Category: English

Every woman in Port Sterling saw Jim Caldwell as a man hopelessly in love, who had spoiled me into the enviable Mrs. Caldwell. Only I knew the truth—the agony behind that facade. Day after day, I watched numbly as he brought home one woman after another. His latest obsession was Pathy, a sharp-tongued housekeeper he allowed to turn our home upside down with bizarre rules, even for me. She canceled my credit cards, threw away my designer clothes, and limited my grocery allowance to ten dollars a day. I was forbidden from leaving after 8 PM. So when the hospital called at 8:01 PM, saying my mother’s life was hanging by a thread, Pathy’s bodyguards blocked the door without emotion. “My mother had a heart attack. I need to go now,” I pleaded, voice trembling. Pathy didn’t even look up from her nails. “The rules say no one leaves after eight. Even if she’s dying—or dead.” Shaking with rage, I begged Jim to let me go. He looked at me, cold and distant. “As long as you’re Mrs. Caldwell, you will follow Pathy’s rules.” Staring at the man I loved for ten years, I felt like I was seeing a stranger. If this was the price of being Mrs. Caldwell, I no longer wanted the title. 1 The main entrance was sealed tight by the bodyguards, two unmoving statues of muscle and indifference. My legs felt weak, ready to buckle beneath me as I shakily dialed the hospital’s number again. “Please,” I sobbed into the phone, “please start the treatment for my mother. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “But, ma’am—” Before I could hear the rest, a sharp smack sent my phone flying from my hand. “Another rule of the Caldwell house,” Pathy’s voice dripped with condescension, “no shouting!” The phone hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, the screen spiderwebbing into a black, lifeless void. I sank to my knees, cradling the shattered device as hot tears streamed down my face. “Who’s that miserable face for?” Pathy sneered, pouting as she turned to Jim. “If your wife can’t stand the sight of me, then I suppose I should just leave.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim murmured, pulling her into his arms and peppering her face with kisses. “My darling little tyrant. Who in this house would dare disobey you?” His words were for her, but his actions were for me. He tightened his grip on my chin, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Eliza. Smile.” My mother’s life was on the line; I couldn’t afford to provoke him. I forced my lips into a grotesque imitation of a smile, a grimace that felt more painful than tears. “My mom… she’s in critical condition, Jim. Please, let me go see her.” My voice was a desperate plea. “She was in that car accident last year to save you. You can’t just let her die alone…” For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps. He looked at Pathy, his tone softening. “My love, just this once?” “No!” Pathy wrenched herself from his grasp, crossing her arms as she plopped onto the sofa. “It’s just a heart attack, not a death sentence. She’s being dramatic.” She glared at him. “You promised me when you brought me here that everyone in this house would listen to me! Everyone!” “If you let her go, you’re not touching me tonight!” “Alright, alright,” Jim sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. He scooped her up and settled her onto his lap, tickling her until she erupted into giggles. Pathy’s laughter was a sharp, piercing sound, and her triumphant gaze sliced right through me. Parading his mistress in front of me, grinding my dignity into the dust—this scene had played out in our home more times than I could count. The pitying stares from the household staff were like tiny needles pricking my skin. A wave of hopeless despair washed over me. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and drew a shaky breath. “Jim Caldwell,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, “let’s get a divorce.” If I wasn’t Mrs. Caldwell, I could walk out that door. 2 The air in the room went ice-cold. A heavy silence fell over the living room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. Jim’s expression hardened, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Eliza Vance, are you serious? You’re threatening me with divorce?” He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. “You seem to have forgotten how you got here. Remember when your father begged my family to take you in? You weren’t so bold then, were you?” His words were like invisible hands, closing tightly around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. The past flooded my mind in a series of sharp, painful flashes. My father had been the Caldwell family’s driver. Ten years ago, when old Mr. Caldwell was ambushed by rivals, my father threw himself in front of him, taking the bullet meant for his boss. On his deathbed, Mr. Caldwell asked him what he wanted. With his last, shallow breaths, my father whispered, “Please… take care of my daughter.” Back then, Jim and I were inseparable, childhood