Category: English

For ten years, my mission was Jerry Ewing, the city’s top business magnate. And for ten years, I failed. I once threw myself in front of a car to save him—costing me the hearing in my left ear. I thought that would finally complete my mission. That he’d marry me. Instead, his voice turned icy: “Marry into the Ewings? With a heart as toxic as yours, Julia? You tried to kill Lila. Get your head fixed first.” His sentence: “Letters of contrition. Ten thousand words a day. Write until you understand your depravity.” To complete the mission, I obeyed. He sent me to his private retreat for “treatment.” A year later, I returned broken. He greeted me coldly: “A year. Have you learned your lesson?” I nodded, hand resting on my slightly swollen belly as I knelt on the frozen ground. “Julia Vance knows her place now,” I whispered. “I will never presume to be worthy of the Ewings.” The moment I spoke, a cold voice echoed in my mind: [Host has abandoned the mission. Annihilation in eight days.] 1 After a year of being locked away in that remote retreat, he had finally decided to bring me home. “Hurry up. Don’t keep the master waiting.” The butler, Mr. Henderson, found me in a damp, dark room in the furthest corner of the facility, clad in rags. The air around me was thick with the stench of antiseptic and stale sweat. He waved a hand in front of his nose, his face twisting in disgust. “Really, Miss Vance. It’s only been a year. How could you let yourself fall into such a state?” he sneered. “You knew we were coming for you today. Or is this pathetic display meant to win the master’s pity?” I fought against a sharp, stabbing pain in my lower abdomen, struggling to my feet. I tugged at the tattered remnants of my dress, trying to cover my exposed skin. “You’re right, Mr. Henderson,” I mumbled, my head bowed. “I am a disgrace to the master.” I curled my swollen, frostbitten toes into my worn-out shoes and shuffled obediently behind him. The path was slick with snow and ice. The frozen ground tore open the half-healed sores on my feet, and I stumbled, a fresh wave of pain making me slow my pace. Mr. Henderson shot me a look of pure contempt. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in like claws. “Stop the act, or you can stay here and rot forever!” he hissed. “Don’t think I don’t know. The master provided you with a private therapist, gourmet meals, and luxury accommodations. This whole drama queen routine is because you heard you were coming home. It won’t work.” I bit my lip to stifle a cry and forced myself onward until I stood before Jerry Ewing. Through my one good eye, I took him in. He was exactly as I remembered: impossibly handsome, with an air of cold arrogance that kept the world at arm’s length. His gaze swept over my thin rags and bare feet standing in the snow, and his brow furrowed. He shot a questioning look at Mr. Henderson. The butler leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Jerry’s expression hardened into one of pure disgust. “So, she’s still the same manipulative creature,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “Does she really think this pathetic act will move me?” Everyone in the city knew the story: the heiress of the Vance family, obsessively in love with the great Jerry Ewing for a decade. I had spent a fortune, poured all my energy into becoming his wife. But they didn’t know the truth. It was all for the mission. And even with all my efforts, Jerry had never once acknowledged me as his fiancée. He was convinced I had used my family’s influence to pressure his parents, forcing him into an engagement he never wanted. I once believed my devotion could melt his frozen heart. But he never truly saw me. His eyes were always looking for someone else. I remember the tenderness in his gaze when he looked at Lila Gray. A warmth he had never, not once, shown me. I had been willing to die for him, yet his heart belonged completely to another woman. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow. After a year apart, there were a million things I wanted to say, but the words died in my throat. Jerry sighed, a sound of weary impatience. “Julia. Do you finally understand what you did wrong?” His voice was quiet, but each word was a shard of ice piercing my heart. The world started to spin, and my legs gave out from under me. For months, I had survived on scraps at the retreat. My body was a fragile wreck; I could barely stand for more than a few minutes. “Still with the theatrics?” He took an involuntary step toward me, his hand outstretched as if to help, but then he froze, a sneer twisting his lips. “You have a talent for drama. It’s a shame you’re not an actress. If it weren’t for Lila insisting I bring you back for our wedding, I wouldn’t even want to look at you.” A year ago. His beloved Lila had been in her perfume workshop when she’d accused me of knocking over a vial of volatile chemicals. She claimed the fumes had sent her to the ICU. Jerry’s face had been a storm cloud of fury. “Your heart is so toxic, Julia. How could you ever be fit to join my family? If you want to marry me, you’ll first do a stint at my private retreat in the countryside. They’ll help you reflect on what a monster you’ve become.” I was a Tasker. Ten years ago, a car accident had left me in a coma, a vegetable. A system chose me, transporting my consciousness into this world. My only way back to my real life, to my family, was to complete the mission: make Jerry Ewing agree to marry me. Now, after a year of torture, he was marrying his one true love. All my sacrifices, all my pain—it was all for nothing. In that moment, something inside me broke. Why should I keep fighting in this world that wasn’t mine? I looked up at the cold, untouchable man before me and let out a soft, defeated sigh. “Julia Vance knows her place now. I will never again presume to be worthy of the Ewing family.” [Host has voluntarily abandoned the mission. All traces of Host in both worlds will be annihilated in eight days.] Even though I’d expected this, a sharp pain lanced through my heart. I forced a brittle smile to my lips. “Congratulations, Mr. Ewing. To you and Miss Gray. May you have a long and happy life together.” He stiffened, clearly thrown by my words. The old me would have screamed, raged, and thrown the tantrum of a lifetime. But that girl was gone. Nothing mattered anymore. He stared at me, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Since you love to perform so much,” he said coldly, “I have another stage for you.” At his command, his men dragged me roughly to the private garden. They shoved me toward the grand fountain, ignoring my struggles as they doused me with freezing water. Someone grabbed my hair, forcing me to my knees on the icy marble. The laughter of the staff echoed around me. I felt the collar of my dress being pulled tighter, the sensation of choking, of drowning. My last defense shattered. A wild, broken laugh escaped my lips. I surged to my feet, wrenching myself from their grasp, and staggered into the center of the fountain. I tore off my sodden, clinging rags. I grabbed the decorative watercolors left by the edge and, in a frenzy, smeared the vibrant pigments all over my skin. Naked and painted, I stood in the heart of the fountain, meeting their shocked stares. You want to humiliate me? You want to see me shamed? Here I am. I looked directly at a stunned Jerry Ewing and screamed, “Are you satisfied now?” My defiance must have enraged him. His next order was to have me thrown into an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. He wanted to break me, to force me to beg for his forgiveness. But I didn’t care anymore. I only had eight days left. The air in the factory was thick with the smell of damp and decay. Moss crawled up the crumbling walls, and the scuttling of rats was the only sound. I thought it was a fitting place to end this meaningless life. I drifted into a hazy sleep. My mind took me back to that first day, before he sent me away. “Julia. Do you know what you did wrong?” Back then, I was still naive enough to think I held some small place in his heart. My jealousy had made me reckless. “What did I do wrong? You’re just biased! You always take her side!” I had screamed. I hadn’t touched that vial. Lila had set me up. He didn’t listen. He slapped me, hard, across the face. “You’re a spoiled brat,” he’d said, turning his back on me. “Perhaps some time at my retreat will teach you some humility.” He didn’t know. He didn’t know that what awaited me wasn’t therapy. It was a pack of wolves in human clothing. They descended on me… Three months later, Jerry appeared before me again. I refused to answer his questions. His face contorted with rage. “A few months in here and you’ve decided to play deaf and dumb? Still so stubborn?” He didn’t know that after he’d left the first time, the torment had begun. Day and night. My screams lasted all night. Eventually, they tired of the noise. They slapped me, over and over, calling me the filthiest woman on earth, until blood poured from my ear. I wanted to give up. But the thought of my family, waiting for me in my own world, was the only thing that kept me going. They locked me in an empty room. Then they stopped giving me food. They said if I was too weak, I wouldn’t have the energy to make such annoying sounds. But the torment… it never stopped. When I woke up again, I was in a familiar room. My family’s city home. A system prompt floated in my mind: Annihilation in six days. I had been unconscious for two. A figure moved toward me from across the room. A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I tried to scramble away, but a hand pressed me back down onto the bed. “Don’t be scared, Julia,” a sweet voice chirped. “It’s me, Lila.” She sat on the edge of my bed, her face a mask of innocent concern. In her hand, she held a small jar of medicated balm. “Don’t be afraid, silly,” she cooed, but her other hand shot out, her fingers closing around my wrist like a vise. I remembered the perfume workshop. How she’d deliberately knocked over the vial as I walked by, then collapsed, pretending to be poisoned, pointing her finger at me. I knew she hated me. She wanted Jerry for herself. Yet she always played the part of my dearest friend. Her pity was more poisonous than any chemical. Seeing my body tremble, a smirk played on her lips. “How will your wounds ever heal if you don’t let me put some ointment on them, Julia?” “Ah!” With the last of my strength, I shoved her away. “Agh!” To my shock, Lila flew backward, as if propelled by a great force. My push had been feeble; there was no way it could have sent her flying like that. The door burst open and Jerry rushed in, catching Lila just as she was about to fall. He looked at her with such tender concern, but when his eyes landed on me, they were filled with venom. “Julia! I thought a year of reflection might have changed you, but you’re still the same monster. Lila comes here out of the goodness of her heart to bring you medicine, and you attack her? I should have left you to rot in that place!” Lila melted into his arms, her voice a soft sob. “Jerry, don’t say that. Julia’s been through so much. She’s probably just not feeling well.” “She brought this on herself,” Jerry snarled. “Crawling around in the snow like a madwoman. Why couldn’t she just walk back on her own?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. A fifty-kilometer mountain road, in my condition? “She had the best food, the best care at that retreat! Is she so spoiled she can’t handle a single word of criticism?” “If it weren’t for your soft heart, she wouldn’t even be here. Ungrateful bitch.” The best food? The best care? “The master is right,” Mr. Henderson chimed in from the doorway. “When we went to pick her up, she said she had gotten used to the retreat and looked down on the Ewing estate. If we hadn’t begged her, she wouldn’t have come back at all.” “I think you’re too soft on her, Master. Look at her now. Does she look the least bit remorseful?” I stared daggers at the butler. We had no history of animosity, yet he stood there, weaving a web of lies. Someone had clearly coached him. Jerry’s face flushed with anger. He yanked me from the bed. The half-healed wounds on my body tore open again, and a low groan of pain escaped my lips. He gripped my arm, forcing me to stand, the agony twisting my features. He ignored my pain, his grip tightening. “Lila came to help you, and this is how you treat her? Was life at the retreat so comfortable that you’ve forgotten your place?” “If Lila hadn’t pleaded for you, you wouldn’t have the right to even stand in my presence! You’re not weak, you’re just an actress. How long are you going to keep up this charade?” “Lila is nothing but kind to you, and you repay her with this? Do you even have a heart?” He shoved me back onto the bed and stormed out of the room, pulling Lila with him. As she left, Lila glanced back over her shoulder, a triumphant, mocking smile on her face. I knew what she was flaunting. The man I had chased for a decade was now hers, effortlessly. Fine. She could have him. My time in this world was almost over anyway. My father, hearing I was back, rushed to see me. Seeing the silver in his hair, I couldn’t stop the tears. He wasn’t my father from my world, but his love for me was real. I was his only child, and he had always cherished me. Now, look what I had become. He wrapped me in a tight embrace, but as his hands brushed against the raw scars on my back, he recoiled. His eyes filled with anguish as he gently traced a long, deep wound. “Julia… your injuries! What in God’s name happened to you?” Through my tears, I managed a bitter smile. “It’s nothing, Dad. I brought it on myself.” My father’s face contorted with rage. He smashed his water glass on the floor and immediately took me to the hospital. Jerry and Lila, hearing the news, followed us there. When the test results came back, the doctor looked at us, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. His next words sent a shockwave through the room. “Julia… she’s pregnant.”

