Category: English

On the day my grandmother Nana was in critical condition, Scott accompanied me back to my small hometown. For a second, I thought he had finally decided to put me first. But at the hospital’s billing counter, he left his phone in my hand when he went to use the restroom. The screen lit up. It was a group chat notification from his friends. “Scott, are you seriously at the hospital with Elly right now?” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out you only agreed to marry her because Aurora refused to see you?” “What’s there to fear? Elly is so easy to handle. A few sweet words and she’ll believe anything.” “Seriously, though. If Aurora comes back, are you still going to marry Elly?” Scott replied two minutes later: “Stop asking stupid questions. If Aurora comes back, this wedding is off.” I stood in front of the payment window, my hands trembling so hard I couldn’t even insert my credit card into the slot. Catherine walked up just then to drop off some food. She caught a glimpse of the screen and let out a sharp laugh. “Well, Elly. It turns out you’re nothing but a placeholder bride, huh?” “And here you are, telling Nana every day how good he is to you. Hilarious. If Nana heard this, she’d jump right out of her hospital bed.” Late that night, as I sat on the bench outside the ICU, I quietly canceled my bridal photoshoot reservation with Scott. Then, I opened my laptop. I took my pending transfer request to Chicago—the one I had submitted just to be closer to him—and changed it to an application for International Medical Relief.

When Scott returned from the billing department, he held a cup of iced coffee. He popped the straw in and handed it to me, his voice soft and gentle. “Drink something first, Elly. The private nurse is watching Nana.” I stared at the coffee cup but didn’t reach for it. In the past, I would have fallen for this gesture instantly. When he was two hours late for our dates, I would make excuses for him. When he refused to make our relationship public, I would tell myself he was just a private person. Only today did I realize it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to love. He just didn’t love me. Seeing me frozen, Scott reached out to brush my hair back. I stepped half a foot away, leaving his hand hanging in the cold air. Catherine stood nearby, watching the drama unfold with a smug smirk. “Come on, Elly. You’re not seriously going to throw a tantrum over some silly guys’ group chat, are you?” “Guys talk big before marriage. You should be throwing a party that you’re even marrying into the Franklin family.” “Did you honestly expect him to treat you like a worshiped goddess?” My face darkened. “Catherine, Nana is still in there.” Catherine shrugged. “I’m just speaking the truth. So what if he has someone else in his heart? He’s still marrying you in the end, isn’t he?” I looked up, my eyes cold. “Shut up.” Catherine gasped, startled, and then rolled her eyes. “The date is set, invitations are sent out. Who are you putting on this show for?” Scott finally sensed something was off. He looked at me, his brow furrowing. “Elly, did you look at my phone?” I handed the device back to him. “Yes, I did.” Scott put the phone in his pocket. I expected him to get angry at me for invading his privacy. Instead, he avoided my gaze, nervously tapping on his Apple Watch to check the group chat. Sometimes I hated having such perfect eyesight. I saw the new message pop up on his wrist: “Aurora just landed in Chicago. Scott, you going to pick her up?” The next second, he tapped a quick reply on his watch. “Stop texting. Don’t let Aurora see this.” A quiet laugh escaped my lips. So, it didn’t matter what I saw. What mattered was that Aurora didn’t see. Hearing my laugh, Scott looked up, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Elly, they were just joking.” “Were the things you said a joke, too?” Scott fell silent. That silence was louder than any confession. Catherine scoffed from the side. “Elly, that’s enough.” “Nana is holding on just to see you get married. If you call off the wedding now, aren’t you afraid you’ll literally kill her?” Slap! A sharp crack echoed through the quiet hallway. Catherine clutched her burning cheek, staring at me in absolute disbelief. “Elly! Are you out of your mind?” I looked at her, my voice dead calm. “Make one more joke about Nana, and I’ll have security drag you out of this hospital.” Catherine’s eyes welled with tears as she turned to Scott for support. But Scott didn’t say a word to defend her. Ignoring them both, I turned and walked into the ICU. Nana hadn’t woken up yet. The oxygen mask covered her face, her breathing so shallow it felt like it could slip away at any second. I sat by her bedside and took her frail, thin hand. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the hospital’s HR portal. 【Your application for International Medical Relief has been submitted. It cannot be withdrawn once approved.】 I tapped “Confirm.” On the bed, Nana’s fingers twitched slightly. I leaned down, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, and whispered: “Nana… I think I need to go somewhere far away.” This time, I was done waiting for someone to choose me.

Nana woke up briefly the next morning. The first thing she did was look for Scott. “Where is Scott?” Scott was in the hallway taking a business call, but when he heard the nurse call him, he hung up immediately and rushed in. He leaned down and held Nana’s hand, his tone perfectly warm and attentive. “I’m here, Nana.” Nana offered a weak, tired smile. “Good. Now I can rest easy.” “Elly has always been too soft. She keeps all her pain to herself. You have to protect her for me from now on.” Scott’s eyes reddened. “I will, Nana. I promise.” As he spoke, his Apple Watch lit up again. It was a text from Aurora: 【I’m back in Chicago. I heard you’re out of town… Is it because of her?】 Scott glanced down. That single glance was enough to shatter what little hope I had left. A few seconds later, he tapped a quick reply: 【No. My fiancée’s grandmother is in critical condition. I can’t leave right now.】 I looked down, the sharp scent of antiseptic stinging my throat. Nana didn’t see any of this. She was still smiling, her voice raspy and faint. “My Elly finally has a home…” I squeezed her hand, not daring to make a sound. The doctor called me into his office shortly after, telling me Nana’s organs were failing and that I should prepare for the worst. When I walked out, Scott was standing by the stairwell, on the phone. “Aurora, don’t overthink it. I really can’t leave right now.” I couldn’t hear what she said on the other end. After a brief silence, his voice dropped to a whisper. “We can talk about the wedding details later. You just got back, just focus on resting.” My footsteps paused at the doorway. Scott turned and saw me, his expression tightening. “Elly.” I walked right past him. He chased after me, grabbing my wrist. “Let me explain.” “Explain what?” I turned to look at him. “Explain that you didn’t stay here for me? Or explain why the wedding can be discussed ‘later’?” Scott pressed his lips together. He was rarely cornered by me like this. I used to be so understanding—so eager to please that if he even frowned, I would be the first to apologize. Catherine, returning with breakfast, immediately shoved herself into the conversation. “Elly, Nana is literally dying in there. Can’t you be a little mature? Do you have to pick a fight right now?” I looked at her. “By ‘mature,’ you mean I should just pretend to be blind?” “So what if a guy has an ex in his mind? Isn’t that normal?” She rolled her eyes. “If you actually had what it takes, you’d make him forget her. If you can’t, accept your place and stop playing the victim.” Scott frowned. “Catherine, shut up.” In the afternoon, Aurora actually showed up. Holding a bouquet of fresh lilies, she stood near the nurse’s station, looking so pristine and out of place in this drab hospital. When Scott saw her, he froze. Aurora looked at me first, a polite, faint smile on her face. “Hi, Elly. I heard your grandmother was ill, so I thought I’d stop by and pay my respects.” I turned my gaze to Scott. “You told her?” Aurora quickly spoke up for him. “Don’t misunderstand, Elly. Someone mentioned it in our mutual friend group.” She turned back to Scott. “Scott used to hate hospitals more than anything. I didn’t expect him to stay here overnight for you.” Those words felt like a slap to my face. I was the one who had been sleeplessly guarding Nana. Yet, the moment Aurora arrived, everyone assumed Scott was the one making the grand sacrifice. Scott said quietly, “Aurora, you should leave.” Aurora’s eyelashes fluttered, looking hurt. “Scott… am I bothering you? Should I not have come?” Scott’s tone instantly softened. “No, that’s not what I meant.” I couldn’t stand to watch them anymore. As I turned to walk away, Catherine whispered in my ear: “See that? They actually look like a couple. You’re just a placeholder trying to force your way into a frame you don’t fit in.” I didn’t look back. That night, my phone buzzed with a refund notification from the bridal shop. A moment later, the coordinator sent a follow-up text: 【Hi Elly, sorry to bother you, but are you sure you want to cancel? 】 【Scott originally booked this exact theme for Aurora a couple of years ago before they canceled. We thought he was finally getting to use it.】 I stared at the screen, my heart sinking into a cold, dark abyss. So, even the wedding theme wasn’t chosen for me. I was just filling a slot that Aurora had abandoned.

Nana passed away in the early hours of the third day. Before she went, she had a brief moment of absolute clarity. Only Scott and I were in the room. She weakly reached out, taking my hand and pulling Scott’s hand over to rest on top of mine. “Scott… Elly is a good girl, but she keeps everything inside.” “Please don’t make her carry things alone anymore.” Scott’s eyes filled with tears. “I won’t, Nana. I promise.” Nana then looked at me, her voice barely a whisper. “Elly, don’t be afraid… Even when I’m gone, you have to live a good life.” The tears I had been holding back finally poured down my cheeks. She passed away peacefully. Scott reached out to hug me, but I instinctively pulled away. His arms hung in the air for a second before slowly dropping to his sides. The funeral was arranged in a rush. My parents flew in from out of town. Their first question wasn’t whether Nana suffered at the end. Instead, they dragged me into a corner of the chapel. My mom whispered urgently, “When is the Franklin family wire transferring the wedding fund? Your father’s business is in a really tight spot right now.” I stared at her. “Nana just died.” Her expression soured. “I know you’re grieving, Elly, but the living still have bills to pay.” “Once you marry into the Franklins, our family will finally be secure.” Catherine, scrolling on her phone nearby, let out a chuckle. “Mom, stop pushing her. Elly is too busy throwing a tantrum at Scott right now.” My dad frowned. “The wedding date is set. All our relatives know. Don’t embarrass us at a time like this.” An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. They weren’t worried about my happiness. They were worried about losing face if I called off the wedding. And, of course, they were terrified of losing their cash cow. At the church, Scott played the part of the perfect, grieving future grandson-in-law, looking even more solemn than my dad. The relatives praised him, whispering about how lucky I was and how Nana had chosen well. On the last day of the funeral services, Aurora showed up again. Scott was stunned when he saw her. “Why are you here?” Aurora said softly, “I wanted to pay my respects to her. Please don’t be mad at me for showing up uninvited, Scott.” The surrounding relatives immediately began to whisper and stare. Catherine leaned in close, mocking me. “Wow, Elly. Even his first love showed up. You sure have a lot of influence as the fiancée.” Aurora walked up to me, her eyes filled with a perfectly practiced look of sympathy. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Elly.” She glanced at Scott. “Scott must be exhausted from these past few days. Try not to make things too hard on him.” I looked at her and suddenly found myself smiling. “Aurora, do you even know whose funeral this is?” She blinked, taken aback. I said, “My grandmother is the one lying in that casket. Not Scott.” Her face went pale. Scott instinctively stepped in front of her. “Elly, Aurora is just trying to be nice.” I turned my eyes to him. “So, her telling me not to make things hard on you is her being ‘nice’?” Scott choked on his words. Aurora’s eyes pooled with tears, looking as though she was the one being bullied. “I really didn’t mean it that way…” I didn’t bother responding. Arguing with them here would only turn Nana’s final send-off into a trashy soap opera. On the drive back to Chicago, Scott insisted on driving me. The silence in the car was suffocating. Finally, he spoke. “We can postpone the wedding. We’ll do it whenever you feel ready.” I stared out the window. “I never said I wanted to do it at all.” The car abruptly screeched to a halt by the curb. Scott’s face was incredibly dark. “Elly, don’t say things you don’t mean just because you’re angry.” “Nana just passed away. I don’t want to fight with you.” “I am completely sober and rational, Scott. Let’s call off the wedding.” He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “Just because of a group chat?” “It’s not just that.” I looked at him and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Scott, I didn’t just decide to leave you out of the blue.” “I’ve just finally accepted the fact that you never truly wanted me in the first place.” I pushed the car door open and stepped out. He jumped out of the car and grabbed my arm. “Elly! Where do you think you’re going?” I peeled his fingers off my arm, one by one. “Anywhere is better than sitting next to you.” That night, Scott called me over a dozen times. I didn’t answer a single one. Finally, one last text lit up my screen. 【Marriage isn’t a game, Elly. We will talk when you’ve calmed down.】 I stared at it for a long moment before replying with my final text: 【There is nothing left to talk about.】 Then, I put his number on Do Not Disturb.

Even after we got back to Chicago, Scott didn’t cancel the wedding preparations. When his mother, Paula, called me, her voice was cold but wrapped in polite condescension. “Elly, Scott told me you’ve been stressed lately.” “We understand you’re grieving, but a wedding is a family merger. It’s not just about you.” I asked quietly: “If Aurora agreed to marry Scott today, would you still want me to walk through your doors, Paula?” The line went dead silent for a moment before Paula’s voice sharpened. “Elly, watch your mouth.” I laughed softly. “Does the truth hurt that much?” Paula clearly didn’t expect me to talk back. Her polite facade shattered completely. “Do you seriously think Scott can’t find anyone else?” “Let me tell you something. The only reason the Franklin family accepted you is because you were quiet and obedient.” “If you keep acting up like this, you’re the only one who’s going to end up embarrassed.” “Then let’s be embarrassed together.” I hung up. That night, I packed all my documents into a folder. My ID, my medical license, my physical exam reports—everything was ready. My colleague, Cole, walked past my desk and stopped when he saw the paperwork. “Are you really going through with the International Medical Relief deployment?” Cole was an ER attending. He was two years older than me, a man of few words but incredibly steady and reliable. I nodded. “The roster is being finalized.” He frowned slightly. “The conditions out there are much harsher than you think.” “I know. But staying here is worse.” Cole didn’t try to change my mind. Instead, he reached into his white coat, pulled out a box of cold medicine, and placed it on my desk. “Supplies are limited over there. Getting sick is a nightmare. Keep this with you.” I blinked, surprised. “Thank you, Dr. Cole.” He looked at me. “Don’t be so formal.” Once the official deployment list was posted, the hospital arranged for us to leave for pre-deployment training immediately. I didn’t tell a soul. On the morning of my departure, the sky was a dusty gray. As I rolled my suitcase into O’Hare Airport, a text from Scott popped up. 【I rescheduled the bridal shoot. You can choose whatever style you want this time. I’ll listen to you.】 I shut off my screen and didn’t reply. As the plane lifted off, I took one last look at the Chicago skyline below. This city held too many of my humiliations, and the ghost of a man I once thought I’d spend forever with. Now, it was all left beneath the clouds. The day after I left, Scott went to the hospital to find me. His car was parked by the curb, the backseat filled with new bridal catalogs. Sensing my usual delay, he finally lost his patience and called my phone. Still, no answer. Frowning, he walked into the ER lobby and stopped at the front desk. “Hi, could you page Elly from the ER? I’m here to pick her up for a wedding appointment.” The nurse blinked. “Dr. Elly?” “Yes, her.” Scott’s tone was casual, as if speaking of something entirely routine. “She’s throwing a bit of a tantrum and isn’t picking up her phone. Just tell her I’m waiting downstairs.” The nurse’s expression turned incredibly strange. A younger resident doctor nearby looked up at him. “Who are you to Dr. Elly?” Scott’s brow furrowed. “I’m her fiancé.” The resident fell silent for a few seconds before speaking in a low voice. “You don’t know? Dr. Elly is gone.” Scott froze. “What do you mean, gone?” “The International Medical Relief team left yesterday. She was in the first wave of volunteers.” It felt like the air was instantly sucked out of the room. The bridal catalogs in Scott’s hand slipped, clattering loudly onto the polished floor. But he didn’t even notice. After a long pause, his throat tightened, his voice cracking. “What did you just say?”

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Ten minutes ago, I was joking with my friend about how my wife had been complaining about a sore back lately. I even told him I was going to sign her up for some high-end private training sessions. But the next second, I spotted her white coupe parked outside a private one-on-one fitness studio. Suppressing my rising doubts, I walked up to the front desk and gave her name and phone number. “Could you check if Olivia has an appointment today?” The receptionist looked up, her eyes darting away as she forced a polite, professional smile. “I’m sorry, sir. We cannot disclose client information.” I stood frozen. A chill ran down my spine. Cannot disclose? That meant she was definitely here. Mark stared at the white coupe in confusion. “Wait, didn’t Olivia say she was out of town on a business trip? What is her car doing here?” Exactly. She supposedly flew out last night and said she wouldn’t be back until this evening to celebrate my birthday. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. No answer. I checked the time: 11:30 AM. “Forget it, let’s just go up,” I said. This high-end private gym was located in the most expensive commercial district in the city. They specialized in one-on-one personal training, physical therapy, and premium athletic conditioning. My lower back had been acting up lately, so Mark had planned to drag me here on my birthday to check out their rehab programs. The elevator doors slid open, and the receptionist greeted us with a polished smile. “Welcome, gentlemen. Do you have an appointment?” “Yes, under Mark—” “No,” I interrupted, gently pulling Mark behind me. “My wife booked it. Olivia Clarkson.” The receptionist hesitated, glancing down at her screen. Then, she looked back up. “I’m sorry, sir. Due to client privacy policies, I can’t confirm any appointment details with you.” My chest tightened.

Mark glanced at me, immediately catching on. A woman who claimed to be out of town suddenly showing up at a high-end private gym? She wasn’t here just to work on her glutes. I took a deep breath and looked at the young woman behind the desk. “Here’s the thing. My wife mentioned she wanted to look into a rehab program for me and told me to come by today to add my name to her family plan.” “My back is really killing me right now. Can I just go sit in the lounge for a bit?” The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m sorry, sir. Without an appointment confirmation, we can’t let you into the member area.” I nodded. “I understand. Could you do me a favor and call her to confirm?” “Just tell her James is at the front desk and ask if she could come out and get me.” The receptionist hesitated for a second. “James?” “Yes. My wife’s name is Olivia.” She typed the name into her system, found the file, and picked up the intercom. My heart leaped into my throat. “Hi, Olivia. This is the front desk.” “A gentleman named James is here. He says he’s here to complete the family registration for the program you inquired about.” “Could you come out to receive him?” There was a long pause on the other end. “Who did you say?” The receptionist turned back to me. “Sir, what’s your full name?” “James Clarkson.” “Got it.” She spoke back into the receiver. “A Mr. James Clarkson is at the front desk. Is it convenient for you to come out?” One second. Two seconds. Just when I thought she had hung up, a voice finally came through. “I’ll be right out.” The call ended. The receptionist smiled professionally. “Mr. Clarkson, you can wait in the lounge.” She was indeed here. But right now, I only knew she was at this gym. I had no idea who she was with. The receptionist wouldn’t tell me. Privacy. Isn’t it ironic? The rules protected her privacy while she was with another man, but didn’t give the betrayed spouse a single warning. My phone lit up. It was Olivia calling. I stared at her name on the screen and hit decline. A second later, a text popped up on SnapChat. “James, my company suddenly arranged a quick meeting near here. Why don’t you and Mark look around? I’ll be down in a minute.” “What did she say?” Mark asked. I turned the screen toward him. He read it, a curse escaping his lips. “Are you kidding me? How can she be so shameless?” He stared at me, looking angrier than I was. “But we still don’t know who she’s with.” I looked at the warm, elegant lighting of the studio and the neat rows of brochures. I took a deep breath. “Who said I was going to ask her right now?” “Then what are you—” “We wait for her.”

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After finding out that Austin gave Chloe a $300,000 pre-wedding gift, Brooke insisted on coming home with me to attend their wedding. In my past life, I didn’t think much of it and brought her along. But the next morning, Brooke ended up naked in Austin’s wedding bed, screaming that Austin had assaulted her. Chloe, who was five months pregnant at the time, was so traumatized that she miscarried on the spot. Austin couldn’t clear his name. He fell into a deep depression and passed away within two years. Brooke, however, used that “accident” to blackmail my parents into accepting her as their daughter-in-law. She moved into the master bedroom that Chloe had lovingly decorated and pocketed the $300,000 that was meant for Chloe. Years later, she looked at me with a smug smile and said: “Maya, the best thing I ever did in my life was going back to your hometown with you.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day Brooke asked to join me. Brooke poked her head out from the next cubicle, her eyes glittering with anticipation. “Maya, I heard that attending weddings brings good luck. My big project is signing next month. Just to be safe, can I come home with you to get some of that good energy?” I swallowed hard, pushing my office chair back with a loud scrape. “I’m so sorry, Brooke. I actually just got a text. Austin called off the wedding.”