sweethearts. When he heard my father had died, he held me in his arms as I cried, his own tears mixing with mine. “Don’t worry, Eliza,” he had promised. “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life. As long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you.” That promise, once my sanctuary, was now just a bitter echo, scattered to the wind. Jim, I thought, a silent scream trapped in my chest, you’re the one hurting me the most. My gaze drifted to the two of them, so comfortable and intimate on the couch. A pain like a physical blow struck my heart. I fought back the lump rising in my throat. Seeing my silence, Jim reached out and stroked my hair, the way one might soothe a pet. “Until the divorce papers are signed, you are my wife. And you will always be my wife.” I knew what that meant. As long as he refused, no one in Port Sterling would dare grant us a divorce. I was trapped. With no other choice, I made a break for the door. Crack! The sound echoed through the room as Pathy’s hand connected with my cheek. My face exploded with pain, instantly swelling. “I told you,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury, “no one breaks the rules in this house!” Her smug, triumphant smile was the final straw. I lunged at her, my hands finding her hair, yanking with all my might. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I shrieked. “If anything happens to my mother, I swear I will end you!” My fingers closed around her throat, but before I could tighten my grip, a brutal kick from Jim sent me flying. My head slammed against the sharp corner of a coffee table, and the world dissolved into a dizzying vortex of pain and darkness. “Lock her in the cellar,” Jim’s voice was devoid of all emotion. “Let her think about what she’s done.” Two guards dragged me away like a carcass and threw me into the damp, musty cellar. I pounded on the heavy oak door until my knuckles were raw and bloody, but no one came. Defeated, I slid down the door, my body wracked with sobs. The image of my mother, frail and struggling for breath in that hospital bed, shattered what little composure I had left. Knock. Knock. Knock. A gentle rapping on the door. I looked up to see a small window slide open. A wrinkled hand reached through, holding a piece of bread and a bottle of water. “Ma’am,” a soft voice whispered. “You need to eat something.” It was Anna, our old housekeeper. She’d been with my family since I was a little girl, and had always treated me like her own daughter. “Anna, please,” I begged, scrambling to my feet. “Please, just let me out. I need to get to the hospital…” “I can’t, ma’am. I’m so sorry, but I can’t.” There was a deep helplessness in her voice. She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a latticework of thin, angry red marks on her arm. Punishment. “…Thank you, Anna,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. I didn’t want to cause her any more trouble. I sank back to the cold, concrete floor, staring at the stale bread and water in my hands. Ever since Pathy had arrived, this had been my reality. She had set my daily food budget at ten dollars. Bread and water were my new staples. Meanwhile, she had Jim wrapped around her finger, taking her to Michelin-starred restaurants every night, showering her with extravagant gifts. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The wife of Port Sterling’s wealthiest man, living worse than a stray dog on the street. 3 I didn’t sleep a wink. The moment the cellar door was unlocked the next morning, I raced to the hospital, my heart pounding with a frantic, desperate rhythm. My mother was lying in the hospital bed, her breaths shallow and labored. Tears blurred my vision as I rushed to her side, gripping her cold, fragile hand. “Mom, I’m here… I’m so sorry.” “Ms. Vance, you’re finally here.” The attending physician entered the room, his face etched with concern. “We managed to stabilize your mother’s condition last night, but she’s taken a turn for the worse. She needs surgery, immediately.” “Then do it! Whatever it takes, just do the surgery!” The doctor let out a heavy sigh. “The problem is, the funds in your account have been frozen. We can’t proceed without payment, and the surgery requires a deposit of at least two hundred thousand dollars.” His words hit me like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis, and a cold sweat slicked my skin. I couldn’t believe it. To indulge Pathy in this twisted “housekeeper” game, Jim had actually cut off my mother’s medical funds. He had left her to die. My mother must have seen the despair on my face. She tugged weakly at my sleeve. “My darling girl,” she whispered, her voice raspy, “don’t… don’t go begging him for my sake…” “No,” I sobbed, shaking my head frantically. “You’re all I have left, Mom. I’m going to get you that surgery. I promise.” Through the curtain of my tears, I didn’t see the anguish in her eyes, the way they followed my retreating form with a look of profound, heart-wrenching love. I drove back to the mansion