Category: English

The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken. Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind. He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use. I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears. “Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.” Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger. “Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred. “So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.” She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap. I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face. “You’re disgusting, Joey.” 1 The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek. His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side. After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.” I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps. Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor. The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side. “Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room. A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet. It wasn’t a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time. The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda. After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet. “These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father. He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.” A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.” That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face. “My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?” For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears. “Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me. For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice. “A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?” We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him. “I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left. Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground. With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy. Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me. I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left. 2 A heavy rain began to fall as I arrived at the house my mother had left me. It was supposed to be my wedding gift, the home where Joey and I would start our lives. Only the two of us knew the passcode. I stood in the downpour, trying every combination I could think of, my fingers numb and clumsy. Finally, on a whim, I typed in Ailsa’s birthday. The door clicked open. The entryway was cluttered with Ailsa’s designer shoes. On the main wall, a large wedding portrait of her and Joey had replaced the landscape painting that used to hang there. My mother’s photograph was tucked away in a dusty corner, forgotten. Ailsa was lounging on the sofa, a smug look on her face, while Joey knelt before her, gently massaging her feet. The sight of me turned them to stone. Joey froze, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt. I didn’t even look at him. My voice was a shard of glass. “Get out.” Ailsa’s disbelief quickly curdled into a malicious grin. “This is my house now. You’re the one who needs to get lost. Guards! Drag her out of here!” As two burly men moved toward me, Joey shot to his feet. He kicked them both to the ground, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His gaze softened as he turned back to me, and he reached out to cup my face. I flinched away as if his touch were acid. “I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Don’t you understand English?” A shadow passed over his features. “Ailsa loves this house, Elara,” he said, his tone pleading. “I have other properties. You can have any of them. Just… let her have this one, please?” My stare was glacial. “Hit-and-run. Unlawful occupation of private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you both thrown in jail.” Ailsa laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know that Joey already—” “—Take Miss Gabriel back to the main estate,” Joey cut her off, his voice sharp. Ailsa’s face fell. As she was escorted out, she deliberately knocked over my mother’s portrait, the frame shattering on the floor. “Oops,” she said with a vicious smile. “Slippery hands.” The glass splintered, and a gust of wind from the open door caught the photograph, sending it tumbling into a pile of trash by the curb. Joey sighed, a familiar weariness in his voice. He didn’t even notice the note of indulgence as he made excuses for her. “She’s young, she’s used to getting her way. Don’t mind her.” I ignored him, bolting out the door and into the rain. I fell to my knees beside the garbage heap, desperately clawing through the filth, all dignity forgotten. Joey saw me, my hands covered in grime, clutching the torn, wet pieces of the photograph like they were priceless treasures. A strange ache bloomed in his chest. He pulled me up from the mud, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re Elara Gabriel. What do you think you look like right now?” I slapped him again. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Joey,” I sneered. The look in my eyes seemed to shatter him. “Elara, I can explain everything,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to marry her.” But his words were cut short by one of his men running up to him, breathless. “Sir, it’s Miss Ailsa! She’s street racing again. We couldn’t stop her!” Joey’s mouth snapped shut. He looked at me, his face a canvas of regret, and uttered a single phrase: “Wait for me.” Then he turned and ran, leaving me standing alone in the storm. The old Joey would have run to me, no matter what. The new Joey only ever showed me his back. A bitter smile twisted my lips as the rain washed over my face, mingling with tears I couldn’t stop. Joey, I’m done waiting for you. 3 News of my miraculous recovery slowly trickled through our social circle, but the lack of an official announcement fueled rampant speculation. Unable to stand the gossip, my father insisted on throwing a party to celebrate my return. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve my belongings from the family home, so I agreed. At the party, Ailsa was the center of attention, preening in a designer gown as sycophants flocked around her. She caught my eye from across the room and raised her glass in a mocking toast. “You’re so pathetic, Elara,” she whispered as I passed by, her voice laced with venom. “Did you really think this party was for you? It’s my engagement party with Joey.” I clutched the documents in my bag, ignoring her. Her perfect face twisted in a snarl. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path and tilting her neck to reveal a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises. “Don’t run off just yet. I wanted to thank you. Joey was so angry last night… he didn’t stop until dawn.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “I bet you didn’t know this, but during the first week you were in that coma, Joey and I tried out every inch of your wedding bed. Have you ever seen him when he’s rough, when he just takes what he wants?” Her eyes were filled with contempt. “You’re just as useless as your mother. I hit you with my car three years ago, and no one lifted a finger to help you. I could still crush you today without a second thought.” “So tell me,” she purred, a strange smile playing on her lips, “who do you think he really cares about? You, or me?” With that, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. “Elara, I already apologized! Why would you push me?” she shrieked, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at me with a look of pure betrayal. A crowd gathered instantly, their whispers and pointed fingers a fresh wave of assault. Joey pushed through them, his face a mask of concern as he rushed to Ailsa’s side and helped her up. The movement jostled me, and I stumbled back, the sharp corner of a marble pillar digging into my spine. The pain was blinding. I didn’t say a word. In front of everyone, I walked over to Ailsa and slapped her, hard. “How old are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this pathetic little act the best you can do?” “Elara!” Joey’s shocked voice and Ailsa’s shriek of outrage echoed through the room. “The security cameras are right there,” I said, my gaze locked on Ailsa. “I dare you to let them play the footage. Do you?” I turned back to her. “You deserved that slap for your filthy mouth. We can settle all our scores, old and new. Why don’t you repeat those threats you just made to the police?” I pulled out my phone to dial 911. Joey knocked it from my hand. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “That’s enough! Calm down,” he commanded. He stood there in silence for a moment before scooping Ailsa into his arms and carrying her away. The room erupted. Voices, sharp and pitying, sliced through the air. “Even if Ailsa’s a terrible actress and rotten to the core, she has him wrapped around her finger.” “Didn’t you hear? Mr. Sterling personally erased the records of the accident three years ago. No one even dares to mention it.” “It’s all part of their twisted game. The imprisonment, the drama… it’s just their version of foreplay. The great Elara Gabriel is nothing but a pawn.” My cold stare swept across the crowd, and they fell silent. A hot surge rose in my throat, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I stumbled away from the scene, my legs barely holding me. Once I was out of sight, the strength I’d been faking deserted me. My whole body seized with pain, a fire tearing through my organs. I could barely stand. In a daze, I wiped away the blood streaming from my nose and mouth, but it just kept coming, a relentless tide telling me my life was about to end, right here, right now. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me enough to pull out my phone again. My voice was steady. “Yes,” I said to the person on the other end. “I have the evidence.”

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In my wildest years, I was reckless and wild. I made the mistake of sleeping with mob boss Rocco Kane—never expecting his obsession would grow so dark. When I became pregnant, he locked me away. I overheard him say: “Once the baby is born, she’s useless. With an heir, we can take the Ashworth empire.” Fury consumed me. That night, I stabbed him in the eye. Enraged, he broke my legs repeatedly to prevent my escape, yet kept doctors close to protect the baby. So I cut open my own pregnant belly. “You’re asking to die,” he snarled, carrying me out. I smiled, twisting the knife toward his other eye. “No. We die together.” Rocco wrenched my arm with brutal force. The knife missed his eye, plunging deep into his left shoulder instead. Blood bloomed across his crisp white shirt, spilling onto the floor in a growing crimson pool. “Nora, are you fucking insane?” he roared, his free hand clamping around my throat like a vice. The ruined socket of his blinded eye was a terrifying void. I stared back at him, gasping for air, but a cold smile touched my lips. “I’ve always been a psycho. Is this the first you’re hearing of it?” Panic for the baby must have finally broken through his rage, because he let go. He threw me to the floor. My legs, already broken and reset so many times, were useless. I struggled to push myself up, a pathetic, futile gesture. Still, I wasn’t afraid to spit venom. “Rocco, I will never, ever give birth to this child.” “Get her!” Rocco cursed, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he barked orders at his bodyguards. “The baby in her belly cannot be harmed. If anything happens to it, you’ll all be eating lead!” As his men dragged me away, Rocco shot me a chilling smile. “Nora,” he purred, his hand, impossibly gentle, caressing my face. “Remember this. As long as I’m here, you won’t die. And there is only one future for that baby in your womb—” He leaned in closer. “It will be born.” I was thrown back into my gilded cage. The sprawling villa was decorated like a princess’s fairytale, all pinks and golds. A cruel joke, considering I was a prisoner who couldn’t even move. Several private doctors tended to the gash on my stomach, bandaging it with practiced efficiency. “Mr. Kane,” the butler’s voice drifted in from outside my window. “Miss Ashworth’s baby is fine. Just a little shaken, but there are no serious issues.” I could almost feel Rocco’s relief. He doubled my guard, posting ten more men around the villa. Every day, he had the finest food and drink sent to my room. Every sharp object was confiscated; not even a butter knife remained. “Miss Ashworth, the Master has already promised to marry you,” the butler said one day, sighing with a look of genuine confusion. “You only need to deliver the child safely, and you can live a life of luxury. Why are you so determined to throw it all away?” I didn’t answer. I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. “That sham of a wedding? He’s not marrying me. He’s just putting on a show.” The butler tried to reason with me again, but I silenced him with a single glare. Everyone in Rocco’s mansion thought I was a lunatic. They learned to keep their distance, afraid my madness was contagious. After a week confined to my bed, I noticed a new, curious face peeking in through my window. A young girl in a frilly princess dress. “So you’re Nora Ashworth?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in a sneer. “You’re not even that pretty. Do you really think my brother Rocco would look at you if it weren’t for your Ashworth blood?” She tossed her hair back. “And that wedding? Don’t even dream about it. To my brother, you’re nothing but a cheap incubator.” My eyes locked onto her. She was so clean, so delicate. So fragile. My interest was piqued. I’d heard the rumors—that Rocco kept a sweet, innocent young thing hidden away like a treasure. A girl named Clara, his adopted sister. And, more importantly, the one who had saved his life six years ago. A wicked idea began to form. Rocco had destroyed me. What kind of look would cross his face if I killed his precious little Clara? A cruel smile spread across my face. It seemed a new prey had just walked into my trap. I beckoned to her with a single finger. “Come here. I have something for you.” That evening, after having his shoulder patched up, Rocco finally graced me with his presence. “Nora, since you’ve heard the truth, I won’t hide it anymore,” he said, his voice flat. “Be a good girl, have this baby, and I’ll have your legs properly set. I’ll even let you go.” He sneered, tossing a check onto the bed. It was for fifty million dollars. “Consider it payment for your services.” His gaze raked over me, cold and devoid of any emotion. “For a slut like you, that’s enough to keep you in boy toys for a lifetime.” I laughed from my wheelchair. “And if I say no? Rocco, why should I accept your terms? Don’t forget, I’m the one carrying what you want. You should be begging me.” My voice hardened. “I’ll be the one making the demands. You’ll be the one deciding whether to accept.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, turning to leave. But then, I smiled softly. “Rocco, you call yourself a mob boss? You’ve already lost one eye. How can you still be so naive?” He froze, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. “What do you mean?” I clapped my hands lightly and pointed toward a massive construction crane in the distance. “You hid that little girl so well, didn’t you? Terrified one of your enemies would find her.” My smile turned sharp as a razor’s edge. “Rocco, now it’s my turn to offer you a deal.” I held up two fingers. “You have a choice. The baby in my womb…” My gaze flickered toward the crane. “…or your precious little sister.” The color drained from Rocco’s face. He whipped his head around, his eyes following my gesture. Suspended high in the air, dangling from the crane’s hook, was a small figure in a white dress. Her hands and feet were bound, and muffled sobs echoed from the gag in her mouth. “Rocco, help me!” Clara’s terrified cry was faint but clear. “She’s a monster!” A thick vein pulsed on Rocco’s forehead. His eyes, burning with a murderous fury, locked onto mine. “Let her go.” “And if I don’t?” I shot back, a crazed light dancing in my eyes. “Rocco, don’t make me repeat myself. Her, or the baby. Choose.” He just stared at me, his face a mask of conflict. I knew what he was weighing. The child, his heir, the key to the Ashworth empire… against the girl he’d sworn to protect. I knew six months ago that a mob boss’s bed wasn’t an easy place to climb out of. The night I got drunk and tore off his clothes, he was so receptive because he’d already done his homework on me. He wanted the Ashworth fortune, and he wanted an heir to secure it. He laid the trap, and I walked right in. But there was one thing he never knew. I would have a child with any man in the world, but not him. Never him. “Have you made up your mind?” I asked, my voice dripping with impatience. He gritted his teeth, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “Nora… do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?” “I do,” I replied, my eyes lazily lifting to meet his. “You have fifteen seconds to decide. Save Clara, or let me walk away from this.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you hesitate… that rope on the crane is going to be cut…” I made a sharp, downward motion with my hand, my smile widening into a cruel grin. “And then… splat.” “You’ll be scraping your little sister off the pavement.” “I choose… Clara!” Rocco’s eyes squeezed shut in despair as he finally made his choice. A satisfied smile spread across my face. “I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “It’s been eighteen seconds.” “What are you doing?!” His eye flew open, widening in horror just as a sickening snap echoed from the direction of the crane. Clara’s scream tore through the air, cut short by a heavy thud. “What a shame. You were just a second too slow,” I murmured, admiring my fingernails as if nothing had happened. Rocco stumbled, his body swaying. When he finally regained his senses, he sprinted toward the crumpled figure on the ground. Clara lay in a heap, her head bleeding profusely, the pristine white of her dress stained a brilliant, horrifying red. “Doctor! Get the private doctor, now!” Rocco roared, gathering her limp body into his arms with a desperate tenderness. “NORA!” He spun to face me, his gaze pure, undiluted hatred. “You bitch! I made my choice! Why did you still have to hurt her?!” He held Clara tighter. “You leave family out of this! If you hate me, come after me!” Seeing the raw anguish in his eye, the utter devastation, brought a savage pleasure to my heart. “Oh?” I said softly. “Is that what you were thinking three years ago… when you murdered Leo Kane?” The words hung in the air. The blood drained from Rocco’s face, leaving it a waxy, pale canvas. “How… how do you know that name? What are you to my brother?” “If you hadn’t killed him,” I said, my voice cold as the grave, “I’d be your sister-in-law by now.” I lifted my gaze, meeting his shattered one. “Rocco. He died the night before he was going to propose to me.” I’d known for a long time. Rocco had murdered his own twin brother. Leo was supposed to join my family, to leave the criminal world behind. I was so close to wearing his ring. But Rocco took him from me, leaving a void that could never be filled. So I crafted a new persona for myself—the reckless, wild party girl—all to get close to the man who killed my love. Rocco’s eye was bloodshot, his arms still cradling the unconscious Clara. He let out a harsh, grating laugh. “So that’s what it was. I always thought the timing of you falling into my bed was suspicious. This was all for revenge?” He sneered. “Nora, you’re so naive. A failure like Leo could never have run the Kane family. He was weak.” He took a step closer, a twisted smile on his lips. “Besides, we have the same face. And now you’re carrying my child. Why not just marry me? It’s perfect, isn’t it?” The sharp crack of my hand across his face echoed in the silence. He turned his head slowly, a bloody hand coming up to touch his cheek. “No woman has ever hit me before,” he said, his voice like shattering ice. “You’re the first.” He looked up, his good eye burning with cold fire. “Since your hands can’t behave… I’ll have them broken.” He stood, holding Clara, and started to walk away. He paused by the bodyguards who had betrayed him. “These traitors… break them, too.” But the bodyguards didn’t move an inch. They stood like statues, their eyes fixed on me, waiting for my command. Rocco was careless. So utterly arrogant. He assumed these men were his. He assumed this whole world was his to command. “Miss Sinclair,” a man I knew as Mr. Sterling said, stepping forward respectfully. “That boy has caused you enough trouble. Shall we show him a fraction of our power, so he understands his place?” I was calmly trimming a bonsai tree. “Not yet.” I smiled to myself. “Rocco… the show is just getting started.” Everything he took from Leo three years ago… I would make him give it all back, piece by painful piece. “The child,” I said, my voice flat. “Get rid of it.” Just before they wheeled me into the operating room, Mr. Sterling hesitated. “Miss Sinclair, are you certain? If he finds out the child is gone, he might do something… drastic.” My smile deepened. “Are you afraid of him?” I looked at him, my voice steady. “Mr. Sterling, with the power of the Sinclair family, ten men like Rocco Kane would be nothing.” My gaze drifted to a photograph of Leo on the nightstand. “If he didn’t have Leo’s face,” I whispered, “he wouldn’t still be breathing.” “Yes, miss.” Mr. Sterling said no more and signaled for the surgery to begin. When I opened my eyes again, a heart-wrenching roar echoed from outside my room. “Nora! How could you?” “Without my permission, how dare you get rid of my child?!” Rocco’s screams were a grating annoyance. The procedure had left me feeling lighter, my face pale and drawn, but I still managed a weak smile for him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be at your precious Clara’s bedside?” I taunted. “I guess her injuries weren’t that serious if you still have time to stand here and shriek at me.” Rocco looked like he was about to explode. He had believed I was helpless here, a lamb for the slaughter. “Nora, why are these men listening to you?” he demanded, his eyes darting between me and the guards. “Who the hell are you?” I idly twisted the simple band on my ring finger. “You’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze fell to the ring, and he stiffened. “Is that… the ring Leo was going to give you?” “No. And yes.” Leo had died before he could place the real ring on my finger. So I had an exact replica made. A symbol of a promise I had accepted in my heart. “What do you have against Clara?” he pressed, his voice strained. “Even if you hate me, you should have come after me. She’s just my sister! It wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying you!” He took a shaky breath. “And… you agreed to marry me, didn’t you? I have the same face as Leo. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?” I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, a face I had once loved more than life itself. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s identical.” My voice was soft, almost longing. “If it weren’t for your harsh voice, I could almost believe you were him.” But I knew. My Leo would never have treated me this way. He was pure, he would never have become a monster. He would never have kept a fragile white flower like Clara locked away. And he would never have left my bed in the middle of the night, only to sneak into Clara’s room, his breath catching as he watched her sleep, his desire a palpable thing in the dark. He would never have a cold, dead void where one of his eyes should be.