The light in Brooke’s eyes instantly vanished. “Called off?!” Her voice went up an octave. Several colleagues nearby turned to look at us. Realizing she had lost her composure, she quickly lowered her voice, squeezing out a worried expression. “Why would they suddenly call it off?” “Is Chloe feeling unwell?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, and nodded. “Yeah, she’s pregnant.” “Austin doesn’t want her to get too tired. They’re just going to sign the papers at the courthouse first. The big party will be later.” Brooke’s eyes flickered, but she quickly put on a sweet smile. “I mean, that makes sense.” “They’re legally married anyway, and she already got the $300,000 wedding gift.” She paused, then asked as if it were just a casual thought: “By the way, Maya, did Austin really give Chloe $300,000?” I looked up at her. She immediately waved her hands. “Don’t get me wrong! I just think Chloe is incredibly lucky.” “Most guys these days complain about spending even thirty grand, but Austin casually gave her three hundred grand.” “Any girl would be blessed to marry a guy like that.” She smiled sweetly. But all I felt was a freezing chill running down my spine. In my past life, she did the exact same thing. First, she praised Austin. Then, she talked about how lucky Chloe was. In the end, she destroyed our family and moved into Chloe’s house. I forced a weak smile. “So, there is no wedding party. You don’t need to come.” The smile on Brooke’s face faded. She lowered her head, nervously playing with the corner of her folder. “It’s fine. I was being too pushy.” “I was just thinking about my big deal next month.” “The client is super superstitious about luck.” “My mom even paid a psychic who said I have a bad aura this year. She said I need to attend a close friend’s wedding to cleanse my bad luck.” “But if it’s inconvenient, forget I asked.” She forced another smile, but her eyes were red, brimming with tears. In my past life, I was fooled by this exact act. I agreed to take her home, which triggered the downfall of my entire family. Seeing her fake tears now only made me sick to my stomach. I rolled my eyes mentally, not wanting to deal with her. But just as I turned to leave, our boss, Vance, walked out of his office. “What project?” Vance frowned as he walked toward us. “Brooke, which project were you talking about?” Brooke looked startled. Her eyes grew redder as she sniffled. “It’s the deal with Mr. Zhang… our team has been working on it for six months…” “I knew he cares about good vibes, so I wanted to attend a wedding to bring some luck to the project… but Maya…” Brooke stopped halfway. Vance, not knowing the truth, immediately turned on me. “Maya, we’re all a team here. Look at Brooke, she’s putting the company first. And you? You won’t even let a coworker tag along to a wedding.” “I’m making the executive decision. You’re taking Brooke with you. The travel expenses will be covered by the company. Just submit the receipt to HR.” Other colleagues immediately chimed in. “Yeah, Maya, it’s just adding an extra plate at the dinner table.” “It’s not like your family has to adopt her.” “If this deal falls through, our team bonuses are gone.” “Don’t be so selfish, Maya.” I tried to explain that Austin wasn’t hosting a ceremony. Brooke’s eyes welled up even more. She whispered: “It’s okay.” “If a wedding is inconvenient, just a casual dinner with the couple is fine.” “I just want some peace of mind.” I was speechless. The colleagues grew bolder, throwing sarcastic remarks at me. Vance even threatened that if the project failed, I would be held fully responsible. Sitting at my desk, I felt suffocated. Brooke was still pretending to cry, but the corners of her mouth twitching upward gave away her triumph. Looking at their faces, I took a deep breath. “Fine. I agree.” “Brooke can come with me.” Vance immediately beamed, patting my shoulder. “That’s more like it! A wedding is about sharing joy, not bad luck. What’s there to be afraid of?” He then turned to Brooke. “Make sure to expense the trip. Clearing bad luck is important. Don’t be cheap about it.” Brooke smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, Boss. I won’t let the team down.” “Wait, I’m not finished yet.” I interrupted them, pulling up a destination wedding ad on my phone, and smiled. “Austin just decided to do a destination elopement. Brooke, you’re welcome to join, but the bride and groom won’t be there. That’s not a problem, right?”

I purposely emphasized the words “the bride and groom won’t be there.” Brooke panicked, grabbing my sleeve. “How does that work? A wedding without the bride and groom isn’t a wedding!” “If Austin isn’t there, how am I supposed to—” She cut herself off. I looked at her, a cold smile on my lips. “Why did you stop? How are you supposed to what?” Brooke’s eyes darted around. She quickly took my hand, acting like the victim again. “Look, I don’t want to make things hard for you.” “The psychic said as long as I can have a meal with the couple, the bad luck will be cleared.” “Maya, we’ve been colleagues for so long. Just help me out this once, okay?” She looked like she was about to cry again. Vance and the others began to frown at me. I laughed. “Fine. I’ll help you out.” Once we arrived in my hometown, I took her straight to a hotel and booked a private dining room. Brooke was stunned. “Aren’t we going to your house?” I shook my head and asked back: “Didn’t you say you just wanted a meal? Austin and Chloe will be here soon.” “Or did you only want Austin to show up?” Brooke’s face flushed with awkwardness. “What… what are you talking about?” A faint blush crept onto her cheeks. “Why would I care about Austin…” I watched her, holding back my disgust, and pushed her into the room. “Great. You’ll have dinner with the couple, and my job is done.” As soon as dinner was over, I would buy her a ticket straight back. I wanted to see how she could trap Austin this time. After ordering, I made an excuse to get some fresh air and blocked Austin and Chloe at the hotel entrance. “When we have dinner with my colleague in a minute, don’t say a word to her. And do not get close to her. Got it, Austin?” Austin looked at me with pure confusion, scratching his head. “Huh? Why?” “Don’t ask questions. Just do as I say.” I then took Chloe’s hand. “No matter what happens tonight, you must stay with Austin. Understood, Chloe?” Chloe’s face flushed red instantly. “Maya, it’s broad daylight. Why are you saying things like that…” “I’m not joking.” I stared into Chloe’s eyes, speaking slowly and seriously. “Listen to me. Tonight, you must stay by Austin’s side. Do not leave him for a single second.” “I’ll explain everything later. Just trust me on this.” Seeing how serious I was, Chloe’s embarrassment faded, replaced by a solemn nod. “Okay. I trust you.” Seeing them agree, I finally let out a sigh of relief and led them into the private room. During the entire dinner, Brooke acted exactly as expected, constantly trying to get close to Austin. She gestured for him to sit next to her. I cleared my throat, and Austin immediately took the seat furthest away from her. She tried to put food on his plate. Chloe frowned, and Austin immediately swapped his entire plate and bowl for clean ones. Then, Brooke brought up the $300,000 wedding gift, her voice dripping with envy. “Chloe, you’re so lucky. Austin is so sweet and generous. He didn’t even mind that you got pregnant before the wedding.” “Unlike me. I’m very traditional. I’ve never even held a guy’s hand…” Chloe was stunned. She turned to me, mouthing the words: “No wonder you told me to watch out for her.” I forced a bitter smile. Remembering how Chloe had miscarried from shock in my past life, my nose stung, and tears threatened to fall. As soon as dinner ended, Austin and Chloe practically ran out of the restaurant as if they were being chased. I immediately booked a train ticket for Brooke and personally escorted her to the station. Only when her figure disappeared into the crowd and the train pulled away did I finally breathe a sigh of relief. This time, things had to be different. Right? I didn’t dare go home that night. I ended up dozing off on a bench in the station waiting room. At 8:00 AM the next morning, my phone rang frantically, jolting me awake. “Maya, Austin is in trouble!”

My mother’s voice felt like a knife stabbing into my brain. I snapped awake and bolted toward the house like a madwoman. When I arrived, the front yard was already packed with people. Our relatives, Chloe’s family, and nosy neighbors—dozens of people were crowding around, whispering and shouting. Some were gossiping in hushed tones, some were crying, and others threw complicated, pitiful looks at me. I pushed my way through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs, a loud buzzing in my ears. Inside Austin and Chloe’s bedroom, Brooke was lying in the middle of the bed completely naked, clutching the blanket to her chest as she cried. Austin stood by the side of the bed. He was still wearing the pajamas Chloe had bought him, his face deathly pale. Chloe stood nearby, holding her pregnant belly, her eyes red and swollen. She was clearly still in shock. Seeing me, Austin’s eyes welled with tears, and he rushed over. “Maya! Maya, please explain to them! I didn’t do anything… I swear I was sleeping next to Chloe last night… I don’t even know how this girl got here…” Brooke screamed: “You’re lying! You texted me last night saying Maya left something for me and told me to come get it! When I got here, you… you did this to me! If you don’t believe me, look at this!” She pulled down the blanket to reveal a sharp bite mark on her shoulder. Austin’s voice went hoarse from screaming. “I didn’t do that!” “Then who did?” Brooke looked up, her eyes as red as a rabbit’s. “Could I bite myself on the shoulder?” The crowd erupted into whispers. Some gasped, some pulled out their phones to record, and others started shouting insults. “The poor girl is crying like that, and you’re still lying!” “His fiancée is five months pregnant, and he does this? He’s going to hell!” Chloe’s family looked furious. “You piece of trash!” Chloe’s dad, Mr. Davis, punched Austin in the face, his eyes wild with rage. “This is my daughter’s wedding house! How could you… how could you…” His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor. “Dad!” Chloe screamed, grabbing her stomach as large beads of sweat rolled down her face. “My stomach… it hurts so bad…” My parents panicked. My mom held Chloe, crying hysterically. “How did this happen…” My dad tried to help Mr. Davis up, but Chloe’s relatives shoved him away. He crashed into the wooden table, groaning in pain. But he didn’t dare complain. He just kept bowing and apologizing. My dad, who had lived a dignified life, was now bending his spine, wishing he could bury his head in the concrete. Austin’s voice was completely hoarse. His palms were bleeding from clenching his fists so hard as he pleaded: “I really didn’t touch her…” Brooke cried even louder, a look of desperate resolve on her face, acting like a victim with nothing left to lose. “Fine! Since you won’t admit it, call the police! Let them handle it!” “I’ll make sure you rot in jail…” She reached for her phone, and the crowd started murmuring again. “If they call the cops, how many years will he get?” “His life is completely ruined.” “Well, he brought it on himself. It’s sexual assault. Who knew he was such a monster?” The comments kept coming. The light in Austin’s eyes slowly died, replaced by a hollow, lifeless stare. He knew that no matter how much he explained, nobody would believe him. My mom bit her lip until it bled, almost falling to her knees. “Please don’t call the police… please…” My dad seemed to age ten years in an instant. Watching this scene play out, my mind spun. How? I had sent Brooke away. Why was this still happening? Why wouldn’t she leave our family alone? I slowly turned my gaze to Brooke. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes, though she quickly masked it with a look of fake martyrdom. “If you don’t want me to call the police, there is another way. He has to marry me. And I want the same $300,000 wedding gift. My reputation is ruined anyway, who else would marry me now…” “No way!” Austin roared, his eyes bloodshot. “Then I’m calling the cops. You will pay for what you did,” Brooke sobbed. My parents’ shoulders slumped even further. The room fell into a tense, suffocating silence. At that moment, I finally spoke. “Fine. We agree.” Brooke’s face lit up with joy. “You agree to let him marry me?” I shook my head, my voice so calm it made everyone think I had lost my mind. “No. We agree to call the police.” “Maya!” My mom shrieked, looking at me in disbelief. I grabbed her hand, keeping my grip firm and steady. “Mom, trust me.”

Hearing that I wanted to call the police, Brooke’s body trembled. Not out of fear, but excitement. It was as if everything was going exactly according to her plan. In my past life, Brooke did call the police. With the scene, the physical evidence, and the “witnesses” all pointing to Austin, he was arrested on the spot. The lawyer said he was looking at at least twelve years. My parents couldn’t take the shock. Their hair turned white overnight. In the end, they had to beg Brooke for mercy and accept her as their daughter-in-law. Remembering my past life, I clenched my fists so tight my nails cut into my palms, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Ignoring my parents’ begging looks, I called the police. Ten minutes later, two officers arrived. “Move aside. What’s going on here?” The officers pushed through the crowd and entered the room. “Who called?” Before I could speak, Brooke burst into loud, dramatic sobs. “Officer! You have to help me! I was assaulted…” She loosened her grip on the blanket, deliberately showing the bite mark on her shoulder, crying hysterically. If I didn’t have the memories of my past life, even I would have been fooled by her acting. My dad closed his eyes, unable to watch. My mom’s hand was shaking in mine. The officer walked over, examined the bite mark on Brooke’s shoulder, and then looked at Austin. “Do you have anything to say?” Austin’s face was pale, his voice cracked. “I didn’t touch her. I was sleeping with my fiancée last night. She got up to use the restroom in the middle of the night, and when I woke up, this woman was next to me.” “I swear, I didn’t touch her!” Chloe had recovered slightly and spoke up weakly: “He’s telling the truth. I went to the bathroom last night, but when I came back, the bedroom door was locked.” “I didn’t have my phone on me… and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I just slept in the guest room. I had no idea this would happen…” Chloe closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. The officer frowned. “So, you don’t have an alibi for the rest of the night?” Austin’s face went completely white. The officer turned to the crowd. “Did anyone else see anything?” The crowd exchanged looks. Suddenly, our next-door neighbor, Mr. Miller, spoke up. “Last night… I saw Austin pulling a woman into the yard…” “The girl looked like she was resisting… and she wasn’t pregnant… Now that I think about it… it must have been her.” Mr. Miller pointed at Brooke. “You’re lying!” Austin roared. “I didn’t see anyone last night! I was asleep in my bed! You’re making this up!” “Why would I lie?” Mr. Miller crossed his arms, sounding self-righteous. “It’s not my reputation on the line. Why would I lie to the police?” “Do you think everyone is like you, cheating on their pregnant fiancée? Disgusting!” With that statement, the case seemed clear. The officer looked at Austin with disgust, then turned to Brooke, his tone softening with pity. “What do you want to do, ma’am?” Brooke looked up, her tear-filled eyes looking incredibly fragile. “It’s simple. Everyone saw what happened. My dignity is gone. If Austin doesn’t marry me, I don’t want to live anymore.” “So, either he marries me and I drop the charges, or… I’ll press charges and send him to jail. I’ve never even been married before…” Austin clenched his teeth so hard they nearly shattered. “In your dreams!” My mom dropped to her knees. “Please, spare my son…” Brooke ignored her, continuing to sob quietly. The officer sighed and pulled out his handcuffs. “Alright, Austin. You’re coming with us…” “Wait!” I stepped forward, blocking the police from Austin. “Brooke, let me ask you one more time. Are you absolutely sure my brother assaulted you?” Brooke didn’t understand why I was asking, but she answered with firm conviction: “Of course! I barely even knew Austin before this. If he didn’t force me, why would I risk my own reputation to make this up?” Good. Very good. I smiled, wiping away the tears that had been falling since I entered the room. Pointing at the stuffed bunny on top of the wardrobe, I said loudly: “Everyone! The moment I got back yesterday, I placed a hidden spy camera inside that stuffed bunny.” “Whether Austin brought a woman in last night, or whether he touched Brooke, it was all captured on video!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432642”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

We were getting ready to buy a house and get married, so the real estate agent showed us a crappy, 30-year-old fixer-upper that fit my budget. Chloe lost her mind right on the spot. She accused the agent of looking down on us. All of her friends lived in luxury high-rise condos. She threatened to break up with me if I dared to buy this run-down dump as our future home. Just as I was about to smooth things over and suggest we look elsewhere, a raspy, ancient voice suddenly echoed inside my head: “This girl has absolutely no eye for value! I’ve got 160 ounces of solid gold stashed inside these walls. That’s enough to buy ten of her friends’ luxury condos!” “Opportunity is literally slapping them in the face, and they’re throwing it away. No wonder they’re bound to be broke forever!” My entire body went stiff. I stared at the wall separating the living room and the bedroom, wondering if I was having a full-blown auditory hallucination. That wall was indeed noticeably thicker than the other walls in the apartment. 160 ounces of gold. At current market prices, that was worth nearly half a million dollars! Chloe shoved my shoulder. “What are you spacing out for? I am not living in this dump!” I snapped out of it. Marcus, our agent, was still standing there with a strained, polite smile. “Ma’am, I know it’s a bit old, but the location is unbeatable. It’s just five minutes from the subway, in a great school district, and most importantly, it’s a steal…” Chloe cut him off instantly. “A thirty-year-old piece of garbage? Eight hundred thousand dollars for barely 550 square feet? You call that a steal?” Marcus looked incredibly awkward. Chloe glared at me. “I’m putting my foot down, Ethan. If you buy this trash heap as our wedding house, we are done. I refuse to be the laughingstock of my friend group!” I opened my mouth to comfort her, but that raspy, old voice popped up again: “Hah! What a bunch of blind fools. I’ve also got three million dollars in cold, hard cash stuffed in the kitchen ceiling! With the gold in the walls, that’s a fortune. And they’re complaining about my house being old?” “Birds of a feather really do flock together. The girl is blind, and the guy is a spineless wimp. A match made in heaven!” My knees buckled. I almost fell to the floor. Three million dollars in cash in the ceiling?! I couldn’t help but glance upward. This was an old building, but a cheap drywall ceiling had been installed. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Marcus quickly stepped closer to me. “Sir, do you actually think the place has potential? The elderly owner is in a rush to sell. Her late husband was a senior accountant for a major multinational firm before he retired. He was a great guy, but he passed away suddenly and didn’t leave a will.” “The old lady is terrified of living here alone. She’s moving to Europe to live with her daughter, which is why she listed it so cheap. Market value is easily over a million.” An accountant? How did he get 160 ounces of gold? And why hide it in the walls? “What about the rest of the family?” I asked. “Just the one daughter. She’s already settled abroad. It’s not easy for her to fly back. The old lady said everything left in the house is a bonus. Furniture, appliances—do whatever you want with them. She’s not taking anything.” My heart skipped a beat. So the gold in the walls and the cash in the ceiling… were considered “bonuses”? Pretending to inspect the apartment, I strolled over to the thick wall and knocked on it twice. It sounded dull and hollow. Marcus chimed in. “The best thing about these old apartments is that you can remodel the layout easily. This wall between the living room and bedroom isn’t load-bearing. Knock it down, and you double the size of the living area. It’ll look brand new.” Afraid he’d notice my suspicion, I quickly pulled my hand back and walked into the bathroom, pretending to check the pipes. “Is the price negotiable?” Marcus’s eyes lit up. “Eight hundred thousand is already rock bottom. But man, if you’re seriously interested, I can talk to her and see if she’ll shave off another twenty or thirty grand.” Chloe stared at me in absolute disbelief. “Ethan, are you insane? Are you seriously thinking about buying this trash can?” “Can’t you see the paint peeling off the walls? The bathroom is microscopic, and the kitchen doesn’t even have a window! Do you honestly think this is all I deserve?” I opened my mouth, wanting to explain, but there was no way I could tell her about the hidden treasure in front of the agent. Just then, the old voice spoke up again, dripping with mockery: “Still trying to haggle? Do you have any idea how many people are eyeing my place?” “That bastard Derek next door—he tried to marry Arthur’s daughter years ago just to bleed them dry and steal their estate. He failed back then. But now that Arthur is gone, he’s coming for this house. He’s scheduling a viewing tomorrow. If you let him snatch it, don’t come crying to me!” My brain went entirely numb. The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them: “I actually love this place. Let’s sign the contract today.”