like a woman possessed. When I burst in, Jim was in the dining room, patiently coaxing Pathy to eat her breakfast. The table was laden with an obscene amount of food, a feast for a queen. There was everything from simple toast and fresh-squeezed juice to imported caviar and filet mignon. The stark, brutal contrast between this scene and the image of my dying mother sent a surge of white-hot fury through me. “Jim Caldwell!” I screamed, my voice raw with rage. “How could you? How could you cut off my mother’s medical payments?” Jim looked up, a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. “What are you talking about? I never—” “I did,” Pathy interrupted, daintily wiping her mouth with a napkin. She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with smug superiority. “Mrs. Caldwell, your daily allowance is ten dollars. If your mother needs money for her treatment, I suggest you go out and earn it yourself.” I was trembling from head to toe, my entire body vibrating with a rage so intense I thought I might shatter. I turned to Jim, my voice a desperate whisper. “You’re just going to let her do this? You’re just going to stand by and watch?” “Pathy,” Jim began, a hint of unease in his voice. “Maybe we should—” “Maybe you should what?” Pathy shot back, cutting him off. “Indulge her again?” She slammed her hands on the table and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You promised me! You promised that everyone in this house would listen to me! If one word from your wife can undermine all my rules, then what’s the point of me being here? I’ll just leave!” “No, no, of course not,” Jim said quickly, pulling her back into his arms. “You know I’ll always listen to you.” I stood there, frozen, watching this grotesque performance. My heart felt like it was being methodically ripped to shreds. This was the man I had loved for a decade. My mother and I were nothing more than props in his game, tools he used to appease his new favorite toy. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips as I gestured to the lavish spread before them. “You preach frugality to us, Pathy, but look at you. Isn’t that dress you’re wearing a runway piece that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars?” Pathy just pouted, completely unfazed. “The rules are for the Caldwell family. I’m not a Caldwell.” “Do you have any idea how hard people struggle just to survive?” I pressed on, my voice rising with every word. “The coffee you’re sipping, the food on your plate—that’s probably more than what some people make in a month!” The sight of her, draped in couture while my mother wasted away, finally broke me. I lunged at her, my hands outstretched, aiming for her throat. The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. Jim had struck me with the full force of his strength, sending me sprawling to the floor. He didn’t even glance at me, his attention solely on Pathy, his hands gently rubbing the skin on her neck where my fingers had been. He turned to me, his eyes dark and menacing. “I told you, Eliza. No one is allowed to hurt Pathy.” Pathy, ever the victim, glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. “You want money? Fine. Go earn it.” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, and dragged me out of the house and into one of their luxury cars. “Tonight,” she said with a cruel smile, “you have special permission to come home after eight.” 4 She took me to a place I recognized instantly—an exclusive, high-end club, the preferred playground for Port Sterling’s elite trust-fund kids. Pathy saw the color drain from my face and her smile widened. “A person should earn their keep, don’t you think? Go on. Serve some drinks, pour some tea, maybe polish a few shoes. You might even earn some tips.” She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “When you’ve scraped together enough cash, then you can go save your dear old mom.” Before I could protest, her bodyguards shoved me into the club’s main lounge. For my mother, I swallowed my pride. I did what I had to do. I knelt on the cold, hard floor, my hands trembling as I polished the expensive leather shoes of men who looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. One of them nudged my chin up with the toe of his shoe, while another mockingly fanned my face with a wad of cash, the crisp bills stinging my already swollen cheek. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Mrs. Caldwell. How the mighty have fallen.” “What a waste. Can’t even keep her own husband interested. I guess you can put feathers on a crow, but it’ll never be a phoenix.” “You guys haven’t seen Jim’s new flame, have you? I heard last week he went on a ten-billion-dollar shopping spree at an auction, bought out the entire catalog just to make her smile. Didn’t even bat an eye…” Every word was a poisoned dagger, twisting in the raw, gaping wound of my heart. So that’s what my mother’s life was worth to him. Nothing. I moved from one spoiled heir to the next, a hollowed-out shell of a woman, but no matter how much I debased myself, the two hundred thousand dollars remained an impossible dream. The world began to swim before my eyes; I was on the verge of collapsing. Then, a familiar pair of stilettos stopped right in front of me. “Oh, look at you,” Pathy cooed, crouching down to my level. She patted my cheek, her touch condescending. “Still working so hard for your short-lived mother?” “You know, for being such a good, diligent girl, I think you deserve a little show. I’m sure you’ll love it.” I didn’t understand what she meant, but a cold dread began to seep into my bones. She produced a small, ornate box from her purse. Opening it, she scooped up a handful of grayish-white powder. Then, with a theatrical flourish, she tossed the powder into the air. “Let’s call this show… confetti,” she chirped. A terrible premonition tightened its icy grip around my heart. The pain was so sharp, so sudden, it felt like a physical blow. “Pathy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “What is that?” She feigned a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise, though her eyes danced with malicious glee. “Oh, darling, I thought you two were so close. Don’t tell me you can’t even recognize your own mother’s ashes!” “Look how pretty it is,” she giggled, “just like confetti.” She grabbed another handful and flung it in my face. The fine dust filled my nose and mouth, and I choked, coughing violently. “You should thank me, really,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I’m helping you and your mother have a reunion.” My mind went blank. My hands, acting on their own, fumbled for my broken phone. It wouldn’t turn on. I snatched a phone from a nearby table and dialed the hospital, my fingers numb and clumsy. Every second of the ringing felt like an eternity, a slow, torturous crawl through a nightmare. My vision blurred, tears forming a thick veil over the world. When the nurse finally answered, my voice was a distorted, trembling wreck. “The doctor… my mother… where is she?” There was a moment of hesitation on the other end. “Mrs. Caldwell? Your mother was cremated this morning.” The nurse’s voice continued, distant and muffled, as if coming from the other side of a long tunnel. “She passed away from cardiac arrest last night. We tried calling you and Mr. Caldwell, but no one answered. Finally, Mr. Caldwell’s secretary picked up. She told us to… to proceed with the cremation as quickly as possible.” My gaze snapped to the box in Pathy’s hand, to the fine gray powder clinging to her fingers. A wave of unimaginable grief and rage crashed over me, so powerful it brought the bitter taste of blood to my mouth. That box… it really was… my mother. Pathy met my horrified stare, and then she threw her head back and laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. “You and your mother are both such idiots! All I did was show her a little video of you on your knees, polishing shoes for these men. The old hag got so worked up, her heart just gave out. Pathetic.” She leaned in close, her voice a triumphant hiss. “Honestly, you two belong together. In the ground.” A primal scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure, animalistic agony. “PATHY! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” The grief, the rage—it all converged into a singular, blinding focus. I lunged at her, my hands closing around her neck, my only thought to extinguish the cruel, mocking light in her eyes. If what she said was true… I couldn’t bear to imagine it. My mother, the person who loved me more than anyone in the world, seeing that video… the shame, the heartbreak… it would have shattered her. “Jim! Help me! She’s trying to kill me!” Pathy shrieked, her hands clawing at mine. The next instant, a powerful force slammed into my side. I was thrown backward, tumbling across the floor until my head cracked against the leg of a table. The world spun violently, stars exploding behind my eyes. “Eliza, have you lost your mind?” Jim’s voice thundered above me.

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My wife’s “personal financial advisor” had another meltdown. This time, he tried to slit his wrists because I spent fifteen dollars on an Uber for my wife’s medicine without reporting it to him. He felt disrespected. He resigned that night. To appease him, my wife Victoria told me to pack and leave with nothing, handing me new divorce papers. “Don’t worry, darling, it’s just for show,” she cooed. “You’re the only man I love. We’ll remarry once Scott calms down.” I looked at her calmly. “Are you sure? This will be the ninth time.” My seven-year-old daughter Mindy kicked my legs. “You pathetic kept man! You did wrong—you deserve this!” As they wanted, I signed. Again. That evening, Scott posted online: “Some people finally know their place. Here’s a little family portrait as a reward.