Category: English

1 The world shattered in a screech of metal and glass. I was driving to my final check-up when suddenly I was rushed into the ER alongside another pregnant woman from the other car. “Her water broke! We need to move — now! Get the husband to sign the forms,” a nurse yelled urgently. As they wheeled me toward the OR, I gasped, “My husband’s busy… I can sign myself!” Just then, the other woman’s husband burst in, his face bloody. “Help her first!” he shouted, pointing to the other gurney. “She has a heart condition — she’s worse!” His face was panicked and dirty, but I knew him. My heart stopped. Alberto. That’s my husband. He turned to the medical team with sudden professional calm. “I’m Dr. Alberto Hayes from Metropolitan General OB/GYN. Trust my judgment.” I reached out, trembling, trying to touch him. He swatted my hand away without looking. “But this patient’s water has broken,” a nurse said, gesturing at me. Alberto gave me a cold, dismissive glance. “She’ll be fine. I’m her husband. I’ll sign a waiver.” … The crash had thrown the hospital into chaos, and doctors were stretched thin. An operating room had been a precious, life-saving lottery ticket, and I had just won it. But because my husband was a respected authority at Metropolitan General, the staff deferred to him. They trusted his “professional judgment.” They delayed my surgery. As my gurney was pushed aside, Alberto didn’t even look at me. His focus was entirely on the other woman, Bella. He held her hand, his touch gentle, all his fear and tenderness laid bare for her. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “I’ll get approval, and I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure you get off that table safely.” The raw devotion in his eyes was a spike through my heart. With no available beds, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch the man I married pour his soul out for another woman. All around me, patients were surrounded by family, their hands held, their fears soothed by a loving presence. My own loving presence had just secured permission to personally save his true love. He walked past me on his way to scrub in. He paused for a fraction of a second but never turned his head. His steps were firm, resolute, leaving behind nothing but a cold, clipped sentence that drifted back to me. “You’re not going to die. Please, trust my professional judgment.” I don’t know how long that surgery took. Waiting in the cold, chaotic hallway, I drifted in and out of a pained, hazy sleep. The next time I was jolted awake, it was to the sound of panic. A crowd of scrubs and white coats swarmed around my gurney. “Patient is experiencing an acute amniotic fluid embolism! Now! Get the blood bank on the line!” “Where is Dr. Hayes?! Get him here! He’s the only one in the entire city who’s successfully treated an AFE! None of us have the experience!” The frantic thud of footsteps echoed around me as several orderlies grabbed my gurney and started running. “It’s going to be okay,” one of them said, his voice strained with false confidence. “Your husband is the best OB/GYN in the city. He’s handled two of these cases before, ninety-nine percent success rate. You’re young, you’re healthy, your blood type is common. You have a great chance.” They burst through the doors of an operating room. The blinding white light seared my eyes. Voices called out my vitals, a strange mix of clinical calm and rising panic. “No! Her O2 stats are dropping too fast! She’s not going to make it! Where the hell is Dr. Hayes?” my attending physician yelled, his hand gripping mine, his skin cold and clammy. A nurse nearby answered, her voice trembling. “Dr. Hayes… he left after finishing Bella’s surgery. He said she woke up craving the soup he makes, and he went home to cook it for her.” “Then call him!” “We did! He’s not picking up…” “The baby! Fetal heartbeat is gone! The mother has no will to live, we’re losing them both!” My doctor squeezed my hand, his voice firm and close to my ear. “They assigned you to me, and I don’t give up on my patients. You hear me? Don’t you dare give up on yourself! Get Pediatrics in here for the infant resuscitation! We are saving them both, do you understand?” Okay… I managed a weak flutter of my eyelids. Someone in this world still wanted me to live. I had to try. The interns were still frantically trying to reach Alberto. My doctor and a team of senior surgeons began a desperate, racing battle against time to save me. I watched bags of blood, full and red, being hung, then taken down, empty and pale. I saw the sweat pouring down their faces, their brows furrowed in intense concentration. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Just then, an intern held up my phone, his voice filled with relief. “Dr. Hayes is calling her! He’s calling back!” The call was put on speakerphone, his voice echoing through the tense silence of the OR. It wasn’t a voice of concern. It was sharp, impatient, and angry. “Lia! Where the hell did you put your hospital go-bag? It’s not like you’ll be needing it anytime soon. I’m taking it for Bella to use.” 2 I saw my attending physician’s brow furrow in disbelief. His face hardened as he handed his instrument to another surgeon and strode over to the intern, taking the sterilized, bagged phone. “Dr. Hayes,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Your wife has suffered an acute amniotic fluid embolism and is currently in critical condition. You have experience in this area. We need you at Riverside Community Hospital immediately to assist with saving her life.” Beep. Beep. Beep. He had hung up. “What the— Is he insane?!” one of the younger doctors exploded. “His wife is dying, and he’s worried about a go-bag for his mistress? Some top doctor! He’s nothing but a world-class scumbag!” The outburst was loud enough for everyone to hear. I almost laughed. The attending physician, realizing his colleague’s words might affect me, quickly apologized. Through the fog of anesthesia, I tried to move my eyes to show him it was okay. Because he was right. In that single, sharp moment, despair washed over me, a black tide that swallowed the last flicker of my will to fight. “Her O2 is crashing! Get more units from the blood bank!” Riverside Community began making emergency calls to every hospital in the city, pleading for plasma. The news of a woman battling an AFE spread quickly, even making it onto the local news reports. Finally, Metropolitan General sent over another doctor who had previously assisted with an AFE surgery. He rushed in, still breathless. “What a coincidence! Dr. Hayes’s wife just gave birth over at our hospital too. I was just stopping by to visit when I heard about your emergency. I got special permission to come over and help.” Dr. Hayes’s wife? My attending physician shot a quick, confused glance in my direction. But Alberto’s colleague, having worked with him on these cases before, was relatively calm. He helped stabilize the situation. As my vitals slowly returned to normal, he tried to lighten the mood with some chatter. “When I was on my way over, I saw the pediatric team had resuscitated the newborn. A healthy, chubby little boy.” He chuckled. “But they kept calling for the dad, and no one showed up. Is she a single mom or something?” My doctor cleared his throat loudly. The man didn’t catch the hint. “And it’s strange, you know? Alberto’s wife is in Room 303 right over at Metropolitan, but he didn’t come here to help you guys out. He’s the authority on this stuff! Did he turn down a chance to save a life because he was too worried about his own wife giving birth?” He kept rambling until an intern couldn’t take it anymore. “Dr. Evans,” she snapped, “the woman lying in front of you is Dr. Hayes’s wife, Lia.” Dr. Evans chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous, kid. I’ve worked with Alberto for years. I think I know who his wife is. It’s Bella. Not some Lia.” “We’re screwed,” my doctor muttered, watching my monitor as my once-stable vitals began to plummet again. He turned on Dr. Evans, his voice laced with fury. “Why would we lie to you about that? This is Lia Thorne, Alberto Hayes’s wife! He admitted it himself! She had a sliver of a will to live, and now, after what you just said, it’s completely gone!” Dr. Evans slapped his forehead. “I thought you were all joking!” At that moment, the faint sound of a baby’s cry cut through the tension. “The baby!” my doctor yelled to the pediatricians across the room. “Bring the baby to the mother, let her see him!” I forced my heavy eyelids open. A tiny, purplish infant was brought into my line of sight. A weak smile touched my lips. He was so wrinkled and ugly. He looked just like Alberto. But I loved him. An instinctive, biological mother’s love that I couldn’t control, even as it disgusted me. After a grueling twenty-four hours and a transfusion of what felt like the city’s entire blood supply, I survived. When I was finally moved from the ICU to a regular room, the maternity nurse I’d hired was already there. She looked incredibly awkward, holding a used diaper in her hand. I knew instantly what had happened. “Ma’am,” she began, avoiding my eyes. “Mr. Hayes insisted that I go and take care of Miss Bella first. I… I couldn’t really say no.” 3 Before I could respond, Alberto’s voice boomed from the doorway. “Maria, hurry up! The baby spit up again, and Bella is too weak to hold him.” He pushed the door open and froze, clearly surprised to see me there, awake and alive. Our eyes met for a moment before he adopted an air of nonchalant dismissal. “Our son is still in the NICU, so Maria isn’t needed here yet,” he stated, not asked. “I’m just borrowing her for Bella. I’m sure you don’t mind.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, by the way, I called your parents. They’re on their way. I’m exhausted from taking care of Bella, so I really don’t have the energy to look after you too. Hope you understand.” Just then, a group of his colleagues arrived, their arms laden with gift baskets and flowers. “Alberto, what are you doing in here?” one of them asked. “Your wife is looking for you!” “Bella needs something?” he asked, his immediate assumption that “wife” meant Bella sending another pang through me. He rushed out to her. His colleagues followed, leaving only Maria standing there, utterly bewildered. “But you’re Dr. Hayes’s wife, aren’t you?” she whispered. “I thought Bella was just his friend. Why does everyone call her Mrs. Hayes?” I managed a weak, bitter smile. “I guess it’s just a misunderstanding.” Maria tossed a washcloth onto the counter in frustration. “Doesn’t he have a mouth? Can’t he correct them when they’re ‘misunderstood’? It seems to me Dr. Hayes has a wandering eye and is more than happy to let everyone think Bella is his wife.” Even a stranger could see Alberto’s intentions so clearly. Bella was his high school crush, the goddess he never had the guts to ask out but whose pedestal he worshipped at from afar, very publicly. I wouldn’t have known the depths of his obsession if he hadn’t dragged me to a class reunion once. I saw a side of him I never knew existed—this proud, arrogant man, so subservient and meek in her presence. Facing Bella, he was always looking down, like a scolded puppy. His old roommates had joked with the newly divorced Bella, “You really have bad luck, goddess. If you’d just said yes to Alberto back then, you’d be Mrs. Dr. Hayes, the wife of Metropolitan General’s top specialist. Someone else wouldn’t have gotten the chance.” And I was that “someone else,” sitting right there, trying to saw through a tough piece of steak. None of his friends liked me. They saw me as the obstacle between Alberto and Bella. Without me, their goddess would have had her rightful place. And Alberto believed it, too. After that reunion, he started giving me the silent treatment. He used work as an excuse, coming home once a week at most and refusing to accompany me to a single prenatal appointment. Meanwhile, he became a fixture in Bella’s social media posts, lauded as her “amazing male friend.” Bella, for her part, never corrected the assumptions about their relationship. She’d just smile, a silent, all-accepting refusal to clarify. Alberto was the same. He basked in the glory of people thinking the vibrant, beautiful Bella was his wife. We fought about it once. He told me the “truth would speak for itself” and there was no need to prove anything. He told me to respect his right to have friends. When it came to Bella, his confidence evaporated. The slightest hint of affection from her, and he’d come running like a dog. But with me, he was always so sure. He thought I was his for the taking. If I couldn’t leave him before we had a child, I certainly wouldn’t leave him now. That certainty made him reckless. He forgot one crucial thing. Unlike him, I wasn’t a dog who would keep coming back for scraps. Bella’s room was right next to mine. A steady stream of visitors flowed in and out—Alberto’s colleagues, his old classmates, and even Dr. Evans, the surgeon from my operation. “Alberto, what you’re doing is disgusting!” I heard Dr. Evans’s voice, sharp and clear even through the wall. “Bella isn’t your wife, but you never correct anyone! You let all of us colleagues make fools of ourselves, calling her ‘Mrs. Hayes’ day in and day out! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was during your real wife’s surgery?” There was a long pause before Alberto finally replied, his voice flat. “I told you all to just call her Bella. You were the ones who insisted on calling her ‘Mrs. Hayes.’” 4 “Are you f—king kidding me? You couldn’t just say ‘she’s my friend’? Besides, your wife just survived an AFE! She was literally knocking on death’s door, and you’re in here playing nursemaid to Bella? Aren’t you afraid your wife is just going to leave you?” I heard the sound of a hand slapping against my door, as if Dr. Evans was trying to shove Alberto into my room. But the sound was followed by the firm click of Bella’s door being shut. “Afraid?” Alberto’s laugh was a cold, cruel thing. “I wish she would. She was the one who chased me for years, a pathetic backup plan who finally got lucky. She’d never leave. And now with the baby? She’s trapped.” The sound of his mocking chuckle sliced through me. “She’s not like Bella. Bella has a heart condition; she’s fragile. Lia was an athlete. An AFE is a big deal for other people, but for her? It’s a minor inconvenience.” “Have you lost your mind? You’re a damn OB/GYN! Do you not know the mortality rate for an AFE?” Dr. Evans shot back, his voice thick with disbelief. “That patient who died on your table last year was an athlete, in perfect health! An AFE took her in less than thirty minutes. Your wife is just lucky. Maybe Death took one look at her miserable marriage and took pity on her.” Dr. Evans argued until he was hoarse, but Alberto never came into my room. Instead, I got a notification on my phone: a wire transfer for twenty thousand dollars with a curt message to take care of myself. I blocked his number. I deleted every form of contact. That evening, my attending physician, Dr. Cole, stopped by. He told me that since my recovery was going well, a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic fluid embolism, with its ninety-nine percent mortality rate, was a miracle. “Don’t worry, the interview will be quick,” he assured me. “Afterward, the heads of Metropolitan General and a few other major hospitals are going to hold a postpartum consultation for you. It’s a good thing.” “Okay,” I agreed without hesitation. On the day of the interview, Alberto showed up. He was dressed in a sharp suit, standing confidently among the hospital administrators. He spoke at length about the challenges he faced performing my surgery, the immense pressure of operating on his own wife. Dr. Evans stood nearby, head down, looking miserable. The leadership from Metropolitan General beamed at Alberto with pride, murmuring words of sympathy. “The hardest thing for a surgeon is to operate on a loved one,” his direct supervisor proclaimed for the cameras. “And in this case, Dr. Hayes was faced with the lives of his wife and unborn son. It took incredible strength and a will of iron to achieve such a perfect outcome.” The supervisor gave Alberto a pointed look. Alberto strode through the crowd and stopped in front of my bed. “You know I’m up for a promotion,” he whispered, his voice low. “This is a huge opportunity.” He leaned closer. “Thank God it was you they were saving. If it had been anyone else, this wouldn’t have been so easy to arrange. When they ask you questions, don’t say the wrong thing. Remember, I was the one who performed your surgery. Just me. My superiors have already taken care of the narrative.” He reached out and ruffled my hair, an old gesture of affection. But I hadn’t washed it since giving birth, and it was greasy. He quickly wiped his hand on his trousers with a flicker of disgust. The interview began. Dr. Cole arrived late and was blocked from entering the room by staff from Metropolitan General. A reporter pushed a microphone toward my face. “Ms. Thorne, after such a near-death experience, what is the most important thing you want to say?” I paused, gathering my thoughts, then took the microphone. “I want to thank the doctors for their absolute refusal to give up on me, especially when I was about to give up on myself. They never faltered.” The reporter, sensing a story, glanced from me to Alberto and back again. “And is there any particular doctor you’d like to thank the most?” I saw Dr. Evans by the door, already turning to leave. I raised my hand and pointed past the crowd. “My attending physician, Dr. Cole, and from Metropolitan General…” Every camera swiveled to Alberto. He puffed out his chest, a prepared speech already on his lips. “…Dr. Evans!” I finished. The room erupted in confused murmurs. Alberto stared at me, his eyes wide with fury. He fumbled for his phone, probably to text me, but the failed delivery notification only made his expression darker. Dr. Evans, singled out, looked utterly stunned, his eyes welling up with tears. The reporter, flustered, tried to regain control. “Is there… anyone else?” I smiled, a wide, bright, unforgiving smile. “Of course. There is one more person. I want to thank my husband most of all.”