Marcus immediately started rummaging through his bag for the paperwork. “That’s amazing! If we sign today, we can finalize the paperwork tomorrow!” As soon as the words left his mouth, a loud, aggressive knock rattled the front door. Marcus went to open it. Standing in the doorway was a short, middle-aged man in his thirties wearing a navy windbreaker, holding the arm of an elderly woman with silver hair. “Derek? What are you doing here today?” Marcus gasped. Derek pushed his way inside, his eyes scanning Chloe and me. “The lady wanted to take a look today. We were worried tomorrow might be too late. The place isn’t sold yet, right?” Marcus looked embarrassed. “Well… actually, Ethan here is already negotiating. He’s very serious.” “Don’t waste your time,” Derek cut in smoothly. “I’ll add fifty grand. Eight hundred and fifty thousand, all cash. I can wire the money today.” The old voice in my head instantly panicked: “I told you! That piece of garbage Derek! Years ago, he begged to be a live-in husband, but Arthur saw right through him. Now that Arthur is dead, he’s sniffing around the house. What is he planning? Does he know Arthur left a secret stash?” Adrenaline rushed straight to my brain. “I’ll add two hundred thousand!” I yelled. The room fell dead silent. Chloe stared at me like I had grown a second head. Marcus’s jaw practically hit the floor. Derek let out a mocking sneer. “You? You can pull a million dollars out of your pocket?” Marcus looked torn. “Derek, Ethan was here first…” Derek patted his jacket pocket. “I have eight hundred and fifty thousand ready to go on my card right now. I’m just worried the guy who got here first is all talk and no cash.” I clenched my fists. I only had fifty thousand dollars in my savings. The rest would have to be borrowed. But thinking about the gold in the walls and the millions in the ceiling… “I will have the full amount ready within three days. Let’s sign the contract now.” Derek gave me a cold glare. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you sign and can’t produce the cash, you lose your deposit.” Marcus quickly added, “That is the policy, Ethan. Are you sure you don’t want to think it over?” Chloe finally snapped. She grabbed my arm, dragged me out into the hallway, and hissed under her breath: “Ethan, are you out of your mind?! A million dollars for this dump? Where are you going to get a million dollars? Has this agent completely brainwashed you?” Looking at her furious, tear-stained face, my mind raced. Should I tell her the truth? Would she even believe me? “Chloe, please trust me just this once. This house actually has…” “Has what?” Tears finally spilled down Chloe’s cheeks. “We’ve been together for three years, and you can’t even afford a decent apartment. My friends’ husbands all bought them brand-new, luxury places. I didn’t hold that against you, but now you’re forcing me into this disgusting, crumbling dumpster! If you sign that paper, we are done. I mean it!” She turned on her heel and ran down the stairs. When Marcus handed me the pen, my hand was shaking. After signing the papers and stamping my thumbprint, Marcus tucked the contract away, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re a man of action, Ethan! We’ll start the process tomorrow. Just make sure the full payment is wired within three days.” Derek sneered at me on his way out. “You’re willing to ruin your relationship over this trash heap? Did you find something hidden in here?” My chest tightened. The old voice laughed in amusement. “This dog actually has a good nose. Does he suspect there’s gold in the walls…?” I took a step forward, blocking his view, and pointed to the vintage, hand-carved wooden bed in the bedroom. “I won’t lie to you. I bought this place for that bed.” “That’s a rare antique,” I said, pretending to be an expert as I patted the wooden frame. “If it’s authentic, it’s worth more than the entire apartment.” Marcus’s cheek twitched. “Sir… are you serious?” “Anyway, the contract says everything left in the house belongs to me. This bed is mine now. No one touches it.” Derek’s eyes flickered with suspicion. He walked over to inspect the bed, running his fingers over the carvings. His brow furrowed as he looked back at me. I didn’t give him another second to think. I ushered both him and Marcus out of the door. “Alright, I’m heading out. See you tomorrow morning to finalize things.” I rode my bike down two blocks, pulled over by the curb, and called Chloe. On my seventh try, she finally picked up. “Did you sign it?” “Yeah.” After three seconds of silence, she let out a bitter laugh. “Ethan, we are over.” “Chloe, listen to me! Last night I had this crazy dream about my grandfather. He told me that inside the walls of this apartment, there is…” Before I could finish, she hung up on me. I let out a heavy sigh. Fine. If she didn’t believe me now, she would once I dragged the gold out and threw it at her feet.

By 11 PM, unable to sleep, I snuck back into the dark apartment through the fire escape. I clicked on my flashlight and pulled a metal detector out of my backpack. Crouching in front of the thick wall, I pressed the sensor against the plaster. “Beep. Beep. Beep.” My hand trembled. I moved the sensor to different spots. The top of the wall was silent. The middle gave a weak signal. But the lower I went, the sharper and louder the beeping became. I collapsed onto the floor, my back drenched in sweat, a manic grin spreading across my face. There really was something in the wall. I sat in the pitch-black living room, laughing like a lunatic. With this money, I’d never have to work another day in my life. Who cared about a breakup? Once I showed Chloe the money, we could buy ten luxury penthouses. But my smile quickly faded. I had signed a contract for a million dollars. I had to pay it in full within three days. I had fifty thousand. I was still short by nine hundred and fifty thousand. The gold was in the wall, and the cash was in the ceiling. But without the keys and ownership, I couldn’t start demolishing the place. Where the hell was I going to get nearly a million dollars in three days? I stared at my contacts on my phone. I stopped at the name Zach—a high school classmate who now ran a high-interest payday loan business. When the call connected, Zach stayed silent for a few seconds. “Bro, are you getting scammed? That run-down apartment complex is barely worth half a million.” “Just help me out with this. You set the interest rate.” Normally, I would never dare touch hard money lenders, but this was different. In three days, the keys would be mine, and I’d tear that wall down the very same night. With millions of dollars waiting for me, what was a high-interest loan? The day the funds cleared, my dad called me, furious. “Ethan, have you lost your mind?! Zach called and said you took out a massive loan to buy a property? Since when do you flip houses?” “Your mother hasn’t slept a wink! Our family has always lived honestly, step-by-step. You’ve been brainwashed by some slick agent! Cancel the deal and get our money back right now, do you hear me?!” I gripped my phone tightly and said nothing. My dad cursed a few more times before slamming the phone down. Finally, the three-day deadline arrived. I wired the million dollars to Marcus, received the deed and the keys, and immediately changed the locks. I shut the door, pulled the curtains tight, and prepared to dig.

At 6 PM, Chloe showed up. She stood at the doorway, her eyes red and puffy, her voice shaking. “Your dad called me. He said you took out a massive, dangerous loan to buy this trash heap. Ethan, are you mentally unstable?” “Come inside,” I said softly. “Come in, and I’ll show you why.” She hesitated for a few seconds, biting her lip, before stepping inside. I dragged her over to the thick wall, knelt down, and pressed the metal detector to the base. “Beep. Beep. Beep.” Chloe froze. “What is that?” “A metal detector.” I looked up at her. “There’s something inside this wall.” Her mouth fell open. “So… your dream was real?” “Yes,” I lied smoothly. “I had to make sure, so I tested it. There’s definitely something here. I’m breaking it open tonight. If it’s gold, we are getting married tomorrow, buying a penthouse, and leaving all your snobby friends in the dust.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she threw her arms around my neck. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered against my chest. “I found out two days ago. I was going to get an abortion after we broke up…” She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. “Ethan, please don’t let me down.” “I won’t. Everything changes tonight.” By 9 PM, the neighborhood was completely quiet. I pulled a sledgehammer and a crowbar from my bag. Chloe sat on the dusty sofa, nervously wringing her hands. Before raising the hammer, I looked at the wall and whispered, “Sir, forgive me. Once I get the money, I’ll remodel this place beautifully.” But the old voice didn’t reply. A sudden wave of anxiety hit me. But I quickly brushed it off. The detector had beeped. It couldn’t be a mistake. I swung the hammer with all my might. “SMASH!” A huge chunk of plaster shattered, revealing red bricks underneath. I dropped the hammer and clawed at the bricks with my bare hands, sending debris showering to the floor. The space behind the brick wall was completely hollow. My hands froze in mid-air. “Where’s the gold?” Chloe asked, peering over my shoulder. I didn’t answer. Like a madman, I tore away the remaining bricks. The hole got wider and wider, revealing a completely empty space inside the wall. There was absolutely nothing there. “This is impossible…” My voice trembled violently. Chloe’s hopeful expression drained into a ghostly pale. “Ethan, stop joking. This isn’t funny.” I grabbed the crowbar and began violently smashing the kitchen ceiling. The thin drywall shattered instantly, showering my head and face in thick white dust. I reached my hand inside the gap, feeling around frantically. Nothing but dust. It was completely empty. I collapsed onto the pile of shattered bricks and drywall, my entire body shaking. Chloe stood nearby, covering her mouth as tears seeped through her fingers. “Ethan… where is the gold?” I opened my mouth, but my face was dead white. “Chloe, listen to me…” She snapped. She wiped her tears aggressively. “Ethan, I’m getting the abortion. Have a nice life!” She turned and bolted out of the apartment. I sat alone in the ruins of the living room. The gaping hole in the ceiling stared down at me like a hollow black eye. The room smelled of thick dust and old mold. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was my dad. I answered, only to hear my mother’s hysterical, sobbing voice: “Ethan, come to the hospital right now! Your father had a massive heart attack!” “The doctors said he needs emergency surgery immediately, and we don’t have enough money for the deposit…” The phone slipped from my hand, the screen shattering on the concrete floor. “But the detector beeped… how could there be nothing…” I mumbled to the empty room. I stared blankly at the demolished wall. Just as I was about to sink into complete, numbing despair, that familiar, raspy voice echoed in my head once again. And what it said made my adrenaline surge, freezing me in place.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432643”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was forced to kneel on the floor, using a pin to alter my husband’s mistress’s evening gown. My knees pressed against the cold marble floor, and an old injury throbbed as if shattered bones were grinding together. Ethan Smith stood nearby, gazing at Amber Rose with unmistakable tenderness. Those same eyes had once looked up at me as he knelt before me, swearing that if he ever cheated again, he would give up his inheritance. Now, all he said was, “It’s the first time she’s ever loved something this much. I just want to give her the best.” The needle pierced my fingertip. A drop of blood bloomed across the hem of the gown. Lowering my eyes, I quietly wiped away the blood. The only thought in my mind was this: Next week, while my flight takes off from Paris and Ethan escorts Amber down the red carpet at Milan Fashion Week, the court’s divorce papers will arrive on his phone right on schedule. Chloe POV Ethan Smith spent an entire year chasing Amber Rose, a rising young model. Over the past year, his gifts to her, from diamond necklaces to luxury yachts, had constantly made headlines in New York. And now, he was spending a fortune to host a solo fashion show for Amber. He wanted her to shine on the runway at Milan Fashion Week next week. To make that happen, Ethan actually came to me, asking to borrow a few custom gowns from my studio. One of the gowns Amber had her eyes on was my masterpiece. I had spent three years designing and crafting it for the upcoming International Fashion Design Competition. But Ethan didn’t care about my hard work. He brushed it off like it was nothing. Seeing my silence, Ethan’s face darkened slightly. “You have designed so many dresses, Chloe. Missing one won’t hurt you. You can just use another piece for your competition.” “But Amber is different. She just started modeling. The major luxury brands won’t lend her their couture lines yet.” I swallowed the bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. But in the end, I couldn’t help but let out a cold sneer. “Well, Ethan, you can buy her a yacht. Why not just buy her a custom couture gown? Surely, the great Ethan Smith isn’t getting cheap now?” A no-name model like Amber could only rent out-of-season designs from three years ago, even with her agency’s best efforts. Sure, Ethan could buy her a brand-new season runway piece. But wearing retail luxury would only make his new mistress a laughingstock in the elite fashion circle. He obviously didn’t want that. But if Amber wore an exclusive piece from a rising, award-winning independent designer like me… The next day, her PR team could spin it as her having “unique, sophisticated taste,” solidifying her image as an elegant muse. Ethan’s expression hardened. His voice turned ice-cold. “Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum.” “A tantrum? I am your legal wife. Why would I waste my energy being angry at a mistress? Am I right, Ethan?” I looked at him, my eyes filled with nothing but cold detachment. I didn’t know if Ethan was too arrogant, or if he truly didn’t care. How could he possibly think that I could watch my own husband publicly chase another woman and feel absolutely nothing? Ethan frowned, as if suppressing his annoyance. He softened his tone slightly, trying to sound gentle. “Chloe, no one can ever take your place. You will always be Mrs. Smith.” “This is the first time I’ve genuinely liked a girl this much. I just want to give her the best.” I almost laughed out loud. Looking at the deeply emotional man in front of me, I felt a wave of absurdity. Five years ago, when I wanted to marry Ethan, his grandfather, Arthur Smith, was dead set against it. To prove my worth, I was locked in the freezing, damp cellar of the Smith estate, kneeling on the icy stone floor for three days and nights without food or water. During those three days, Ethan stood outside the locked door, crying with me. He swore to God that if he ever betrayed me, he would deserve to burn in hell. My knees were ruined that week, leaving me with chronic joint pain that could never be cured. Yet, just two years later, he cheated on me for the first time. Back then, I threw my wedding ring in his face and demanded a divorce. Ethan went crazy. He self-harmed and even crashed his sports car into a guardrail just to force me to show up. He bought a private island, knelt before me, and cried, promising that if he ever looked at another woman again, he would forfeit his inheritance to the Smith empire. I thought he genuinely couldn’t live without me. So, I agreed to take him back. But only two years had passed, and he was doing it again. My understanding, my gentleness, and my quiet compliance… In Ethan’s eyes, they had all become boring and taken for granted. Meanwhile, Amber’s wild defiance and constant rejections had reignited his urge to conquer. I forced down the rising bitterness in my chest and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So I should thank you for keeping me as Mrs. Smith? Do I need to help you win over your mistress too?” The faint smile on Ethan’s lips vanished. He stared at me blankly. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing my brow down to my jawline. Suddenly, he squeezed hard, making me gasp from the pain. Then, he uttered cold, harsh words. “Have the dress delivered next week. I’ll write a check to double the investment in your studio.” My eyes welled with tears from the physical pain, but I just smiled silently. Ethan’s patience was thin. This was his warning sign before a blowout, and I knew better than to push him right now. But beneath my sleeves, my fists clenched so hard that my nails dug deep into my palms. Ethan let go of my face and turned to leave without another word. The moment the front door slammed shut, I took out my phone and made a call. “Grandpa Arthur, I’m divorcing Ethan. Please arrange my departure as soon as possible.” On the other end of the line, Arthur Smith let out a long sigh, but agreed immediately. “No problem, Chloe. I’ll have everything ready for you.” After hanging up, I opened my email. There lay an acceptance letter from the Paris National School of Decorative Arts. Without a second thought, I clicked the “Accept Admission” button.

Chloe POV The more Amber acted distant and proud, the hotter the passion burned in Ethan’s eyes. He turned his gaze toward me, where I sat quietly in the corner of the studio. “Chloe has a gentle heart. She won’t mind,” Ethan said smoothly. “Take Amber to the fitting room and try the dress on. See what needs to be adjusted.” I twitched the corner of my mouth, said nothing, and stood up. “Miss Rose, follow me.” The moment the fitting room curtain pulled back, even Ethan, who was used to seeing beautiful women, had a flash of awe in his eyes. The dress hugged Amber’s slender figure perfectly, complementing her cold, aloof vibe. It made her look like an ethereal fairy. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He walked over to her, his eyes filled with intense possessiveness. “You look beautiful.” Amber rotated her wrists, but her brows knitted together slightly. “It is a beautiful dress. But the waist is too tight, and the train is a bit too long. It’s uncomfortable to walk in. I have to take huge steps, which completely ruins my posture.” Hearing her complaints, Ethan didn’t think she was being difficult. Instead, he comforted her gently and turned to order me: “Chloe, fix it for her. Adjust it until she’s comfortable.” The room went dead silent. This dress was my masterpiece for the international competition. Every single seam, every proportion was the result of countless calculations. If I altered it to fit Amber’s body, the original structure of the design would be completely ruined. More than that, Ethan was asking me, his legal wife, to act as a personal tailor for his mistress. It was humiliating. I didn’t move. I just stared at Ethan. Ethan’s brow furrowed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “Adjust it for her.” He was absolutely sure that I wouldn’t dare defy him right now. My fingers curled tight inside my sleeves. Finally, I let out a self-deprecating laugh, grabbed the pins from my sewing kit, and slowly knelt on the floor. The moment my knees touched the cold marble, an icy pain shot straight into my bones. This was the permanent damage left from kneeling in that freezing cellar for three days just to marry him. Once, during the winter, Ethan would cup my knees with his warm hands, his eyes red as he begged me to forgive him for letting me suffer. But now, he stood there, completely indifferent, watching me kneel at another woman’s feet. Seeing me kneel so submissively, Amber looked slightly uncomfortable and took a half-step back. “Mrs. Smith, you don’t have to do this yourself…” “Hold still, Miss Rose,” my voice was calm, completely devoid of emotion. “I am a designer. Altering clothes is part of my job.” I kept my head down, focusing all my attention on pinning the hem of Amber’s skirt. I did a sloppy job. In fact, I was practically ruining my own artwork. But this dress didn’t belong to me anymore. I didn’t want it. Ethan stood by, looking at Amber with warm eyes, occasionally glancing down at me. His voice softened. “Chloe, if Amber wins an award in this dress, it will be great publicity for your studio too. Don’t overthink this.” I didn’t reply. My hands trembled as a sharp pang of pain shot through my knee joints, distracting me. The sharp pin in my hand slipped and stabbed deep into my thumb. A bead of bright red blood welled up instantly. Without even flinching, I casually wiped the blood onto the inside lining of the dress, hiding the stain in the deepest, darkest fold of the fabric. “Done.” I stood up. But because I stood up too fast, my vision went black, and I swayed on my feet. Ethan saw me stumble and instinctively reached out to catch me. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amber watching. Remembering how much Amber hated my status as his wife, he pulled his hand back. I caught his retreating motion, laughing silently at myself. To show his loyalty to his mistress, there was truly nothing he wouldn’t do. “The fabric of this dress is very delicate. Make sure to steam it before wearing it,” I advised flatly, purely out of professional habit. Amber looked at me with her usual haughty expression. But in front of Ethan, she managed a nod. “Thanks.” Ethan let out a sigh of relief, thinking I was finally being “obedient.” He wrapped his arm around Amber’s waist and led her out of the studio. The moment the door closed, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Grandpa Arthur’s lawyer: “Miss Chloe, your divorce petition has been fast-tracked and approved by the court.” “Your plane ticket and enrollment paperwork for Paris are all set.” I stared at the screen, slowly closing my eyes. I wiped the remaining smear of blood from my finger onto the cold marble table. A soft smile played on my lips as I looked in the direction Ethan had gone. I felt completely at peace. I was actually a little curious. Next week, when Ethan realized he was single again… How would he react? Probably not at all. Our love had died a long time ago anyway.

Chloe POV I had no idea how I managed to drag myself out of the studio and back to the penthouse. The moment I unlocked the front door, the icy pain I had been suppressing all day finally exploded in my joints. It felt like thousands of frozen needles were biting into my knees. Thud. My legs gave out completely, and I crashed heavily onto the cold floor. A cold sweat broke out over my forehead instantly. As I lay there, pale and trembling, trying to crawl toward the medicine cabinet under the table, the electronic lock on the front door beeped. Ethan walked in. He was back earlier than I expected. His charcoal grey suit carried the damp chill of the autumn rain outside. He saw me collapsed on the floor. His movements paused as he took off his shoes, his brow furrowing. “Why are you on the floor?” His tone was still gentle, but carried a hint of exasperation. “Are you still throwing a fit about pinning the dress earlier?” I was so pale my face was bloodless, cold sweat dripping down my cheeks. My voice shook with every breath. “Ethan… my knees. The chronic pain is acting up. Please… get me my medicine box…” Ethan just stood there, looking down at me. There was no panic in his eyes, only cold detachment. “Chloe, I only asked you to adjust a dress,” he said slowly, draping his suit jacket over the back of the sofa. “Don’t use self-harm to get my attention. The floor is cold. Get up by yourself.” My chest felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton, making it heavy and painful to breathe. Before I could say another word, Ethan’s phone on the sofa buzzed violently. He picked up and answered right in front of me. In the quiet living room, the driver’s panicked voice came through clearly: “Mr. Smith! Miss Rose insisted on getting out of the car on the coastal highway! She refused to take your car and won’t let me follow her!” Ethan’s calm face instantly shattered. “Keep an eye on her! Follow her slowly! I’m coming right now!” He hung up without a second thought, grabbed his jacket from the sofa, and turned to rush out. “Ethan…” Using the last of my strength, I dragged myself forward and grabbed the hem of his trousers. My knuckles turned white from the sheer effort. Ethan’s footsteps stopped. He looked down at his gripped trousers, then at my pathetic state on the floor. He knelt down slightly, reached out with his long fingers, and grabbed my wrist. Then, one by one, he forced my fingers off his pants. “Chloe, she’s out in the rain,” Ethan said, his voice steady and flat. “She’s too stubborn. If I don’t go, she’ll walk in the storm until morning before she ever asks anyone for help.” He pried my thumb away and stood up straight. “You know how to take care of yourself. Take some pills and go to sleep.” He looked down at me, his eyes showing a touch of cruelty. “Babe, don’t make trouble for me right now.” With that, he threw his coat over his arm, turned around, and walked out the door without looking back. The heavy front door clicked shut. I collapsed back onto the cold floor, staring at the closed door. Amber was walking in the rain, refusing his car and his men. Yet he was frantic, terrified she would catch a cold, rushing to find her. Meanwhile, I was lying here, in too much pain to even crawl, and he abandoned me. I didn’t shed a single tear. I quietly listened to the roar of his sports car engine fading into the rainy night. Slowly, I let my stiff fingers relax. Looking at my empty palms, I let out a soft, relieved laugh.

