Sara’s pup and the pack’s heir, so he took my womb out of my belly to make sure I’d never have a pup of my own. Finally, Caleb’s icy heart seemed to thaw. He promised to make it official. Our mating ceremony was set for five days away. I thought the Moon had finally seen my deepest love for him. But on the eve before the ceremony, the front gates of the pack house swung open, and Caleb walked in with a she-wolf I thought was long buried. “Sara was just playing dead to get back at me,” Caleb announced, his voice booming with Alpha authority. “Now that she’s back, the ceremony is off.” My fingers clutched the ritual gown I had spent six months embroidering with my own blood and sweat. Without a word, I walked to the fireplace and tossed the silk into the flames. “Whatever the Alpha commands,” I said, my voice eerily calm. … “Miss, no! Your gown!” Freya, my only friend and an Omega maid, rushed forward to save it. Before her hand could touch the silk, Sara moved. Slap! The sound echoed through the hall. Sara sneered. “A nameless thing like you, crawling around my pack house like a parasite… you think you deserve to wear a Luna’s gown?” Caleb didn’t stop her. He didn’t even flinch. “The maid is out of line,” he said, his Alpha aura crushing the room. “Just kill her. No need to get your hands dirty, Sara.” My blood ran cold. I dropped to my knees, baring my neck in total submission. “Freya has been by my side since I was a pup. She acted out of loyalty to me. Please, Alpha. Show mercy.” Sara let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “So, you’re admitting you were lusting after things that don’t belong to you, Gloria?” She turned to Caleb, her voice turning into a sweet, poisonous purr. “Caleb, darling, if she wants to save her maid, she should take thirty lashes. To learn the rules of the house. What do you think?” Caleb looked at me. There was no pity in his gaze, only a desire to erase the last five years. “You are the Luna of this pack, Sara,” Caleb said, his voice flat. “Do as you wish.” I was dragged to the courtyard and forced onto the whipping post. The silver-tipped lash cracked against my back. Once. Twice. Sweat stung my eyes, blurring my vision as the scent of my own blood filled the air. My heart had already been destroyed three times. The first was when my mother sold me to Caleb. The second was when Caleb made me kneel at Sara’s grave for three days and nights. The third was… right now. “Twenty… twenty-one…” the guard grunted, counting the strokes. By the thirtieth lash, I collapsed. The cold stone of the courtyard felt like ice against my burning skin. Sara walked over, her heels clicking near my head. She used the toe of her shoe to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at her through the grime and blood. “Remember this, Gloria,” she whispered. “Some things aren’t yours. If you touch them, you pay. The thirty lashes were just the beginning. I’m burning away the dirt you left in this house.” She kicked my face aside. Caleb’s shadow fell over me. “Take her away,” he commanded the guards. “Find a healer to patch her up. Sara is being merciful today. This is over.” … When I woke up, Caleb was sitting by my bed. He reached out to touch my shoulder, but I flinched, my body acting on instinct. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice carrying a fake edge of concern. “The medicine just started working.” I turned my head away, staring at the wall. Caleb sighed, sounding annoyed. “I know you feel wronged, but you’ve been living in Sara’s position for five years. She’s just being a little bit jealous. She needed to make an example to establish her authority now that she’s home.” Authority. That was all my life was to him—a tool for Sara’s power. “In a few days, I’m throwing a banquet to welcome Sara back,” Caleb continued. “During the party, I’ll officially enter your name into the pack records. It’s a great honor for someone of your rank.” I stayed silent, and his patience snapped. “Don’t be ungrateful, Gloria,” he growled. A maid knocked on the door. “Alpha, the Luna is asking for you.” Caleb stood up instantly. The feigned warmth vanished, replaced by the cold, commanding Alpha I knew. He didn’t look back as he walked out. As soon as the door clicked shut, Freya crept in and pressed a crumpled letter into my hand. I recognized the handwriting. A small, genuine smile touched my lips. “Pack the bags, Freya,” I whispered, my voice raspy but firm. “The night of the banquet, when the house is loud and full of wolves… we’re leaving this hell for good.”

[Gloria’s POV] “Miss Gloria… Can you really be heartless enough to leave it all behind?” I opened my mouth to answer, but a sharp knock interrupts me. It’s Kian’s nurse. “The heir is screaming for you. Please, come quickly.” I ignored the pain in my back and rushed to his room. Kian had always been sickly. When I first joined the pack, he caught Silver-rot. I didn’t sleep for a fortnight, nearly dying myself to pull him back from the brink. He used to be so sweet, treating me like his own mother. He was the only thing I couldn’t bear to leave. But when I entered, I saw Kian snuggled in Sara’s arms. My heart stung. Just as I turned to leave, Kian called out. “Gloria, I called you here to take this filth away.” Gloria, not Mom. I froze at the title. Then, a dead cat was thrown at my feet. “I had this beast killed,” he said calmly. I stare at the small, bloodied body in disbelief. Last year, Kian begged me for this cat. I kneeled outside Caleb’s room in the freezing rain for a day and a night to let him keep it. Kian cried and rubbed my bruised knees, promising to protect me forever. “What did he ever do to you? Why would you do this?” I whispered. “He scratched my mother!” Kian shouted. “This little beast is just like you—low-ranked and useless. It upset my mother, so it had to die!” Sara stroked his hair, a smile curling on her lips. “Don’t blame my boy, Gloria. He’s just too loyal. He can’t stand to see me hurt.” Kian nodded sharply, his eyes full of coldness I couldn’t recognize. “Get this trash out of here! It’s stinking up my wing!” Caleb walked in then, standing by Sara. He didn’t even blink at the dead cat. “Just a pet,” he said coldly. “Stop making a scene. Clean it up and get out.” I didn’t say a word, just picked up the cat, carried it out, and buried it in the garden. Freya was waiting by my side with red eyes. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “You see? Now I can leave without a single regret.” When I returned to my room, Caleb was there. He reached out to pinch my face. “Crying over a little pet? Is it really worth it?” He pulled me into his arms, sounding like he was granting a favor. “No Wolfsbane tonight. If you get pregnant, we’ll keep the pup. Consider it your compensation.” He says it so casually, as if he had forgotten that I could never have pups again. Five years ago, he was in my room every night. Even with the potions, I got pregnant. I thought he might finally love me then. I told him, trembling with hope. But Caleb didn’t smile. He called for the pack’s blade-healer and, with a single word, ordered them to carve the womb from my body. I could still remember the slap. “You low-ranked trash! You think you can replace Sara with a bastard in your belly?” I bled alone on the straw in the dungeon for twelve hours. My pup died, and my womb was scarred forever. Caleb reached into my clothes, yet I flinched away from his touch. “The Luna just returned,” I said flatly. “The Alpha should be with his mate.” The room went silent. Caleb’s hand froze. He laughed, but his eyes were dark. “You’ve certainly learned how to give me orders.” “I wouldn’t dare,” I whispered. “Sara’s tired. You should show her some care.”

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My fiancé is sitting in a high-stakes back room at The Velvet Room, betting his whole life away. For a woman who isn’t me. Just to walk out the door with his ex-girlfriend Celeste Moore, the one the Bratva just shipped off to work the floors of a red-light joint. And her three friends. Two rounds in, Damien has already lost the Patek Philippe I clasped onto his wrist the day he made VP. And one third of Aurora Capital. The boutique fund in my name. The shares I quietly signed into his name a year ago, under the polite cover of “investing in his future.” Round three. Viktor, the man behind The Velvet Room leans across the felt and tells him to bet the thing he loves most. Damien doesn’t blink. He slides off the platinum cufflinks at his wrists. The ones I had engraved for our engagement. He smacks them down dead center on the table. His voice carries clean across the floor — calm like he’s closing a deal. “If I lose—” “I’ll break off my engagement to Aurora Castellano. And I’ll marry the girl on that stage instead.” “And I’ll let Aurora take her place. After all, there’s no shame in honest work.” The whole room sucks in a breath. Everyone down there knows my name. Aurora Castellano. Manhattan’s Ivy League sweetheart. Heiress to Aurora Capital. The woman who loved a man enough to give him a third of the empire she was born to inherit. He’s betting I’ll come downstairs with a checkbook and bail him out of the three million he just bled into Viktor’s table. So he can keep his perfect Wall Street record clean. And pull his sweetheart out of the fire while he’s at it. I lift my bourbon. I look down at the man I was supposed to marry. He still has no idea I’m watching. “If Mr. Cross wants to break our engagement,” I murmur, swirling the ice, “and humiliate me like this on the way out—” “He’d better think about how he’s going to explain it to my seven brothers.” Everyone knows the Castellanos have seven heirs spread across Wall Street and Silicon Valley. The world doesn’t know those seven brothers are the real shadow kings of this city. And they spoil their little sister to death. …… “Three rounds, Mr. Cross. You’re cleaned out.” Viktor, owner of The Velvet Room slams the dice cup onto the felt. The floor erupts. Drunk laughter. Catcalls. Damien stands in the middle of it all. Hands in his pockets. Chin lifted. Not a crack in his face. He looks up. Straight at my room. “Aurora. I know you’re up there.” His voice cuts through the noise like he’s calling me down to him. “Come down and cover the three million. After tonight—” “—I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” The room buzzes again. “The Aurora Capital heiress, bailing out her man’s mess?” “Cross really outdid himself—using his fiancée’s money to save his ex-girlfriend.” I sit in the velvet armchair. I look down at this man again. Three years of patience curdles in my stomach. I used to think his coldness was discipline. Focus. The mark of a man going places. I rewrote his résumé in our second year at Columbia. I introduced him to the senior partners at company. I sat in front of my own board and defended him when they asked, why him? And he took every single piece of it like it was air. Tonight I see it for what it is — self-righteousness wearing a clean suit. Damien’s brow tightens when I don’t move. He cuts a small look sideways with Celeste’s three friends. A nod. They lift the hems of their dress and storm the stairs. The first one — Brittany — kicks my door clean off its frame. The oak slams into the wall. She crosses the room in four strides. Acrylic nails go straight for the Castellano emerald around my neck. “Aurora! Damien said pay up! Get your card out and save Celeste already!” The second one — Madison — folds her arms in the doorway. “Honestly. The only reason he stayed with a controlling bitch like you was the trust fund.” The third one — Sienna — screeches over her shoulder. “You’re not worth a single hair on Celeste’s head! Pay up, or do you actually want to watch him dump you?” My bodyguard’s hand drops to his holster. Before he doesn’t get the gun out. Four men in black appear out of nowhere and pin his shoulders to the wall. Damien’s private security. He brought security tonight. So, all of this is to guard against me. I stand up. Brittany’s red-tipped nail is one inch from my throat. I raise my right hand and I slap her across the face with everything I have. *SLAP.* She stumbles back three steps and lands on the carpet. I look her down. The room temperature drops ten degrees. “You don’t get to touch what belongs to a Castellano.” I tilt my head down at her, picking the skin off my knuckle where her acrylic split it. “Cute manicure. Send the bill to your funeral home.” My voice is quiet. It carries anyway. Downstairs, Damien tips his head back. His face goes to stone. “Aurora! Are you serious right now? Slapping a girl who’s just trying to help her friend?” I step to the railing. I meet his eyes. “You want me to pay three million to save the woman you’ve been contacting on the side?” I chuckled softly. “Damien. Your face is thicker than the walls of this place.”

Damien’s nostrils flare. He must think I just shamed him. He throws his jacket open and points up the staircase. “Boys—if Miss Castellano doesn’t understand manners, escort her down. She owes Celeste an apology in person.” A dozen men with baseball bats start up the stairs. The bats thud against the staircase railing — slow, deliberate, meant to scare. My fingers slide into the pocket of my gown. The Castellano family ring waits inside. Downstairs, Damien’s private security disarms my own bodyguards, twisting their wrists until they drop to their knees. Damien climbs the marble staircase one step at a time. He stops in front of me. Tips his chin down like he’s the one with the moral high ground. “Aurora. I’ve put up with your jealousy for three years.” He gestures at the three girls behind him. “There are four lives on the line tonight. How can you be this cold?” Down below, Celeste gets walked out from the back. Cheap white dress. Red-rimmed eyes. Mascara smudged just enough to look helpless. She drops to her knees at the foot of the staircase like she rehearsed it in a mirror. “Damien! Please—don’t ruin what you have with Aurora because of me!” She lifts her face. The perfect tremor in her voice. “I’m not worth this. Let me die. Let you two be happy.” Brittany and the other two scramble across the floor to her, sobbing on cue. “You happy now, you cold bitch? You won’t be satisfied until she’s dead!” The gamblers around the room shake their heads. They point up at me. They mutter the kind of things men mutter when they want to feel righteous. I watch the show downstairs. I don’t bother lifting the corner of my mouth. But Damien stares at my blank face. His jaw locks. And now Celeste shivers right on cue — just one little shoulder twitch, arms wrapped around herself like she’s freezing. Damien’s eyes drop to the white sable coat draped over the back of my chair. Don Salvatore—the Don of this city—draped it over my shoulders himself on my eighteenth birthday. He suddenly steps forward and reaches for the clasp at my throat. “Celeste’s freezing. Just give her your coat for now. I’ll buy you ten.” His hand moves like he’s allowed to. Like I’m something he already owns. I step back at once. His fingers close on empty air. I look up at him. “Damien.” My voice is cold. “You put a hand on my anything— you’d better make sure you still have a hand afterward.” Damien’s hand stopped halfway. His jaw tightened, and the color drained from his face. “Just a coat, Aurora.” “Seriously, Aurora? Over a coat? Celeste’s been through enough tonight. If she gets sick out here, that’s on you.” “Her life matters.” I laugh once. Short. Cold. “Mine doesn’t?” “This whole night. I’ve been watching it. You’ve been showing me exactly who you are. Damien.” Downstairs, Viktor’s smile disappeared completely. He was done waiting for Damien’s check. He shifts his stance. The warmth drops out of his eyes. “Listen up, Mr. Cross — no cash, no exit. You gambled away your fiancée. House rules.” He waves one fat hand. “Boys! Get her changed and onto the stage. Let’s see what an Ivy League princess looks like in lingerie.” I keep my body calm. My right hand slides into the hidden pocket of my gown. My thumb finds the inside of the Castellano family ring. Three small grooves. The signal my seven brothers told me I could press exactly once in danger. *Tap.* *Tap.* *Tap.* Somewhere across Manhattan, seven phones light up at the same second.

Twelve men with baseball bats just sealed the only way out of my private box. My security tears free of the men holding him and throws himself at the staircase, ready to die for me. Viktor’s men don’t even hesitate. A tactical knife flashes once. *Thud.* The blade goes straight through my security left shoulder. Hot blood sprays in an arc. A few drops land on the hem of my gown. The smell hits the air. I lock my eyes on Damien. “Damien. Are you really going to stand there and watch?” For one second, he flinches. His eyes drop to my bodyguard bleeding into the carpet. Then he turns to Viktor. “This isn’t fair. Sign a promissory note. Three days. Full three million plus interest.” Viktor snorts. “Your IOU? Worth about as much as that Patek you already lost.” He nods toward the stage downstairs.. “Tonight Celeste and that three friends stay and works it off as a whore, or your fiancée goes on the stage.” Celeste screams. She flings herself at Damien’s legs and clings on with both hands. “Damien — please — I’d rather die than be passed around in a place like this — save me — !” He looks down at her. A muscle ticks in his jaw. Then he turns his head, slow and pained, and looks at me. I see the exact moment he decides. So disgusting. “Aurora. It’s one dance. Just for show.” The voice he uses when he wants to sound soft. “After tonight, I’ll give you the biggest wedding this city’s ever seen. Every name in Manhattan.” “But Celeste — I have to save her.” The room goes still. He just traded my dignity for his ex-girlfriend’s safety. I look at him with narrowed eyes. “You’ll spend the rest of your life making it up to me?” My voice doesn’t shake. “But Damien. You’re not even worth the breath it takes to be angry with you.” Celeste keeps her eyes lowered. But I catch it. That tiny, ugly little smile at the corner of her mouth. Her friends take Damien’s silence as a green light. Brittany shoves the cocktail waitresses aside and gets right up in my face. Her red acrylics close around the strap of my gown. “No more pretending. Put it on and go dance. The crowd downstairs didn’t come to wait.” *RIIIIP.* The straps tears clean off. Bare skin. The cold air of the casino hits it. I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I don’t move. I count the time. Almost. My brothers will be coming. Damien sees me standing still and reads it as defiance. He waved a hand, signaling Viktor’s men to hurry. “Enough.” He turns his back on me. And pulls Celeste behind him like she’s the one who needs protecting. “Get her on the stage. Sooner this is done, sooner Celeste and I go home.”