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After the divorce from my movie-star husband, I took my settlement, bought a run-down property on the outskirts of the city, and opened a shelter for stray animals. His new flame, an actress and viral sensation, took a swipe at me on their celebrity reality show. “Some people just don’t have what it takes,” she said to a live audience of millions, “so they surround themselves with helpless animals to feel important.” The entire internet was waiting for me to become a punchline. The next moment, on a globally televised broadcast from the World Economic Summit, the richest man on the planet interrupted his own keynote speech to make an urgent, public plea. “Whoever finds my cat,” he said, his voice tight with desperation, “will be rewarded with a ten percent stake in the Sterling Tower.” The photo he displayed on the screen behind him was of the hungriest, most mischievous orange cat currently living in my shelter. 1 “Liam, is your ex-wife… okay?” On the live feed of the celebrity reality show Living with the Grays, Chloe Summers draped herself over my ex-husband’s arm, her laughter tinkling like cheap wind chimes. “While we’re out here hustling, building our careers, she takes your money and opens some dilapidated animal shelter on the outskirts of the city. Spends all day with a bunch of dirty cats and dogs.” She leaned into the camera, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “I mean, some people just don’t have what it takes, so they surround themselves with helpless animals to feel important.” Liam Gray, Hollywood’s newest leading man and my ex-husband, tenderly brushed a stray strand of blonde hair from Chloe’s forehead. He offered the camera a weary, indulgent smile. “Don’t be like that,” he said, his voice dripping with magnanimity. “She just… has a big heart.” The tone was pure condescension, the kind you’d use for a child who just can’t seem to understand the grown-up world. The live comments exploded. [OMG Liam is such a gentleman! I ship them so hard! #Loe] [Chloe’s savage but she’s not wrong. Who even knew who Willa was before she married him?] [I heard she got a massive settlement. And she opens a shelter? Talk about throwing your life away.] [LOL, she gave up being Mrs. Liam Gray to go scoop poop. Is she crazy?] My phone vibrated incessantly on the counter, a stream of screenshots and “Are you okay?” texts from my few real friends. I ignored them. Setting the phone face down, I gently lifted a sleeping orange cat from the top of a scratching post. “Cheeto, you’re putting on weight again. We’re going to have to talk about portion control.” I’d named him Cheeto. He was the shelter’s hungriest, most mischievous, and most affectionate resident. I managed two strokes down his back before he pushed my hand away with an impatient paw, hopped to the floor, and expertly tore open a bag of freeze-dried salmon treats, the crunching sound echoing in the quiet room. I sighed and reached for the dustpan. The whole internet was waiting for my response, hungry for a tearful, hysterical breakdown. But all I felt was tired of the noise. When we divorced, Liam gave me this small, run-down property and a sum of money he considered “more than generous.” He expected me to wither like a vine cut from its tree, lost without his spotlight to sustain me. He never understood that all I ever wanted was to get away from the glare, to live a quiet life of my own making. On the television, a financial news network was covering a global business summit. Liam and Chloe were still on screen in a smaller window, performing their roles as the perfect, aspirational couple. I muted the volume and turned to refill the water bowls for the dogs in the yard. As I turned my back, a familiar face filled the silent screen. Alistair Sterling. The richest man in the world. A man who typically only appeared on the cover of Forbes was now standing at a podium, broadcast live across the globe. He seemed to have gone off-script, his expression etched with a raw urgency I’d never seen on a man of his stature. The next moment, he leaned into the microphone, his voice steady but laced with a barely concealed desperation that cut through the silence of my living room. I fumbled for the remote, turning the volume up. “…anyone who can help me find my cat, I am prepared to offer a ten percent stake in the Sterling Tower as a reward.” An assistant quickly projected a photo onto the massive screen behind him. It was a chubby orange cat with a comically imperious expression. It was identical to Cheeto, who was at that very moment trying to wedge his entire head into the treat bag at my feet. 2 “Willa, have you completely lost your mind?” Liam’s voice on the other end of the line was a low, controlled burn of fury. “Isn’t this embarrassing enough for you? For me?” he seethed. “Posting that kind of thing online… Do you have any idea that Chloe was mobbed by reporters all day because of you?” I’d just settled the last of the puppies for the night, my back aching from the strain. “What did I post?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” His voice shot up an octave. “That billionaire’s cat! Why did you have to jump on that bandwagon? The entire internet is laughing at you, calling you a delusional gold digger. Are you trying to drag my name through the mud with you?” I stayed quiet. After seeing the news report, I’d been stunned. But then I’d thought, there are millions of orange cats in the world. It’s probably just a coincidence. I’d gone to bed and put it out of my mind. But this morning, while trimming his claws, I’d noticed it: a faint, heart-shaped marking on the pad of Cheeto’s back paw. It was a perfect match for the detailed close-up photo Alistair Sterling had released to the press. After a long hesitation, I’d filmed a short, quiet video of Cheeto and posted it online. I didn’t show my face. It was just clips of him eating, sleeping, and attempting to shred a new armchair, ending with a clear shot of the heart-shaped mark. I hadn’t been thinking about the reward. My only thought was that somewhere out there, a man was desperately missing his pet. I never imagined it would cause such a firestorm. My Instagram followers had jumped by a million overnight, but the comments were a cesspool of mockery. [Thirsty much? Find a random ginger cat and claim it’s the billionaire’s? Pathetic.] [Nice photoshop job on the paw print. Almost looks real. ] [Just let it go, Willa. You’re divorced. Liam has moved on. Try to have some dignity.] Liam’s call was just gasoline on the fire. “Willa, I’m warning you. Delete that video right now, and post an apology. Stop living in this fantasy world. There are limits to chasing clout.” “But what if it really is him?” I asked softly. A humorless laugh crackled through the phone, followed by Chloe’s syrupy voice in the background. “Liam, honey, don’t waste your breath. She’s just jealous we’re trending, so she cooked up this insane scheme to get some attention.” Liam’s tone softened, shifting into that familiar, patronizing gentleness. “Willa, listen. I know it’s not easy for you on your own. If you’re short on cash, you can just ask me. You don’t have to resort to… this.” “I don’t need your money,” I said, cutting him off. “I was just posting a lost pet announcement.” I hung up. The phone rang again almost immediately. It was Liam’s agent. “Ms. Hayes,” he said, his voice cold and professional. “Liam and Chloe are at a critical stage in their careers. We must insist that you cease using your former association with Mr. Gray to generate publicity that negatively impacts their public image. If you refuse, our legal department will be in touch.” A threat. A bald-faced, Hollywood threat. I looked out the window. The animals I’d rescued were chasing each other across the small patch of grass, bathed in the warm afternoon sun. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I had escaped that world, so why wouldn’t they just let me go? That evening, Chloe went live on Instagram. The theme: “Chatting about my sweet, misguided friend.” She never mentioned my name, but every word was a perfectly crafted dart aimed directly at me. “So, I have this friend,” she began, sighing dramatically. “She’s been having a really hard time since her divorce, always dreaming that some miracle will just fall into her lap. Recently, she started telling everyone she found a billionaire’s lost cat. Isn’t that just the saddest, funniest thing you’ve ever heard?” Her fans flooded the comments with laughing emojis. [LMAO, I think we all know who Chloe’s talking about.] [It’s her, isn’t it? The ex. This is the funniest story of the year.] 3 Chloe covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with faux giggles. “No, no, you guys, don’t speculate. I’m just sharing a funny story. But seriously, you have to be realistic in life. If you spend too much time daydreaming, you can really lose your grip on reality.” The stream’s viewership soared. My name, Willa Hayes, scrolled across the screen in an endless, mocking loop. I had become a national punchline. The next day, a new kind of trouble arrived at my gate. A group of clout-chasing YouTubers, phones held out like weapons. “What’s up, guys! We’re live on the scene, about to expose the truth behind the Celebrity Ex-Wife’s Billion-Dollar Cat-fish!” They laughed as they pushed open my unlocked gate, their cameras panning across the modest yard. “Check it out! This is it. The so-called ‘palace’ where the Sterling cat is supposedly being held hostage.” “Yikes, this place is a dump. Any cat would get depressed living here.” The dogs in the yard erupted into a frenzy of barking. The more timid cats vanished. I put down the bag of kibble I was carrying and walked outside. “This is private property. You need to leave.” The leader, a guy with bleached-blond hair, shoved his phone in my face. “Whoa, the main character has entered the chat,” he sneered. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re just curious. We want to see the cat that’s worth more than our entire careers combined. We’re giving you free publicity! If the billionaire sees this, you’ll be set for life. You should be thanking us.” Their live chat was a waterfall of vulgar insults. My jaw tightened. I pulled out my phone to call the police. Seeing this, the blond guy’s expression soured. He lunged, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. “What the hell are you doing?” I stumbled back, but one of his friends blocked my path. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a few pictures. Who are you trying to fool with this prim-and-proper act? We all know you posted that video for attention.” They closed in, their words sharp and humiliating. One of them shoved me, and my back slammed against the wall, a sharp pain radiating through my shoulder. Suddenly, an orange blur shot out of the house like a rocket. It was Cheeto. He launched himself through the air, a furry cannonball, and landed squarely on the blond YouTuber’s face. “Aaaargh!” A blood-curdling scream. The guy stumbled back, claw marks instantly welling up with blood on his cheek. Cheeto landed gracefully, arched his back, and let out a guttural hiss that promised more violence. The would-be internet stars, shocked and terrified, scrambled over each other to get away, tumbling out of the gate and disappearing down the street. Silence returned to the yard. I knelt and stroked Cheeto’s head. “Good boy,” I murmured. He rubbed against my hand, a deep, rumbling purr starting in his chest. Looking at him, the last of my hesitation vanished. This wasn’t about money or fame. It was about getting this little warrior home. And it was about finding a way to live my own life, on my own terms, without being pushed around by anyone. I took out my phone and recorded a new video. This time, I spoke. “His name is Cheeto. I found him in a dumpster during a rainstorm about a month ago,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “He’s a picky eater and turns his nose up at cheap kibble. He’s the undisputed king of this yard, and all the other animals know it. And he has a heart-shaped mark on the pad of his back-left paw.” I kept my tone even, factual. “I don’t know if he is the cat you’re looking for. But if your cat is anything like him, please contact me.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t want the reward. All I ask is that you make a donation of food and medical supplies to my shelter.” I paused, turning the camera to the other animals playing in the yard. “They need a home, too.” 4 The video ended with a lingering shot of the shelter’s residents—each one a survivor, each one a soul that had been thrown away. Less than half an hour later, Liam called again. “Willa, are you finally admitting this is about money?” His voice was thick with contempt. “Done playing the saint? Now you’re openly asking for donations? Couldn’t you at least try to be a little less obvious with your scheming?” I listened, saying nothing. “I’m telling you for the last time, take the video down. Stop causing problems for me. Chloe has a major gala next week, and I don’t want her name associated with this kind of desperate circus.” “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “We’re divorced. What I do has nothing to do with you or with Chloe Summers.” “You—” I ended the call and blocked his number. And his agent’s. And his mother’s. The silence that followed was bliss. My new video began to circulate, and this time, the public reaction started to shift. The mockery was still there, but new voices emerged. [Say what you want, but that shelter looks spotless and the animals look really healthy and happy.] [Her voice is so calm. She doesn’t sound like a crazy person.] [Whether the cat is real or not, advocating for shelter animals is always a good thing.] That night was the season finale of Living with the Grays. The host, of course, brought up the incident with the YouTubers at my shelter. Chloe immediately adopted a look of pained innocence. “I was just horrified,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “I had no idea some of our fans would be so reckless. I’ve already told them their behavior was unacceptable.” She looked into the camera, her eyes welling up. “Honestly, I feel for Willa. It must be so hard for her, all alone with so many animals. Liam and I would be more than happy to help her if she’s struggling. We just wish she would reach out in a… more conventional way.” In one fell swoop, she painted herself as a benevolent saint, heartbroken over her “troubled” friend. Liam, ever the supportive partner, gazed at her with adoration. “She wasn’t always like this,” he added, shaking his head sadly. “I think living alone, all that stress… it can make people do extreme things. I just hope everyone can give her some space and stop harassing her.” Their tag-team performance was flawless. They had successfully crucified me on a cross of their own making, labeling me as unstable, desperate, and pathetic. The live chat became a torrent of hatred aimed at me. [Chloe is literally an angel.] [Liam is still protecting her! What a man!] [Willa, get help! Seriously!] I turned off the broadcast. I looked at their faces on my phone’s dark screen—the man I once shared a bed with, and the woman who had taken my place. They were basking in the glow of public adoration, while I was being treated like a rat in the sewer. I expected to feel a surge of anger, a sting of pain. But strangely, there was nothing. My heart was a placid lake, still and silent before a coming storm. The animals were asleep, and the yard was quiet except for the rustle of wind in the trees. I picked up my phone again and opened the comments on my video. A new comment had been pinned to the top. It had a gold checkmark next to the name, shining like a tiny beacon. It was from the official, verified account of Alistair Sterling. The message was five simple words. “Send us the address. On my way.” For the first time in a very long time, I smiled. A real, genuine smile that reached my eyes. I picked up the remote and switched the television back on. On screen, Chloe was dabbing a tear from her eye, her voice thick with fake emotion. “I just hope Willa can find her way back to reality soon, and stop living in a fantasy.” As the words left her mouth, the giant screen behind the stage suddenly flickered and changed. My video appeared, playing for the entire studio audience and the millions watching at home. And beneath it, highlighted for all to see, was that shining, golden comment. The host froze. The director was probably screaming in the control room.