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The richest man in the country wanted me. Not for himself, but for his son. He wanted me to be his wife. My job? To whip his spoiled, playboy, trust-fund-baby of a son into shape. He asked if I was up to the challenge. Are you kidding me? From this day forward, if that brat so much as looks at another girl, I’m breaking his legs. 1 I was at a dive bar with my best friend, demolishing a plate of BBQ wings. She was scrolling through her phone, making little “tsk-tsk” sounds. “Look at this,” she said, shoving the screen in my face. “The nation’s golden boy has a new girlfriend. Again.” I glanced at the screen. It was an article about David Brown, son of the wealthiest man in the country. The accompanying photo showed a guy more handsome than any movie star, with an air of effortless privilege that screamed “old money.” Too bad the guy was a complete train wreck. He went through a dozen girlfriends a month. With his looks and money, women lined up. He never said no, and when he inevitably broke up with them, he’d pay them off with a hefty “severance package.” “So what?” I said, downing another beer. The room was starting to spin. My friend nudged me, raising an eyebrow. “What would you do if he were your husband?” “What would I do?” That question sobered me up real quick. “If I were married to that moron?” I slammed my glass on the table. “If he even thought about another woman, I’d break both his legs!” “And don’t get me started on his ‘investments’!” I continued, getting louder. “He buys a stock, it tanks. He touches a company, it goes bankrupt. If he were my husband, I’d lock him in a closet. He wants to go out and burn through my money? I’d kill him!” “And look at those dark circles under his eyes! How many kidneys does he think he has to burn through at this rate?” Halfway through my rant, my friend’s eyes went wide with terror. She stared at something behind me, blinking frantically. I let out a boozy burp. “You got a twitch?” “And his dad! His dad’s an idiot too! He’s got one son, and he’s letting him run wild like this? What a mess!” “If I were his mom, I’d give him a good smack upside the head, then hurry up and have another kid. Start over with a new character!” I was getting worked up, losing control of my volume. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. “I think you have some excellent points,” a calm voice said. “Would you be willing to manage him for me?” Who? I squinted and turned around. Crash. The beer bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Standing behind me was a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt. His gaze was sharp, his posture impeccable, and he looked incredibly familiar. Harrison… Harrison Brown? The richest man in the country? Can someone please tell me why the richest man in the country is eating at a dive bar on a Tuesday night? My friend covered her face and made a swift exit. “Don’t be alarmed,” Harrison Brown said, his expression serious. “I meant what I said. I think you’re right. Would you be willing to be his…” My eyes lit up. “His mom?” Harrison’s face darkened. “His wife.” 2 Harrison Brown brought me to the legendary Crestwood estate. I’d never seen a mansion this big in my life. The marble floors probably cost more per square foot than my entire apartment. I sat on a plush sofa while Harrison sat across from me. A few minutes later, the front door opened. A man in a black Gucci t-shirt walked in, holding a leash. David Brown. Harrison’s son. He froze when he saw us. “Dad? What are you doing here?” “What is this?” Harrison asked, his face grim as he pointed at the leash. “It’s my dog. You’ve seen him before… wait, holy crap, where’s my dog?” David panicked, yanking on the empty leash and looking around wildly. I just stared. A moment later, a husky trotted in nonchalantly. David dropped the leash and pointed a shaky finger at me, his face turning sour. “Are you really bringing your new girlfriend here? In front of me?” Harrison’s expression grew even darker. “My wife is still very much alive.” “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, feeling like I should probably say something. I chose my words carefully. “David, is it? Come here, kneel down. Mom has something to tell you.” David’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What is the meaning of this?!” he snarled, turning to his father. Harrison was unfazed. “Get acquainted. This is the wife I’ve found for you. From now on, you will listen to her.” David was speechless. “Her?!” He looked me up and down with disgust. “She looks like she crawled out of a sewer. And you want me to listen to her? You must be dreaming.” Harrison ignored him and handed me a bank card. “This is for you. From now on, all of his allowances will be deposited into this account.” “What do you mean?” David sputtered. Harrison narrowed his eyes at his son. “From now on, all of your money is in your wife’s hands. That includes your cars and properties. They’ve already been transferred to her name. Understood?” “On what grounds?!” David roared. “Even my money is managed by your mother. You think you get a choice?” Harrison’s voice was like ice. “Now, shut up before I decide to slap some sense into you.” I held the heavy, black card in my hands, a giddy smile on my face. So this is what wealth feels like. “From now on, this waste of space is your responsibility,” Harrison said to me. “Keep him in line. The money is yours to spend as you see fit.” With that, he turned and left, ignoring David’s furious protests. Just before the door closed, he gave me a final nod. “Don’t hold back. Hit him if you need to. You were right.” “If you accidentally kill him, I’ll just start over with a new one. I’ve still got time.” Slam! The door shut. Me: … David: … There’s some fatherly love here, but not much. 3 What does it feel like to become a millionaire overnight? I was clutching the black card, too excited to sleep, so I texted my best friend. Me: I’m rich. Her reply was instantaneous. BFF: Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped. Me: … Even if I had been kidnapped, you wouldn’t be able to see me blink. After I explained the whole story, she sent back a single number: 6. BFF: I almost feel sorry for David Brown. You, in charge of him? Tsk tsk. He’s about to experience all the childhood discipline he ever missed. I scoffed. I can be gentle. “Hey, you!” An annoyed voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around. Whoa. David stood there, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his eight-pack abs glistening. He offered a sly smile. “Well, what do you think, gorgeous?” “Nice,” I said honestly, then added, “My name is Hannah.” He really was ridiculously handsome. “Hannah…” David moved closer, the scent of citrusy body wash filling the air. He leaned in, his face just inches from mine. Oh no. I think I’m about to get a nosebleed. “So… can I have my money back?” His words were a splash of ice water. I hugged the card to my chest and spat out a single word. “No.” He was handsome, sure. But he wasn’t “a limitless black card” handsome. Trying to seduce me? He picked the wrong woman. I’ve spent ten years gutting fish at the city market. My heart is colder than a walk-in freezer. Unless you’re offering cash. David’s face instantly darkened. “Don’t push your luck. That’s my money!” “No.” Still the same word. “Fuck!” he cursed, his face flushing with anger. “If you were a man, I’d punch you!” I tilted my chin up proudly. “If I were a man, I couldn’t be your wife, could I?” “Get out.” Now it was his turn to say it. 4 The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes. I’d been too excited to sleep. There was a knock on the door. I yawned and opened it to find a man in a black suit. “Ms. Reed? I am Mr. Brown’s assistant, Mr. Davies.” “These are Master David’s car and house keys. Mr. Brown asked me to deliver them to you.” Before I could process what was happening, Mr. Davies handed me a heavy, custom-made tote bag from a private bank. It was filled to the brim with keys of every shape and size. I nearly dropped it. His task completed, Mr. Davies gave a curt nod and left. Carrying the heavy bag, I took the elevator down to the underground garage. I hit the light switch by the door. One by one, rows of lights flickered on, illuminating the space. The bag of keys slipped from my fingers and hit the concrete with a loud jangle. Before me was a garage the size of an amusement park, filled with an endless sea of luxury cars. There were no Mercedes or BMWs here. The lowest tier was a Porsche 911. Further in, I saw Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, McLarens, Maseratis… you name it, he had it. I fell to my knees. So this was the fortune of a billionaire’s son. My apologies for my earlier disrespect, Master David. … After hauling the keys upstairs and locking them securely in my room, I made myself some breakfast. A little while later, David stumbled down, rubbing his eyes. The moment he saw me, his face soured. “Why the hell are you still here?” I just smiled and dangled the key to the Crestwood estate. “Sorry, this is my house now.” “Fuck!” He cursed, grabbing his jacket from the sofa. “Fine! You stay here, I’m leaving!” “Where are you going?” I stepped in front of him. “I’m your wife, remember? You have to tell me where you’re going.” “I’m going to the Dynasty Club, and you’re not following me!” he snapped, pushing past me. He stormed out the door, then stopped, patting his pockets. An enraged roar echoed back into the house. “Where the FUCK are my keys?!” Right here with me. I chuckled. David shot me a look that could kill before stomping off. I went back to my room, grabbed a random key, and headed down to the garage. I picked a sleek McLaren and sped off towards the Dynasty Club. Alright, pretty boy. Let’s see if I can’t knock you back into line today. 5 Before heading to the club, I made a detour to the city’s most exclusive shopping district. I bought myself a new outfit from head to toe. Looking in the mirror, I had to admit, I cleaned up pretty well. Dressed like this, I could almost pass for the heiress of some great fortune. Hey, all of David’s assets were mine to command now, right? By the time I arrived at the Dynasty Club, over an hour had passed. I figured David was probably well into his party by now. Time for my grand entrance. “Good evening, miss. Who are you here to see?” a hostess asked, rushing to greet me. I gave her a warm smile. “I’m looking for David Brown. Could you take me to him?” “Of course. Right this way.” She led me to the top floor, to a private suite at the end of the hall: 1603. As I approached the door, I could already hear David’s voice. “I swear, my dad has lost his mind. He found some trashy hick off the street and wants me to marry her. It’s driving me crazy.” “And he gave her all my money! All of it! Is he senile? He’s barely even met her!” So much filial piety. Another voice, a woman’s, cooed, “Oh, David, don’t be angry.” “Your father was probably just tricked by that woman. Don’t worry, we’re all on your side.” David sighed. “You’re the only one who understands me, Tiffany.” Understand this. I’d had enough. I kicked the door open and stormed in. The chatter in the room died instantly. David was sitting on the sofa directly across from the door, a delicate-looking girl practically draped over him. Four or five of his cronies were scattered around the room. “What are you doing here?” David asked, a flicker of shock in his eyes before it was replaced with his usual disdain. “David, who is this?” the girl, Tiffany, asked, tightening her grip on his arm. “She looks so… aggressive.” I smiled. What a perfectly brewed pot of green tea. “I’m his mother,” I said. And before anyone could react, I walked over, grabbed the fruit platter from the table, and slammed it upside down on David’s head. He was stunned, staring at me with a mixture of fruit salad and fury. “What the hell—” He didn’t get to finish. I stepped onto the coffee table, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the sofa. Then, I executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. THUD! David hit the floor, hard. I started training in taekwondo, kickboxing, and Muay Thai when I was ten. I was the national champion for fourteen years straight. Taking down a pampered pretty boy who spent his days chasing skirts? Child’s play. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock. 6 The little green tea, Tiffany, was especially terrified. She swallowed hard, trembling. “Ah… fuck!” David groaned, trying to push himself up. I promptly sat down on his back, pinning him to the floor. He was stuck, propped up on his elbows, unable to move. I calmly lit a cigarette and smiled sweetly at the room. “Hello, everyone. I’m David’s wife, Hannah.” “My apologies for the poor upbringing. Please forgive the embarrassing display.” His friends stammered, exchanging nervous glances, their earlier bravado completely gone. “Uh… Mrs. Brown… you’re… quite something.” “Yeah, definitely…” I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette, and turned my gaze to the trembling Tiffany. She flinched under my stare. “Sweetheart,” I began, my voice dangerously soft. “I’m his wife. I assume you know that?” “I… I know…” she squeaked, shrinking back. “You know, and you’re still draped all over him like a cheap scarf?! Do you think I’m a vegetarian?!” My sudden roar made her burst into tears. I shook my head. Tsk. This generation of home-wreckers is so fragile. “I’ll let it slide this time,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. I stood up, and David collapsed face-first onto the carpet. “But if I ever see you near him again, I’ll break your legs.” Tiffany nodded frantically, sobbing. “Get up. We’re leaving.” I hauled David to his feet and offered a final, apologetic smile to his friends. “Sorry to cut the night short. We’ll have to do this again sometime.” David croaked, “Help me!” His friends all stood ramrod straight, their faces grim. “Goodbye, Mrs. Brown!” “Come back anytime, Mrs. Brown!” No one paid any attention to David’s plea for help. Who would dare? I’d take them all on. “You’re all useless!” David roared in frustration. I backhanded him across the face. “Shut up.” 7 I drove David straight back to the mansion. In the living room, I leaned back on the sofa. David was squatting in the corner. “Did you have fun today?” I asked with a smile. “No… no, not at all!” David grimaced. I sighed and patted his shoulder. He flinched. “Look, David, we’re technically a married couple now… or at least in a relationship, right?” “There are some things I’d really rather not get physical about.” “You can probably tell that I’m a very gentle person. It takes a lot to make me angry enough to hit someone, don’t you agree?” David looked at me with a pained, conflicted expression and nodded. I smiled, satisfied. “See? You have me now, but you still went out looking for other girls. Don’t you think you deserved that?” Even though our relationship was a transaction, I still had a job to do. And I don’t tolerate cheating. As long as we were together, if he dared to look at another woman, I’d break his legs. It was the only way men like him learned. David opened his mouth to protest, but I narrowed my eyes, and he immediately started nodding vigorously. “Good. So you agree you deserved it. What happens next time, if you go looking for other girls again?” I was getting into his head. David looked confused for a moment. “…You’ll hit me again?” “Exactly.” I patted his head consolingly. Hey, his hair was surprisingly soft, like petting a dog. “So learn your lesson, okay? Don’t do it again.” “Any time you’re with another girl, it’s going to hurt my feelings, understand?” David nodded. I grinned. This brat. Not only was he physically weak, but his brain wasn’t much better. No wonder he lost money on every business venture. “Excellent. Now, sign this.” I pulled a document out of my purse and handed it to him. He stared at it, bewildered. “What’s this?” “The rules of engagement.” I crossed my legs. “From now on, if you break a single rule on this list, you lose all your allowance for the month, plus you get a beating.” David shot to his feet, his earlier submissiveness gone. He glared at me. “Hannah! This is exploitation! Are you some kind of slave driver?!” “I swear, today I’m breaking my rule about not hitting women! I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!” “Heh.” I scoffed. “You and what army, pretty boy?” “Fuck!” David’s face turned red. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me. 8 I sent him flying with a single kick. He landed several feet away. “Fuck!” David clutched his stomach, sprawled on the floor. “You… you really hit me?!” “What did you expect?” I retorted. “You were coming right at me. I’m a delicate flower, you know. I get scared easily.” “You call that delicate?!” David scrambled up and lifted his shirt. A nasty purple bruise was already forming on his perfect abs. Oops. That was from my foot. Well, it was self-defense. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “It’s not my fault you wanted to start something.” David gritted his teeth. “Can I ask what you do for a living?!” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m your wife. I’ll probably be a housewife after we’re married,” I said innocently. He just kept glaring, so I waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. I’m a martial arts coach. For the national team.” “Right.” David just stared at me, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “My dad is a goddamn genius for finding you to manage me.” I tried to be modest. “I do my best.” … Later that night, David was lying on his bed after a shower, waiting for me to put some ointment on his bruise. Every time I rubbed it in, he yelped. “Can you please shut up?” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been beaten up twice by you today! I think I’m allowed to make some noise!” he whined. Fine, fine. I glanced at him. He really did have a great body. Great face, too. Body, check. Looks, check. Brains… well, he had great looks. Aside from being a bit of an idiot, he was basically perfect. “A girl like you will never get married,” he grumbled after I finished. “You’re a monster. A she-devil.” “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly. “I’ll do my best to marry you.” “Get out!” he yelped, horrified.

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My husband Mark and I have a blended family with my daughter Lily and his daughter Daisy. Just before school began, my stepdaughter’s interview “The Pain of a Broken Home” went viral. When Daisy moved in, I tried to make her feel welcome—moving Lily’s desk to the living room so Daisy could use the larger one in the spare room, buying her two sets of school supplies in her favorite colors like Lily’s, and ignoring my daughter’s complaints. A week before school, a news crew filmed a “Youth Development” piece. Daisy eagerly joined. On camera, she said tearfully, “I have to study in the spare room because my stepmom says the living room is for my sister. She gets new supplies—I’m told mine are fine.” When it aired, #EvilStepmother exploded. We were doxxed; strangers gathered outside shouting insults. Lily was bullied at school. Once, while picking up Daisy, a crowd shoved me down the stairs. Hurt, I heard Daisy whisper, “Sorry, Sophie… they were defending me.” I opened my eyes and was back to when Mark dropped Daisy’s suitcase in the entryway. He was usually meticulous, but neglectful with his own daughter. As Daisy bent to change shoes, I saw the calculating look in her eyes and smiled slowly. So this was the “pain of a broken home” you meant? Fine. This time, I’ll let you learn what it truly feels like to suffocate. 1 In the entryway, my husband Mark tossed Daisy’s suitcase on the floor and turned to me with a warm smile. “I passed by the market and picked up some grapes, your favorite. Where’s Lily? Tell her to come have some.” Daisy stood frozen by the door, clutching the hem of her shirt, her small frame curled in on itself. In my last life, that pitiful act was all it took to fool me. She was just a child, I’d thought. Her parents’ divorce was hard enough; she shouldn’t have to bear the weight of adult resentments. So I had rushed over, setting her suitcase upright and carrying it inside for her. Worried she’d feel uncomfortable being around us all the time, I moved Lily’s desk out of the spare room and into the living room, giving Daisy the bigger, better space. Even when Lily pouted that I was playing favorites, I had just smiled and soothed her, “Her sister just got here, sweetie. We have to take good care of her.” I bought two sets of stationery in Daisy’s favorite lavender. I gave her Lily’s nightlight. I woke up early to make her a special lunch for school. Mark had even teased me, “You care more about Daisy than you do your own daughter.” And what did I get for it? In that interview, she’d looked into the camera with red-rimmed eyes and lied. “Every day after school, I have to hide in a tiny corner of the spare room to do my homework. My stepmom always says the living room is my sister’s special place, and that I’d be rude to go in there.” “And the school supplies… she tells me to make do with my old things, but my sister gets to go to school with brand new stuff. And then she accuses me of being jealous and trying to compete with her.” “All I want is a few new pens and a decent place to study. Is that really too much to ask? I just don’t understand why she treats me so differently.” The trending hashtag, #ThePainOfABrokenHome, had crushed me. Strangers at my door, my daughter ostracized at school. I was pushed down a flight of stairs and left to die, and Daisy never showed a shred of remorse. A chill ran down my spine. I looked at Daisy now, but the familiar pang of pity in my heart was gone. Mark brought out the grapes and called for the girls. Lily came bouncing out and asked, “Isn’t my sister having any?” Daisy looked up at me, her eyes pleading, expecting me to pull her over like I always did. I didn’t move. Mark peeled a grape and fed it to me. Lily pointed at the fallen suitcase. “Daddy, Daisy’s suitcase fell over.” “She can pick it up herself. She’s old enough to handle something that simple, isn’t she?” Mark went back to peeling grapes for me, completely ignoring Daisy’s humiliation. In my past life, I always tried to make up for Mark’s coldness toward her, thinking of us as a team. In the end, I, the one with no blood ties to her, became the one who owed her everything. Daisy’s shoulders slumped, her eyes turning red. I finally spoke, my voice flat. “Listen to your father. He’s just trying to teach you to be responsible.” Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mark paused, then chuckled and ruffled my hair. “See? You get me. She needs to learn to do things for herself.” I watched Daisy struggle to right the heavy suitcase, her knuckles white. This time, I wouldn’t pay for her sob story. My only job was to protect myself and Lily. “Daddy, more grapes, please,” Lily chirped, pulling me back to the present. I took a grape from Mark and gave it to her, the warmth returning to my eyes. 2 Daisy finally got the suitcase up, her fingers leaving red marks on the handle. She probably never expected me, the always-smiling stepmom, to watch her struggle, and she certainly never expected her own father to tell her to do it herself. I ignored her, leading Lily into the living room and deliberately raising my voice. “Lily, we’re going shopping for school supplies tomorrow. What color do you want? Pink or blue? Mommy will get you the newest imported binders.” Lily’s eyes lit up. “Pink! And I want the highlighters with the little strawberries on them!” “You got it,” I said, smiling as I stroked her hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daisy’s shoulders slump even further. She was still frozen in the entryway. Last time, I had specifically asked for her favorite color and bought two lavender sets of everything, right down to the matching pencil cases. And in return, she told her friends, “My stepmom only buys the good stuff for her real daughter. I just get the leftovers.” This time, I wasn’t going to waste my energy on such a thankless task. If she wanted something, I wasn’t the person she should be asking. Mark finished his grapes and wiped his hands, finally remembering his daughter. “Daisy, your room is the guest room. Go get yourself unpacked. Oh, and about your school supplies—have your mother get them for you. I’ve been so busy lately, I forgot to ask her about it.” The words were like a needle, and Daisy’s head shot up. Her mother had moved out of state after the divorce and hadn’t called once, let alone sent money for child support. Mark knew this perfectly well, but he deliberately pushed the responsibility onto her. I pretended not to notice her discomfort and added, “That’s right. Your mother dotes on you. I’m sure she’ll get you the very best.” Daisy’s lips parted as if to say something, but she swallowed the words. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and slowly trudged to the guest room, closing the door so softly it was almost silent. But I heard it. It wasn’t the sound of sorrow. It was the sound of simmering resentment. The next afternoon, Lily and I returned from the stationery store. As we walked in, we saw Daisy sitting on the sofa, clutching a worn-out pencil case, her eyes red and puffy. Mark sat beside her, looking annoyed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, placing Lily’s new pencil case on the coffee table. The pink strawberry pattern was bright and cheerful. Mark didn’t answer, but Daisy spoke up, her voice thick with tears. “Sophie… my mom said… she said she doesn’t have any money right now and told me to just use my old supplies from last year. But they’re almost all used up, and I need to take notes for my classes…” She looked at me as she spoke, that familiar, pleading look in her eyes. This time, I said nothing. Mark cut her off with a frown. “What’s wrong with old supplies? When I was in school, I wrote on the back of the page when the front was full. When a pen ran out of ink, I just replaced the cartridge. It didn’t stop me from getting into college.” Daisy stared at him, stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected her own father to say something like that. Her mouth opened, tears trembling on her lashes. “But Dad… the teachers specifically said we need new notebooks for the new semester…” “The teachers can say whatever they want. You know our financial situation, don’t you?” Mark’s tone grew colder. “If your mother says she doesn’t have the money, then you’ll have to make do. She’s already skipping out on child support; the least she can do is buy you some damn school supplies.” At his words, the color drained from Daisy’s face. Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her anymore; of course she wouldn’t send money for notebooks. But Daisy couldn’t say that out loud. Admitting it would be admitting she’d been abandoned. She gripped the old pencil case tighter, tears shimmering in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Lily looked from Daisy to me and whispered, “Mommy, I have two highlighters. Should I give one to my sister?” I squeezed Lily’s cheek and shook my head with a smile. “Mommy bought your school supplies with her own money, not from the family savings. If your sister wants new things, she can either ask your dad to buy them, or she can ask her mom for the money.” Daisy shot up from the sofa, grabbed her old pencil case, and stormed into the guest room, slamming the door behind her. I stared at the closed door, my expression calm. She always talked about the pain of a broken home, but I was never the source of that pain. It was her mother who abandoned her and her father who pretended not to notice. Why should I rush in to take the blame, only to be branded an evil stepmother without so much as a thank you? 3 Three days before the start of school, there was a parent-teacher conference. Mark claimed he had a work emergency and asked me to go. I agreed, but not before calling the teacher and explaining that Mark was primarily responsible for Daisy’s education, and that he should be the first point of contact for any issues. When I arrived at the classroom and sat in Lily’s seat, I overheard two parents whispering nearby. “See her? That’s Daisy’s stepmom. I heard her parents are divorced and she lives with her dad now.” “Yeah, I saw her dad bring her shopping the other day. I’ve never seen her mom around.” I said nothing. I knew the truth. No matter how much good I did, in their eyes, I would always be the villain. And her actual parents, the ones who neglected her, could hide in the shadows, completely blameless. Halfway through the meeting, the teacher made an announcement. “After the semester begins, the school is organizing a trip to visit some elite universities on the East Coast. The students will get to tour the campuses and attend lectures by top professors. It’s an incredible opportunity for their academic growth. The fee is five thousand dollars per student, and we need confirmation and payment today. Spots are limited, so please decide quickly.” After the conference, I was walking out of the classroom when Daisy ran up and blocked my path. “Sophie,” she began, her head bowed. “The fee for the trip… My mom said she doesn’t have the money and told me to ask you…” Her voice was small, but it held a hint of certainty. She was sure I’d give in. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I pulled out my phone, dialed Mark, and put him on speaker. “Honey, the teacher just announced a university tour that costs five thousand dollars per person. Daisy says her mom won’t pay. What should we do?” There was a pause on the other end, and then Mark’s voice turned cold. “Tell her to talk to her mother herself! She’s not paying child support, and now she can’t even cough up the money for a school trip?” His voice grew louder. “Either her mom transfers the money today, or she doesn’t go. I’m not going to foot the bill for everything and do her mother’s job for her.” As his voice echoed from the phone, the color drained from Daisy’s face. She clutched the hem of her shirt, and a tear finally rolled down her cheek. “Dad… Mom really doesn’t have the money… and the teacher said it’s due today…” “Then she needs to figure it out!” Mark snapped. “If you can’t even handle something like this, how are you going to get through college? Solve your own problems, Daisy. Stop expecting other people to do it for you!” With that, Mark hung up. Daisy stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. I put my phone away, my voice neutral. “You heard your father. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but things are really tight for us right now. Between tuition for both of you and the mortgage last month, there’s not much left. I honestly don’t have five thousand dollars for this trip. You should really try calling your mom again, or maybe talk to your dad when he’s in a better mood.” Her head shot up, her eyes filled with shock and betrayal. “Sophie, can’t you just help me this one time? Just once…” “Help you?” I looked at her, my gaze steady. In my last life, I helped her with everything. I moved her desk, bought her supplies, paid her fees. I made sure she had everything Lily had, and more. I worried about her teenage pride, coddled her, tiptoed around her feelings so she would never feel left out. And what was my reward? She called me a monster on television. Strangers screamed at me in the street. My daughter lost her mother. “Daisy, don’t look at me like that. There is truly nothing I can do. You need to talk to your parents. Don’t stand here bothering me. I have my own daughter to raise.” Daisy froze, and her tears abruptly stopped. 4 It was probably the first time anyone had ever laid her parents’ indifference out so plainly before her. I didn’t look at her again. I turned and walked toward the school gate. Behind me, Daisy remained rooted to the spot, clutching her empty, worn-out pencil case like an abandoned child. I knew this was only the beginning. In this life, I would make her see with her own two eyes who was truly responsible for the pain of her broken home. Who was it that made her beg for a new pen or a clean notebook? It wasn’t me, her evil stepmother. It was her own parents, the ones who did nothing but shift the blame. She had hated the wrong person. And she had taken her revenge on the wrong person. When I got home, Lily was at the living room desk, happily unpacking her new stationery. The pink and white binder was open, and she had used a strawberry-scented highlighter to draw a wobbly smiley face on a piece of paper. Seeing me, she held up the pen. “Mommy, this pen writes in a sweet color!” I walked over and stroked her hair. I noticed the guest room door was slightly ajar, but there was no sound from within. Daisy was probably still stewing over the trip fee. Or perhaps she was staring at her old pencil case, plotting her next sob story. That evening, Mark came home on time for once, bringing a new toy car for Lily. Daisy sat across the dinner table, pushing rice around her bowl, her eyes darting toward the toy every few seconds. Last time, seeing that look, I would have made Lily share. This time, I didn’t say a word. Mark acted as if he didn’t even see his own daughter’s disappointment. He was too busy putting food on Lily’s plate. “It’s the weekend tomorrow. How about Daddy takes you to the amusement park?” Lily cheered. Daisy suddenly put down her chopsticks, her voice laced with a carefully concealed bitterness. “Dad, school starts the day after tomorrow, and the strap on my backpack is broken. Can you…” Before she could finish, Mark frowned. “If it’s broken, sew it yourself. The backpack I used in school lasted three years. I patched it up five times and it worked just fine. If you really don’t want to use it, ask your mom for a new one. Surely she can afford to buy you a backpack?” There it was again. That same refrain. Daisy’s face flushed a deep red, her knuckles white as she gripped her chopsticks. She couldn’t understand why her father, who had always been at least civil to her, had suddenly changed, deflecting every request back to the mother who had long since vanished from her life. I kept my head down, sipping my soup, pretending not to see the hatred brewing in her eyes. She was pitiable, yes. But my daughter deserved to have her mother. I would not sacrifice Lily’s well-being for Daisy’s sake ever again. Her pain was for the people who caused it to bear. But Daisy clearly didn’t see it that way. She suddenly slammed her chopsticks on the table, her eyes burning with pure hatred as she stared at me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re the one who turned my dad against me, who told him not to pay for my trip! I’m going to the media! I’ll expose you for child abuse and see how you can show your face in public then!”

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A month after the divorce, I posted a picture to my Instagram: a stunning diamond ring nestled between two fresh marriage certificates. The caption was simple: It’s official. Two minutes later, my ex-husband’s call came through. “Tiffany, take down that post. Now.” “I know you’re just trying to make me jealous with fake marriage certificates, but what will people think if they see it?” “We’ll go remarry tomorrow. I’ve already calmed Anna down; she’s forgiven you.” I was about to tell him the certificates were very much real when a deep, masculine voice drifted from the bathroom. “Tiffany, I forgot a towel.” On the other end of the line, I could hear the distinct sound of teeth grinding. My ex-husband’s lazy tone sharpened into a blade. “Who is that? Who’s in the room with you, Tiffany?” 1 I hung up and got a towel for Jim. After he was dressed, he gave me a warm hug before heading out for a work emergency. Half an hour later, the front door was kicked open. Miles rushed in, his eyes wild. He grabbed my hands, spinning me around to check for injuries. Seeing I was unharmed, he let out a shuddering breath and pulled me into a crushing embrace. “Tiffany, baby, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Please, don’t use some other guy to make me jealous.” His eyes were red-rimmed, and he nuzzled his chin against my shoulder. “Baby, you know I love you more than anything. Even if it’s a joke, it drives me crazy.” “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He claimed he loved me most, but the moment his assistant, Anna, threw a tantrum, he’d filed for a “temporary” divorce without a second thought and jetted off to take wedding photos with her. He missed me so much that he took Anna to see orcas in New Zealand, then immediately flew her to Norway for the Northern Lights. Her Instagram had been a non-stop highlight reel of their romantic getaway for the past month. Hearing his heartfelt speech now, I let out a short, bitter laugh. “It wasn’t a joke.” His smile froze. My own expression was serene. “We’re divorced, Miles. I have no reason to make you jealous.” He forced a laugh, his posture relaxing instantly. “Still holding a grudge, huh? C’mon, baby, don’t be like that. She’s just my colleague. It’s not like I did anything to betray you.” “Look, to make it up to you for the whole divorce thing, I’ll propose to you all over again. We’ll be fine. Forgive me, just one more time.” He pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket. “It’s a custom-designed necklace. I had it made for you on my last business trip.” My gaze fell to his left hand. On his ring finger was the faint, pale band of skin left by a wedding ring. When we got married, he’d refused to wear a ring, claiming it was unprofessional. That tan line, combined with this sudden, extravagant gift, told me everything I needed to know about who he’d been wearing a ring for. Just then, our daughter burst through the door and threw her arms around me. She opened her small hand to reveal a delicate, lifelike butterfly hairpin. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? The little butterfly is saying sorry.” I took the pin and clipped it into my hair. The cold refusal on my lips died away. You can’t stay angry at your own child. BOOM! The sound of fireworks crackled outside. Miles took my hand and led me to the doorway. A heart formed by 999 drones was drifting slowly through the night sky. As it reached our house, the drones shifted, spelling out my name. TIFFANY, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY. My daughter looked up at me with hopeful eyes. Miles’s smile was as warm and tender as the day he’d first confessed his love to me, surrounded by 999 candles. Passersby stopped, oohing and aahing, some even applauding. “Wow, that’s so romantic!” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” they chanted. I met Miles’s eyes, saying nothing. He bit his lower lip and leaned in, about to kiss my cheek. At that exact moment, a pair of bright headlights washed over my face, followed by Anna’s broken sobs. 2 Anna teetered towards us on impossibly high heels, her eyes swimming with tears as she stared at Miles. “We just had our wedding photos taken, and you’re already cheating on me? Miles, you told me you’d only love me for the rest of your life! You’re a liar! I’m just going to go kill myself then!” She made a dramatic run for a nearby tree, only to collide with Miles’s chest instead. She pounded his chest with her small fists. “You’re a monster, Miles! If you’re going to break my heart, you might as well just let me die.” Our daughter, Lily, ran to her side, gently wiping away her tears. “Mommy, don’t cry. Daddy and I love you the most.” Instantly, the curious gazes of the onlookers turned sharp, pointing at me. “So, she’s the other woman?” “Obviously. They have a child together. I can’t believe she has the nerve to seduce a married man.” I opened my mouth to explain, but Miles cut me off with a frown. “You should go, Tiffany. I can’t do this to Anna.” Lily reached up and yanked the hairpin from my head, taking a clump of my hair with it. She snatched the necklace box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? It was a gift from Daddy and me to Mommy.” In just one month, my daughter had started calling Anna “Mommy.” A smirk played on Miles’s lips. He dropped to one knee before Anna. “I kept feeling like I still owed you something. I think… this was it.” Lily clipped the butterfly pin into Anna’s hair. “Mommy loves butterflies. I picked this out just for you.” On a bystander’s livestream, the hashtag #RealLove was trending. Her husband and child adore her! She’s the real winner here! Oh my god, is that a two-carat diamond? It looks like the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ masterpiece that took three years to design. It’s worth over a hundred million, the only one in the world! Amid the chorus of praise, Anna shot me a look of pure contempt before melting into Miles’s arms. He held her with one arm and took Lily’s hand with the other, turning their backs on me. I simply pulled out my phone, screenshotted every single one of Anna’s gloating posts, and then blocked and deleted them both. I had no time for this pathetic homewrecker soap opera. 3 A little while later, a video call from Jim came through. “Tiffany, I’ve handled things at the office and I’m on my way back. Want me to pick up a late-night snack?” I thought for a moment. “No, thanks. I don’t really have an appetite.” Jim’s expression immediately grew tense. “What’s wrong? Did that guy from this afternoon bother you? He… he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He tried to look casual, turning his head to the side, but the way he bit his lip betrayed his concern. I shook my head, a small smile touching my lips. “What are you thinking? It’s just the heat.” When Jim got home, he saw the empty living room and rushed into the bedroom, only relaxing when he saw me packing a suitcase. “I thought you weren’t leaving for another month. Why are you packing now?” I smiled and gave him a hug. “I changed the flight to three days from now. If we leave early, we can do some sightseeing.” I had agonized over buying that ticket for weeks, but the decision to finally leave took only a second. I had always stayed for Lily’s sake. Now, I realized there was nothing left here for me to hold onto. But before I left, there was one last important thing to do. The next morning, I arrived at the auction house. My parents had gone missing during a round-the-world trip years ago. An island up for bid today held the only clue I’d found to their whereabouts. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a stiletto heel shot out, tripping me. I stumbled and fell. Anna laughed. “Oh, Tiffany, I know your daughter calls me ‘Mommy’ now, but you don’t have to bow to me.” “You’re so much older than me. I’d hate for you to shorten my lifespan with such respect.” She didn’t move, however, instead motioning for her friends to help me up. “You’re so good at playing the victim. If I were a man, I’d probably fall for it too. Too bad for you, Miles is completely devoted to me.” I slapped their hands away. “You seem to be enjoying the role of the other woman. Is that why you’re so happy?” Her smile vanished. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes.” I assumed she was talking about Miles and brushed it off. I couldn’t care less about a man who had already cheated. But to my horror, when the bidding for the island began, one of Miles’s employees walked to the podium and began presenting my proposal. They had stolen my work. I stared at Miles in disbelief. He couldn’t meet my eyes. I had poured my heart and soul into that proposal, working sleepless nights for a month, all for the chance to get access to that island and investigate my parents’ last known location. I never thought he would do this to me, all for Anna. Anna tilted her head, pointing to the presentation on the screen. “Isn’t it a great pitch, Tiffany? That island is mine.” To find the truth, I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and called my assistant. “Add ten percent to the budget. I don’t care what it takes. Get me that island.” Miles opened his mouth as if to explain, but Anna tugged on his arm. “Miles, you promised you’d give me this island. You can’t let Tiffany use your money to steal it from me.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. So, after all the years we’d spent building our company from nothing, in everyone’s eyes, I was just a gold digger living off his wealth. I was about to tell him I would fight him for it when he suddenly stopped Anna. “Why fight over a deserted island? I have a much better gift for you, Anna.”