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Married for five years, and the one thing that pisses me off the most is my wife’s obsession with buying gold. Other guys’ wives buy designer bags or spend weekends at the spa. My wife? The second her paycheck hits, she runs straight to the bullion dealer. Ten grams, twenty grams, fifty grams. She carts them home piece by piece. I call her short-sighted. My mom calls her a spendthrift. Even my business partners joke about it. “Your girl building a runaway fund or what?” She never argues. She never throws a fit. She just quietly stacks those little gold bars in the deepest corner of her closet. Until the night my partner vanished with four and a half million dollars, leaving everyone else to scatter like rats from a sinking ship. That night, she opened her closet. I couldn’t speak. 1 “Again?” Joan’s voice on the phone was barely a whisper. “The price per ounce dropped a bit today. I picked up fifty grams.” I gripped my phone, my back teeth grinding together. The lighting in the VIP lounge was a warm, expensive amber. Garrett was pouring top-shelf bourbon for the table, and Marcus had a cigar clamped between his teeth, telling a dirty joke. The vibe was perfect. I walked over to a quiet corner and lowered my voice. “Joan, you make barely five grand a month. You’re buying gold three or four times a month. What exactly are you hoarding it for?” Silence on the other end of the line. Two seconds ticked by. “Nolan, I just… I want to save it.” “Save it?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Look at Garrett’s wife. She signed up for an executive business course. That’s called investing in yourself. You act like a medieval miser hoarding coins under a mattress.” “Okay. I understand.” Her tone was completely flat. Same as always. No arguing, no crying, no explanations. I hung up, shoved my phone into my pocket, and walked back to the table. Garrett slid a crystal glass of bourbon toward me. “What’s up? The missus buying more shiny bricks?” “Tell me about it.” I took the glass and downed it in one burn. “I don’t know what goes through her head. I’ve told her a thousand times, put that cash into our current project and we’d double it in our sleep.” Marcus snorted. “Women, man. They don’t see the big picture. Trying to explain leverage and compound interest to them is like talking to a brick wall.” I didn’t answer. Deep down, I knew Marcus was wrong. Joan wasn’t stupid. She majored in finance. Her college GPA was higher than mine. But she refused to touch stocks. She ignored index funds. She was dead set on physical gold. Try to reason with her, and you’d hit the same brick wall every time. I just want to save it. It drove me out of my mind. Garrett clapped me on the shoulder and topped off my glass. “Let it go, man. Don’t fight with your lady over hobbies. Let’s talk business. I’ve already greased the wheels with the client for next week’s final payout. It’ll hit our accounts before the middle of next month, guaranteed.” I nodded, pushing Joan out of my mind. Back then, I was riding high. Third year into our tech consulting startup, and we were hitting ten million in annual revenue. Garrett handled the wining, dining, and massive accounts. Marcus managed the tech and execution. I oversaw operations and the books. The three of us were a perfectly oiled machine. We had just landed two massive contracts this year. Total value right around four point five million dollars. Profit margins were sitting at a comfortable forty percent. After three rounds of drinks, Garrett stood up and raised his glass. “Gentlemen, when these projects land, we’re looking at a seven-figure bonus for each of us. Nolan, when that check clears, buy your lady a whole damn vault of gold bars. Let her swim in it!” The table erupted in laughter. I laughed too. My mind was already spending that bonus. Upgrade to a bigger house in the suburbs. Buy my mom that vintage Cartier watch she kept hinting at. Lease a Porsche. As for how much gold Joan wanted to buy? She could knock herself out. I got home a little before midnight. The living room was pitch black. The only light was a thin yellow slit bleeding from beneath the bedroom door at the end of the hall. I softened my footsteps, walked over, and pushed the door open. Joan was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The drawer of her vanity was pulled halfway open. Inside sat a small, crimson velvet pouch. Seeing me step into the room, she casually pushed the drawer shut. “How much did you drink?” she asked. “Not much.” I peeled off my suit jacket, tossed it on the bed, and yanked my tie loose. The bourbon was swimming in my head, making the room tilt slightly. She stood up, walked into the master bathroom, and wrung out a hot towel. She brought it over and handed it to me. I wiped my face. The heat cleared my head a little. She was standing by the bed in a simple silk nightgown. Her hair hid half her face, but the skin around her collarbones caught the light, pale and flawless. Honestly, Joan was beautiful. Slender, naturally pretty, with a quiet, grounded energy. She never caked on makeup when we were together. She didn’t wear flashy clothes, and she rarely joined my social events. But there was one thing about this woman that constantly rubbed me the wrong way. She never initiated anything. She didn’t flirt. She wasn’t clingy. She never expressed any emotion that went beyond the strict boundaries of our “household division of labor.” Living with her was like sharing an apartment with a perfectly calibrated grandfather clock. The food was always cooked. The laundry was always done. The house was spotless. When my mom visited, Joan was the picture of polite hospitality. But if you asked me if she actually loved me? She had never said the words out loud. I tossed the towel back toward the bathroom sink. When I came back out, she was already lying in bed, facing the wall. “Joan.” “Yeah?” “Cut back on the gold. Seriously.” She didn’t turn around. “I’ll buy less next month.” I scoffed, deciding not to waste my breath. I got into bed, clicked off the lamp, and we went to sleep. A solid eight inches of dead space separated us. Just like every other night. 2 The alarm yanked me out of sleep the next morning. Joan was already gone. Her side of the comforter was folded with military precision. The low hum of the exhaust fan drifted in from the kitchen. I washed my face and walked out. She was at the stove, flipping eggs. Two bowls of oatmeal sat on the granite island, alongside a plate of sliced fruit and some toast. “Your mom called. She’s coming over today. I’ll leave the office early to prep a roast.” She didn’t look up from the pan. “Got it,” I muttered, sitting down to eat. My phone buzzed. A text from Garrett. [Garrett: Hey Nolan, meeting at 2 PM. Client wants a few tweaks to the contract clauses. Bring the financial projections.] I put the phone face down, finished my coffee, and stood up. Passing by her, I paused for a second. “I won’t be home for lunch.” “Okay. Good to know.” Before walking out the front door, I glanced back. She was at the sink, washing dishes over the sound of running water. Her back looked fragile, her shoulder blades pressing lightly against the fabric of her sleepwear. For a split second, a random thought flashed through my mind. What is actually going on inside this woman’s head? The thought evaporated as quickly as it came. I shut the door, went down to the garage, and drove to the office. On the way, I passed a high-end jewelry exchange. The yellow gleam from the display window caught the corner of my eye. I remembered the way Joan had slid that drawer shut the night before. I found myself staring at the storefront a second longer than I should have. Then I hit the gas and merged onto the highway. The afternoon meeting dragged on for three brutal hours. The client’s rep was a balding guy in his forties who picked apart the contract word by agonizing word. It took everything I had not to snap at him. Garrett played the perfect host, smiling the whole time, giving ground where he had to, holding firm where it mattered. When the guy finally left, Garrett slumped back in his leather chair and blew out a long breath. “We got it, man. It’s locked in.” I flipped through the revised annex. “They bumped up the penalty clauses. If we miss the delivery window…” “We won’t.” Garrett waved a hand dismissively. “I play golf with their CEO. We’re solid. He personally guaranteed the advance payment hits our accounts by next Wednesday.” I looked at him, saying nothing. He laughed. “You worry too much, Nolan. You gotta think bigger.” Marcus pushed the office door open, carrying three iced coffees. “What’s the verdict?” “Locked and loaded,” Garrett said, taking a cup. “Advance comes in next week. We clear the vendor invoices for the hardware, and run payroll.” Marcus nodded. “That new project manager we hired. His probation is up. We making him full-time?” “Yeah,” I said. “He does good work. Keeps the workflow tight.” The three of us sat there drinking our coffee. Beyond the office blinds, the autumn skyline of the city stretched out, the afternoon sun slicing through the glass and painting gold stripes across our paperwork. Everything felt untouchable right then. The company was scaling. The contracts were getting heavier. The payouts were getting ridiculous. My only real headache in life was Joan’s stash of shiny metals. The weekend hit. My mom showed up. Joan had come home two hours early. She bought groceries and had a massive pot roast simmering in the oven. The moment my mom walked through the door, the whole house smelled like rosemary and home-cooked perfection. “Oh, Joan, that smells wonderful.” My mom said it while slipping off her coat. Her tone had that specific brand of polite distance—warm enough for company, cold enough for family. Joan stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. She offered a soft smile. “Sit down, Mom. The roast needs another ten minutes.” My mom settled onto the living room sofa, her eyes sweeping the room like a building inspector. Her gaze zeroed in on a small delivery box sitting on the coffee table. “What’s this?” I was just walking out of the bedroom and caught sight of the logo on the packaging. A precious metals dealer. Joan saw where I was looking. Her fingers twitched against her apron, but she kept quiet. My mom reached out and flipped the box over. “Joan, honey. Did you buy more gold?” Joan gave a small nod. “They were running a promotion. Zero premium over spot price. So I… I picked up ten grams.” My mom set the box down and shot me a look. I knew that look. It meant: Control your wife. I sighed. “Joan, my mom is here. Could you at least—” “No, no, it’s fine,” my mom interrupted, waving a hand at me. She turned her focus back to Joan. Her smile stayed perfectly pinned in place, but the temperature in her voice dropped. “Joan, I’m going to speak plainly, so don’t take this the wrong way. Nolan works himself to the bone running his business. Cash flow is always tight for entrepreneurs. You throwing thousands of dollars at a bullion store every month adds up. If you want to save, put it into Nolan’s company. The annual return would crush whatever you’re getting from chunks of metal.” Joan stood perfectly still in the kitchen doorway. She looked at me, then back at my mom. “Mom, this is from my own paycheck. I…” “Your own paycheck?” My mom’s voice went up an octave. “You’re a married woman. What is this ‘mine and yours’ nonsense? A family is supposed to pull in the same direction.” I sat in the armchair, keeping my mouth shut. Honestly, my mom wasn’t entirely wrong. Joan brought home five grand a month after taxes. Once she bought her gold, she had almost nothing left. I covered the mortgage, the HOA fees, the utilities, the car payments, even her health insurance. Groceries, dining out, holiday gifts for her parents—all of it came out of my account. It wasn’t that she refused to contribute. It was that every single spare dollar she had went into the lockbox. Call it selfish? She never bought anything for herself. No luxury goods, no expensive dinners. Call it being family-oriented? She locked all her liquidity in a dark drawer. Joan lowered her head, her fingers twisting the strings of her apron. A few agonizing seconds passed. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll buy less from now on.” The exact same script she fed me. My mom looked satisfied. She patted the leather sofa. “Alright then. Go check on that roast.” Joan turned and disappeared back into the kitchen. The moment she turned her back, I saw her shoulders slump, just a fraction of an inch. Dinner was civil. My mom complimented the food. Joan served her seconds. Then my mom started talking about the neighbor’s daughter-in-law, going on and on about how she played the stock market and made a killing for her family. Joan just smiled and listened. A smile so perfectly measured it looked pasted onto her face. After my mom left, Joan started clearing the table. I sat on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. “Joan.” She paused, holding a stack of ceramic plates, and looked at me. “Don’t let her get to you. You know how my mom is. All bark, no bite.” “I’m not mad.” She carried the plates into the kitchen. The faucet clicked on. The clinking of porcelain rang out over the rush of water. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t find anything else to say. That night, she went to bed early again, facing away from me. I stared at the curve of her spine beneath the blankets, and a single question kept echoing in my skull. What does this woman actually want out of this? Married for three years. She never threatened divorce. She never snapped at my mom. She never raised her voice at me. She handled the house. She held down her job. And she bought gold like her life depended on it. I couldn’t figure it out. But I didn’t waste too much time dwelling on it. My phone buzzed. Another text from Garrett. [Garrett: Advance payment just cleared! Drinks on me this Friday, boys. We’re celebrating!] A smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I rolled over and went to sleep. The next two months were an absolute blur of adrenaline and exhaustion. We were pushing both major projects simultaneously. Managing developers, hardware vendors, client expectations—it was a circus. I was out the door before the sun came up and dragging myself home long after dark. Three or four nights a week, I was stuck at client dinners. Joan stayed exactly the same. Dinner was on the table. Clothes were washed, folded, and stacked. When I got in at midnight, she was asleep. When I left at six in the morning, coffee and breakfast were already waiting on the counter. She was like a ghost haunting my apartment. Her presence was incredibly faint. The only proof I had that she was still out there, living her life, were the automated bank alerts on my phone. “Transaction: Platinum Exchange – $3,200.” “Transaction: Royal Bullion – $2,800.” “Transaction: Platinum Exchange – $4,100.” I would stare at the texts, take a deep breath, and let it go. We had millions sitting in the corporate accounts. Cash flow was a river. I didn’t have the energy to pick a fight over a few thousand bucks. The day it all collapsed, there were no warning signs. A random Tuesday afternoon. I was at my desk, running the quarterly numbers. Marcus pushed the door open. His face looked like wet ash. “Nolan. Have you tried calling Garrett?” I looked up. “No. Why?” “He didn’t show up today. His phone is dead. He’s not reading texts.” I frowned, grabbed my phone, and dialed Garrett’s number. Straight to voicemail. “He probably had an emergency. Didn’t he say his wife was feeling sick yesterday?” Marcus didn’t move from the doorway. “Nolan… have you checked the main operating account lately?” My finger froze over the screen. Marcus’s expression sent a cold spike of dread straight down my spine. “Why?” He stepped forward and shoved his phone onto my desk. The screen showed the banking app. Operating Account Balance: $0.00. The room spun. My vision tunneled. I didn’t believe it. My first reaction wasn’t rage. It was absolute denial. How was it even possible? Four and a half million dollars. The client’s advance, our operating capital, the vendor escrows—everything was in that account. I ripped my laptop open and hammered my password into the banking portal. The moment the transaction history loaded, my blood turned to ice. Over the past seven days. He had been wiring out amounts ranging from three hundred thousand to half a million. The receiving accounts were shell companies I had never heard of. “Apex Trading,” “Vanguard Logistics,” “Summit Tech Partners.” Every single transfer had a verified digital signature. Every single transfer was authorized by Garrett. Marcus was standing right behind my chair, his voice shaking. “I just went to his office. It’s completely sterile. Hard drives are wiped. Drawers are empty.” My hands were shaking violently. I dialed his number again. The number you have reached is currently out of service. I dialed it again. The number you have reached is currently out of service. I stood up so fast my office chair crashed backward into the glass partition. “We’re going to his house.” Garrett lived in a gated community out in the wealthy suburbs. I blew through three red lights getting there. When we pulled up to the driveway, a heavy padlock was wrapped around the wrought-iron gates. I laid on the intercom buzzer. Nothing. Marcus got out of the passenger side, hoisted himself up over the stone wall, and peered into the property. “Place is dead. Blinds are all drawn. Garage is empty.” I squatted on the pavement by the gate. My temples were throbbing, a vicious, rhythmic pounding. I pulled out my phone. There was one unread message. Sent by Garrett about thirty minutes before Marcus walked into my office. I hadn’t noticed it in the chaos. I opened it. [Garrett: I’m sorry, Nolan. I needed this money. Don’t bother looking for me, you won’t find me. I can’t fix the mess I made, so you’re on your own. We were brothers once, so I’ll give you one piece of advice—don’t call the cops. It won’t help you. Both our names are on that master account. If the feds start digging, you’re going down with me. Take care of yourself.] I stared at the glowing pixels for a full minute. Then I hurled the phone at the concrete. The screen spider-webbed into a thousand pieces. But the text was still legible through the cracks. I’m sorry. We were brothers once. I knelt on the driveway of that empty mansion and buried my face in my hands. What seeped through my fingers wasn’t tears. It was sweat. Cold, sickening sweat. The next forty-eight hours were the longest of my life. Back at the office, reality set in. Payroll was due next week. Eighty thousand dollars. Vendor invoices were due at the end of the month. Three hundred thousand. The client delivery milestones were rapidly approaching. If we breached contract—penalty clauses kicked in. A cool one million dollars in damages. Total exposure: Over a million and a half dollars. And the company account balance? Zero. My personal checking account? After the mortgage, car lease, and credit cards, I had exactly fourteen thousand dollars to my name. Marcus was panicking harder than I was. “Nolan, I’m tapped out. I dumped everything into a down payment on my house last year. I’m leveraged to the hilt.” I chain-smoked cigarette after cigarette out on the office balcony. The air inside my office was gray with smoke. Only one question looped relentlessly in my brain. Where do I get the money? A bank loan? The underwriting alone would take weeks. Family? What kind of relatives just have a spare million sitting around? Investors? The company was bleeding out. No VC firm would touch us with a ten-foot pole. I went through my contacts. From A to Z. Every single name. Mike, the VP who bought me drinks last month and told me “call me if you ever need a favor.” I called. It rang three times and went to voicemail. I called back. He declined it. My cousin David, owns a construction firm. He actually picked up. “A million bucks? Are you out of your mind, Nolan? My entire net worth is barely half that!” Steve, a guy I went to college with who worked in commercial banking. “Nolan, look… I can ask around, but your corporate accounts are zeroed out. You’d never pass a credit check. Do you have collateral?” Collateral. I had one house under my name. Market value: eight hundred thousand. Remaining mortgage: five hundred thousand. Net equity: three hundred grand. A drop in the bucket. I dialed every number I knew. And when I hit the bottom of the list. Not a single person was willing to throw me a lifeline. All those “tight” connections Garrett had bragged about. The clients, the drinking buddies, the VIPs. None of them picked up the phone. It felt like the entire city knew I was a dead man walking before I had even accepted it myself. Day three. I hadn’t left my office chair in twenty-four hours. The ashtray was overflowing, spilled across the desk, and filled up again. Marcus left around three in the morning. Before he walked out, he paused by the door. “Nolan… maybe we should go to the police.” I didn’t answer him. I had read Garrett’s text dozens of times before my screen fully died. Both our names are on that master account. If the feds start digging, you’re going down with me. He was right. To cut through red tape, we had set up joint signature authority. But for the sake of speed, I had granted him unilateral clearance for transfers under half a million dollars. That was how he bled us dry. Transfer by transfer, staying just under the alarm threshold. If I called the cops— They would audit everything. They would see my digital authorization granting him that power. They would dig into every vendor contract I had ever signed. I wouldn’t necessarily go to jail. But I would be tied up in litigation for years. And besides— Even if the FBI caught Garrett, would the money be there? He had planned this. The cash was already washed through offshore shell companies or crypto mixers. The odds of recovering a single dime were practically zero. And I still had a million-dollar hole to fill immediately. Day four. The demand letters from the hardware vendors arrived via certified mail. The client’s project manager called, asking for a progress update. Two of our senior developers, sensing the bad blood in the water, submitted their resignations. I sat behind my desk, staring at a stack of final notices and exit paperwork. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Nolan, why haven’t you answered my calls for three days? What is going on with you? Come over for dinner this weekend, your dad got a great cut of steak—” “Mom, I’m swamped. I’ll call you later.” I hung up. It rang again. Joan. I stared at her name on the screen for three solid seconds. I answered. “Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” Her voice was as calm and steady as it always was. I opened my mouth. I wanted to say, Everything is gone. I wanted to say, The company is dead. I wanted to say, I’m about to file for bankruptcy. But the words wouldn’t come out. “No.” “Okay. I’ll leave the porch light on for you.” She hung up. Why didn’t I tell her? Maybe it was pride. Maybe I thought it was pointless. She made five grand a month. What could she possibly do against a seven-figure deficit? Or maybe it was because— From the very beginning, I had never viewed her as a true partner in the trenches. I had boxed her into a very specific role in my mind. Cook the meals. Do the laundry. Be nice to my mom. Buy your little gold coins. That was it. Day seven. The client sent official notice. A cure period warning. If we didn’t hit our deliverables within thirty days, they would trigger the penalty clause. One million dollars. Add the vendor debts and payroll. A million and a half. Liquidate my entire life, and I couldn’t cover half of it. I seriously began to consider the unthinkable. Filing Chapter 11. The moment the phrase crossed my mind, I felt like someone had kicked my legs out from under me. Three years. Built from absolute scratch. Three years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights to hit a ten-million-dollar valuation. Wiped out. Back to square one. No, worse than square one. At square one, I didn’t owe a million and a half dollars to angry creditors. I collapsed forward, resting my forehead against the cold wood of my desk. I closed my eyes. Garrett’s smiling face flashed in the darkness. Seven-figure bonus for each of us! You gotta think bigger. I’m sorry. I dry-heaved. My stomach was totally empty. Nothing came up. Night ten. I finally walked through the front door of my apartment. Ten days. I had spent the last ten days either sleeping on my office couch or driving around the city begging for loans. The result? Not a single cent. My hand was violently shaking as I pushed the key into the deadbolt. Not from the cold. From sheer exhaustion. A total physiological and psychological collapse. The living room lights were on. Joan was sitting on the sofa, a hardcover book in her lap. When I walked in, she set the book down and stood up. I saw something shift in her expression. Her brow furrowed. “When was the last time you ate a real meal?” I looked down at myself. My suit was a wrinkled disaster. The collar of my dress shirt was stained gray with sweat and grime. My shoes were scuffed. I had lost at least ten pounds. “I’m fine,” I muttered, trying to walk past her toward the bedroom. She stepped into my path. “Nolan.” I stopped. “Are you in trouble?” I stood with my back to her, leaning my weight against the doorframe. A long, heavy silence stretched between us. “The company accounts were drained.” There was no sound behind me. I turned my head. Joan was standing in the hallway, the ambient light casting long shadows across her face, making her expression unreadable. “How much?” “Four and a half million.” Her face didn’t twist in horror. She didn’t scream. She didn’t break down sobbing. She didn’t demand to know how I could be so stupid. She just gave a slow, deliberate nod, like she was processing a data point in a spreadsheet. Then she said, “Go take a hot shower. I’m going to heat up some food.” That night, I ate my first real meal in ten days. Pot roast, roasted vegetables, buttered potatoes. Joan sat across from me at the kitchen island, watching me eat. I kept my head down, shoveling the food into my mouth, too ashamed to speak. When I finished, I put my fork down. “Joan.” “Yeah.” “We’re probably going to lose the house. If I can’t cover the client’s breach of contract penalties…” I trailed off. She picked up my empty plate and carried it to the sink. The sound of running water started again. I sat there, staring at the empty space where my plate had been. My mind was a complete void. Half an hour later. She walked out of the kitchen. She wasn’t carrying a dish towel. She was carrying a key. Not a house key. A very small, vintage-looking brass key. She walked past me, heading straight for the master bedroom. I followed her. She opened her closet. She reached into the deepest corner, removed a stack of winter sweaters, and popped loose a false back panel I never knew existed. I stared at the wall behind it.