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I was treating some friends to dinner at the new private club my cousin, Leo, was running. When the evening wound down, I flagged down a server. “The check, please. Just put it on Leo’s tab.” The young man nodded, but before he could turn away, a manager I’d never seen before stepped in his path. She aimed a smile at me that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sir, this is a members-only establishment. We don’t ‘run tabs.’” A flicker of annoyance. “I’m the owner’s cousin. Just let him know.” The manager let out a short, sharp laugh and slapped a leather billfold on the table. Inside was a bill for one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. My eyes scanned the itemized list. Exclusive Suite Ambiance Curation: $15,000. Elite Network Integrity Fee: $30,000. Impromptu Artistic Accompaniment: $25,000. And on and on, a laundry list of ludicrous service charges. When did Leo’s place get this brazen? “What’s the matter? Can’t pay the bill, so you start name-dropping?” The manager’s eyes raked over me, from my simple watch to my well-worn dress shoes. “I’ve met plenty of the owner’s ‘relatives.’ None of them have ever been quite so broke, so shameless, and so full of it.” Right there in front of her, I dialed Leo’s number and put it on speaker. “You have ten minutes to get her out of my sight. Or I pull the plug on this whole club.” 1 Leo’s voice crackled through the phone, laced with panic. “Ethan? What’s going on? Is there some kind of misunderstanding?” “A misunderstanding?” I glanced at the manager beside me. Vanessa, according to her name tag. She stood with her arms crossed, a smug smirk playing on her lips, enjoying the show. “Why don’t you ask your star manager what she’s been up to?” I could hear the muffled sound of Leo talking to Vanessa, punctuated by her dismissive, whispered excuses. “Ethan, look, Vanessa was just following procedure,” Leo’s voice came back, strained. “Don’t give her a hard time. This one’s on me…” “Leo,” I cut him off. “I didn’t call you to get a free meal. I called you to tell you to handle your employee.” Vanessa must have felt emboldened by whatever Leo whispered to her, because she plucked the phone right out of his hand. “Listen, sir,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Our owner is a kind man, so he won’t hold this against you. But the rules of Aura are the rules. Either you settle your bill now, or we’ll have to ask you to have a chat with our security team in the back office.” Her voice, amplified by the speakerphone, was arrogant, utterly certain of her victory. My friends, important partners in my industry, exchanged awkward glances. I’d brought them here tonight to impress them, to give them the best experience at my cousin’s place. Instead, my own reputation was being ground into the dirt. “Fine,” I said, ending the call. I looked directly at Vanessa. “I’ll pay the bill.” Her smug smirk widened into a triumphant grin. A few minutes later, Leo himself scurried over, an apologetic smile plastered on his face, though his eyes darted around nervously. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. Vanessa’s new, she doesn’t know the ropes,” he said, while simultaneously wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist in a gesture of intimacy. Vanessa leaned into him, looping her arm through his. Her tone wasn’t an apology; it was a declaration of ownership. “Leo is generous enough to let you call him cousin. But that doesn’t give you the right to come in here and act like you own the place. Aura is the culmination of his life’s work. It’s not a soup kitchen for freeloaders like you.” With that little speech, she’d painted herself as the valiant defender of her lover and his empire, and me as the pathetic, freeloading parasite. I almost laughed. His life’s work? Did she have any idea that this entire club, “Aura,” from the brand concept to the architectural design, from the operational philosophy to the very font on the menu—every word, every brick—had come from me? Leo was just the executor. Or, to be more precise, the mascot I’d put out front. Watching the way he looked at Vanessa, a pathetic mix of helplessness and adoration, a cold dread washed over me. When had my cousin become such a clueless fool? 2 “Since your manager is so by-the-book, why don’t you have her explain this hundred-and-twenty-five-thousand-dollar bill to me.” I ignored Leo, my gaze fixed squarely on Vanessa. She was clearly annoyed that I was dragging this out, but she maintained her air of superiority. “The services at Aura are priced for a certain clientele. If you don’t understand, it simply means you’re not on that level.” She gestured for a server to lead us from the private room to the main lounge area. It was bustling with the evening’s patrons. She was going to humiliate me publicly. My friends had seen enough. One of them stood up. “Ethan, why don’t we just go? I’ll take care of this.” I held up a hand to stop him. This was no longer about the money. Vanessa had the ridiculous bill mounted on a display stand and placed on a coffee table. Her voice was perfectly modulated—not shouting, but loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear every word. “The Exclusive Suite Ambiance Curation, fifteen thousand dollars. Every suite at Aura has had its metaphysical harmony professionally calibrated to ensure our guests’ business dealings are blessed with fortune. It’s an energy science. You might not get it, but there are plenty who will pay for it.” “The Elite Network Integrity Fee, thirty thousand. The people who frequent Aura are the city’s movers and shakers. Do you have any idea how many wannabes and grifters we turn away at the door? This fee covers the service of filtering out the social static, protecting you from potential risks. Isn’t that worth it?” “And this one: Impromptu Artistic Accompaniment. While you were dining, one of our resident musicians was performing a custom composition just outside your suite, adjusting the melody in real-time based on the rhythm of your conversation. That is the price of true artistry.” With every item she announced, a low murmur rippled through the lounge. Eyes turned towards me, a mixture of curiosity and contempt. I was the clown who had crashed the gates of high society, only to find he couldn’t afford the ticket. Leo stood off to the side, his face pale. He tried to speak several times, but Vanessa silenced him with a sharp glance. He just stood there, watching, letting his girlfriend publicly crucify me. The last thread of affection I held for him was beginning to unravel. “Are you finished?” I asked calmly when she was done. Vanessa crossed her arms, her chin held high. “I am. So, Mr. Shaw, are you ready to pay? Or are you going to continue wasting our time?” “Of course,” I nodded, pulling out my phone. “But I don’t carry that kind of cash on me. I’ll need to have my assistant bring it over.” She scoffed. “Oh, this again? Trying to stall?” “You don’t have to believe me,” I said, dialing my assistant. “Bring three million dollars in cash to Aura. Immediately.” I made sure to emphasize the words “three million.” Vanessa’s pupils contracted for a split second, then her eyes lit up with a raw, greedy fire. She probably thought I was intimidated, trying to buy my way out of the humiliation. Her gaze shifted, now sizing me up like a fool with too much money. A whale. “Now you’re talking,” she whispered, leaning in so only I could hear. “Consider the extra a little tip for the trouble you’ve caused me and Leo tonight.” 3 My assistant is nothing if not efficient. Less than twenty minutes later, two men in sharp black suits, my personal security detail, walked through the club’s entrance carrying three large, heavy-duty briefcases. Every head in the lounge turned. The latches on the three cases were clicked open, revealing crisp, neat stacks of hundred-dollar bills. They seemed to glitter under the crystal chandeliers. The murmuring crowd fell silent. Vanessa’s breathing became heavy, her eyes glued to the money. Leo was stunned, his mouth hanging open as he stared at me in disbelief. “Ethan, what are you doing? This isn’t necessary…” “Whether it’s necessary or not isn’t for you to decide,” I said flatly. I motioned for my assistant to push one of the cases in front of Vanessa. “One hundred and twenty-five thousand. You should count it.” A flash of embarrassment crossed her face, but it was quickly swallowed by her avarice. She actually reached out and began to count the money with a flourish, as if to prove a point. The sight of her, so smug and triumphant, was repulsive. I turned my back on her and addressed my guests with an apologetic smile. “Gentlemen, I am truly sorry for this evening’s spectacle. Please, allow me to cover all of your expenses tonight. Furthermore, I own a spa resort just outside the city. I’d like to invite all of you for a weekend retreat, on me, as a proper apology.” These were sharp men. They understood immediately that I was not just saving face, but demonstrating power. They accepted graciously, and the tense atmosphere finally eased. After my friends had departed, the lounge was empty except for me, Leo, and Vanessa, who was still absorbed in her “counting.” Leo finally broke. He rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Ethan, don’t be like this. Can we please talk about this at home? Don’t be mad at me.” I pulled my arm free. Looking at his face, I felt like I was seeing a stranger. “Leo, the moment you stood by and watched her humiliate me, you should have known there was no going back.” “I didn’t, I…” he stammered. Just then, Vanessa finished her count. She snapped the case shut, rising to her feet with an air of absolute victory that cut Leo off. “Leo, darling, why are you wasting your breath on him? The bill is paid. We’re even. We should really discourage this kind of riff-raff from coming around. It lowers the tone of Aura.” She took Leo’s arm, her eyes locking with mine in a defiant stare. “Oh, and by the way,” she said, gesturing to the other two briefcases. “I’ll be taking these two million as compensation for my emotional distress, and as an apology to Leo. Don’t mind if I do.” She reached for the cases. “Stop,” I said, my voice cold as ice. My two security men took a single, synchronized step forward, blocking her path. Vanessa’s expression soured. “What? Thinking of backing out?” “Not at all,” I said, walking towards her until I was looking down at her. “I just want to make sure you understand something. You can take this money. But I’m not so sure you can afford to spend it.” My assistant, perfectly on cue, presented a document and a pen. “What is this?” Vanessa asked, suddenly wary. “A receipt of services,” I said simply. “You’re accepting three million dollars. Sign here, acknowledging the payment, and we’re all square. Otherwise, you don’t get a single dime.” Vanessa snatched the document, her eyes scanning it quickly. It listed all of her fabricated charges, along with the additional “Emotional Distress Compensation” and “Apology Fee.” The terms were clear, the amounts precise. To her, it was just a formality. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the pen and scrawled her name—Vanessa Croft—on the signature line. She tossed the document back at me and moved triumphantly towards the money. “There. Now the money is mine.” “Is it?” I carefully folded the signed paper, a cold smile touching my lips. I took out my phone, not even bothering to look at them again, and made another call. “We can begin.”

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“When it was time to bring the operation home, I was the one who snapped the cuffs on his wrists. He tilted his head back, looking up at me from his knees. The flashing blue and red lights painted his face in strobing color. “”Ava,”” he asked, his voice low and steady despite everything. “”Did you ever love me? Even a little?”” A smile found my lips. I leaned down and patted his cheek, the metal of the cuffs cold against my knuckles. “”Not for a second.”” I straightened up. “”Enjoy the food in federal prison, Sebastian. My own personal Medal of Valor.”” … The next day, the man who had taken half the city’s police force and a six-month surveillance operation to catch, escaped from custody. 1 The news broke while the ink on my commendation paperwork was still drying. The transport van heading to the East End correctional facility was hit by an IED. Nine officers dead, one critically wounded. Sebastian Vale, the target of a multi-agency task force, the man we’d spent two years hunting, hadn’t even had time to get used to the feel of a prison bench before he was gone. I stood on the scorched asphalt, the ghost of smoke still acrid in the air, staring at the blackened blast pattern on the road. And to make a catastrophic situation worse, the consensus back at the precinct was clear. As the undercover officer who had spent two years by his side, who had not only played with his heart but had driven the final knife into his back, I was now, without a doubt, his number one target. 2 “”You don’t look too happy, Agent Reed.”” …Nobody’s happy when their Medal of Valor goes on the run. Twenty-seven hours after Sebastian Vale’s escape, we had nothing. Fifteen drones, nearly every K-9 unit in the state, and a city-wide lockdown had turned up zero trace of him. He hadn’t just vanished; he’d left a message. Scrawled in the blood of a dying officer on the overturned door of the transport van were four words: I’ll recapture my rose. Who was the “”rose””? Every head in the briefing room swiveled to face me. “”You can all stare,”” I said, crossing my arms and shrugging. “”But the only thing this proves is that Sebastian Vale is a sucker for a love story.”” What else could explain it? A man with the world crashing down around him, and his last question is whether I ever loved him. It was pathetic. Of course I didn’t. My job was stressful enough without adding real feelings to the mix. 3 In the back of the squad car, my partner, Mark, handed me a tablet. “”We tracked a call Vale made from a public payphone after the breakout. The location might look familiar.”” I looked down at the photo on the screen. An old brick apartment building in the warehouse district. “”Yeah,”” Mark said, reading my expression. “”It’s the place you two shared.”” After we’d made the “”relationship”” official, Sebastian and I had lived there for quite a while. Stepping inside, the first thing I saw was a pair of women’s slippers next to a pair of men’s boots by the door, a staged tableau of domesticity that felt like a lifetime ago. Everything looked untouched, except for the ashtray on the coffee table. It was filled with fresh ash. “”Lab report on the cigarette butts came back. It’s Vale’s brand, alright,”” Mark said, walking into the bedroom. He let out a low whistle. “”Guy’s got balls. Hiding out here just hours after the escape. Playing the ‘hide in plain sight’ card.”” Crime scene techs were dusting for prints, their cameras flashing, but I was somewhere else entirely. This was the first place Sebastian and I had called home. He was the first kingpin I was ever assigned to. 4 Right after graduating from the academy and inheriting my father’s badge number, I was tapped for the undercover operation targeting Sebastian Vale. The reasons were simple: I looked like a college student, my eyes had a disarming clarity, and I had been the most ruthless hand-to-hand combatant in my graduating class. Back then, Sebastian wasn’t the head of the largest narcotics syndicate on the West Coast. He was just an ambitious number two, but his youth and rapid ascent had put him on our radar. To take down the whole organization, we had to plant a fuse deep inside, and I was that fuse. My cover was a cashier at the 24-hour bodega on the ground floor of his apartment building. Every night, usually between eleven and midnight, he’d come down for a pack of cigarettes. He had this intense gaze, deep-set eyes, and always wore a black tactical jacket. The first time I saw him, I was surprised. For a rising drug trafficker, he was beautiful in a way that was almost jarring—skin so pale it was nearly luminous, with features that seemed carved from cold marble. To avoid spooking him, I waited two weeks before saying more than “”have a nice night.”” I finally made my move, a simple comment as I handed him his change. “”You know, you buy a pack of these every night. You should try to cut back.”” He raised an eyebrow, his cool gaze sweeping over me for a fraction of a second before he grunted a noncommittal “”hmph.”” After that, I used that tiny opening to exchange a few sentences with him every night. Honestly, after weeks of this, I felt like I could have charmed a statue into bloom, but Sebastian remained completely unmoved. Thankfully, my backup team decided to accelerate the timeline. They orchestrated a small-scale bust on a lower rung of the supply chain. It wouldn’t hurt the organization’s core, but it was designed to wipe out a few minor crews, including the one Sebastian was affiliated with. Letting him escape, bleeding and barely alive, was part of the plan. It was my cue to “”find”” him in a dumpster-filled alley nearby. He was covered in blood when I got to him, the crimson stark against his pale skin. Even then, on the verge of collapse, his guard was up. I played my part perfectly—the terrified bodega girl. When he rasped, “”No hospitals,”” I took him back to my place. He stayed with me for the next few weeks, recuperating. Everything was meticulously staged. The location of his room, the way my towel “”accidentally”” slipped when I walked out of the bathroom, the unavoidable physical contact as I changed his bandages. I was bubbly, cheerful, doing everything I could to make him smile. I made him curry with the rice shaped like a teddy bear and tied his bandages into neat little bows. And yet, even with a man and a woman alone in a small apartment, he kept his distance for weeks. Night after night, I’d feel his eyes on me, dark and unreadable. The Captain kept telling me to be patient, but there were moments, watching him watch me, that a cold dread washed over me—the fear that I’d already been made. Then one night, after a late debrief with my handlers, I came home to a dark apartment. That was unusual; he always left a light on. “”Sebastian?”” I called out tentatively as I slipped off my shoes. No answer. As my hand fumbled for the light switch, a gentle touch grazed the back of my neck. In a split second, I fought down the instinct to spin around and throw him over my shoulder. Instead, I froze. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his breath warm against my ear. My body went rigid. The feeling of being controlled by this stranger, this target, sent every nerve ending screaming in protest. But I had a mission. I knew what I had to do. Slowly, deliberately, I forced my body to relax, to melt into his embrace. His lips found the side of my neck, his kisses tender and searching. … I had to be the naive girl, looking at him with wide, trusting eyes. Even after we were officially a “”couple,”” Sebastian remained quiet, watchful. His suspicion was a wall between us. That wasn’t good enough. He had no idea the lengths I’d gone to for him. The things he liked, the things he hated, his subtle tells—the way his brow would lift almost imperceptibly when he liked a meal I cooked, the way the corner of his mouth would twitch into a half-smile when I wore a certain dress. I cataloged every detail, replaying them in my mind each night. Slowly, it started working. He began to laugh when I’d get spaghetti sauce on my nose. He’d gently stroke my hair when he found me asleep on the couch, waiting for him to come home. One night, he knelt in front of me, looking up with a soft expression. “”Sunshine,”” he murmured, “”why are you still up?”” In that moment, I knew. Phase one was complete. I had won. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t part of his future; I was a girlfriend he could discard at any moment. He never told me about his deals, his locations, or what exactly he was moving. Then, my opportunity arrived. I was targeted by one of Sebastian’s rival syndicates. They snatched me off the street on my way to the farmers’ market. Their goal was simple: use his girlfriend as leverage. They tied me to a chair and set up a camera. The man across from me laid it all out—told me my loving boyfriend was a ruthless drug lord, detailing Sebastian’s cruelty, painting a picture of a monster. My mind was racing. I had to appear terrified, but not useless. Heartbroken, but not weak. I had to be a woman who was resolute, brave, and above all, utterly devoted to Sebastian. Eleven hours later, Sebastian walked into that dusty factory. He was born to wear black; it was the color of the shadows he commanded. My eyes, wide and tearful, locked onto his. But the man I had been sleeping next to for months just gave me a single, dismissive glance. “”The terms,”” he said, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. “”Your three main suppliers,”” the man holding me said, pressing the barrel of a gun to the back of my head. “”And fifty kilos of the new product.”” There was a long pause. Then, a cold, sharp laugh from Sebastian. “”You really think she’s worth that much?”” He gave me one last look, a look of pure contempt, and turned to walk away. I watched his tall frame disappear into the darkness. In that moment, I truly believed I was going to die. But then, the gun at my head moved, shifting its aim toward Sebastian’s retreating back. “”LOOK OUT!”” The instant before the trigger was pulled, I threw my entire body weight backward, knocking the gunman off balance. The shot went wide, but the momentum was uncontrolled. A bullet, meant for Sebastian, tore through the flesh of my arm. I’d been shot before, but always while wearing a vest. The searing pain blanked out my vision for a second. When it cleared, the men around me were being cut down in a hail of gunfire. Of course. Sebastian hadn’t come alone. He had a fire team hidden in the shadows. He walked over to me, his face unreadable. The pain on my face was real. I stumbled toward him and collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He stiffened for a moment, surprised by the embrace. Then, after a long second, I felt his hand gently stroking my hair. “”Why?”” he whispered, his voice rough. “”I abandoned you. Why would you still save me?”” Because your backup would have Swiss-cheesed him before the bullet even left the chamber, I thought. But what I said was, “”I… I just reacted. It was just… instinct… to protect you.”” In the darkness, I heard his voice soften. “”You don’t care what I do?”” I shook my head against his chest. Sebastian Vale, I thought, the pain in my arm a searing promise. One day, you will be the shiniest medal on my uniform. 5 “”What’s on your mind?”” A hand holding a lit cigarette pulled me from my thoughts. The smell of tobacco was foreign; it had been a long time. Many of my colleagues chain-smoked when they were stressed. But Sebastian didn’t smoke. And to maintain my “”good girl”” image, neither did I. “”So, after this Medal of Valor comes through, they’ll put you on desk duty, right?”” Mark and I were sitting on the steps of the precinct’s back entrance. He ran a hand through his messy hair as he flipped through a case file. I nodded. For people like us, no matter the outcome, we were meant to fade away, to become ghosts in the system. “”What do you want to do? After you retire.”” “”Teach English,”” I answered without hesitation. He raised an eyebrow. “”I think… I think I’d be a good teacher.”” … Sebastian had never finished high school. So I was the one who taught him English. Maybe I really did have a talent for it, or maybe he was just that smart. The same man who once struggled to say “”You are mine,”” could now declare war on the entire police department in perfect, taunting English. Because that’s what this was. A declaration of war. A way to force me out into the open. By brazenly returning to our old apartment and leaving a trail, he was sending me a message: I will find you. No matter how many cops are protecting you, you can’t run from me. … “”That’s why I don’t think holing me up here is the right move,”” I said, leaning against the doorframe of the cheap motel room they’d stashed me in. Mark sighed, his shoulders slumping. “”He’s coming for me, Mark. You should let him.”” “”Don’t talk like that,”” he said tiredly. “”Nobody’s life is expendable. We don’t sacrifice our own unless there is absolutely no other choice.”” When I didn’t respond, he stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “”Ava, you know better than anyone what these monsters do to undercovers who are burned.”” … Bright sunlight sliced through a gap in the blackout curtains, a single, dancing line of dust motes in the dim room. Of course I knew. My father had been the captain of the Westbridge City Narcotics Division. A foreign cartel put a million-dollar bounty on his head. I was still at the academy when my uncle, also a cop, found his body. I should thank my father. He gave his daughter one last, brutal lesson. Because in my entire life, I have never seen a corpse more mutilated than his. After that day, nothing I saw on the job could ever shake me. My dad always told me that for a narcotics detective, a Medal of Valor is something you usually get after you’re dead. I decided then and there that I was going to get one while I was still alive, just to show him, wherever he was. … Day three of Sebastian’s escape. The department’s criminal profiler was grilling me for details again. As the person who had been closest to him, every insight I had was priceless. After I took that bullet for him, Sebastian had slowly started to let me in. And I discovered something crucial: he was starved for love. It was the perfect vulnerability. He’d had almost no romantic contact with women his entire life. He was an orphan, raised by human traffickers. He was smart and charming enough to avoid the fate of the other kids—maimed and sent to beg on the streets—but his childhood was a wasteland of cruelty and pain. He probably didn’t even realize how desperately he craved a gentle, kind soul to love him. Sebastian was a natural criminal: decisive, calm, obsessive, and brutal. But as a lover, he was a fool. He was too eager to drown in affection, desperate to please the person he cared about. He tried to act indifferent, but his micro-expressions betrayed him every time. So, even though I was no expert in romance myself, I used every psychological tactic I’d learned at the academy to reel him in. It was clumsy at times, but I got him. The final step was to embed a hook in his heart so deep he could never remove it. What’s more powerful than a lifetime of devotion? A lifetime of devotion that is suddenly, violently snatched away. As Sebastian climbed the ladder of his organization, women naturally started to gravitate toward him. They knew about me, the official “”girlfriend,”” but that didn’t stop the butterflies from flocking to him. The most dangerous of them was a woman named Ruby. Ruby was her business name, I assumed. She was stunning, a completely different style from me. If I was sunshine and innocence, she was a beautiful, poison-tipped needle. And she had her sights set on Sebastian, and my position. On paper, she was the owner of a chain of local nightclubs. In reality, she was the biggest independent distributor in her territory. If she and Sebastian teamed up, it would be a power merger, and I’d be out of the picture. She saw me as a naive little student, someone she could crush without a second thought. At the time, my relationship with Sebastian had hit a plateau. He was still good to me, doting even, but he never explicitly rejected Ruby’s advances. And I thought, Perfect. The hero, the villain, the other woman. It was the setup for a perfect tragedy. If I played my part right, he would never, ever forget me. …The stage was a corporate yacht party. Publicly, it was the annual gala for some shell corporation. In reality, it was a summit for the region’s top traffickers. We had assets on board, hidden among the crew. The whole night was a powder keg. I was there as Sebastian’s girlfriend. But Ruby pushed, relentlessly. First, she tried to humiliate me during the reception, then she brazenly flirted with Sebastian right in front of me. He didn’t stop her. And right there, I knew something was wrong. Even if he was losing interest, he wouldn’t disrespect me so publicly, not when I was known to everyone as his girl. Later that night, I walked into his stateroom after a shower. He grabbed my wrist and slammed me against the doorframe. “”Ava,”” he said, his voice dangerously low. “”Swear to me. Swear you’ve never lied to me.”” For a second, my blood ran cold. I saw my entire mission, my life, crumbling. I had already pictured my triumphant return, but now I wasn’t even sure I’d make it back in one piece. But he’d said “”swear.”” Swear. That meant he had no proof. It was just a suspicion, probably planted by Ruby. He was trying to decide if I was a cop. He wasn’t sure. I couldn’t be too defensive, but I couldn’t be too calm either. “”I have never lied to you,”” I said, meeting his gaze, repeating his words back to him like a sacred vow. He let go of my wrist. “”Sebastian, I—”” I reached for him, but he pulled away. “”I didn’t lie to you…”” My voice trembled, a perfect performance of hurt. “”Go back to your room, Ava,”” he said, his tone softening slightly, but the command was absolute. I didn’t move. I reached for his hand again. He pushed me away, not hard, but enough to make me stumble back. I just stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. “”Ruby was right,”” he said, his dark eyes boring into me. “”Maybe you are just a very, very good actress.”” I watched him, incredulous. “”You’d rather believe her than me?”” … The only answer I got was the solid click of the door shutting in my face. The tears that welled in my eyes vanished the second I was alone. Sebastian’s instincts were sharp. I didn’t think it was just Ruby. It was his own gut, his seventh sense, telling him something was off. With a man like that, no matter how perfect my cover was, suspicion was always a risk. And once the seed of doubt was planted, it was only a matter of time before it grew into a conviction. I needed to do something drastic. And thanks to Ruby, I had the perfect stage. 6 I had always told Sebastian I was afraid of the water. In truth, I was the captain and gold medalist of my high school swim team. The pieces you put on the board early in the game sometimes come in handy when you least expect it. There was another undercover officer on the yacht, disguised as a crew member. He’d told me that a specific spot on the edge of the top deck was perfectly covered by a security camera. According to the ship’s route, we would be passing a small, uninhabited island about half a mile off our port side. The sea was calm that night. By 2 a.m., the deck was deserted. I stood in the exact spot we’d planned, perfectly framed by the camera. The wind whipped my white dress around my legs. I typed out a text message to Sebastian. I know I’m not as smart as her, or as powerful. But maybe this… …maybe this will prove I never lied to you. Then I jumped. … The drama of faking a suicide to prove your love and innocence is amplified a thousand times when the target is a man starved for affection. I won’t bore you with the details of that night: how I navigated half a mile of open ocean with only a compass and the glowing dial of my sports watch; how I collapsed on a sandy beach, fighting off birds that thought I was a corpse, while waiting for my contact. It was the kind of harrowing experience you could write a novel about. Eventually, an officer picked me up in a small inflatable boat, and I spent the next few weeks hiding out and recovering in a fishing village on a different island. The ordeal had left me with more than a few injuries. During that time, I heard that Sebastian was tearing the ocean apart looking for me. Even with the security footage clearly showing his “”non-swimmer”” girlfriend leaping into the sea to prove her devotion, he refused to believe I was dead. Witnesses said they’d never seen him so unhinged, commandeering dozens of fishing boats for the search. He found me on a day when the setting sun bled across the water. I was sitting on a small stool outside a fisherman’s hut, my hair in a single braid, watching the light fade. I had calculated the angle. From where he would first see me, my profile would look tragic, beautiful, and devastatingly fragile. All that effort paid off. He stumbled toward me, his steps unsteady, and pulled me into an embrace so tight I thought my ribs would crack. Men. They’re all the same. They crave a woman who will destroy herself for them, a woman who asks for nothing in return. I could feel myself being absorbed into him. I parted my lips, my voice deliberately soft and hoarse. “”Sebastian,”” I whispered. “”You could have just let me go.”” “”I’m okay.”” “”If you want to be with her, just let me go.”” “”Just… just tell me to my face,”” I choked out, “”that you don’t want me anymore…”” I felt his body go rigid. His fingers threaded gently through my hair. This was different from before. This time, it was real. Sebastian was hooked. He was the one who couldn’t leave me now. I rested my chin in the crook of his neck. If jumping into the ocean was a gamble, then in that moment, I knew. I had won the whole damn pot. “”So, where do you think he’d go? Now that he’s out.”” “”He’s a madman, Mark. How am I supposed to know what a madman is thinking?”” In the office, the ceiling fan spun lazily. Light filtered through the blinds, striping the room where my exhausted colleagues were hitting one dead end after another. No tips, no sightings. He’d vanished. And yet, we all knew he would surface again. Sebastian Vale was not the type to let things go. “”Ava’s family is secure, right?”” the captain asked the room. “”She’s burned. We can’t rule out the possibility that Vale will retaliate against her relatives,”” Mark said, rubbing his temples as he looked over at me. He was right. Now that my identity was compromised, my entire family was under 24/7 police protection. Everything should have been fine. But my right eye had been twitching all day. I’m not superstitious, but some of the older guys on the force are. They have little rituals, like eating their favorite meal before a big bust to see if the taste is off—a “”tell,”” they call it. My breakfast this morning tasted like ash. I sat at my desk, my head down. This mission was supposed to be my ticket to a quiet desk job. I was already planning my vacation. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke. The door to the briefing room burst open. A uniformed officer rushed in, his eyes wide with panic. When his gaze landed on me, my stomach dropped. “”Agent Reed,”” he panted. “”It’s your nephew.”” … “He was found at nine this morning, near the East Maple Road market.” I sat in the car, a thick fog filling my head as the officer recited the report. “”Multiple injection sites. Upper arm, wrist, inner thigh. Prelim tox report shows a massive, repeated overdose of heroin.”” “”He’s at First General. In surgery now.”” “”…”” Sebastian’s revenge… had begun. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. A buzzing filled my ears. Stay calm, stay calm. What did I need to ask? What was the question? “”He had a protection detail, didn’t he? How the hell did this happen?”” Mark’s voice was sharp, cutting through my haze. “”The kid’s a senior in high school. Finals are coming up,”” the officer explained, looking miserable. “”His mom said he couldn’t miss any more school. So they scaled back the detail to just escorts to and from.”” “”Somehow, they still got to him…”” … I remembered. I’d promised my nephew, Leo, that if he got into a top-tier school, I’d buy him a top-of-the-line gaming PC. Now, he was in an operating room, and I was standing outside it. My cousin’s raw, guttural sobs echoed in the sterile hallway, hammering against my eardrums. In my hand, I clutched an evidence bag containing a small, folded piece of paper. They’d found it in Leo’s pocket. A message from Sebastian. His handwriting was messy, but sharp, just like him. It said: Don’t you dare not love me.”