~” Victoria sighed in relief and excitedly called my phone. “Darling, Scott forgave you! We can remarry!” But a woman’s soft, seductive voice answered: “Sorry, your husband was a bit rough with me in bed. He’s showering now…” 01 Victoria’s breath hitched. “Who is this? What are you doing?” Her voice was a low growl, a caged animal about to pounce. The woman on the other end just chuckled softly and hung up. Victoria went ballistic. She mobilized every resource at her disposal and, in just fifteen minutes, she was standing in front of me. “I’m so sorry, darling. It was all my fault.” She threw her arms around me, her eyes wide with a fear I hadn’t seen in years. “I know you’re jealous. You hired someone to act this out just to scare me, didn’t you?” “Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson! For real this time! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear me?” “I wasn’t trying to scare you,” I said, gently pushing her away. I looked her straight in the eye. “We’re divorced.” Victoria paused, then her face melted into a practiced pout. “Oh, come on. My husband is the most forgiving man in the world. Don’t be angry. I know what you want… the official apology tour, right? I came prepared…” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to a Panamera. A car I used to dream about. “I really, really know I messed up,” she crooned, pressing the key into my hand. “You’ve already forgiven me nine times, and I still pushed my luck? I’m the worst!” “But I promise, honey, this is the absolute last time! For Mindy’s sake, can you just give me one more chance? Please?” Just then, Mindy ran over and gave me a huge hug. “Daddy, don’t go! I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said those things. Mommy already punished me for it.” “Please, just give me and Mommy one more chance.” My usually defiant daughter was looking at me with such pitiful eyes. Even a heart of stone would have started to soften. And it wasn’t just them. Suddenly, the room was filled with friends and family. Each of them held a velvet box, and inside each box was a key to a luxury car. There were also folders containing stock certificates, property deeds, and more. “Wow, Victoria, you’ve really outdone yourself! The line of supercars outside looks like an auto show!” “Forget the cars, look at that! Company shares! Do you know what that means?” “Say yes! Marry her again!” Seeing my hesitation, Victoria grew anxious. “David, I know you’ve always wanted to go to Provence. I’ve already booked the flights. Just say the word, and we can leave right now.” “Daddy, I want to go on a trip! Please, please say yes to Mommy!” Mother and daughter stared at me with identical, pleading puppy-dog eyes. I opened my mouth to speak, but another voice cut through the air—a petulant, angry male voice from the doorway. 02 “Victoria! Why did you spend all this money without telling me? I’ve never gotten this many gifts from you! How could you just buy all this for him?” “I knew it! You were lying when you said you wanted me to manage the household finances… I’m done. I’m never helping you again!” Victoria’s face went pale. She spotted Scott in the crowd, immediately dropped my hand, and ran after him. “Scott, don’t be angry! Let me explain.” Someone in the crowd called out, “Hey, Victoria, what about the remarriage?” She shot back without a second glance, her voice dripping with irritation. “Remarry? Get your priorities straight.” She didn’t even spare me a look as she disappeared after him. The crowd quietly packed up their gift boxes, their expressions shifting to amusement. “Well, I guess Scott still comes first.” “The way Victoria was acting, I almost thought she was serious this time!” Mindy’s sweet demeanor vanished. She looked up at me with a smug grin. “Mommy only promised me a new dress if I came. That’s the only reason I bothered.” “I thought we might have to humor you for a few days, but I guess Uncle Scott is more important. You lose again, kept man!” “It’s all your fault Uncle Scott gets angry all the time. Maybe I should take all these gifts and give them to him to make him feel better.” Less than two hours later, a vlog titled “Billionaire Family Flex” was trending. The video showed a courtyard filled with luxury cars. Victoria was clinging to Scott’s arm, whining and pleading. Scott, looking aloof, finally cracked a smile as Mindy showered him with compliments, calling him “Daddy.” The comments poured in. [OMG! Are supercars on sale now? I can’t even afford the model versions!] [I counted. 