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1 Seven years. That was how long Adrian and I had been together. My parents began hinting heavily about marriage. Adrian’s reply never changed: “Just wait, okay?” They assumed it was money. They set aside a wedding fund, put down deposits on a house and car. Still, he said the same thing. “Just wait, okay?” I didn’t know what clock he was watching, but I stayed by him. Until his college reunion. I brought a custom cake to the private room. “Today is Adrian’s thirtieth birthday,” I told his friends. Instead of cheers, the room stirred. A guy laughed. “Didn’t Adrian and Stella make that thirty-year pact?” “Yeah! If neither was married by thirty, they’d marry each other!” Stella blushed, tucking hair behind her ear. “Stop. His girlfriend’s right here.” Adrian didn’t reassure me. He gave me a cool look. “She’s not my wife yet. I promised to wait until I was thirty, Stella. I kept my word.” The cake box felt like lead. Cold gripped my chest. In that instant, the mystery unraveled. I knew exactly what he’d been waiting for. Amid cheers and pounding tables, Adrian leaned toward the cake, candlelight in his eyes. “First wish… I hope Stella isn’t married either.” Enough. I didn’t scream. Didn’t throw the cake. I placed it gently on the table, ignoring the awkward silence, and walked out with my head high. Outside, a yellow cab idled curbside. The driver lowered the window. “Need a ride, miss? Waiting for someone?” I opened the door and got in. “Just drive. I’m done waiting for anyone.” By the time I unlocked my apartment door, the place was pitch black. I had barely kicked off my heels when my phone lit up. It was Adrian’s mother. “Nina, sweetie! His dad and I were looking over the catering menu for the engagement party again. We really think upgrading to the premium surf-and-turf package would look so much more elegant. What do you two think?” I pressed my lips together, tasting the bitter salt of my own dried tears. “Mrs. Wright, you don’t need to worry about that. The engagement party is off.” A loud gasp echoed through the speaker. “Off? Did Adrian get cold feet again? I swear to God, I don’t know what is wrong with that boy!” I took a shaky breath, steadying my voice. “It isn’t him this time. I am the one canceling it.” She scoffed, utterly refusing to believe me. “After all these years? I know he’s the stubborn one. You just sit tight, sweetie. I’m going to call him right now and knock some sense into him!” The line went dead before I could say another word. Less than twenty minutes later, the front door burst open. Adrian strode in, bringing the chill of the night with him. He glared down at me, his jaw clenched in frustration. “Why did you cancel the engagement party?” He spoke like a man barely containing his temper. “What kind of tantrum is this? You dropped the cake and walked out of the reunion without a single word. Do you have any idea how crazy that made me look in front of my friends?” I stood up slowly, forcing him to meet my eyes on level ground. “Adrian, since you promised to wait for Stella until you were thirty, what the hell was I doing beside you for the last seven years?” The anger drained from his face, replaced by a fleeting shadow of genuine pain. “But she’s already married.” I froze. Adrian ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “I promised to wait until she was thirty. I am a man of my word. Now that she’s married, I got the closure I needed.” A hollow, sickening ache bloomed in my chest. “So you dragged your feet for seven years just to see if another woman’s marriage would fail? What does that make me, Adrian? A backup plan? Your safety net?” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t say things like that. I care about you. It’s been seven years, you know I love you.” He stepped closer, his voice softening. “Besides, Stella got married three years ago. The guy she married… he’s a monster. He doesn’t treat her right. Her life is a living hell right now.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. I was laughing at my own pathetic existence. Adrian reached out, his tone dripping with that familiar, confident reassurance he always used to pacify me. “Nina, I already called my mom. I told her you were just blowing off steam. The party is moving forward as planned. We’ve been together for seven years. I know what matters most to you. Let’s just drop this, okay?” I took a deep breath, fighting the visceral tearing sensation in my heart. The humiliation of being someone’s second choice was at war with seven years of very real, very raw memories. I remembered how he used to tuck my freezing hands inside his coat during winter walks. I remembered the late nights he would show up at my office with my favorite takeout when I was working overtime. Those moments were real. But his endless waiting for another woman was real, too. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I opened my mouth to finally end it, but Adrian’s phone rang. His annoyance vanished instantly. His face went pale, and his voice hitched with panic. “Stella? What’s wrong?” Muffled, ragged sobbing drifted from the speaker. Adrian’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. “Did he hurt you again? Where? Is it bad?” He was already moving toward the door, grabbing his keys from the console. “Don’t panic. Find a safe place to hide and lock the door. I’m coming over right now. I’ll handle him.” He hung up, threw his coat over his shoulders, and walked out into the night without a single backward glance. He left so naturally. So effortlessly. He never even noticed that from the second he saw Stella’s name on his screen, he hadn’t looked at me once. Adrian didn’t come home that night. The following evening, he walked right through our front door with Stella in tow. He was carrying two heavy grocery bags, grinning like a teenager. “Nina! Stella insisted on coming over to thank us. She wants to cook dinner.” Stella stood awkwardly in the foyer. A fading purple bruise shadowed her cheekbone. “Nina, I really owe Adrian my life for helping me call the cops yesterday. I don’t have much to offer, so I wanted to make you guys a home-cooked meal.” Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped off her shoes and navigated my apartment like she owned the place, heading straight for the kitchen. Adrian followed her like a lovesick puppy. “I’ll be your sous-chef. Just like the old days.” Stella glanced over her shoulder, giving him a playful, exasperated pout. “You better just sit in the living room. You’re always in the way when you try to help.” But he leaned against the counter, refusing to leave. “Come on, I can wash the vegetables. Give me some credit, I’ve matured a lot in seven years.” Stella giggled, the sound light and breathy. “Alright, fine. But my hair is getting in the way. Can you tie it up for me?” Adrian complied instantly. He stepped behind her, gathering her long, dark hair into his hands with practiced gentleness. I stood in the hallway, forcing myself to look away from the agonizing intimacy of the scene. An hour later, Stella carried the plates out to the dining table. “Dinner is ready, Nina.” The food tasted like ash in my mouth, but Adrian’s eyes were practically shining. “Stella, your cooking is as amazing as ever. It’s been way too long since I tasted this.” She picked up a piece of honey-glazed pork with her fork and placed it directly onto his plate. “I know this is your absolute favorite. I made it just for you. Try this piece, it’s the most tender.” Finally, she seemed to remember I was sitting there. “Nina? Why aren’t you eating? Is it too sweet for you?” Adrian looked up, his tone shifting into a mild command. “Nina, eat a little. Stella worked hard on this all afternoon.” Before I could formulate a response, the doorbell chimed. I got up to answer it. Two delivery workers stood in the hall, holding a massive cardboard box. “Good evening. We have the canvas wedding portraits for delivery.” I froze in the doorway. We had taken those photos last month. When we placed the order, Adrian had confirmed the delivery date with the studio manager three separate times. He had been absolutely adamant that they arrive exactly one day after his thirtieth birthday, claiming it was for “good luck.” I had thought he was just being romantic. Now I knew the truth. He needed to make sure his thirty-year pact with Stella had expired before he allowed our wedding photos into his home. Hearing the delivery men, Stella’s face dropped. The glass of water slipped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor. Adrian leaped out of his chair, rushing over to grab her by the arms. “Don’t move! You’ll step on the glass.” The worker shifted the heavy box. “Where would you like us to hang this, ma’am?” Adrian didn’t even look our way. “Put it wherever. Nina, just sign for it.” Then, right in front of me, he scooped Stella up into his arms, carrying her bridal-style to the living room sofa. The two delivery men looked at me, their faces full of awkward pity. “Miss…” I stared at the cardboard box holding the frozen, smiling images of a future that no longer existed. My eyes burned. On the day we took those photos, we had held each other and laughed, and I had truly believed I was the happiest woman in the world. I turned my head. Adrian was kneeling on the rug, carefully dabbing a tiny scratch on Stella’s ankle with an alcohol wipe before gently applying a bandage. All his emotional unavailability over the years wasn’t a personality flaw. He was just saving his warmth for someone else. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked back at the workers. “Don’t bother hanging it. Just leave it in the box.” Once the mandatory holding period for Stella’s husband ended, Adrian’s paranoia kicked into overdrive. He was constantly distracted. His phone was glued to his hand, his eyes darting to the screen every few minutes. That night, his phone sat on his nightstand. The screen flared to life, buzzed aggressively against the wood, went dark, and then lit up again. I rolled over, turning my back to him. “Adrian, why isn’t your phone on silent?” For the past seven years, Adrian was religious about silencing his phone at bedtime. He claimed sudden noises gave him migraines. He used to complain if my morning alarm was too loud. Silence stretched across the dark bedroom. “I know it’s annoying,” he finally whispered. “But I can’t mute it. That psycho could track Stella down at any second. If she calls and I miss it…” I sat up and looked down at him. “So you’re just never going to put your phone on silent again for the rest of your life?” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just until this whole mess is sorted out.” My patience finally snapped. “And when is it sorted out? When she files for divorce? When she marries someone else? Or are you waiting for her husband to drop dead?” Adrian bolted upright, staring at me like I was a stranger. “Nina, could you have a shred of empathy?!” “She is being hunted by a violent lunatic! She could be killed, and you want me to just ignore her? What if she needs me and I don’t answer?” I raised my voice, the frustration boiling over. “Does she not know how to dial 911?” “How did she survive all those years when you two lost touch? Did she just stop breathing without you? She has a family. She has other friends. Why does it have to be you?” Adrian threw the covers back and got out of bed, looking at me with pure disgust. “When did you become so cold-blooded?” “When I met you seven years ago, you were the kind of girl who would cry over a stray kitten in the rain. Look at what you’ve turned into.” I opened my mouth to fight back, but his phone buzzed again. He lunged across the mattress to grab it. “Stella? Are you okay?” Her terrified weeping filled the quiet room. “Adrian… I’m so scared to go back to my place. I didn’t grab my wallet, I have nowhere to go.” “I was just walking and crying, and somehow I ended up outside your apartment building. Could I… could I crash with you guys for a little while?” Adrian didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Of course you can. I’m coming down to get you right now.” He dropped the phone and started pulling on his jeans. I grabbed his arm. “There is a hotel two blocks away. I will pay for the room myself. But I am not letting her move into our home.” He ripped his arm away, glaring at me. “A hotel isn’t safe. What if her husband bribes the front desk? Who takes the blame if he breaks into her room?” “She’s traumatized, Nina. She needs to be around people she trusts. Staying here is the only way I can actually sleep at night knowing she’s safe.” Listening to my fiancé passionately defend his need to provide safety and shelter to the love of his life finally broke me. “Well, if she moves in, I am not safe! Adrian, I am a woman too!” He completely bulldozed over my pain, his voice dropping to a freezing chill. “I’ve made my decision. Stop making this about you.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the bedroom door. Tears spilled hotly down my cheeks. “Adrian.” He paused. “If you bring her through that front door, I am no longer your fiancée.” He froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He turned around slowly, his eyes searching my face. The silence between us stretched out, heavy and suffocating. Then, he let out a long, disappointed breath. “Nina, I know you. You have the biggest heart in the world. You would never actually leave someone out on the street to die.” He picked up his keys, opened the door, and walked out. He left me totally alone in the suffocating, silent dark. I sat there for a long time. Then, I wiped my face dry, picked up my phone, and dialed my real estate agent. The agent answered with annoying cheerfulness. “Hey Nina! Is there an issue with the new house? I know you bought it for the wedding. Are we hearing wedding bells soon?” I forced a bitter smile. “No issues with the property. But I need you to list it on the market. Tonight. Sell it as fast as humanly possible.” I absolutely refused to share my own home, paid for by my parents, with a man who was busy sharing his heart with another woman. Sitting on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down my face, I made the final, immovable choice of my life. I didn’t want the house anymore. And I didn’t want the man, either. By the time Stella walked through the front door, my suitcases were zipped and standing by the entryway. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. “Nina? Where are you going?” Adrian glanced at the luggage, his tone dismissive and arrogant. “Leave her alone. Where else is she going to go besides running back to her parents?” Stella bit her lip, twisting her fingers together. “Nina, I am so, so sorry. I know I’m ruining everything by being here.” “But I truly have nowhere else in the world to go.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears, playing the tragic heroine to perfection. “I’m not like you, Nina. You have a warm family home to go back to. You have parents who protect you. You have a safety net. I have absolutely nothing.” Adrian reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t say that. You aren’t completely alone.” She looked down at the floorboards. “Adrian, I really shouldn’t have imposed on you guys. But knowing that monster is out of jail… I’m terrified to close my eyes.” He frowned, his protective instincts flaring. “Why won’t you just file for divorce?” Stella looked up at him through her wet eyelashes. “Where would I go if I did? My parents only care about my brother. They won’t take me in.” “That house hasn’t been my home for years. My brother’s wife hates my guts and won’t even let me through the gate. If I get divorced, I won’t have a single person to rely on…” Adrian’s entire demeanor softened into pure devotion. “You can rely on me.” My hand, reaching for the handle of my suitcase, stopped dead in mid-air. I gripped the plastic so hard my knuckles popped. Seven years ago, when Adrian asked me to be his girlfriend under a sky full of stars, he had used that exact same tone. He had held my hands and sworn, “Nina, no matter what happens in this life, you can always rely on me.” I had bet my entire future on that promise. I thought those words belonged exclusively to me. I was wrong. Adrian’s promises were just a charity fund. He handed them out to whoever looked the most pathetic. I pulled up the handle of my luggage and walked toward the door. Adrian finally dropped Stella’s hand, stepping forward to pat me condescendingly on the head. “Don’t forget the engagement dinner tomorrow night.” I didn’t say a single word. I dragged my bags into the hallway. As the heavy door swung shut, I heard Stella’s soft, guilt-ridden whisper. “Adrian, is she really mad at me? Should I leave? I’m driving a wedge between you two.” Adrian’s soothing voice drifted through the crack in the door. “It has nothing to do with you. She’ll get over it once she cools down. Both our families are meeting tomorrow, the engagement is locked in. We’re solid.” The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his voice for good. It was past one in the morning by the time I dragged my bags into my childhood home. The second I saw my parents’ faces, the dam broke. I sat on their couch and sobbed out every ounce of humiliation and heartbreak I had swallowed over the last month. My parents were livid, shaking with righteous fury, but my mother just held me and smoothed my hair, coaxing me to go upstairs and get some sleep first. That night, lying in the bed I grew up in, I slept like the dead. For the first time in weeks, there was no one tossing and turning next to me. No one jumping out of bed at 3 AM to play the hero for someone else. I woke up naturally with the morning sun. I rolled over and checked my phone. Ninety-nine missed calls. Some were from Mr. and Mrs. Wright. Most were from Adrian. A text message popped onto the screen, aggressively demanding my attention. [Where the hell are you, Nina?! Why are your parents at the restaurant demanding we cancel the wedding?!]