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1. Three in the morning. The widow next door was banging on my door, saying her son had a fever and she needed to borrow some medicine. My husband, Thomas, a doctor who’d just fallen asleep after a grueling late shift, was up and out the door in an instant. He didn’t come back for half an hour. “It’s not easy for Jenna, raising a kid on her own,” he said, shrugging off his coat. “The fever’s finally broken, thank God.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed, a familiar wave of weariness washing over his face. “I know you don’t like me getting close to other women, Claire, but this was a life-or-death situation. It’s my duty.” Normally, I would have nodded and said I understood. But not tonight. Instead, I spoke with a calm that felt foreign even to me. “I want a divorce.” … Thomas’s hands froze, the motion of taking off his jacket halting mid-air. His face was a mask of exhaustion. But just as quickly, he smoothed his features, stepping forward to pull me into his arms. “What, are you jealous? C’mon, all my energy goes into my work and into you. There’s no room for anyone else.” He held me, his voice a low, placating rumble. “You can be mad at me, but don’t say things that hurt, okay? You know better than that.” It was a gentle scolding, the kind you’d give a petulant child. There was a time I found that tone intoxicatingly charming. Tonight, it just made my skin crawl. I pushed him away, a flicker of disgust in my heart. “I’m not being petulant.” “I’m serious about the divorce.” His eyes locked onto mine, a response forming on his lips before dissolving into another sigh. The living room fell silent, the only sound the soft cadence of our breathing. Finally, he broke the stillness, taking my hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Claire, I know I’ve been distant lately, but work has been insane. And your birthday… I didn’t mean to forget. Your gift is already on its way.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Once this crazy stretch is over, I’ll take you on that trip we talked about, just the two of us. Get away from it all. Okay? You know I was on my feet for almost twenty hours today, right? Be good. No more of this…” His eyes were shot with red, a testament to his fatigue—and, I supposed, to the wound I had just inflicted. He was making perfect sense. By all accounts, pushing this further would make me seem unreasonable, ungrateful even. But I pulled my hand away, my voice laced with a scorn that surprised us both. “Thomas, I said I want a divorce. Are you deaf, or just stupid?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet room. “Monday is in two days. I expect you to take the day off. We’ll meet at the courthouse. You will…” Before I could finish, a dark flush crept up his neck. With a frustrated roar, he threw his coat to the floor. It knocked over a crystal glass on the entryway table, which shattered on the hardwood. Shattered. Just like us. The crash seemed to sober him. The anger in his eyes was replaced by a deep, aching disappointment, but he held on to his patience by a thread. “Claire, this isn’t you. Even if you were serious about this, there has to be a reason, right?” His voice cracked. “It can’t be because I gave Jenna our Tylenol, can it? A high fever in a kid can cause seizures. It can be fatal. I’m a doctor. Was I supposed to just let him die?” His words struck a nerve. A tremor ran through me, and my hands clenched into tight fists. “Yes, that’s exactly why!” I spat, the hatred in my eyes so raw it felt like I was staring at a crime scene. “A man and a woman, alone in a room in the middle of the night. You disgust me.” The fight, now raw and loud, had woken the neighbors. And among them was Jenna. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked utterly lost. Before I could process it, she dropped to her knees in front of me. “Claire, please… did I cause a misunderstanding by asking for medicine so late?” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “There’s nothing going on between me and Thomas. It was just… it was too late to get a cab, and I knew Thomas was a doctor, so I thought you might have something…” Two other neighbors emerged from their apartments, drawn by the drama. Their whispers quickly turned into open condemnation. “Look at her. So pretty on the outside, but her heart is pure poison.” “He’s a doctor, for God’s sake! He was saving a life. What kind of person gets jealous over that?” “Dr. Hayes must have done something terrible in a past life to end up with a wife like you!” The chorus of accusations washed over me. I lowered my head, a shield against their glares, but inside, a cold, bitter laugh was echoing. 2. The growing crowd and escalating noise prompted someone to call building management, and the small mob dispersed. Thomas grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and pulled me back inside. “Claire, you were just joking, right?” he pressed, his eyes searching mine, desperate. “Those things you said… you didn’t mean them. I’ve given medicine to neighbors before. You’ve never been like this. I don’t believe you would…” His whining grated on my ears. I cut him off, not with words, but with the sharp crack of my palm against his cheek. “If your head’s not right, go get it checked,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Don’t come barking at my door.” “And I’ll see you at the courthouse on Monday. Don’t make this any uglier than it has to be.” Without another word, I turned and slammed the bedroom door in his face. It was the first time I had ever left him so utterly stripped of his dignity, with no way to save face. Even his legendary patience had its limits. I heard him kick the door, a muffled thud of frustration. “Claire, there’s a line, and you’ve crossed it! This is insane!” he roared from the other side. “I’m not agreeing to a divorce. So you can forget about it!” Then, the sound of the front door slamming shut. The violent noise echoed through the apartment, but inside me, there was only silence. A profound, unprecedented calm. Was it finally ending? I didn’t waste any time. I packed a small bag with my essentials and started searching for a divorce lawyer online. I didn’t sleep a wink. As dawn broke, the apartment was empty. Thomas was gone, but on the coffee table sat a bouquet of flowers. It was his signature move. For years, every fight we had ended this way. He’d buy me flowers, cook my favorite meal, and we’d wordlessly agree to move on. But this time was different. This time, I was done. I picked up the beautifully wrapped bouquet and noticed something odd. It was supposed to be nine roses, but there were only eight. I didn’t have to wonder where the missing one had gone. After tossing them in the trash, I headed for the door, but my foot caught on something jutting out from under the edge of the rug, making me stumble. I bent down and picked it up. It was a tube of lipstick—the newest, not-yet-released shade from Dior. My friend, a beauty influencer, had been raving about it for weeks. My job was conservative; I hadn’t worn a color that bold in years. But Jenna, I recalled, loved bright red lipstick. … Just then, my phone rang. It was one of Thomas’s colleagues from the hospital. “Claire, you need to get down to the hospital, now,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “Thomas’s had some kind of sudden allergic reaction. He’s in bad shape. We need a family member to sign off on the procedure.” His parents lived hours away; they’d never make it in time. I drove to the hospital. But when I arrived, standing before a crowd of his worried colleagues, I played my hand. My only one. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “as soon as he signs the divorce papers.” The room went silent. Then, it exploded. One of our mutual friends, his face contorted in disbelief, called me a heartless bitch. “Don’t you get it? The only reason he was testing that new trial drug was to get a few extra vacation days approved to take you on that trip! And this is how you repay him? Are you even human?” “We all see how he worships you,” another chimed in. “Whatever this is about, can’t you just talk it through? Why blow everything up like this?” “Pull yourself together, Claire. We heard about last night. Thomas did the right thing. It’s his job to save people, and that kid’s life was on the line. You can’t divorce him over something like that!” From the hospital bed, Thomas watched me, his eyes filled with a bottomless despair. “Claire… I don’t want a divorce,” he rasped, his voice weak. “I’ll be more considerate of your feelings. I promise. Please… don’t do this.” He struggled to sit up, reaching a trembling hand out to me, his eyes welling with tears. It was a performance that would have melted any heart. But I remained rooted to the spot, unmoved, my voice as cold as ice. “Sign the divorce agreement and the asset division forms, and I’ll sign the surgical consent.” The room erupted again, the insults flying like poisoned darts. “You monster! He could die, and all you can think about is money?” “It’s true what they say, isn’t it? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Why isn’t it you in that bed?” But through the cacophony of their rage, I heard another sound. A small, almost imperceptible noise from behind the partition curtain of Thomas’s cubicle. As every eye in the room fixed on me, I strode forward and, with one swift motion, ripped the curtain aside. 3. Jenna gasped, clearly not expecting to be discovered. She scrambled to compose herself, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Claire, don’t get the wrong idea! After the fever broke last night, I was still worried, so I brought him to the ER for a proper check-up.” She gestured around the crowded room. “They’re swamped, there are no private rooms. They’re just putting patients wherever they can fit them. I had no idea Thomas was in the same cubicle.” “I know you don’t like me,” she finished, her voice laced with false sincerity. “As soon as my son wakes up, I’ll ask a nurse to move us. I won’t cause any more trouble for you two.” Just as she’d said, a small boy was asleep in the adjacent bed, his cheeks flushed. Jenna’s performance was flawless—the concerned mother, the considerate neighbor, the innocent bystander. Before I could even speak, Thomas jumped to her defense. “Jenna, the boy needs his rest. Don’t trouble yourself. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear. We both know we’re innocent…” Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. It all felt so pointless. The scathing words I had prepared died on my tongue. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You’re right. You’ve done nothing wrong…” My voice dripped with a loathing so thick it was almost tangible. “I just find you filthy. And that’s why I want a divorce.” The color drained from Thomas’s face. He stared at me, his expression a mask of profound disappointment. “Claire, how long are you going to drag out this petty nonsense?” he pleaded. “All I did was give a sick child a box of Tylenol…” His voice rose, cracking with desperation and rage. “Is this because you can’t have children of your own? Is that it? You can’t stand to see anyone else with a healthy kid?” He’d gone too far. The words, flung in the heat of the moment, hung in the air like poison. A friend standing nearby shoved him hard. “Thomas, what the hell is wrong with you? That’s too much.” Realization dawned on his face. He looked at my hands, which were shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes filled with regret. “Claire… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up…” Five years ago, Thomas made a rookie mistake during surgery. A premature baby didn’t survive. The father, broken by grief, came to the hospital with a knife, looking for revenge. I had just arrived to bring Thomas his dinner. In the ensuing chaos, Thomas grabbed me and used me as a shield. A long paring knife pierced my abdomen. The baby I had been carrying for three months was gone. My uterus was so severely damaged that I could never have children again. Afterward, Thomas had knelt by my hospital bed, slapping his own face until it was bruised, his body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. “Claire, it’s all my fault. I’m a monster. How could I…” he’d choked out between tears. “I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We don’t need kids. I only need you.” Now, those words were nothing but a bitter joke. My silence seemed to terrify him more than any outburst. He ripped the IV needle from his arm, ignoring the protests of the nurses, and stumbled toward me. He collapsed at my feet, his voice a desperate plea. “Claire… it was a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean it… Please, I’m begging you, don’t divorce me. I can’t imagine my life without you. What would be the point?” For a fleeting moment, I was transported back five years, to that hospital room. The scene was almost identical. The only difference was me. My face was a mask of ice. I kicked him squarely in the chest. “Get off me.” “And don’t ever call me that again. It makes me sick.” “Sign the divorce papers, or don’t. I have a thousand ways to ruin your life. Go ahead and test me.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance. Halfway down the hall, I stripped off the jacket he had touched and threw it in a biohazard bin. As I stepped out of the hospital, I heard someone call my name. It was Lily, a new friend from my apartment building.

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I let my sister Rachel choose a wedding dress from my bridal boutique. As she left, a new intern stopped her, demanding $30,000 for the gown. Rachel explained, “I’m the owner’s sister. I don’t pay.” The intern rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Our boss has no sister. You’re just a freeloader.” She blocked Rachel’s path, threatening, “Pay now, or I’ll rip the dress off you and throw you out naked!” Rachel called me, stunned. I rushed over and heard Maria, my longtime manager, supporting the intern as she threatened Rachel. “Wise up,” Maria said coldly. “This is our boss’s wife. Cross her and regret it forever.” The intern pinned Rachel down, smugly accusing her of scamming. I froze, chilled. Immediately, I canceled my husband’s credit card and called him. “Have I been too good to you, Mark?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “Or did I give you too much money to chase other women?” 1 When my sister’s call came in, I was just about to drive over to the boutique. “What did you say?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “The new intern, Jessica, is claiming she’s the boss’s wife?” I let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “Didn’t you tell her you’re my sister?” The next thing I heard was the sharp, ugly crack of a slap, followed by Rachel’s cry of pain. My blood ran cold. I screamed Rachel’s name into the phone, but my voice was drowned out by Jessica’s shrill shouting. “This boutique belongs to my husband!” she shrieked. “You think I wouldn’t know if my own husband had a sister?” Maria’s voice, cold and mocking, followed right after. “Listen, sweetie, I’ll be straight with you. You’ve really messed with the wrong people today.” “This boutique belongs to Mr. Collins,” she continued, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue. “And the woman you’re looking at is Mrs. Collins! The real owner’s wife! If you wanted to walk out without paying, you should’ve come up with a better excuse!” Their arrogant words echoed in my ears, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. Just a week ago, on our wedding anniversary, my husband, Mark—who never showed the slightest interest in my boutique—had come to me with a request. “Honey, there’s a girl from my old neighborhood whose family I’m close with. She just graduated and can’t find a job,” he’d said, his voice earnest. “Her mom called me, and you know, for old times’ sake, I told her I’d help. Could you… could you let her work at your boutique?” He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes, because he quickly held up four fingers in a solemn vow. “I promise you, Evelyn, she’s a real go-getter, sharp as a tack. You’ll love her!” “Fine,” I’d said, giving in. I then forwarded Jessica’s resume to Maria, my most trusted employee. Now, the line to Rachel went dead, the last sound I heard being a furious curse from Jessica. My mind racing, I urged the driver to speed up, simultaneously pulling up the live security feed from the store on my phone. The image sharpened, and my breath caught in my throat. Jessica had Rachel pinned to the floor, her face contorted in rage as she slapped my sister again and again. “You wear a dress from our store and refuse to pay? That makes you a thief! A common freeloader!” Jessica screamed. “For a piece of trash like you, even beating you to death wouldn’t be enough!” Rachel struggled, but she was no match for Jessica’s brute force. What sent a wave of pure fury through me, though, was the sight of Maria—my manager of three years—acting as Jessica’s willing accomplice. She was crouched beside them, flipping through a ledger with a grim look of satisfaction. “Mrs. Collins, I’ve done a quick tally of the last three months,” Maria announced. “This little bitch has taken over a dozen dresses from the store. The total value is well into the hundreds of thousands.” Maria’s words were like gasoline on a fire. Jessica’s rage intensified. She grabbed Rachel by the throat, her voice a venomous hiss. “You say you’re my husband’s sister? Sister?” she spat. “What’s your real relationship? Before I showed up, just how many dresses did you steal from my store?” The scene made me tremble with a rage so potent it was hard to breathe. Seeing Rachel’s face, already swollen and red, sent a spike of pain through my heart. I dialed Mark’s number. I needed to ask him just how the sweet, capable girl from his neighborhood had turned into a violent maniac who dared to call herself the owner of my boutique. He picked up almost immediately, his voice light and cheerful. “Evelyn! Shouldn’t you be sketching designs right now? What’s up? Miss me already?” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Mark, I’m going to ask you one question. What, exactly, is your relationship with Jessica?” “Why is she telling everyone that she’s Mrs. Collins… your wife?” The other end of the line went completely silent. All I could hear was the faint hum of static and the sound of his heavy breathing. His silence was an answer in itself, and it fueled my anger. “Mark, answer me!” I snapped. “Have I been too good to you? Given you so much freedom and money that you thought you could get away with keeping another woman on the side?” He chuckled, a low, condescending sound. “Evelyn, we’ve been married for years. Don’t you have even a little bit of trust in me? Look, I don’t have time for your games. I have a meeting to get to.” The line went dead. When I tried to call back, it went straight to his voicemail. 