Chloe POV I dragged myself through the long, agonizing night on the cold floor. It wasn’t until daylight broke that the worst of the bone-crushing pain in my knees finally subsided. Drenched in sweat and exhausted, I pulled myself onto the sofa and swallowed two strong painkillers. Just then, my phone vibrated. Ethan’s name flashed on the screen. I answered. There was no question about how I was doing after last night. “Did you see the news? Come to the office immediately.” His voice was laced with obvious frustration. I leaned back against the sofa, my voice weak from the night of agony. “What happened?” “Someone snapped photos of me picking Amber up on the highway last night. Now the internet is saying she’s my mistress,” Ethan said coldly. “This is going to ruin her show next week. You need to clear this up.” My grip on the phone tightened. The wound on my thumb from yesterday’s pin prick was red and swollen, throbbing painfully. “How do you want me to clear it up?” “The driver is outside your door. Just come to the office. PR has the statement ready for you.” Before I could answer, he hung up. Half an hour later, I arrived at the Smith Group headquarters. Dragging my legs, which were still numb with pain, I walked into the VIP lounge of the executive suite. The room was already packed with cameras and reporters. Ethan was standing in the corner. My eyes followed his gaze. Amber was sitting on the sofa, looking as cold and aloof as ever. She was flipping through some runway materials, seemingly annoyed by the drama surrounding her. Ethan stood beside her, whispering something to her with absolute tenderness. When the PR director announced that the live stream was about to start, Ethan stood up and walked over to sit next to me on the love seat. He glanced at my pale face and whispered in a voice only I could hear, “Amber’s reputation can’t be ruined. This show is crucial for her.” The live stream started. The flashbulbs were blinding, and the reporters’ questions were sharp: “Mrs. Smith, reporters photographed Mr. Smith and Amber acting intimately last night. Is it true that Amber has come between your marriage?” Before I could speak, Ethan reached over and squeezed my hand tightly as it rested on my knee. He squeezed with immense force. His palm pressed directly onto my swollen, injured thumb. The wound that had barely clotted split open instantly. Sticky blood rushed out. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up my arm straight to my brain. I shivered violently from the pain. But Ethan didn’t notice a thing. He looked directly at the cameras, smiling warmly. “Those rumors are completely false.” His voice was firm and confident. “My wife, Chloe, is an incredibly talented independent designer, and Miss Rose is a key model we are collaborating with.” Ethan turned his head slightly, looking at me with deep affection. But beneath his amber eyes lay a cold, demanding threat. “Isn’t that right, Chloe?” The throbbing pain in my hand intensified as blood seeped into the cracks of Ethan’s fingers. Looking at the man in front of me, a wave of nausea washed over me. Suppressing both the pain in my hand and my knees, I forced a perfect, elegant smile. “Yes,” my voice was calm and steady. “Both my husband and I highly appreciate Miss Rose’s talent. The rumors of her being a mistress are completely baseless.” With that single statement, the PR crisis was instantly resolved. The moment the live stream ended and the cameras turned away, Ethan let go of my hand immediately. Without glancing at my bloody fingers, he stood up and walked straight toward Amber in the corner. “It’s done,” he said softly, his voice full of warmth. “Everything is cleared up. Come on, let me take you out to eat.” Amber closed her folder and stood up, her face still cold. “No thanks, Mr. Smith. I have a photoshoot later.” She walked right past him and headed out the door. Despite being ignored in public, Ethan wasn’t angry. Instead, a helpless, indulgent smile crossed his face. He didn’t even look back at me as he quickly followed her out. In the massive lounge, I was left entirely alone. I sat on the sofa. Looking at my bleeding thumb, I suddenly felt a strange sense of relief. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and slowly wiped the blood from my hand until it was completely clean. Then, I unlocked my phone and opened the chat with Arthur’s lawyer: “What time is my flight?” The lawyer replied instantly: “Monday morning, 9:00 AM. Private hangar.” I locked my screen and stood up slowly. What a coincidence. That was the exact same day Ethan was taking Amber to Milan for her big red-carpet debut.

Chloe POV As soon as the press conference ended, Amber went up to the rooftop to shoot her promotional posters. Ethan demanded that I accompany them. His reason was non-negotiable. “You’re the designer of the dress. If anything goes wrong with the gown during the shoot, you need to fix it immediately.” It was freezing on the rooftop. My thin clothes offered no protection against the biting wind, and every step I took felt like walking on knives. After only two setups, Amber suddenly stopped and glared at her hemline with frustration. “What’s wrong?” Ethan rushed over, his voice dripping with worry. “The seam is ripped,” Amber complained, her cold face twisting with annoyance. “I can’t shoot like this. I’m leaving.” She turned toward the elevator. Ethan grabbed her wrist, soothing her gently. “Don’t be mad. I’ll have it fixed right away.” He turned his gaze toward me, standing in the corner. “Chloe, come sew this up.” I looked at the dress. It was obvious that the seam had been intentionally snipped with scissors. I didn’t call her out. I just walked over and said calmly, “She needs to take it off first. Otherwise, the tailoring will be ruined.” “No way. Taking it off and putting it back on takes too long. It’ll ruin my flow,” Amber rejected instantly. Ethan looked at me and said, “Just sew it while she’s wearing it. Work around it.” I looked at Ethan, finding the situation utterly ridiculous. Sewing it while she wore it meant I had to kneel on the ground to reach the hem. “My hand was injured and got infected last night. I can’t hold the needle steady,” I said, showing him my swollen, red thumb as a final plea. Ethan frowned, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes. He didn’t seem to think my injury was a valid excuse. His tone remained smooth, but his words were merciless. “It’s just a couple of stitches, Chloe. Don’t make everyone stand in the cold waiting for you.” I looked at him, and suddenly, I smiled. Without saying another word, I pulled out my needle and thread, slowly bent my knees, and knelt at Amber’s feet. The moment my knees hit the concrete roof, a sharp pain shot through me. Cold sweat instantly soaked my back. My fingers were so stiff they barely worked. I struggled to hold the tiny needle, forcing it through the heavy fabric. The wind grew stronger. Amber shivered. “Are you done yet? I’m freezing.” Without a thought, Ethan took off his heavy designer coat and wrapped it tightly around Amber. He used his own body to block the freezing wind, shielding Amber completely in his arms. Meanwhile, I knelt at their feet, bearing the brunt of the icy wind alone. Ethan didn’t spare me a single glance. All his attention was on Amber, asking her softly if she was still cold. My fingers grew completely numb. My hand slipped, and the sharp needle plunged deep into my thumb again. Blood welled up instantly, staining the inside of the skirt. “What are you doing?!” Amber gasped. “Don’t get blood on my dress!” Ethan finally looked down. Seeing the blood on my hand, there was no worry in his eyes, only annoyance. He felt like I was ruining his moment with Amber. “Wipe the blood off and finish it quickly,” Ethan said coldly. I said nothing. I quietly put my thumb in my mouth, sucked the blood away, and went back to sewing. For ten agonizing minutes. When I finally bit the thread off and used the wall to pull myself up, my legs were completely numb. “Done.” I didn’t look at either of them. Dragging my stiff body, I turned and walked toward the elevator.

Chloe POV For the next few days, Ethan didn’t come home. Occasionally, I saw headlines of him and Amber attending high-society parties together. I also heard he was making meticulous preparations for Amber’s upcoming runway debut. But I didn’t care about those mocking news articles anymore. Whenever I had free time, I researched my upcoming courses at the Paris school. I couldn’t show up completely unprepared. Grandpa Arthur’s lawyer sent me my flight details on Sunday evening. But unfortunately, because of the freezing wind on the rooftop, I came down with a high fever on Saturday night. I had always been sensitive to the cold. Now, my body fluctuated between burning hot and freezing cold. My head throbbed painfully. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to board the flight on Monday. I lay weakly in bed, lacking even the strength to open my eyes. The bedroom door pushed open, and Ethan walked in, wheeling a suitcase. He walked over to the closet and began packed his clothes methodically. He didn’t even notice my pale, sweaty face. Only then did I remember that Monday was also the day Ethan and Amber were leaving for Milan. The grand fashion show he spent millions on. I closed my eyes. My heart no longer felt pain. Only a dead, numb silence. “Ethan,” I squeezed out the last bit of my strength to look at the man in his pristine suit. “I have a fever. Can you get me a glass of water?” Ethan paused his packing. He turned around, walked to the bedside, and touched my forehead. “Why don’t you take better care of yourself?” A weak, humorless smile touched my lips. Yes. If a woman doesn’t even love herself, how can she expect anyone else to love her? I used to be so stupid. But I never would be again. Ethan frowned. He was about to get me some water when his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, Ethan answered immediately. Within seconds, his voice grew anxious. “How could she just disappear? Wait for me, I’m coming right now.” “Don’t worry about the flight on Monday. Everything will be fine.” Hanging up, Ethan zipped his suitcase closed. He quickly poured a glass of water, tossed some flu medicine on the nightstand, and looked at me with a mix of guilt and impatience. “Remember to take the medicine. I have an emergency. I’ll fly straight to Milan on Monday. Let’s celebrate our anniversary when I get back.” I was a bit dazed. Right. Our wedding anniversary was in a few days. He actually remembered. But I had completely forgotten. I didn’t ask him to stay. I watched him turn around and leave the penthouse without hesitation. As the front door locked, the entire place fell into a grave-like silence. I lay there quietly, feeling the fever drain the moisture from my body. After a long time, I slowly raised my hand, looking at my wedding ring. When Ethan slid this ring onto my finger years ago, he swore that if he ever betrayed me, he would lose everything. I slowly slid the platinum band off my ring finger. Then I rolled over, closed my eyes, and drifted into a heavy sleep. The next day, my fever went down a bit. I got up to clean the place. Because tomorrow was not only the day Ethan and Amber flew to Milan… It was also the day I would leave him forever and fly to Paris. I didn’t waste a single second. I dragged out several heavy black trash bags. Everything Ethan had given me over the years, I threw away. I didn’t even touch the millions of dollars worth of jewelry in the safe. I simply texted Ethan’s assistant to have them cleared out tomorrow. I only packed the things I had brought with me. In the study, I found the sketches of the custom tie clips I had designed for Ethan over the years. I fed them into the shredder without hesitation. Finally, I stood in front of our massive wedding portrait in the living room. I calmly smashed the glass frame, pulled the photo out, and set it on fire. Suddenly, the front door lock beeped. Ethan walked in. He was in a rush, probably having forgotten something. His footsteps stopped dead in the middle of the living room. He looked at the two packed suitcases on the floor, then at the ashes of our wedding portrait still smoldering in the trash can. His brow furrowed tightly, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Chloe, you use this trick way too often. It’s getting old.” His tone was still calm, but carried a condescending smirk. In his mind, my packing was just another desperate attempt to get his attention. Two years ago, when I threw my ring and packed my bags, he had begged on his knees. Now that I was doing it again, he just found it annoying. I zipped up my last suitcase, not even looking up at him. “My things are packed. I didn’t take a single thing of yours.” Ethan adjusted his cuffs and walked over to me. “Are you really going to keep throwing this tantrum just because of the Milan show?” He sighed. “This show is incredibly important to Amber. I have to be there. Be good, okay? When I get back next week, we’ll talk.” “No need,” I said, lifting my suitcase. “We have nothing to talk about.” Ethan’s face darkened completely. I knew he hated this quiet, detached version of me the most. “Fine,” he snatched his forgotten documents from the table and walked toward the door, his voice cold. “Just a reminder: the Smith family trust meeting is next Wednesday. As Mrs. Smith, you are required to attend.” He was absolutely sure I wouldn’t leave. He was sure I would show up next Wednesday, standing meekly by his side as his perfect wife. I looked at his back and gave him a perfectly calm reply. “Okay.”

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When the earthquake hit, I quickly dragged Chloe out through the back door of the motel. By the time we made it to the front street, covered in dust, we saw Mom and Dad kneeling in front of the half-collapsed building, crying hysterically. Just as we were about to run over, a firefighter turned around and yelled: “There are two girls trapped under here, but we can only pull one out first!” Without a second of hesitation, Mom screamed back: “Save the older one first! Please, save Chloe first!” Dad held Mom’s shoulders tightly, his voice trembling but firm: “Yes, save Chloe first! She’s always been weak, she can’t hold on much longer!” Hearing that, my hand, which was halfway raised to call out to them, froze in mid-air. Chloe pushed past me and ran toward them, shouting: “Mom! I’m here! I’m okay!” Mom looked up, her eyes lighting up instantly. She threw her arms around Chloe, sobbing. “My sweet girl! I thought I’d lost you forever!” Dad’s eyes were red, too. He rubbed his hands together anxiously, looking Chloe over. “Are you hurt anywhere? Does it hurt? Let me carry you to the doctor!” From beginning to end, not a single person looked back at me. I stood right behind them, barefoot, covered in blood, looking like a total mess. Finally, a paramedic noticed me and walked over. “Where’s your family, sweetie?” I looked at the three of them, huddled together and crying, and smiled faintly. “I don’t have any family. I came here alone.”

“Doctor, please check my daughter! She just scraped her arm on some falling debris!” In the medical tent, Mom’s frantic voice drowned out the groans of the other injured people around us. She held Chloe’s wrist tightly, pushing her toward the triage desk. Chloe was wearing a clean windbreaker. Aside from a bit of dust on her hem, she only had a tiny red scratch, less than an inch long, on her left forearm. It wasn’t even bleeding. The ER doctor looked up, his face exhausted. “Ma’am, you can just grab an antiseptic wipe from the station next door. Please clear the space for the severely injured.” “How can you say that?” Dad squeezed in from behind, looking furious. “Do you know how fast bacteria mutate these days? What if she gets tetanus?” “Chloe has always had a weak immune system. You can’t just brush us off like this.” Chloe shrank behind Dad, pulling gently on his sleeve. “Dad, I’m really fine. I just brushed against the door frame when I ran out.” “You were still traumatized, sweetie,” Mom said, stroking Chloe’s hair lovingly. She pulled an unopened bottle of Fiji water from her bag and handed it to her. “Here, drink some water to calm your nerves. When I saw that building collapse, my heart almost stopped.” I sat on a plastic stool less than two yards away from them. Blood was dripping from the bottom of my right foot. When we ran out, I was in such a hurry that I lost one of my sneakers. Stepping on shattered glass and sharp rocks, a deep, jagged gash had been ripped open across my entire right sole. The flesh was torn open, caked with dirt and gravel. A young nurse walked over to me with a trauma kit and gasped. “Sweetheart, this needs stitches. Is your family here? Someone needs to hold your leg down. It’s going to hurt without local anesthesia.” I looked down at the metal basin of saline water, which was quickly turning red with my blood. “No need,” I said quietly. “I can hold myself down.” The nurse hesitated, looking over at the three people fussing over Chloe just a few feet away. “Aren’t those your parents? You look just like them.” “No,” I said, lifting my right leg onto the sterile stand. “Please just stitch it up quickly. I’m in a hurry.” The nurse didn’t ask any more questions. She tore open the gauze and began cleaning the wound. A sharp, blinding pain shot straight to my brain. I bit my lower lip, refusing to make a sound. This wasn’t the first time. When I was eight, a massive blizzard hit our town overnight. Chloe and I both came down with a high fever at the same time. Our family only had one old truck back then, and the engine wouldn’t start. Dad spent forever trying to get it running in the freezing snow. Mom wrapped Chloe in layers of heavy blankets, carried her to the front seat, and then turned to me. “Nora, be a good girl. Just stay under the covers and sweat it out. You’ll be fine.” “Chloe is too fragile. If her fever stays this high, she’ll get pneumonia. We have to take her to the hospital first.” That night, I lay alone in a freezing room until dawn. By the time they returned the next morning with Chloe, whose fever had broken, I had already lost consciousness. I ended up on an IV drip in the hospital for a whole week. Instead of feeling sorry, they blamed me for kicking off my blankets at night, calling me a difficult child who always caused trouble. It was no different now. The nurse’s needle pierced my skin, pulling five stitches through the flesh. Sweat poured down my forehead. I grabbed a paper towel and wiped it away. By the time I hopped on one foot to the pharmacy counter to get my antibiotics and limped back, the three of them were already walking out of the tent. Dad was carefully guiding Chloe by her shoulder. Mom was holding a cotton swab, still gently dabbing ointment on a scratch that had already disappeared. I limped behind them, keeping a distance of about fifteen yards. “There’s a shuttle bus for evacuees up ahead. We’ll head back to the city and check into a hotel first,” Dad said, pointing toward the intersection. Chloe nodded. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she stopped and turned around. “Wait, where’s Nora? Everything was so chaotic, I didn’t see where she went.” Mom followed her gaze and turned around. She finally saw me standing under the streetlamp, barefoot on one side, with my jeans soaked in blood. Her brow furrowed instantly. “Nora! Where on earth have you been idling around?” “Everyone is trying to evacuate, and you’re running off causing trouble! You even managed to lose a shoe!” Dad looked equally annoyed, walking over to tower over me. “Chloe is already shaken up. She doesn’t need you making her worry.” “Hurry up and get in line. Stop wasting everyone’s time.”

There was a long line in front of the shuttle bus. With so many people evacuating the disaster zone, the bus was packed in no time. When it was our turn, the driver blocked the door. “Only three seats left. The last person to board will have to stand.” Dad turned to look at a tired Chloe. “Chloe just went through a shock. She needs to sit down and rest.” Mom immediately chimed in, her tone matter-of-fact. “I get motion sickness easily, so I need a seat too. And David, your back has been acting up. You can’t stand for a three-hour drive on these mountain roads.” Instinctively, all three of them turned their eyes to me. I looked down at my right foot, which was wrapped in thick, white gauze. “Nora,” Mom said, softening her voice with her usual coaxing tone. “You’re young and healthy. Standing for a bit is nothing. Chloe was terrified today. Just let her have this, okay?” Dad urged from behind, “Get on the bus, Nora. People are waiting behind us. Don’t hold up the line.” Chloe tugged at my sleeve, looking apologetic. “Nora, why don’t you take the seat? I think I can manage.” Mom immediately pulled her back. “Manage what? You’re so fragile. If you stand for three hours, you’ll end up sick again.” “Nora has always been tough. She’ll be fine standing.” I looked at them, but didn’t say a single word. Gripping the handrail, I dragged my right foot—the one with five fresh stitches—onto the bus. I walked all the way to the aisle of the very back row and grabbed the overhead strap. The bus started. The mountain roads were winding and rough, causing the bus to sway violently. I had to shift all my weight onto my left leg, keeping my right foot slightly off the floor. But the rough motion kept bringing my injured foot into contact with the rubber floor. Every bump sent a sickening wave of pain straight up my leg. Through the reflection in the window glass, I could see the front rows. Mom was peeling a snack for Chloe, feeding her. Dad took off his jacket and gently draped it over Chloe’s lap. They were talking in soft, comforting whispers, soothing her. Not once did anyone turn around to check on me. No one even asked where the blood on my jeans had come from. During my junior year of high school, I won first place in the National Physics Olympiad. The award ceremony was held in the state capital, and parents were required to attend. I had placed the invitation on the living room table two weeks in advance. Mom had smiled and promised me back then: “Of course we’ll go. We’ll even buy you some new clothes as a reward.” But on the morning of the ceremony, Chloe complained of a mild headache. It was just a slight cold. Yet, Mom panicked instantly. She grabbed the thermometer and called Dad to take the day off. I stood in the living room, my backpack on, watching them run around in circles. “Mom, we need to leave. Our train departs in forty minutes,” I reminded her. Mom poured hot water for Chloe, not even turning her head. “Nora, Chloe is sick and needs us. You’ll have to go by yourself.” “But the advisor said a parent has to sign the registry.” “Just explain it to your advisor. Tell them there’s a family emergency. You’ve always been independent, Nora. You can handle this little thing on your own.” That day, I was the only student on the stage without a parent in the audience. Holding my trophy, the flashing lights from the cameras felt blinding and cold. When I got home, they were huddled around the TV, watching a comedy with Chloe. Their laughter spilled out through the cracks of the door, sounding incredibly loud. Suddenly, the bus slammed on its brakes. I lost my balance, and my right foot crashed heavily onto the floor. The stitches tore instantly. The blinding pain made my vision go black. I leaned heavily against the back of a seat, taking deep breaths for a long time before I could stand straight again. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out with one hand. It was an email from a university abroad. Dear Nora Vance, We are pleased to inform you that your exchange student application has passed the preliminary review. Please log into the portal within three days to confirm your final decision. Once confirmed, we will mail your visa documents and official acceptance package. I stared at the text in silence. Three months ago, I had secretly submitted this application. A full scholarship, with a two-year exchange program at the London School of Economics. It was my ticket to completely escape this place. In the front row, Chloe seemed to hear the commotion and turned around. “Nora, are you okay? That brake was so sudden.” Mom’s voice quickly followed. “She’s fine. She just needs to hold on tight.” “Chloe, stop turning around. It’ll make your motion sickness worse. Just close your eyes and sleep.” I tapped my screen, turning it off, and slipped the phone back into my pocket. “I’m fine,” I said, offering Chloe a small smile. “Go to sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