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On my wedding day, my twin sister knocked me unconscious and locked me in the basement. Then, she stole my identity and married my fiancé. “From this day on, your man belongs to me,” she whispered, her eyes burning with ruthless triumph. She was in such a hurry to steal my life. She never noticed that, down in the dark, I had already stopped breathing. 1 I died right when the wedding reached its peak. My fiancé, Christian, held the hand of my dear sister, Gwen, as he solemnly swore his vows. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, until death do them part. This was supposed to be my wedding. Instead, I was nothing but a wandering spirit, floating silently above the venue, watching my own sister steal my life and marry the man I loved. My gaze drifted down to Christian. He was strikingly handsome, tall and lean, with a naturally cold aura that kept most people at a distance. But to my surprise, this reserved man quietly flushed at the tips of his ears the moment he uttered the words, “I do.” And my sweet sister, draped in a gown as white as fresh snow, looked up at him with adoration, her eyes soft and filled with a deep, blushing warmth. As if she were the one who had spent years loving him. Not me, Nora. I stood at the edge of the altar, watching them bathed in a shower of flower petals and applause as they made the most sacred promise of their lives. Meanwhile, my physical body lay curled in the endless dark, a slow trail of blood seeping beneath me like a blooming flower withered before its time. I used to think my heart was made of stone, hardened enough to withstand any storm life threw at me. Yet, watching them kiss, a sharp, physical ache pierced my chest. The room was alive with joy, and they were the center of the world. Only I was entirely out of place. Unable to bear it any longer, I turned to leave. But after only a few steps, an invisible force violently yanked me back. Only then did I realize something was terribly wrong. Normally, when a soul leaves its body, it either fades into nothingness or moves on to the afterlife. So why was I still “alive” in this state? Refusing to accept it, I tried to drift toward the exit again. Dozens of attempts only left me exhausted and aching with an ethereal pain. Accepting my fate, I finally found a quiet corner to sit down. I waited, expecting some grim reaper to come and claim my soul. But instead of death, I was dragged into the dressing room by my dear sister. I watched her peel off the white bridal gown and slip into a vibrant crimson reception dress. Then, bound to her presence, I was pulled back to the banquet hall. I watched her cling to Christian’s arm, moving table to table, raising toast after toast. That was when I realized my soul was tethered to her. She had made a mess of my life while I was alive, and even in death, I could not escape her. I lowered my eyes, not knowing whether to cry or laugh. 2 Christian took most of the drinks for Gwen. Even so, she consumed quite a bit of wine. Gwen actually had a high tolerance; she used to drag me into drinking games. But in front of Christian, I had always claimed to have a severe alcohol allergy and never touched a drop. Gwen did not know about this little lie of mine. Flush with triumph, she drank far too much without realizing it. As the night wore on, Christian’s brow furrowed deeper. Gwen, however, noticed nothing. Once the reception ended, she dragged me into the bridal suite. She put on a grand performance of a doting, gentle wife, fussing over Christian. But it was painful to watch. A spoiled heiress trying to play the part of a nurturing homemaker was bound to look entirely unnatural. Christian, smelling of alcohol and exhausted, headed straight to the bathroom. Gwen tried to follow him under the guise of helping him wash up, hoping for a romantic bath together. But Christian quietly escorted her back out. Thinking he was merely being considerate, she hummed a cheerful tune and leisurely began washing fruit at the kitchen island. Tonight, all the villa staff had been given the night off. I sat on the sofa, watching Gwen sway her hips and put on a show, feeling a strange sense of amusement. Back when Christian and I were dating, Gwen would constantly pry into our relationship. At first, I answered honestly. But as her questions grew increasingly invasive, it made me uncomfortable, so I started feeding her half-truths. I told her that Christian was intensely passionate behind closed doors, insatiable in bed, and that we had crossed that line long ago. In truth, despite dating for years, Christian and I had never gone beyond kissing. We had a pact: whenever I felt ready, I would give myself to him. Until then, his affection remained deeply passionate yet strictly respectful. What had once been a boundary set due to my childhood trauma had unexpectedly sown the seeds for today’s drama. The more overtly seductive Gwen tried to be, the further she would push Christian away. Christian loathed deceit more than anything. If he ever found out Gwen was playing him for a fool… A faint smile curled my lips. When Christian emerged in his bathrobe, Gwen threw down the half-sliced fruit and rushed into the bathroom to shower and wash off her makeup. Eager to finally consume him, she bypassed her usual long bath. She used my favorite body wash, looking as comfortable as if she were in her own home. The bathroom steamed up, framing her slender silhouette. Over the years, Gwen had used her stunning looks to cycle through one boyfriend after another, while I had only ever had Christian. She had mocked me countless times for being old-fashioned and prudish, telling me I was wasting my beauty. Yet, after sampling so many men, she had come to pluck the pristine flower I had spent years guarding. Where did she get the courage? I stared blankly into space for a long time. It was not until I pictured the giant welcome poster at the wedding entrance that the truth finally hit me. Seven years ago, I had been forced to legally change my name to Gwendolyn. My entire relationship with Christian had been built under her name. Gwen was marrying Christian legally, officially, and in broad daylight. And I, the other Gwen, was nothing but a shadow living in the dark. Condensation dripped down my cheek like a tear. How pathetic that, even in death, I still did not know who I really was. 3 My mind drifted back to my brief, desolate life. The life where Nora was erased to become Gwen. When I was barely a year old, my father died in a workplace accident. My mother took my sister, Gwen, along with the entire insurance payout, and fled to another city, leaving me behind with my grandmother. My mother chose to take my sister because she believed my sister’s birth name carried a blessing for a bright future. I was the discardable one. Growing up, I never knew the warmth of a parent or the bond of a sibling. While other children were pampered, I could only clutch the single faded photograph of my parents, searching for them in my dreams. But what hurt more than being called an orphan was the unwanted, predatory attention I began receiving at fourteen. There were the creeping hands of different men who climbed over our low wall at night, trying to slip into my bed. How cruel of fate to give such a vulnerable girl a face that turned heads. If my grandmother had not grit her teeth to pay for me to board at school, my life would have been ruined long ago. But my tuition had already drained her dry. With the added boarding fees, her spine never fully straightened again. I studied like my life depended on it, desperate to give her a comfortable life before she passed. After graduation, I received an acceptance letter to a prestigious university. That was when the people who had been absent for seventeen years suddenly reappeared. Only then did I learn that my mother had remarried a wealthy businessman sixteen years ago, and my sister had been renamed Gwendolyn. They showered my grandmother and me with sudden affection, paying for her medical checkup and booking us a vacation package. They called it a celebration and compensation. I did not want to go, but I could not bear to disappoint the hopeful gleam in my grandmother’s eyes. She had been trapped in our impoverished, isolated village her entire life, never knowing how vast the world was. I was young; I had time. But my grandmother… After wrestling with my thoughts all night, I agreed. That trip showed me a world I had never imagined. It also brought a rare, radiant smile to my grandmother’s weary face. The resentment I harbored for my mother and sister began to soften. But when we returned and I saw the medical reports, my world shattered. My beloved grandmother had a malignant tumor the size of a child’s fist pressing against her heart. The surgery would cost one hundred thousand dollars. To us, it might as well have been a billion. My mother approached me in private, finally revealing the true reason for her return. She wanted me to legally change my name to Gwendolyn and share my sister’s life. In other words, we would attend the same university under one identity. My sister would enjoy the spotlight, the prestige, and the social life. I would do the grueling work: attend the classes, take the exams, maintain the GPA, and earn the certificates. Four years later, the degree with Gwendolyn printed on it would belong solely to my sister. In exchange, they would cover every penny of my grandmother’s medical expenses. She also demanded that I appear whenever my sister needed a substitute, and vanish the moment she did not. Most importantly, I was never to disrupt their perfect life. As she spoke, her posture was elegant, her smile serene. But her words shredded my heart. They had not arranged the medical checkup out of kindness; it was a calculated move to find my weak point. Sharing a life was a polite way of asking me to kneel and let my sister climb over my bleeding body to her golden future. Suspecting a trap, I took my grandmother to another hospital. But when the diagnosis came back identical, all hope died. For my grandmother, I surrendered my name and became a shadow. My mother kept her word, paying for the surgery. We both got what we wanted. 4 By the time Gwen finished her shower, she smelled exactly like me. The fruit she had left on the kitchen island was now neatly sliced and arranged on a platter. Even the sweet green grapes, my absolute favorite, had been peeled. Without a doubt, it was Christian’s doing. But I would never taste them again. Christian sat on the sofa with his eyes closed, his long lashes casting shadows over whatever thoughts he was hiding. Gwen picked up the platter and walked over to him. “Is your migraine acting up again?” she asked softly, placing a hand on his forehead. “I’m fine,” Christian murmured. Christian was guarded; he never complained about his pain to anyone. In the past, I would have gently massaged his temples until he caught my hand and kissed my knuckles. Gwen only knew he suffered from migraines, but she had no idea what I used to do for him. So, she simply withdrew her hand and offered him a slice of apple on a fork. “Here, honey, eat some fruit,” she said, flashing a sweet smile. Christian opened his eyes and stared at her in silence. “What is it?” she asked, blinking innocently. Christian shook his head. “I’ve already brushed my teeth. You have it.” “Oh.” Gwen sat down beside him and began eating. After a moment, a playful thought seemed to strike her. She popped a grape into her mouth and leaned over him on the sofa, pressing her lips to his. At the contact, Christian’s brow twitched imperceptibly. “Open up,” she mumbled against his lips. Christian did not budge. His dark, piercing eyes looked down at her. He seemed to be studying the physical shell in front of him, questioning if the soul inside was truly the woman he knew. In the end, he kept his mouth closed. Feeling rejected, Gwen tossed the fruit plate onto the table in irritation and stormed into the bedroom. Christian sat alone in the dim light for a long time before finally following her. The moment he lay down, Gwen clung to him like a vine. “Come on, honey, it’s our wedding night,” she purred, her voice dripping with suggestion. “I’m exhausted. Let’s just sleep,” Christian said. He pulled up the covers, closed his eyes, and turned away. Watching Gwen’s frustrated face, I burst into laughter. She had stolen my identity to get close to him, but she did not even know that Christian loved it when I called him “Chris.” Christian was not driven by lust, but he had absolutely no resistance to that nickname. If she had whispered “Chris” in his ear, he would have handed her the world. Too bad she did not know. She had always sneered that Christian was too high-born for a country girl like me to even dream of. Yet she thought she could use her usual cheap seduction tactics to force him into her bed. It looked like she had a long, frustrating road ahead of her. Once she realized she could not handle Christian, would she try her old tricks and demand that we share him too? Too bad I was already cold and stiff. How would she react when she finally saw my corpse? I rested my chin on my hands, imagining the scene. It was going to be highly entertaining. After all, she could only choose one: her innocence or her title as his wife. If she chose innocence, she would have to confess everything she had done and become a public laughingstock. If she chose to remain the wealthy wife, she would have to erase my existence entirely. But in a modern, heavily policed society, disposing of a body was no easy task for a pampered girl. The bed was wide. I lay down right in Christian’s arms, closing my eyes with a smile. From today on, I would never have to run to Gwen’s side at her beck and call. Because I was dead. 5 By the time Christian got out of bed, Gwen was still fast asleep. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at her for a very long time. His expression was as unreadable as ever. On my second day as a spirit, with no phone and no books, I was forced to hover near Gwen. Bored out of my mind, I floated around the room in endless circles. It was not until ten in the morning that Gwen finally yawned and woke up. She took her sweet time washing her face and brushing her teeth before ordering the maid to prepare her breakfast. Once full, she dug through my suitcase with a look of pure disgust, threw on one of my casual outfits, grabbed the key to the basement, and headed out. She was practically vibrating with rage, clearly eager to drag me over the coals for some perceived slight. I floated ahead of her, practically buzzing with anticipation to see her reaction when she saw me. And I was not disappointed. The moment she pushed open the basement door, the smug grin froze on her face. A sharp, piercing shriek tore from her throat, which she instantly muffled with both hands, terrified of being heard. I hovered above, watching her take slow, trembling steps toward my body. I watched her shaky fingers reach out to check for a breath that would never come. I watched her stagger backward, eyes wide with horror and raw panic. I watched her collapse to the floor, staring in absolute terror at the long, rusty metal nail driven straight into my chest. In the seven years since we reunited, she had always looked down on me with cold arrogance. This was the first time I had ever seen her so thoroughly undone. It was exquisite. Aside from the copper tang of blood, a faint, sweet rot was beginning to cling to the stagnant air. Having enjoyed her panic enough, I turned to look at my own body. My skin had lost all color, and the parts submerged in the pool of blood had turned a sickly purple-black. I looked like a discarded, broken ragdoll. Her blow had been clumsy and brutal; the back of my head where she had struck me was a gruesome mess. Unable to look any longer, I floated out of the basement. “Mom? It’s me… Can you… can you come to Nora’s hotel room?” “I think… I made… a mistake…” “Just come quickly, I can’t explain it over the phone.” “Please hurry, Mom, I’m so scared…” Gwen sobbed into my phone, tears smearing her carefully applied makeup. She looked utterly pathetic. I sat cross-legged in the air, leisurely enjoying her breakdown. Once she quieted down, Gwen locked the basement door and returned to the first floor. Perhaps the agonizing wait was too much to bear, so she turned on the television to drown out the silence. But with my sudden death weighing on her, she could not focus on the screen. She kept darting anxious glances at the front door, looking completely unhinged. I, however, found the show highly entertaining. An hour later, the doorbell rang. Gwen flew to the door faster than she had ever moved in her life, tears spilling over before she even turned the handle. “Mom, Nora is d—” The word died in her throat. I peered curiously over her shoulder to look outside. Standing at the door was none other than Christian.

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1 On the day I went to the military hospital for a late-term termination, the surgeon asked me why I didn’t want the child. “I’m getting a divorce,” I replied, my voice steady. “I have no intention of raising a baby alone.” The surgeon pulled down her surgical mask. It was Greta Blackwood, the younger sister of my Major General husband. She stared at me for what felt like an eternity before she managed to squeeze out a sentence. “Sera… does my brother know?” “No,” I said, my tone even flatter than I had anticipated. “And he doesn’t need to.” Greta set the medical chart on the stainless-steel desk, flipping to the ultrasound report. “You’re nearly seven months along. An induced late-term termination is not a minor procedure. Are you absolutely certain about this?” “I am.” “Sera…” “Dr. Blackwood,” I interrupted gently. “Right now, you are my attending physician, not my sister-in-law. I’ve signed every necessary waiver. My thumbprint is on the consent form.” Greta fell silent. She pulled her mask back up, scribbled a few lines on the chart, and handed me a pre-operative checklist. “Day after tomorrow, eight in the morning. Fasting. Bring someone to assist with your discharge.” I took the slip of paper, stood up, and walked toward the exit. Just as my hand touched the door handle, Greta called out to me. “Sera, you’ve been with my brother for three years. He has genuine feelings for you.” I did not look back. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days in the Blackwood family. The sentence he had spoken to me more than any other was: “Mission tonight. Won’t be back.” I had no idea what kind of feelings those were supposed to be. The moment I stepped out of the military hospital’s main gates, my phone began to vibrate. It was Gideon. “There is an award ceremony tonight. You will attend with me. Wear something formal.” He didn’t ask where I was. He didn’t ask how my day was going. Over the past three years, his calls always served only two purposes: a notification or a command. “Alright,” I said, uttering my very last ‘yes’ to him. By the time I returned to our quarters at the military estate, the orderly had already hung my dress outside the bedroom door. It was a navy blue two-piece suit, selected by Gideon’s chief of staff. His staff knew my clothing sizes far better than Gideon ever did. I changed into the suit and stood before the full-length mirror. My pregnancy was not yet highly visible; the clever tailoring of the suit perfectly concealed the slight curve of my abdomen. In forty-eight hours, this secret would cease to exist. Gideon’s military SUV arrived at the curb precisely on time. I climbed into the passenger seat. He was focused on a battle tactics briefing, offering me a brief nod by way of greeting. Throughout the forty-minute drive, he remained on the phone, discussing upcoming division exercises, new equipment deployments, and next month’s joint maneuvers. Not a single word had anything to do with me. The ceremony was held at the West Wing Auditorium. The Blackwoods were a legendary military dynasty. Gideon’s grandfather had fought in two foreign campaigns, and his father was a retired lieutenant general. At thirty-two, Gideon had been promoted to Major General, making him the youngest commanding officer in the entire service. We took our seats in the front row. Before we could even settle in, a woman approached. Victoria Prescott. She was the widow of Gideon’s late brother-in-arms, the star performer of the division’s theater troupe, and had recently transferred back to the capital. She wore a simple, elegant ivory dress, her hair pinned back flawlessly. She carried herself with a rigid grace, looking like a classic portrait. “Gideon, it’s been a long time.” Her gaze bypassed me entirely, locking onto my husband. Gideon stood up immediately. In three years, it was the first time I had ever seen him stand to greet a woman. “Victoria. You’ve transferred back?” “The orders were approved last month. I wanted to reach out sooner, but I was terrified of disrupting your schedule.” She finally cast a brief glance in my direction. “And this must be your wife. Gideon speaks of you often.” Often? I offered a small, polite smile. The only person Gideon ever mentioned at home was Victoria, and it certainly wasn’t to me. “Hello, Mrs. Prescott,” I said. “Please, call me Victoria. We don’t need to be so formal.” She took the seat directly beside me, naturally striking up a conversation with Gideon about base operations. Her tone was intimate, as if they were the only two people in the crowded auditorium. Throughout the entire evening, Gideon remained turned completely in her direction. She poured his tea, handed him his medal case, and gracefully intercepted a toast from a visiting officer on his behalf. These were things Gideon had never allowed me to do for him in three years. For the duration of the ceremony, I sat beside him like a piece of transparent glassware. At nine-thirty, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I rounded the corner of the quiet corridor, I overheard two officers’ wives whispering near the water cooler. “The Major General’s wife is incredibly pathetic. Her husband is flirting with another woman right in front of her.” “Pathetic? She married a Major General and lives in the officers’ quarters. That’s more than enough glory for someone like her.” “Still, now that Victoria is back, the lady of the Blackwood house will be replaced sooner or later.” “Well, that’s her own fault for being useless. She is a complete nobody.” A complete nobody. I liked those words. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, a sudden wave of relief washed over me. It was finally time to end this. The following morning, as Gideon was lacing his military boots, I was in the kitchen warming some milk. He glanced at me during a brief pause. “Why did you leave early last night? Unwell?” “Yes.” “Go to the medical bay if you’re sick.” He left immediately after. That was the closest thing to tenderness he had spoken to me in three years. Yet, I knew with absolute certainty that this warmth did not stem from any genuine care for me. It was only because Victoria had murmured to him the night before, “Gideon, you need to treat your wife better.” She was playing her part. But it didn’t matter. I no longer needed to participate in their drama. At ten in the morning, I arrived at Audrey’s law firm. Audrey was my only close friend from our university days. She had gone to law school and now specialized in high-profile military divorces, making her one of the most sought-after attorneys in the city. The moment I walked into her office, she set down her mug. “You’ve finally come to your senses?” “Help me draft a divorce agreement.” “How are we splitting the assets?” “I don’t want a single penny.” Audrey frowned. “You aren’t taking anything from the Blackwood estate?” “Nothing,” I said, taking a seat. “The house, the vehicles, the savings, the military pension shares. I waive all of it. I only want the signed certificate.” “Are you insane? You spent three years in that household. You deserve compensation.” “Audrey,” I said, looking her in the eye. “I want this to be clean and quick. If I demand nothing, he won’t have a single excuse to delay the signing.” Audrey stared at me for a long moment. “What happened?” “Nothing. I’m just done.” She didn’t press further, turning to her computer to begin drafting the documents. As her fingers flew across the keyboard, she spoke without looking up. “Aegis Precision, your design firm, recently secured several major contracts with the defense department. There’s a significant amount of capital in the corporate accounts. Do we need to initiate an asset isolation protocol?” “I’ve already handled it.” Audrey let out a soft laugh. “I see you’ve been planning this for a while.” “Not just a while. For three years. From the very first day I moved into that estate, I knew I didn’t belong. But I stayed because I foolishly hoped he would eventually see me. Now, I finally accept that he never will.” By three in the afternoon, I returned to the military estate. My mother-in-law, Genevieve, was sitting on the sofa, sharing a lively conversation with Victoria. The moment I stepped through the door, Genevieve’s smile vanished. “You’re back?” “Yes.” “Victoria is visiting. I’ve asked her to stay for dinner. Go tell the kitchen staff to prepare two extra dishes.” She was instructing me to order the staff to cater to another woman. Three years ago, such a request would have broken my heart. Now, it felt like nothing. “Alright,” I said, turning to head toward the kitchen. Victoria spoke up, her voice sweet and polite. “Sera, please don’t trouble yourself. A simple salad is fine, there’s no need to go to any trouble.” As she spoke, she offered me a flawless, gentle smile. It wasn’t an expression of defiance or mockery. It was the calm, settled assurance of a woman who already considered herself the true mistress of this house. I offered her a brief glance, said nothing, and walked upstairs. Once inside the bedroom, I opened the closet and pulled out my suitcases. I began folding my clothes, one by one. I didn’t have many personal belongings. I had arrived at the Blackwood estate with only two bags, and I would leave with no more than that. The designer clothes, fine jewelry, and luxury bags Gideon had purchased for me remained untouched, hanging neatly on the right side of the dressing room. Halfway through packing, the bedroom door was pushed open. Genevieve stood in the doorway, her gaze landing on the open suitcases. Her face darkened instantly. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you packing?” I placed my final jacket into the bag and zipped it shut. “I am divorcing Gideon.” “What did you say?” Genevieve’s hand gripped the doorframe tightly. “Divorce? Say that again!” “I am divorcing Gideon.” I lifted the suitcase and walked toward the door. Genevieve blocked my path. “Seraphina, you lived under our roof and off our name for three years, and now you think you can just walk away whenever you please?” “I already told you, I am not taking a single thing belonging to the Blackwoods.” “You think this is a place where you can come and go as you wish?” I stopped, looking at her calmly. “Are you suggesting I should be forced to stay?” Genevieve choked on her words. From the hallway below, Victoria’s voice drifted up. “Mom? Is everything alright?” She was already calling my mother-in-law ‘Mom,’ and Genevieve had not corrected her. I carried my bags down the stairs. Victoria was standing in the center of the living room, holding a porcelain cup of tea. Seeing me with my suitcases, she blinked in surprise. “Sera, what is…” “Mrs. Prescott,” I said, pausing before her. “This position is officially yours.” Without waiting for her reply, I opened the heavy front door and stepped out. Behind me, Genevieve’s furious voice echoed through the foyer. “Seraphina, stop right there! If you walk out that door, don’t you dare think about ever coming back!” I glanced back one last time. “I won’t be coming back.” As the door clicked shut behind me, the sound of my suitcase wheels rolling over the concrete walkway was loud and clear, sounding like a final period at the end of a long sentence. At eight that evening, Gideon returned to the estate. He was met with a half-empty closet and a single note resting on the coffee table: The divorce agreement has been delivered to my attorney, Audrey. Please sign it as soon as possible. My phone rang within ten seconds. “Seraphina, where are you?” “Away.” “Come back.” “Gideon, I told you. I want a divorce.” The line fell silent for three seconds. “What is this dramatic display about? Is this because of what happened last night?” “This isn’t drama. The agreement makes it clear; I am waiving all assets. You only need to sign.” Another long silence. “I won’t sign.” “Then we will proceed through the court system.” I hung up. The phone rang again, then a third time, then a fifth. I turned it off. That was the very first time in three years I had ever hung up on Gideon. Outside the window, the city lights flickered in the dark. I stood in my own private apartment. I had purchased this property with my own independent funds, and not a single member of the Blackwood family knew of its existence. Twelve hundred square feet, south-facing, with fresh mint and rosemary growing on the balcony. This was my true home. The next morning, Gideon tracked me down at my design firm. My assistant looked terrified as Gideon marched through the lobby, nearly knocking over her coffee cup. “Major General…” “Where is Seraphina?” “She’s in her office, sir.” He pushed open my door without knocking. I was reviewing a blueprint. I looked up, entirely unsurprised by his arrival. “Take a seat.” “Seraphina, pack your things and come home with me.” He remained standing, his uniform immaculate, his expression cold and demanding, as if he were delivering a military order that required immediate compliance. “I don’t have a home there anymore.” “You are a daughter-in-law of the Blackwood family.” “Not for long.” I pulled a document from my desk drawer and slid it toward him. “The divorce agreement. I don’t want the house, the vehicles, or any spousal support. Sign this, and we can go our separate ways.” Gideon stared at the papers for a moment before pushing them back. “I’m not signing.” “Why?” “We don’t have a history of divorce in my family.” “Your parents divorced twenty years ago.” His expression hardened for a split second. “Seraphina, what exactly is it that you want?” “I told you. A divorce.” “Is this because of Victoria?” I let out a soft laugh. “Gideon, you overestimate your own importance. This isn’t about anyone else. It’s about the fact that this marriage has absolutely no meaning.” He stared at me. “In three years, you have never spoken to me in this manner.” “Because for three years, you have never actually listened to a single word I said.” The office fell quiet. Suddenly, his military radio began to beep, signaling an urgent defense communication. He glanced at the channel, clicked it on, and then looked back at me. “We will discuss this later.” He turned and strode out. “Later.” Those five words were the perfect summary of our entire marriage. Every concern of mine was always pushed to ‘later.’ My birthdays, my illnesses, my desire to visit my family—all of it was delayed, until three years had passed without a single promise being kept. Once the door closed, my phone rang. It was Audrey. “How did he react?” “He refused to sign.” “As expected. If he refuses, we will have to establish a two-year separation before we can file for a unilateral divorce. Unless you have other grounds? Domestic abuse, infidelity, hiding assets?” “He never touched me.” That sentence carried two meanings: he had never laid a hand on me in anger, and he had barely touched me at all. In our three years of marriage, the number of times we had shared a bed could be counted on one hand. The last time had been seven months ago. And it was during that single night that I became pregnant. It was also after that night that I saw a message from Victoria on his phone: Gideon, I am transferring back next month. Do you still remember what you promised me? He had replied with a single word: Yes. I didn’t know what he had promised her, but I knew the weight of that single word was heavier than anything he had ever said to me. Audrey spoke through the receiver. “Then we begin the separation. From the day you moved out, I will document the evidence chain.” “Thank you.” “One more thing,” Audrey’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “Your design firm has a major military bid coming up next week for a new camouflage system. Are you going to represent the company personally?” I thought it over. “No. Let Frank handle the presentation.” “Sera, how long do you plan on keeping your identity a secret?” “I’ll step into the light when the timing is right.” Three years ago, I had married Gideon under the simple name ‘Seraphina.’ None of them knew that Aegis Precision Systems, one of the defense department’s largest rising technology suppliers, was entirely my creation. And none of them knew that my mother’s maiden name was Vanguard—the family that controlled the multi-billion-dollar Vanguard Defense Group. A soft knock sounded at my office door. “Sera, there’s a client here. He’s asking for you by name.” “Who?”

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1 During the seventh month of my pregnancy, I discovered that Keanu had acquired a close female confidante. They shared everything. Their chemistry was effortless, an unspoken rhythm that seemed to bridge their every gap. Every single day, Keanu bought two bouquets of flowers, one for me, and one for her. Yet, he never crossed the line. That was until she sent him a message: If you had met me first, would you have married me? Keanu never replied. But he stood on our balcony and smoked through the entire night. … Today, Keanu was entirely somewhere else. Several times he opened his mouth as if to say something, only to swallow his words and look away. In the end, I was the one who broke the silence. “Is something wrong?” Keanu let out a heavy sigh. “I have to go on a business trip to Oakport. I should be back tomorrow. But you can’t be left alone right now. Forget it, I’ll have someone else cover it.” As he spoke, I kept my eyes on him, watching the earnest, deeply concerned expression on his face. He met my gaze openly, without a single hint of evasion. “What is it, Vivi?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. I shook my head slowly. “Nothing.” Then I said, “You should go.” “But what about you?” “I’ll have my mother come over and stay with me.” Ever since I became pregnant, Keanu had been incredibly attentive. Especially as my belly grew larger, he hated the idea of leaving me alone. He had canceled countless business dinners and social events just to stay home and care for me. “What if something happens and there’s no one around?” he used to say. “I’ll be worrying the entire time anyway. I might as well stay.” Even on the rare occasions he absolutely had to step out, he would wait until my mother arrived, repeating a thousand instructions to make sure I was looked after. My mother would always laugh. “She is my own daughter, Keanu. Do you really think I’d neglect her?” But today, he only hesitated for a mere two seconds before nodding. “Alright. Take care of yourself. I’ll be back as fast as I can. Call me if anything comes up.” He left in a hurry. He packed only a single change of clothes before rushing out the door. I sat on the sofa, remaining completely still. I even managed to wave and offer a gentle smile when he turned back to look at me one last time before closing the door. When the lock clicked, I still did not move. But my spine, which had been held perfectly straight and rigid, finally collapsed. Keanu was acting strange. Everything about him today was off. Yet I did not say a single extra word, nor did I ask a single question. Because I already knew exactly where he was going, and who he was going to see. 2 In the beginning, I did not know the woman’s name. I only knew her last name was Xu, and Keanu referred to her as Valerie. I met her for the first time a year ago, back when I was not yet pregnant. I was waiting for Keanu in a newly opened café right beneath his office building. I had not told him I was coming, planning to call him once lunchtime rolled around. But he suddenly walked in. The woman behind the counter, who had been leaning lazily against the register, immediately straightened up. Keanu offered her a brief nod. She smiled and flashed him a subtle OK gesture. It was a silent, effortless understanding. I have always believed that unspoken chemistry between a man and a woman is a terrifying thing. It easily tricks both parties into believing they are destined for one another. But at the time, that unsettling thought only flickered through my mind for a second, and I brushed it aside. When Keanu finally noticed me, he was genuinely startled. He hurried over, asking what I was doing there. “Waiting to have lunch with you,” I said. “Why didn’t you call me?” “I didn’t want to disrupt your work,” I replied, looking at him. “Why did you come down?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “Work has been incredibly frustrating. I needed to get out for a walk and grab a coffee. They make excellent butter cookies here, you should try some.” He raised his hand slightly. “Valerie, another order of cookies, please.” Meeting the woman’s curious gaze, he offered a warm, proud smile. “This is my wife, Vivian.” That day, they were both entirely natural. Keanu introduced me without a trace of guilt. Valerie greeted me warmly and even took our order off the bill. Keanu mentioned that their coffee was exceptionally authentic, so his company had started ordering all their afternoon tea catering from her shop. That was how they became familiar. Back then, I truly believed they were just a simple shop owner and a regular customer. I did not know that the delicious cookies she served us were actually a private batch, never sold to the public. And I certainly did not know that Valerie would eventually send Keanu a message, asking him: If you had met me first, would you have married me? 3 Keanu sent me a text at ten o’clock that evening. He said he had just finished his meetings and had checked into his hotel. He claimed he was exhausted, so we would skip our usual evening video call. He reminded me to take care of myself and to call him if anything happened. I replied to each message patiently, telling him not to worry and that I was perfectly fine. Then, I dialed the number for the café downstairs. “Is Valerie around? I was hoping to speak with her,” I asked the girl who answered. The waitress was young and naive. Hearing my familiar tone, she assumed I was a close friend. “Oh, she’s out! She left earlier this afternoon. Today is actually her birthday, so she’s probably out on a romantic date with her boyfriend. She left holding a massive bouquet of red roses, it was so sweet!” I thanked her, ordered a take-out coffee to end the call, and hung up. This city is vast. Trying to find two people in the dark should have been impossible. But Keanu had bought me a smart tracking watch a few months ago. Before he left the house today, I had quietly slipped it into the side pocket of his laptop bag. He had bought it for me during my fourth month of pregnancy. My morning sickness had been exceptionally severe. By the fourth month, my weight was still dropping instead of increasing. I did not realize I had developed severe anemia, nor did I expect to faint in the middle of a crowded shopping mall due to the stuffy air. Keanu had been absolutely terrified. His hands were still trembling when I woke up in the hospital room. The watch was meant to monitor my heart rate and track my location in real-time in case of another emergency. It was a luxury model, which meant its GPS positioning was incredibly precise. Just like now, the signal showed it had been stationary on the twelfth floor of a luxury hotel for over three hours. I did not pack my bags and rush over in the middle of the night. I was only twenty-three days away from my due date. In the end, I still cared about my own safety and the life of my child. I threw away the coffee, drank a warm glass of milk, and lay down on our soft bed, listening to the soothing hum of white noise. Yet, sleep refused to come. My mind kept drifting back to that night a little over a month ago. That was the very first time I had ever pried into Keanu’s phone. He had been so incredibly restless lately. He sliced his finger while peeling an apple for me. He shattered a mug while pouring water. Finally, with a dark, suffocating expression, he had kicked a kitchen chair across the room. I had screamed in fright. He immediately apologized, claiming he was just stressed about a difficult project at work, swearing he had not meant to scare me. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, the bed beside me was cold and empty. Keanu was standing on the balcony, smoking one cigarette after another in the dark. With a heart that felt like it was already flatlining, I unlocked his phone. The screen was still open to his messages. The contact, saved simply as ‘V,’ had sent a message earlier that afternoon. If you had met me first, would you have married me? Keanu had not replied. He had not typed a single word in response. But that night, my heart died right there in the glow of his screen. 4 I arrived at the hotel lobby at six in the morning, carrying our marriage certificate and household registration documents. I laid them neatly on the front desk. “Keanu is my husband. I need to know which room he is registered in. If you cannot disclose this to me, I will call the police immediately.” I did not have the energy to argue or plead. I was tired. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion had settled into my soul. The receptionist froze, her expression shifting from confusion to hesitation, and finally to deep, silent pity. “Please wait a moment, ma’am. I will look it up for you right away.” She quickly gave me the room number and even asked if I needed someone to accompany me upstairs. I offered her a polite, faint smile and shook my head. Clutching my swollen belly, I stepped into the elevator. Keanu did not make me wait long. I had only been standing in the quiet hallway for about forty minutes when the door swung open. Keanu stood in the doorway, his hand still resting on the handle. Behind him, a pair of slender arms wrapped gently around his waist. “Keanu, thank you for last night. I will remember this for the rest of my…” She never finished her sentence. Keanu violently threw her arms off him, his entire body stiffening in panic. He had spotted me. He took a frantic step forward. But my gaze drifted past him, looking into the room. Valerie had stumbled back onto the carpet. Her bright red silk slip dress had ridden up, exposing her bare legs. She was staring at Keanu’s back, her eyes filled with a mixture of profound sorrow and hurt. “Vivi,” Keanu’s voice trembled violently as he called my name. So did mine. The hands I held behind my back were shaking uncontrollably. I had thought I was mentally prepared. I had thought I could face this with absolute coldness. But now that the moment was here, I realized I could barely keep myself upright. “Where is the car?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “In the underground parking lot.” “Let’s go.” I leaned heavily against the wallpapered wall, turning toward the elevators. Keanu reached out, trying to support me. “Don’t touch me!” I hissed, a low, fierce warning. His hand froze in mid-air, trembling, before he slowly drew it back. He followed me at a cautious distance, his eyes locked on my every step. That was when Valerie came rushing out into the hallway. “Mrs. [Vivian], you don’t need to act like this! There was nothing sordid between Keanu and me!” Her tone was remarkably calm, her face filled with stubborn pride. The moment the words left her mouth, I turned and delivered a sharp slap across Keanu’s face. The sound cracked through the quiet hallway. “Ah!” Valerie let out a horrified gasp. “How dare you hit him?!” She lunged forward, her hands reaching out in distress, trying to touch the dark red mark blooming on Keanu’s cheek. Keanu flinched away, avoiding her touch entirely. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Vivi, please. Let’s just go home.” Valerie clenched her fists, glaring at me with raw hostility. “Mrs. [Vivian], if you have an issue, take it out on me! Why are you hitting Keanu?!” “Be quiet,” Keanu muttered. Valerie stared at him in utter disbelief. “I am trying to help you!” “I said, shut up!” Keanu snapped, his voice sharp with desperation. He did not offer Valerie a single glance. His eyes remained fixed entirely on me as he pleaded once more. “Vivi, please. Let’s go home.” 5 “Vivi, I can explain. “Yesterday was Valerie’s birthday. She doesn’t have any close friends in the city, and she just wanted some company. “I only stayed to help her celebrate. Absolutely nothing happened between us. “I was wrong to lie to you, and I am so sorry. “I was just terrified that you would get upset and overthink things. “I made a mistake. If it bothers you, I will never see her again. “She really is just a friend.” … “Vivi, please say something to me. “Don’t do this. You’re terrifying me.” … Ever since we returned to the apartment, Keanu had not stopped talking. He offered endless explanations, apologies, and self-reproach. I wanted to speak. But my throat felt as though it were packed with dry cotton, choking back every single syllable. I did not know where to begin. I did not know what there was left to say. In the end, I only managed to whisper a few quiet words. “Keanu, let’s get a divorce.” The words made Keanu flinch as if he had been struck. He clenched his fists tightly, closing his eyes to suppress a sudden wave of frantic anger. When he opened them, his voice was tight. “Nothing happened between us, Vivi. We drank some wine and we talked. That was it. Please, don’t do this. I know you’re angry, and I know I messed up. I’ll accept any punishment you want. But you have to believe me, I did not betray you.” What did betrayal even mean to him? “You held her, didn’t you? You probably kissed her too. You smell like her perfume. And right here…” I pointed to his bottom lip. “A bite mark.” Keanu froze, his lips pressing into a hard, defensive line. I looked at him, feeling a profound, echoing despair. “How much further did you need to go, Keanu? Did I need to catch you in the act? You stayed in a hotel room with her for an entire night. How do you expect me to believe you? How can I ever trust you again?” Keanu’s head fell forward. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands hovering near my lap, wanting to hold me but not daring to make contact. “Vivi, I was stupid. I lost my mind for a moment. But I swear, we didn’t go any further than that. I beg you, think of our years together. Think of the baby we are about to have. Just give me one more chance.” How utterly tragic. He knew exactly how many years we had spent building this life. He knew our child was about to be born. Yet he still chose to do what he did. And now, he expected me to use those very things as a reason to forgive him. The weight of every suffocating memory, every silent doubt, came crashing down on me all at once. I looked around our beautiful apartment, my eyes finally resting on my swollen stomach. Tears began to spill over, hot and uncontrollable. A low, wounded sob escaped my throat, sounding like a trapped animal. Keanu panicked, reaching out to shield me. “Vivi, Vivi, what’s wrong? What are you looking for? Tell me, I’ll get it for you!” His voice was the spark that finally lit the fuse. I broke down completely, sobbing hysterically. “I want a divorce! I just want to get away from you!” 6 This year marked our fourth year of marriage. When we first found out about the pregnancy, we were both ecstatic. But the journey had been anything but smooth. My morning sickness was so violent that I could barely keep any food down. But if I didn’t eat, my body would begin to shut down. I had to force myself to swallow every bite. I spent those early months crying nearly every single day. The physical torment was so agonizing that there were moments I wished I could simply close my eyes and never wake up. We had briefly discussed ending the pregnancy. But the moment we saw the first sign of spotting, panic seized both of us. I ended up bedridden in the hospital for an entire month, fighting to keep the baby. During those early stages, I felt as though I were recovering from a near-fatal illness. I suffered from severe malnutrition, chronic anemia, and then that sudden collapse in the mall. To call it a chaotic time would be an understatement. This tiny life inside me seemed so fragile, yet so incredibly stubborn. I was terrified that the stress of the divorce would trigger an early labor. I kept my phone fully charged, ready to dial emergency services at any second. I did not dare to scream, to smash things, or to let my rage consume me. Even my tears had to be quietly choked back. Until I couldn’t hold them back any longer. The physical strain of my sobbing triggered a violent wave of nausea, and I threw up. I knelt on the bathroom floor, clutching the toilet bowl, gasping through a pain that felt as though my very organs were being torn apart. Keanu pounded frantically on the bathroom door. He begged me to open it, to let him in. He yelled at me, telling me not to gamble with my life and the baby’s health. I huddled on the cold tiles, protectively wrapping my arms around my stomach. I had wanted to end this with some semblance of dignity. But the moment Keanu’s heart began to wander, my dignity had already been trampled into the dirt. My parents were eventually called to the apartment by Keanu. It was only when I heard my mother’s soft, worried voice through the wood that I finally unlocked the door. My father, usually a gentle and mild-tempered man, looked colder than I had ever seen him. “Is this how you care for my daughter?” he asked Keanu, his voice dripping with quiet fury. They packed my things and took me with them. Keanu did not dare to stop them. Once we arrived at my parents’ house, my father sat down beside me. “What do you want to do, Vivi?” “I want a divorce,” I whispered, my voice raw. He remained silent for a long moment, before nodding slowly. “Then we will get you a divorce.” That night, my mother slept beside me. She held me close, gently rubbing my back, never asking a single question about what had happened. The quiet, unquestioning support of my parents slowly brought me back to sanity. The next morning, Keanu arrived at their doorstep. He brought my favorite breakfast, offering my parents a tight, forced smile as he greeted them. They offered a curt nod and quietly left the house, giving us the space to speak. Keanu held the container of warm dumplings, looking at me with desperate, pleading eyes. “Vivi, please eat a little.” My face remained entirely blank. “Keanu, we need to talk.” He held the container for a long time, his shoulders slumping, before he finally nodded. “Okay.” 7 Where were we even supposed to begin? I looked at him. “I gave you opportunities, Keanu. I truly tried to pretend none of this was happening.” Keanu froze, looking at me with a bewildered expression. I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “The day Valerie asked you if you would have married her had you met her first. You became restless, angry, and you couldn’t sleep all night because of that single question. While you were standing on the balcony smoking through the dark, I unlocked your phone.” I had always believed that snooping through a partner’s phone was a pathetic thing to do. The moment you feel the need to do it, the trust is already dead. If there is no trust left between two people, what is the point of staying together? Yet, despite holding those beliefs, I had still ended up doing exactly that. My words made Keanu stiffen. His body leaned back slightly, a subconscious instinct to flee from the truth. He clenched his fists, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “But I never replied to her.” I wiped away a tear that had slipped down my cheek. “Yes, you didn’t reply. But your silence was far more agonizing than any answer could have been.” A suffocating quiet filled the room once more. Keanu opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. Finally, he spoke, his voice entirely devoid of confidence. “If you read those messages, then you must know that we never crossed any lines before last night. I only ever saw her as a friend. And the night before last… yes, we had too much to drink, and we lost our heads for a moment. But we stopped there. We didn’t go any further. Vivi, I swear, I never actually cheated on you.” I did not look at him. I only let out a long, weary sigh. “On April third, the day of my anatomy scan. It was the very first time we were going to see what our baby looked like. I was so incredibly excited. But you told me you couldn’t make it because of an urgent board meeting. In reality, you had planned a hiking trip with Valerie. “Every morning, you ordered two bouquets of baby’s breath from the florist downstairs. You took one with you in the morning to give to her, and you brought the other one home to me at night. The only exception was Valentine’s Day. That morning, you took a bouquet of nineteen red roses with you. “The executive elevator in your office building requires a security card. Valerie complained once about how long she had to wait for the public elevators, so you gave her your spare card. “You told me your shoulder was aching, and she went to the hospital to get special medicated patches for you. For weeks, you smelled of menthol. When I asked about it, you told me you bought them yourself at a pharmacy. “On your birthday, after I fell asleep, you slipped out of the apartment in the middle of the night. Valerie met you downstairs and gave you a pair of designer cufflinks. She asked if she was the first person to wish you a happy birthday, and you told her yes. “Your texting shorthand was effortless. She would text ‘Go?’ and you would reply ‘Go!’ She would text ‘Rooftop’ and you would reply ‘1.’ She would text ‘Tired’ and you would reply ‘Almost there.’ “The day you traded in your car, you took her along for the test drive. She told you the salesman mistook her for your wife, and you replied with a single awkward emoji, followed by a screen full of laughter. “Every single day on your drive home from work, you spent twenty-seven minutes on the phone with her. At a normal speaking pace, you two exchanged thousands of words daily. Aside from when we were first dating, when was the last time we ever spoke that much in a single day?” The Keanu who spoke to Valerie was someone I did not recognize. No, that was not entirely true. The Keanu from our university days had been exactly like that. Lively, talkative, even a little childish. It was just that the person on the receiving end was no longer me. That realization felt like a thousand ants biting at my skin, slowly consuming me from the inside out. Keanu’s head bowed lower and lower. “I only saw her as a friend,” he whispered, his voice completely hollow. “Sometimes I was just so exhausted, and talking to her made things easier. We were just talking, Vivi. What do I have to do to make you believe me?” A heavy, crushing weight pulled me down into the sofa. “Keanu, do you have any idea how much I wished you had actually slept with her? This unspoken chemistry, this effortless understanding you shared… it was like a guillotine suspended right over my head. I never knew when the blade was going to fall. I had to live every single second in terror, waiting for it. I tried to pretend I didn’t see it. I debated whether I should just close my eyes and let it go.” I really had hesitated. I was pregnant. Our child was about to be born. They had not actually slept together. Should I face the ugly truth, or should I just pretend everything was fine? But the moment I had closed his phone that night and turned away, pretending nothing was wrong, I had already made my choice. “I thought I could do it. But ever since I found those messages, I stopped trusting you. Every single time you left my sight, I assumed you were with her. I wondered what you were saying, what you were doing. Those doubts chewed away at my sanity every single minute of the day. I was being driven mad, Keanu! You were driving me absolutely insane!” I sobbed, the pain tearing through my chest. Those had been the most agonizing weeks of my life. I felt as though I were standing on the brink of complete madness. Until you finally agreed to spend that night with her. She had texted you: Maybe if you do this, I can finally let you go. Show me some mercy, Keanu. And you replied: Okay. In that exact second, the guillotine fell. And I chose to survive. “Keanu, let’s get a divorce.”

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I was the ultimate codependent fool. I had a bleach-blonde, deadbeat boyfriend who was undeniably hot, and I had already planned out our entire lives, down to the names of our future children. Then, after eighteen years of surviving in an orphanage, I discovered I was actually the long-lost heiress of a billionaire family. There was already a fake heiress living in my place. On the day they brought me home, I dragged a battered suitcase in my left hand and my bleach-blonde bad boy in my right. My fake sister, who had probably spent days preparing for an epic turf war with me, completely forgot to cry. She just stared at us in sheer, unadulterated shock. My biological parents hesitated, finally asking me in hushed, nervous voices, “Sweetheart… Jude, who is this gentleman?” I leaned affectionately against his shoulder. “He’s my boyfriend. We’ve already decided to have a massive wedding first, pop out a baby, and then officially sign the marriage papers the second we hit the legal age.” My new older brother stared at Zack. Bleached hair, a slouch that screamed unemployed, a stained tank top, baggy basketball shorts, and a pair of cheap knockoff sneakers. Honestly, aside from his face, which was admittedly handsome, absolutely nothing about him was acceptable. The entire room fell dead silent. I could practically hear them wondering if our ancestors were spinning in their graves. Zack and I locked eyes and shared a subtle, knowing smirk. The show was officially on. 1 My name is Jude Harrington. Before I got my fancy last name, I was just Jude, a parentless nobody at the local orphanage. My proudest achievement in life was snagging an insanely hot boyfriend. His bleached hair was wild, and the moment I saw him, I was utterly obsessed. It took a lot of chasing to get him to agree to date me. Nobody understood our love, but that didn’t matter. I was never letting him go. So, on the day I was found and brought back to the Harrington estate, I literally wept, begging him to come with me. “Zack, please! My family is rich, like, insanely rich! Come with me. I can’t breathe without you!” Zack gave me a look so dripping with disdain it made my heart flutter. “You said it yourself, babe. You are the one begging me.” I nodded frantically. Without him, I would literally wither away. When the Harrington family butler arrived to pick me up, he took one look at Zack, his eyes filling with immediate disgust. “Miss, your parents sent me to bring you home. This gentleman, however…” Zack scoffed. “You heard the man, Jude. It is not that I don’t want to go. I won’t stand in the way of your rich life. Let’s just break up.” I threw myself onto him, clinging like a koala. “Don’t you dare say that word! I will never let you break up with me!” The butler stepped forward, trying to pull me off, his professional composure shattering into pure shock. “Don’t touch me! If I can’t be with Zack, I am not going anywhere! What is the point of being rich if he leaves me?!” Zack made a show of trying to walk away, and I wailed, holding onto his waist for dear life. Zack’s ears flushed a bright red under his bleached hair as passersby stopped to whisper and watch the drama. The butler looked like he wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it. “Miss! Fine! He can come! Just please, get up off the pavement!” The moment I heard that, I beamed, looking up at Zack proudly. “See? You can come with me now! Please don’t dump me, okay?” He finally relented, giving a reluctant nod. My heart swelled with victory. The butler opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. I told Zack to sit back and relax while I single-handedly hauled our heavy bags into the trunk. The butler and the driver rushed to help, and I thanked them profusely. The butler shot an utterly bewildered look at Zack, who was casually picking his nails. How on earth did an heiress grow up to be such a brain-dead, codependent mess in that orphanage? But I did not care what they thought. I was in absolute paradise. 2 When the car pulled up to the Harrington estate, Zack stared at the massive, sprawling mansion. I stared too. I had never seen a house this big in my entire life. As we got out, I was greeted by the sight of my fake sister, Rose, weeping gracefully while my biological parents and brother desperately tried to comfort her. My presence felt like a sudden intrusion, and I stood there awkwardly. It was only when the butler cleared his throat that the family finally noticed me. My biological mother froze, her eyes locked on my face. The resemblance was uncanny; we had the exact same eyes. Tears welled in her eyes as she rushed forward to hug me. “Jude… oh, my sweet Jude!” I felt a sudden rush of warmth and my own eyes grew misty. Rose clearly had not expected me to look so much like our mother. Her face went through a rapid succession of shock, jealousy, and fear. But when she saw my worn-out clothes, her expression softened into a pitying, guilty look. Zack, seeing that the spotlight was entirely on us, cleared his throat loudly. Mrs. Harrington blinked, looking from me to Zack, and then shot a questioning glance at the butler. “I thought you went to bring our daughter home. Who is this?” The butler looked like he was swallowing glass. “This is Miss Jude’s boyfriend. She insisted on bringing him along.” The courtyard fell dead silent. “B-Boyfriend?” I blushed right on cue, looking down with perfect shyness. “Yes, Mom. This is Zack.” My new older brother, Nate, and my father stared at Zack. Their faces were a picture of pure disgust. They had expected to bring home a dignified daughter, not a girl trailing a street punk. Mrs. Harrington immediately assumed I was being coerced. She could not bear to think of how much I must have suffered, being taken advantage of by a lowlife like him. Her heart practically broke. She squeezed my hands tightly. “My poor Jude, you must have been through so much. Don’t worry, your parents and your brother are here now. You don’t have to be afraid of him. We will get rid of him right now.” Zack knew exactly how they felt about him. He nudged my foot with his cheap sneaker. “Well, looks like your family is too fancy for a guy like me. I’m leaving, Jude. Don’t come looking for me. We are done.” I secretly glared at his foot, then instantly switched back to my dramatic, tearful act. My eyes turned red in a second. “Zack, no! Don’t be like this! My family will accept you!” Before anyone could stop me, I dropped to my knees on the gravel. Seeing that Zack still was not placated, I realized the obstacle was my new family. I turned around to face them. “Mom, Dad, Nate, Rose! Quick, get down here and kneel with me! Help me beg Zack so he won’t leave me!” My family’s faces turned blacker than coal. The Harringtons, one of the most prominent families in Silverwood, kneeling to a bleach-blonde deadbeat? If word of this got out, they would be the laughingstock of high society. Rose looked like she had misheard me, tugging at Nate’s sleeve in disbelief. “Nate, am I dreaming? Is she… mentally unstable?” The Harringtons suddenly realized that their long-lost daughter might actually have a screw loose. Mrs. Harrington’s mouth twitched violently. “Jude, sweetheart, please get up first.” She had planned to shower me with affection and make up for lost time, but this sudden blow left her completely speechless. “No, Mom! I can’t live without Zack! We already planned our wedding and our first baby! He’ll never leave me once we have a child, and we’ll sign the papers the second we hit the legal age!” What kind of outdated, toxic nonsense was this coming from an eighteen-year-old girl? Mrs. Harrington swayed, nearly fainting on the spot. Rose rushed to support her. “Sister, even if you want me gone, you don’t have to hurt Mom like this. Do you know how much she looked forward to your return?” Rose scolded me, subtly implying that I was doing this on purpose to hurt the family. Mr. Harrington’s gaze turned cold and suspicious. I shot a quick glance at Zack, and he caught the cue instantly. “Fine, it’s clear I don’t belong here. I’ll just go.” As he turned, I lunged forward, grabbing his legs. My knees scraped against the gravel, drawing blood, but I did not care. “Rose, you are trying to tear us apart! I don’t even care about being a Harrington! If I can be with Zack, I’ll happily sleep on cardboard and eat instant ramen for the rest of my life!” With the neighbors from the adjacent villas starting to peek through their gates, the situation was spiraling out of control. Nate’s head was throbbing, and Mr. Harrington’s face was completely rigid. My legal documents had already been processed; they could not just let me run away. “Enough! Everyone inside!” Mr. Harrington barked, trying to save whatever dignity they had left. “Rose, help your mother. And you… sir, come inside as well.” Zack smirked, finally looking satisfied. “Fine, since you’re so sincere, Jude, I’ll let it go this once. I won’t dump you today.” I beamed and scrambled to my feet, leaving Mr. Harrington and Nate looking even more horrified. 3 Mr. Harrington was probably questioning whether there was a defect in the family gene pool. How else could their brilliant lineage produce such a codependent fool? In other areas, however, my intelligence was undeniable. I had inherited the family’s academic brains, consistently ranking first in my classes and scoring near perfect on my college entrance exams. Once Mrs. Harrington recovered her composure inside, she introduced my siblings properly. “This is your older brother, Nate, and your sister, Rose.” “Jude, we know you’ve suffered. But we raised Rose as our own, and the hospital mix-up was an accident. We investigated and found that her biological parents wanted to abandon her anyway, so…” At this, Rose started crying again. I wondered if she was made of water. “Sister, I know I took your place and let you suffer for eighteen years,” Rose sobbed. “I will pack my bags and leave the Harrington house. I’ll give everything back to you.” Seeing her try to play the victim, I immediately cut her off. “Rose, don’t say that! If it weren’t for that mistake, I would have never met Zack!” I leaned heavily on Zack’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around me, shooting a smug, provocative look at Rose. Mrs. Harrington, trying to maintain her poise, walked over and gently pried Zack’s hand off my shoulder. She even took a tissue and brushed off my sleeve, as if his touch had contaminated me. Mr. Harrington quickly changed the subject. I did not mind. I knew they would never kick Rose out; she was a useful pawn, and she posed no threat to me anyway. “Since Jude doesn’t mind, we’ll leave things as they are for now,” Mr. Harrington said. “Jude, have you decided on a university?” He had investigated my academic records before bringing me home. “I’m leaning toward Everton University,” I replied. Hearing the name of the prestigious Ivy League-equivalent school, Mr. Harrington looked pleased. “Good. Everton is excellent. Your brother graduated from there as well.” Rose lowered her head. Her grades were mediocre, barely scraping the minimum requirements for a decent local college, which made her even more insecure in this house. I looked at Nate, and then delivered a line that shattered their fleeting joy. “But Zack’s grades aren’t very good. He didn’t get in. I don’t want to be apart from him, so I’m thinking of skipping college altogether.” Rose and Mrs. Harrington gasped. Nate stared at me like I had lost my mind. “Nonsense!” Mr. Harrington roared, slamming his hand on the table. “How can you gamble with your future? You are a Harrington! With your potential, you could easily surpass your brother. You—” Before he could finish, Zack let out a loud, dramatic yawn, cutting him off. “Hey, I’m tired. Get someone to show me to my room.” I immediately turned to my parents, completely ignoring my father’s rage. “Zack is tired. Can we get him a room?” Mr. Harrington’s face was practically purple. “There is a guest room on the first floor. Your room, Jude, is on the third floor, right next to Rose’s.” Mrs. Harrington quickly added, “Yes, sweetheart. I didn’t know what style you’d like, so I had it done in a simple, minimalist design. If you don’t like it, we can hire a designer to completely redo it.” Rose chimed in, “Yes, sister. If you prefer my room, I can give it to you.” Zack ignored them all. He strolled up to the second floor, looked around, and pointed at a large master suite. “I’ll take this one.” Nate’s face darkened. “Absolutely not. That is my room.” Zack looked at him, then shrugged at me. “Whatever. Since there is no place for me here, I’ll just leave. I don’t do guest rooms.” The moment Zack threatened to walk, I threw myself onto the floor and locked my arms around Nate’s legs. “Nate! It’s just a room! Give it to him! If you don’t, I’m never letting go!” “No! No way! That is my room!” Nate yelled, trying to shake me off. “Nate, it’s just a room! How can you be so incredibly stingy?!” “I’m stingy? He is trying to take over my space! He doesn’t belong here!” Nate was practically laughing from pure rage. But his words were a sharp sting to Rose, who sat quietly, feeling like the real intruder. Mr. Harrington glared at Zack. “That room belongs to the heir of the Harrington family. Who do you think you are to demand it?” Zack smirked. “So I’m not good enough, huh? Fine. I’ll go back to the orphanage.” Hearing the word ‘orphanage,’ I burst into loud, hysterical wails. “When I was at the orphanage, Zack was the only one who protected me! He is my hero! Nobody is going to kick him out! You have no idea what I went through there! You are trying to drive away my savior and my only love!” My screams were so piercing that even Zack looked stunned. This was not in our script. “Enough!” Mr. Harrington finally broke. He looked at me crying on the floor, at Nate who was trapped by my death grip, and at Zack, who was casually leaning against the second-floor railing. “Nate… let him have the room for now.” “Dad?!” Nate could not believe his ears. He was being kicked out of his own room for a lowlife punk? Zack offered a smug smile, walked into the room, and shut the door behind him. Only my brother was left trembling with rage, looking like he was on the verge of a stroke. Rose stood in the corner, thoroughly confused. This was not how the ‘fake vs. real heiress’ drama was supposed to go. Where was the rivalry? Why was she the only one stressing out in this house? The next morning, Rose tried to orchestrate a classic trap. She poured a glass of milk over her own designer dress right in front of me, preparing to blame me. When my parents rushed over to scold me, I looked at my empty glass and began to sob. “I just made that milk for Zack. He told me if he didn’t get his morning milk, he’d break up with me! Now it’s ruined!” Suddenly, the family’s glares shifted entirely to Rose. Mrs. Harrington sighed. “Rose, if you wanted milk, you could have asked the maid. There was no need to ruin your sister’s hard work.” Rose’s face turned bright red with frustration. I ignored her, turning back to pour another glass. “Rose, please don’t steal Zack’s milk again.” “I… I would steal milk from that deadbeat?!” Rose gasped, clutching her chest to keep from fainting. With Zack around, none of Rose’s schemes worked. Instead, she was the one constantly ending up frustrated. She initially thought I was putting on an act. But when she saw me hand-washing Zack’s smelly, sweat-stained socks without a single complaint, she was finally convinced. I was a hopeless, brain-dead romantic. If anyone dared to ask Rose to wash socks like those, she would have had her bodyguards beat them half to death before taking a silk-bleach bath. Too embarrassed to vent to her high-society friends, Rose completely gave up on competing with me. Instead, she opened her laptop and typed into the search bar: How to cure extreme codependency.