101 cars. As in, ‘one in a hundred million’? I’m shipping this so hard!] In the past, a scene like this would have sent me into a spiral of panic and despair. Does Victoria still love me? Is my daughter being led astray? It always ended in endless arguments and emotional exhaustion. But now, watching this, I felt an unexpected calm. I liked Scott’s post, then I deleted every single one of their numbers from my phone. From now on, I was done with them. 03 Just then, Catherine, who had gone out to grab us a late-night snack, returned. “What happened? Don’t tell me you passed out from hunger again.” I shook my head, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. She handed me a container of warm soup and then mentioned, almost as an afterthought, “By the way, someone called your phone while you were asleep. She sounded pretty aggressive, so I just hung up. I hope it wasn’t anything important?” I knew exactly who she was talking about. “Just a spam call. I’ve already blocked the number.” I didn’t notice the slight upward curl of her lips as I finished the soup and began to pack. There wasn’t much to take. Ten years of marriage had boiled down to a few scattered pieces of clothing and personal items. I calmly booked a one-way flight out of the country, leaving in three days. This time, I wasn’t coming back. But there was one last thing I had to do. The next day, I went to an auction house. There was a time when my acting career was taking off. But Victoria didn’t want to be a housewife; she wanted a career of her own. So I retired, staying home to raise our daughter. Starting a business is hard, especially with no capital. When she was at her wit’s end, I pawned the antique locket my father had left me. It was a family heirloom. By the time we could afford to buy it back, the pawn shop had closed, and the locket was gone. Until now. I’d recently heard it was up for auction. As I walked in, someone called my name. “David, what are you doing here?” It was Scott. Behind him stood a few of our old, mutual friends. “Isn’t it obvious?” one of them sneered. “He must have heard Victoria was going to be here and came chasing after her.” “Weren’t you putting on a big show about not remarrying yesterday? What an act.” “Come on, David,” another one said, trying to pull me over. “Just apologize to Scott and let’s move past this.” I yanked my arm away. “Apologize to her boy toy?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “I took an Uber to bring my wife medicine. What exactly did I do wrong?” I sacrificed my career to be a stay-at-home father. Victoria swore she would never forget what I’d done for her. And now? Now I was treated worse than Scott’s dog. My spending was monitored, and I had to report every dime to a man who had no business in my marriage. For the sake of my family, I had endured it. But now, even my own daughter had turned against me. I was done with both of them. Ignoring them, I found my seat. The auction was about to begin. A few minutes later, I saw Scott pouting at Victoria, who had just returned from networking. “Victoria, where have you been? You promised you’d protect me! How can you let this man walk all over me, again and again?” Victoria’s heart practically melted. “I’m sorry I’m late, sweetie. What can I get you to make it up to you?” “I want that antique locket! If you don’t buy it for me, I’m never speaking to you again!” My eyes shot to the stage. The item currently being displayed was the very locket I had come for. I immediately raised my paddle. “One hundred thousand.” It was twenty thousand more than the previous bid. No one else was going to overpay for an outdated piece of jewelry. But then I saw Victoria raise her paddle without a second thought. I turned in my seat. “Victoria, I left with nothing. How much more are you going to take from me? When we had nothing, you promised you would get my father’s locket back for me! Look at it! This isn’t some toy for you to appease your lover!” Victoria froze, her hand hovering in the air. A flash of shock crossed her face. She wasn’t used to me speaking to her this way. But finally, she lowered her paddle. The auctioneer’s voice echoed in the hall. “One hundred thousand going once… One hundred thousand going twice…” Scott was frantic. “Victoria, bid! What are you doing? Is it him or me?” Tears welled in his eyes, ready to spill over at a moment’s notice. Victoria looked at me, then at Scott. Her expression hardened. I laughed to myself, a hollow, self-deprecating sound. Of course. How could I, the washed-up ex-husband, ever compare to her precious lover? I was about to get up and leave, but then I heard Victoria’s voice, firm and clear. “Let it go, Scott. Let him have it. We don’t want it.” 04 Scott’s eyes went wide. The auctioneer’s gavel came down with a sharp crack. “One hundred thousand, sold! Congratulations to the gentleman in row seven.” A spotlight hit me. Scott, unable to take it, stormed out of the room. “Fine, Victoria! If you’re going to side with him, then you can have him!” I never expected Victoria to choose me in that moment. But that was all it was. A moment. I felt no thrill, no gratitude. This was something she owed me. In all our years of marriage, I had never gained anything from her. In fact, I had poured my own money, my own inheritance, into her dream. And now? I’d been kicked out with nothing, and the hundred thousand dollars I’d just spent had been borrowed. If she could be this heartless, then she couldn’t blame me for what came next. As the auction moved to its final item, I noticed that Scott and Victoria had returned. He shot me a provocative glare. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. The auctioneer’s voice boomed with excitement. “And now, for our final, exclusive item of the evening! A collection of ninety-nine provocative photos of the once-famous, award-winning actor, David Vance, with ninety-nine different unknown models!” The room erupted in gasps and whispers, but everyone craned their necks to get a better look at the explicit images displayed on the screen. “Holy hell, are we even allowed to see this?” “They call it a ‘photo collection,’ but these are just cheating pics, aren’t they?” “Whoa, look at that position… that’s wild! He was really getting around. No wonder Victoria kept taking him back even after divorcing him…” “Looking at this, maybe there was a good reason she kept divorcing him!” “A scumbag like that should be castrated!” Every word was a dagger in my ear. My hands clenched into fists, my face draining of all color. 05 To appease her lover, Victoria was willing to gamble away my reputation. I had told her I wanted to make a comeback. But if these photos got out, my career would be over before it even began. Victoria looked at Scott, her eyes soft. “A little apology gift for you, Scott. Do you like it?” A smirk played on his lips. “Of course I do. Well played, Victoria.” “Alright, I suppose I can be merciful and forgive you this time.” Victoria hugged him, cooing, “Thank you, sweetie. You’re so forgiving.” Scott turned his head away proudly and petulantly. “One thing at a time. He still hasn’t apologized to me.” Victoria understood instantly. She had her bodyguards drag me in front of Scott. “David. Apologize.” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, telling myself not to cry, that these people weren’t worth my tears. But my eyes burned anyway. “And if I say no?” Scott kicked me, hard. A blinding flash of pain erupted between my legs, and I collapsed, convulsing on the floor. “If you don’t apologize,” he sneered, “I’ll let all your old fans see how I deal with a piece of trash like you.” “With these photos, public opinion will be on my side.” He leaned in closer. “Or maybe… I should just have that thing of yours cut off. Then you wouldn’t dare try to compete with me again.” He took one of the printed photos and slapped it against my cheek. I laughed, a cold, ragged sound. Fighting through the agony, I forced myself up and kicked him back with all my might. “Aaargh!” he shrieked, a sound of pure agony and hatred. “The same goes for you!” I spat. “Let’s see who’s really competing for what rightfully belongs to someone else!” Victoria’s face contorted with rage. She lunged forward and kicked me in the stomach, the heel of her shoe digging into my flesh, leaving a mark. “That’s enough, David! My patience has its limits! I gave you a chance, and you threw it away. Don’t blame me for being cruel!” With a flick of her wrist, she sent the photos flying, scattering them across the auction hall like confetti. At the same time, her bodyguards approached me, surgical scalpels glinting in their hands. People scrambled to grab the photos. Within minutes, they were all over the internet. “A kept man and a cheater? Why haven’t they executed him already?” “I can’t believe he used to have so many fans. It’s so embarrassing to have ever supported him.” “Look how small it is. He’s got nothing going for him. What did those women even see in him?” The words were like swords, trying to cut me down. Victoria held Scott, looking down at me from her pedestal. “Still not going to apologize?” I laughed. Instead of apologizing, I struggled back to my feet. A flicker of confusion crossed Victoria’s face. She couldn’t understand why I was being so stubborn. In the past, a single look from her was enough to make me bow my head, whether I was wrong or not. Why was I fighting back so hard this time? Ignoring the whispers, I stood tall and straight, a cold smile on my face. “You know damn well who the real cheater is. My conscience is clear. I’m not afraid of what people say. So unless you’re going to kill me right now, I will spend the rest of my life proving my innocence.” “Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve? If not, I’m leaving.” The hall fell into another stunned silence. But this time, it wasn’t filled with mockery and scorn. It was filled with a grudging respect. Victoria, however, was panicking. She could sense that this time, I was serious. If she didn’t do something, I was really going to walk away. Forever. She took a step forward, about to speak, when a group of professional bodyguards stormed into the room and formed a protective circle around me. “I’m sorry I’m late, David.”