2 In that moment, fury burned away every last shred of reason. Without hesitation, I called my executive assistant. “Revoke Mark Collins’s position as COO, effective immediately. Have security escort him out of the building. And freeze his corporate card.” Designing gowns was my passion, but I couldn’t run my fashion empire and my boutique at the same time. Mark had stepped in, promising to manage the corporate side so I could focus on my creative work. To thank him, I’d gone against the advice of my board and promoted him to Chief Operating Officer. I’d even given him a supplementary card to my personal account with no spending limit. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Was I being too impulsive? The memories of our good years washed over me, a painful contrast to the present. “We’re here, Ms. Hayes.” The driver’s voice jolted me back to reality. I stormed out of the car and shoved the boutique door open. Everyone inside froze. Jessica glared at me, her expression a mask of irritation. “Who do you think you are, barging in like that? Don’t you know how to knock?” I ignored her, walking straight to my sister on the floor. Rachel grabbed my hand, her grip desperate as fresh tears streamed down her bruised cheeks. “Evelyn, you’re finally here,” she sobbed. “What is going on? Who is this woman?” Her voice was weak, but Jessica heard every word. Her eyes, now fixed on me, narrowed with malice. “So you’re the sister this little tramp was talking about? Evelyn Hayes?” Maria looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Ms. Hayes, I didn’t realize she was your sister.” Her surprise quickly curdled into contempt. “I know you’re the lead designer here, but that doesn’t give your family a free pass to freeload.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. As I helped Rachel to her feet, I pointed to the red marks on her face. “Did you do this?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Maria swallowed hard, a brief flash of guilt in her eyes before she hardened her expression. “She’s lucky we didn’t call the cops! Do you have any idea how many expensive dresses she’s stolen from this store, using your name? And on top of that, she had the audacity to claim she was Mr. Collins’s sister right in front of the real Mrs. Collins!” She punctuated her speech by spitting on the floor beside my sister. “Absolutely shameless! Doesn’t she know her place? Trying to impersonate family in front of the real deal!” Jessica, puffed up by Maria’s defense, crossed her arms, her posture dripping with arrogance. She scanned me from head to toe with a dismissive sneer, her eyes finally landing on my designer handbag. “That bag,” she demanded. “Where did you get it?” I glanced down at the bag in my hand. “And why would I need to explain that to you?” I shot back. “Furthermore, who told either of you this boutique belongs to Mark Collins?” This boutique was my baby. I’d poured my heart, soul, and the very first big check I ever earned into creating it. Suddenly, a thought struck me. “Is it because his name is on the business registration as a co-owner? Is that why you think he owns the place?” The idea was so absurd I almost laughed. “If that’s the case, let me clear things up for you. This boutique is—” “I asked you a question! Where did you get the bag?” Jessica shrieked, her face turning a blotchy red with rage. “Answer me, Evelyn!” Faced with her unhinged questioning, I drew myself up to my full height. “My husband bought it for me.” “You’re a liar!” In the next second, Jessica lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “You stole it! That bag was supposed to be mine!” “You’re a thief!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “No wonder your sister is one too! It runs in the family! I’m going to teach you both a lesson you’ll never forget!” 3 My priority was protecting Rachel, who was still weak and shaken, so I didn’t fight back as hard as I could have. My face stung as Jessica’s nails raked across my skin. Seeing me get attacked, Rachel forgot her own pain and threw herself at Jessica, pulling her off me. That gave me the opening I needed. I seized the opportunity and landed several hard slaps across Jessica’s face. One against two, Jessica was quickly overwhelmed. “Maria, are you blind?” she screeched, flailing. “Don’t just stand there! Help me!” Maria, suddenly caught in the crossfire, hesitated. Her eyes met mine, and the predatory glare I gave her seemed to root her to the spot. “Maria, have you completely lost your mind?” I said, my voice low and cutting. “Think for a second. Who gave you Jessica’s resume? In all the years you’ve worked here, have you ever seen another manager besides me?” My words hit their mark. A visible wave of panic washed over Maria’s face. Even Jessica paused her assault, breathing heavily. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she panted. “This store belongs to my husband, Mark Collins. I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this place otherwise!” A dawning horror crept into Maria’s expression as she processed what I’d said. She took a shaky step back. “But… Mrs. Collins,” she stammered, her voice trembling, “your file… it was Evelyn who gave it to me.” When I first opened the boutique, the high salary and benefits attracted a flood of applicants, including the daughters of several business partners. I turned them all down. They were unqualified and hadn’t bothered to submit a proper resume. So when Mark sent me Jessica’s file, I hired her on the spot, assuming she was properly vetted. The atmosphere in the room grew thick with tension. Maria looked utterly lost, her eyes wide with a fear she could no longer hide. Jessica stared at me, her chest heaving. “What did you say?” she whispered, then a cold, cruel realization dawned on her. “I get it now.” With a sudden burst of strength, she shoved me backward into a rack of gowns. “Tell me!” she snarled, her face inches from mine. “You’ve been sleeping with my husband behind my back, haven’t you? You pathetic homewrecker! You’re the other woman!” The absurd accusation seemed to clear the fog in Maria’s head. “So that’s what this is about!” she exclaimed, her loyalty snapping back to Jessica. Jessica snatched my handbag and threw it violently to the floor. Not satisfied, she began stomping on it with her high heel, grinding the expensive leather into the polished wood. “This bag!” she seethed. “Mark promised this bag to me for my birthday! How did it end up with you? You must have seduced him! Coaxed him into giving you what’s rightfully mine!” “A homewrecker and a thief! You two really are a perfect pair of sisters!” With Maria now joining the fray, and me trying to shield Rachel, I was at a clear disadvantage. Jessica seemed to know it, yanking my hair with vicious glee. I could feel the tearing sting at my scalp. Just then, the door flew open. “Everybody freeze!” a stern voice commanded. “Police! Who is Evelyn Hayes?” 4 A wave of relief washed over me at the sound of the officer’s voice. Maria and Jessica immediately stopped, their hands dropping to their sides. “I am!” I called out, stepping forward. “I’m Evelyn Hayes. I’m the one who called.” I’d dialed 911 right after Mark had hung up on me. Thank God they’d arrived when they did. With the unhinged state Jessica was in, I dreaded to think what might have happened to me and Rachel. But before I could say another word, Jessica burst into tears and launched into a performance for the police. She pointed a shaking finger at Rachel. “Officer, this woman was trying to steal a dress from my store! I caught her red-handed! Is it a crime to stop a thief?” Maria immediately jumped in, nodding vigorously. “It’s true! If we hadn’t caught her, the store would be out thirty thousand dollars!” Rachel gripped my arm, her jaw set stubbornly. “This is my sister’s store! I wasn’t stealing anything!” “Liar! It’s my husband’s store!” Jessica shrieked back. Cutting through the chaos, I stepped toward the lead officer, pulling out the official ownership documents for the boutique from my briefcase. I then recounted the events of the past hour calmly and factually. To my utter disbelief, when I mentioned Mark’s name, Jessica collapsed into a fit of dramatic, gut-wrenching sobs. “Officer, I know I shouldn’t have hit her!” she wailed. “But I was hitting the other woman! The woman who’s trying to destroy my family! She seduced my husband! Doesn’t a woman have the right to defend her marriage?” The officer looked utterly bewildered. Finally, he sighed and decided to take all of us down to the station. In the precinct’s mediation room, Jessica continued her act, crying about how she was the real victim. “All I did was slap a homewrecker a few times!” she sobbed to the officer. “A woman like her, with her morals? Back in the day, she would have been shamed publicly! You have to understand!” I had reached the end of my patience. I opened my purse, took out my marriage certificate, and slid it across the table to the officer. In that moment, I was grateful for my odd habit of keeping the certificate in my car’s glove compartment ever since we got married. I’d slipped it into my bag before leaving the car, and now, it was my trump card. “Mark Collins and I are legally married,” I stated, my voice firm. “Officer, I have nothing more to add. As for her assault, I will not be settling this amicably. You can proceed with charges as you see fit.” But then, in a move I never saw coming, Jessica pulled out her phone and confidently swiped to her photo gallery. “Officer, that certificate is a fake!” she declared. “I have the real one right here! See for yourself!” I leaned forward, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. On her screen was a crisp, clear photo of a marriage certificate. With her name, and Mark’s. What the hell was going on? Did Mark have an identical twin I never knew about? The thought was absurd. No one would give twin brothers the exact same name. Rachel squeezed my arm, her whisper urgent. “Evelyn, what’s happening? Did Mark marry both of you?” The officer, clearly stumped by this unprecedented situation, placed my certificate and Jessica’s phone side by side on the table. “Alright,” he said with a heavy sigh. “This is something that needs to be cleared up face-to-face. You need to get Mark Collins in here.” Since I had presented the physical document first, the officer gestured for me to make the call. The irony was bitter. Mark’s phone rang and rang, unanswered. When it finally connected, it was his assistant. “Mr. Collins is in a meeting. Please do not call this line again.” He hung up. The sound of the dial tone was punctuated by Jessica’s smug, triumphant laughter. Beside her, Maria shot me a look of pure contempt and flashed a middle finger. “So, you’re the fake one after all,” she sneered. “And to think you were acting so high and mighty.” I tilted my chin toward Jessica. “Your turn.” Jessica raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and dialed. The call connected in less than ten seconds. “Honey,” she whimpered into the phone, her voice thick with fake tears. “I’ve been attacked! I’m at the police station!” A knot of anxiety tightened in my gut. Finally, a familiar voice came through the speaker. “Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” That voice—his voice—extinguished the last flickering ember of hope in my heart. Rachel shook my arm, her eyes wide with confusion. “Evelyn, what is happening?” I could only shake my head, my mind a blank slate of shock and betrayal. Under Jessica’s gloating, victorious gaze, the long, agonizing wait began. Half an hour later, a familiar figure rushed into the room. Mark went straight to Jessica, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Jessica, are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Who did this to you? I’ll make them pay!” “That would be me,” I said, my voice flat and cold. I watched his entire body go rigid. He turned around slowly, his face draining of all color when he saw me. “Ev… Evelyn?” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

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Returning from a business trip, I scored a lucky upgrade to first class with my points. I had barely settled in when a man in a sharp suit pointed a finger right in my face and told me to get the hell out and go to economy. He claimed he’d been sitting in this exact seat for five years, that it was practically his, and as far as he was concerned, my ticket was worthless. If I didn’t move, he’d have me thrown off the plane. His arrogance was breathtaking. A flight attendant hurried over, trying to placate me. “Mr. Place is one of our Platinum Elite members. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind…?” I stood my ground. On what planet was my ticket worthless? Just then, the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Will the passenger in seat 1A please come to the cockpit immediately.” 1 Every head in the cabin swiveled to look at me. Mr. Place and the deceptively sweet-looking woman clinging to his arm exchanged triumphant smirks. The flight attendant let out a sigh of relief and gestured for me to go. “Ma’am, the captain would like to see you.” Her tone practically screamed, The party’s over for you. I took a deep breath, stood up, and followed her toward the front of the plane. Mr. Place’s taunting voice followed me down the aisle. “Why are you even wasting time talking to her? Just have security drag her off.” He scoffed. “Do you have any idea how much money I lose for every minute you waste?” My steps faltered. I turned and shot him a look of pure ice. The cockpit door opened. The captain and co-pilot sat inside, their expressions grim. “Ma’am, hello.” The captain pointed to an empty jump seat. “Please, sit.” I sat, cutting straight to the chase. “Captain, my seat is 1A. My ticket is legal and valid.” The captain nodded, his face unreadable. “We’re aware of that. However, Mr. Place is one of our most valued VIP clients.” “The revenue he generates for this airline annually is thousands of times the price of your ticket.” “Furthermore,” he continued, “he has made it explicitly clear that if he cannot sit in 1A today, he will immediately terminate all of his contracts with our company.” I almost laughed out of sheer disbelief. “So? So you’re going to sacrifice the legitimate rights of an ordinary passenger to appease your corporate god?” “Is this the official philosophy of your airline?” The co-pilot frowned, his voice edged with impatience. “Ma’am, we’re not negotiating with you.” “Right now, this entire flight is being held up because of you. You are wasting every other passenger’s time.” “You have two options,” he said, holding up two fingers. “One, you accept our compensation package and voluntarily move to an economy seat.” “Two, we will be forced to remove you from the flight for ‘causing a disturbance.’” I stared at them, incredulous. “Causing a disturbance? Me?” “That man is the one throwing a tantrum, and you’re pinning the blame on me?” The captain sighed, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “Ma’am, we’re just employees trying to do our jobs. Please try to understand.” “Mr. Place is a very powerful man. We can’t afford to cross him.” “How about this,” he offered. “We’ll refund you three times the price of your ticket and add fifty thousand miles to your account. How does that sound?” “That’s the most generous offer we can make.” Looking at his supposedly “sincere” face made my stomach turn. I took out my phone and, right in front of them, turned on the voice recorder. “Let me be clear. I am not changing seats, and I am not getting off this plane.” “If you attempt to remove me illegally, I will release this recording, along with a full account of everything that has happened today, to the public.” My voice was low and steady. “Then we’ll see what’s more important: your VIP client, or your company’s reputation.” The captain’s face turned to stone. The co-pilot shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Are you threatening us?” I met his glare without flinching. “I am simply defending my rights.” The cockpit fell into a dead silence. After a few tense seconds, the captain waved his hand, signaling the co-pilot to sit down. He stared at me for a long time, so long I thought he was about to call security. Finally, he picked up the intercom, his voice cold as steel. “Inform Mr. Place to return to his assigned seat. We are preparing for takeoff.” The weight in my chest finally lifted. When I walked out of the cockpit, Mr. Place and his companion were standing in the aisle, waiting to gloat. The sight of me walking out, calm and composed, wiped the smug looks right off their faces. A flight attendant scurried over, bowing and scraping to Mr. Place. “Mr. Place, I’m so sorry, but the captain said… could you please return to your seat for now.” His face was a thundercloud. He glared at me, his eyes burning with a look that could skin a person alive. “Fine. You win,” he hissed, the words squeezed through his clenched teeth. “But you just wait.” He spun around and slammed himself into seat 1B. The plane finally took off. I thought that was the end of it. I had no idea it was only the beginning. After we landed, I went to baggage claim. I waited by the carousel for a full hour, watching as every other passenger retrieved their luggage. My own silver suitcase, however, never appeared. My stomach dropped. A terrible feeling washed over me. 2 I immediately went to the baggage claim office. A staff member typed on his computer for what felt like an eternity before looking up with an apologetic expression. “Ma’am, the system shows that your luggage was not on this flight.” Panic flared in my chest. “That’s impossible! I watched the agent check it in at the counter myself!” “I still have the claim tag right here!” I handed him my ticket and the tag. He double-checked, his brow furrowing. “That’s strange. There’s no record of this bag being scanned into the system.” “It’s as if… it never even made it onto the plane.” My mind reeled. I remembered Mr. Place’s parting words: But you just wait. Could he…? “I need to see the security footage,” I demanded, my voice sharp. “I want to see all the surveillance video from the check-in counter and the baggage sorting area for my flight!” The staffer looked uncomfortable. “Ma’am, we don’t have the authority to access the footage from the sorting area.” “We can file a request for the check-in counter footage, but it will take time.” “How much time?” “If you’re lucky, a day or two. If not… maybe three to five days.” I was shaking with rage. My suitcase didn’t just contain clothes; it held all the crucial documents and samples for my business meeting. If it was lost, the damages would be catastrophic. Just as I was about to lose it, the last person I wanted to see appeared in the distance. It was Mr. Place and the woman, whose name I now knew was Vivian. They weren’t just passing by; Vivian’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before her face arranged itself into a mask of innocence. “Joanna, darling, what a coincidence! Did you just land too?” she cooed, her fake smile suggesting the unpleasantness on the plane had never happened. I gave her the silent treatment. She didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes fell to my empty hands, and she covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my, Joanna, where’s your luggage?” “Don’t tell me it’s lost! That’s just awful. It’s so inconvenient to be without your things when you’re traveling.” Her little act fueled my fury. “Did you and Place have something to do with this?” Vivian’s eyes flickered. “Darling, whatever are you talking about? I don’t understand.” “Mr. Place is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time to worry about a little squabble on an airplane.” She paused, her tone shifting to one of casual bragging. “Marcus is here to close a nine-figure deal with a titan of the industry.” “He has no time to waste on petty matters.” I stared daggers at her. “It had better be that way.” Vivian smiled, then leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “A little friendly advice, Joanna. Don’t waste your energy.” “If Marcus doesn’t want you to find something, you’ll never find it.” She straightened up. “Sometimes, a person just has to learn what’s good for them. Otherwise, you might lose more than just your luggage.” With a wink, she sashayed back to Mr. Place’s side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, shot me a look of pure contempt and mockery, and they swept away. I stood frozen, ice spreading through my veins. Anger, humiliation, and helplessness washed over me in a suffocating wave. I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed the airline’s customer service number. Come hell or high water, I was going to get answers. 