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1 The first time I heard a corpse speak was in the department autopsy room. My mentor glanced over the autopsy report, his voice flat. “Classic suicide. Let’s close the case.” The lead detective nodded in silence. Outside the door, the victim’s mother was on her knees, sobbing to the point of collapse. But I was the only one who heard a raspy, female voice whisper: “I didn’t kill myself.” The hemostatic forceps in my hand clattered onto the metal tray with a sharp clang. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. My mentor frowned. “Summer, you’re an intern. Can’t you even keep your hands steady?” I stared at the pale, lifeless face on the table. The next second, she spoke again. “The killer is in this very room.” The air in the autopsy room instantly froze. Slowly, my gaze drifted toward my mentor’s blood-stained hands. On my very first day, the director told me: “In forensics, the most important trait is composure. Dead bodies don’t lie, but the living do.” Back then, I didn’t dare tell him the truth. Dead bodies actually do speak. Ever since I was a child, I could hear strange voices. When I was little, our old cat died. I held him and cried, only to hear him grumble in my ear: “Stop crying, you’re getting snot all over my fur.” I was so terrified I didn’t sleep for three days. Later, when my grandmother passed away, everyone was weeping in the funeral home. My grandmother’s body, however, whispered in my ear: “Your aunt stole my gold bracelet again. There’s a savings card under the third brick beneath my bed. Don’t let her take it.” I went to the spot she mentioned and actually found the card. From then on, I knew I wasn’t normal. But I also realized that the dead were far more honest than the living. So when it came time to choose my college major, I kept everyone in the dark and applied for forensic medicine. I figured if I was cursed to hear these voices, I might as well make them useful. But I never expected that on my first day at the precinct, I would hear a murder victim cry out for justice. The woman on the autopsy table was Kate, twenty-eight, a product manager at a tech company. The case seemed straightforward. She was found dead in her apartment bathtub, her left wrist sliced deep. The doors and windows were locked from the inside, the tub was filled with bloody water, and a paring knife lay nearby. A suicide note was saved in her phone: “I’m so tired. I’m sorry, Mom.” Everything pointed to a clear conclusion. Suicide. But she said she didn’t do it. I stood frozen, a cold sweat breaking out across my back. My mentor, Dr. Gregory, glanced at me, his voice cool. “Summer, keep recording.” Dr. Gregory was a legendary forensic expert in the city. He was forty-seven, had been in the field for over twenty years, conducted thousands of autopsies, and solved countless major cases. My university professors always spoke of him with absolute reverence. If he declared it a suicide, almost no one would question it. Yet at this moment, the female voice in my ear was trembling with terror. “I didn’t cut myself.” “When I woke up, my wrist was already being held down in the water.” “He was wearing gloves.” “He was smiling.” My throat tightened. I looked down at the body. Kate’s face was devoid of color, but her lips were stretched into a stiff, unnatural angle, as if they had been brutally forced into a grimace of agony. I couldn’t help but speak up. “Dr. Gregory, isn’t the cut on her left wrist a bit too clean?” Dr. Gregory was pulling off his latex gloves. He paused. The autopsy room fell into a dead silence. Detective Jones, the lead investigator, raised his eyes to look at me. Outside the door, Kate’s mother stopped crying and looked up. Dr. Gregory turned slowly, his gaze locking onto me. “What did you say?” I swallowed hard. “I just think the angle of the wound is unusual. If she used her right hand to cut her left wrist, there would typically be hesitation wounds. But she has none. The cut is so clean it looks like it was done in a single, fluid motion.” Dr. Gregory let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “Summer, today is your first day as an intern.” I gripped my pen tightly. “I know.” “Then act like it,” he said, closing the autopsy file. “Textbook theories aren’t meant for you to show off at an active crime scene.” The other assistant pathologists lowered their heads, remaining silent. Dr. Gregory continued: “The victim had trace amounts of blood on her right hand, her fingerprints were on the knife handle, there were no signs of forced entry, and the suicide note was confirmed to be written on her phone. Tell me, if this isn’t suicide, what is it?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. In my ear, Kate’s voice suddenly turned shrill. “I didn’t touch that knife!” “I didn’t write that note!” “He knew my passcode! He knew it!” My heart hammered against my ribs. I couldn’t tell them I heard the dead speaking. No one would believe me. They would just lock me up in a psychiatric ward. Seeing my silence, Dr. Gregory’s eyes flickered with amusement. “It’s good for young people to ask questions, but skepticism must be backed by evidence. Otherwise, it’s just a desperate cry for attention.” The words felt like a slap to my face. My cheeks burned. But just as he turned to walk away, Kate spoke again. 2 “My fingernails.” “Look at my right middle finger.” “There’s skin under there.” I looked down instantly. Kate’s right hand rested at her side, her fingers slightly curled. Her nails were short, painted with a light pink polish, showing no obvious signs of struggle. Ignoring Dr. Gregory’s cold stare, I pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and picked up a magnifying glass. Deep inside the nail bed of her right middle finger, there was a tiny, almost imperceptible speck of dark red tissue. It was minuscule. If I hadn’t been actively looking for it, it would have been easily dismissed as dried blood. My breath caught. “Detective Jones,” I called out, my voice tight. “There’s a trace of what looks like skin tissue under the victim’s right middle fingernail. I recommend we run a DNA test on it.” Detective Jones walked over. He was in his early thirties, with sharp, serious features, known as a relentless workaholic in the homicide division. He leaned down to look, his expression shifting. Dr. Gregory walked back over as well. He stared at it for a second, his expression darkening. “A bathtub is a complex environment. It’s perfectly normal for debris to get trapped under the nails.” “But if she took her own life, why would she have someone else’s skin under her nail?” I countered. “Are you certain that’s skin?” “No, which is why we need to test it.” Dr. Gregory stared at me, his eyes cold. “Summer, do you have any idea what you’re doing right now?” Of course I knew. I was challenging the conclusion of a highly respected forensic expert. I was using my position as a mere intern to hold up a suicide report that was about to be officially signed off. I also knew that if I was wrong, my career in forensics would be over before it even started. But Kate’s voice was crying in my head. “Please.” “My mom only has me.” Outside the door, Kate’s mother leaned against the wall, her eyes swollen and red. “Detective, my daughter would never do this.” “She just told me yesterday she was going to take me to the hospital for my checkup this weekend.” “She wouldn’t leave me alone.” At that moment, I remembered my grandmother’s words before her casket was closed. “Don’t fear the dead, Summer. The dead won’t hurt you. The ones you should fear are the living who keep their mouths shut.” I looked up, meeting their eyes. “Detective Jones, I’d like to formally request a secondary examination.” The air in the room seemed to freeze. Detective Jones didn’t answer immediately. Dr. Gregory’s face, however, had turned incredibly grim. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and began to wipe them slowly with a cloth, his voice dangerously calm. “You’re requesting it?” He looked at me as if I were a ridiculous joke. “Summer, you don’t even have the authority to sign off on an official opinion.” “I know, which is why I’m making a recommendation.” “A recommendation?” he sneered. “Your recommendation will force the detectives to reopen a settled case, give the family false hope, and delay an obvious conclusion. Can you take responsibility for the consequences?” My fingers turned cold. Detective Jones finally spoke. “Dr. Gregory, since we found potential physical evidence, running a quick test won’t disrupt our timeline.” Dr. Gregory stiffened. “Do you think I made a mistake, Detective?” 3 Detective Jones’s face remained neutral. “I only follow the evidence.” The autopsy room fell silent. Dr. Gregory stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a soft laugh. “Very well. Since you’re both so insistent, we’ll run the test.” He put his glasses back on, his cold gaze landing on me. “But let me remind you, Summer, forensics isn’t a detective novel. Dead bodies don’t bend to your imagination.” I lowered my head. In my ear, Kate whispered: “Thank you.” Her voice was incredibly faint, like a fading breeze. Getting a rush DNA test would take some time. Detective Jones ordered the evidence to be secured and put a hold on closing the case. As I helped the other assistants clean up the autopsy room, an uneasy feeling lingered in my chest. Kate had said the killer was in this room. But at the time, the only people present were me, Dr. Gregory, Detective Jones, two assistant pathologists, and a female clerk. Detective Jones was a homicide investigator, the two assistants had been right beside me the entire time, and the clerk was a woman. So who was the “he” Kate referred to? My gaze kept drifting back to Dr. Gregory. He was washing his hands. The stream of water washed over his fingers, carrying away a faint trace of blood. As if sensing my gaze, he suddenly looked up, meeting my eyes in the mirror. My heart leaped. Dr. Gregory offered a thin, cold smile. “Summer.” “Yes, Dr. Gregory?” “Come to my office after you finish up.” His voice was smooth, but it sent a chill down my spine. By seven in the evening, the forensic center was mostly dark, save for the hallway lights. I knocked on his door. “Come in.” The office was dimly lit, with only a desk lamp casting a warm glow. Dr. Gregory sat behind his desk, my internship file open in front of him. He didn’t invite me to sit. “Your academic record is impressive.” I stood near the door, keeping quiet. “Top of your class, perfect scores in anatomy, excellent recommendation letters from your professors.” He turned a page, his tone indifferent. “But you’re too eager.” I pressed my lips together. “I wasn’t trying to show off, Dr. Gregory.” “I know,” he said, looking up. “You wanted to prove yourself.” I blinked in surprise. He closed the folder. “Every year, I see interns like you. Smart, sensitive, ambitious, thinking they can change the world.” “But this isn’t a classroom. Every word we write affects the course of justice, and every decision impacts the living and the dead.” His words sounded incredibly professional. If Kate’s voice weren’t still echoing in my mind, I might have actually believed him and doubted myself. Dr. Gregory stood up and walked over to me. “I can overlook what happened today.” I looked at him. His tone softened. “Tomorrow, write a brief statement explaining that your lack of experience led you to mistake a contaminant for skin tissue. We’ll withdraw the test request, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t affect your final evaluation.” I finally understood why he called me here. He was trying to pressure me. “But the sample has already been sent to the lab,” I said. Dr. Gregory smiled. “It can always be recalled.” “Why would we do that?” Silence stretched between us for a few long seconds. The warmth on Dr. Gregory’s face faded completely. “Summer, don’t back yourself into a corner.” My back pressed against the wooden door, my palms slick with sweat. Just then, a faint whisper drifted from the storage cabinet in the corner of the office. 4 “Don’t listen to him.” I snapped my head toward the corner. A black evidence bin sat on the bottom shelf. The label read: Kate’s Case. I heard it clearly. It wasn’t a body. It was the evidence speaking. To be precise, it was the blood-soaked white shirt inside the bin. “He touched me.” “He cut off my cuff.” My skin prickled with goosebumps. The cuff? When Kate’s blood-stained clothes were brought in, I hadn’t paid close attention to the sleeves. Dr. Gregory frowned, noticing my distraction. “What are you looking at?” I forced my gaze back. “Nothing.” He stared at me, as if trying to read my thoughts. I took a deep breath. “I won’t withdraw the request, Dr. Gregory.” His eyes turned cold as flint. “Are you sure about that?” “Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Very well.” He sat back down, picked up his pen, and tapped it against my folder. “I hope you don’t regret this.” The next morning, the atmosphere at the forensic center had shifted. In the breakroom, staff members were whispering. “Did you hear? The new intern openly challenged Dr. Gregory yesterday.” “Is she out of her mind? Dr. Gregory has decades of experience. Who does she think she is?” “Kids these days just want to be heroes the second they get on a case.” I stood outside with my mug, listening. When they noticed me, they shut up immediately. I pretended not to hear, though the words still stung. By nine in the morning, the preliminary DNA results came back. The tissue found under the nail did not belong to Kate. It didn’t match anyone on the scene or the initial responders either. In the conference room, Detective Jones tossed the report onto the table. “There was a third person on the scene.” The room fell dead silent. Dr. Gregory’s face tightened for a fraction of a second, but he quickly regained his composure. He glanced at the report. “It only proves she had contact with someone before her death. It doesn’t prove homicide.” “Which is why we’re reopening the investigation,” Detective Jones replied. Dr. Gregory nodded. “Of course.” He agreed so quickly it made me uneasy. Detective Jones turned to me. “Summer, you mentioned the wound angle was off. Explain.” Everyone looked at me. Dr. Gregory sat at the head of the table, expressionless. I turned on the projector and enlarged the photo of Kate’s wrist. “The wound on the victim’s left wrist starts on the outer side and cuts straight across, with a uniform depth. If she had done this herself with her right hand, the cut would typically start shallow, deepen in the middle, and taper off at the end.” I pulled up another slide. “But this wound has no hesitation marks and is perfectly even, suggesting a steady hand. The person holding the blade was likely standing to her left.” Detective Jones asked, “So it’s highly probable it was done by someone else?” “Yes.” Dr. Gregory spoke up. “Highly probable?” He looked at me. “Forensics doesn’t deal in probabilities, Summer.” “Which is why I need to perform a follow-up examination,” I said. “On what?” I pointed at the evidence bin. “The victim’s clothes.”