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I was at a luxury car dealership, scrolling on my phone while waiting, when I stumbled upon a livestream of my husband Adrian’s graduation. The camera briefly showed a young woman—one of his grad students—linking arms intimately with him. Just then, the salesman pointed at my screen. “I know that guy! He bought a car here the other day.” I pointed at Adrian. “Him?” “Absolutely. A client that generous? Unforgettable.” He gestured to the girl. “That must be his wife. The car was for her.” “A seven-figure car… rich and devoted,” he added. An icy knot tightened in my chest. After the stream, I called Adrian. “Honey, my car’s old. What’s a reasonable price for a new one?” He dismissed me. “Just get it fixed. Stop being materialistic, Beth.” I found the girl’s social media and commented under her new car photo: 【Nice car. Too bad the broke freeloader who bought it will soon be kicked out with nothing. Hope he can still afford you then.】 1 I put my phone away and pointed to a car in the center of the showroom—the exact same model Adrian had bought for his student, Bianca. “That one. I’ll take the fully-loaded version.” The salesman’s eyes lit up. “M-Ms. Thorne, are you sure? The top-of-the-line model is over two hundred thousand dollars…” Without a word, I pulled a black card from my purse and handed it to him. My only condition was that I wanted to drive it off the lot within the hour. The old car I had been driving was a wedding gift from my father. After all these years, it was falling apart. I’d mentioned wanting a new one several times, but Adrian always lectured me about how, as a professor’s wife, I needed to be modest and not chase after material possessions. And I, like a fool, had believed him. I never imagined it was just a script he used to manipulate me. With the new keys in my hand, I drove straight to Northwood University. It was 5 p.m., just when Adrian would be getting off work. I parked the car in the most conspicuous spot right by the main entrance. Students stopped in their tracks, pulling out their phones to take pictures. This was exactly the effect I wanted. I didn’t have to wait long, but it wasn’t Adrian who showed up first. It was Bianca. When she saw my new car, identical to hers, a flash of panic crossed her face. Her voice was already trembling as she approached me. “Mrs. Thorne…” “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. Please don’t misunderstand Professor Thorne.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears welling up as if on cue. “The university doesn’t provide housing for grad students, and Professor Thorne saw how exhausted I was commuting four hours every day from the suburbs. He was just worried about me, a young woman traveling alone… that’s why… that’s why he helped me buy the car.” “I’m going to pay him back! I promised I would, as soon as I start working.” She dabbed at her eyes with a delicate hand, her performance drawing the attention of passersby. “Is that Professor Thorne’s wife? She looks so intimidating.” “Yeah, Bianca is such a sweet, hardworking person. She would never do something like that.” “Rich wives are always so paranoid. They think every younger woman is a homewrecker.” I watched her act, a perfect, pitiful little victim. What a masterclass in manipulation. Just then, Adrian arrived. He saw the tear-streaked Bianca and the whispering crowd, and his face instantly darkened. He walked straight past my car without even glancing at me, handing a tissue to Bianca with a soothing murmur. “Don’t cry. I’ll handle this.” Then, he turned to me, his voice barely suppressing a roar. “Beth! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He shouted my full name, loud enough for half the campus to hear. “Can’t you bring this up at home? You have to come here and make a scene in front of a student? Have you no decency?” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “And what was that comment you left on Bianca’s photo? Delete it, right now! And apologize to her!” “Apologize?” I laughed as if he’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Why should I?” Adrian’s eyes finally landed on my new car, and his brow furrowed. “This car… you bought this?” I stepped out and dangled the keys in front of his face. “That’s right, darling.” I raised my voice, making sure every single gawker could hear me. “Since you were so generous as to buy one for your student, I couldn’t let your actual wife look too shabby, could I? So I bought this one for myself. Fully loaded. Paid in full, with my own card.” “If you want something in life, you work for it. That’s what real strength is. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her shouldn’t be looking for shortcuts, getting involved in things she’ll be ashamed of later.” I shot a pointed look at the now-pale Bianca. “After all,” I paused, my gaze returning to Adrian’s thunderous face, “his gravy train is about to come to a screeching halt.” 2 We walked into the house, one after the other. Adrian tossed his keys onto the console table and sank into the sofa, adopting his usual cold-war stance. I changed my shoes and poured myself a glass of water, ignoring him completely. When I met him, Adrian was just a poor kid from the countryside. I married him against my parents’ adamant objections. In his eyes, that desperation became proof that I was weak, that I could be easily controlled. He was convinced that if he gave me the silent treatment, just like he always did, I would eventually break and come crawling back, apologizing and begging for his forgiveness. But this time, I said nothing. And just as I expected, he couldn’t stand the silence. “Beth, what is it you want?” “There’s nothing going on between Bianca and me.” He walked over, his tone softening slightly, but still laced with that infuriatingly paternalistic air. “She’s a gifted student from a poor family. I was just trying to help a talented person in need.” “She said she would pay me back. Why do you have to be so unreasonable? Humiliating her in front of the entire university? How is she supposed to face anyone now?” Every word was a defense of Bianca, an indictment of me. I laughed inwardly, my face remaining a placid mask. “Is that so? Well, if she’s such an exceptional student, then I really should get to know her better.” “How about this? Let’s take her out for a meal sometime. It can be my apology for my… rash behavior today.” Adrian stared at me, clearly taken aback by my sudden capitulation. A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his face before he nodded in agreement. The dinner was at an exclusive private kitchen. Bianca was wearing a white dress, her makeup flawless, looking even more radiant than the day before. Adrian took the menu and spoke to the waiter with an easy familiarity. “Bianca is allergic to seafood, and she doesn’t like cilantro or spicy food. Extra sugar in the braised pork belly; she has a light palate, prefers things sweet.” He had it all memorized. Then he turned to me. “Beth, what do you want?” I smiled and told him to order for me. A few minutes later, a large platter of grilled lamb chops was placed in front of me. He had forgotten. Or perhaps, he had never bothered to remember that I am severely allergic to lamb. Bianca pointed at my plate with a giggle. “Mrs. Thorne, you’re so amazing. You can eat anything. I’m so picky with my food, it must be such a hassle for Professor Thorne to always remember my preferences.” “It’s no trouble at all,” Adrian chimed in immediately. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” Watching his fawning display, my heart grew colder with each passing second. I put down my chopsticks and casually brought up the past, my tone light as I spoke to Bianca. “You know, it wasn’t easy for your Professor Thorne to get where he is today. When I first met him, he was an apprentice at a hair salon. Everyone called him ‘Tony’.” Bianca choked on her tea, nearly spitting it out. Adrian’s face went black. I ignored them and continued. “He was so poor back then, he couldn’t even afford rent. I thought it was a waste for a university graduate to be washing hair, so I paid for his master’s and his Ph.D.” “Even his current teaching position at the university… my father had to pull a lot of strings to get that for him.” Bianca probably never imagined that the brilliant professor she so admired had such a sordid history as a kept man. Adrian looked like he was about to explode, but under my calm, steady gaze, he didn’t dare say a word. Because every word I’d said was the absolute truth. The rest of the meal passed in a strange, suffocating silence. As soon as we got home, Adrian clutched his stomach and announced he had diarrhea, a frequent excuse of his lately. I used to believe him, naively buying him all sorts of probiotics. Now I knew it was just a cover. While he was in the shower, on a whim, I picked up his phone from the nightstand where it was charging. I had never checked his phone before, so his password was simple: his birthday. I opened his messaging app. Pinned to the top was Bianca’s profile picture, a cute little white rabbit. The chat history was completely wiped. But then I went back and opened his text messages. The most recent one was sent just a few minutes ago. 【Bianca, don’t listen to her nonsense. I’m the one in charge of my family now. She’s just a clueless housewife who’s been depending on me for years. Stick with me, and I’ll take care of you.】 ‘Depending on me for years.’ The words made me tremble with rage. His meager professor’s salary could barely cover a designer coat, let alone the lavish dinners he used to impress people. But the naive Bianca had bought his lies, replying with a shy emoji. Followed by: 【So… same place tomorrow?】 3 A jolt went through me. I remembered something. Not long ago, Adrian had mentioned wanting to stay at our other, unused villa for a few days, claiming the quiet environment was better for writing his thesis. I hadn’t suspected a thing and had given him the keys. Now I realized, it was indeed a quiet, perfect place for… certain activities. The next morning, I drove directly to the suburban villa. A faint, unfamiliar perfume lingered in the air. I had never worn that scent. I slipped on a pair of house slippers and walked inside. The closer I got to the bedroom, the tighter an invisible hand squeezed my heart, making it hard to breathe. Just then, the bedroom door opened. Bianca emerged, wrapped in a sexy silk nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Honey, is that you? I’ve been waiting for you…” Her words died in her throat when she saw it was me. I didn’t give her a chance to speak. I walked up and delivered two sharp slaps across her face. Smack! Smack! Bianca stumbled back, stunned, clutching her rapidly swelling cheeks. “You… you hit me?” “Hit you?” I sneered. “You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. This is my house. You’re trespassing. I could have you arrested.” The mask of innocence dropped. “Don’t act so high and mighty, Beth,” she spat. “You think you’re still the untouchable heiress? Stop deluding yourself! Adrian told me everything. Your family is nothing but an empty shell now. Even this villa is in his name!” At that moment, the front door opened. Adrian walked in, carrying breakfast. He froze when he saw the scene. His eyes locked on the red handprints on Bianca’s face, and his gaze shifted to me, blazing with fury. “Beth, are you insane?! Why are you hurting Bianca?!” He rushed to her side, shielding her behind him. Watching him protect her so fiercely, my heart turned to ash. “Adrian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “have you forgotten who bought you this house?” His pupils contracted. “I’ll give you one last chance,” I said, pointing to a utility knife on a nearby table. “You have two choices.” “One, take that knife and shave her head. If I’m satisfied, we can pretend none of this ever happened.” “Or two,” my voice dropped to an icy whisper, “you can keep protecting her. But I will call my father right now and have him cut off all your project funding and get you kicked out of the university.” He knew, better than anyone, that my father could and would do exactly that. Everything he had—his title, his status, his reputation—was a gift from my family. “Beth, do we have to do this? After all our years of marriage…” “Marriage?” I cut him off. “Did you think about our marriage when you were lying about writing a paper and screwing her in this bed? Did you think about our marriage when you were using my family’s money to buy her a luxury car, while refusing to buy me a new one?” With every word, the color drained from his face. I pressed the knife into his hand. “Choose. Your future… or your true love.”

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The first time I saw Victor, he was just another street punk, slick with blood. The only clean thing about him was the raw, clumsy sincerity in his eyes when he tattooed my name over his heart. Later, when he seized power, he gifted me half the Waterfront as a wedding present. Everyone in the city knew: I, Ava Costello, was his everything. Until today, when the little starlet Victor was keeping shimmied into my home. She stood there, one hand on her swelling belly, her eyes curving into a smug smile as she offered her advice. “Ms. Costello, are you going to walk out of here with your dignity, or are you going to wait for my son to grow up and throw you out?” I raised a hand and had my men drag her away to “take care of the problem.” Victor saw the pool of blood spreading beneath her and his face twisted with fury. He pressed a knife to my throat. “Ava,” he hissed, his voice a low growl, “you need to learn some goddamn gratitude.” I just laughed, the sound soft as I pressed the muzzle of my pistol against his heart. “You’ve really changed. Good thing I haven’t.” “The only thing real in my heart… has always been my ambition.” Bang. The gunshot echoed through the hall. 1 The one who fell was Limpy, the man who had hobbled in Victor’s shadow for a decade. “That attached to her, are you? It makes sense. Limpy was the one who so carefully trained that little actress before delivering her to your bed. I suppose he did a fine job, if she could make you this furious with me.” My gaze dropped to the sliver of cold steel still resting against my neck. I scoffed. “Aren’t you going to do it, Victor? You were never this indecisive before.” “What’s the matter? Your hand is shaking.” My mocking gaze was a physical blow. In the silent war of our eyes, he was the first to break. He threw the knife down, the clatter echoing his defeat, and sank back onto the sofa. “Limpy was with me for ten years. What you did… it was too much, Ava. Too cruel.” A faint smile touched my lips as my men dragged Limpy’s body from the room. “He wasn’t you.” “You’re the only one I’m ever soft on.” Victor looked at me, his expression a tangled knot of emotions. “I want Vivian to stay.” “This life… it’s all blood and shadows. I’m tired, Ava. Vivian is like… an open window. She lets me breathe. She makes me feel like a simple man, someone who could have a normal life, buying groceries and cooking dinner.” I didn’t answer right away. I placed my gun on the table beside me. I took my time lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling around my fingers before I finally spoke. “Normal?” “Victor, have you told her about the blood on your hands? The dirty money in your ledgers? The enemies who hunt you in the dead of night? You want to place her quiet little world of picket fences into the middle of all this?” “That’s not a simple life. That’s a death wish.” Victor’s brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “Ava, I’m not discussing this with you.” “I’m informing you.” He stood and walked into the other room, returning with Vivian in his arms. Her bleeding had stopped, and her pale, unconscious face was nestled against his chest. In the flickering lamplight, she looked disturbingly like a younger version of me. “Ava, just be the lady of the house.” “This is your last chance. If you dare touch Vivian again, I won’t show you any mercy.” Victor swept out with his men, the wide-open door letting in a gust of wind that extinguished the cigarette between my fingers. My right-hand man, Justin, stepped forward and relit it for me. “The gun was aimed off-target,” he murmured. “Did you go soft?” I exhaled a plume of smoke, repeating his words with a dry, mocking tone. “Soft? I never intended to kill him.” “One bullet is all it would take to end Victor’s life. But what I want are the passwords to his Swiss accounts, the ledgers of his gray-market dealings, and every last one of his legitimate businesses.” “Death would be getting off easy.” Justin, who had just been unsettled by my apparent mercy, now felt a chill run down his spine at the venom in my words. He asked a question that was almost naive. “Don’t you… don’t you love him?” A thousand memories flashed behind my eyes, leaving only a faint shadow of something like exhaustion, or perhaps nostalgia. “Love him? Of course, I do.” “Otherwise, what were the last ten years of dodging bullets with him for? A game?” “But love is a painkiller, Justin. Power… power is oxygen. You take a pill when you’re in pain, and it helps. But you can live without it. Cut off the oxygen, and you’re dead in minutes.” As if on cue, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, its crisp notes slicing through the silence. Justin glanced at a text that had just appeared on his phone. “Latest update, boss. The head of the Northside Outfit, Don Costello, just died. They’re saying… heart attack.” “Hm,” I replied, a single, cold syllable. Justin couldn’t help but take a half-step closer, his voice laced with confusion. “You’re… not surprised? He was your father, after all.” The corner of my mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile. “Why would I be surprised?” “That was my work.” Justin’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face. I watched his horrified expression, my voice as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “Any stone in my path gets cleared.” “My own father… was no different.” The ember at the tip of my cigarette reached my fingers. I crushed it out in the ashtray and looked at him. “Any more questions?” Justin bowed his head, not daring to ask another word. I stood, picking up the gun from the table and gesturing vaguely toward a spare room. “Victor said he wants Vivian to stay? Fine. Let her stay.” “The show’s just getting started.” 2 The sharp click of heels echoed from the foyer. Vivian’s sweet, cloying voice drifted in as she directed Victor’s men with her luggage. “Be careful with that!” “Victor bought that for me at an auction. Don’t you dare scratch it.” She stood in the center of the opulent villa, her eyes sweeping over everything with a greedy, defiant hunger. Her gaze finally landed on my back as I sat on the sofa, reviewing a stack of documents. She sauntered over. “Sister,” she began, the word dripping with false sweetness. “Victor said the air is better out here. He wants me to move in so we can get to know each other.” “You don’t mind, do you?” I didn’t look up. I turned a page of the financial report, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I do.” Vivian was taken aback by my bluntness, by the fact that I wouldn’t even pretend to play nice. She froze for a second, then her smile widened, blooming with a foolish arrogance. “It doesn’t matter if you mind.” “This is what Victor wants. He said that once I learn the ropes of the business, I’ll be the new lady of this house.” As she spoke, she wandered over to the liquor cabinet. She picked up one of my prized crystal glasses. “This is nice. I’ll use it to drink my sweet tea.” Seeing that I was still ignoring her, Vivian marched over and sat down beside me, snatching the documents from my hands. “What are you looking at?” “You’re not allowed to see these anymore. From now on, only I can read these papers!” The freshly printed A4 paper was sharp. As she ripped it away, its edge sliced a thin, stinging line across my palm, drawing a bead of blood. Only then did I finally turn my gaze to her. I looked at her the way you might look at a piece of trash, with a coldness utterly devoid of feeling. Honestly, it had been years since I’d met someone so eager to die. “Who let you in here?” “Victor, of course. Who do you think you—” I cut her off, my voice still quiet, but carrying the weight of unspoken threat. “There is only one master in this house.” My presence seemed to stun her for a moment. But she quickly recovered, puffing out her chest and standing to look down on me. “You dare touch me?” she sneered. “Victor told me that yesterday was the last time he’d tolerate your behavior. If you lay a hand on me again, he’ll throw you out on the street!” A small, cold smile touched my lips, but it never reached my eyes. I stood up, pulling the pistol from the small of my back and reloading it right in front of her. “Touch you?” “You’d dirty my hands.” I suddenly raised the gun— Vivian shrieked, dropping to the floor and covering her head, her eyes squeezed shut. But the shot she expected never came. My aim wasn’t on her. It was on the liquor cabinet behind her. The next second—CRACK! The explosive sound of shattering crystal ripped through the room. Flying shards of glass peppered the air, one of them slicing a deep, bloody gash across Vivian’s calf. She was frozen in terror, her face ashen. She had forgotten how to even cry. “It’s filthy now,” I said calmly. “Have someone clean it up.” Justin immediately nodded. I looked down at the trembling girl and leaned in close. I spoke each word with chilling precision. “The last person who dared to act like this in front of me was named Limpy. Yesterday, I sent him to meet his maker.” “If you don’t believe me, I can send you down to ask him yourself.” With that, I straightened up, pulled out my phone, and dialed Victor’s number. I put it on speaker. “You have twenty minutes to get your girl and her trash out of my house.” “Otherwise, you can start planning a funeral.” 3 Twelve minutes later, the screech of tires tore through the quiet afternoon. Victor stormed into the villa, his face a mask of thunder, with his top enforcer, Bruno, right behind him. His eyes immediately found Vivian, collapsed on the floor with a bloody leg, weeping hysterically. Behind her, a massive hole had been blown through my liquor cabinet. His rage ignited. The moment Vivian saw Victor, she scrambled toward him like he was her savior, collapsing into his arms. Her sobs grew more pathetic. “Victor, she… she’s trying to kick me out!” “And… and she tried to shoot me! I was so scared…” Victor murmured a few comforting words to her before turning his fury on me. “Ava, what the hell is the meaning of this?” “I just warned you yesterday! She lost our child because of you! She’s still recovering!” I remained seated on the sofa, not having moved an inch. I met his blazing eyes with a calm that was almost terrifying. “The meaning?” “Was I not clear enough on the phone?” My unshakable composure only fueled his anger. “Ava, this is my house!” “I’ll have whoever I want live here. You don’t get to give the orders.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. An image flashed in my mind: Victor bringing me here for the first time. His young face was flushed with excitement as he showed me the unfinished house, waving his arms around wildly. “Ava, this will be our home. You can decorate it however you want, do whatever you want. In this house, you’re the boss!” And now, here he was, ordering me to tolerate his mistress. I stood up. “Your house?” “Victor, have you forgotten? This villa… whose name is on the deed? And while we’re at it, the legal ownership of all your ‘clean’ businesses… who holds that title?” Victor was momentarily speechless. But one look at the weeping girl in his arms hardened his resolve. “You…” My gaze flickered to Vivian, still playing the victim. “For her? A toy you’ve known for seven months, one who was hand-picked and trained just for you?” “You’re willing to burn everything down between us for that? Have you thought this through?” Victor’s towering rage suddenly deflated, his bravado gone. I smiled and stepped closer. My voice dropped to a low hiss, like a viper’s whisper. “What do you think would happen if I took those real ledgers from your safe and sent them over to the Northside Outfit? I hear their new boss is looking to make a name for himself. Or perhaps I could give them to Detective Miller at the Financial Crimes Unit…” “Do you think you’d still be able to stand here, parading your little lover in my face?” Victor fell silent. When my eyes swept over Bruno, even he instinctively lowered his head, unable to meet my gaze. I gave Justin a slight nod. He immediately understood and stepped forward, making a polite, but firm, “this way” gesture to Victor. “Sir, the car is waiting outside.” Victor’s face was dark as a storm cloud. He held Vivian tight and stalked out of the villa without a backward glance. “Ma’am,” Justin said quietly once they were gone. “Showing your hand so openly like that… Victor is bound to make a move.” “You…” I just shook my head, a faint smile on my lips. “That wasn’t a trump card, Justin. That was me, being merciful, and giving him one last chance.” “If he dares to make a move, that’s when he truly loses.”