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Julian Croft demanded my kidney to save the woman he’d always loved—the ghost of a past he could never escape. He didn’t care that I was newly pregnant with his child. There, on the deck of his gleaming yacht, with the whole world watching, he destroyed me. “You were always just a stand-in,” he said, his voice cutting through the night air. “Your only purpose was her.” My hand instinctively flew to my belly, a desperate shield for the life he’d just condemned. A broken, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Loving you, Julian,” I said, my voice shaking with the force of my shattered heart, “was the greatest regret of my life.” And with his name as a curse on my tongue, I threw myself into the black, unforgiving sea. He wanted my kidney. He could dream on. Chapter 1 The crystal flutes of champagne on the grand yacht felt like ice against my feverish skin. Julian Croft, my Julian, had his arm locked around my waist, a possessive anchor in a sea of glittering philanthropists and corporate sharks. He led me to the small stage at the center of the deck, the Miami skyline a dazzling, indifferent backdrop against the night. His voice, amplified by the microphone, was the smooth, confident baritone that had first ensnared me three years ago. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. As the head of the Croft Corporation, it’s my honor to host this charity gala. But tonight, I have a more… personal announcement to make.” My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird against its cage. This is it, I thought, a dizzying wave of hope washing over me. After all the waiting, all the whispered promises in the dark. This is the moment it all becomes real. Julian turned to me. His eyes—usually a clear, piercing blue—were clouded with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. It looked terrifyingly like regret. “You all know Elara Vance,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the silent, expectant crowd. “For three years, she has been the quiet strength at my side, supporting my vision.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like a shroud. “Tonight, she will demonstrate that selflessness once more.” I blinked, a knot of confusion tightening in my gut. Selflessness? What is he talking about? “An old and dear friend of mine, Miss Seraphina Thorne, is in dire need.” His voice was low, laced with a gravity that sent a chill through my very bones. “Her life is in jeopardy. She needs a kidney transplant. After extensive testing, we discovered a perfect match.” The world tilted on its axis. A roaring filled my ears, drowning out the gentle lap of the waves against the hull. I took an involuntary step back, the movement clumsy and graceless. “Julian… what are you saying?” My voice was a choked whisper. He ignored me, his focus entirely on his audience. “As the centerpiece of this evening’s charitable endeavors, I am proud to announce that Elara Vance has agreed to donate one of her kidneys to Miss Seraphina Thorne. The surgery is scheduled for this coming Monday.” A wave of applause erupted, a thunderous roar of approval for a sacrifice I had never agreed to make. The faces around me blurred into a kaleidoscope of polite smiles and admiring glances. I felt as though I’d been struck. “Julian, are you insane?” I hissed, grabbing his arm. “You want me to give my kidney to her?” His eyes finally met mine, and they were as cold and unforgiving as a winter sea. “This isn’t a discussion, Elara,” he said, his voice dropping so only I could hear. “It’s a notification.” “I won’t do it!” I shot back, my voice rising with panic and rage. “What gives you the right to make this decision for me?” His gaze sharpened, cutting through me like a shard of glass. “The right? The fact that you’re her stand-in, Elara. You exist for her. That was always the arrangement.” Chapter 2 The words weren’t just a knife; they were the deliberate, twisting turn of the blade in an open wound. I knew, of course, about the ghost in his past, the woman whose shadow fell over every corner of our lives. But to hear him say it so bluntly—that I was nothing more than a placeholder… the pain was a physical thing, a crushing weight on my chest. “So that’s all this was?” I whispered, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a hollow, cavernous ache. “Three years. Was I just a substitute?” He didn’t have to answer. His silence was a confession, more brutal than any words could ever be. Just then, a figure emerged from the crowd and glided onto the stage. Seraphina Thorne. She was exactly as I’d imagined—ethereal, fragile, with wide, doe-like eyes that radiated a practiced innocence. “Julian, darling, don’t be so harsh,” she said, her voice a soft, manipulative melody. She placed a delicate hand on his arm. “If Miss Vance is unwilling, it’s alright. I can wait for another donor.” I shot her a glare, my voice dripping with ice. “You don’t look like someone in desperate need of a transplant.” A flicker of panic crossed her features before being swiftly replaced by a mask of heartbreaking vulnerability. “The doctors… they say I might not have more than a month.” Julian squeezed her hand, his protective gaze fixed on her before turning back to me, his expression hard as granite. “Elara, you have no choice. Pack a bag. You’ll be at the hospital tomorrow for pre-operative tests.” I looked directly into his cold, unfeeling eyes and played my final card. “I can’t have the surgery,” I said, my voice clear and steady despite the tremor in my soul. “I’m pregnant.” A hush fell over the gala. Every eye was on us. Julian’s face went rigid. For a single, fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes—shock? Fear? It was gone as quickly as it came. After a beat of suffocating silence, he spoke. “Then it’s for the best. That child should never have existed in the first place.” That was it. The last, fragile thread of hope I’d been clinging to snapped. Three years of my life, my love, my devotion… all for this. For nothing. “You’re a monster, Julian,” I choked out. Spinning on my heel, I shoved through the stunned guests, ignoring their gasps and murmurs. I ran, my only thought to escape the suffocating weight of his cruelty. I fled toward the yacht’s railing, toward the vast, dark emptiness of the ocean. “Elara, get back here!” Julian’s furious roar followed me, along with the sound of panicked commotion. I scrambled onto the railing, the wind whipping my gown around me. I turned to face him as he skidded to a halt. A bitter, broken smile touched my lips. “Tell me, Julian,” I asked, my voice cutting through the wind. “Did you ever, for even a moment, love me?” His composure finally cracked. A flicker of turmoil crossed his face before the mask of indifference slammed back into place. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice strained. “Your purpose was always for Seraphina.” I laughed, a sound raw and despairing. Seraphina drifted closer, her face a perfect portrait of concern. “Miss Vance, please don’t do something foolish. Julian is just worried about me. Come down.” “Shut up!” I screamed, the venom in my voice making her flinch. “You think I can’t see your pathetic act? You’re not sick. You’ve never been sick, have you?” Her face paled. She shot a panicked look at Julian. “Julian, she’s lost her mind.” He took a cautious step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Elara, stop this.” Looking at him then, at his cold, handsome face, I felt a sudden, chilling clarity. It was all so laughable. Three years of my life, wasted on a man who couldn’t see past the ghost of a manipulative woman playing pretend. I took a deep breath, the salt spray cool on my face. “Julian Croft,” I said, my voice ringing with a devastating finality, “the greatest regret of my life is that I ever loved you.” And with that, I let go. I tilted backward, surrendering myself to the black, churning water below. “NO!” A guttural, soul-shattering roar tore from Julian’s throat. He lunged, his fingers grasping at empty air as I fell. As the icy shock of the Atlantic consumed me, a single, burning vow formed in my mind. If I survive this, I will make them pay. I will make them both pay for everything. Chapter 3 I didn’t die. I was pulled from the merciless grip of the ocean by Damian Kade, the enigmatic CEO of Kade Pharmaceuticals, whose boat had been passing nearby. Five years. Five years is a long time. Long enough for a broken woman named Elara Vance to perish and for Eris, one of the world’s most celebrated jewelry designers, to be born from her ashes. Now, it was time for my encore. I stood at the entrance to the International Business Summit Gala, my hand resting on Damian’s arm. The deep red of my gown was the color of vengeance. “Ready?” Damian murmured, his voice a low vibration beside my ear. I inclined my head, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across my lips. “Five years in the making, Damian. The curtain is finally going up.” We entered the ballroom, a grand space teeming with the world’s financial elite. My eyes scanned the crowd until they found him. Julian Croft. He stood in a small circle of men, looking older, harder, but just as commanding. I plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and began to move in his direction, my path casual, indirect. As I drew near, I “accidentally” caught my heel on the hem of my dress, stumbling with a small, theatrical gasp. A server nearby steadied me. “Ma’am, are you alright?” The small commotion was enough. It drew the attention of those nearby, including Julian. I straightened up, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, I’m fine.” The moment Julian’s eyes landed on my face, I saw it. The fractional widening of his pupils. The sudden tension in his jaw. The wine glass in his hand trembled. He excused himself and moved toward me, his gaze locked on mine. The hatred that surged through me was a cold, pure fire. I banked it, forcing a serene, slightly curious smile. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “Have we met?” “Julian Croft,” he managed, his voice rough. His eyes searched my face, desperately looking for a trace of the woman he had destroyed. But five years, a new country, and a subtle surgeon had changed me. I was a ghost wearing a familiar-ish face. My smile widened. “Mr. Croft. A pleasure. I’ve heard of your work. I’m Eris.” Just then, Damian arrived at my side. I looped my arm through his, leaning against him with an air of easy intimacy. “And this is my husband, Damian Kade.” Damian extended a hand, his expression coolly polite. “Mr. Croft. A pleasure.” Julian looked from Damian to me, his eyes now glacial. As their hands met, I saw a faint tremor in Julian’s. A flicker of satisfaction warmed me. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Croft,” I said, “we have some people to see.” As Damian and I turned to leave, Julian’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist. The touch was like a brand. “Miss Eris,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Is there another name you’ve gone by? Perhaps… Elara?” Chapter 4 I gently extricated my wrist from his grasp, my expression one of polite confusion. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Mr. Croft,” I said smoothly. “I’ve lived in Europe my entire life. This month is my first time back in the States.” Without giving him a chance to press further, I turned and walked away, Damian’s hand a steady presence at the small of my back. For the rest of the evening, I felt Julian’s eyes on me, a relentless, burning gaze. I made sure to give him a good show, laughing intimately with Damian, touching his arm, projecting the perfect image of a happily married woman. As the gala began to wind down, the side doors of the ballroom burst open. A small boy, no older than four, came running in, his dark hair flying. He made a beeline straight for me. “Mommy!” he cried, his voice clear and bright. I knelt, catching him in my arms as Julian watched from across the room, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. A small, triumphant smile played on my lips, hidden by the boy’s embrace. Later, as Damian drove us away, a figure emerged from the shadows. Julian. He ran to the car, rapping his knuckles sharply on the tinted window. “Eris! We need to talk!” His voice was ragged, desperate. The window slid down silently, revealing my impassive profile. “Is there a problem, Mr. Croft?” His eyes darted from me to the child in the backseat. “That boy,” he began, his voice cracking. “Is he…” Damian cut him off, his tone laced with steel. “You seem to have a great deal of interest in my son, Croft.” Julian’s face darkened. A smirk touched my lips. “If that’s all, Mr. Croft, we really must be going.” The window glided up, sealing him out. The black sedan pulled away, leaving Julian standing alone in the cool night air, looking like a man who had seen a ghost. Damian glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “The plan is working perfectly. He’s already questioning Leo’s parentage.” I looked down, stroking my son’s soft hair as he slept. “Yes,” I said softly. “So perfectly it’s almost unsettling.” “Don’t worry,” Damian’s voice was a warm, steady anchor. “Whatever happens, I’m with you.” I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the plush leather. The gears of my revenge were turning. The agony Julian Croft had inflicted upon me would be returned to him, piece by agonizing piece. Chapter 5 To confirm his suspicions, Julian invested in my jewelry brand. At the signing ceremony, I extended my hand, my smile a carefully constructed work of art. “Mr. Croft, I had no idea you had an interest in haute couture jewelry.” His hand closed over mine, the contact brief but charged with a nervous energy I could feel. His pale eyes held a practiced smile. “Miss Eris, I’m particularly fascinated by the philosophy behind your ‘Rebirth’ collection.” My own smile tightened for a fraction of a second. “The ‘Rebirth’ collection was born from a period of significant personal upheaval,” I explained coolly. “It explores the relationship between destruction and new beginnings.” He leaned forward, his curiosity a palpable force. “Could you elaborate on this… upheaval?” I offered him a polite, distant smile. “My apologies, but that’s a private matter.” For the next half hour, we discussed business, but I felt his gaze drift repeatedly to my right wrist. He was looking for the faint, silvery scar from a childhood accident—a scar I’d had a plastic surgeon erase two years ago. After the contracts were signed, he asked, “Miss Eris, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?” “I’m sorry,” I replied, my tone professionally apologetic. “I have to pick up my son from preschool. Perhaps another time.” At the mention of my son, Julian’s expression shifted. “How old is he?” I paused as if calculating. “He’s four.” As I left, I saw his face in profile. His eyes were downcast, his features etched with a profound and complicated sorrow. The next morning, while I was sketching in my studio, Damian burst in. “He did it,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Julian went to Leo’s preschool. He had someone retrieve a straw Leo used.” I put down my charcoal pencil. “The fish has taken the bait,” I said calmly. “Is everything arranged?” Damian nodded, a grim smile on his face.

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I’d made Caleb angry. So angry that nothing I did could fix it. Even when I told him I was sick, he wasn’t worried like he used to be. After I got off the train, I called him. “Caleb? I’m in Seaport City for a heart check-up. Can you… can you take me to the hospital?” His voice was a razor’s edge. “Your heart condition was fixed years ago. Leo, stop playing the victim!” A dull ache bloomed in my chest. “It’s just a follow-up,” I whispered. He let out a cold laugh. “Fine. You wait there.” I curled up in a corner of the train station and waited. And waited. Until my heart gradually slowed to a stop. And Caleb… he never came. 01 Before I closed my eyes for the last time, I never imagined I would die so suddenly, so unceremoniously, in a train station waiting hall. All I felt then was a deep, pulling drowsiness. I’ll just rest for a little while, I thought. Just a little while, and then I would see Caleb. I pictured him standing over me, scolding me for not staying put at home, for running off to Seaport City to cause more trouble. I slowly closed my eyes, rehearsing my excuses for needing him to take me to the hospital. Because you were always the one who took me to my appointments. Because all the registration info is on your phone. Because if the doctors ask about my childhood surgery, you know the details better than I do. Yes, that was it. It had nothing to do with how much I missed you. Nothing at all. But when I opened my eyes again, I saw my own body, slumped in the corner of the loud, crowded waiting hall. My head was tilted against the wall, my eyelashes resting peacefully on my cheeks, perfectly still. As if I were just sleeping. Suddenly, my phone vibrated, slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. I reached for it instinctively, but my hand passed right through it, grasping at nothing. I stared at my translucent fingertips. My mind, slow and thick, finally processed the truth. I was already dead. I had died quietly, invisibly, in the middle of a bustling train station. Died while waiting for Caleb to come and get me. The phone screen lit up, displaying a message Caleb had sent a minute ago. [Still waiting?] [Guess that proves you’re not sick at all.] [Leo, you lied again.] I didn’t lie. I said the words, but no sound came out. It was real. I wasn’t feeling well. I was born with a congenital heart defect, which was surgically corrected when I was six. But for the past three months, the dull ache in my chest had returned, along with occasional bouts of cyanosis—my lips and fingertips turning blue from lack of oxygen. If this had happened before… that incident, Caleb would have been frantic with worry. He would have rushed me to the hospital without a second thought. But he didn’t trust me anymore. He was convinced I was a manipulator, someone who would do anything to get what I wanted. Because I’d been frail my whole life, Caleb had become a surrogate parent by the time he was a teenager. He was mature, serious, and meticulously protective. He worried if I might get hurt, if I might catch a chill. He controlled the thermostat in my room, the layers of clothes I wore when I went out. A single cough, a slight frown from me, and he would be on high alert. I basked in his attention, his care. I was spoiled by it. I would cling to his side and declare petulantly, “I’m never getting married.” Then I’d wrap my arms around his waist, squeezing tight. “And you’re not allowed to get married either, Caleb. You have to stay with me forever!” He would just laugh and ruffle my hair, his voice soft. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But then, seeing my pout, he’d quickly relent. “Alright, alright. I’ll wait until after you’re married. How about that?” I wouldn’t say anything. I’d just tilt my head back and gaze at him, wishing that moment could last forever, but also secretly hoping for something to change. Something did change. Just not in the way I’d imagined. I should have looked at you longer then, I thought, staring at my own corpse. I never even got to see him one last time. People streamed past me, their suitcases rattling on the floor, but no one gave my body a second glance. A person sleeping in a waiting room was the most normal thing in the world. Just then, I saw a small hand reach down and pick up my phone. 02 It was the little girl who had been sitting next to me. While I was still conscious, we had chatted for a bit and exchanged nicknames. She called me “the pretty boy,” and I called her “cutie-pie.” Cutie-pie looked at the lit-up screen, seeming to read the messages. But at only five years old, she didn’t know many words. She frowned, then looked at me with her big, serious eyes for a long moment. Finally, she placed the phone back in my hand. “Pretty boy,” she whispered, as if not to wake me, “you dropped your phone. You should hold it tight.” When I didn’t respond, she scampered back to her mother’s arms. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Caleb’s name flashed on the screen. [I’m at City General already.] [If you want to come, take a cab yourself.] But you told me to wait. Why aren’t you coming? A sudden thought struck me. Is Caleb the one who’s sick? The thought propelled me upwards. My spirit shot through the air, and in an instant, I was at City General Hospital. The first person I saw was Caleb. He was wearing a dark gray, bespoke suit, his back to me as he stood by a glass wall, talking on the phone. He looked as handsome and composed as ever, completely unshaken. I floated closer, planning to give him a little scare, when I heard him say, “The doctor is examining Finn now. It should be nothing serious, don’t worry.” Finn? What’s he doing here? The next second, the door to the examination room opened. Caleb hung up and walked over. “Are you okay?” he asked the person who came out. “Caleb, the doctor said I’m fine,” Finn said, grabbing Caleb’s hand and frowning. “But I still feel sick. Will you stay with me?” That drama queen. He’s faking it! I thought, so furious I could have screamed. I swooped forward to throttle him, but my hands passed straight through his neck. I was trapped between them as I saw Caleb’s lips curve into the faintest of smiles. “Of course,” he said, his voice gentle. Caleb was tall and built, with sharp features and intense, cold eyes. When he wasn’t speaking, he had an intimidating air about him. But whenever he smiled at me, I felt he was the kindest person in the world. He hadn’t smiled at me in a long time. “But,” Caleb’s gentle expression faded slightly. “Leo is coming over later. I need to be here for his heart check-up.” A flash of resentment crossed Finn’s face before he quickly masked it with a smile. “Caleb, you’re the best, kindest person I know. Leo isn’t even your real brother, and after how he lied to you, you’re still so good to him.” The mention of me seemed to trigger something in Caleb. His face darkened. “This is the last time,” he said. “If he ever pulls a stunt like this again, I’m done with him.” I hovered in the middle of the stark white corridor. A cold draft from the window passed right through me. Strange. Why does my heart still hurt? “It really is the last time,” I murmured to the empty air. “Caleb.” “I won’t bother you again…” Because I think I’m already dead. Finn, satisfied with Caleb’s answer, tugged his arm toward the exit. Before they reached the door, Caleb’s phone rang. I floated to his side as he answered. “Hello, Mr. Kane,” a voice on the other end said. “I was wondering, have you heard from Leo?” 03 “Leo is no longer my brother.” Recognizing the voice, Caleb’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “I hope you’ll stop using him as an excuse to contact my family.” The caller was my birth mother. Maybe it was the illness, or maybe it was the guilt, but she was silent for a moment before her voice came back, weak and choked with tears. “It was my fault. I never should have… switched Leo and Finn all those years ago. But Leo is innocent. Can’t you… can’t you treat him like you used to?” It was a cliché straight out of a soap opera. I was the wrong son, the cuckoo in the Kane family’s nest. I was born with a severe congenital heart defect. My birth mother, afraid I wouldn’t survive, had secretly swapped me with the Kanes’ newborn son. It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that she confessed the truth. She had dragged Finn to the gates of the Kane estate, kneeling and sobbing. “I was wrong! And now I’m paying for it! I’m giving Finn back to you… please, just let me see Leo. He’s my real son!” But when she finally saw me, she’d said, “The Kanes paid for your treatment, so you didn’t lose out. You had twenty years of luxury. Now it’s Finn’s turn.” I wasn’t hurt. She was right, after all. The second night after Finn moved in, he came to my room, feigning reconciliation. He said he would beg our—his—parents to let me stay. Like a fool, I blushed and told him, “I want to stay too. But… not as Caleb’s brother anymore.” And so, I confessed to Caleb. I told him I was both heartbroken and relieved. I told him I’d known for years that what I felt for him was far more than brotherly affection. I told him I wanted to be with him forever. I watched him, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and hope. But his face was a mask of cold disappointment. “Hah,” he sneered. “Be with me forever? You mean you want to stay in the Kane family and live a life of comfort forever.” He pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket. My voice filled the air, speaking words I’d said to Finn the day before. But they were all wrong. It was my voice, but twisted into something ugly. “I have a way to stay. If I can get with Caleb, the Kanes will never kick me out. I was always so close to him on purpose. Now, it’s finally time to use him.” The wail of an ambulance siren outside the hospital doors ripped me from my memory. An ER doctor rushed past, accidentally bumping into Caleb. “Sorry,” the doctor said over his shoulder. “Got a cardiac arrest coming in, sorry for bumping you.” Caleb paused for a second, then shook his head, accepting the apology. He turned his attention back to the phone. “You want me to treat him like I used to? You mean watch him pretend to be innocent and pitiful while he uses me all over again?” A cruel laugh escaped his lips. “I guess cheap tricks run in the family. Otherwise, how could he even think of confessing to his own brother?” A nurse’s voice suddenly cut in from the background of the call. “Bed 3, if you don’t pay the hospital bill, we’re going to have to stop her medication…” Caleb heard it, and his voice became hard with certainty. “He didn’t come here for a check-up. He came to get money from me for you, didn’t he?” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. He immediately opened his messages and started typing. [Leo, don’t bother coming.] [I’m not giving you a single cent.] I didn’t come for your money. I’ll never ask you for money again. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I took a step back. I wanted to put some distance between us. Because I could feel it. He truly, deeply disliked me. So much that he could only imagine me as the worst kind of person. “He’s not coming. Let’s go.” When he got no reply from me, Caleb stalked out of the building, fuming. As he got into the car, the ambulance screamed past them, pulling up to the entrance. A gurney, covered by a white sheet, was wheeled inside. Caleb saw it in the rearview mirror, frowned, and looked away. The Rolls-Royce began to move, but just as it reached the hospital gate, the driver stopped. Someone was knocking on the rear window. Caleb lowered it to see the same ER doctor who had bumped into him earlier. “Can I help you?” he asked. 04 “Excuse me, I think this might be yours?” The doctor held out a cufflink. Matte platinum framing a perfectly cut piece of black onyx. It was the birthday gift I had given Caleb last year. He recognized it instantly. “Yes, it is.” He took it. “Sorry about that,” the doctor said. “It must have caught on my coat when I bumped into you. It fell right into my pocket.” Caleb closed his fist around the cufflink, nodded his thanks, and raised the window. The car moved on. On the way, Finn chattered away, trying to make conversation. Caleb was mostly silent, offering only short, clipped replies. The hand holding the cufflink never opened. I sat on the far side of the back seat, looking past the babbling Finn at Caleb’s profile. I wondered if he was remembering his birthday last year. The cufflinks were from a famous independent designer, and they were absurdly expensive. I wanted to buy them with my own money, so for six months before his birthday, I had worked day and night, painting and selling every piece I could create. At the stroke of midnight, I snuck into his room. He was frowning over a financial report, but his face broke into a smile the moment he saw me. “Be serious. No smiling,” I commanded, standing before him. I ordered him to close his eyes. He obeyed, but the corners of his mouth were still turned up, refusing to be contained. The room was silent. I stared at his handsome face and felt my mind go blank. My ears roared with a sound I couldn’t place—his heartbeat, or mine. “Leo?” Caleb’s voice was soft. He must have gotten tired of waiting. Flustered, I thrust the velvet box into his hands. “You can open your eyes now.” He opened it, and his surprise was genuine and bright. “Help me put them on,” he said with a grin. I took one out, but my fingertips were trembling. I shoved the box and the cufflink back into his hands, mumbled, “Happy birthday,” and fled from the room. Back in my own bed, my mind replayed the scene over and over. One moment I was sure I hadn’t hidden my feelings well enough, the next I was convinced I’d acted like a clumsy child. A soft knock came at my door. Caleb came in, pulled me out from under the covers, and said fondly, “What are you running for?” I looked up at him, wanting to say, You have no idea, but the words wouldn’t come. He handed me a large gift box. Inside was a custom set of paints I had wanted for ages, along with a vintage paintbrush. Either one was worth far more than the cufflinks. Outside, the spring night air of Seaport City drifted in, carrying the rich, heady scent of magnolia blossoms. It was so thick it felt like it was smothering me. “Do you like it?” Caleb asked, playfully messing up my hair. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. His gaze was so pure, so unguarded. “I love it,” I whispered. The Rolls-Royce pulled into the Kane estate, driving down the long, tree-lined lane to the main house. Mom was waiting at the door. “How is he? Is Finn alright?” she asked, her face etched with worry. Caleb assured her he was fine. Finn put on his act again, clinging to Mom and complaining that he still felt awful. She offered a few awkward words of comfort before sending him off to rest. But Mom’s worried expression didn’t fade. “Mom, is something wrong?” Caleb asked. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I know Finn is fine, but… my heart is racing. I have this terrible feeling.” “Do you think… do you think something’s happened to Leo? The place he’s staying now… it might be cold. That’s not good for his heart. Caleb, please, will you go and bring him home?”