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After getting ripped to shreds by my advisor during our lab meeting, I sent my online boyfriend a thigh pic to cope. [Do it for Mistress right now!] I looked up. My usually cold, stoic, and sharp-tongued advisor suddenly cleared his throat, his throat tight and the tips of his ears turning bright red. Intrigued, I peeked at his phone screen. Right there, clear as day, was the exact message I had just sent. Oh my god. I froze, utterly dumbfounded. But my stupid, disobedient fingers had already dialed his number for a video call… 1 The buzzing of Kevin’s phone vibrated through the suffocating silence of our lab meeting. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have guessed that my cold-blooded, ruthless advisor was the same online boyfriend who whined and called me “Mistress” in my DMs. Kevin’s finger hovered over the screen. My heart leaped into my throat. Was he actually going to pick up? Please, pick up. Just do it. Only ten minutes ago, he had publicly humiliated me, calling the fifth draft of my thesis complete garbage. Once he realized I was his “Mistress,” there was no way he would block my graduation. Oh, thank god. There was hope for my degree after all. I sat up straight, trying to look composed. The next second, the call was declined. My contact “6’1 Rich Idiot 8-Pack” (a nickname I gave him) sent a flurry of texts: [Baby, I’m in a lab meeting. It’s not convenient right now.] [I’ll call you later, okay? ~] [Transfer: $5,200] [Puppy loves you.gif] I froze, the grin still plastered on my face. Suddenly, Kevin’s sharp voice shattered my thoughts. “Iris! What are you smirking at?” I gasped, jerking my head up. I met Kevin’s cold, piercing gaze. He looked absolutely furious, staring at me with zero intention of saving my dignity. “When you joined this department, you had no major research experience and barely any academic background. I didn’t even want you in my lab. Your counselor practically begged me, saying you were a promising student with raw potential.” “And look at you now.” “Your experiments are a disaster, your writing is absolute nonsense, you don’t contribute a single word in meetings, and now you’re playing on your phone.” “Do you not want to graduate?” Oh, no. I was in deep trouble. My chest tightened with panic. The other students held their breath, their eyes darting toward me in unison. Some looked sympathetic, others confused, and a few just seemed relieved it wasn’t them. I had always been a straight-A student, sailing through my undergraduate years on a sea of compliments from teachers and admiration from peers. But ever since I started my master’s program, I had lost count of how many times Kevin had torn me to pieces over everything from my thesis proposal to my drafts. My face burned with shame. Tears welled in my eyes. But online, he was always so incredibly sweet to me. He would baby me, begging for kisses and telling me how much he adored his mistress. I tried to explain, my voice trembling violently from frustration and nerves. “I… I was just texting my boyfriend. He’s…” “Nobody cares, and nobody wants to hear about your personal drama, Iris,” Kevin cut me off coldly. “If you can’t separate your personal life from professional settings, you can request a transfer to another advisor. I won’t supervise you anymore.” Kevin wasn’t just the youngest tenured professor in the department. His father owned a massive publicly traded company and held significant shares in the university. If he refused to advise me, no other professor would dare take me in for fear of offending him. I would be completely ruined. The blood drained from my face. After a long, agonizing pause, I managed to squeeze out a few words. “I understand. It won’t happen again.” 2 The moment we stepped out of the science building, Nadia, my senior lab partner, turned to me with deep concern. “Iris, what were you thinking, trying to video call your boyfriend right in the middle of a meeting?” Because I just found out Kevin is my online boyfriend, and I was losing my mind with excitement. But looking back, it was incredibly risky. I glanced around to make sure we were alone before lowering my voice. “Nadia, do you think Professor Pendelton would ever date someone online?” Nadia blinked, then let out a laugh. “Are you serious? He’s the department’s untouchable, cold-hearted bachelor. He barely even talks to women. There’s no way he’s doing online dating.” Her expression quickly turned serious. “Don’t tell me you believed those internet rumors about confessing to your advisor to pass your thesis? Those are just fake stories for views, Iris. Don’t fall for them. He’s already frustrated with you. If you pull a stunt like that, you’ll never graduate.” My heart sank. I had thought I struck gold, but from Kevin’s perspective, it would look like deliberate harassment or revenge. After all, I had made him call me “Mistress,” ordered him to wear a chest harness, and demanded photos of his abs. And just minutes ago, I had told him to do it for me. Oh my god, it was so embarrassing, so terrifying. He could never find out it was me. I forced a calm smile. “I was just curious. I’d never actually do something like that.” Nadia sighed in relief. Not long after I got back to my apartment, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Kevin. [Baby, I’m free now. Should I do it for you?] Oh, god. The thought of Kevin, who was always so buttoned-up and severe in person, suddenly stripping down for me in private was overwhelming. The contrast was wild. More importantly, he was my advisor. I didn’t dare push my luck anymore. I replied: [No need.] Kevin panicked instantly: [Why?] [Am I not attractive to you anymore?] [Or are you mad because I didn’t do it right away?] [No wonder you didn’t accept the money.] [Baby, I’m sorry. I really am. Please, just give me a chance to show you.] Then came a video call request. My heart fluttered with the ringing. Maybe because he had just yelled at me so brutally, seeing him act so submissive and desperate gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction. I wanted to make him squirm a little more. I wanted to tease him, maybe even break things off after messing with him. But then I looked at the $5,200 transfer. Fine. I’d treat this like a job and keep playing along for now. But a little humiliation was definitely in order. I accepted the call. As always, we kept our faces out of the frame by mutual agreement. “Baby? Are you mad at me?” His deep, smooth voice drifted through the speaker. I had never connected it to Kevin before, but now that I knew, the resemblance was unmistakable. Afraid he might recognize my voice, I typed my response: [Not mad. Go ahead, I’m watching.] Kevin let out a breath of relief. His tone turned eager. “Okay. I’m starting now.” 3 I watched, unable to tear my eyes away. Kevin unbuckled his belt. “Ah!” The gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it, and I dropped my phone onto the bed in a panic. Even though I talked a big game online and loved reading spicy web novels to destress, I was twenty-four, and this was the first time I had ever seen a man’s… well, let alone my advisor’s. The sheer shock of it was dizzying. Kevin’s voice came through, laced with worry. “Baby? What happened?” “Did I… did I scare you?” I slapped my burning cheeks and declined the call. I typed back deliberately: [Are you sure you’re fully developed?] Kevin: [?] Me: [The male leads in the books I read are usually twelve inches.] Kevin: [Where on earth did you read that?] Kevin: [Those books are pure fiction. Mine is over eight inches, which is plenty. Honestly, I was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle it.] The absolute nerve of this man. My face burned even hotter. [I definitely couldn’t handle it.] [You’re too old anyway.] [I prefer younger guys.] [Maybe I should find a college student instead.] Kevin was thirty, so this blow was bound to hurt. Sure enough, he immediately tried to video call again. When I declined, he sent a frantic voice note. “Baby, you can’t look at other men. Please.” “Whatever you want, whatever size or shape, I can look into cosmetic procedures. I’ll do anything.” “Please.” “Don’t leave me.” “Mistress.” By the end, his voice was actually trembling. I smiled, thoroughly satisfied. Remembering I still had a thesis to revise, I decided to torture him a bit longer. [We’ll see how you behave.] [I have work to do.] Kevin typed back quickly: [What kind of work? Can I help you with it?] He absolutely could, but I didn’t dare say it. [Someone called my writing total garbage. I have to rewrite the whole thing.] Kevin sounded heartbroken for me: [That guy has zero taste. He sounds like an absolute piece of trash.] I burst out laughing. He was literally insulting himself. [Baby, send me the details. I’ll come handle him for you and make him apologize on his knees.] Right. He was just trying to trick me into meeting up. 4 Kevin and I had met on a streaming app. I was a sleep-aid streamer who never showed her face, and he was one of my subscribers. My parents wanted me to enter the workforce as soon as possible and find a decent husband while I was still young, so I had to pursue my master’s degree in secret. Between earning my own tuition and living expenses, and renting an apartment off-campus to keep my secret safe, I was constantly broke. Once I realized Kevin was deeply attached to me and incredibly wealthy, I started playing hard to get. I would ignore his messages or go days without streaming, claiming I was busy with private clients. Kevin would immediately send money to buy my time. I would act cold and aloof: [There are plenty of guys offering me more. Why should I choose you?] Kevin’s voice would sound so pitiful: [What do you want then?] Me: [I want a loyal, obedient puppy. One that only belongs to me and calls me Mistress.] Kevin replied with a simple, cold [Oh]. I thought I had pushed him too far. But then he texted: [Do I need to show off a bit?] [Do you want to see my abs?] Abs? I figured he’d just send some stolen internet photo, which I didn’t mind. Me: [Yes.] Then he sent a voice note, his voice low and incredibly seductive. “I only show my girlfriend.” “Be my girl, and I’ll do whatever you want.” And just like that, we became a couple. But to me, it was just a lucrative side gig. To protect myself, we agreed never to share photos of our faces or reveal our real names. Who would have guessed he was Kevin Pendelton? 5 I replied with mock annoyance: [I’m just worried you’ll show me something ugly.] [Don’t come over.] [Don’t bother me today, or I’ll block you.] Kevin went quiet, as promised. I pocketed the money and put my phone away. But the moment midnight struck, as if he had been watching the clock, he sent a tearful voice message. “Baby, it’s a new day now.” “Are you asleep?” “Whatever you don’t like about me, I can change.” “I want to marry you.” “Please don’t throw me away.” “A mistress shouldn’t abandon her puppy.” “Mistress, please just reply to me.” Having stayed up late to revise my thesis so I could hand it in the next morning, I had been feeling incredibly resentful. But hearing him cry about wanting to marry me was like a wave of pure sweetness. My anger evaporated. I typed: [Am I really that important to you?] Kevin’s voice was raspy but incredibly firm. “Incredibly important.” “You’re the light of my life.” “Every single day of these past two years with you has been the happiest of my life.” “You mean more to me than my own life.” “Let’s meet up. Let’s get married. Let me take care of you forever.” My ears burned. My heart softened. Despite his cold, critical, and arrogant attitude in real life, when I looked at his face, his wealth, his competence… and his current needy, adorable state… I was winning at life. I happily replied: [I hear you. Let’s talk about meeting up in June.] I needed to get my degree in hand before showing my face. Kevin was ecstatic. The next morning, I went to the department building to hand in my draft. Kevin frowned at his monitor. “Are you sure you followed my notes on this revision?” Panic surged in my chest as I leaned closer to the screen. “Yes. Is it still wrong?” Kevin’s face remained expressionless, the atmosphere in his office dropping to freezing point. I nervously fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “…Should I take it back and fix it again? But I don’t think I know how to make it any better.” Kevin glanced up at me. “Have a little faith in yourself. Let’s just say the path to success is always full of setbacks.” I blinked, surprised by his sudden change of tone. Was he being nice because he was anticipating our meetup? But before that tiny spark of joy could spread, Kevin threw a bucket of ice water over me. “Setbacks are fine, but you’re treating this like a joke.” Me: [embarrassed face.jpg] Kevin pointed his cursor at a paragraph. “What is this section? Did an AI write this for you?” “No, I wrote it myself.” “You wrote this?” Kevin let out a cold, sharp laugh. “If you hand in garbage like this next time, I won’t approve you for the defense. You can just apply for an extension of your graduation.” A loud buzzing filled my ears. I had taken on so much pressure, keeping this master’s program a secret from my parents. If I didn’t graduate, these three years would be a complete waste. How would I explain this to myself, let alone my family? And this was the same guy who had promised to stand up for me last night, yet now he was the one driving me to the brink of insanity. I completely snapped. I slammed my hand down on his desk. “Kevin! Are you seriously going to make your own wife fail her graduation?” Kevin froze, his head snapping up to look at my face. 6 “Iris, calm down.” “As an adult, you should know that throwing tantrums and crying won’t solve anything.” Kevin couldn’t empathize with my breakdown. He sat there, perfectly composed and utterly cold, analyzing my failures once again. Yet this was the same man who cried and begged for my attention just because I replied to his texts late. If tears solved nothing, why did he cry so easily? The double standard was infuriating. I stared at him. Suddenly, it clicked. The cold, unflappable, untouchable man sitting in front of me was the real Kevin. The online version was probably just a persona he used to amuse himself and keep me interested. He didn’t actually love me. The realization made me even angrier. Fortunately, even though I had used the word “wife,” he didn’t connect it to his online mistress. He just assumed I was losing my mind. I wiped away a tear. “But I am losing my mind!” Kevin’s eyes softened slightly with disappointment. His tone quieted down. “How about this. Put the thesis aside for a few days and get some rest.” “If you still feel overwhelmed, I can set you up with a counselor.” “I know you and Nadia are close. I’ll have her keep you company today. I have other matters to attend to.” Kevin made a quick call, and Nadia came to take me away. Since Nadia worked at the university after graduating, she brought me back to her staff apartment. She tried to comfort me. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cry, Iris.” “But compared to the other students who get torn apart by professors, your resilience and capability are actually much stronger.” I sipped the iced coffee she bought me. “But Professor Pendelton is like a demon. I feel like he’s actively trying to prevent me from graduating.” Nadia shook her head gently. “That’s not true. He’s not targeting you. He’s just incredibly demanding with all his students.” “Just push through it. You’ll graduate fine.” But I was terrified I wouldn’t make it. I needed a distraction. That evening, I dragged Nadia out to a local bar. Since I was spending the money Kevin had given me online, I didn’t care about the bill. I ordered round after round of drinks and snacks. As the alcohol started to kick in, I noticed Nadia answering a video call. “Professor Pendelton?” Nadia’s voice sounded surprised. “Oh, no, this is Iris’s phone.” I leaned in, pointing toward the stage. “Nadia, put the phone away. Look at those dancers over there. Let’s hire one…” Nadia quickly covered my mouth to stop me from saying anything worse. She gave the person on the other end of the line our location before hanging up. “Professor Pendelton is coming to pick us up. Don’t say anything crazy in front of him.” My head was spinning, and the warning went right through my ears. 7 Kevin arrived incredibly fast. His hair was slightly windswept, but it didn’t take away from his striking looks. Just standing there in the crowded bar, he drew everyone’s eyes. Nadia greeted him respectfully. But to me, he looked like a ghost. I muttered grumpily: “Why do I see you everywhere? Are you stalking me to ruin my life?” Afraid Kevin would take offense, Nadia quickly intervened. “She really respects you, Professor. She’s just in a bad mood and had a bit too much to drink. Please don’t take it personally.” “I won’t,” Kevin said softly. For once, his cold demeanor was entirely gone. He leaned down, his dark eyes studying my flushed cheeks with a complex expression. His voice was incredibly gentle: “I’ll take you home. Can you stand up and walk?” I couldn’t stand his fake sweetness. I yelled at him: “I don’t need you to take me anywhere!” “I absolutely hate you!” Nadia panicked and tried to cover my mouth again, but Kevin stopped her with a wave of his hand. Those sharp, perceptive eyes of his were soft as they rested on me. “Why do you hate me?” “Because you won’t let me graduate!” As the alcohol lowered my defenses, my frustrations poured out. “I kept this whole program a secret from my parents, hoping a master’s degree would help me get a better job. Now I might not even get the degree, I have zero work experience, and I’m getting older. I’m going to be ruined!” People around us began to stare. Kevin frowned slightly, speaking softly: “I never said I wouldn’t let you graduate. Let’s get out of here first.” Nadia, also wanting to avoid a scene, grabbed our bags and stood up. The moment she moved, I lost my support and slipped sideways onto the sofa. Seeing this, Kevin reached out. He pulled me up from the sofa, wrapping one arm around my back and the other beneath my knees, lifting me effortlessly into a bridal carry. Nadia’s eyes went wide with shock. The sudden movement startled me, my body suspended in the air. “What are you doing?” Kevin was tall and strong, carrying me easily as he walked toward the exit, murmuring softly: “You can’t walk straight. I’m carrying you to my car.” I struggled, trying to get down. But his arms were like iron bands, holding me securely against his chest. I was furious. I pounded on his shoulder. “Put me down! I don’t want you! I hate looking at you! I really do!” Kevin’s throat moved, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. But he only tightened his grip, keeping me steady as he carefully placed me into the passenger seat of his car. 8 I woke up the next afternoon with a pounding headache. I rubbed my temples and looked around. It was an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar sheets. After a brief moment of panic, I realized I had no memory of how I got here. I remembered going to the bar with Nadia. I scrambled for my phone and dialed her number. Nadia quickly reassured me, saying she had stayed with me at the hotel because I was too drunk to give them my address. She had to leave for work early in the morning and didn’t want to wake me. But then she dropped a terrifying piece of information. “You cried, screamed, and practically wrestled with Professor Pendelton last night. You even got tears and snot all over his shirt, and you know how much of a neat freak he is.” I blanked out. My graduation felt further away than ever. I groaned: “How did he even end up with us?” Nadia sighed. “He came to pick us up.” “But honestly, I think he realized he drove you to the edge. He kept apologizing and trying to calm you down. You don’t have to worry, I don’t think he’s going to hold it against you.” Still, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. After a quick wash, I stepped out of the room. The moment I opened the door, I saw Kevin standing straight at the end of the hallway. He wore a crisp white shirt, buttoned all the way to the top, and tailored black trousers. He radiated an air of quiet sophistication. But as he looked down at me, his gaze seemed almost hesitant. As if he were afraid of me. Was Nadia right? Was he actually worried he had broken his student? I suppressed a smirk. Good. He deserved to feel a little rattled after being so cold to me. But since he was still my advisor, I couldn’t afford to push my luck. Just as I was about to apologize for the night before, Kevin spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “Iris, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” “Now that you know, are you still going to hold back my graduation?” I interrupted. I didn’t want to hear his polite apologies or excuses. I only cared about one thing. Kevin’s eyes softened, his tone firm. “No.” I let out a breath, though I was still worried. “…But I really can’t seem to get the thesis right.” “I will teach you.” Kevin looked at me with an earnest expression, as if I were the one in charge. In a soft, almost vulnerable tone, he delivered an incredibly firm offer: “Bring your laptop to my place. I’ll go through every detail with you until the draft is perfect.” My eyes widened. If I had known throwing a tantrum was this effective, I would have done it months ago. 9 To prevent him from changing his mind, I wasted no time. I went straight back to my apartment, grabbed my laptop, and headed to his place. Kevin had never asked us to do personal work for him, and none of his students had ever been to his apartment. This was a first. It was a stunning three-hundred-square-meter penthouse overlooking the river. The interior was minimalist, decorated in sleek shades of gray and white, reflecting his expensive taste. In the study, I sat in front of the laptop. Kevin sat right next to me, one arm draped over the back of my chair, the other resting on the desk beside me. The proximity was intense, making it feel as if he were holding me in his arms. I could feel the warmth radiating from him. His breath would occasionally brush against the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. It felt incredibly intimate. But Kevin was usually so strict about boundaries, always keeping his office door wide open when female students visited. He was not the type to cross lines. I forced myself to ignore the strange tension. As we worked on the second chapter, Kevin suggested a break and brought out some fresh lychees. I loved lychees, but I hated peeling them. Without thinking, I murmured: “Peeling them makes my fingers sticky. I won’t be able to type.” “Open your mouth.” “What?” I turned my head. A sweet, peeled lychee was pressed gently against my lips. As I bit into the fruit, a drop of juice ran down my lip and onto Kevin’s finger. Kevin’s throat moved. He pulled his hand back. Instead of grabbing a napkin, he raised his hand and licked the juice off his finger. What on earth? Wasn’t he supposed to be a neat freak? He just licked something that had my saliva on it. Kevin smiled, his eyes warm as he looked at me. “Very sweet. I’ve peeled them all for you. Keep working, and I’ll feed you.” Feed me? Sitting in my advisor’s luxury penthouse, having him guide me through my thesis step-by-step while hand-feeding me fruit. This was ridiculous, and I wanted to laugh. But I managed to keep a straight face. After all, I still had a long way to go before graduation, and he could easily make my life difficult later. I spat the seed into the trash. “Thank you, Professor, but actually, I absolutely hate lychees.” Kevin froze, his lips twitching slightly. “…You really… hate them?” His voice was so low I could barely hear it. I wanted to make sure I heard him correctly. I leaned closer. “What did you say?” Kevin pressed his lips together, a look of quiet disappointment in his eyes. “I said, since you don’t like lychees, I’ll go wash some other fruit for you.” 10 Kevin hurried out of the study, his steps almost unsteady. I felt like he was acting incredibly strange. Moreover, he hadn’t messaged me on the app all day. I opened our chat. He had sent a flurry of messages the night before, ending with a missed video call at 11:20 PM. But today, nothing. The needy puppy was suddenly quiet. I typed: [What are you doing?] Kevin replied instantly: [Thinking about you.] The usual sweet talk. Me: [Thinking about me? Then why haven’t you messaged me all day?] Maybe he was busy, or maybe he was trying to figure out how to explain his absence, because he didn’t reply right away. Feeling a bit bored, I looked up and saw Kevin standing at the study door, staring straight at me. The confusion in his eyes had cleared, replaced by a soft smile. The trauma of being scolded for using my phone during meetings was still fresh. I forced a polite smile. “You told me to take a break, so I was just checking my phone.” “Go ahead. I’m taking a break too.” Kevin walked in, setting a fruit platter next to me before sitting in the chair across the desk. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Kevin. [A little kid is throwing a tantrum and refusing to work on her assignments, so I’ve been helping her rewrite them. That’s why I couldn’t text you.] Kid? He was the kid. I looked up, only to find him staring at me with an intense gaze while typing blindly on his screen. I quickly looked down as another message arrived. Kevin: [I love you.] My heart skipped a beat. Picturing those words coming from Kevin’s ridiculously handsome face made my cheeks burn. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. Did he know? Had my cover been blown? Probably not. He said things like that online all the time. But the way he was looking at me made me incredibly nervous. I wanted to leave. I took a deep breath. “Professor, can we get back to the thesis? I’d love to finish it today.” Kevin’s gaze lingered on me, his tone relaxed. “We won’t finish today.” “Why?” “I have other students’ work to review. They’re all waiting on me. Do you expect me to ignore everyone else just to focus on you?” I choked on my words. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought…” “Don’t worry, I won’t hold you back. Just follow my lead. I need to take care of some things first.” Without waiting for my reply, Kevin left the study. What would have taken a single day was being dragged out on purpose. I bit my lip. Still, it was better than failing.

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