3 The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. In the calmest voice I could manage, I recounted the entire story, from the confrontation over the seat to my missing luggage. The customer service agent’s voice was sweet and scripted. “Okay, Ms. Hayes, we’ve logged all the information you’ve provided.” “Regarding the seating issue, our records show the captain resolved it for you on board.” “As for your luggage, we will launch an immediate investigation. Please keep your line open.” “How long will the investigation take?” I pressed. “Well… we can’t give you a precise timeline at the moment, but we will contact you as soon as we have any news.” What followed was an endless, maddening wait. One day. Two days. Three. The airline’s call never came. It was as if my complaint had been dropped into a black hole. Every day I went to the baggage office at the airport, and every day the answer was the same: “It’s still under investigation.” When I demanded to see the security footage, they gave me a carousel of excuses. “The technician in charge of surveillance is on vacation.” “The system is down for maintenance.” “It appears the footage from that day has been overwritten.” I knew they were stonewalling me. In their eyes, the whims of a top-tier VIP client were far more important than justice for an ordinary passenger. What I had lost wasn’t just a suitcase; it was my dignity, ground into the dirt by their indifference. I was exhausted and stressed. The deadline for my project was fast approaching, and without my documents and samples, I was dead in the water. Just as I was about to give up hope, I received a call from an unknown number. “Hello, is this Ms. Hayes?” a low, feminine voice asked. “This is she. Who’s calling?” The woman on the other end chuckled. “Who I am isn’t important. What’s important is that I know where your luggage is.” My heart leaped. I sat up straight. “Did Mr. Place put you up to this?” “Marcus is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for you,” the voice purred, dripping with a sickening mix of triumph and pity. “It’s me. Vivian.” “Joanna, darling. Your things? I have them right here.” My hand tightened around the phone. “What do you want?” “Oh, nothing much,” Vivian said, her tone growing playful. “I just feel so sorry for you, I thought I’d show you a way out of this mess.” “Tonight. Eight o’clock. The Grand Hyatt, Presidential Suite, room 8888.” “Marcus will be waiting for you.” “You come over, get on your knees in front of us, and apologize. Properly. Three times, head to the floor.” “If you’re sincere enough, maybe Marcus will be in a good mood and give you your things back.” “In your dreams!” I was shaking with fury. “I’m calling the police! This is extortion! It’s theft!” Vivian burst out laughing as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “The police? Go ahead. Call them. What proof do you have?” “Do you have any evidence that we took your bag?” “Don’t be a fool, Joanna. In this world, without proof, your words are just noise.” Her voice turned sharp. “And one more reminder. Those documents of yours… they seem pretty important, don’t they? It would be a shame if they were to get… damaged. Or worse, leaked. Can your company afford that kind of loss?” It was a naked threat. Shameless, vile, and despicable. “Oh, and one more thing,” Vivian added. “Come alone.” “If you try any tricks, you’ll regret it.” She hung up. I stood there, gripping my phone so tightly I thought it might shatter. Rage and humiliation were two venomous snakes, gnawing away at my sanity. Should I go? If I went, it would be a complete debasement. If I didn’t, my job, my entire career, could be ruined. I paced the room, my mind a chaotic storm. I unlocked my phone, intending to call someone, anyone, but the screen was still on the call history. And looking at the unknown number, my heart suddenly stopped.

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On Halloween night, the club brought eight strangers together in an empty classroom for Truth or Dare. The rule: confess to a “murder.” Not wanting to ruin the mood, I made up a clumsy crime story. The gloomy guy next to me muttered about pushing his cousin into a well as a kid. A sweet-faced freshman timidly admitted to poisoning her friend’s moisturizer with acid over a crush. Another, bookish student calmly described dissolving his stepmother over a denied allowance. I thought everyone was just trying too hard to fit in. After the game, we returned to our dorms. The next morning, police sirens woke me. The academic building was sealed off. My advisor, pale with terror, informed me the seven others from the game were all dead—each matching their confessed “crimes.” On my desk, police found a blood-drawn smiley face and a note: “Eight players, seven confessions. Only you, the liar, are spared.” 1 The incessant wail of sirens and the murmur of a crowd below my window finally dragged me from sleep. My head was splitting, as if I’d chugged a bottle of cheap vodka the night before, even though I’d only had a few sips of a soft drink. I stumbled to the window and peered down. My breath hitched. The quad below was a sea of flashing blue and red lights. Police cars were everywhere. The old, decrepit academic building where we’d been last night was wrapped in yellow caution tape, its entrance swarming with uniformed officers, their faces grim. A crowd of students huddled at a distance, whispering, their expressions a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. My heart began to pound a nervous rhythm against my ribs. What happened? A fire? A break-in? Just then, a sharp, urgent knock rattled my dorm room door. Standing outside was Mr. Davison, my advisor, his face a shade of gray I’d never seen before. Flanking him were two police officers, their sharp eyes sweeping over my small room. “Ivy Morgan?” Mr. Davison’s voice was hoarse. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine, Mr. Davison. What’s going on down there?” I asked, confused. The older of the two officers spoke, his tone all business. “Miss Morgan, please get dressed and come with us. We have some questions for you.” A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I followed them downstairs, my legs feeling strangely disconnected from my body. The closer we got to the old academic building, the stronger the smell in the air became—a faint, cloying mix of sweet rust. They led me to a makeshift incident room in a nearby administrative office. More police were inside, and the air was thick with a tension so heavy it was hard to breathe. “Ivy Morgan, did you attend a freshman mixer in room 304 of the academic building last night?” a senior-looking officer asked. The insignia on his shoulder told me he was in charge. I nodded. “Yes. It started around ten, I think.” “And after it ended? Where did you go? Who were you with?” “It was almost midnight when we finished. We all just went back to our dorms. I walked back alone, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.” I answered honestly, the knot of dread in my stomach twisting tighter. “Officer, what happened?” The senior officer exchanged a look with my advisor. Mr. Davison swallowed hard, his voice trembling when he spoke. “The seven other students… who were in room 304 with you last night… they… something happened to them.” My mind went blank. A roar filled my ears. “Happened? What do you mean?” “It means they’re all dead,” the officer said, his voice cold and blunt, each word a shard of ice in my ear. “Time of death is estimated between one and three this morning. Causes of death… vary. But they were all brutal.” Seven people… all dead? The seven students who were alive just last night, laughing and making up horrible stories… gone? 2 My legs gave out, and I nearly collapsed. A female officer caught me just in time. “We’ve checked the security footage,” the senior officer continued, his eyes locked on mine, leaving no room for evasion. “You were the first to leave room 304, and you did go straight back to your dorm. But we need you to recount every detail of last night, especially that ‘game.’” I sat in the chair they offered, my hands ice-cold. A policewoman handed me a cup of hot water, but I couldn’t feel its warmth. I forced myself to calm down, to remember. I started from the beginning, from the moment I walked into that classroom. When I got to the strange icebreaker game—“Truth or Dare”—I paused, then explained the rule: We all had to confess to a ‘murder’ we’d committed. Across from me, the officer’s brow furrowed. “So, you were playing a game… where you described murders you’d committed?” His voice was laced with disbelief and suspicion. “Not real murders!” I explained hastily. “We all knew it was just a role-playing thing, like a murder mystery game! Our club is the Suspense and Detective Society, and it was Halloween night. A game like that is supposed to be thrilling…” “Fun? Thrilling?” a younger officer, taking notes, muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with incredulity. I swallowed, unable to respond. I just kept talking. I told them about the cliché hit-and-run story I’d made up. Then about the gloomy guy, Kevin, who had mumbled about pushing his smarter cousin into a well. Then the sweet-faced girl, Tina, who had timidly confessed to mixing acid into her friend’s face cream. And finally, the nerdy guy, Ryan, who had adjusted his glasses and calmly described dissolving his stepmother with chemicals. “…I just thought they were all being overly dramatic,” I said, my voice trailing off as I saw the expressions on the officers’ faces grow darker and darker. The senior officer held up a hand, stopping me. “Are you sure… that these stories were ‘made up’?” “Weren’t they?” The chill that had been creeping up my spine shot straight to the top of my head. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took several crime scene photos from a folder and slid them across the table. He covered most of the images with his hand, but the small corners that were visible—a twisted limb, an unnatural discoloration, a blurred, dark red background—were enough to make my stomach churn. “According to the preliminary report,” the officer said, his voice low and steady, every word a hammer blow to my nerves, “Kevin’s body shows signs consistent with death by drowning.” “Tina’s face was severely corroded by a chemical agent. An overturned jar of face cream was found next to her.” “And Ryan… what’s left of him is a partially dissolved mass of human tissue, consistent with exposure to a strong acid.” My breath caught in my throat. A wave of cold washed over me, freezing me to the bone. Could it be? The stories they told last night… they weren’t stories at all? They were their deepest, darkest, bloodiest secrets. “No… that can’t be! How is that possible?” I stammered, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “Who would confess to something like that? Especially in a game?” “We’re wondering the same thing,” the officer said, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel. “Why would seven people, on the same night, during a game, suddenly confess to deeply hidden crimes? It doesn’t make sense.” A terrifying thought crossed my mind. I shivered. “Officer, is it possible… that the classroom is haunted? I mean, everyone on campus knows that building is spooky!” Yes! That had to be it! What else could explain how so many people were killed in one night, each in a different, specific way? But my suggestion only made the officer’s expression more grim. He leaned forward slightly, the pressure of his presence almost suffocating me. “Ivy, during the game, did you notice anything unusual? Anyone being coerced? Or perhaps something that might have affected their state of mind? Like… food? Or a drink?” A drink? I suddenly remembered the club organizer, a student council member named Mark. He had handed out cups of a strange-colored juice. It had a weird, bitter taste. I’d only taken a few sips before putting it down. “Yes! There was a drink!” I said, grasping at the straw. “Mark gave everyone juice! It tasted strange! Maybe there was something in it?” The officer immediately made a note and spoke into his radio. But the preliminary feedback came back quickly. The remaining juice had been collected for testing, but other sealed bottles of the same brand found at the scene appeared to be fine. And besides, the drinks had been purchased by Mark. And Mark… he was one of the dead. His cause of death… decapitation. His head had been stuffed inside his own stomach cavity. The officer turned his gaze back to me. “Even if the drinks were drugged, getting seven people to confess to murder simultaneously is… highly improbable. Ivy, think carefully. Did anything else happen during the game? Anything at all? For instance… what did you do?” I shook my head frantically, my thoughts a chaotic mess. Something special? What could I have done? I was just another player! Just then, there was a knock on the door. Another officer entered and handed the senior officer a clear evidence bag. Inside was a single sheet of paper. It was a piece of lined paper, torn from a notebook, folded in half. It was stained with dark red, irregular speckles. The senior officer put on a pair of gloves and carefully unfolded it. His pupils contracted slightly. Then, slowly, he turned the paper so I could see it. Drawn on the paper, in the same dark red, almost black, dried liquid, was a crooked, childish smiley face: :). And below it, written in the same substance, were a few chilling words: “Eight players, seven confessions.” “Only you, the liar, are spared.” 3 A cold, formless fear wrapped its fingers around my heart and squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. “What… what is that?!” My voice was a high-pitched squeak. “We found this inside the desk where you were sitting—third row, by the window, in room 304.” The officer’s voice was like ice. “Preliminary tests confirm the substance on the paper is human blood. It was written sometime between ten and twelve last night, during your game.” He stared at me, his gaze trying to pierce through to my soul. “Forensic analysis has confirmed that the handwriting on the note is yours, Ivy. Now, would you care to explain… what this ‘bloody note’ is all about?” Blood rushed to my head, then receded just as quickly, leaving me ice-cold. Human blood? “No, that’s not right! That was a prop we used in the second half of the game!” I shrieked, scrambling backward in my chair, trying to get away from the ominous piece of paper. “Mark told me to write it! He gave me the ‘paint’! I didn’t know it was blood!” “Mark told you to write it?” the officer repeated, his eyes narrowing. “But the blood on this note belongs to him.” He paused, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer. “‘Seven confessions’ refers to the seven victims who confessed to their crimes. And ‘you, the liar’… Ivy, you were the only one who claimed your murder story was ‘made up.’” “Because it was!” I was on the verge of tears. “Officer, you can check! I’ve never been in a car accident in my life, let alone killed someone! Anyone who knows me can tell you that!” “We will, of course, verify your story,” the officer said, his tone unwavering. “But the facts are this: seven people who confessed to murder are dead, and their deaths mirror their confessions. The one person who claimed to be lying survived, and a note with a very specific message was found at her seat.” He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, creating an intimidating posture. “It’s too much of a coincidence, Ivy. It’s so coincidental that it feels like a carefully orchestrated… declaration.” I stared at him, bewildered. “What… what does that mean?” The younger officer closed his notebook and interjected, “It means there was no mysterious mastermind. The so-called ‘game’ was a setup, designed by you.” “You used some method we haven’t yet identified—maybe drugs, maybe psychological manipulation—to induce the seven victims to confess their deepest secrets while in a suggestible or uncontrolled state.” “Then, after they confessed, you executed them, one by one, in a manner corresponding to their secrets.” “Finally, you faked this note to deflect suspicion onto some supernatural force or a non-existent ‘judge,’ thereby clearing your own name. Because you knew your story was the only fiction, making you ‘innocent’ and thus, ‘spared.’” The string of accusations exploded in my head like a series of bombs, leaving me shattered and cold. “You’re crazy… You’re all crazy!” I screamed, tears finally breaking free. “Me, alone? One girl? How could I possibly kill seven people in one night, in seven different ways? It’s not possible!” “Oh?” The senior officer let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Is it really not?” He produced another file.