The bus dropped us off in front of a high-end restaurant downtown. Dad had booked a private room in advance, claiming they needed a fancy dinner to wash away the “bad luck” of the earthquake. I dragged my bleeding foot, slowly walking at the very back of the group. Several relatives were already waiting in the private room. Having heard about our narrow escape, they had rushed over to see us. “Oh, Chloe! Look how pale you are, you poor thing!” Aunt Beatrice gasped the moment she saw Chloe, pulling her into a tight hug. “I know,” Mom sighed, sitting down next to Chloe. “This child has never experienced anything so terrifying. When that building collapsed, I thought I was going to lose my mind.” “Thank God she’s safe. Chloe is truly blessed.” The relatives chimed in, praising Mom and Dad for being such dedicated parents. The room went quiet for a second when I pushed the door open and walked in. “Oh, Nora is back safely too,” Uncle Frank said dryly, his eyes falling on my jeans. “What happened to your leg? Why is there so much blood?” Dad was busy looking at the menu and didn’t even look up. “She probably just tripped. She never looks where she’s going anyway. Don’t worry about her, let’s order.” I sat down at the empty seat at the very edge of the table. The waiters started serving the food, and every single dish was seafood. Lobster, raw oysters, garlic shrimp. I didn’t eat shellfish. When I was twelve, I ended up in the ER with severe anaphylactic shock because Mom forced me to eat shrimp. Since then, I stayed far away from all shellfish. But in this family, that detail didn’t matter. Because Chloe loved seafood. “I can’t eat this,” I said, putting down my fork. Dad slammed his glass onto the table, his face turning dark. “Nora, what is your problem now?” “Today is a celebration for Chloe’s safe return. Everyone is happy, and you have to ruin the mood with that miserable face?” “We let you slide at home, but in front of your aunts and uncles, do you have no manners at all?” The atmosphere in the room froze instantly. The relatives exchanged glances, trying to defuse the tension. “David, come on. The girl just survived an earthquake, she’s probably still scared.” “Yeah, Nora is just quiet. Don’t get mad at her.” I sat quietly in my chair, listening to their labels. Quiet. Stubborn. Difficult. These were the labels I could never shake off at this table, or in this family. My phone vibrated in my pocket again. I pulled it out. It was an automated reminder from the university system, letting me know I had forty-eight hours left to confirm my enrollment. I opened the browser and typed in my credentials. Do you accept the offer for this exchange program? Once confirmed, this action cannot be undone. A dialogue box popped up in the center of the screen. I looked at the two options, my thumb hovering over the screen. “Nora,” Mom’s voice broke my thoughts. She pulled a debit card from her purse and slid it across the table. “This earthquake was a wake-up call. Your dad and I decided to sign Chloe up for some trauma therapy sessions once we get home.” “The sessions are quite expensive, so you won’t be going to your prep courses next month. Your grades are stable anyway; you can just study on your own.” She spoke casually, as if delivering a completely insignificant piece of news. “Take this card tomorrow and withdraw some cash. Oh, and stop by the mall to buy Chloe some new outfits. Hers got ruined in the debris.” I looked up from my phone screen to the debit card. This was my worth to them. Whenever they needed to weigh their options, I was always the one to be discarded, sacrificed, and treated as a tool. I took a quiet breath. My thumb pressed down firmly on Confirm. Enrollment confirmed. Thank you for your response. The green text flashed on the screen and then vanished. I locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket. “Okay,” I said, picking up the card and putting it in my other pocket. “I’ll go tomorrow.” Seeing how quickly I agreed, Mom’s expression softened a bit. “Make sure to box up the leftovers after dinner. Don’t let them go to waste.”

By the third day after we returned home, the living room was filled with shopping bags. They were all the new clothes and premium vitamins I had bought for Chloe the day before, just as Mom had ordered. Chloe sat on the sofa, unboxing them one by one. “This beige trench coat is gorgeous! I’ve wanted this forever,” she said, holding it up against herself with a bright smile. “As long as you like it, sweetie. You can wear it when you head back to school,” Mom said warmly, bringing over a plate of sliced fruit. I stood in the hallway leading to the balcony, holding a broom. Though my right foot still throbbed with a dull pain, I could finally walk slowly. According to the rules of this house, as long as I could move, the chores were my responsibility. “Nora, remember to water the plants on the balcony. Don’t forget,” Mom called out, not even looking back. I didn’t answer. I just quietly swept up the dust on the floor. Tomorrow was Monday. Chloe had been granted a week off from her college classes because her therapist recommended she rest. But as for me, I had already bought a one-way ticket to London for tomorrow afternoon. The express package containing my visa and documents had arrived yesterday. While they were all watching TV in the living room, I packed the documents into the deepest pocket of my backpack. I didn’t have many belongings. A few changes of clothes, some essential textbooks, and a three-year-old laptop. A single carry-on suitcase was enough to fit my entire past. After dinner, Dad came out of his study holding three concert tickets. “There’s a symphony concert at the civic center tomorrow night. The guest conductor is Chloe’s favorite.” “I managed to get three front-row tickets. Let’s go as a family and unwind.” Chloe jumped up in excitement. “Really? Oh my gosh, thank you, Dad!” She wrapped her arms around his, beaming like a little girl. Mom smiled warmly. “Perfect. Chloe can wear her new trench coat. She’ll look beautiful.” From start to finish, they never mentioned why there were only “three tickets.” Perhaps, in their minds, I was never meant to be included in events that required spending money or creating happy family memories. “Nora,” Dad finally seemed to remember I was in the room and turned to me. “We won’t be home for dinner tomorrow. Just make yourself some instant noodles.” “Also, remember to hang up the laundry in the dryer. And your sister’s cashmere sweater can’t go in the machine. Wash it by hand.” I stood by the kitchen door, looking at the sink piled high with dishes. “Okay,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “I will.” The next afternoon, the weather was beautiful. Mom and Dad left early with Chloe. They said they were going to get Chloe’s hair done downtown before heading out for a nice dinner. The front door clicked shut, and the house fell into absolute silence. I took my time washing the last dish and dried my hands. Then, I walked back to my room and pulled out my old black suitcase. There wasn’t much of mine in this room anyway. I didn’t take anything they had bought for me, including the old, lagging phone. After performing a factory reset on it, I placed it right in the center of my desk. Next to it, I laid my spare house key. I took one last look at the room I had lived in for years. There was no attachment, no sadness. Only a profound sense of relief, like a heavy weight had finally been lifted from my shoulders. I wheeled my suitcase to the entryway and put on a pair of sneakers I had bought with my own savings. No note. No goodbye texts. I pushed the door open and stepped into the bright, warm afternoon sun. At 3:00 PM, I boarded the plane. I pulled out a cheap burner phone and inserted a new SIM card I had registered the day before. My old phone number had been permanently deactivated. Every contact associated with the Vance family was left on that old phone on my desk, wiped clean. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat. “Excuse me, miss, please fasten your seatbelt. We are preparing for takeoff,” the flight attendant said softly. I opened my eyes and smiled at her. “Thank you. I will.”

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I’d just taken a bullet for my husband. Before I could even hit the ground, my adopted sister Sienna rammed her Ferrari into me at sixty miles per hour. Blood filled my mouth. Through the haze, I heard the doctor: “Her baby’s dead. Her uterus… ovaries… shredded and need to be removed.” “Elena, hold on! Please!” My mom was sobbing, but then she was whispering excitedly:”Elena’s a perfect match. Finally, we can give Sienna her heart transplant. Finally!” My husband Julian’s voice followed, calm now. “I’ll sign the consent forms. Sienna needs a strong heart to live her fast life. ” I couldn’t believe my ears. It was the very man I’d taken a bullet for. Seconds ago, he was roaring at the doctors: “Save my wife! I don’t give a damn about an heir!” Now, he was donated my heart without blinking. And my brother and dad? They were already discussing how to dump the accident footage into the Hudson. “Sienna is still young. We can’t let her go to prison, and we certainly can’t let her live as a criminal.” “Yes, Sienna is innocent. It’s Elena’s own fault for not being careful.” Something inside me went still. And just then, a cold, flat voice rang in my head— [Host. Mission ‘Sacrificial Lamb’ complete. Heartbreak Value: 100%. Return to real world?] I laughed, a bloody, wheezing sound. Their fake love? Their “protection”? They could keep it. I was done. … I tried to roll off the gurney. I wanted to smash my head against the floor, to die on my own terms before they could strip me for parts. But the nurses pinned me down like a stray dog in a kill shelter. They shoved the intubation tube down my throat, and a massive hit of propofol flooded my veins. Right before the world went black, the OR doors swung open. Sienna, the brat who’d just mowed me down in her red Ferrari, was being wheeled in on the next table. Isabella—my mother—was already holding the scalpel. She didn’t even look at me as she gave the order. “Forget the internal bleeding in Elana’s uterus. We don’t have time. Open her chest. Get that heart out and prep Sienna for the transplant.” I felt the cold bite of the steel sliding through my skin. I felt my ribs being pried apart. The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was Isabella whispering to the girl who’d tried to kill me. “Just a little longer, princess. When you wake up, you’ll be able to run as far as you want.” … When I finally opened my eyes again, I was back in a private suite at the Moretti clinic. No one was there. Dead silence. Of course it was. I let out a bitter sigh, the I asked, “System. I want to confirm the terms. ” “If this body dies, I’ll be back home, right? My heart will be fixed, and that hundred-mil bonus will hit my account?” [Confirmed, Host.] [Once you leave, you will be completely severed from this world. No return. No recall.] “Good.” The word hung in the air, barely a whisper. I let it settle. This was what I wanted… Say goodbye to the Moretti family. To Julian. To the life. I pulled the oxygen tube out without a second thought. And suddenly—nothing. No air. Just… collapsing. My throat squeezed shut like a fist, tighter, tighter, until I felt it—my own body turning against me, crushing me from the inside. And then, through the suffocation, something else broke through—memories I’d buried long ago, clawing their way up through the fading light. I remembered the day my parents and my big brother Dominic came for me, pulling me out of that dingy apartment. I could still feel the warmth of Dominic’s hand in mine—how he squeezed it. “Elena, we finally found you. From today on, you’re back to being the Moretti family’s little princess, and we’ll protect you forever. Nobody in this city touches you. Not ever.” The words blurred, faded—and in their place, another voice rose. “Elena, I’ll give you all of me—my heart, my future, everything I am and everything I’ll ever be. I don’t want to be anyone else’s—only yours.” Julian—the heir to this city’s biggest criminal throne—down on one knee in the rain, telling me I was the only light in his dark, blood-soaked world. Such pretty words. I’d been fool enough to believe once—grateful the mission failed, thinking I’d found a perfect family, a loyal husband, a loving home. All lies. Every bit of it. There was almost no air left in my lungs. They felt like they were collapsing into a vacuum—empty, shrinking, giving up. But I was smiling. Just let go. Let it end. I didn’t want to spend another second looking at all this fake love. The heart monitor flatlined, and the alarm shrieked like a banshee. My mom came charging in with a team of residents. “Elena! Damm it, what are you doing!”

Then she started pumping my chest, shocking me. I could feel her hands pressing down on my ribs, hear her ragged breath above me, feel the sweat dripping from her face onto my skin. Almost like she actually cared. Then, air was back into my lungs. I was shivering and alive again. And there was screaming. Her screaming. “Are you insane? Are you seriously that pathetic? You’d really throw your whole life away for a womb that doesn’t even work?” I stared at her, the pain in my chest was tearing through. “Is that all I lost, Mom?” I rasped. “Just my womb?” The room went tomb-quiet. Then the door exploded open— Julian burst in and dropped to his knees by the bed—then slapped himself, hard, across the face. “I’m sorry, El. It’s my fault. I didn’t protect you when that car came out of nowhere… you were hurt so bad, your heart just… it couldn’t take the trauma.” He was crying now, crawling to the edge of the bed to grab my hand. “The driver is gone. I handled it. I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Your mom is the best doctor in the world. She’ll fix you.” My father leaned in, stroking my hair like I was some prized poodle. “He’s right, baby. Dominic is already working on a new treatment just for you. You’re still our princess. You’re a Moretti.” I looked at this pack of Oscar-winning liars and felt a chill settle into my marrow. In just two sentences, they’d turned Sienna’s attempted murder and their organ theft into a tragic accident. I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Where’s Sienna? I saw her face behind the wheel. I want to ask her why she did it.” A beat of dead silence. Just the IV dripping. Steady. Relentless. Mom’s face hardened. “Are you insane? Sienna was with me at the club—she collapsed the second she heard. If a heart donor hadn’t shown up right when it happened, we’d have lost her.” I laughed. A small, hollow sound. She flinched. Turned her head away. Her voice trailed off. “I’ll let this slide. Once. I’ll put it down to trauma—to shock. But don’t you ever talk about your sister like that again.” There it was. The same old move. Shut me up before I get too close. Not this time. “What a coincidence. ” I looked at her. “My heart was damaged—and she gets a healthy heart at the exact same time.” Silence. The dead silence in that VIP suite was so heavy it was hard to breathe. Just then, a nurse stepped in. “Don Moretti. La principessa is awake. She wants to see all of you.” Silence, again. None of them moved. But I knew exactly how this would end. Three… Two… I started counting — the same way I always did. Then they scurried out like rats. Only Julian stayed. He looked at me with that nauseating guilt. “Go to her, Julian,” I said, voice flat. “Then come back and tell me how her new heart is beating.” “Fine. “He didn’t even argue. He turned and walked out. Click. The door closed. The room fell back into that cold, dead silence. Empty. Just me. I pulled out the phone I’d hidden under the mattress. Before I went under the knife, I’d used a System Wish to secure two video. Videos of them planning how to sacrifice me. I hit play. I watched, in that dark office, as Julian calmly signed the donation consent form. “It’s all for Sienna. Elena would want this.” “She doesn’t need to understand. “My brother chimed in. “I’ll cook up a cocktail. Then Elana won’t feel a thing, and she’ll never know about her damaged heart.” “Good. “My dad nodded, slow and deliberate. “The transplant is scheduled for tomorrow. I’ll have the legal team ready—death certificate, cremation, the works. By the time anyone asks, Elena Moretti never existed.” Then I played the second video. There it was. My own mother—slicing through my vessels, handing my heart over like a piece of meat—the same hands that held mine when I was a child. For Sienna. My blood was ice. And for the first time—I was glad I hadn’t died. If I left now, these bastards would go on living—perfect, bloody, untouched—with my heart as their trophy. Too easy. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

I was stuck in that sterilized hellhole for two weeks. They took turns “watching” me. Mom would swing by in her white coat, checking my vitals with those cold, surgeon’s eyes before rushing off to a “surgical emergency.” Julian would stay for ten minutes, staring at his watch until a “urgent business” call saved him. Even Lorenzo, the great Don Moretti, would just pat my hand, tell me I was a “brave girl,” and disappear to his office. I thought they were actually busy running an empire. Until I shuffled out of the room at that afternoon. Through the glass of the private recovery garden, I saw them. The whole “busy” Moretti clan. Lorenzo, the man who hadn’t stepped into a kitchen in twenty years, was sitting on a bench, laughing as he carefully shelled clams and fed them to Sienna. Isabella was fussing over a blanket, tucking it around Sienna’s legs. With a look of pure, maternal adoration—a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. Dominic was holding a glass of Sienna’s favorite juice like it was a holy relic. And there was Julian. My husband. He was leaning over the wheelchair, whispering something into Sienna’s ear that made her giggle. She looked radiant. My heart—my actual heart—was pumping life into her cheeks, making her glow while I looked like a corpse dragged out of a basement. “Careful, princess,” Isabella whispered, her voice soft enough to break my heart all over again. “Don’t eat too fast. Your new heart needs time to settle.” “But pop’s cooking is so good,” Sienna chirped, looking radiant. “I missed this so much while I was ‘sick’.” I just stood there. Clutching my cold IV pole, my stomach growling. For the last days, I’d been eating lukewarm delivery soup I ordered myself on my phone. Not once had any of them offered me a bite of “Pop’s cooking.” A surge of nausea hit me. I gripped my IV pole, steadying myself. For a second, I thought about walking in—sitting down at that table, making them see me. But what was the point? They’d already shown me exactly where I stood— I was nothing to them. I turned to shuffle back. But as I passed the nurse’s station, I heard a low whisper. “Is that the sister? The one in 402?” “Yeah. Dr. Isabella gave me strict orders. Keep her on a heavy regimen of iron and vitamin B12. We’re ‘fattening her up’.” “Why? She actually looks like a ghost.” “It’s the Don’s orders. If Sienna has a rejection crisis, they aren’t waiting for a donor. They’re going to use the sister as a living blood bank. Total transfusion if necessary. ” “That’s so cruel…” “I know.” The other nurse’s voice dropped even lower. “But Dr. Isabella said she’s just a ‘vessel’ now anyway—since she can’t carry an heir. And Sienna? Dr. Isabella called her ‘the precious little girl’. ” A metallic taste of blood surged up my throat. And the old memories came back—not gently, not asked for. Just hit me like a wall. I was ten, scraping my knee on the pavement. Isabella didn’t call for a nurse. She knelt down, sterilized it herself, and cried over it. She also called me her “precious little girl.” Before all of this, all I’d ever heard was: trash, beggar, unwanted orphan. I’d never had love like that before. And it hit me—so hard that I threw away the System’s mission just to stay with them forever—my chance to return to my original world, gone. For a long time, I thought it was a fair trade. Because my family loved me back just as much. Or so I told myself. Back then, Dad was just a small-time soldier—but he built the Moretti Syndicate from nothing. Every rival he took down, every dock he seized—it was all for my medical bills. And Dominic? My big brother used to spend his nights in the lab trying to synthesize “sweet medicine” for me because I hated the bitter taste of the standard stuff. He never complained. Never asked for thanks. Just brought me bottle after bottle, asking, “Is this one better?” They even saved Julian for me. Plucked him from a rival’s hit when we were kids — just so I’d have my “perfect prince”. The whole Syndicate knew: I was the untouchable princess. Loved like something sacred. But destiny is a bitch. I was snatched away. Trafficked by a rival crew. Seven years in the dark.

No one knew if I was alive. When Lorenzo finally burned half the city to bring me back, they all held me and wept. And Sienna—this stranger—stood not far away. “Don’t worry about Sienna,” Isabella had whispered, clutching my hand. “She’s just a girl we took in for ‘good luck’ while you were gone. She has a heart condition, and she looks like you, but you’re our only girl, Elena. You’re our soul.” I bought it. God help me, I’d believed their every word. From that, I treated Sienna like a sister. But slowly, the air in the house changed. If Sienna tripped, Isabella would scream at me, “Did you push her, Elena?” If Lorenzo cooked a rare family dinner, it was always the spicy Calabrian dishes Sienna loved, even though they tore my stomach apart. Dominic’s lab work shifted from my health to Sienna’s “miracle cure.” Even Julian, during our few fights, would snap, “Why can’t you be more like your sister? She’s sweet. She actually knows how to talk to a man without looking like she’s judging him.” A wave of suffocation hit me. I blinked. The memory faded. But the Heartbreak Value was ticking closer to the end. It hurts…so hurts. My stitches are coming undone, I can feel them ripping through me, one after another. I grab for the wall. Miss. My legs give out. I’m on the floor and I don’t even remember falling. The room spun—everything tilted. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, gasping, choking, air wouldn’t come. The pain—so white, so bright—I could feel myself slipping. Flickering. Like a dying bulb. “Mom…” I whispered into the dark. “Mom, please… it hurts…” Footsteps. From down the hall. Getting closer. Just as I was about to black out— I saw mom, dad, and Julian rushed toward me. I thought, for a second, they were coming to save me. Mom reached me first. She looked down at the blood soaking through my nightgown, at the way I was trembling in the middle of my own mess. Then her face twisted in a sneer of pure disappointment. “For God’s sake, Elena!” she barked, her voice like a whip. “I am so sick of this! Do you really have to go this far? Just because we were in Sienna’s room helping her with a panic attack, you have to tear your own stitches out?” I looked up at her, hardly. My mouth filling with blood. “Mom… I fell…” “You ‘fell’?” Lorenzo spat, standing behind her with his arms crossed. “You’ve been in this life your whole life. You don’t just fall. This — this is self-harm for attention.“ “It’s pathetic. You’re trying to guilt-trip us for saving your sister’s life.” Julian looked at the blood on the floor and then looked away, as if the sight of me was an inconvenience. “Get it together, Elena. You’re making Sienna feel guilty, and she’s the one with the weak heart. You’re being a monster.” Isabella grabbed my arm and yanked me up, ignoring the way I gasped as my wounds tore further. “I’m sedating you properly this time,” she hissed, shoving me back onto the mattress. “I won’t have you ruining your recovery—and our peace—with these little ‘accidents’ just to spite Sienna.” I lay there, staring at the ceiling as she prepped another needle. I stopped whispering “Mom.” I stopped feeling the pain. I looked at Isabella as the needle went in, and for the first time, I didn’t see my mom. I saw a dead woman walking. “That’s right,” I whispered as my eyes started to close. “Keep her safe. Keep my heart beating in her chest… because when I leave, I’m taking everything with me.”