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My wife, Vivian Oravec, came home early from her business trip to find me on the sofa with our young nanny. She flew into a rage, screaming and smashing things, then called her family to drag me out and tie me to a tree in the middle of the community courtyard for a public shaming. “Lex Hoult, why would you cheat on me? Don’t I give you what you need?” Vivian sobbed, her accusations echoing for all to hear. Her pet intern, Leo, picked up a branch and began whipping me with it, calling me a scumbag. A few bloody tears escaped my eyes. I gritted my teeth and shot back, “Doesn’t this feel familiar, Vivian? A lot like the day Tilly died?” Vivian froze. “Your memory… it’s back?” … “Lex Hoult!” “Our daughter has only been gone a month, and you’re already bringing another woman into our home! Have you no shame?” Vivian’s eyes were red with fury as she screamed at me. I slowly lit a cigarette, my voice calm. “You could cheat too, you know. I wouldn’t mind.” “Don’t act so high and mighty,” I added, my tone laced with contempt. “You’re never home anyway. For all I know, you’ve been screwing around for years.” Beside me, the young nanny pulled on a pair of sexy, black silk stockings and chimed in, “He’s got a point.” Her comment made me chuckle. That sent Vivian over the edge. She lunged, aiming a slap at the nanny, but I caught her wrist in a vice grip, allowing the nanny to slip away. “Lex! You’re defending an outsider against me? You bastard! You cheating bastard!” Vivian stared at me in disbelief, her fists raining down on my chest in a wild, frantic flurry. “Stop acting crazy!” I shoved her away, my patience worn thin. At that exact moment, her intern, Leo, arrived with her entire family in tow. Seeing Vivian crumpled on the floor in front of the sofa, they all saw red. Leo stormed over and grabbed my collar. “Lex Hoult!” he roared, spittle flying in my face. “Not only do you cheat on your wife, you hit her too? What kind of man are you? Is this how you honor your daughter’s memory?” “You have no right to mention my daughter!” My own anger flared. I threw a punch, sending him staggering backward. Vivian scrambled to her feet. “Are you some kind of rabid dog, biting everyone you see? Why did you hit Leo?” Seeing that I was not only unrepentant but defiant, her family’s eyes practically shot flames. “My daughter gave you everything!” her mother shrieked. “She didn’t care that you were some poor kid from the sticks with no car and no house! She married you anyway!” “How could you betray her like this?” her father bellowed. “We never should have been soft on you! We should have let you kneel in the rain until you died before we ever agreed to this marriage!” “Today, I’m going to let everyone see you for the pathetic trash you are! And I’ll make sure you never work in the medical field again!” Led by Vivian’s parents, her whole clan—aunts, uncles, cousins—descended on me. I was hopelessly outnumbered, trussed up like a pig for slaughter, and carried to the center of the courtyard. They tied me to a large oak tree and stripped me down to my boxers. “Come and see the cheating, wife-beating scumbag!” one of her aunts screamed. “Someone, please, judge for yourself! My poor niece, dedicating her life to her family, only to have her husband fool around with the nanny!” “This animal was in our home, in front of his own daughter’s memorial photo, making out with the help! It’s an unforgivable sin!” Vivian’s family wailed and shouted, drawing a large crowd of residents from the surrounding apartment buildings. As the story spread, their eyes filled with disgust, and a chorus of insults rained down on me. I was inhuman. I deserved to die. “After your car accident, Vivian stayed by your bedside day and night! That was just a few weeks ago! Where is your conscience?” “You can’t even keep it in your pants, you son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” Vivian’s parents took turns slapping me across the face. The crowd, emboldened, joined in. Some spat on me. Others threw clumps of dirt and small stones. I was a mess of filth and humiliation. Through her tears, Vivian demanded, “Lex, tell me! Why did you cheat?” I gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You know damn well why.” “Was it because I couldn’t satisfy you? That whole drawer of lingerie… I bought all of it for you! What more could you possibly want?” she shrieked, her voice cracking with near-hysterical grief. Her words hung in the air. A thousand murderous glares focused on me, burning with righteous fury. “Vivian, this bastard is beyond saving,” Leo said, wiping a tear from her cheek before picking up a thick branch from the ground. He turned and whipped it across my body. “You worthless scumbag!” Again and again, the branch struck, leaving bloody welts across my skin. The crowd cheered. Vivian’s family urged him on, yelling for him to hit me harder, to not let me off easy. Only Vivian herself finally stopped him. “Lex,” she said, her voice trembling, “we’ve been together for ten years. It hasn’t been easy.” “If you admit you were wrong and promise, in front of everyone, to change, I’ll give you one more chance.” The crowd murmured their approval, marveling at Vivian’s kindness, clucking about how such a beautiful flower was wasted on a pile of manure. “Admit I was wrong?” I ground my teeth together, the sound a low, dangerous growl. “Vivian, doesn’t this whole scene feel familiar? A lot like the day our daughter, Tilly, died?” Vivian’s pupils contracted into pinpricks. “Your memory… it’s back?” Seeing the shock on her face, I pressed on, my voice rising. “It was a hundred degrees out, and Tilly was surrounded by a mob, all of them pointing and screaming at her.” “And your precious, favored intern, Leo, instead of helping her, he locked her in a dog cage to ‘teach her a lesson.’” “Do you have any idea how hard she cried, Vivian?” Vivian’s fists clenched at her sides. She bit her lip, her voice a low, defensive murmur. “Leo didn’t mean for it to happen.” Her words were a knife in my heart. A few tears, thick and red with blood, slid from the corners of my eyes. “Vivian! Tilly was your daughter! Your own flesh and blood! How can you be so heartless?” “She begged for a sip of water, but no one would give her any. The sun baked her skin until it peeled, and her lips were so cracked they bled.” “When you saw her body… didn’t you feel anything?” My accusations hung in the hot, still air. Vivian was trembling, and beside her, Leo looked tense. The crowd began to shift, their gazes turning from me to them, a strange new suspicion dawning in their eyes. “Her own daughter was killed by her intern, and she keeps him around? Is she crazy?” “I bet they’re having an affair.” “No wonder the husband cheated. He must have been completely heartbroken.” Even Vivian’s mother was staring at her now. “Vivian, you told us Tilly’s death was an accident. Leo, what really happened?” Her father’s glare was fixed on Leo, demanding an explanation. “It was all my fault…” Leo slapped himself across the face, his voice choked with fake sobs. “I took Tilly out to play that day. I just turned my back for a second to buy some water, and she was gone.” “Later, I found out she’d run into a bakery and tried to steal some bread. The owner caught her, threw her in a cage, and put her on the roof to punish her.” “Vivian was in surgery, and I tried calling and texting Lex, but he never answered.” “I’m so sorry. I failed to protect her. I should be the one who’s dead!” He started slapping himself again, harder this time. “Stop it, don’t do that.” Vivian rushed to his side, her voice filled with a pained tenderness. “I never got any calls or messages from you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You killed my daughter…” Before I could finish, Vivian spun around and slapped me. “How many times do I have to tell you? It had nothing to do with Leo! It was the bakery owner, and there’s a warrant out for his arrest.” “Besides,” she added, her voice dripping with accusation, “if you hadn’t been starving Tilly, would she have needed to steal bread in the first place?” I stared at her, stunned. “You’re her mother. Don’t you know your own daughter? Do you really think she was a thief?” “Don’t you know how much she adored me?” Vivian was a busy surgeon, often tied up in operations for hours. I had quit my own job at the hospital to be a full-time father to Tilly. If she had been malnourished, it would have been obvious. More than that, Tilly was a sweet, gentle soul. She would have starved before she stole. Vivian was silent. But Leo stepped forward, his voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Stop making excuses, Lex! I checked with her preschool. The teachers said Tilly fainted several times, but she was always fine after a little snack and a drink.” “And I have video proof!” He pulled out his phone and played a clip for the crowd. It showed a teacher leading a group of children in a game. Suddenly, Tilly collapsed. “I have dozens of videos just like this one! What do you have to say for yourself now, Lex?” Leo’s voice was cold and triumphant. “You son of a bitch! You didn’t feed your own daughter? What kind of father are you?” “My poor granddaughter must have been starving to steal that bread! It’s all your fault, you irresponsible bastard!” Vivian’s parents lunged at me again, hitting and screaming. Their relatives followed suit. The crowd cheered them on, their anger reignited, wishing they could strangle me on the spot. Vivian looked at me, her eyes filled with disappointment. “Leo was trying to protect you. He didn’t release these videos out of respect for me.” “And you? You repay his kindness by trying to frame him!” “Wasn’t killing Tilly enough for you? Now you want to destroy Leo too? When did you become so evil?” Her self-righteous questions were a physical blow. I let out a bitter, tear-filled laugh. “Vivian, just because you see something with your own eyes doesn’t make it the truth.” “If I told you Tilly had hypoglycemia, would you believe me?” Vivian froze for a second. But Leo just sneered. “Are you going to use that to claim you didn’t cheat? That what Vivian saw was just an illusion?” “Using your dead daughter like this… you’re truly disgusting!” His words hit their mark. Vivian’s face hardened. “Lex, not only am I Tilly’s mother, I’m also a doctor. Don’t you think I would know if she had hypoglycemia?” “Don’t try to twist the facts to excuse your affair!” Her parents and the rest of her family started screaming at me again, calling me an animal. Through the storm of insults, I kept my eyes locked on Vivian. “I didn’t cheat on you! You and Leo set me up!” “Bullshit!” Leo shot back immediately. “You were caught red-handed, and you’re still denying it? Have you no shame?” “You’re still spouting lies! I’ll shut your mouth for you!” Vivian’s father took off his shoe and started beating me across the face with it, splitting my lip. But my resolve didn’t waver. My voice was cold and steady. “In a little while, I’ll be able to prove my innocence. But some people… might not be so lucky.” My gaze, filled with pure hatred, shifted between Leo and Vivian. “Enough!” Vivian snapped, planting a hand on her hip. “Do you really think anyone is going to believe your empty words? Do you take us all for three-year-olds?” “I’m telling you right now,” she declared, “you will stay tied to this tree until you admit you’re wrong. Otherwise, you can bake in the sun all day!” I said nothing. The crowd muttered that I was stubborn, that I was a lost cause. The temperature was well over a hundred degrees. Under the relentless sun, I felt like I was being roasted on a spit, burning from the inside out. Sweat soaked my clothes, evaporating almost as soon as it appeared. Dehydration made my mouth dry, my lips crack, and my head spin. I thought of my daughter. She had died in this same heat, alone on a rooftop, her cries for help unanswered. Her small life had faded away, bit by bit, until she died of dehydration. She must have been so scared, so desperate. She must have been hoping that her mommy and daddy would suddenly appear, like superheroes, with a bottle of water and a popsicle. “I’ve got watermelon, popsicles, and all kinds of cold drinks! Free for everyone!” Leo’s cheerful shout broke through my haze. He had arranged for a truckload of watermelon and three mobile freezers to be brought to the courtyard, offering refreshments to the crowd. “Leo, you’re so thoughtful,” Vivian said, a happy smile gracing her lips as she took a cold drink from him. “It’s the least I can do,” he replied with a modest smile, before distributing drinks and popsicles to her family. “What a fine young man!” her parents gushed. “Puts a certain scumbag to shame!” The crowd nodded in agreement. The sight of it all made me sick. Leo sauntered over to me, holding a popsicle. He lowered his voice, a cruel sneer on his face. “Hot? Thirsty?” “Call me ‘Daddy,’ and I’ll let you have it. Otherwise, you can end up just like your daughter—a dried-up piece of jerky.” “You should have seen her,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming. “So pathetic. I recorded the whole thing. I watch it every night…” A primal rage exploded within me. I spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm in his face. “You… monster!” Seeing the commotion, Vivian rushed over. She saw the blood on Leo’s face and immediately turned on me. “Lex Hoult!” “Leo was kind enough to offer you a popsicle, and you repay him like this? You ungrateful dog!” “I must have been blind to ever have fallen for a piece of filth like you!” Still not satisfied, she raised her hand to slap me. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself!” A sharp, female voice cut through the air. Everyone turned to look. It was the nanny. She had returned, and behind her were two police officers. They immediately started to untie me. Vivian’s fury erupted. “You! You have the nerve to come back here, you little homewrecker!” “I’ve seen shameless, but this is a new level,” Leo sneered. “Being a mistress and then calling the cops? Pathetic.” Vivian’s family clenched their fists, looking like they wanted to tear the nanny to pieces. “Talk is cheap, isn’t it?” the nanny said, her voice cool. “What proof do you have that I’m a mistress?” “I… I saw you with my own two eyes!” Vivian spat, her teeth clenched. “So, you have no actual proof?” The nanny’s lips curved into a slight smile. She turned to the police. “Vivian Oravec and Leo Croft have falsely accused me of being a mistress, and they have intentionally harmed Lex Hoult.” “Please, arrest them.” Hearing her words, I, the one who had willingly walked into this trap, allowed myself a small smile. The show… was just getting started. Leo panicked. “You little tramp! How dare you make false accusations! You really are shameless!” “You’re so proud of being a mistress you have to flaunt it?” Vivian frowned and looked at me. “Lex, if you have any decency left, you’ll admit what you did!” I took a sip of the cold drink the nanny handed me. “I’m innocent. Why should I admit to something I didn’t do?” “If you think I cheated, then show me the proof.” Her face contorted with rage. She threw her popsicle to the ground. “I saw you! On the sofa! All over each other!” Her father stepped forward. “Officer, my daughter has always been a good, honest girl. She would never lie. The only reason we punished Lex Hoult is because he cheated first!” Her family all nodded in agreement. “Hearsay is not evidence,” one of the officers said sternly. “We need proof. Otherwise, you can be held legally responsible for false imprisonment, defamation, and assault.” “That’s right!” the nanny chimed in. “The burden of proof is on the accuser!” Vivian’s father turned to her. “Well? Show them the proof! Show this disgusting pair for what they are!” “I… I… I was in such a state, I didn’t think to take a picture or a video,” Vivian stammered. The crowd stared, a collective sense of being duped settling over them. Their gazes on Vivian and Leo began to shift, growing strange and suspicious. “You may not have proof,” the nanny said with a smile, “but I do.” She took out her phone and played a recording. “Vivian wants me to find a way to take Lex down a peg, so I’m planning on framing him for cheating with the nanny. I’ll need you to help me buy some bots to get it trending online.” The voice was Leo’s. All eyes, including Vivian’s, turned to him in shock.