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1 My mother-in-law had been accidentally poisoned. She was knocking on death’s door, and I, the only toxicologist in the city who could save her, was her last hope. I had just hung up the phone and was about to leave when my husband, Aiden, blocked my path. “Today’s the grand opening of Nina’s Terror Dome,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “If you take off, who’s going to play the penniless NPC?” My face hardened. “The golden window for the antidote is thirty minutes. One second late, and your mother could die.” Aiden just rolled his eyes. “If your janitor mom kicks the bucket, she kicks the bucket. I’ll throw some extra cash at her funeral, big deal. But if you dare cause a scene today, I’ll ruin you.” His female bestie, Nina, draped herself over him with a playful laugh. “What’s the hurry, Dia? Itching to sneak out and meet some other guy? Look at that long face, longer than when you’re getting off. Right, my big boy?” I almost laughed at their shamelessness. It clicked. Aiden thought the one dying was my mother. “Fine,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I put the case containing the serum back down. “I won’t go.” Aiden blinked, clearly taken aback. He probably expected me to burst into tears, to beg him, or to make a desperate run for the door. He sized me up, a frown creasing his brow. “Scared, are you? Good. Nina’s grand opening is a hell of a lot more important than your worthless mother.” Nina giggled, playfully punching his chest. “See? I told you my big boy knows how to train a woman. I bet you broke her in bed to make her this obedient. That new position you tried on me last time had my legs sore for three days!” They collapsed into a fit of laughter, grabbing at each other. I cleared my throat. Aiden’s patience snapped. “What now, Dia? Just let your filthy, foul-smelling mother die. The stench of piss and shit just clings to her.” He sneered. “Did she poison herself digging through another dumpster for dinner? Honestly, why would you even go? To collect her corpse? Just flush it down a sewer and be done with it.” I had always told myself that Aiden was just being influenced by Nina, this toxic “one of the guys” type of woman. That his cruelty was a temporary lapse in judgment. But I never imagined he would think it was my mother who was dying. And that my mother’s life, in his eyes, was worth less than the grand opening of Nina’s tacky haunted house. The disgust was suffocating. I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Fine. I’m not leaving. Your good time is what’s most important. What’s a life in comparison?” Aiden stared for a second, the contempt in his eyes deepening. “Glad you know your place. So you finally admit your stinking mother’s life is cheap.” Nina cackled, hanging off Aiden like a vine. “It’s for the best you see reality, Dia. I bet your mom is just trying to scam some money before she croaks. Were you planning to rush over and grab your cut before she stopped breathing?” Aiden basked in her attention, letting her hands roam over his body. “Let me tell you something, Dia. I invested thirty million dollars in this Terror Dome. It’s my gift to Nina. If you dare ruin our mood, I won’t just let your mother die. I’ll make sure your entire family joins her.” Just then, Aiden’s phone rang. He answered on speaker, his voice dripping with irritation. “Is this Mr. Blackwood? Your mother is fading fast! If Dr. Hayes doesn’t get here with the serum, there’s nothing more we can do!” That’s when Aiden exploded. He lunged at me, grabbing my arm so violently that the serum case I was holding clattered to the floor. “Don’t you dare compare that old hag to my mother!” he roared into the phone. “If she’s going to die, tell her to get on with it! Call and harass me again, and I’ll burn your damn hospital to the ground!” He slammed the phone down and, in a fit of rage, brought his heel down on the serum case. The delicate vial inside shattered, the sound echoing the final snap of my mother-in-law’s lifeline. To create that single, tiny vial, my team had spent three years locked in a lab. We’d failed over a thousand times, burning through enough funding to buy ten of his ridiculous theme parks. That was the only finished dose in existence. Aiden, however, looked triumphant. “Just let your broke-ass mom rot and stink up the hospital,” he sneered. “If it weren’t for that pretty face and the fact that you put out in bed, do you think you would have ever married into the Blackwood family?” Nina stood on her toes and kissed his chin. “Isn’t it a good thing your mom’s dead, Dia? Now we won’t have to deal with her constantly trying to leech off us. Last time, she asked me to find her a job sweeping a park, said she could collect an extra twenty bottles a day! Can you believe it? So pathetic!” I had to laugh. The annual interest from my mother’s trust fund alone could buy out the Blackwood family ten times over. Who the hell did they think they were? The Blackwood business was a sinking ship I had secretly bailed out because I felt sorry for him. Ever since I was kidnapped as a child, the resulting trauma had made my mother insist I keep my identity a secret. And here he was, using my money to buy gifts for Nina while humiliating me for my supposed poverty. The audacity was breathtaking. “Whether you want to save a dying person is your business,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “But if you dare insult my mother again, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Aiden’s face twisted in a sneer. “Are you threatening me? Don’t want to collect your mother’s corpse anymore? I’ll have you know, her dying today is a sacrifice to bless the opening of Nina’s Terror Dome!” His friends chimed in. “Yeah, Ryan! The park opens tonight! We still haven’t tested that new extreme horror theme.” Aiden glanced at me, then waved at his bodyguards. “Since you’re so eager to run your mouth, you can be Nina’s test subject!” I fought, but they were too strong, pinning me to an operating table in a room designed to look like a biohazard lab. Nina stood over me, holding a massive, prop syringe. “Welcome to my laboratory of horrors!” she announced to the room. “Today, we will be conducting a thrilling live experiment!” The crowd roared with laughter. “Damn, this is good! The effects are amazing. I’m gonna live-stream this; it’ll create a huge buzz for tonight’s opening.” Just then, my phone, still in my jacket pocket, began to ring incessantly. Annoyed at the interruption, Aiden snatched it. His eyes fell on the caller ID: “Chairman Hayes.” With a roar of fury, he smashed the phone against my head. “You’ve got some nerve, Dia! Already found yourself a sugar daddy!” Nina poked him in the chest. “A Chairman, huh? You’re really something, Dia. Stringing my big boy along while you’re hooking up with some old geezer on the side?” Her voice turned venomous. “I bet you killed your own mother on purpose, just to scam some cash so you could run off with your new rich boyfriend!” As she spoke, she drew a viscous, unnerving liquid from a beaker into the syringe. “Let me teach you a lesson, you shameless whore.” Aiden’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Great idea, Nina! Later, we’ll strip her naked and lock her in a cage for all the visitors to see!” Hearing this, Nina lunged, aiming the needle straight for my neck. But the escape artist training from my childhood kidnapping hadn’t faded. In a fluid motion, I broke the rope bindings and twisted, redirecting the syringe and plunging it deep into the back of her hand. “AHH!” Nina’s scream was bloodcurdling. The skin on her hand began to corrode, sizzling as white smoke rose from it. “My hand! My hand!” she shrieked in terror. Her friends, who had been laughing moments before, backed away in horror. “What the hell? I thought that was a prop!” “Is… is that real acid?” Panic seized Aiden. He rushed to Nina, cradling her and kissing her rotting hand, before turning on me and slapping me across the face. “You bitch, Dia! You dare hurt Nina! If you don’t get on your knees and beg for her forgiveness right now, I swear I’ll make sure they never even find your mother’s ashes!” At that moment, a commotion erupted at the entrance. “Dr. Hayes! We tried calling you a dozen times! We had to use your phone’s GPS to find you!” Several paramedics rushed in, their faces grim. “The patient was still holding on, waiting for your serum, but on the way here…” One of them sighed heavily. “She’s gone. We’ve brought the body for the family. You should start making arrangements.” Aiden looked disgusted. “God, Dia, your mother is relentless even in death.” Nina, her face a mask of pain and hate, screamed, “They brought the corpse here? Well, isn’t that a grand opening gift! A special guest of honor for the premiere!” Her twisted joke broke the tension, and the friends started laughing again. “Aiden, you’re a genius! A real corpse as a prop for opening night? The publicity will be insane!” “It does stink a bit, though. What is that smell?” Aiden pinched his nose, then kicked the gurney with disgust. “Get this unlucky trash out of here! Can’t even die in peace!” The body rolled off the gurney and hit the floor with a sickening thud. The face was swollen and purple, completely unrecognizable. But Aiden had found a new source of amusement. He grabbed my hair and forced my face down toward the corpse on the floor. “Dia, if you get on your knees right now and bark like a dog to apologize to Nina, I might consider sparing your mother’s remains. Otherwise, she’s going to be the Terror Dome’s first real ghost!” The pain in my scalp was excruciating. But all I could feel was a strange, dark amusement at the scene unfolding before me. I slapped his hand away. “You’re the one who’s so good at acting like an animal. Why don’t you show me? Let’s hear what a pair of dogs in heat sound like.” Aiden’s face contorted with rage. “You dare talk back to me, you bitch!” He lifted his foot and brought it down hard, stomping on the head of the corpse. I just smiled. “Aiden, I only ever said ‘my mother’ was poisoned and dying.” “What if,” I continued, my voice sweet as poison, “the head under your foot isn’t my mother’s… but yours?” He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “My mother? Dia, has grief finally broken your brain? My mom is on vacation in Europe. You’re wishing death on her now?” He sneered. “Let me tell you, the entire world could die before my mother does. Comparing your dumpster-diving, filthy old hag to my mother is like comparing heaven and hell.” Nina clutched her blackening hand, her eyes spitting venom. “Don’t waste your breath on her, big boy! She’s doing it on purpose! Look what this bitch did to my hand! Chop up her dead mom! Do it now!” Aiden’s eyes turned murderous. He grabbed a fire axe from a wall display and raised it over the body. “Whatever my precious Nina wants, she gets. These limbs will look great in the haunted house tonight. Give the guests a touch of realism!” The heavy, wet thud of the axe echoed through the room, over and over. But I just laughed. Aiden was truly, stupendously idiotic. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he found out whose body he was currently dismembering. He was still gloating. “How about that, Dia? This is your mother’s final contribution to our Terror Dome. You should be thanking me.” “I’ll give you one last chance. Get on your knees, chop off the hand that hurt Nina, and I’ll let you collect what’s left of your mother.” He reached for me. I grabbed a heavy iron skillet from a nearby prop table and swung it with all my might into his face. The impact sent him staggering backward, blood gushing from his nose. Everyone froze, stunned into silence. Nina pointed a trembling, corroded finger at me. “You hit my big boy! Get her! Cut off her hands and feet!” The bodyguards started to move, but Aiden wobbled back to his feet. He wiped the blood from his face, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, manic light. “Good. Very good,” he hissed. “It seems I’ve been too kind to you. You’ve forgotten what you are.” He grabbed the severed head of the corpse and began dragging it toward the back courtyard. The guards seized me, forcing me to follow. In the courtyard was a massive industrial shredder. “Dia,” Aiden snarled, his voice a low growl, “since you refuse to learn your lesson, you can watch your mother get turned into pulp!” He switched on the machine. With a triumphant roar, he tossed the dismembered body parts into the grinder. The machine roared to life, a gruesome fountain of blood and viscera spraying everywhere. Aiden stood beside it, drenched in the gory mess. He even spread his arms wide, reveling in it. “HAHAHA! DO YOU SEE THAT, DIA? THAT’S YOUR MOTHER’S FINAL FATE! GROUND TO A PASTE! YOU WON’T EVEN BE ABLE TO COLLECT HER ASHES!” He turned his head, his crimson eyes locking onto me. “Now, it’s your turn!” Just as he raised the axe and charged toward me, the courtyard gates burst open. My father-in-law rushed in, his face pale with urgency. He swung his cane, cracking it across Aiden’s face. “Your mother is dying, and you’re stopping Dia from saving her?” he screamed, his voice breaking. “Where is her body? The hospital said they delivered the body! Where is it?”

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