A week later, they brought me “home.” If you call a fortress guarded by men with submachine guns home. I was confined to a wheelchair, my body still refusing to heal. They put me in the sunroom, supposedly for the “fresh air,” but it was really just a front-row seat to the Sienna Show. Sienna was out on the lawn, wearing a sundress, tossing a ball for the family’s Dobermans. She was running. Running with my heart, with my strength. Lorenzo stood on the patio, cigar in hand, watching her with a pride he’d never shown me. “Look at her,” he muttered to Dominic. “A true Moretti. Strength, fire, life. It was worth every cent.” Dominic nodded, tapping his tablet. “The rejection suppressants I made are holding. She’s a miracle, Pop.” I sat in the shadows, a ghost in a blanket. Suddenly, Sienna “tripped.” She went down on the grass with a sharp cry. In a heartbeat, the entire family scrambled. Lorenzo dropped his cigar. Isabella sprinted from the house. Julian was the first to reach her, scooping her into his arms like she was made of glass. “My chest!” Sienna sobbed, clutching at the spot where my heart lived. “It hurts! It’s Elena… I saw her looking at me from the window… her eyes were so mean… I got scared and lost my balance…” Julian’s head snapped toward the sunroom. The look he gave me was pure, unadulterated loathing. He carried her inside, the whole parade following him. A few minutes later, Lorenzo walked into the sunroom. He didn’t say a word. He just backhanded me across the face. Bang! The force threw my head back, the wheelchair skidding on the marble floor. My lip split, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth. “You ungrateful little bitch,” the Don hissed. “We saved your life. We gave you the best care money can buy. And you’re going to sit here and hex your little sister with your jealousy?” “I didn’t do anything,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You exist. That’s doing enough.” He spat. “If I hear one more word about you upsetting Sienna, I’ll put you back in the basement where we found you. Got it?” I looked at my father—the man I’d once thought was a god—and I nodded. “Good.” He left. I sat there in the dark, my face throbbing, the internal stitches in my chest pulling with every ragged breath. I don’t know how long I lay there. Then—a soft voice sounded. Julian’s voice. From Sienna’s room. Just next door. “Miss me?” “Jules… stop,” Sienna whispered, though she was giggling. “My heart is racing. Mom said I shouldn’t get too excited.” “I can’t help it,” Julian’s voice was low, hungry. “I’ve been stuck playing ‘devoted husband’ to that corpse in the other room all day. I need to feel something real.” “You still love her, don’t you? The little princess?” “Love her?” Julian smirked, and the sound cut deeper than Lorenzo’s slap. “I married her because your father told me to. She was the backup. Now that you’re healthy… she’s useless.” “What about the fact that she can’t have kids now?” Sienna purred. “You’re the heir to the syndicate. You need a son.” “Then you’ll give me one,” Julian whispered. Then came their muffled moans—Her breathy gasps. His eager growls. And…the wet slick sounds of him pushing into her… I leaned my head against the cold wood of the doorframe. I didn’t cry. I just held the phone up, the camera lens peeking through the crack. I recorded every word. Every wet kiss. Every promise of my death. Then the “Heartbreak Value” in my head dinged. I was almost there.