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Mike’s thirteenth secret was different—Selena, a relentless “entrepreneur” who failed upwards. Today, 20millionvanishedintoasupermarketchain.Tomorrow,50 million disappeared on a hotel venture. She bled money daily, loving the stock market’s spectacular losses. Unlike his other flings, Selena landed Mike in headlines. “Just a business partner,” he’d say. But when I uncovered proof of the affair, his mask cracked. “You’re investigating me?” he hissed. “Remember your place—stay home, care for my mother.” He stepped closer, eyes icy. “She’s ambitious. Something a trophy wife like you wouldn’t understand.” His whisper was a blade: “Cross her, and this’ll be my second marriage.” I called Selena. “Mrs. Pierce,” she sneered, “we’re nothing alike. I build empires. Men are just stepping stones.” 1 “And let’s be clear,” she continued, not even letting me get a word in, “I’m not stealing your man. He’s the one crawling into my bed. If you can’t keep your husband’s zipper up, don’t come crying to me.” Click. She hung up. I stared at my phone and, to my surprise, I laughed. I’d never encountered a mistress so brazen, so utterly clueless. A self-made woman, she called herself. I wondered just how long her “empire” would last once I cut off her funding. At dinner that evening, Mike put on a show for his mother, pretending nothing was wrong between us. As usual, his mother brought up the same tired subject. “You’ve been married for seven years. It’s time you had a child.” “We’ll talk after this busy period is over,” he mumbled, a line I’d heard so many times it had lost all meaning. I used to feel a flicker of hope. Now, I just felt empty. Mike shot me a look, sharp as a shard of glass, assuming I’d put her up to it. It was a warning: don’t try anything. After dinner, he showered, dressed immaculately, and pulled out his phone. He sent a quick voice message, his tone warm and intimate. “Wait for me, twenty minutes. Sorry, running a little late. I’m on my way.” He shoved the phone in his pocket, eager to leave. He’d been glued to it all evening, his usually stoic face animated by a stream of playful emojis. I caught a glimpse of his screen—a cartoon avatar. He, the man who only ever used a stark black background, now had a matching profile picture with Selena. I pretended not to see and headed for the shower. Suddenly, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. I turned to see Mike’s face flush a deep red, his breathing ragged. The cool composure in his eyes was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate lust. He lunged at me like an animal, his mouth messy and urgent on my neck. “You drugged me!” he accused between frantic kisses. “No, I didn’t!” One second he was accusing me, the next he was fumbling with my clothes like a starved dog. “I want you!” I tried to push him away, but he suddenly staggered back, his eyes glazed over as if he were drunk. He fought for control, his voice a harsh rasp. “Is this all you know? These cheap, dirty tricks? Is that all you think about?” He ripped off his Hermès belt and tore off his pants, then his boxers. He pointed down at himself, his voice thick with rage and arousal. “You see this?! It belongs to Selena!” There, stark against his skin, was her name tattooed in elegant script, now bold and prominent. A thousand tiny needles of pain pricked my heart. Just two months ago, in this very room, he had whispered in my ear, “I love the way you scream my name.” The shock gave way to a wave of humiliation and fury. “If it’s hers,” I said, my voice shaking, “then let’s get a divorce.” 2 Mike glared at me. “Don’t start with that again. You pull one more stunt, and I’ll make sure you get what you’re asking for.” As if afraid I might pounce on him, he scrambled to pull on his pants, grabbing his phone as he bolted for the door. I heard him sending another voice message. “Babe, get out of the shower and wait for me. I’m about to explode.” The words weren’t a physical blow, but the humiliation was absolute. A thorn of pain lodged itself in my throat, a constant reminder of how pathetic my life had become. I took out my phone and sent a text to my assistant, Leo. Liquidate everything. Pull all our investments from Pierce Corp and dump the stock. He replied instantly. Ma’am, if we do this, Pierce Corp will likely become insolvent. It will trigger a massive financial crisis for them. Are you sure you want to go this far? Yes, I typed back. It has to be done. Just as I sent the message, the maid wheeled my mother-in-law into the room. “I created the perfect opportunity for you,” she chided. “Why did you let him leave?” Desperate for a grandchild, she was always scheming. “He went to see Selena,” I said flatly. “Men always crave excitement,” she sniffed. “This woman is ambitious. It’s just a phase for Mike, it won’t last. Don’t worry about it. You can’t help him with the business anyway. Just turn a blind eye. Once you have a baby, he’ll settle down.” I had been her primary caretaker for seven years, ever since the accident that put her in that wheelchair. I’d tended to her every need. I thought, foolishly, that she might stand up for me. But in her eyes, I was just as useless. It didn’t matter. Soon, I wouldn’t be her daughter-in-law anymore. The next morning, my phone was buzzing nonstop with notifications. I was being tagged by thousands of strangers across every major social media platform. “@KateValoisPierce what’s going on? Selena is telling you to get your husband in line!” “OMG, the great Kate Valois can’t even control her own man?” “They had the wedding of the century, a union of two dynasties, and now she’s being called a powerless wife. Kate, aren’t you going to say anything?” I opened the news app. The headline was impossible to miss. PIERCE CORP CEO KNEELS IN RAIN ALL NIGHT TO APPEASE ‘BUSINESS PARTNER’ The accompanying photo showed Mike—the proud, powerful man I knew—kneeling reverently in front of a run-down apartment building. Selena’s building. She was triumphantly tagging me everywhere, sharing the article with her own commentary. “See this, Mrs. Pierce? @KateValoisPierce I’m not the one chasing him! He’s the one begging for my attention!” “He wouldn’t leave, just kept kneeling downstairs. If you can’t control your man, it’s rude to come after me.” “Besides, we have a business relationship. Something a useless, pampered trophy wife like you wouldn’t understand!” “If I were you, I’d either support my husband’s ambition or get a divorce! Stop playing these pathetic little games.” I was instantly thrown to the wolves. The internet dubbed me the first “Original Wife” in history to get publicly owned by the mistress and not say a word. 3 My phone exploded with messages, a deluge of mockery and vitriol. The most common refrain was that even a blue-blooded heiress couldn’t keep her man, that I was pathetic for taking it out on the other woman. Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open. Mike stumbled in, looking like a wreck. The knees of his pants were soaked and stained with grime. His hair was a mess from the night in the rain, but his eyes were as sharp and cold as a winter storm. He lunged toward me, planting one knee on the bed, and grabbed the collar of my nightgown. “Did you think I was joking?” he snarled. “Who told you to go to her? Now she won’t even talk to me. Are you satisfied?” I just stared at his crazed expression. “Mike, we are still married. For you to treat me like this over another woman… have you lost your mind?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “So that’s it? Your status as Mrs. Pierce gives you the right to bully her?” “If that’s what you want to believe.” My quiet defiance stunned him. For seven years, I had never once talked back to him. I could see the fury building in his eyes, see the vein throbbing in his temple. His grip on my collar tightened. “If you want to remain Mrs. Pierce, you will post a public apology to Selena on every platform and leave it up for a month.” “And you will call her, right now, and beg her to forgive me!” It felt like a piece of my heart had been violently ripped out. I stared into his furious, unyielding eyes and realized, in that moment, that I had never truly known the man I’d been sleeping next to for seven years. Seeing my silence, his agitation grew. “I told you when we got married! This is an alliance, a merger of families! You are Mrs. Pierce, the lady of this house, and nothing more!” “Don’t you dare imagine anything else!” “Selena is a good woman. She’s driven, ambitious, full of positive energy. She doesn’t deserve to be bullied by a useless, spoiled brat like you!” A bitter smile touched my lips. He was rewriting our entire history to justify his affair, conveniently forgetting the countless nights he’d held me, his eyes soft with love, and told me he loved me. In the middle of our standoff, my phone rang. I answered it. It was one of our housekeepers, her voice frantic. “Miss, your mother! She saw the news about you… she had a heart attack! It’s very serious, they’re taking her to the hospital now!” “Your brother is still overseas on business! You have to get to the hospital, they need you to sign the papers!” The world tilted on its axis. My heart stopped for a beat, and a terrifying panic seized me. I scrambled to get out of bed. Mike grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. His eyes were cold, commanding. “First, you post a 1,000-word apology. Then you call Selena. You’re not leaving this room until you do.” I struggled, but he was too strong. “My mother is dying!” I screamed at him. His expression didn’t flicker. “Your mother has doctors. If you want to walk out that door, you’ll do as I say.” He was using this moment, my mother’s life, to blackmail me. The pain was like swallowing razor blades. Tears welled in my eyes. I surrendered. I quickly typed out a groveling apology, posting it from my official “Mrs. Pierce” account. Then, I dialed Selena’s number. She answered with a triumphant sneer. “Mrs. Pierce, are you ever going to give up? Are you blind? Didn’t you see the news? Your husband is obsessed with me! I, Selena Lin, have never needed a man! You should spend less time harassing me and more time controlling your own husband!” I clenched my fist, swallowing my pride, and forced the words out. “I’m sorry, Selena. I apologize for everything I’ve done. I hope you won’t be angry with my husband.” My voice was a choked whisper. “Please, don’t ignore him. I hope your partnership is successful. I will never interfere again.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “What’s wrong with you? Did hell freeze over?” I hung up, the tears finally breaking free and streaming down my face. I looked at him, my voice raw. “Are you satisfied now?” His grip loosened. I bolted from the room.

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I broke up with my boyfriend the year he was the most broke. A year later, he was a star, married to a girl prettier and more vibrant than I ever was. During a TV special, the host asked him, “You’ve swept the awards at such a young age. Do you have any regrets?” He pulled his wife, Stella, closer, his arm around her waist. “I’d just like to know,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, “how she’s doing now. After we broke up.” The host paused. “She’s… not doing well at all.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across Oren Pearce’s face. “Good. That sets my mind at ease.” “But… Ms. Nolan left behind a box of tapes before she died.” Oren’s smile froze. On the tapes were the days and nights of my life, from the moment I left him until the moment I died. 1 “Before she died?” Oren’s hand, resting on Stella’s waist, tightened for a fraction of a second. Then he let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Is this part of the show? Some kind of gimmick?” The host simply shook his head. On the massive screen behind them, my face appeared. My smile. “Hey everyone, it’s Quinn! And as of today, I’m officially single!” The girl on the screen—her head shaved clean—was trying on a wig. “What’s that? You’re asking if I’m sad about dumping the sweet, handsome guy with a future brighter than the sun?” She looked at the camera and grinned. “Nah. What would be sad is him seeing me like this. Hahaha!” “Hey, why are you shaking? You’re making the shot all wobbly.” In the video, I reached out and steadied my best friend Tessa’s trembling hand. Tessa’s voice cracked. “I don’t want to do this… I’m going to cry my eyes out. I can’t film this…” “No way. You promised. You promised you’d document every single day until I’m gone.” “Can’t I back out?” Tessa pleaded, her voice thick with tears. “Nope!” I pouted. “My grand finale deserves the best director. I can’t trust anyone else with it.” Seeing she was still crying, I tugged at the corner of her shirt. “Come on, Tess. You’re all I have left in this world.” That only made her sob harder. “Fine, fine! I’ll film, okay? Just… stop.” 2 [So Long, World – April 17, 2023, 9:34 AM — You Can Take It All] After so many years, I was back at the old family house in the countryside. Tessa trailed behind me, phone in hand, as I walked our old golden retriever, Buddy, down a dirt path between fields. Her light laughter drifted on the breeze. “I was wondering why Oren suddenly posted that song on his story. It’s because you took Buddy, isn’t it?” I turned. “What song? I blocked him the day we broke up.” “That old breakup anthem. ‘Take It All’.” Tessa and I looked at each other for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter and tears. “You can take it all, every single thing,” we sang, our voices shaky. “I’ll take what’s left of this broken mess.” “Just leave our dog, he’s my only friend…” Tessa was laughing so hard tears streamed down her face. “He didn’t want anything but the dog, and you didn’t take anything but the dog! Hahaha!” Our laughter echoed across the fields, slowly, painfully, dissolving into tears. 3 [So Long, World – April 17, 2023, 10:08 AM — Do Dogs Know You’re Leaving?] The old wooden door creaked open. I swatted away a spiderweb. “You know, ever since Oren and I moved to LA for college, I barely came back here. After Mom and Dad were gone, we took Buddy with us. This is the first time he’s been back.” The camera perspective shifted. Now I was holding it. “Hey, hey! It’s Quinn, and welcome to my immersive tour of the old family homestead!” Tessa, wearing an apron and holding a broom, scowled. “My lady, I’m the one doing all the work!” “I’m the patient! You have to spoil me!” After a round of laughter, I emerged from the kitchen, my face smudged with soot. Tessa snatched the spatula from my hand, her expression dark. “I told you, no cooking! Have you forgotten how bad you are at it? Out! Go sit down!” I coughed, a smile playing on my lips, and sat on the sofa. The moment Tessa was back in the kitchen, the smile vanished. I propped the phone up on the table and gasped for air, my chest heaving. My hand trembled as I took a few deep pulls from a small oxygen canister before turning back to the camera with a weak smile. “Sorry about that. The breathing thing… it’s been happening more and more lately. Ahem! I’m actually a great cook, you know. Really.” “Watch me brave the kitchen once more!” As I stood, a furry weight settled on my feet. The camera panned down. It was Buddy, his eyes droopy, lying on my sneakers. “You hungry, boy?” I offered him a piece of jerky. He took it gently, then lay back down on my feet, unmoving. “Come on, Buddy. I’m going to go check on Tessa. Up.” He didn’t budge. “What’s with you? You’re so clingy today.” I stroked his fur, which had grown coarse with age. “I get it. You’re getting old too, huh? Too tired to move? Okay, then. I’ll stay with you a little longer.” I leaned back on the sofa. “I won’t have many more chances to, anyway.” Buddy let out a low, soft whine. 4 [So Long, World – April 17, 2023, 11:21 AM — Is a House Still a Home with No One in It?] When I woke up on the sofa, Tessa was kneeling at my feet. She looked up when she heard me stir, her face slick with tears. “Quinn… they say that dogs can sense when their owner is about to leave, so they go on ahead to wait for them in the next life. Is that true?” The phone in my hand nearly fell. I scrambled to touch Buddy. He was still. There was no breath. He had passed away quietly, lying at my feet, while I had drifted off to sleep. I tried to laugh, but it came out looking more painful than a sob. “What are you talking about? Buddy was ten years old. It was just his time.” When the camera was on again, I was on the hill behind the house, patting down the earth on a small mound of dirt. My breathing was ragged, my face pale. Wiping sweat from my brow, I pointed back toward the house. “Home is straight that way. Don’t you lose your way, now. And whatever you do, don’t go to Oren’s…” I stopped myself. With a small, sad smile, I dropped my hand. “Actually, don’t go back. It’ll be empty soon enough. You just wait for me. We’ll build a new home down there, with Mom and Dad.” A sob came from behind the camera, making it shake. I looked up, smiling at the person holding it. “What are you doing? You can’t even hold the camera steady.” Tessa’s crying grew louder. “You’re the one! What are you saying?!” I laughed and beckoned to her. “Look at you. Come on, let’s go home. I’m ready for some of your famous cooking.” “Quinn! If you keep talking like that, I’m going to stop speaking to you!” I walked over, grinning, and slung an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. Your girl Quinn is invincible. This little cancer? Handled.” I made a little pinching gesture with my thumb and forefinger. “Hahahahahaha!” 5 [So Long, World – April 18, 2023, 8:27 AM — Sometimes, I Forget I’m a Patient] “Quinn! Quinn, open the door!” Tessa was pounding on the bedroom door. The camera was propped up nearby, angled awkwardly, capturing only her frantic legs. From inside the room, my voice, raw and broken, screamed, “Go away! I said, go away! Leave me alone!” The screaming was followed by the violent sounds of retching. Tessa sounded like she was about to cry. “Quinn, I’m going to break the door down! What’s wrong? Let me in!” “GO AWAY! JUST LET ME BE ALONE!” My heart-wrenching sobs echoed through the screen. Tessa threw her shoulder against the door. The old wood groaned and splintered open. Inside, I was knelt by the trash can, strands of hair matted to my face with vomit. I was a wreck, a ghost of the girl who had been laughing and singing just the day before. I looked up, my eyes bloodshot and filled with despair. “Tessa…” “Quinn.” She knelt, ignoring the mess, and pulled me into a fierce hug. My hands trembled as I wrapped them around her, burying my face in her shoulder, my tears soaking her shirt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you… But sometimes, when I wake up, I forget. For a moment, I think I’m just… normal Quinn. And then I stare at the ceiling for what feels like forever until it hits me… I’m sick… I’m sick, Tessa…” I couldn’t speak through the sobs. Tessa held me tighter. “I know. It’s okay. It’s okay, Quinnie. You can get through this. You can… You’re… you’re Quinn Nolan, for God’s sake…” 6 [So Long, World – April 21, 2024, 4:34 PM — Sometimes, Forgetting Is a Kindness to the Departed] I was leaning on Tessa’s shoulder, my sleeve pushed up to reveal an arm covered in black-and-blue bruises. My voice was hoarse. “What am I going to do, Tess? They’re running out of places to stick the needle. It hurts so much.” “Oh, now you feel the pain? Where was this energy last night when you were up all night fighting for tickets?” I pouted. “I have to see my ex-boyfriend’s first major concert since he made it big, don’t I? It’s been a while. I need to see if his singing has improved.” Tessa fell silent. After a long moment, she nudged me. “You said you broke up with him because you didn’t want to be a burden. If he still has feelings for you… would you ask him for help now?” “Never.” My voice was firm. “But a single song of his can earn millions now. He could afford to get you the best treatment.” “Still no! And you’re not allowed to tell him, either!” “But, Quinn, right now you’re…” I put my hands on my hips, the IV line in my hand leaving a faint blue mark on my skin. “I’m fine right now! Besides, I dumped him when he had nothing. What would it look like if I came crawling back the second he made it, saying I was sick? No. Don’t worry.” I gave her a weak grin. “I’m Quinn Nolan! This little cancer? Handled.” I made the pinching gesture again. Tessa just watched me for a moment, then sighed. I waved her on. “Come on, let’s go. There’s no guarantee spending a fortune would even cure this. I’d rather use what I have left to enjoy myself. Let’s go, let’s go! We’re going to the amusement park tonight, right? But first, I found this amazing barbecue place…” “Oof!” I walked straight into someone. I was apologizing profusely when I looked up and saw his face. I froze, then stumbled back several steps. Tessa gasped. “Oren?” Even with the mask and sunglasses, I knew. You always know the eyes of the person you loved. “Quinn?” His handsome eyes, the ones that always seemed to smile, were wide with shock. Then, the shock hardened into anger. Resentment. Without a second thought, I turned and ran. The camera shook wildly as Tessa scrambled to follow me. A cancer patient was running faster than she ever had when she was healthy. Behind the sound of my ragged gasps for breath, a voice roared my name. “Quinn! Do you hate me that much?!”