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1 At Travis White’s twenty-eighth birthday gala, someone presented him with another woman, right in front of me. In that moment, I shed my years of gentle compliance, shattered my wineglass, and brought his birthday party crashing down around us. Then I packed my bags and walked out of our home, alone. Everyone said the powerless Mrs. White wouldn’t last three days before she came crawling back, tail between her legs. Travis was unconcerned. “She’s an orphan. Without the White family, where could she possibly go?” But countless sets of three days passed. People began to wonder if I had died somewhere, forgotten. That was when Travis finally called. The number was disconnected. Later, at a renowned artist’s gallery opening, a portrait of a woman in profile stopped Travis White in his tracks. He offered a fortune to buy the painting. The artist, Leo Baker, simply smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best portrait I’ve ever painted of my wife. I can’t part with it.” … It was Travis White’s twenty-eighth birthday party. I wore my most exquisite gown, my arm linked through his as we made our grand entrance. The moment we reached the bottom of the staircase, he released me, leaving me standing there as the tide of the party flowed past. Every eye in the room followed Travis. I was forgotten in a corner. Guests presented him with gifts, one after another. He would give a detached nod, signaling for the butler to take them away. This continued until one guest stepped forward with a beautiful young woman. Suddenly, all eyes were on me again. Pity. Amusement. Scorn. I had grown accustomed to the weight of those gazes over the years. Travis’s normally stoic face flickered with a brief, unguarded expression. The woman was a dead ringer for his first love, Lydia, the one he’d lost. “Presenting me with a woman in front of my wife,” Travis said, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “You’ve got some nerve.” The gift-giver chuckled obsequiously. “Mrs. White is a generous woman. I’m sure she won’t mind.” It wasn’t that I wouldn’t mind. It was that they knew I didn’t dare to mind. An orphan raised by the White family fortune—how could I possibly say “no” to its new master? Travis toyed with the wedding band on his finger, his eyes glinting. “Well, since my wife has no objections, take her…” Before he could finish, I strode to his side. I looked at the woman’s face. The man had done his homework; he knew exactly what Travis desired. And in that instant, a profound weariness washed over me, bone-deep and final. I realized I no longer had the strength to play the part of the dignified Mrs. White, to honor the promise I made to his grandmother. With a gentle push, I sent the champagne tower behind me to its doom. The beautiful crystal pyramid swayed, then collapsed with a deafening crash. Glass and champagne sprayed across the marble floor, throwing the elegant party into chaos. “Mrs. White has lost her mind!” someone shrieked. I had ruined Travis’s birthday. He didn’t seem to care. The butler was already escorting the guests out, and the staff was quietly cleaning up the mess. The beautiful woman, however, remained. She stood silently by Travis’s side, her serene demeanor a perfect echo of Lydia’s. The contrast made me look even more unhinged. Travis idly played with the woman’s fingers, his gaze drifting to me. “Why so angry?” he asked, his tone maddeningly casual. “If you don’t want to see her, I’ll have her stay somewhere else. Don’t worry,” he added, “I swore to my grandmother that I would never take away your position as Mrs. White.” The woman beside him chimed in, her voice soft and placating. “Mrs. White, there’s no need to be upset. A man like Mr. White is bound to have more than one woman. I only admire him; I have no intention of threatening your status.” I slipped the ring from my finger and placed it on the table in front of Travis. He raised an eyebrow. “Here’s your ring back.” He plucked the ring from the table, tossing it casually into the air. The diamond caught the light in a brilliant arc before falling back into his palm. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he threw it to the woman behind him. “It’s yours. A million-dollar ring, and Mrs. White doesn’t want it.” Travis stood, a cold sneer on his face, and addressed the butler. “Find the madam some tutors. Teach her some etiquette. I don’t want to witness such a disgraceful display ever again.” He walked a few steps, then paused and turned back. He pulled his own wedding band from his finger and tossed it onto the floor. It rolled across the marble, coming to a stop at my feet. “If you don’t want the rings, then let’s get rid of them both.” Travis left with the woman. The roar of his car’s engine was sharp and final in the night air. The butler, Mr. Hobbs, sighed beside me. “Madam, why must you provoke him? You know he holds a grudge against you.” I picked up the ring at my feet and dropped it into a nearby trash can. “You should get back to your duties, Mr. Hobbs. You don’t need to worry about me.” He sighed again and left. I went upstairs alone and changed out of the elaborate gown, pulling on a simple white t-shirt. I found my suitcase and methodically packed my half of the closet, the clear line between his clothes and mine making it an easy task. When other couples fought, they had to consider divorce settlements and lawyers. But the connection between Travis and me was so thin, it amounted to nothing more than a pair of matching rings. No one would ever believe that the bride and groom of the city’s most sensational wedding of the century never even signed a marriage license. I still remembered what Travis had said to me on our wedding day. “The only name that belongs on that line next to mine is Lydia’s. Charlotte, you never should have married me.” But what could I do? I married him anyway. I married the man I had loved for seven years, through all my girlhood dreams, believing that one day I could win his heart. Instead, I became the hollow figure everyone knew as Mrs. White, a wife in name only. The mansion was silent as I dragged my suitcase to the door. It felt just like the rainy night his grandmother had first brought me here. A thirteen-year-old Travis had stood on the grand staircase, looking down at me with cold, indifferent eyes. Then he had turned, gone to the kitchen, and returned with a glass of warm milk. I booked a flight. Six hours in the air, three more in a car, and I was back in the small, remote southern town of my childhood. They say the old yearn to return to their roots. But a person with no home yearns for them even more, even if there’s no family left to welcome you. I rented a small cottage with a little yard. The local dialect felt both familiar and foreign. I was young when I left, and my years in Northwood City had scrubbed the accent from my tongue. Fortunately, the man in the cottage next door was an outsider too, though he’d arrived before me. He’d helped me at the market one day when I couldn’t understand the old woman selling vegetables. The next day, I made him a sweet corn cake to thank him. That’s when I learned he was an artist, here to paint the local scenery. He had the easy, vibrant energy of a recent college graduate. Away from the people and pressures of Northwood, in this simple, rustic place, it hit me: I was only twenty-five years old. But living in the White mansion, constantly upholding the posture of “Mrs. White,” had made me feel ancient and weary. I bought flowers from the street and filled my small yard with climbing roses. I put a little rocking chair next to the flowerbed. It was modest, but it was all mine. The gardens at the White estate were filled with yellow roses, Lydia’s favorite. The glass conservatory housed an expensive grand piano that Travis had designed for her. No one was allowed to touch it. His grandmother had once threatened to rip out the roses. Travis had exploded in a rare fit of rage. “If the roses go, I go with them.” No one ever mentioned it again. Lydia and her roses became sacred, untouchable ground. That afternoon, there was a knock on my gate. It was Leo Baker, dressed in a hoodie with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He grinned when he saw me. “Hey, Charlotte! I’m heading up the mountain to paint the sunrise tomorrow. Want to come along? Get some fresh air?” He pointed to the peak rising behind our cottages. I knew the mountain was something of a local landmark, the main draw for tourists. I was tempted. “Don’t worry! I go camping all the time. I’m an expert, it’s totally safe.” His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself nodding. Leo was true to his word. He immediately went back to his cottage and returned with another large pack. He carried both sets of camping gear himself, along with his easel and art supplies. I tried to help, but he flatly refused. “I’m strong. This is nothing.” On the way up the trail, we talked about our pasts and our futures. My past felt dull and predictable, a story that revolved entirely around the White family and Travis, culminating in my empty title as his wife. But Leo was different. He was a wellspring of fresh stories and boundless dreams for the future. “Life is all about the experience, right? My dream right now is to be a famous painter, so I have to give it my all,” he said. “And, between you and me, I kind of ran away from home. So if you wake up one day and my cottage is empty, it probably means my family finally caught me.” I laughed. It turned out we were both fugitives. The only difference was that he had a family who would come looking for him. My disappearance would probably be a cause for celebration for Travis. We reached the summit just as the sun was beginning to set. The warm, golden light bathed everything in an ethereal glow. I looked down at the small town below, nestled in the valley, peaceful and serene under the blanket of light. Leo was already busy setting up the tents. “The sunset is beautiful too,” I said. “Aren’t you going to paint it?” “I prefer the sunrise,” he replied. “Every day is a new beginning. It represents infinite possibility, new life.” I sat on the camp stool he’d set out, watching him work, his words echoing in my mind. A new beginning. Leaving the White estate was the bravest thing I had ever done. But afterward, I had acted like a coward, running back to this remote town and hiding myself away in my little cottage. I hadn’t given a single thought to what came next. Was I just going to wither away here for the rest of my life? I was only twenty-five. My future was still full of infinite possibilities. Leo finished with the tents and handed me some food and water. He plopped down on a mat beside me, hands behind his head, and stared up at the newly-starred sky. “You should try looking at the stars like this, Charlotte. It’s a totally different feeling.” At the White mansion, I was bound by a thousand rules of etiquette. Everything I did had to befit the status of Mrs. White. The phrase I heard most often was, “Madam, you cannot do that.” Lying on the ground to watch the stars was something I had never even considered. Leo didn’t give me time to think about it. He reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled. In a second, I was off the stool and on the mat beside him. “Lie down!” he urged. I let go of my inhibitions and did as he said. Lying on my back, the sky seemed to press down, so close I felt I could reach out and touch the stars. We lay there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. And as we talked, I made a decision. I had to be brave. I had to step out into the world. Running away was just another form of hiding. I needed to meet new people, see the vast world outside my gilded cage, until the day came when I could stand face-to-face with Travis and feel nothing at all. Sometime in the night, I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Curled up in a simple tent on a mountainside, I felt more secure than I ever had in my life. When I stumbled out of the tent in the morning, groggy with sleep, Leo was already at his easel, his expression focused and serious. The sun climbed slowly over the horizon, its gentle rays warming my skin. I watched it rise, feeling like I was witnessing my own new beginning. “Charlotte! Don’t move!” Leo’s excited voice startled me. I froze, only able to watch him out of the corner of my eye. He was using me as his model. When he was finished, I rubbed my stiff neck. Being a muse was harder than it looked. “Let me get that for you. A thank you for being my model.” His hands were strong, and his massage was firm. I closed my eyes, melting under his touch. All the way down the mountain, Leo chattered excitedly about the inspiration that had struck him. I’d seen the painting; I thought it was nice, but I couldn’t appreciate the finer points. The moment we got back, he disappeared into his cottage. I turned on the TV. The sudden appearance of Travis’s face on the screen made me jump back. I almost changed the channel, but my hand froze. I was glad for the decision I’d made last night. Travis was a public figure. I couldn’t avoid him forever. He looked the same. During the interview, when asked about the recent rumors of a marital rift, his expression remained cool. “My wife is just throwing a bit of a tantrum. She’ll come back after she’s had her fun.” Everyone envied me. An orphan, taken in by the venerable White family and then married to the heir—I was the luckiest woman alive. Only I knew the truth: to be ignored by everyone, resented by my own husband, to hold the title of Mrs. White but still feel like a piece of driftwood in that house, utterly rootless. Every year, when the yellow roses were in bloom, Travis would have the staff cut them and fill every vase in the mansion. The piano in the conservatory was polished daily. Lydia was dead, but Travis made sure her presence was everywhere, a constant reminder of my place. “We hear the argument between you and Mrs. White was over the new assistant you’ve been seen with?” the reporter pressed. Travis’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He instinctively reached to touch the wedding band on his finger. But there was nothing there. He remembered then. Charlotte had been surprisingly defiant this time. She’d returned his ring and had the audacity to run off. He thought back to the call from Mr. Hobbs, his panicked voice reporting that the madam was gone. When Travis had returned home, he’d found Charlotte’s side of the closet completely empty. Only his suits remained, hanging in the vast, silent space. It was just another one of her tactics, a way to pressure him into getting rid of the woman who looked like Lydia. He knew how much she hated anything related to Lydia, let alone a living replica. But so what? His grandmother was gone. Charlotte had no other family, no one else to depend on. He was all she had. When she was a child, she would always hide when she was upset. His grandmother used to indulge her. He didn’t have the patience for that. Once she’d had a taste of the real world, she’d realize how good she had it at the White estate. She’d come back. “She’s an orphan,” he’d told the butler. “Without the White family, where could she possibly go? No one is to look for her. Just let me know when she returns.” Under Travis’s glare, the interviewer quickly shifted the topic from his personal life to business. Talking about work, Travis visibly relaxed. It seemed the mere mention of his wife was enough to sour his mood. I poured myself a glass of ice water and started writing my resume. This little town was a place for the old to retire, not for the young to find work. I had to leave. I worked until dusk, finally stretching and getting up to make dinner. As I sat down to my simple meal of three dishes and a soup, I wondered if Leo was still working. Did he forget to eat when he was painting, the way Travis did when he was working? When his grandmother was still alive, Travis often worked through meals, getting terrible stomach cramps. After that, whenever I could, I would bring his dinner to the office. At first, his secretary would make me wait outside for an hour or two. But eventually, he got used to it and would let me interrupt him. He’d eat, then go back to work. I sighed, put on a jacket, and knocked on the gate next door. There was no answer. Just as I was about to turn away, the gate swung open. Leo’s annoyed expression immediately brightened into a wide smile when he saw me. “Charlotte! I was just painting you, and then you appeared, like magic.” He was still holding a paintbrush. There were streaks of paint on his clothes and a smudge on his cheek. He looked a mess, but his smile was so dazzling that the paint splatters seemed like charming accessories, making him look even more alive. “Have you eaten? Want to come over for dinner?” At my invitation, he clutched his stomach and let out a dramatic groan. “I’m starving! You’re a lifesaver, Charlotte! Let me just put my brushes away.” Over the next few days, we fell into a comfortable routine. He would come over for dinner every evening, and in return, he’d help with the cleaning, and he took over all the gardening work in my yard. It was nice. I’d never had a younger brother, but I imagined it would be something like this. I sent out my resume and got a few interview requests. On the morning I was set to leave, I went to say goodbye to Leo. When I opened my gate, I saw several black sedans parked in front of his cottage. Men in suits, looking like bodyguards, stood by the cars. I hesitated for a moment before walking over. As I approached, one of the men moved to block my path. “Don’t touch her!” Leo strode out of his cottage. The sunny, cheerful boy was gone, replaced by a man with a cold, serious expression. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his yard, slamming the gate shut behind us. “Don’t follow me in,” he ordered the men. They exchanged glances but obeyed. “Hey, Charlotte,” he said, his bright smile returning as if by magic. “Did you come to call me for dinner?” “No. I came to say goodbye.” His voice immediately jumped several octaves. “Where are you going?” I told him about the interviews. “This place is wonderful, but like you said on the mountain—every day is a new beginning, full of infinite possibilities. I want a new beginning for myself, a life without regrets.” “So, Charlotte… are you over him?” I looked at him, surprised. He just winked. “Don’t treat me like a kid. An artist’s eye is very sharp.” His directness made me blush. “Yes,” I said softly. “I think I am.” “So where are you going to work?” “Northwood City.” I had considered moving somewhere far away from Travis, but Northwood was the only home I’d known since I was a child. I grew up there, went to school there, my friends were there. Why should I force myself to start over in a strange new city, just because of him? “Then I’ll go with you,” he said. “Perfect timing, since my family found me anyway.” In the end, I hitched a ride with Leo. The nervousness I felt about returning to Northwood, about the possibility of facing Travis again, slowly faded as Leo chattered on and on about his plans for us. Life back in Northwood was surprisingly smooth. The interview went well, and I was told to start the following week. I found an apartment near the office. Two days later, Leo became my next-door neighbor again. I was taking out the trash when I saw movers carrying furniture into the apartment next to mine. I glanced over and saw the tall, lanky figure of Leo Baker, directing the workers. “What are you doing here?” “I was hoping to surprise you, but you caught me,” he said, casually taking the trash bag from my hands. “I missed your cooking, so I decided to be your neighbor again.” I was actually happy to see him. In a strange new place, having him next door made me feel safer. “Well, I’ll make a few special dishes tonight to celebrate your move.” For convenience, we decided on hot pot. The spicy broth bubbled, and Leo fished out a piece of tripe, placing it in my bowl. The first bite set my mouth on fire, and I grabbed my drink, gulping it down. “Oh, you can’t handle spicy food? I heard you loved hot pot, so I assumed…” “It’s fine. It’s just been a while.” How long had it been? I couldn’t even remember. I used to love hot pot more than anything. My grandmother would eat it with me, she’d have the mild broth, and I’d have the spicy. One time, Travis was working late, and the dinner I’d brought him had gone cold. It had started to snow outside, so I suggested we go out to eat. I took him for hot pot. Travis preferred bland food, so I ordered the half-and-half pot. But he frowned through the entire meal. “Don’t eat this again,” he said in the car on the way home. “The smell clings to you.” I never ate spicy hot pot again. It’s strange how, when you avoid something for long enough, even your own body forgets how to handle it. But soon enough, I was sweating and happily devouring my meal, rediscovering the simple joy of it. After dinner, Leo cleared the table, cleaned the kitchen, and opened the windows to air the place out. He took the trash with him when he left. Life in Northwood was calmer than I had expected. The media had forgotten about the long-absent Mrs. White, and no one from the White family came looking for me. My existence was, as always, insignificant. The media was, however, very curious about the new assistant Travis was never seen without. I idly scrolled through the paparazzi photos. It was almost comical. Did Travis truly love Lydia that much? In the photos, he bent down so the woman could adjust his tie. He carefully shielded her head as she got into the car. When it rained, he held the umbrella almost entirely over her. It seemed his love could be so easily transferred to anyone with a similar face. Travis had always been fiercely protective of Lydia’s privacy; no photos of her had ever been leaked. So now, everyone was speculating that I had been completely cast aside. If I were still in the mansion, I would probably be waiting up for a husband who never came home. But now, I was busy preparing presentations, attending meetings, dealing with… “Leo, I told you, you can’t be so clingy!” I pushed his head off my shoulder. He just pushed my laptop away. “You have a handsome man right here in front of you, and you’re staring at some old guy on a screen?” It was the first time I had ever heard anyone call Travis White an “old guy.” The thought of his reaction made me burst out laughing. When I finally caught my breath and looked up, Leo’s expression was serious. “Is he the one? The one who hurt you? Travis White of the White Corporation. I know him.” I looked at him, stunned. I had no memory of ever seeing Leo at the White mansion. “When I was a kid, my mom made me call him Uncle Travis.” “…” I lost it again, collapsing onto the sofa in a fit of laughter. “Hahaha… he’s only four years older than you, and you called him uncle… haha…” Leo pinched my cheek. “He looks old.” Travis had been involved in the family business from a young age, which had always made him seem more mature than his peers. So, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “So,” Leo said, his face suddenly very close to mine. “You’re the missing Mrs. White?” I realized that in my laughter, I had ended up with my head in his lap. I tried to sit up, but for the first time, he didn’t let me. His eyes were fixed on mine, demanding an answer. “Yes.” “So does that make me your boy toy on the side?” The thought made him laugh. I playfully slapped his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous! Besides, I’ve already left the White family. I gave him the ring back.” “Then I’ll get a lawyer. You two can be divorced by tomorrow.” “We don’t need to… we don’t have a marriage license.” I gave a bitter smile. No license, no divorce. The only thing that had ever bound us was a ring. Maybe I had played the part of Mrs. White for so long that even Travis had forgotten we weren’t legally married. “Perfect,” Leo said, his eyes gleaming. “In that case, why don’t you get a marriage license with me?”

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A strange girl showed up, claiming she could wake him with her “chatterbox therapy.” I didn’t believe her. Not until a stream of comments flickered into view before my eyes: 【Here comes the talkative female lead! The comatose male lead is about to wake up!】 【She’s going to use a barrage of shameless, cringe-worthy lines to make him curl his toes in his coma until he just can’t take it anymore and has to wake up, LOL.】 【And after he wakes up, they’ll start their super sweet romance. Happy ending, here we come!】 【So, the side character sister needs to step aside for the female lead. Your daily chitchat is useless. This is a job for the pro!】 And my brother did wake up, just like they said. But the first thing he did when he was back… Was to make me break up with my new boyfriend. 1 It was the weekend, so I went to the hospital, same as always. I was there to talk to Daniel, to turn him over in his bed. Every two hours, like clockwork. Left side, on his back, right side. A constant, gentle rotation. That’s when Martha arrived. My parents brought her into the room, telling me she had a way to wake Daniel. She reached out to me without a hint of shyness, as if we were old friends. “Hi there! I’m Martha. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Hope we get along!” Her voice was bright and cheerful, like a newborn canary. I didn’t answer right away. I understood why Mom and Dad were so desperate. Daniel had been in a coma for two months. People were starting to whisper that if someone doesn’t wake up after three, they might never wake up at all. But trusting a complete stranger with him… did that feel right? Just as I was about to voice my doubts, a line of text materialized in the air before me. 【Here comes the talkative female lead! The comatose male lead is about to wake up!】 【She’s going to use a barrage of shameless, cringe-worthy lines to make him curl his toes in his coma until he just can’t take it anymore and has to wake up, LOL.】 【And after he wakes up, they’ll start their super sweet romance. Happy ending, here we come!】 【So, the side character sister needs to step aside for the female lead. Your daily chitchat is useless. This is a job for the pro!】 I stared at the strange words, my mind reeling. Female lead? Male lead? What did that even mean? I must have been frozen for a while, because my mom gently tapped my arm. “Lily?” I snapped back to reality and politely responded to Martha. “Hi, I’m Lily. Please, take care of my brother.” With that, I stepped back to stand with my parents, waiting to see what Martha would do. She, however, ran a hand through her hair, a bashful look on her face. “Sorry, but would you mind waiting outside? I can’t really… get in the zone with an audience.” And so, the three of us found ourselves standing in the hallway. 2 Mom and Dad were a nervous wreck, completely in the dark about her methods. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening, thanks to the floating comments. 【LMAO, she just told him she’s a stalker who’s been secretly watching him for ages. And now that he’s helpless, she can finally do whatever she wants.】 【She said she’s going to take the opportunity to admire his perfect feet while he’s out cold. I’m dying.】 【“If you don’t wake up, I’m posting the nude photos I took of you on a gay dating site and you’ll have men lining up for you!” Hahaha, this isn’t therapy, it’s blackmail!】 【Wake up, man! This adorable girl is right in front of you!】 Could these… words… really work? I had my doubts. According to the comments, the world I was living in was a novel. Daniel was the male lead, and Martha was the female lead. His coma was just a necessary plot device to bring them together. He would eventually wake up and they would begin their sweet love story. As for me? I was just a side character. A supporting role. The girl with a one-sided crush on her adoptive brother, a small obstacle in the path of their love. A pang of sadness hit me. But if the comments were right, if Daniel was guaranteed to wake up, then I was also incredibly happy. As long as he was healthy and whole, that’s all that mattered. Half an hour later, Martha emerged from the room. She looked a little drained, her voice slightly hoarse. “That’s all for today. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I nodded, handing her a bottle of water I’d bought earlier. “Thank you for your hard work. See you tomorrow.” Martha looked surprised for a second, then thanked me and left. My parents and I went back into the room. While they massaged Daniel’s limbs, I sat by his bed and worked on my differential equations homework, reading the problems aloud. “y” – 3y’tan(x) – 2y = 0…” “…Brother, I think I messed this one up again. When are you going to teach me that other method you mentioned?” 3 The comments went wild. 【Holy calculus, what have I gotten myself into?】 【Can’t even escape math while reading a novel. I give up.】 【Honey, are you sure reading that stuff out loud isn’t going to put your brother into an even deeper coma?】 【LOL I’m dead. But wait, what’s up with the sister? Why was she so nice to the female lead just now? Shouldn’t she be jealous?】 【That’s how a normal family member would act, right? If someone says they can help, you treat them like a queen!】 【Yeah, but she’s not exactly a normal family member, is she? She’s in love with her brother! Eww, as someone with a brother, I can’t even.】 【They’re not blood-related… Let’s not mix things up. Don’t you dare slander our stepsibling ship.】 … They started arguing about math and the morality of shipping non-related siblings. I ignored them and kept working on my problems, glancing at Daniel from time to time. He lay there on the bed, so quiet, as if he were just sleeping. His eyelashes were long and thick, casting dark shadows beneath his eyes. When we were little, I was so jealous of how much prettier his lashes were than mine. I used to sneak into his room while he was asleep and try to pluck them. He always caught me, every single time. But I hadn’t crawled into his bed since that one night in my first year of high school. I’d been reading a horror novel about tomb raiders and was completely spooked, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. So, I tiptoed into Daniel’s room, curled into a ball, and burrowed into his arms. “Brother, can I sleep with you tonight?” He must have still been awake, because he jumped. Then, he immediately pushed me away. “Get out.” I ignored him, pressing closer. “Please, brother? I’m so scared a boogeyman is going to grab my feet…” His tone suddenly became harsh, severe. He used my full name. “Lily, get out.” I froze, looking up at him. His face was cold, impassive. He wasn’t joking. I tried again, my voice small. “But… we used to sleep together all the time when we were little…” He shoved me off the bed, leaving no room for argument. “That was then. It’s different now. You are never to get in my bed again.” “Oh.” I was hurt and angry. I gave him the silent treatment for weeks after that. Thinking back now, he was right. We weren’t little kids anymore. He needed to create distance between us. And he was right to do so. Suddenly, my phone rang, shattering my thoughts. I glanced at the screen. The name ‘Lucas’ flashed. And I remembered. I had plans today. 4 I answered the call. Lucas’s slightly disappointed voice came through the phone. “Hey, are you busy? I texted but you didn’t reply, so I figured I’d call.” “Everyone’s at the children’s home already. We’re just waiting on you.” I put him on speaker, apologizing as I gathered my things. “I’m so sorry, something came up. I’m on my way now, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” His voice immediately brightened. “Okay, I’ll wait for you.” After I hung up, my mom asked with concern, “Do you have to go somewhere?” I nodded, stuffing my notebook into my bag. “Yeah, it’s a volunteer event with the university society. I’ll come right back after.” My dad ruffled my hair. “Your mom and I are here with your brother, don’t worry. You need to live your life, Lily. You can’t put everything on hold for the hospital.” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left. Now that I knew Daniel was going to wake up, the constant, crushing anxiety had eased a little. As I walked out of the room, a few more comments popped into view. 【WTF, did his eyelashes just flutter? Did anyone else see that?】 【I saw it, I saw it! Our girl is a miracle worker! First day and already getting results! She’s the GOAT of chatterbox therapy!】 My heart sank a little. It was a strange mix of joy and disappointment. Joy, because the comments were right. Daniel was reacting. He was going to wake up soon. Disappointment, because it meant that only Martha’s efforts truly mattered. There was just no fate between Daniel and me. 5 I spent the afternoon volunteering at the children’s home. I helped the kids with their lessons, played games with them, and sat with them for counseling sessions. It was the same home where Daniel and I had lived. We were both orphans. The year he was seven and I was four, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes came to the home, looking to adopt a boy and a girl. They chose the smart, brave Daniel first. As for me… no one ever wanted a timid, shy little thing like me. But Daniel pulled me out from where I was hiding behind the director’s legs. He gathered all his courage and presented me to Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. “She’s a really good girl. She always wipes the table after she eats, and she’s very quiet when she sleeps.” “Mom! Dad! I’ll vouch for her with every single one of my future report cards!” And after that, Daniel was always first in his class. … In the present, Lucas was waving a hand in front of my face. “Lily? Time to go.” I snapped out of my reverie and nodded, getting up to leave. “Want to grab dinner together?” he asked suddenly. I shook my head. “I can’t, I have something to do.” Lucas hesitated. “Are you going to the hospital to see your brother?” I was a little surprised he knew. He explained apologetically, “I overheard you talking to the director earlier. Sorry.” Since he knew, I just nodded. But I wasn’t expecting him to suggest visiting Daniel himself. “Your brother is a legend at our university, a top graduate. I’d like to pay my respects to a senior alumnus.” I thought about it and agreed. Maybe a visit from a stranger could help a little. Even with Martha’s therapy, every little bit of effort might bring Daniel back a day sooner. So, I took Lucas to the hospital. 6 In the hospital room, Daniel was still sleeping peacefully. Mom and Dad were delighted to see Lucas and chatted with him for a long time. Even after he left, they were still grilling me. “Lily, you two seem quite close, don’t you?” I was massaging Daniel’s arm, my mind elsewhere. “We’re okay, I guess. He’s a senior, one year ahead of me. He helps me out a lot with school.” Dad was looking at me thoughtfully. “I think that boy has a thing for you. Peeling your apples, buying you milk… he’s working hard to impress you.” My hand stilled. All my energy lately had been focused on Daniel; I hadn’t noticed a thing. I stopped massaging and asked seriously, “Really? Is it that obvious?” Mom smiled. “It is. But our Lily is such an amazing girl, it’s only normal for boys to like her. And he seems like a nice kid. But what matters is if you like him.” If I like him… I lowered my eyes, stealing a glance at Daniel. Being in love with your own brother… people would think that’s disgusting, wouldn’t they? Dad picked up the thread. “You’re a sophomore now. It’s a good time to start dating. Just don’t keep it a secret from us, okay?” I nodded, my voice soft. “I know. I’ll definitely tell you.” The comments suddenly flared to life. 【OMG, did his eyeballs just move under his lids? What’s going on? Does the female lead’s therapy have a delayed effect?】 【At this rate, he’ll be awake in a few days! Yesss, I’m ready for the romance!】 【The side character should just get with the senior already. Stop pining for your brother. The stepsibling trope is a dead end here.】 I ignored that last comment, my eyes fixed on Daniel’s. They were definitely moving. I excitedly called Mom and Dad over to look. They were so moved they nearly cried, vowing to repay Martha handsomely. I would too. I made a silent promise to myself. If she could really wake Daniel, I would wish them nothing but happiness. And now… it was time to clear out all my memories of him. 7 That night, I took out the box where I kept all my treasures related to Daniel. Birthday gifts he’d given me, paper airplanes he’d folded, tokens from the claw machines we’d played… Among all the neatly kept items, one wrinkled, crumpled piece of scratch paper stood out. It was covered in Daniel’s familiar handwriting. First, there were his notes and steps for solving a high school math problem. Then, suddenly, the writing changed. 【How many solution methods is that now? Who cares. The more the better. It means I get to spend more time with her.】 【Otherwise, she’ll just run off to watch her TV shows.】 In high school, I was obsessed with TV, especially those cheesy teen romance dramas. Daniel would always boast shamelessly. “What’s so good about this? Is this guy even half as handsome as your brother?” He was handsome. He was the star of our school—smart, popular, top of his class. But he wasn’t mine. My heart felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny needles, a dull, sour ache spreading through my chest. I pulled myself out of the memory and kept reading. 