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My mother was the unwilling heroine of a dark, toxic love story, and I was the physical proof of her coercion. Even when she and my father eventually settled into a life of quiet devotion, she could never look at me without disgust. She hated me. She despised me. “Every time I look at your face, it brings back those dark days,” she would snarl. “You owe me for this!” “Why does a child born of hate even exist? You are a constant, sickening reminder.” “You are rotten to the core. A parasite. One day, you’re going to drag this entire family down with you.” My father always told me that Mom didn’t truly hate me—she was just struggling to accept me. I believed him. And so, I took every beating and every scream without a word. I even played the fool every day, making myself look ridiculous and dim-witted, just to coax a tiny smile out of her. Until I was eleven, and they had my sister. My sister’s name was Jade. A precious, flawless stone. Staring at her birth certificate, and then looking at my own name, Rue—the regret, the sorrow—I finally woke up. My birth was a complete, unmitigated mistake. My mother had never loved me. She had never even considered trying. But that was fine. I would just have to learn how to stop loving her, too. 1 The nurse handed Jade’s birth certificate to my mother with a warm, genuine smile. “Jade. Such a beautiful, precious name.” My mother gazed at my baby sister wrapped in the swaddling blanket, her face softening into a gentle warmth I had never once seen directed at me. “Thank you,” my mother murmured. “We thought about it for a long time. Jade—like the precious green gem.” My eyes dimmed, and I bit down on my lower lip until it stung. If she was Jade, a precious gem… what was I? My name was Rue. When I was six, my teacher asked us to write an essay about the meaning behind our names. Usually, I loved writing, but that day, I was the only one who didn’t hand it in. Only after the teacher gave me a final warning did I muster up the courage to ask my mother, desperately hoping she would give me some beautiful, hidden meaning. My teacher had shown me the other kids’ essays. Every single name carried their parents’ hopes, their dreams, their love. I wanted that so badly. But she just shoved me away, her eyes flashing with irritation. “It means regret,” she snapped. “It means sorrow, a mistake. Your birth was a mistake! A sin!” That was the first time I couldn’t hold it in. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably right in front of her. Terrified I would anger her further, my father rushed in and carried me out of the room. He held me and comforted me until my tears finally stopped. He said, “Your mother is just bad at naming things, Rue. Don’t hate her.” I nodded. That night, I stayed up in the dark, searching my dictionary and the internet until I found another meaning: Rue is also known as the herb of grace. It represents strength, clear vision, and healing. It was the first time in my life I had ever lied, and I did it in my essay. I wrote that my mother had named me Rue because she wanted me to grow up strong, wise, and filled with grace. I wrote that she wanted me to overcome any hardship. Later, that essay was chosen as a model of excellence for the school district. But now, looking at the name Jade on my sister’s birth certificate, a quiet ache settled deep in my chest. Some people are born as precious gems, expected and adored from their very first breath. While I had to build a fragile, make-believe world out of lies just to feel a shred of warmth. I couldn’t keep lying to myself. My mother wasn’t bad at naming things. She just hadn’t cared enough to try for me. She wouldn’t spare me even a crumb of love. Yet, I still harbored a desperate, foolish hope. I reached out, tugging gently on my parents’ sleeves, and whispered, “Can I change my name?” “I don’t need a brand-new name. I can just share Jade’s theme. Can I be Ruby?” My father looked at the raw hope in my eyes, his face softening with pity. He turned to my mother, hesitating. “Maybe… maybe we should change it, Becca? Ruby matches Jade. They could grow up supporting each other, like sisters should.” My mother’s perfect brow furrowed in immediate disgust. “A bastard born of hate doesn’t deserve to share a name with our precious Jade.” “Besides, who wants her support? A damaged, rotten thing like her… we’ll be lucky if she doesn’t grow up to poison her sister.” My heart withered, and a faint, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I had never done anything bad in my life. But in my mother’s eyes, I was always the villain. If something went missing, she accused me of stealing it. If a dress was torn, she said I ruined it. Even when the flowers on the balcony withered, she claimed my ‘bad energy’ killed them. I realized then that my father was wrong. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to love me. She despised me. She hated me. Having someone you hate constantly lingering in your sight is annoying. But having the person you love despise you is a slow, agonizing death. For everyone’s sake, I filled out the application my teacher had given me for the elite boarding school across the state. It was a strict, military-style academy with the best academic reputation, but it was hours away, and students were only allowed to leave during major holidays. When I got home that afternoon, my father waited until my mother was in the other room before slipping a few chocolate bars into my hands. “I bought these specifically for you, sweetie. Eat something sweet, and you’ll feel better.” “A name is just a label, Rue. It doesn’t define who you are. Don’t let it get to you.” “Your mother and I read your essay. It was beautiful. From now on, that’s exactly how we’ll think of your name, okay?” My hands trembled slightly with a sudden, overwhelming wave of joy. I didn’t know my mother had actually read my essay. Maybe she did care about me, deep down. Maybe she was just terrible at showing it. The dark cloud that had hung over me all morning evaporated instantly. I grabbed my writing journal from my desk, looking up at my father like a puppy eager for praise. “Dad! Look at my latest essay. Don’t you think it’s really good?” He took the notebook, scanning it briefly before giving me a warm pat on the head. “Very good, sweetie. You have a real gift with words.” I beamed, rummaging through my backpack. “And guess what? This one won—” Suddenly, a sharp, piercing cry echoed from the nursery. My father stiffened. His hand slipped, and my journal clattered to the floor, face down. “What’s wrong with Jade?” he cried, panic written all over his face as he bolted down the hallway. “What happened?” Only after checking every inch of my sister did he let out a long, ragged sigh of relief. “She’s not hungry, and her diaper is dry. Did you just miss Mommy and Daddy, sweetheart?” My mother’s voice drifted out, softer than silk. “Mommy and Daddy are right here, baby. No more tears. Look, watch Daddy make a silly pig face. Isn’t he funny?” Soon, the bright, ringing laughter of a happy family of three floated out of the nursery. I stood in the exact same spot for an hour, frozen like a ghost. Nobody remembered I was there. I pressed my hands tightly over my ears, but the laughter still clawed its way in, sharp and agonizing. Finally, I knelt and picked up my journal. The tears had already smudged the ink of my essay. The words of my secret achievement died in my throat. Dad, my essay won first place in the entire state. It was an essay about our family. Dad, when Mom is in a good mood, do you think you could show it to her? Using my sleeve, I wiped my face hard and locked myself in my bedroom. I pulled out one of the chocolate bars my father had given me and took a bite, desperate for the sweetness to drown out the pain. Within minutes, my lips began to swell, burning intensely. I looked at the wrapper. It was pineapple-flavored. My face went pale as I checked the rest of the chocolates. Every single one of them was filled with pineapple. He said he bought them specifically for me. So how could he forget that I am severely allergic to pineapple? I quietly dug through my drawer, found my emergency allergy medication, and swallowed it dry. I knew better than to tell my parents. When I was four, I had run a dangerous fever, vomiting and sweating through my sheets. When my mother finally touched my burning forehead, there was no fear or worry in her eyes. Only a deep, exhausting resentment. “Can you go one day without causing trouble?” she had spat. “Your body is so weak because I was miserable the entire time I was pregnant with you. Having you is just a never-ending punishment.” From that day on, I learned to find my own medicine when I was sick, ensuring I never, ever became a burden to her again. On my way back to my room, I passed the master bedroom. My parents were whispering, planning Jade’s one-month celebration. Who to invite, what catering to choose, how to decorate the venue, which host to hire. I stood in the shadow of the hallway, listening hungrily, pretending they were planning something for me. How beautiful it must feel to be loved like that. A month passed in a blur. At the center of the grand banquet hall stood a massive, beautifully frosted tiered cake. Next to it was a life-sized sign featuring my father, my mother, and baby Jade, with the words: Welcome to the world, our beautiful Jade! I stared at it with aching envy. My parents had never once celebrated my birthday. Because, as my mother always said, my birth brought nothing but suffering. I didn’t deserve to be celebrated. Yet, a small, selfless part of me was glad. I was glad Jade was born at a time when our parents were happy. I was glad she would never know the coldness of being hated by her own mother. I stared at the cake, swallowing hard, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar, imagining what the rich, velvety cream would taste like. A passing guest sneered at me, whispering to her friend, “Whose kid is that? So greedy and ill-mannered.” I recognized her. She was a member of my mother’s yoga class. But she had no idea I existed. My mother never posted photos of me on social media; even if a sliver of my shadow appeared in the background of a photo, she would blur it out completely. My face burned crimson. I stepped back, my voice caught in my throat, wanting to say: I’m their daughter, too. But looking at the perfect family of three on the sign, the words died. Giving the cake one last, lingering look, I slipped backstage to find my parents. They were taking professional portraits of Jade. One moment they dressed her in tiny angel wings; the next, they placed her in a rustic basket like a precious little nestling. I had never had a professional photo taken. I watched them, my chest aching with a deep, childish longing. I wanted to walk over, but then I looked down at my faded, tight-fitting clothes. I was eleven now; I had already developed a fragile sense of pride and shame. I knew my clothes were old, small, and unflattering. Usually, I tried to ignore it, but standing in this glittering hall, the shame was suffocating. Just as I turned to slip away, my father called out to me. “Rue! Come here, let’s take a family photo.” In an instant, my world lit up. “Me? Can I really be in it?” A family photo. With me? My father reached out and patted my head. “Of course, sweetie. We’re a family, aren’t we?” I glanced timidly at my mother. She merely scoffed and turned her head away, but she didn’t say no. That was enough. I forced a bright, eager smile and stepped into the camera’s frame. I knew it! The sign outside didn’t have me because they must have just forgotten, or maybe because I was at school when they designed it! Once the flash went off, I was dizzy with excitement. I nervously wrung my fingers together and looked at my mother. “Mom, my teacher said I got accepted into the elite academy. But… if you don’t want me to go…” The enrollment form was signed, but I hadn’t turned it in yet. I was still holding on. In that moment, I knew that if my mother showed even the slightest hint of wanting me near, I would throw the form away and choose the local school. But before I could even finish my sentence, she shoved me aside roughly. “Go or stay, why would I care? Do whatever you want. I don’t give a damn.” “Now get out of here. Don’t you dare ruin your sister’s celebration.” I stumbled out of the room, my nose stinging with hot tears. For a fleeting second, I had actually thought she was starting to accept me. But it was okay. At least we were a family. At least I would have this photo. As I stood in the hallway, wondering if I could ask the photographer to print a small copy of the family photo for my desk, I heard voices from inside the dressing room. “Delete the ones with the older girl,” my father’s voice said. “If my wife sees them when she’s having a bad day, she’ll lose her temper again.” The photographer sounded confused. “If you’re just going to delete them, why did you invite her to join in the first place?” My father let out a heavy, weary sigh. “She’s getting older. If we don’t throw her a bone once in a while, she’ll start acting out.” “Do you think I like looking at her? Every time I see her face, I’m reminded of my own failures, of the terrible things I did to Becca.” “But we have to manage her. If she feels completely unloved, she might develop psychological issues, and that will only trigger Becca’s trauma. Giving her a little pity keeps her stable. It’s for the best.” Ah. So it was pity. It was a calculated performance, not love. Suddenly, I thought of Mrs. Gable, my fifth-grade teacher who always looked out for me. She would always frown and ask if I was eating enough, and the next day, she would bring me into her office to share a home-cooked lunch. I thought of the elderly couple next door. Whenever I was locked out of the house, they would take me in, run a warm bath, dress me in clean clothes, and call me their sweet girl. Only now did I realize how utterly hollow my father’s kindness had always been. He had never truly stood up for me. He watched silently as my mother tore me down, only playing the gentle savior afterward to ease his own guilt. In that entire house, there was not a single soul who cared. A wave of pure, physical nausea washed over me. I felt sick to my stomach. The very next morning, I submitted my enrollment form to the boarding academy. After passing the entrance exams, I was officially admitted. It wasn’t until move-in day that my father finally realized he didn’t even know which school I was attending. “Oh,” he said, looking at the address. “It’s so far. You won’t be able to come home on weekends.” I nodded quietly. “I’m staying in the dorms full-time. I won’t be back until the summer.” My mother slammed her fork onto the table with a deafening clatter. “Do you see this? A child born of hate is inherently cold-blooded. She can’t wait to abandon us.” “Ungrateful brat. Good riddance. I feel sick just looking at you.” I stood by the door, my knuckles turning white as I gripped my backpack straps. “Then you won’t have to look at me ever again.” And I meant it. Aside from the mandatory school closures during the winter holidays, I never went back. At first, the silence in my dorm room was agonizing. I would lie awake wondering if my birth really was a curse, if I truly was the bad seed my mother claimed I was. But soon, the grueling academic workload consumed my every waking hour. I had no time left to grieve them. Slowly, a beautiful thing happened: I realized I didn’t need their love anymore. And just like that, I stopped loving them back. I didn’t return for a prolonged stay until the summer after my middle school graduation. When my mother saw me, a flicker of surprise—perhaps even a passing shadow of guilt—crossed her face. “You’ve grown so tall,” she remarked quietly. “Yes,” I replied, my voice completely flat. “I’m five-foot-five.” “Oh,” she murmured, and the conversation died. During that stay, I noticed her hostility toward me had dulled significantly, though she still treated me with a cold, distant indifference. I only spoke when spoken to. Jade was growing up, too. She was sweet, and for some reason, she adored the quiet older sister she barely knew. She would drag her favorite toys to my room, offering them to me with wide, innocent eyes. “Rue-Rue, hold me!” she would squeak. But I rarely got to hold her for long. My mother was always hovering, watching me like a hawk, convinced I was waiting for the perfect moment to hurt her precious child. She would snatch Jade out of my arms, glaring at me with raw suspicion. “Don’t touch her!” Clasping Jade tight, she would whisper loudly as she walked away, “She’s dirty, sweetie. Touching her will make you sick.” “Don’t call her your sister. She is not a part of this family.” Not a part of this family. Years ago, those words would have shattered me. Now, they didn’t even leave a scratch. After my mother left the room, my father sighed. “Rue, your mother is just…” “Just very protective of Jade,” I finished for him, cutting him off. Toddlers are easily distracted, and Jade’s attention soon drifted to the grand piano in the living room. Recognizing her interest in music, my parents had spent a small fortune on a custom Steinway and hired the most prestigious instructors in the city. To be honest, her playing was terrible; she had absolutely no musical talent. But my parents would sit there, listening as if she were Mozart, showering her with endless, creative praises. They had never done that for me. Throughout my life, I had consistently ranked at the top of my class. Whenever I brought home a perfect report card, my mother would look at it and sneer, “Don’t get cocky. Someone will humiliate you next semester.” My father would offer a quick, performative smile before tossing the paper aside. “Great, great.” I pulled myself out of the memory. It didn’t matter anymore. Those old wounds had turned to stone. During my high school years, I practically erased myself from their lives. I spent short breaks at school, and during the long summer vacations, I worked long hours at local diners and bookstores, leaving before they woke and returning long after they had gone to sleep. Sometimes, my father would secretly try to slide some cash into my pockets. I took it. My mother only allowed me fifty dollars a week, claiming that giving me any more would turn me into a delinquent. The day after my high school graduation, I packed my bags and took a summer job at a summer camp that provided room and board. I stayed there until it was time to leave for college. I went back to the house one last time to retrieve my old academic certificates and writing awards. I wanted to take my history with me. As I walked up the driveway, I saw Jade playing in the yard. She looked up, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. “Rue! You’re back!” “I’m trying to build a swing. Can you help me?” I looked at the crooked wooden board and the dangerously loose knots she had tied around the tree branch. With a sigh, I stepped forward and began tying the rope securely to the sturdy frame. Jade pointed upward. “Tie it higher, Rue! Higher!” “No, that’s too dangerous. This height is perfect.” She pouted. “Just a little higher, please?” I checked my watch; it was already five in the afternoon. She would only play out here for another hour before it got dark and she had to go inside for dinner. By tomorrow, she would have moved on to some other game. I told her I had to pack my things and warned her strictly not to touch the ropes myself. Back in my old room, I gathered my certificates. In the back of the closet, I found a cheap, painted piggy bank. I remembered it. I was four or five when my parents took me to a local carnival, and my father had won it for me. My mother had been in an unusually good mood that day, almost gentle. It was one of the very few warm memories of my childhood. After a moment of hesitation, I wrapped it in a sweater and packed it into my suitcase. I decided I would say a formal goodbye before I left. At the very least, they should know which city I was moving to. Just as I zipped my suitcase, a sickening, heavy thud echoed from the yard. Then came Jade’s piercing, terrified scream. My heart dropped. I bolted out of the house. One side of the swing’s rope was dangling uselessly in the air. Jade was sprawled on the grass, her face scraped and bleeding. Her nose was already swelling, and she had bitten through her lip, blood pouring down her chin. My mother was already there, cradling Jade, her face pale with horror. Before I could utter a single word of explanation, a vicious slap struck my cheek, the force of it throwing me hard against the dirt. My mother’s eyes were wild, bloodshot with rage. She struck me again and again. “I knew it! I knew you would try to kill her! You sick, evil monster!” “I should have smothered you the day you were born! Why won’t you just die?!” My father stood behind her, his face dark with disappointment. “I really wanted to believe you were a good kid, Rue. But you are rotten to the core.” “It wasn’t me!” I screamed, tasting blood. “She untied the ropes herself and tried to make it higher! I told her not to touch it!” My mother let out a cold, manic laugh. “Fine! You want to play innocent? I’ll give you a chance.” “Jade, tell Mommy the truth. Did you touch the ropes after Rue left?” Jade looked at me, her eyes wide with terror and guilt. She looked back at our mother’s furious face, panicked, and slowly shook her head. My mother turned back to me, her voice dripping with venom. “What else do you have to say for yourself?” My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I wanted to tell them to check the security camera in the yard. But I realized it was pointless. They had already written the script. I was the monster. Nothing I said would ever change their minds. My mother handed the crying Jade to my father, then stormed into my bedroom. Within seconds, my belongings were being hurled out into the yard. My cheap piggy bank shattered against the concrete, its ceramic shards mixing with my old essays and certificates. My mother pulled a lighter from her pocket and struck a flame, dropping it onto the pile of my childhood. As the fire flared up, a wild, suffocating anger took hold of me for the first time in my life. I screamed at them, my voice cracking with years of unshed tears: “If you hated me so much, why didn’t you just abort me?!” “Why do I have to carry the weight of your hatred? How am I the guilty one here?!” “I didn’t choose to be born! You two are the ones who are sick! You are disgusting!” My mother flinched, a sudden, rare look of bewilderment crossing her face. But the anger in me died as quickly as it had flared, leaving only a cold, hollow emptiness. I looked at them, my voice dropping to a whisper. “This is the last time I will ever call you my parents.” “I am done.” I turned my back on them and picked up my suitcase. “Rue!” my mother screamed after me. “What do you think you’re doing? If you walk out that gate today, don’t you ever think about coming back!” I didn’t look back. “Good,” I said. And I walked out into the evening light.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “481581”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“An abortion is incredibly hard on your body,” the doctor said, her voice soft but heavy with professional concern as we stood outside the surgical suite. “If there’s any way you can keep the pregnancy, you should consider it. Are you sure you don’t want to talk this over with your husband first?” I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen, my fingers trembling slightly. I pulled up my thread with Greg and typed out a single sentence. I’m at the hospital. I’m planning to terminate the pregnancy. Within seconds, the reply came back: K. A single, cold letter. I turned the screen toward the doctor. She looked at the brief exchange, sighed quietly, and didn’t push any further. She simply nodded and went back inside to prepare for the procedure. I stared down at that single-letter reply. A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in my chest. It was pathetic, really. For the longest time, I had convinced myself that Greg was just a man of few words. Quiet. Reserved. But five years into our marriage, the truth had finally settled in my bones like a cold draft. He wasn’t naturally detached. He was just empty. He had spent every ounce of his warmth, his passion, and his energy on Sasha, his childhood best friend. By the time he came home to me, there was nothing left but dry embers. I had tried to voice my hurt before. I had fought for his attention, cried, and demanded better. But Greg would only look at me with that calm, faintly exhausted expression. “Sasha and I grew up together, Mona. We’re partners at work. Anything between us is strictly professional. Besides, this is what marriage is. It’s quiet. It’s stable. Can’t we just live a normal, peaceful life?” I hadn’t known how to argue against that. So, like a fool, I learned to live with the silence. Until three months ago. I was crossing the street when a distracted driver clipped me. The impact threw me onto the asphalt. As I lay there, the world spinning in and out of focus, my vision blurring, I managed to slip my phone out of my pocket with trembling fingers. I sent Greg a desperate text. His response was instantaneous: K. I waited. I waited as kind strangers gathered around me, as someone called 911, as the paramedics loaded me into the back of an ambulance. I waited through the blinding pain in the ER, through the stitches, and through the long, quiet hours in the recovery room. Greg never showed up. Panic had finally overridden my pride. Nursing the throbbing ache in my side, I dialed Sasha’s number, terrified that Greg had been in an accident on his way to see me. Sasha answered. When I finished explaining what had happened, she let out a soft, airy giggle. “Oh, Mona. Greg’s actually right here with me. I’ve been managing his personal accounts and texts for a while now. Did he seriously never tell you?” The world seemed to grind to a halt. “He’s just so incredibly busy with work,” Sasha continued, her tone dripping with casual intimacy. “He gets overwhelmed with notifications, so he logged his personal accounts onto my phone ages ago. I handle the clutter, filter through the noise, and only pass on the urgent stuff. I saw your messages, of course. But since it didn’t look like an absolute emergency, I just shot back a quick reply to clear the notification.” My phone slipped slightly in my sweaty palm. My entire body began to shake. Every single text. Every late-night confession. Every small, vulnerable update I had sent my husband over the last few years… he had never even seen them. The person reading them, the person sending back those dismissive, one-word replies, had been Sasha. Greg had no idea what I had been saying to him. “Mona? You’re not mad, are you?” Sasha’s voice was sweet, tinged with a delicate, childish pout. “I mean, if you really need him, I can totally tell him to head home to you.” I couldn’t breathe. I hung up without saying a word. I had spent years making excuses for his absence, chalking it up to a high-pressure career and an emotionally reserved personality. But the truth was far simpler, and far more brutal: he didn’t care enough to even look. He had handed my life, and my feelings, over to another woman to manage. … 1 I lay on the narrow hospital bed, staring blankly at the sterile ceiling tiles. The surgery had gone horribly wrong. Halfway through, I suffered a severe hemorrhage. My blood pressure plummeted, and the heart monitor began to emit a frantic, high-pitched wail. Through the haze of anesthesia, I heard nurses shouting, rushing out of the room to try and contact my emergency contact. They called Greg. Again and again. But the calls went straight to voicemail. Ultimately, the lead surgeon had to sign an emergency waiver to proceed with a life-saving intervention. They spent over two hours dragging me back from the edge of death. When my eyes finally fluttered open, the recovery room was silent and empty. No husband. No family. Not even a single missed call or text from him. But Greg had posted an update on social media just ten minutes prior. It was a photo of a cozy beach camping setup. A bonfire crackled in the center, casting a warm, golden glow over the two of them. Sasha was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes crinkled with genuine, radiant happiness. On the small blanket in front of them sat a tiny, rustic cake with the number 10,000 piped clumsily in white frosting. The caption was simple: Life is only thirty thousand days. You are my ten thousand. My thumb hovered over the screen, frozen. I stared at their smiling faces, and for the first time, the grief in my chest was replaced by a profound, deadening exhaustion. What on earth was I fighting for? Our marriage had become a joke. A pathetic, one-sided performance where I was the only actor on stage, and the audience was laughing at my desperation. I closed the social media app and opened our text thread—knowing full well who would likely read it first. I’m exhausted, Greg. I want a divorce. If you don’t reply by midnight, I’m taking your silence as your consent to end this. I won’t cause a scene, but the choice is yours. I kept my eyes on the clock. 11:57 PM. 11:58 PM. At exactly 11:59 PM, the status bar at the top of the chat finally flickered: Greg is typing… I let out a soft, humorless laugh. My fingers moved swiftly, blocking his number before the message could even come through. Did you really think I was giving you a second chance, Greg? We’re done. Once his contact was blocked, I dialed a different number. One I had kept memorized but had never dared to call. The line rang only once before a deep voice answered. He didn’t sound surprised to hear from me. “You won,” I said, getting straight to the point. “I know when I’ve lost. I agree to your terms.” There was a brief, heavy silence on the other end, followed by a low, quiet chuckle. “A man who fails you once will fail you forever, Mona,” Jude said, his voice smooth and steady. “If there’s no love left, you discard him. You can treat me the exact same way if I ever disappoint you.” He paused, then added, “My current project wraps up in three days. I’ll come collect you then.” After my vitals stabilized, the doctors discharged me. When I returned to our penthouse, the living room lights were surprisingly on. I pushed the door open and found Greg sitting on the leather sofa, flipping through some work documents. His tailored suit jacket was draped carelessly over the armrest. He looked like he had just gotten in. At the sound of the door, he looked up, setting the papers aside. “Sasha said you went to the clinic,” he said, his voice flat. “What was that about?” “I had an abortion.” Halfway through my sentence, Greg’s phone began to ring. Sasha’s name flashed across the screen, accompanied by a bright, cheerful ringtone that completely drowned out my voice. Greg glanced at the caller ID, and a soft smile instantly broke across his face—a genuine, warm expression I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. He answered, spoke softly for a minute, and hung up. Turning his attention back to me, he asked casually, “Sorry, what were you saying?” I looked at his calm, unaffected face, and a profound emptiness washed over me. Sasha had obviously passed on some version of the truth to him, but how she framed it was her choice, and his lack of curiosity was his. I let out a soft sigh. “Nothing.” I turned to walk toward the guest bedroom, but Greg stood up and followed me. He wrapped his arms loosely around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. I froze under his touch. “What do you mean?” “Are you throwing a fit because I didn’t go to the clinic with you?” His tone was breezy, patronizing, like he was pacifying a petulant child. “Today was a big deal, Mona. It marked exactly ten thousand days since Sasha and I met. She’s sentimental about those kinds of milestones. It had to be celebrated today, not tomorrow. I couldn’t just walk away from that.” It took me a second to realize he was referring to the text I had sent before blocking him. He genuinely believed I had just gone for a routine checkup, and that my threat of divorce was nothing more than a childish tantrum because he was spending the day with Sasha. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Greg. I’ve already drafted the separation agreement—” “I’ve got a lot on my plate at work right now, Mona. Don’t start acting like a dramatic teenager,” Greg interrupted, his voice instantly turning cold. He walked back to the sofa, gathered his papers, and spoke without looking at me. “There’s still stuff I need to handle at the office tonight. I went out of my way to come home and check on you. You’re a grown woman. I don’t mind indulging you once in a while, but don’t push it.” He snapped his car keys off the entryway table. The heavy front door clicked open and shut, and he was gone. I stood in the quiet hallway and laughed softly to myself. To him, every ounce of my pain, my loneliness, and my desperation was reduced to “throwing a fit.” He hadn’t taken the divorce threat seriously. He never took anything I said seriously. My needs were just background noise to his life. I went to the bedroom and opened my laptop. My attorney was incredibly efficient; after I laid out my terms, she didn’t take long to draft a fair, standard divorce agreement. I reviewed the document carefully, signed my portion, and emailed the digital file directly to Greg’s personal account. Not even a minute after sending it, a text popped up on my phone from Greg’s number. It was Sasha. Mona, if you’re trying to get Greg’s attention, this isn’t the way to do it. He absolutely despises these kinds of loyalty tests! A while back, I lost a bet and had a guy friend pretend to be my boyfriend just to see how Greg would react. Greg was furious. Once he found out it was just a joke, I had to apologize for days before he’d even speak to me. Trust me, you don’t want to play this card. I didn’t bother replying. A few minutes later, an email notification chimed. I opened the attachment. Greg’s signature was scrawled elegantly across the bottom of the divorce papers. Then came a voice note from Sasha, her tone light and deceptively innocent. “Hey Mona, Greg trusts me with his paperwork, so he signed it without really looking. Do you want me to explain to him what he just signed, or should we keep it between us?” I stared at his signature for a long time. I had guessed correctly. Sasha could pretend to play the peacemaker all she wanted, but her actions were thoroughly efficient at clearing her path. A bitter smile touched my lips as I forwarded the fully executed document back to my lawyer. Just then, a sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my lower abdomen, radiating through my body. The physical toll of the hemorrhage and the abortion was catching up to me. Exhausted, I curled into a tight ball on the bed, closed my eyes, and drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep. In the middle of the night, a sharp ringing woke me. The moment I answered, a panicked voice cried out, “Mona! You need to get down here right now! Something bad happened!” My instincts kicked in before my brain could process the pain in my stomach. I threw an oversized coat over my pajamas and drove to the shared location. It was a high-end private lounge downtown. I walked down the dimly lit hallway to find the VIP suite door slightly ajar. Inside, glasses clinked, and laughter filled the air. As I pushed the door open, a loud cheer erupted from the group. “Your turn, Sasha! Tell us a secret no one in this room knows!” Sasha’s cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes glazed with alcohol. She tilted her head, looked directly at Greg, and let out a coy laugh. “Oh, I have a good one. Greg and I have slept together.” The room froze. Every eye in the suite turned to look at the doorway—at me, standing there in my slippers, a faded coat thrown over my pajamas, my face completely devoid of color. In that split second, the pieces fell into place. The late-night phone call hadn’t been an emergency. It had been Sasha’s carefully staged show, timed perfectly so I would walk in on that exact sentence. Sasha’s eyes lit up when she saw me. She stood up, swaying slightly, and stumbled over to grab my hands. “Mona! You’re here! You seriously need to reign Greg in. He’s absolutely relentless. Every time we’re in bed, he completely wears me out and still wants more. How do you handle him at home? Come on, share your secrets!” A suffocating silence descended on the room. The looks on their colleagues’ faces shifted from awkward shock to pity, all of them staring at me to see how Greg’s discarded wife would react. A loud buzzing filled my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the lounge. Before I could consciously register my anger, my hand flew out and struck Sasha across the face. The force of the slap sent her stumbling back, crashing onto the carpet. I took a step forward, grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, forced her face up, and delivered another sharp blow to her cheek. “Mona!” Greg surged to his feet. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing my wrists and dragging me back with enough force to throw me off balance. He pinned my arms to my sides, his grip like iron. His eyes burned with an icy, suppressed fury. “Sasha is drunk and talking nonsense! Do you really have to be this dramatic and get violent?!” I struggled against his grip, but he didn’t budge. “Is she talking nonsense, Greg, or is she finally telling the truth because she’s drunk? How many times have the two of you slept behind my back? It’s disgusting!” “If you hate me so much, why didn’t you just sign the papers and let me go?” My voice cracked, tears finally spilling over my burning cheeks. “Why do you both get to humiliate me like this?!” A couple of people rushed over to help Sasha up. She clutched her cheek, sobbing hysterically. “My face… it hurts…” That was when we noticed a thin, jagged cut on her right cheekbone, likely from the sharp edge of the glass table she had tumbled against. A mixture of blood and tears began to trickle down her jawline. Seeing the blood, Greg’s self-control shattered. “Mona. Apologize. Now.” A white-hot rage flared in my chest. I had spent years avoiding conflict, swallowing my pride, and keeping the peace, but I was done being the victim. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I ripped my wrists from his grip, grabbed a half-empty bottle of Cabernet from the table, and threw the dark red liquid directly into Sasha’s face. The alcohol stung her raw cut. She screamed, recoiling in agony. Greg went rigid. “You are completely out of your mind! Someone cool her down!” Before I could even blink, a bucket of ice water—meant for chilling champagne—was dumped over my head. The shock of the freezing water hit me like a physical blow. My thin pajamas clung to my skin, and the biting cold seized my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Before I could gasp for air, two of the venue’s security guards stepped forward and pinned my shoulders. A second bucket of ice water was poured directly over me. My body, already fragile and recovering from a major hemorrhage, shut down under the freezing assault. A sharp, blinding pain tore through my abdomen, and my vision swam with dark spots. Greg stood before me, looking down at my shivering form with complete detachment. “Are you clear-headed now? You can leave as soon as you apologize.” I stared up at him, unable to comprehend the cruelty of the man I had loved. Sasha was the one who had dragged my dignity through the mud in front of his colleagues. Yet my own husband stood there, defending her, demanding that I bow my head. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by a third cascade of ice water. I couldn’t even scream this time. The agony in my uterus was so intense that my legs gave out. I collapsed onto my knees, my head hanging low. Through the puddle of melting ice on the floor, I saw a faint pink swirl beginning to spread. Blood. It was trickling down my inner thigh, mixing with the frigid water. As a guard lifted a fourth bucket, my survival instinct finally overrode my pride. I couldn’t take any more. “I’m sorry…” I whispered, my teeth chattering violently. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” The guard paused and set the bucket down. The hands holding my shoulders released me. Greg didn’t even look at me. He turned around, peeled off his jacket, wrapped it securely around Sasha’s shivering shoulders, and guided her out of the room. Only after his footsteps faded down the hall did anyone in the room dare to move. A few panicked hands reached down to pull me up from the wet floor. Someone looked down at the dark red stain spreading across the carpet and gasped. “Oh my god, there’s so much blood! Call an ambulance!” My vision blurred into a gray haze. The voices around me became muffled, echoing as if underwater, before the darkness finally swallowed me whole. When I woke up, I was back in a sterile hospital room, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor echoing in the quiet space. My OB-GYN walked in, holding a clipboard. Her expression was grim as she scanned my chart. “You were supposed to be resting, Mona,” she said, her voice heavy. “How could you let your body be subjected to freezing temperatures in your condition? The internal shock and trauma to your reproductive system are severe. I’m so sorry, but the damage is likely permanent. It’s highly improbable you’ll be able to carry a child in the future.” I stared at the wall. A single tear rolled slowly down my temple, dampening my hair. The door clicked open, and Greg walked in, looking slightly rumpled but composed. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking between us. The doctor turned to him, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “Are you her husband? How could you let this happen? She just had a miscarriage and a severe hem—” “Doctor,” I interrupted, my voice flat and hollow. “I understand the situation. Thank you for your help.” The doctor looked at me, then at Greg, sensing the suffocating tension in the room. She sighed, gave a few standard recovery instructions, and slipped out, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t that I wanted to protect Greg. It was just that I had already told him. I had texted him when I was pregnant. I had texted him when I decided to terminate it. He had never read those words because he had handed his life over to Sasha. And even if I spelled it out for him now, he would just see it as another drama, another “fit.” I didn’t have the energy to beg for his basic humanity anymore. I kept my face turned away from him. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be comforting Sasha?” Greg frowned, clearly irritated by my tone, but he chose not to argue. “My mother’s chronic condition flared up again. Once you’re discharged, I need you to go over and look after her. Honestly, Mona, as my wife, you’ve spent less time visiting her lately than Sasha has. Take this opportunity to make up for it.” I stared at him, momentarily speechless. His mother had been in and out of hospitals for years, and I was always the one who spent sleepless nights by her bedside, managing her medications and dealing with her difficult temperament. Yet in Greg’s eyes, Sasha was the attentive one. I remembered how his mother’s face would fall every time I walked into her hospital room, her first words always being, “Where’s Sasha?” I remembered how Sasha would send a single flower arrangement, and his mother would sigh, praising her thoughtfulness. Meanwhile, I had once stayed awake for three consecutive nights in the ICU, only for his mother to wake up, see Sasha standing there for five minutes, and thank her for taking such good care of her. To his family, Sasha was the beloved daughter-in-law they actually wanted. To them, I was barely status-equivalent to a hired nurse. But it didn’t matter anymore. The divorce papers were already signed. The duties, the expectations, the thankless title of being Greg’s wife—Sasha could have it all. Once I felt physically strong enough to stand without my knees buckling, I drove over to the Mercer estate. Jude was scheduled to pick me up tonight. I wanted to use this final visit to let Greg’s mother know about the divorce. Despite everything, I had spent five years as her daughter-in-law, and my upbringing wouldn’t allow me to just slip away without a proper goodbye. When I arrived, Mrs. Mercer was sitting on a wicker lounger on the patio, holding her phone up for a video call. “Mrs. Mercer,” I called out softly as I walked over. She gave me a cool, dismissive nod, barely glancing up before returning her attention to her screen. Her face instantly softened into a warm, doting smile. “Auntie! Greg told me you weren’t feeling well. I’m almost there!” Sasha’s voice chimed from the speaker, sweet and sugary. Mrs. Mercer beamed. “Oh, wonderful sweetie! I know how much you love those almond shortbread cookies. I’ll have the housekeeper put a batch in the oven right now so they’re warm when you get here.” Sasha squealed with delight, and the two of them chatted with an easy warmth that made them look like actual mother and daughter. The moment she hung up, Mrs. Mercer’s smile vanished. “Black tea, as usual?” Before I could answer, she gestured to the maid standing nearby. Within minutes, a cup of hot black tea was placed in front of me. I hated black tea. I had mentioned it gently during every single visit over the past five years, but Mrs. Mercer always served it to me anyway. I had once complained to Greg about it, trying to laugh it off, but he had dismissed me immediately. “My mother’s memory is failing, Mona. Besides, you’re there to take care of her, not to be pampered.” Her memory was failing, yet she remembered Sasha’s favorite cookies and ordered them prepared in advance. I visited three to four times a week, taking care of her through major health crises, and she couldn’t remember that I didn’t drink black tea. “Mona, let’s be honest with each other,” Mrs. Mercer said, adjusting her shawl. I looked up at her. “Sasha and Greg grew up right in front of my eyes. They’ve always been close, and they understand each other perfectly. You’ve been a dutiful caregiver these past few years, and you’re a decent woman, but you’re just so… rigid.” She took a sip of her own drink. “I’ve never really understood what Greg saw in you, but a marriage takes effort. Sasha has such a bright, lively personality. Greg always smiles more when she’s around. You really ought to learn from her. Maybe ask her for some advice on how to keep your husband happy.” My fingertips grew cold against the warm porcelain cup. My mother-in-law was telling me—with absolute sincerity—to ask another woman how to please my own husband. It was beyond absurd. It was insulting. I left the teacup untouched. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore, Mrs. Mercer. Greg and I are getting a divorce.” “Auntie!” A high-pitched, sweet voice echoed from the foyer, completely cutting off my words. Sasha came jogging out onto the patio, carrying a designer shopping bag, and immediately leaned down to hug Mrs. Mercer. “I just got here! Look what I found for you!” Mrs. Mercer’s face lit up instantly. “Oh, you sweet girl, you didn’t have to buy me anything!” After a few minutes of pampering, Sasha suddenly tapped her forehead. “Oh, I totally forgot! The firm we’re partnering with is hosting a major networking gala tonight, and Greg needs a plus-one. I have to run and get ready. I’ll make it up to you next time, Auntie!” Mrs. Mercer waved her off warmly. “Go, go. Business always comes first.” Sasha turned around, finally pretending to notice me sitting there. “Mona! I didn’t see you.” She stepped forward and slipped her arm through mine, her expression melting into a look of deep regret. “Mona, I feel absolutely terrible about what happened the other night. I was so drunk, and I said some really stupid things. Please don’t hold it against me. Let me make it up to you. Come to the gala with us, and I’ll clear the air with everyone. Please?” Before I could even voice a refusal, she practically dragged me toward her waiting car. When we arrived at the corporate headquarters downtown, Greg was standing near the entrance of the lobby. His eyes scanned me, and his brow instantly furrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be looking after my mother today?” he asked, his tone demanding. Sasha playfully tapped his shoulder. “You said you needed a date, didn’t you? Since Mona was already there, I brought her along!” Greg didn’t say a word. He gave me a cold, critical sweep from head to toe, then turned on his heel and walked inside. He didn’t slow his pace, nor did he look back to see if I was keeping up. Sasha offered a sympathetic smile. “He’s just stressed. Don’t take it personally, Mona.” She practically pulled me through the glass doors. It wasn’t until we entered the venue that I fully understood the meaning behind Greg’s dismissive look. The gala was held in the penthouse ballroom. The city’s business elite moved through the crowd, dressed in tailored tuxedos and elegant evening gowns, their makeup flawless under the crystal chandeliers. I, on the other hand, was wearing a faded cotton t-shirt and jeans—the clothes I had thrown on hastily after leaving the hospital. My hair was tied up in a messy bun, and my face was entirely bare. Sasha had disappeared for a moment, only to return in a stunning, form-fitting cocktail dress and designer heels. She glided past me, offering a remorseful look. “Oh, Mona, I am so incredibly scatterbrained. I completely forgot to have a dress sent over for you. You don’t mind, do you?” I looked her dead in the eye, refusing to play along. “You brought me here on purpose just to humiliate me, didn’t you?” Sasha froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to call her out so bluntly. Her practiced smile faltered, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Mona, that’s enough.” Greg stepped between us, having overheard my remark. He instinctively shielded Sasha behind his broad shoulders. “You didn’t give us any warning that you were coming. How was Sasha supposed to prepare a dress for you? Stop assuming the worst of her, and there’s absolutely no need to make a scene here.” My chest tightened. I didn’t want to come. Sasha had literally forced me into her car. Greg let out an irritated sigh. “You’re still holding a grudge over what she said when she was drunk. If you came here tonight just to show off and stake your claim in front of my associates, fine. Let’s get it over with.” Before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the center of the ballroom. Out of polite professionalism, a few associates walked over to greet us despite my wildly inappropriate attire. Since my body was still healing and I couldn’t touch alcohol, I politely raised a glass of water instead. After a few minutes of superficial small talk, I slipped away and hid in a quiet corner of the terrace. I was scanning the room, looking for a way to leave quietly, when a sudden commotion broke out near the bar. I turned to see Greg fiercely gripping a middle-aged man’s wrist. With a sickeningly calm twist of his arm, he forced the man’s shoulder out of its socket. The dull pop of the joint dislocating was lost beneath the man’s agonizing scream. Sasha stood beside him, clutching her arm, her eyes wide and tearful. “Greg, please stop… he just… he touched me a little, but I’m fine. Really. You should go back to Mona…” But Greg didn’t let go. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained, his eyes burning with a primal, protective rage. I stood a few yards away, watching him, feeling a strange sense of detachment. The last time I had seen Greg this angry was when we were first dating. Some drunk guys had cornered me outside a diner, shouting crude things. When Greg arrived, he had merely stepped between us, his face cold, and delivered a calm, measured warning. He was a Mercer. His upbringing demanded absolute restraint, decorum, and poise. He prided himself on never losing his temper in public. Yet tonight, he had completely abandoned his precious decorum. In front of his most important business partners, he had physically mutilated a man for touching Sasha. Security quickly rushed in to handle the screaming man and quiet the crowd. Greg kept a protective hand on Sasha’s back as he led her away. As they passed my corner, he stopped. The residual anger was still visible in his eyes, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Did you do this on purpose?” I blinked, genuinely lost. “What?” “You knew exactly what would happen if you left her alone in a room like this. A young woman standing by herself is an easy target for predators.” He glared at me, his disappointment palpable. “Sasha is naive. She doesn’t know how to handle aggressive men. Because I had to stay by your side to keep you happy, I couldn’t watch over her. You should have known better, Mona. This was incredibly selfish of you.” I stared at him, really stared at him. The sharp jawline, the dark eyes that had once held my entire world—he looked exactly the same as the man I had fallen in love with years ago. But as I looked at him now, I felt absolutely nothing. The love hadn’t just faded; it had been completely hollowed out. “I never asked you to stay by my side, Greg.” My voice was quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of emotion. “In fact, I didn’t want to come here at all. Sasha practically forced me into her car. She brought me to a black-tie gala without even offering to let me change. I should be asking her what her intentions were. Was she trying to make me a laughingstock?” A few nearby guests began to whisper, their eyes darting between us. Sasha let out a soft sob, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in Greg’s chest. “Mona… how can you lie like that? You were the one who insisted on coming along. I told you I didn’t have an extra gown on hand, and I asked if you mind. You literally told me it was fine…” My chest tightened. I couldn’t believe the ease with which she twisted the truth. She had physically pulled me into her vehicle, leaving me no room to refuse. I had never said it was fine. Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, Sasha raised her voice, ensuring everyone around us could hear. “I didn’t want to say anything! I didn’t want to cause a scene! But I don’t understand what I did to make you hate me so much, Mona. Did you seriously pay that man to come over and harass me?!” A collective gasp rippled through the nearby crowd. Greg’s face darkened, turning almost predatory. “Mona,” he growled. “How could you do something so malicious?” I looked at him. The words I didn’t do it caught in my throat, refusing to surface. Did it even matter if I denied it? The truth didn’t exist in Greg’s world. Only Sasha’s tears did. I could have presented a mountain of evidence, and he still would have found a way to dismiss it in favor of Sasha. A single tear from her carried more weight than my entire existence. The difference between being loved and being tolerated was stark. I lowered my gaze, letting my eyelashes shield the exhaustion in my eyes. After a long, quiet pause, I spoke. My voice was incredibly calm. “What do you want from me, Greg? An apology?” Greg didn’t say a word. He just stared at me with cold, unyielding judgment. I turned slowly to face Sasha. Under the watchful eyes of dozens of wealthy strangers, I bent my waist and bowed deeply to her. “I’m sorry. Is that enough?” The room went dead silent. No one had expected me to capitulate so easily—no tears, no screaming, just a clean, immediate submission. Sasha froze, a tear still wet on her cheek, completely caught off guard by my