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The horde was at our gates, and Lena, my wife and Vanguard leader, took her team to celebrate her ex’s birthday. The Commander ordered me to retrieve them. I refused. Last life, I’d raced to bring them back. We won, but her precious James got cornered and eaten by zombies—just his head left. Lena went berserk retrieving his corpse. She locked herself away for a week, then acted like nothing happened. When my serum cured humanity, she drugged me and fed me to zombies. “You lured the horde here,” she hissed. “You stole his research. Go to hell.” I woke up back at the attack. This time? Let her party. 1 The symphony of gunshots and screams was the sound of my rebirth. I was heading for the door when the Commander burst in, his face pale. “Dr. Larry! The horde is here! Get Lena to rally the Vanguard, now!” Before I could answer, the voice of Marcus, our logistics chief, cut through the panic. “Commander! I’ve searched everywhere. The Vanguard is gone. Every last one of them. And they took our remaining armored trucks!” A wave of terror washed over the faces of the survivors huddled in the lab. The Commander froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Gone? Where did they go?!” I let out a heavy sigh, the truth a bitter pill. “They went with Lena. To the Exchange, for James’s birthday party.” “What?!” The Commander’s face was a mask of shock. “We had intel yesterday! A horde was on its way! They were all put on high alert! And they left—all of them—for a goddamn birthday party?” Behind him, the whispers turned to furious muttering. The survivors’ fear was curdling into rage. To abandon the entire Sanctuary for one man’s birthday… The roar of the horde grew closer, punctuated by another volley of gunfire. People screamed and ducked, the lab dissolving into chaos. The Commander took charge. “Everyone with a firearm, secure the main gate! The rest of you, get to the research wing’s basement! Do not come out until you hear a friendly voice, you understand?” After directing the stream of terrified survivors, he turned to me, his expression grim. “Dr. Larry, you’re a pyrokinetic, and you know their weaknesses better than anyone. There’s still a small jeep in the research garage. You have to go after them. Bring them back.” I shook my head, a knot of futility tightening in my gut. “Commander, it’s not that I don’t want to. But even if I reach them, Lena won’t believe a word I say.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Everyone knew. Ever since James, another researcher, had arrived at the Sanctuary, Lena’s infatuation had been a public spectacle. Everyone knew we fought constantly over him, that we had divorce papers drawn up and waiting. As they stared at me, trapped and helpless, Marcus stepped forward. “I’ll go,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve got a rifle and some charges. I can make it out. The serum is in its final stage. We can’t risk the Doctor.” The Commander nodded, and Marcus didn’t waste a second, peeling out of the emergency tunnel in the jeep. The Commander led the armed defense, a desperate stand against the tide of the dead, while the rest of us huddled in the basement. Two hours later, Marcus returned. Hope flickered in every eye as he staggered through the door, but it was extinguished in an instant. He was alone. One of his team members rushed to his side. “Marcus? What happened? Where are they?” Marcus’s eyes were bloodshot. He fell to his knees, his body trembling. “I’m sorry… I failed,” he choked out. “Lena… she called me a liar. Said I was in on some sick joke with you, Dr. Larry, just to ruin the party.” He looked up, his face a canvas of pain and betrayal. “I begged them. I told them the whole Sanctuary would fall. They just… they used their powers to hold me down while they laughed. They said I’d get what I deserved for trying to trick them.” He was covered in bruises and cuts, the jeep behind him a mangled wreck. It was clear they hadn’t been gentle. The story ignited a firestorm of fury. “Vanguard Captain? She’s nothing but a whore, circling that pretty boy James while we all burn!” The angry shouts were cut short by a deafening boom from outside. The ground shuddered. Panic erupted again. The Commander reappeared, his face streaked with grime and despair. “An Alpha! It’s here, commanding the horde! The main gate won’t hold!” “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” a survivor sobbed, their voice trembling with terror. I looked at the terrified, soot-stained faces around me and raised my communicator. “I’ve already contacted the military. A rescue convoy is on its way, but it will take time. We have to hold on!” I turned to the group. “I’ll go find help. I’ll go to the neighboring outposts and beg for reinforcements. We just need to buy more time!” Marcus’s eyes lit up. He struggled to his feet, ready to go, but swayed and nearly collapsed. The others caught him, and as they helped him to a seat, they saw it: a massive, grotesque gash on his back, the unmistakable mark of a zombie’s claws. He managed a weak, bitter smile. “Let me go. I’m already infected. If I can bring back help… let that be the last thing I do.” The logistics team turned away, unable to watch. Soft sobs echoed in the cramped basement. “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, pulling a vial of pale blue liquid from my coat. I hesitated for only a second before holding it out to him. “This is the latest version of the serum. It’s been successful in animal trials. I have no idea if it will work on a person… but right now, it’s all we’ve got.” Ignoring the protests, I grabbed the keys to the battered jeep and headed for the exit. The Commander stopped me at the door. “Dr. Larry, be fast. Our ammo will last two hours, tops.” I gave him a solemn nod. I had barely cleared the Sanctuary’s perimeter when headlights appeared, coming straight for me. My heart leaped. I slammed on the brakes and waved frantically. The driver was Rhys, the Vanguard captain from the northern outpost. I jumped out of my jeep, grabbing his arm in relief. “Rhys! Thank God you’re here! There’s no time, you have to come back to the Sanctuary with me…” He shoved my hand away, his face contorted in a sneer. “Still putting on a show, Larry?” 2 I stared at him, completely baffled. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you get the distress call?” Rhys blocked my path, his eyes filled with contempt. “You mean the distress call from your own impending escape? Captain Lena radioed me this morning. She told me everything. Told me to wait here and stop you from running away like a coward.” He spat on the ground. “And to think we all respected you, ‘Doctor.’ That serum of yours is a load of crap, isn’t it? Just a cover for your getaway. You’re a real piece of work.” I stood frozen, the world tilting on its axis. It took me a moment for his words to sink in. Lena had said something similar, right before she’d had me killed in my past life. She said I lured the horde to kill James. That I stole his research to create the serum. My heart plummeted. It hit me like a physical blow. Lena… she’d been reborn, too. That’s why Marcus couldn’t convince them. And now… she’d cut off our last lifeline. Thinking of the desperate faces back in the basement, I pushed aside my shock. “Rhys, listen to me! Get your team and follow me back to the Sanctuary right now. If I’m lying, you can do whatever you want to me! I swear on my life!” I grabbed his jacket. “There are hundreds of people in there. I would not joke about this!” He just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Nice speech. How do I know this isn’t another one of your tricks? And even if the horde did show up, Lena and her Vanguard are there. You expect me to believe they can’t handle a few zombies?” I yanked him closer by his collar, my voice raw with fury. “Yes, it would be easy if Lena was there! But she’s not! She took her whole team to a birthday party for James!” I was screaming now, my face hot with rage. “Do you know why she called you yesterday, Rhys? She planned this! She sent you here to stop me, to make sure no one interrupted her precious celebration!” For the first time, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. “No… that’s impossible. Lena wouldn’t abandon her post, not for… personal reasons. She wouldn’t risk the entire Sanctuary.” He shook his head, trying to convince himself. “You’re lying.” I looked at him, and all the fight went out of me, replaced by a wave of crushing despair. I used to trust her like that, too. Unconditionally. We’d met in college. When the world fell apart, we’d survived it together, side-by-side. I thought she was the one person I could always count on. I thought we would see the end of this nightmare together. But that all changed the day James arrived. She would snap at me, accusing me of alienating the “new guy” whenever James was in a mood, even though he was a worthless nepotism hire who knew nothing about real research. She would find time in her packed schedule to cook special meals for him, fawning over him in front of everyone, making no secret of her affection. While I, her husband, stood by and watched. A familiar, bitter taste filled my mouth, but this was no time for self-pity. If he wouldn’t help, I’d go to another outpost. Even a single squad of reinforcements could be enough to turn the tide. I scrambled back into my jeep and slammed my foot on the accelerator. Rhys immediately swerved his own truck, blocking my path. “You’re not going anywhere, Larry!” I saw red. I didn’t care anymore. I floored it, aiming straight for him. If I had to die today, I was dragging reinforcements back with me. My move startled him. He reacted instantly, a wave of kinetic energy erupting from his hands, shredding the front of my jeep and killing the engine. I slammed my fists on the useless steering wheel, my voice cracking. “Rhys, get out of my way! They’re dying in there!” He ignored me, his jaw set, planting himself in front of the wreckage. “I’ll go with you. But if you’re lying to me…” “Then radio your team!” I cut him off, my voice hoarse. “Tell them to get ready! I’m not lying!” One man wasn’t enough. We needed his entire Vanguard. Rhys stared at me, his resolve finally wavering. He pulled out his communicator. The next second, the emergency broadcast channel crackled to life, a robotic voice cutting through the silence. [ALERT. ALERT. SOUTHERN SANCTUARY UNDER CRITICAL SIEGE BY ZOMBIE HORDE. ALL AVAILABLE VANGUARD UNITS IN THE SECTOR ARE TO PROVIDE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.] [REPEAT: ALL AVAILABLE VANGUARD UNITS ARE TO PROVIDE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.] The color drained from Rhys’s face. 3 By the time Rhys and I made it back, the Sanctuary was a slaughterhouse. The air hung thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder. Gunshots and screams echoed through the research labs, now overrun with the dead. Limbs and torsos littered the corridors, a gruesome testament to the failed defense. My eyes burned with tears. No matter what I did, I was too late. Rhys stood beside me, speechless, his face ashen. I ignited my power, fire erupting from my palms, incinerating the closest zombies. The shock finally broke Rhys’s trance, and he joined the fight, a whirlwind of motion and controlled violence. Just as my energy reserves began to bottom out, a zombie lunged at me from my blind side. I had no time to dodge, only to wrap myself in a desperate shield of flame, bracing for the impact. BANG! A single gunshot sent the creature stumbling sideways. Marcus was standing at the entrance to the basement, a pistol in his shaking hands, picking off the undead one by one. At the same time, the silhouettes of more Powered fighters appeared at the main gate. Reinforcements had arrived. A surge of desperate hope flooded through me. We fought side-by-side with the newly arrived teams, a coordinated storm of power and bullets that drove the horde back. When the last zombie was finally cut down, I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. The basement door creaked open. But when the survivors emerged, my relief curdled into horror. Barely a tenth of them had made it. The smile died on my lips. Rhys approached me, his head bowed in shame. “I’m so sorry, Larry. This is my fault.” Before I could respond, a cheerful, lilting voice echoed through the ravaged hall. “Well, look at this! Are all you guys here to throw a surprise party for James?” And there she was. Lena, walking in with James’s arm wrapped around her waist, her Vanguard team trailing behind them, all smiles and laughter. Her smile faltered as she took in the carnage. Her eyes landed on me, and a cruel, mocking smirk spread across her face. “So, is the little drama over, Evan? How does it feel to have your plan fall apart?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. It’s James’s birthday. Don’t be an eyesore. We have a party to get back to.” She was practically giddy, completely oblivious to the daggers being stared at her from all sides. Her own team members were starting to notice the bodies, their cheerful expressions slowly dissolving into confusion and horror. James, meanwhile, pulled Lena into a deep, theatrical kiss right in front of me. When he broke away, he shot me a smug, triumphant look. “Sorry, Dr. Larry. Lena lost a dare. She has to be my girlfriend for the day. You don’t mind, do you?” His smirk was wiped off his face by a bucket of filthy water. A survivor, his eyes blazing with hatred, stood trembling before them. He and the others began grabbing anything they could find—metal pipes, broken equipment—and started advancing. “You son of a bitch! What are you gloating about? Enjoying the party you paid for with our lives?” “You monster! Why aren’t you the one lying dead on the floor?!” “Get out! We don’t need you two traitors protecting us!” …

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