【When she watches the main couple kiss on screen… does her heart flutter too?】 【Does she imagine someone loving her like that?】 【Could… could that person be me?】 【I want to kiss her so badly】 The last two lines were violently scratched out. Below them, still in Daniel’s handwriting but pressed so hard the lead nearly tore the paper, were three words. 【Daniel, you’re insane.】 【You are her brother.】 The air left my lungs. A wave of pure shock washed over me, so powerful it felt physical. The hand holding the paper began to tremble uncontrollably. The words blurred on the page, the ink seeming to bleed together until it reformed into a single, undeniable truth— Daniel loved me, too. 8 So that was it. All this time, Daniel had been just like me. Tossing and turning through countless nights, wrestling with a guilt that felt like sinking in mud. The comments were in an uproar over this. 【!!! The male lead is actually in love with the sister?? WTF, I want a refund!】 【Hold on, hold on, this was from like three or four years ago. Maybe he’s over it now.】 【Uh… whether he’s over it or not, it’s still gross. They grew up together as brother and sister. How could he have those kinds of thoughts about her?】 【What’s wrong with it? They’re not related by blood! Brothers are born to become brothers-in-law! I’m shipping the male lead and the side character!】 【I have nothing to say to you people who don’t get the stepsibling trope.】 【User ‘ForbiddenFruitLover’ has renewed their annual membership X10! Congratulations! You’ve unlocked a hidden bonus scene!】 【All hail the master shipper!】 【Are you guys all perverts? I’m rooting for my girl Martha!】 … Could the comments be right? Was it possible Daniel only used to have feelings for me? Or did he still love me now? But if he did… what about Martha? What about the story? Would the plot unfold as the comments had predicted? That night, I barely slept a wink. By dawn, I had made my decision. It was time to make a move. 9 The next day, my parents had errands to run, so I went to the hospital alone. Daniel was lying there peacefully, still showing no signs of waking. I went through our usual routine—wiping his face, turning his body. Finally, I sat by his bed and started talking, filling the quiet room with the mundane details of my life. “Brother, I met a senior from school. You know, the one who came to visit yesterday.” “He walks me to the library sometimes. He brings me bubble tea.” “Since you’ve been in the hospital, I’ve been going to him with all my school questions. He even helped me with that equation yesterday.” “He’s really smart, too. Just as smart as you.” “Last night, when we were saying goodbye… he told me he had feelings for me.” “Brother… do you think I should say yes?” After I finished, I watched him, searching his still face for any sign, any flicker of a reaction. But before long, the door creaked open. Martha peeked her head in. “Good morning!” I stood up to greet her. “Thanks so much for coming again.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked in. “Hey, don’t mention it. Your mom told me he was reacting yesterday? Looks like my treatment is working wonders.” She came closer, leaning in conspiratorially. “Today, I’m planning to use some stronger medicine. He might even wake up by tomorrow!” I couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of medicine?” Martha just shook her head, gently pushing me toward the door. “Can’t say. Spoilers! Just wait for the results!” I was skeptical, but I left the room again. I stood outside the door once more. I never imagined that Martha’s “stronger medicine” would involve physical contact.

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On my daughter’s fifth birthday, Cynthia posted a photo on Instagram with the caption: 【My little one was fussy before bed, wanting her daddy, and Super Dad dropped everything to rush right over.】 The man lying in bed with her, smiling at the camera, was my husband—Chris. I glanced at the text message I’d received just ten minutes earlier: 【Something came up at the office. Don’t wait up for me and Mia.】 I liked the post. Then I dialed my divorce lawyer. 1 It was two in the morning when Chris finally came home. The harsh glare of the hallway light spilled into the room, and my first instinct was to shield my daughter’s eyes. Chris leaned against the doorframe. “Honey, I’m home. Let’s wake Mia up. I can celebrate her birthday with her now.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten events—I always insisted that Chris be there. I didn’t want Mia to grow up like I did, seeing her father mostly through video calls. But now— I straightened the covers, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Chris’s face. “Clara, I just went over there to put Leo to sleep. Don’t misread the situation. This is exactly why I can’t be honest with you, because you’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t misreading anything. And from now on, I wouldn’t be suspicious, either. “If there’s nothing else, you should go to your own room. Don’t wake Mia. She has school in the morning.” Chris let out a cold laugh. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t come crying to me later, accusing me of being absent from Mia’s childhood.” I turned my back to him, switched off the lamp, and gently patted Mia, who had started to stir from the noise. His absence didn’t matter anymore. After all, Mia’s birthday wish this year was: “I don’t want to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, after breakfast, Chris didn’t leave for work immediately as he usually did. Instead, he sat on the sofa, watching the morning news. Just as we were about to leave, he grabbed his keys and walked over, ruffling Mia’s hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He was speaking to our daughter, but his eyes were locked on me. Two years ago, when Mia first started kindergarten, Chris drove her every single day. But after Cynthia came into the picture, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. I believed him. Until three months ago, when Mia transferred to a new school. I was standing by the gate when I saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a meeting was leaning over, lifting a little boy out of the back seat of his car. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time to take his daughter to school. It was just that he had something more important to do. We had a massive fight that night. The next day, Mia stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already decided on a divorce, he was still Mia’s father. I considered it for a moment and didn’t refuse. A small smile played on his lips as he bent down and scooped Mia into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered with someone else’s life. A superhero water bottle, a wooden toy bow and arrow, a woman’s shawl… And hanging from the back of the passenger seat was a “family photo.” Chris’s expression tightened when he saw where I was looking. “Cynthia just hung that there. She said it makes Leo happy. Don’t start a fight over something so trivial.” The old me would have torn that picture to shreds and tearfully demanded to know where Mia and I stood in his heart. But the new me just nodded. “It’s a nice photo.” Chris stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. “You’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But for some reason, my heart was a flatline. I almost wanted to laugh. Did Chris, always so sharp and calculating, really not see through such a clumsy, transparent ploy? The truth was simpler. He just didn’t care. “We should get going. Mia’s going to be late.” At my prompting, Chris’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he opened the driver’s side door. Just as I was about to lift Mia into the car, his phone rang. The ringtone was a child’s voice singing, “My Daddy, my hero…” On the other end of the line, a little boy was crying hysterically. “Daddy! Daddy! Where did you go? Are you leaving Leo and Mommy?” Chris hung up and, without a single glance in our direction, scrambled into the car. “Leo’s crying for me. I’ll have the driver take you today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. Worried about Mia, I knelt down to comfort her. “Daddy has something important to do today. Next time he’s free, we’ll have him take you to school, okay?” Mia’s face held a maturity far beyond her years. “Daddy will never be free, Mommy. All his time is for Leo and his mom.” 2 That evening, Chris called. “Clara, I’ll be home late. Leo is sick…” “Okay.” I agreed so quickly that his prepared explanation caught in his throat. He must have thought I was being difficult, because his tone hardened with irritation. “Clara, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, I received a series of texts. 【I’m so sorry, Clara. Leo has been really clingy with his dad lately.】 【But really, Chris shouldn’t have just abandoned you and Mia the second I called.】 【I’ll be sure to scold him. Please don’t be mad.】 The last text was punctuated with a giggling emoji. It was Cynthia. The messages weren’t an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for him. I deleted the texts and blocked her number. A moment later, Chris called again. “Clara, what is your problem? Cynthia apologizes to you, and this is how you act?” I could faintly hear the sounds of a woman and child sobbing in the background. I said nothing. After a long silence, his voice came back, low and heavy. “Clara, how did you become like this? I’m so disappointed in you.” Cynthia was the one who had provoked me, but the moment she cried, Chris laid all the blame at my feet, as if I were some kind of wicked villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Chris had been on the phone, I’d been consulting with my lawyer. In a divorce, I was entitled to at least 30% of the shares in Chris’s company. And since our parenting conditions were comparable, custody of our daughter would likely be awarded to me, the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, bags, jewelry, Mia’s favorite toys—they were all coming with us. As I sealed the last box, my hands trembled. For a moment, I paused, then I broke the dusty wax seal on an old chest in the corner. It was filled to the brim with love letters—from the Chris who was seventeen, all the way to twenty-two. I opened the one on top. It began: 【To the twenty-seven-year-old Clara, this is the seventeen-year-old Chris.】 【This is the first love letter I’ve ever written to you. As we promised, we will open this together in ten years.】 【By then, we’ll definitely be married. Maybe we’ll even have a beautiful child.】 My phone rang. On the other end was the twenty-seven-year-old Chris. “Clara! Do you have any idea that Cynthia took Leo and ran away from home? If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you.” My eyes fell to the last line of the letter. 【Signed: The Chris who will love his Clara forever.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest, like something delicate had finally shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire box into the fireplace. 3 Chris didn’t come home that night. I didn’t frantically call him over and over like I used to, crying and promising I would never give Cynthia a hard time again. My daughter didn’t ask about her father either. She just quietly took the framed photo of her and Chris from her room while I packed. Chris and I were locked in a cold war. It lasted a week, until Mia’s kindergarten needed a parental consent form signed, which required facial recognition. I tried calling Chris, only to find he’d blocked my number. With no other choice, I took the form and went to his office. I hadn’t been waiting long when I saw a familiar figure slip into Chris’s office. The assistant pouring water nearby looked guilty. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne gave instructions that Ms. Cynthia can enter his office whenever she likes.” That special privilege was, in a way, my fault. Back when I still brought Chris lunch every day, we would eat and talk for an hour. One day, Cynthia showed up, but the assistant at the time stopped her at the door. By the time Chris walked me out, Cynthia and her son Leo were shivering in the hallway, their lips blue from the cold. That was the first time Chris ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled, saying my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his time. The assistant who had stopped Cynthia was fired. From that day on, everyone knew Cynthia was the one who held Chris’s heart. I never came to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small smile and walked straight toward the office. Chris was indeed in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Cynthia was perched on the armrest of his chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He noticed my gaze and faltered. “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Cynthia just happens to know a little about this project, so…” I nodded and handed him the tablet. “Mia has a field trip. It needs a parent’s signature.” “You came all this way just for that?” “What else?” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn’t know why, but I knew Chris well enough to recognize he was in a foul mood. Cynthia scoffed lightly. “What a complicated way to get a signature. Chris, she just wants to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. It’s about time you went home to see Mia.” The tension in Chris’s brow eased. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table and gave me a smirk. “Clara, so now you’re using our child as an excuse.” “Apologize to Cynthia. Otherwise, I’m not signing this.” Hearing those words used to infuriate me. I’d be furious that he didn’t care about his own daughter, and even more furious that he was doing it for Cynthia. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that without his signature, Mia would miss her field trip, and she would be disappointed. I looked at Chris, and at Cynthia still sitting on his armrest, then turned and walked out of the office without a word. I could just tell the teacher that Mia didn’t have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a clear, masculine voice called out. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind, perhaps I could sign it for you.” It was the other man from Chris’s meeting. “After all, I’ve been an audience to your family drama for some time now.” I finally got a good look at him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that radiated a cool authority, his features handsome and severe. He clearly came from money and power. I simply handed him the tablet. The verification went through instantly. Three elegantly written words appeared on the screen: 【Kyle Cole.】 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war and told Chris to come home that evening. When I went to pick Mia up from kindergarten, his Maybach was already waiting. The window rolled down, revealing Cynthia’s triumphant smile from the passenger seat. “Clara, here to pick up your child, too? This is an elite kindergarten, you know. Are you still wearing last year’s coat? Aren’t you afraid Mia will be embarrassed?” I couldn’t be bothered with her and moved a little farther away. Cynthia turned to the driver’s seat, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Chris, did I say something wrong again? I think I made Clara angry.” For once, Chris didn’t respond. He just stared at my thin coat, his voice stiff. “Clara, it’s windy out. Get in the car.” I moved even farther away. I don’t know when it started, but the distance between us had grown so vast that even a simple word of concern sounded forced and hollow. As we neared the school gate, a scuffle broke out in the line of children. I frowned, and my heart sank when I saw that one of them was Mia. I rushed over and pulled them apart, only then realizing the other child was Leo. He froze when he saw me, then immediately threw himself on the ground and began to wail. “Waaah! The mean lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Chris and Cynthia hurried over. Cynthia swept her son into her arms, her face filled with indignation. “Clara, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t take it out on a child. They were just playing. There was no need to get so aggressive.” Chris looked at me with disapproval, completely forgetting that Mia was his own flesh and blood. The teacher looked torn. “Mrs. Thorne, Mrs. Cynthia, the children both saw Mr. Thorne and started insisting he was their father. They argued, and then they started fighting.” It was dismissal time, and the area was crowded with parents. The whispers started immediately. “What a mess. Two kids fighting over a dad? Must be the wife and the mistress.” “That guy looks loaded. Maybe the little boy is just a liar, trying to show off. Who knew the real daughter would be right there?” “A little gold-digger in the making. What are they teaching him at home?” Leo was still crying, clinging to Chris’s neck and screaming “Daddy.” But Mia… she just held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Chris, unblinking. The other children chimed in curiously. “Mister, who’s your real kid? You have to tell us! The one who’s lying has to apologize.” Chris opened his mouth. “I’m Mia’s…” At that exact moment, Cynthia gave his sleeve a gentle tug, her eyes pleading. In an instant, I knew. He was wavering. Just like countless times before, all it took was one look from Cynthia, and my daughter and I became his second choice. I gritted my teeth, my voice like ice. “Chris, your answer right now will affect Mia for the rest of her life. Think very carefully before you speak.” His body went rigid. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear, he said: “I’m Leo’s father.” He looked at Mia. “I think you’re mistaken, little girl.” My heart seized, as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. This is our daughter. The crowd of parents immediately turned on Mia. “Little girl, why would you lie about who your dad is? And then hit his real son?” “Yeah, the truth is out and she’s not even apologizing. No manners at all.” “She’s just jealous he’s rich. Wants to be a rich man’s daughter.” “Her mother doesn’t look like a good person either, all done up like that. Probably taught her daughter to call rich men ‘daddy’ to try and trap one.” “Chris, you’re not even human…” I started to say, but a sharp pain in my palm cut me off. Mia was biting her lip, her grip on my hand astonishingly tight. The light in her eyes was fading fast. “Mom, let’s just go.” Then she turned woodenly to Chris and bowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I was mistaken.”