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I had just finished making a pact with my best friend, Lucy, to apply to Georgetown together once our exam scores came out. And then, my phone rang. It was Lucy—calling from ten years in the future. “Did we make it?” I asked, my voice bubbling with excitement. “Did we get into Georgetown?” “Are we married ten years from now? Did we actually have that double wedding we always promised each other?” “Is my husband Dylan? And is yours as drop-dead gorgeous as a movie star?” In the face of my rapid-fire questions, the line went dead silent. Just for a second. Then, a shaky, trembling breath broke through. “No,” she whispered. “None of it.” “You didn’t get in. You ended up at some mediocre state school. And you never married Dylan.” “We didn’t have a double wedding, either. Because you died the night before I walked down the aisle.” I froze. On the other end, Lucy began to sob. “Erica… I’m so sorry. Dylan and I… we’re so sorry. We were already sleeping together before graduation.” “I was terrified you’d find out. To keep you from coming to Georgetown with us, I logged into your portal and changed your university preferences behind your back.” “I kept it a secret for ten years. You didn’t find out until the night before my wedding.” “You broke down. You jumped into the river. By the time they pulled you out… you were gone.” “I’ve spent countless nights drowning in regret. If I hadn’t done what I did, you’d still be alive…” My hand clenched around the phone, my heart dropping into a cold, bottomless pit. She tried to say more. But in the background, a painfully familiar male voice cut in. “Babe, the baby’s hungry.” Dylan. 1 They actually ended up together. After the call disconnected, I stared blankly at the ceiling for what felt like hours, hot tears slipping down my temples. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Dylan. He said his class was having a pre-graduation dinner tonight and asked if I wanted to come. He and Lucy were in AP English; I was in AP Calc. Different classes, but whenever they had group hangouts, they always dragged me along. Dylan and I grew up next door to each other. Lucy moved to our neighborhood later. She was beautiful, and since our homeroom teacher was worried about her walking home alone, she asked Dylan and me to keep her company. From then on, we did everything together. We walked, did homework, grabbed dinners. Even after we ended up in different tracks, we promised to remain a trio. Years of shared history couldn’t be a lie. So how did it turn into this ten years down the road? The weight of that phone call pressed hard against my chest. Stubborn and aching, I typed back a rejection. It’s your class dinner. It’d be weird if I showed up. I’ll pass. The moment I hit send, “Typing…” flashed at the top of the screen. It appeared and vanished, hesitating. A minute later, his reply came: You’re always at our hangouts. Everyone knows you. No one’s going to say a thing. And even if they do, the Crybaby will tear them a new one. You know how she gets when she’s defending people. “Crybaby.” That was his private nickname for Lucy. They had their special names for each other. For me, I was just “Erica.” Or “Erica.” I had actually thrown a tantrum about it once. Back then, Dylan would throw “Crybaby” around constantly, leaving me sitting there like a third wheel, unable to get a word in. It was Lucy who noticed my mood first. She’d stopped teasing Dylan, ran over, and asked what was wrong. When she figured it out, she tapped my forehead gently. “Oh, Erica, don’t be silly. I’ve been trying to shake that awful nickname forever. Why on earth would you want it?” “Besides, you and Dylan are going to end up together after graduation anyway. He’s too busy trying to keep you happy to dare call you something so stupid!” Dylan had nodded along eagerly, backing her up. I let myself be swept up in their sweet words, letting the jealousy fade. But seeing those words on my screen now, the tears I’d managed to stop came rushing back. Feelings don’t change overnight. The seeds of their betrayal must have been planted back then, growing quietly in the dark. Ten minutes later, regret set in. I still couldn’t bring myself to believe that the boy I grew up with could betray me so thoroughly. I ordered an Uber and headed to the venue. When I arrived at the restaurant, the private dining room was alive with laughter and music. I reached for the doorknob, but froze when I heard my name. Lucy’s voice carried clearly through the door, striking me like a physical blow. “Can we please do a different dare? Dylan is literally proposing to his almost-girlfriend tomorrow. It’s so inappropriate for us to kiss right now.” Her voice was coy, drawing a chorus of rowdy teasing from the room. “Oh, please! Like you guys haven’t been making out in the back of the classroom all semester? We can practically hear you guys during study hall!” “Yeah! She’s just the almost-girlfriend, not his wife. It’s your last night of freedom, make it count!” “Exactly! Kiss her! A hundred times if you want!” The rowdy encouragement grew louder. Lucy’s face must have been bright red as she turned to Dylan. Dylan raised an eyebrow, a lazy smirk in his voice. “Once Erica and I are official tomorrow, we won’t have opportunities like this. You sure you want to pass it up?” The tone was light, but the underlying tenderness was unmistakable. While they basked in their mutual heat, I stood on the other side of the wall, my world turning ice-cold. My feet felt glued to the floor. In a moment of pure, masochistic desperation, I forced myself to watch through the crack in the door. Dylan pulled Lucy onto his lap. They leaned in, exchanging a deep, practiced kiss. And when Dylan’s hand began to slip beneath the hem of her skirt— I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and ran, collapsing on the curb outside, sobbing uncontrollably. With trembling fingers, I dialed the future Lucy back. “Why?” I sobbed into the receiver. “Why did it have to be like this? We were supposed to be best friends!” A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. When she spoke, it was the same three words: “…I am so sorry.” “Erica, I’m not a good person. You looked at me through rose-colored glasses, but the truth is, I never saw you as my best friend.” My breath hitched. The crying stopped instantly. Lucy’s voice was quiet, hollow. “I was always jealous of you. You weren’t flashy, but you were better than me at everything.” “No matter how hard a task was, you handled it beautifully. Meanwhile, I ruined everything I touched.” “My mom, my teachers—they always used you to put me down. Even Dylan only had eyes for you. I wanted so badly to ruin you.” “So, on the day we submitted our college choices, I logged into your portal and changed your preferences. I wanted to make sure your perfect grades only got you into some third-rate state school while we went to Georgetown.” I suddenly remembered a time back in high school when she’d had a massive fight with her mother and got kicked out. I had offered to let her stay at my place. Instead, she had pushed me away like a wild animal, telling me to stop acting like a saint. At the time, I thought she was just stressed. I didn’t think twice about it. Now, the pieces finally fit. She had hated me all along. My voice was raw, barely a whisper. “Do you have any idea how much those applications meant to me?” “I knew. That’s why I chose that exact moment to destroy them. But Erica… do you think I’ve been happy?” “This call… this is my chance to make things right. Erica, please, this time, do not trust me. Okay?” The call cut off again. It took a long time for the fog in my mind to clear. By the time my vision focused, the tears on my face had dried into stiff, salty tracks. She was right. I shouldn’t waste another second of my life on these people. When Dylan came over later that evening, he brought a box of custard buns. “Your parents aren’t home, and I didn’t want you skipping dinner. The Crybaby said these are amazing, so I figured you’d love them. Don’t starve yourself.” He noticed I hadn’t moved, my eyes fixed on the side of his neck. There was a fresh, dark hickey there. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. He quickly covered it with his hand, offering a clumsy excuse. “Man, the mosquitoes in that restaurant were brutal…” “Right,” I said quietly. I took the plastic bag from him. “Thanks.” Then I closed the door in his face. Half an hour later, Lucy texted me. Erica, what’s wrong? Dylan said you seemed off when he dropped off the food. If something’s bothering you, don’t keep it bottled up. You always said I was your therapist! The memory of them in that dining room flashed in my mind, tightening my throat. Lucy sent another text, reminding me to eat the custard buns while they were warm. I looked down at the trash can. Inside, one of the buns had burst open, its yellow filling resembling a mocking, gaping mouth laughing at my stupidity. I absolutely hated custard buns. Neither of them had ever bothered to remember. The next day, I went to the private restaurant Dylan had booked three months in advance. But when he dropped to one knee, holding out a bouquet of lilies, I looked him in the eye and said, “No.” His body froze. He slowly stood up, his face contorting into a sudden, unprecedented rage. “Are you kidding me, Erica?” “We literally planned this! We agreed we’d get together after graduation. What the hell is this?” Lucy, who had been sitting nearby to “witness” the moment, panicked. Her chopsticks clattered onto the table. “Yeah, Erica, Dylan has waited so long for you. Do you have any idea how many girls he turned down over the years? You’re just joking, right?” “If you’re upset about something, just talk to us. There’s no need to hurt Dylan like this. We all know how crazy he is about you.” I didn’t say a word. I just watched them. Finally, a dry, cold laugh escaped my lips. He was “crazy about me,” yet he could pin Lucy against a wall and slide his hands up her skirt? Lucy’s eyes welled with tears. She lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Erica. This is between you two. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. Please don’t be mad at me.” She played the victim flawlessly. I didn’t budge. “Enough!” Dylan snapped. He grabbed Lucy’s wrist, pulling her up from her chair. “You did nothing wrong, Lucy. Why are you apologizing to her?” “She’s been acting like a psycho all day.” He glared at me, his eyes dark with malice. “Let me tell you something, Erica. I offered you a chance, and you threw it back in my face. Don’t you dare come crawling back to me.” With that, he dragged a sobbing Lucy out of the restaurant. The cloying scent of lilies drifted into my nose. The bouquet was left on the empty chair. He had bought her favorite flowers for my proposal, and he still wondered why I said no. My knuckles turned white as I clenched my fists, a bitter wave washing over me. I sat in that empty restaurant until closing time. Dylan blocked my number. For the next few days, not a single word passed between us. I spent every waking hour researching schools and majors, determined to find a path that wouldn’t cross theirs. Before this, my parents had begged me to apply to colleges near where they worked in New York, but I had refused without a second thought. “Dylan, Lucy, and I are a package deal,” I’d told them. “We’re going to Georgetown together.” Truthfully, with my academic record, I could have easily gotten into Columbia. But to accommodate Lucy’s lower scores, I had aimed lower. What a joke. They didn’t deserve my sacrifice. The day before the final application deadline, Lucy and Dylan suddenly showed up at my doorstep. Lucy was holding a small bakery box, offering it like a peace offering. “Don’t take what happened the other day to heart, Erica. Dylan only yelled because he loves you so much and got hurt.” “We can’t let one emotional fight throw away eighteen years of friendship, right?” She nudged Dylan’s arm, prompting him to speak. He offered a couple of half-hearted, reluctant murmurs. Satisfied, Lucy got straight to the point. “We have to submit our final choices tomorrow. Have you decided? We’re still doing Georgetown, right? You didn’t forget our promise?” There was a frantic, desperate gleam in her eyes. Lucy wasn’t smart. She had never been good at hiding her emotions. It was almost funny. Because I had trusted her blindly, it had taken me eighteen years to notice the jealousy dripping from her every word. Taking a sip of water, I looked at her. “I didn’t forget.” Lucy let out a visible sigh of relief. “Great! Let’s go to the computer lab and submit together tomorrow, okay?” She wrapped her arm around Dylan’s as they turned to leave. As soon as the door clicked shut, the future Lucy called again. “Do not eat that cake. It’s laced with heavy-duty laxatives. That’s how she did it last time—you were stuck in the bathroom all morning, which gave her the perfect window to log onto your computer and change your submission.” Even though I had spent days processing her betrayal, hearing this sent a chill straight down my spine. The lengths she would go to destroy me. My stomach churned with sudden nausea. I slumped over the trash can, dry-heaving into the dark. The next morning, I woke up early. I logged onto the portal and submitted my application to Columbia. The entire process took less than an hour. On my way back, I ran into Dylan, who was carrying a bag of breakfast. It was from Lucy’s favorite bakery. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was for. I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my wrist. He looked at the empty hands where my application folder should have been, his brow furrowing. “Erica, you told Lucy we were going to submit together today. Why did you go behind our backs?” I yanked my arm free, my voice deadpan. “I never promised her anything. Keep your guilt trips to yourself.” Dylan blinked, then nodded, his expression turning cold and accusatory. “I get it. You hate her. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how hostile you’ve been to her lately.” “I hate Lucy?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Dylan, are you blind or just stupid? She brought me a cake laced with laxatives to make me sick, and you’re accusing me of being hostile?” Dylan froze for a fraction of a second, then immediately shook his head. “No way. She’s too innocent for that. Besides, she has a weak stomach herself; she’d never use something like that to hurt someone.” “You obviously just ate something bad and you’re blaming her sweet gesture. I actually feel sorry for her having to deal with you.” I bit my lower lip so hard the color fled. The defense I wanted to scream died in my throat. Slowly, my shoulders slumped. I turned away. His heart belonged to Lucy. Any explanation I offered would be a waste of breath. I went home and blocked them both. Then, I bought a plane ticket to New York to clear my head with my parents. When I finally returned to school to pick up my physical enrollment packet, I ran into Dylan and Lucy near the courtyard. They were holding hands. Seeing me, Lucy panicked and quickly pulled her hand away. “Erica, it’s not what you think… my hands were just cold, and Dylan was warming them up…” I walked past them without stopping. “I don’t care.” She scrambled to keep up. “You and Dylan love each other! You shouldn’t let a stupid misunderstanding ruin things!” “Who loves him?” I snapped, turning around. “Lucy, if you want him, he’s all yours. Keep me out of it.” She froze. Dylan stepped forward, shielding her behind him, his face dark. “What is your problem, Erica? We’re all going to the same college. We’re going to see each other every day. Do you really have to make things this miserable?” Looking at their unified front, I smiled. “Who said we’re going to the same college?” Dylan frowned, opening his mouth to ask what I meant. But before he could, the guidance counselor called out from across the lawn. “Erica! There you are! You’re the last one to pick up your package!” Before I could move, Dylan bolted past me, snatching the envelope from the counselor’s hands.

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