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“My childhood best friend, Leo, has depression. It’s the kind of depression that requires him to be coaxed into eating, held to fall asleep. The kind that made him slice at his own wrist with a penknife that one time he couldn’t get hard. It wasn’t until the arrival of the woman who was clearly meant to be his savior—the protagonist of his redemption story—that I realized I was just a supporting character. An insignificant extra. So, I quit. When Leo tried to cut his wrists, I sharpened the knife for him. When he threatened to jump from the balcony, I opened the window. And in the middle of hate-fueled sex, I called him a minute man. As I saw the heroine of his story nearing the completion of her quest, I took the initiative and asked for a divorce. That’s when Leo grabbed my waist, his voice a raw shout. “”How do you think my depression got better? Don’t you have any clue at all?”” 1 I knew Leo was different from the time I was still running around in diapers. While I was climbing trees like a little monkey, he’d be in his room, silently shedding tears. When I was slinging a tiny backpack for my first day of preschool, barely able to recognize the letters of the alphabet, he had already written one hundred and eighty suicide notes. The reasons for wanting to end it all were always different. From accidentally stepping on an ant, to losing a single strand of hair, even wetting the bed in the middle of the night—they were all justifications for why he couldn’t go on living. And at the end of every single note, he’d write the same line: 【Dear Mom and Dad, if I die, please leave everything I own to Clara.】 At seven, “”everything he owned”” was a small box of a thousand paper stars, painstakingly folded from candy wrappers. At ten, it was the Christmas money he’d saved up all year. At sixteen, it was a binder full of his perfect, straight-A report cards. That’s right. Even with his crippling depression, he was still a bona fide genius who aced every class. By the time we were twenty-two, his most precious asset had become me—his beautiful wife, Clara. That’s why every time I looked at the listless, half-dead version of Leo, who sometimes lacked even the energy to properly tie a noose, I would erupt in helpless fury. “”What right do you even have to be depressed?”” I’d demand. “”Your family’s company is practically a national chain, you’re so ridiculously good-looking that talent scouts have tried to recruit you, and you sailed through school without ever getting less than an A+. What the hell do you have to be depressed about?”” Hearing me say that, his innocent, deer-like eyes would mist over, the corners turning red. He was one bitten lip away from whimpering, “”I want to die.”” But instead, he’d say, “”You’re right. Besides being handsome, rich, brilliant, and married to a perfect wife, what else do I have going for me?”” He’d sigh dramatically. “”My life is such a failure.”” And then he’d reach for a penknife to drag across his thigh. It wasn’t because his arms were too sensitive; it was because I’d been away on a business trip, and his forearms were already a latticework of pale, scarred lines, with no clean space left. 2 I snatched the penknife out of his hand. “”Don’t die just yet,”” I said. Leo looked at me, surprised, his eyes wide with the expectation of some warm, comforting words. After all, since we were kids, I had practically been his designated therapist. In preschool, when he wouldn’t eat, I’d feed him spoonful by spoonful, cooing, “”Good boy, Leo. Just one more bite.”” In elementary school, my parents left for a research sabbatical in Antarctica, leaving me in the care of his family. From that point on, Leo’s dad became my legal guardian, and I, in turn, became Leo’s. That’s when I discovered he couldn’t sleep at night without being soothed and told a bedtime story. His parents never had the time, so they handed that monumental task to me. And so, I spent my nights whispering tales of Snow White while holding him in my arms. To put it bluntly, we went from sharing a crib in diapers to sharing a bed in a wedding dress and a tuxedo. Leo’s father knew his son was unreliable. At eighteen, Leo could barely string ten words together with anyone other than me, let alone be expected to inherit the family business. To ensure I could seamlessly take over the company, his parents pushed us to get married the moment Leo turned legal age. Before Leo could even process what I was doing, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a brand-new chef’s knife from the block. I started sharpening it right in front of him, the steel gleaming under the lights. “”If you’re serious about this, use this one,”” I said, my voice flat. “”Stop trying to scare me with that little toy.”” Leo froze. His eyes were a mixture of hurt and utter shock. “”Clara, if I died, what would you do?”” I let out a dry laugh. “”Find someone new, I guess.”” Then I turned and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. 3 Inside the bathroom, the shelves were neatly lined with an array of… toys. Before my trip, they had been scattered about, but now Leo had cleaned them and organized them back into their box. My gaze, however, was drawn to a faded little pill bottle tucked away in a corner. I remembered when we were freshly eighteen, and I decided it was time to initiate him into the ways of the flesh. He was so nervous that, after several attempts, he still couldn’t get it up. His face was flushed, sweat tracing the sharp line of his jaw and dripping onto my collarbone. He had whispered to me in that sexy, raspy voice of his, “”Clara, I’ll try… I’ll try one more time.”” But after what felt like an eternity, all that teenage bravado wilted like a flower in the sun. It was over in less than three seconds. I tried to be encouraging. “”Don’t be nervous. Just think about what we were watching earlier.”” “”Or… you can just touch me, if that helps.”” But Leo couldn’t handle the failure. He rolled off me, pulled out the penknife he always carried, and said, “”Clara, I’m so useless.”” He was about to bring the blade to his arm. I can swear on my life that was the most terrified and helpless I had ever felt. Dear God, who could have imagined that trying to seduce an innocent boy would end with him threatening to die on the bed? “”Wait,”” I said, stopping him. I pulled out the little pill bottle I’d brought just in case. I had only intended to give him one or two, and was worried he’d be too proud to take them. I never expected him to snatch the bottle and down nearly half of it. Three days later, we limped out of that hotel, our legs aching and our bodies sore. It was like a switch had been flipped in him; he never needed that bottle again. When I tried to throw it in the trash, Leo fished it out, cradling it like a treasure. “”Let’s keep it,”” he’d said. “”As a souvenir.”” 4 A loud crash echoed from outside the bathroom. I was determined not to get involved with whatever Leo was doing. I took my time, lingering in the steam, but then another, louder bang followed. “”Leo, what are you doing?”” I called out as I emerged, only to find he’d knocked over and shattered a pair of antique vases. “”Honestly,”” I snapped. Leo was taken aback by my tone, clearly confused as to why one business trip had caused such a seismic shift in my attitude. He asked tentatively, “”Clara… are you cheating on me?”” I stared at the two large words floating above his head: MAIN CHARACTER. My heart ached with a strange mix of grief and resignation. I don’t know when it started, but one day I could suddenly see that label above him, a label no one else seemed to notice. I had thought it made me special, that I was destined to be his leading lady. But a few weeks ago, I had seen two different words floating over the head of Leo’s psychiatrist. FEMALE LEAD. I could even see another line of text materializing in the air around him. Leo’s Depression Level: 100% That’s when it all clicked. She was the heroine of the redemption story. And I was just the disposable side character. The starter wife. So, I quit. As for Leo, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.”

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I bought a merman on the black market. He was captivating. And he was dangerous. But then came the nights I’d find him watching me through the glass, his eyes burning with a predatory stillness. And after that, the dreams began—dreams so vivid and strange they felt more like memories. 1 To get back in my good graces, my underlings brought me to The Onyx Room, the most notorious private auction house in Solace City. I’d spent the entire evening slouched in a plush velvet armchair, feeling the boredom settle deep in my bones. I was idly flipping a vintage stiletto dagger I’d recently acquired, letting the blade catch the amber light, and shot a lazy, half-smiling glance at the man who’d invited me. He flinched, his leg starting to jiggle under my gaze. Just as I was about to dismiss him entirely, the auctioneer on the stage below finally reached the last lot of the night. The Onyx Room was all dark wood, hidden alcoves, and the low glow of amber lamps—a speakeasy vibe for clientele with monstrously deep pockets and questionable morals. The auctioneer, a man with a flair for the dramatic, raised a finger to his lips, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, pulling the room into a shared secret. “And now, for our final piece. I guarantee this is something that will drive every last one of you to madness.” He paused for effect. “It originates from the Gamma Labs project. A ‘failed’ experiment, they called it. But I tell you, it is nothing less than a masterwork of creation itself…” As he spoke, two stagehands wheeled out an enormous container draped in a thick, crimson curtain. The thing was massive, tall enough that its top cleared the high ceiling by only a few feet. Every eye in the room was fixed on it. Even I felt a flicker of interest and straightened in my chair, a cynical smile playing on my lips. A failed experiment. Just another toy for the obscenely wealthy. The underground world had been flooded with them for years—horrific chimeras born from illicit gene-splicing. Half-human, half-serpent monstrosities; children with the faces of cats; men twisted into beastly wolf forms. Every one of them a “failure.” But this was different. The red curtain fell. Under the dim, theatrical lighting, the container was revealed to be a massive, cylindrical cultivation tank, filled with a pale, glowing blue liquid. A collective gasp swept through the crowd below. They were stunned into silence by the sight, and I felt my own breath catch in my throat. Because floating serenely inside was a merman. A merman with no visible signs of crude genetic fusion. He was a creature of intense, breathtaking beauty, possessing an androgynous allure that blurred the lines of gender. But the bare, sculpted lines of his torso made it clear he was male. His frame was long and elegant, yet the defined muscles of his chest and arms rippled with a power you couldn’t ignore. His lower body was a magnificent tail, at least six feet of shimmering, gunmetal-silver scales that caught the dim light like a thousand tiny mirrors. He appeared to be sleeping, his hair—a startling shade of cobalt blue—drifting around his head like a deep-sea halo. As the water gently eddied, I could just make out the translucent, fin-like membranes behind his ears. His face was a masterpiece of sharp, delicate lines and chiseled angles. His eyelashes were stark white, like a dusting of frost, casting faint shadows on skin so pale it seemed almost inorganic. He looked like a deity who had presided over the cosmos, only to fall to earth when his celestial throne crumbled. This wasn’t a product of a creator. This was the creator himself. “I wonder what he looks like with his eyes open,” I murmured, the words escaping before I could stop them. As if on cue, he opened them. And then, in the space of a blink, I met a pair of deep blue eyes. The gaze was placid, yet it hit me with the force of being dragged into the crushing depths of the ocean. It was the feeling of tearing a perfect rose from a thorny vine with your bare hands. Captivating. And dangerous. Across the sea of bidders on the floor below, through the one-way glass of my private booth, our eyes locked. I knew he shouldn’t be able to see me. But he did. I was sure of it. His stare held no discernible emotion, yet it pierced right through me, sending a chill down my spine that was equal parts warning and… exhilaration. My lips were suddenly dry. I ran my tongue over them. I loved this feeling—the thrill of a challenge, the promise of a conquest. I raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze without flinching. When the bidding below descended into a frantic, near-violent frenzy, I raised my hand. And I ended it. I stood and walked to the glass, tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. Leaning in, I smiled and mouthed the words, a silent declaration of ownership. You’re mine. As I turned to leave, I glanced back one last time. And I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth, which had been perfectly neutral, twist into a subtle, contemptuous smirk. 2 Merfolk. The legends painted them as enigmatic, powerful creatures of the deep. Wild, cunning, and brutally intelligent. They were said to possess eyes that could pierce the darkest abyss, a sense of smell that could track blood for miles, and voices that could weave hypnotic spells. Whispers and folklore. No one in the modern world had ever actually seen one. And now, I owned one. He might be a product of a lab, but his flawless form made that single imperfection utterly irrelevant. I had him moved to my estate and placed in the shark tank. “Tank” was a modest term. It was a massive, private aquarium built into the foundation of my villa, its main wall a sweeping curve of reinforced glass that formed one side of my subterranean lounge. It was where I liked to unwind. And occasionally, where I’d feed my sharks with people who had disappointed me. I wanted to see which was the more ferocious predator: the merman or the sharks. Based on the legends of their savagery, the outcome was anyone’s guess. But three days passed, and the bloody spectacle I’d anticipated never happened. In fact, the only violence was directed at my staff; two of the handlers who performed the daily feedings had been bitten by sharks that were suddenly, uncharacteristically aggressive. I stood before the vast glass wall for a long time, watching the blue light from the ceiling shimmer through the eerily quiet water. Not only were my sharks, usually restlessly patrolling, nowhere to be seen, but the merman was also missing. Puzzled, I pressed my face closer to the glass, trying to peer into the deeper, darker recesses of the tank. A sudden, prickling chill crept up the back of my neck. I snapped my head up. There he was. Floating directly above me in the water, near the surface, looking down at me from the other side of the glass ceiling. He was positioned like a sea god passing judgment on a mortal subject. His white eyelashes were lowered, obscuring his expression, but his presence filled me with a strange unease that made the blood hum in my veins. Still looking up, I gave him a lazy wave. I didn’t know if he could hear me, let alone understand, but I called out anyway. “Come down. I don’t like craning my neck to talk to… anyone.” He seemed to understand. With a single, powerful flick of his silver tail, he descended, slicing through the water until he was hovering directly in front of me, separated only by a few inches of glass. I stepped closer, my fingers tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. “You are devastatingly beautiful,” I said, my voice low. This time, I knew he heard me. And I knew he understood. Because his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, a look filled with an unreadable intent. He opened his mouth and said something, but no sound reached me through the glass. I asked him a few more questions, but he just watched me with that same unnerving gaze from the auction, offering nothing more. It was a letdown. I suppose I couldn’t expect much. He was a “failure,” after all. He could have been human once, or maybe just a fish. But if he was modeled on a human, then whoever possessed that face before the experiment must have been a walking cataclysm. 3 Over the next few days, I went to see him a few times. He either stared at me, motionless, or was nowhere to be found. The novelty began to wear off. I’d expected a wild hawk that needed breaking, but he seemed to have been tamed almost instantly. It was boring. My interest waned, and I stopped visiting the lounge. Until the night of the full moon. It hung high and heavy in the sky, a perfect silver disk. I was drinking alone on my terrace when one of my men rushed in, breathless, to report that the merman had vanished. Annoyed, and with a pleasant buzz from the scotch, I made my way down the winding staircase to the aquarium lounge. The moment I stepped onto the gallery, I saw him. He was there, hovering on the other side of the glass, watching me. A flare of anger cut through the alcohol haze. “Have I not been feeding the sharks enough lately? Are you all so bored you have to lie to my face?” I snapped, my voice echoing in the vast, quiet space. I jabbed a finger toward the merman. “And you. What are you looking at? Are you some kind of mute fish?” Fueled by liquor and irritation, I stalked toward the glass. I misjudged the small step down from the gallery to the main floor, my ankle turned, and I pitched forward. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But it never came. After a long moment, I hesitantly opened them. A cold dread, sharp and sobering, washed over me, chasing away the last vestiges of my drunken stupor. I was floating. In the water. On the other side of the seamless, impenetrable glass wall was the very lounge I had just been standing in. And then, a pale, cold hand snaked around my waist from behind, locking me in an unbreakable grip. 4 Every nerve in my body went rigid. The primal, exhilarating fear of being trapped in a predator’s den flooded my senses. I’d been drinking in the comfort of my own home, dressed only in a silk nightgown with a light robe thrown over it. The thin fabric was now soaked, clinging to my skin. The robe had a low-cut back, and I could feel the distinct, icy touch of his skin against mine—a coldness that wasn’t human. I didn’t have time to wonder how I was able to breathe underwater, how I wasn’t drowning. The owner of the hand shifted, his head moving to rest beside my shoulder. I felt his breath, damp and cool, against the shell of my ear, the sensation impossibly clear through the water. It was a feeling so alien, so dangerous, it sent a tremor of pure adrenaline through me. I was terrified. I was thrilled. I didn’t dare turn around. This was a merman, a creature of legend known for its deadly siren song. Even as a lab creation, he was an unknown, and I had to treat him with the respect a predator deserved. I fought to control the trembling that threatened to take over my body, my eyes darting around, searching for a reflection. In the dim, blue light, the curved glass wall offered a distorted mirror. The image was surreal. I was floating like a marionette with its strings cut, my dark hair fanning out around me like seaweed, my white silk gown billowing softly against the current. Behind me, the merman was an imposing shadow, his form, including his tail, easily nine feet long. He dwarfed me, caging me completely. One of his arms was clamped around my waist. His cobalt hair mingled with mine, a swirl of blue and black that looked almost tender. In the reflection, his expression was one of lazy, sated satisfaction, his silver tail swaying gently with each breath. He lowered his head, nosing at the side of my neck. I felt the sharp points of his teeth graze the artery there, sending a wave of ice through my veins. What is he doing? Is he going to eat me? A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, none of them fitting the slow, deliberate way he was acting. His other hand, fingers tipped with sharp nails connected by translucent webbing, had already slipped under my robe, tracing patterns over the bare skin of my back. My senses screamed at me to be on guard. I watched his reflection, ready to strike at the first sign of aggression. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine in the warped glass. My heart hammered against my ribs. He knows I’m watching. His expression didn’t change, but I felt a subtle shift in the water around me, an invisible pressure building. My instincts screamed, the hair on my arms standing on end. “What do you want?” I tried to say, the words catching in my throat. I never got them out. I couldn’t even process why I could speak underwater. His free hand shot up, gripping my chin and tilting my head back, exposing the fragile line of my throat to his gaze. And then he kissed me. It was sudden, overwhelming. I raised my hands to fight him off, to push him away, but in that same instant, the world fell out from under me. The strange buoyancy, the ability to breathe—it all vanished. The crushing weight of the water slammed into me. The desperate, burning need for air filled my lungs. Panic set in. My thoughts fractured. Is this considered interspecies harassment? Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, I thought I heard it—the legendary song of the mermen. It was a deep, resonant hum, an ancient summons from the abyss. The language was alien, but I felt a flicker of recognition, a certainty in my gut. He was saying my name. Ava. The world was going dark. The pressure was unbearable. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard the faint, muffled shouts of my men from the other side of the glass. And then, everything went black. 5 When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor of the lounge gallery, right where I had tripped. Several of my men were gathered around me, their faces etched with concern. I pushed them away and scrambled to my feet, my eyes fixed on the empty aquarium. “When you came in,” I demanded, my voice raw, “where was I?” “Right… right here on the floor, Ms. Thorne,” one of them stammered, confused. “Did you see the merman?” I asked, my gaze sweeping the tank again. They exchanged uneasy glances. “No, ma’am.” I stared into the deceptively calm water for a long moment, my thumb brushing against my swollen lips. Without another word, I turned and strode out. I summoned a gene-splicing expert, a jumpy old man who paled when he saw the blood-stained dagger I was cleaning. He nervously launched into a long-winded explanation of the merman’s genetic makeup. “Spare me the lecture,” I cut in, impatient. “Just tell me how he pulled me into the tank. What kind of ability is that?” “I… I have no idea, Ms. Thorne,” the old man stammered, wringing his hands. “Are you certain… perhaps you’d had a bit too much to drink and it was… a dream?” I gave him a look that made him shrink. My men “politely” escorted him out. I sat on the sofa, stewing in my own thoughts, then rose to my feet. I summoned every person on the estate’s staff. “Everyone,” I announced, my voice dangerously calm. “We’re going fishing.” I stood before the glass wall and watched as a team of divers swept back and forth through the massive tank. Half an hour later, they’d found nothing but a few shark teeth, shed naturally during the season change. Not a single trace of him. A cold, humorless smile spread across my face. He was in there. I knew he was. He was deliberately letting them miss him. So, the silver-tailed merman wanted to play games. I’d tried to tame him, and now he was trying to tame me. If it weren’t for the fact that I was on dry land and he was in his element, I would have shown him a thing or two about the cruelty of humans. I ordered the food supply to the tank cut off. I had underwater cameras installed. And I forbade anyone from going near that part of the estate. For days, I watched the monitors. Nothing. The merman remained hidden. Just as I was about to lose interest again, he appeared. He materialized in the center of the main camera’s view, staring directly into the lens. It felt as if he could see me sitting on the other side. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was wild, aggressive, and charged with a wickedness that belonged to some forgotten, malevolent god. My breath hitched. And then I had to admit it. He was, without a doubt, provoking me. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to treat me, Ava Thorne, with such blatant disrespect in my own city. I immediately ordered the divers back in the water to capture him. But by the time they reached the tank, he was gone again. Staring at the empty, blue-lit water on the screen, I laughed softly. “Alright then,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let’s see who tames who.” 6 That night, for the first time in years, my sleep was not a dreamless void. It was filled with a strange, hauntingly vivid dream. In this dream, I was a woman of another time, a formidable privateer captain sailing the high seas. My mission was to chart a new trade route, but a violent storm had thrown my ship wildly off course somewhere in the Atlantic, near the Strait of Gibraltar. After the storm broke, the seas calmed. “Captain,” my first mate said, his voice hesitant as he approached me on deck. “We’ve… pulled something from the water. You should come see it.” His reluctance piqued my curiosity. I followed him below deck, where the crew, who had been huddled together, quickly parted to reveal their find. I stopped short, stunned. It was him. The merman from my tank. But this version of him was in a wretched state, his body covered in deep, gruesome wounds. The dream-version of me, however, was unfazed. She seemed to possess a worldly knowledge of such creatures. She strode forward and crouched beside the barely conscious merman, tilting his chin up with her fingers. She completely ignored the venomous glare he shot her, studying his face with a clinical interest before letting out an appreciative, low whistle. “A foreign merman, is it? Handsome devil. Just my type.” …I had to admit, despite the public setting, that sounded exactly like something I would say and do. This merman, unlike the one in my tank, seemed to have a strategic mind. He knew he was injured, weak, and powerless. So, he simply lay there, limp and unresponsive, allowing himself to be handled. My dream-self knew precisely how to deal with him. She ordered a set of shackles brought forth, forged from what my first mate called “cold iron and silver.” Instead of putting the merman back in the water, she had him chained by her bedside in her cabin. I had to give her credit. On land, it was her territory. How could she fail to break a beast on her own terms? And she was certainly relentless. The dream flashed forward. I saw myself sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a piece of specially prepared fish, trying to coax him. “Hungry? Tell me your name, and you can have it. I know your kind can speak.” The merman lay on the floor, his eyes like chips of ice, radiating a cold, murderous fury. I paid him no mind, even daring to run my hand over his bare torso, stroking the smooth skin as I mused aloud. “Fine, don’t talk. I’ll just name you myself. My name is Ava. You can share it. How about… Ava’s Isle? No, just Isle.” I paused, considering my own brilliance. “A woman of letters and poetry, that’s me. See how artistic that sounds?” The merman, shackled by his hands and tail, could only glare at me, the rage in his eyes so potent it was a physical force. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole. Having satisfied my curiosity for the moment, I offered him some mock comfort. “Don’t struggle. Being caught by me is the best thing that could have happened to you. In your condition, if I threw you back in the sea, you’d be nothing but shark bait.” I paused, a slow, pleased smile spreading across my face. “Now that I think about it, I’m your savior. And since you’re refusing to speak, you can’t thank me with words. You’ll just have to repay me with your body.” I had no idea if the merman understood my words, but I was certainly enjoying myself. Gazing at his impossibly beautiful face, a familiar itch started under my skin. I leaned down, cupped his jaw, and pressed a firm kiss to his thin lips, lips that I knew hid sharp teeth. “Hiss—” He bit me. “So shy,” I murmured, licking the drop of blood from my lip. I looked at his defiant, sneering face and was about to go in for another, more forceful kiss. But just as I reached for him, the morning light flooded my vision. The dream was over. 7 “Son of a—” I woke up snarling, furious at the interruption. But the words died on my lips as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. I froze, not daring to move a muscle. Because I was in the exact same position as in my dream: sprawled on top of the merman. His stunning face was inches from mine, so close I could feel his cool breath ghosting across my skin. But this wasn’t my dream. I was in the water, in his domain, held captive in his arms. Discretion is the better part of valor. I looked from his teasing, observant gaze down to my own empty hands, and offered a weak, ingratiating smile. “Long time no see.” He raised a single, perfect eyebrow. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me even closer. The sudden movement made me lose my balance in the water, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck to steady myself. A low, throaty chuckle vibrated through his chest and echoed in the silent water. I snapped my head up to meet his eyes, saw the amused curve of his lips, and understood instantly what he was doing. He was playing with me. My fear, my small, desperate movements—it was all a game to him. In that moment, I forgot I couldn’t swim. I forgot I was at his mercy. I, Ava Thorne, always repay my debts. My hand, already around his neck, slid up into his cobalt hair, my fingers finding the translucent, webbed fin behind his ear. “You ruined a perfectly good nightgown,” I said, my voice dripping with false fairness. “A little touch for a touch seems only fair, don’t you think?” I gently pinched the delicate membrane, a sly smile on my face. “Nice texture,” I commented honestly. Seeing no aggressive reaction from him, no baring of teeth, that reckless, self-destructive part of me decided to push my luck. My hand slid from his fin to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing over his lips. He caught the tip of my finger between his teeth, a gentle pressure, not a bite. Under his smoldering, predatory gaze, I laughed softly. “Why so gentle? Haven’t you eaten? Or is it possible the great merman knows how to be tender with a lady?” As I spoke, my other hand began its own exploration, gliding over the hard, defined planes of his chest. But this time, I had pushed too far. I had grossly overestimated my ability to operate in his world. It was only later that I would understand the monumental, almost fatal, mistake I had made. The merman was in his mating season, and my foolish provocations had nearly gotten me killed. Or worse. Lost in the intoxicating feel of his skin, I failed to notice the change in his eyes, the deep blue darkening to a stormy, abyssal black. By the time I sensed the shift in the atmosphere, it was too late. His silver tail, which had been swaying lazily, shot out like a whip, coiling tightly around my waist. “What are you doing?” “Hey, where are you touching?” “Whoa, easy there, handsome! Let’s talk about this! Don’t rip the silk!” “Isle! Okay, okay, I won’t touch you! I’m sorry!” “Damn it, I said I’m sorry!” “…”

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My wife, Claire, is the picture of emotional stability. She never checks my phone, never questions where I’ve been. She trusts me completely. All my friends tell me how lucky I am, what a great wife I have—so easygoing, so in love with me. Until, by chance, I stumbled upon her secret blog: “Since it can’t be you, it doesn’t matter who I marry.” “I see it now. Calmness and passionate love can’t exist in the same heart. With you, I was never this calm.” “Thank God our daughter looks like me. That way, when the three of us travel, there’s no shadow of anyone else.” Then I saw the post from our wedding anniversary. The day she took our daughter on an overseas trip with her first love. The day she let our daughter call him “Daddy.” In the blog, she wrote that it was the only way she could pretend he was her husband. Someone in the comments called her story tragic. I thought so, too. So I handed her divorce papers. I told her she could have our daughter. For the first time in our marriage, she became hysterical, screaming at me, demanding to know what more I could possibly want. “Who has it better than you? No man has it this easy! Don’t you dare act like you’re the victim here!” I just looked at her left hand, at the stark, empty space on her ring finger, and my voice was quiet when I replied. “Someone else can have this bargain. I’m done.” “I don’t want a woman whose heart belongs to another man.” 1 My wife, Claire, has her emotions on lockdown. She never checks my phone, never asks where I’ve been. She trusts me completely. My friends all say I hit the jackpot. “An easy-going wife who loves you? You’re living the dream, man.” And I’d smile, a smile that never quite reached my eyes. Tonight was a prime example. One by one, my friends’ phones buzzed with texts from their wives, summoning them home. Mine remained dark and silent. Mark, the last one left, nudged me with his elbow. “Seriously, Ethan. You have no idea how lucky you are. A wife like Claire… most of us would kill for that kind of peace.” I just nodded and finished my beer. After they’d all cleared out, I sat there for a while, draining one last bottle, building up the courage to go home. The house is always dark when I get back, so quiet I can hear the soft, even rhythm of Claire’s breathing from the bedroom. My foot bumped against the recycling bin, sending a clatter of glass through the silence. I froze, holding my breath, hoping I hadn’t woken her. A moment later, the bedroom door creaked open. Claire emerged, shuffling in her slippers, her eyes clouded with sleep. “You’re home,” she said, her voice flat. “Get some sleep. You’ve been drinking, so I’ll go sleep in Maya’s room.” No annoyance. No anger. Not a ripple of emotion. Any other woman would have been furious—me coming home late, stinking of bourbon. Claire didn’t even raise her voice. It wasn’t the first time. I’ve dated other women, I know the little dramas, the playful arguments. Claire had none of that. Her emotional stability was so absolute, it was almost inhuman. But there wasn’t a word of concern, either. I stood there, rooted to the spot, as she walked toward our daughter’s room. The question I wanted to ask, the one I was too afraid to voice, swirled in my throat. It came out as a pathetic, desperate plea. “Claire? I feel a little sick. Could you… maybe make me some tea?” Her hand paused on the doorknob. She looked back over her shoulder, her expression as gentle, and as distant, as ever. “Just go to sleep, Ethan. You’ll feel better in the morning.” The door clicked shut, sealing off whatever else I might have said. The distance between us was more than just a single door. It was an ocean. 2 Claire and I met on what was supposed to be a blind date. Sort of. My actual date was running late. I was sitting at a small table in a crowded Chicago coffee shop when Claire walked up and sat down opposite me. We’d mistaken each other for our respective dates, but when I saw her, I felt a jolt. She was beautiful in a clean, understated way—a simple floral dress, a touch of makeup, nothing more. After a few minutes of confused pleasantries, she looked me straight in the eye and asked a question that short-circuited my brain. “What’s the absolute soonest you could get married?” Somehow, the words, “Whenever you want,” fell out of my mouth. I didn’t even think to ask her why she was in such a hurry. We met that morning and were at the courthouse by the afternoon. Before my brain had fully processed it, I was a married man. It wasn’t entirely crazy; my family had been pressuring me to settle down for years. Our marriage was… polite. We were like courteous roommates. I told myself it was fine, that we just needed time. In an age of swipe-right dating, horror stories of couples who dated for years only to break up were everywhere. I figured we were just doing it in reverse. But I waited. And waited. I waited until our daughter, Maya, was born. I waited for five years. Nothing changed. One night, a junior colleague from work—one who had a very obvious crush on me—texted me after midnight, asking for a ride home from a bar. Claire was lying right beside me in bed. She didn’t so much as stir. I hesitated, then nudged her, asking if she minded. Her answer was chillingly reasonable. “She’s a young woman out on her own. It can be tough. She wouldn’t ask you, a married man, unless she was really in a bind.” She was giving me permission. More than that, she was encouraging me to go. She knew about this colleague’s inappropriate texts. She’d seen them. But she didn’t care enough to even want an explanation. It was then that the cold truth finally settled in my bones. Claire didn’t love me. We could be married for a hundred years, and she would never love me. 3 I woke the next morning to an empty house. Claire and Maya were gone. I stood barefoot in the living room, looking around at the minimalist, grayscale decor. It felt less like a home and more like a showroom, devoid of warmth or life. Claire never cooked. We either ordered takeout or I ate at the office. For the first time, I asked myself if this was the life I really wanted. All I’d ever wanted was simple: a marriage that didn’t feel like a business arrangement, a partner I could argue with and laugh with. Claire wasn’t that person. Just then, my phone rang. It was work. I had to fly to Paris for an urgent meeting. It was a normal part of the job; our company did a lot of international trade. I sent Claire a text to let her know. Hours passed before a single word appeared in response: Ok. I scrolled up through our chat history. It was a long, one-sided monologue. Me sharing funny stories from my day, asking her questions. Her replies, when they came at all, were usually a single word answering only my last question. Once, when the silence had become too much to bear, I’d confronted her. “Why do you never text me back?” I can still picture her, holding a glass of water, her eyes as calm and still as a frozen lake. “We live together, Ethan. We see each other every day. What is there to talk about?” I was speechless. The truth was, she barely spoke to me at home, either. She only ever responded when my “nagging,” as she called it, became too much to ignore. I put my phone down and laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. As I was about to leave, I realized I’d forgotten my passport. I went to the study to look for it, opening the drawer of the old desk. Tucked away in the back, I found an old iPhone, a model from five or six years ago, preserved with meticulous care. Claire wasn’t a sentimental person; she didn’t keep old things. This was out of character. A flicker of curiosity turned into something heavier as I powered it on. The battery was full. She used this. She used it often. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I opened the phone. The contacts list had only one entry: The One I Can’t Forget. My hand trembled as I opened the messaging app. There were thousands of texts, all sent from Claire to this number. The earliest was from before we’d even met. Leo, are you okay? I know you’ll never get this, but I have to send it somewhere. I got married today. He’s… a lot. He always wants things from me. Leo, I’m pregnant. It’s funny, isn’t it? We always talked about having a baby together. Another broken promise. There were more. So many more. The words blurred as the blood froze in my veins. I backed out of the messages, my thumb shaking. I didn’t want to see any more of how Claire had spent our marriage confiding in the ghost of her first love. To her, I was just an annoyance. My thumb accidentally tapped on a blog app. The account was anonymous, but the profile picture was a photo of two hands, fingers intertwined. I knew, with a certainty that hollowed me out, that the other hand wasn’t mine. Claire never took photos with me. Not even a simple snapshot of us holding hands. The blog posts were written in plain English, but they were a language I couldn’t comprehend. It was never going to be you. So it didn’t matter who it was. I’ve learned that true peace and true love can’t live in the same heart. With you, my heart was never peaceful. I thank God every day that Maya looks like me. That way, when the three of us are together, there’s no shadow of anyone else.

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I was in the middle of a livestream, matched with some kid who sounded like he’d just started kindergarten, when I decided to run my mouth. “Alright, kiddo,” I said, my voice dripping with gamer-girl sass, “call me Mom.” My brand-new son promptly lost his mind. “Dad! Dad, I found her! I found my mom!” 1. A dozen question marks exploded in my head. Hello? We’re live here, little dude. Eight hundred thousand people are watching. I’m a streamer who built her brand on skill, not on drama and gossip, okay? “Whoa there, little guy,” I said, trying to backtrack. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to call your dad into this.” But my sweet summer child was completely ignoring me. On screen, his little mage character, a bubbly thing called Sparkle, was just running circles around my hero. “Dad, you have to come see! My mom is right here!” I was speechless. A glance at the chat confirmed they were losing it. A waterfall of laughing emojis scrolled by, someone asking if I was hiding a secret love child. Just as I was frantically trying to deny everything, the Silas on our team—the one who’d been all flashy moves and cocky swagger since the match started—inexplicably joined the weird little ritual. He started circling my character right alongside Sparkle. Then, a message popped up in the public chat from him. A simple, quiet sentence. Yeah, she’s beautiful. 2 Excuse me? If I remembered correctly, the hero I was playing was Grizz, a mountain of a man with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels. The chat absolutely erupted. My temples started to throb. This had to be a setup. I was convinced these two were hired by a rival streamer to mess with me. I made my Grizz stomp his feet and leap out of their little circle of crazy. But just as I landed, the enemy team’s vanguard, a real heavy-hitter, seized the opportunity and slammed me, tearing through my health bar. My ultimate ability was still on cooldown. It was life or death, and in that split second, Sparkle somehow found a way to get right back next to me, spinning again. Silas stood beside us both, his character looking infuriatingly calm. He typed again. Son, does your mother need help? Then my “son’s” voice came through my headset, full of childlike earnestness. “Mom, Dad’s asking if you need help.” “…” I’m not blind! 3 I felt like they were humiliating me. Fueled by a surge of pure spite, I made Grizz jump directly into the enemy’s finishing move, basically committing glorious suicide. With its target gone, the little Sparkle character stood there for a dazed moment before the enemy vanguard sent him back to the spawn point, too. Silas, however, got away. He ran, of all places, straight under an enemy tower. Our team had given up three kills in the opening minutes of the match. Our other two teammates were, justifiably, starting to rage. ThirtyEightAndSingle: Are you three putting on a family drama for us? Is that it? BunnyWithAFang: Grizz, do you even know how to play? Did you buy this high-ranked account? I wanted to cry. I was desperate to prove that I deserved my 800,000 followers. I had to win this game. But the moment I respawned, before I’d even taken two steps out of our base, my dear son was on me again. “Mom, we have a parent-child activity day at my kindergarten tomorrow. Are you coming?” 4 I ignored him. He was persistent. “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” A vein in my forehead pulsed. “No,” I snapped. After I said it, his little character stopped moving completely. I didn’t think much of it, just relieved that the noise had finally stopped. Until a new sound trickled through my headset. It was the sound of a small child trying very hard to cry without making any noise. It was a tiny, muffled sound, like a kitten whimpering, but it struck a chord deep inside me, sharp and painful. For a flash, I was a little girl again, my small hands clutching the cold wood of a coffin, begging my own mother to please, please wake up. “Hey,” I said, my voice suddenly soft. “I… I can’t tomorrow. I’m busy. But maybe next time, okay?” I figured he was just a kid. He’d forget about it in a few days. The crying stopped instantly. About two minutes later, my son, with his character’s two enormous pigtails swinging, came bouncing back to my side. “Mom, there’s a parent-child sports festival next week. I already signed you up.” “…” Does your kindergarten have a mandatory family event every single week? 5 It was ridiculous, right? And where was this kid’s dad in all of this? Too busy farming minions in the jungle to parent his own child? “Uh, listen,” I started, trying to come up with a good excuse. “I’m in L.A. That’s probably too far. I don’t think I can make it in a week.” My son immediately piped up, “What a coincidence! I live in L.A., too!” I wanted to bang my head against my desk. Of all the cities in the country, really? “Right, but I’m in Culver City,” I pushed on, committed to the lie. “That’s probably really far from you, not convenient at all.” He got even more excited. “What a coincidence! I’m in Culver City, too!” I should have just said I lived on the moon. “Well, it still wouldn’t be right,” I said, pinning my last hope on Silas, the dad who had been silently massacring jungle monsters this whole time. He seemed like he had to be the sane one. “Your dad wouldn’t agree to it.” But then Silas typed his reply. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up next Friday. 6 My brain short-circuited. Was that something a normal human being would say? I pretended I was blind, deaf, and dumb. I couldn’t see the chat, couldn’t hear the kid. I just focused on playing my big, burly Grizz. But Silas wouldn’t let it go. He materialized beside me as if out of thin air. Address. “…” I think I have a pretty good temper. I didn’t curse him out. But my rage had to go somewhere, so I unleashed every single one of Grizz’s abilities on him. After the onslaught, Silas just stood there, completely still. For a second, I thought his game had crashed. Then he typed. I’ve slain dragons with a single glance, yet I am undone by a look from you. My Grizz, not to be outdone, automatically triggered one of his own ridiculous voice lines: “Hahahaha! A real man’s battle is right here, right now!” Silas: I have poetry and strong wine. Come with me. Grizz: “Heheheh, boss, I’ve got a thousand ways to cut your salary!” The fans in my stream chat immediately started shipping them. “…” 7 I was frozen, my character locked in a bizarre staredown with Silas. I knew some heroes had special dialogue triggers with each other, but Grizz and Silas? Seriously? What kind of twisted game design was this? I quickly made Grizz jump backward, terrified that if I stayed any longer, a shower of pink hearts would spontaneously erupt over our heads. Silas went back to the jungle, and I thought, with a sigh of relief, that he’d finally returned to normal. Just then, my stream exploded. Someone had gifted me ten “Titan Tributes” in a row, the highest-tier gift on the platform. The sudden influx of cash and hype shot my stream up to the number three spot on the entire site. I was floored, gushing with gratitude as I thanked the generous donor. “Thank you so much to… ‘MyHusband’… for the ten Titan Tributes!” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I squinted at the screen name. This guy was messing with me. But he’d just dropped a serious amount of cash on my channel; I couldn’t exactly call him out. While I was torn between defending my honor and keeping the money, Silas drifted back over to my side. You’re welcome. I didn’t get it, but a second later, he made me understand. Another thirty Titan Tributes flooded my stream, all from the same user: “MyHusband.” A cold, dawning horror began to creep up my spine. Sure enough, Silas typed again. What’s mine is yours. 8 Then I heard my son’s voice, laced with disdain. “That’s it? You’ll never win my mom over being that cheap.” “…” So it really was the flashy Silas player who sent the gifts? Just as my brain was about to melt from the sheer absurdity of it all, my stream was hit with another tidal wave. One hundred Titan Tributes. My son’s voice returned, filled with pride. “For you, Mommy. Go buy yourself something nice.” I just sat there, numb. I didn’t know if I was stunned by the father-son duo’s performance or blinded by the fifty thousand dollars that had just been dropped on my stream. Had I stumbled into a match with billionaires? My fans were going even crazier than I was. The chat was a battlefield of theories. Some thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. Others were convinced the two were shady and had bad intentions. The most ridiculous theory? That I had orchestrated the whole thing myself as a publicity stunt to gain followers. All hell broke loose. Fans started fighting with each other—some defending me, some accusing me, and some just insulting everyone in sight. My chat looked less like a gaming stream and more like a riot. Eventually, a consensus formed. They all demanded that I go to the sports festival to prove my innocence. And at that exact moment, as if on cue, Silas delivered the killing blow. Your son got you a present. He’ll be really sad if you don’t go. Mommy, please come. I haven’t seen you in six years. 9 That father-son tag team took the raging dumpster fire that was my livestream and poured gasoline all over it. I was completely and utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say. Any denial would just make me look guiltier. At this point, the only way out was through. I had to go to this stupid sports day to clear my name. “What’s the name of the kindergarten?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration. I needed to see for myself what kind of institution was raising a child this… talented. DM’d you. See you Friday. I wanted to reach through the screen and shatter his stupid, poetic sword. But the worst was yet to come. The moment I agreed, Silas and Sparkle—that shameless father-son duo—disconnected from the game. They just left. What? What the actual— They left me to face the wrath of my hysterical fans and our two, now apocalyptic, teammates. All by myself. I don’t know what came over me, but for the remaining ten minutes of that doomed match, I found myself apologizing profusely to our other two teammates. None of it was even my fault. What had I ever done to deserve this? To make matters worse, before I could even end the stream, my assistant, clearly afraid I’d back out, posted an official announcement on all my social media. “THIS FRIDAY: TUNE IN FOR A SPECIAL LIVE BROADCAST! DINO-MITE ELLIE AND THE MYSTERY FATHER-SON DUO AT THE KINDERGARTEN SPORTS FESTIVAL!” 10 I stayed completely offline after the stream ended. That night, my parents called me. They said they wanted to see their grandson. Apparently, a gaming streamer making headlines for a secret family was big news. The embarrassment was galactic. After days of agonizing and trying to think of a way out, Friday finally arrived. For the occasion, I’d chosen an outfit consisting of a fluffy, full-body brown bear suit and a giant panda ski mask. To be blunt, I looked like a grizzly bear who had mugged a panda for its face. My agent, however, was ecstatic. He started the livestream the moment we got in the car. It was my first-ever “face reveal,” and after a week of hype, my fans were greeted with the sight of a genetic monstrosity. The chat was not kind. I didn’t care. I was clutching the “treasures” in my bag, my knuckles white, gritting my teeth in anticipation of meeting my so-called son and his father. I was going to give them a welcome they would never, ever forget. 11 The drive was short. The kindergarten was only ten minutes from my apartment. So close, in fact, that I was half-convinced they’d moved there overnight just to mess with me. It’s worth mentioning that the kindergarten had a ridiculous name: The Bumblebee Patch. I’d been sure Silas was punking me, but no, The Bumblebee Patch was a real place. As we pulled up, a man in a full tuxedo approached the car and opened my door. “Miss Ellie, I presume?” he asked politely. “The young master is waiting for you inside.” “…” So, this is how rich people play their games, huh? “How did you recognize me in… this?” I asked, genuinely confused. The butler smiled. “The master said that if someone arrived in a bizarre costume, it would certainly be you.” My agent leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “He knows you that well? Are you sure you haven’t been hiding a man—and a son—from me this whole time?” “…” Honestly? If I weren’t still a card-carrying member of the virgin club, I’d be starting to wonder if maybe I had given birth at some point and, in a fit of madness, abandoned the child. 12 The tuxedoed butler led me, the panda-bear hybrid, into the kindergarten. As soon as we stepped onto the playground, I was mobbed by a swarm of ecstatic children. “Riley, your mommy really came!” “Riley, you’re so cute! Is it because you were born from a panda?” “Riley, where’s your daddy?” “Riley, if your mom is a panda, is your dad a tiger?” “If they have a baby brother or sister, will it be a squirrel?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at their innocent questions. But what I really wanted to know was which one of them was my “son.” The sea of children parted, and a little boy in a tiny, formal suit was pushed forward. He was adorable, but also seriously overweight. A perfect little sphere of a child. Maybe he was trying to match the kindergarten’s name? His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he seemed incredibly nervous. He stammered for a moment before managing a tiny voice. “Mommy, I’m your son. My name is Riley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 13 My heart did a complicated little flip. Looking at this impossibly cute, round child, I had the strangest feeling that maybe I really was his mom. I have zero experience with kids. I racked my brain for something to say. “Do you like lions, tigers, or elephants?” My son thought for a moment. “Elephants.” “Got it.” I nodded, then dug around in my bag. I pulled out a plush, elephant-butt-shaped cushion and plopped it on his head like a hat. “Mommy?” Riley squeaked, confused. “Stand still,” I ordered in my sternest voice. The little guy immediately stood up straight, like a soldier at attention. I was very satisfied. Then, with a twisted grin, I pulled out a giant, inflatable squeaky hammer with “1000 TONS” written on the side and started whacking the elephant butt on his head. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! I chanted as I hammered away. “This one’s for the emotional distress of you calling me ‘Mom’ out of nowhere!” Squeak! “This one’s for all the trouble you caused me!” Squeak! “This one’s for the massive emotional distress of you wasting so much money on gifts for me!” Squeak! “And this one—this is for getting me reported by my own teammates after you rage-quit!” SQUEAK! When I felt I’d gotten most of it out of my system, I saw the poor kid was completely shell-shocked. I quickly took the cushion off his head, patted him gently, and put on my sweetest, kindest smile. “Now, where’s your father?” The boy, ever so honest, pointed towards a large tree in the distance. Only then did I notice a man standing there. Gripping my hammer, I stormed toward him. 14 I swear, my only intention at that moment was to either hospitalize him or, preferably, end him. But as I got closer and his face came into focus—that stupidly, unfairly handsome face—I froze. All the air left my lungs. I spun around and tried to run. I didn’t get far. A hand clamped down on the collar of my bear suit, yanking me to a halt. “And where do you think you’re going?” a voice behind me drawled, thick with amusement. “I-I-I… I have the wrong person.” I struggled, but my collar felt like it was fused to his hand. “No, you don’t,” he said. “I’m Riley’s dad. The ‘Number One Fan’ who you called ‘husband’ on your stream.” I wanted to scream, but I bit it back and forced a strained laugh. “A misunderstanding! It was all a misunderstanding! I’ll give you the money back, right now.” My hands trembling, I fumbled in my bag for the bank card I’d brought just in case and tossed it over my shoulder. A cold chuckle came from behind me. “Trying to pay me off again?” My mind stalled. Again? I wasn’t the one who started this. Before I could figure out what to say, my agent, that beautiful idiot, came charging over with his camera held high. A jolt of panic shot through me. “STAY BACK!” I yelled. But it was too late. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, and the expression on his face morphed from confusion to pure, unadulterated shock. “Holy crap, Ellie!” my agent screamed, his voice cracking. “Your husband is Leo Sterling?!”

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