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It was my son Bobby’s third birthday, and my mother-in-law, a few glasses of wine in, wouldn’t stop fussing over him. She pinched Bobby’s chubby cheeks, her words slurring as she spoke to my husband, Mark. “This boy… it’s uncanny.” “He has your eyebrows, your eyes… but his nose, his mouth…” She paused, squinting at my sister, Chloe, who was sitting beside me, quietly peeling an apple. “His nose and mouth,” she declared loudly, “they’re the spitting image of Chloe!” The air in the room instantly froze. The only sound was the cheerful din of cartoons playing on the TV. Chloe’s hand jerked, the paring knife slicing into her finger. Mark’s face went rigid, the color draining from it in an instant. He shot up from his seat, his voice sharp. “Mom! You’re drunk, stop talking nonsense!” I sat on the sofa, watching the scene unfold, and smiled. “She’s not wrong, though.” I tilted my head, my gaze shifting between my ashen-faced sister and my panicked husband. “I’ve always wondered why Bobby looks so much like his aunt.” 1 Mark’s reaction was more violent than I’d anticipated. He practically dove across the room to snatch Bobby from his mother’s arms, as if terrified I might look at our son for a second longer. “Don’t listen to her, Grace. She’s getting old, her eyes are playing tricks on her.” He kept his back to me, his voice strained. He didn’t dare meet my gaze. Chloe scrambled to her feet, forcing a smile that was more painful than a grimace. “Grace, she was just kidding. Kids change every day, you can’t really tell who they look like.” Can’t you? The seed of a doubt I had buried three years ago, a terrible thought I never dared to examine, burst into venomous bloom. I had carried Bobby for ten months. I had nearly died giving birth to him. He was my son. But from the day he was born, he never looked like me. Everyone said he just took after his father. And I had lied to myself, believing them. But as he grew, as his features sharpened, the shadow of Chloe on his small face became impossible to ignore. The same almond-shaped eyes. The same dimple in the same spot when he smiled. Even the way his lips pouted slightly in his sleep was a perfect mirror of my sister. I had told myself it was just the magic of shared blood. We were sisters, after all. But today, my mother-in-law’s drunken words had ripped away the comforting lie I’d wrapped myself in. “Alright, everyone, calm down.” I stood up calmly, pulled a tissue from the coffee table, and walked over to Chloe. I took her hand, which was still bleeding, and gently pressed the tissue against the cut. “You have to be more careful.” My voice was soft, but my eyes were fixed on her pale, stricken face. She couldn’t look at me. “I… I’m fine, Grace,” she stammered. Mark stood frozen, clutching our son. I smiled and turned to him. “Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you take Bobby to wash his hands?” My voice was so normal, so utterly untroubled, it was as if the last five minutes had been a hallucination. Mark looked like a man granted a pardon. He fled to the bathroom with the child. The atmosphere at the dinner table was suffocating. My mother-in-law, apparently realizing her mistake, ate with her head down, silent. I was the only one who acted as if nothing had happened. I served Bobby his favorite vegetables, ladled soup for Mark, and even made cheerful conversation with Chloe about her job. The calmer I was, the more haunted they looked. The meal was an exercise in torture. Afterward, Mark insisted on doing the dishes, and Chloe announced she had an urgent work matter, hastily getting ready to leave. “Wait a second.” I called out to her. She froze in the entryway, her body stiff. I went to the fridge, took out a container of fresh cherries I’d bought that afternoon, and poured them into a large bag for her. “Here, for the road. I know they’re your favorite.” Her hand trembled as she took the bag. She wouldn’t look up. “Thanks, Grace.” “Don’t be silly.” I reached out and smoothed a stray strand of her hair, blown messy by the wind. I leaned in close, my lips next to her ear, and whispered in a voice only she could hear: “Chloe, next time you come over, don’t wear that perfume.” “Bobby’s allergic to it. Did you forget?” A violent tremor shot through her body. Her pupils dilated in sheer terror. I stepped back, patting her shoulder with a serene smile. “Drive safe.” The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. Mark was at the sink, his broad back turned to me. A back that had once been my greatest source of comfort. I watched him for a moment, then spoke. “Mark.” He stopped moving. “Do you remember when I was in labor with Bobby? I was hemorrhaging. The doctors told you I might not make it.” He didn’t turn around. His voice was muffled. “I remember.” “I was lying in that hospital bed, thinking I was going to die. I held your hand. Do you remember what I said to you?” His shoulders began to tremble. I continued, my voice flat and empty. “I said, if I die, you have to raise Bobby well. He’s our son. I’m giving my life for him…” “Stop it!” He spun around, his face a mask of anguish, his eyes bloodshot. “You weren’t going to die! We were going to be fine, our family!” I looked at him and, suddenly, I laughed. “Mark,” I asked, each word deliberate and sharp, “is there something you’ve been hiding from me?” 2 Mark’s eyes darted away. He slammed the faucet off, and the sudden, total silence in the kitchen was deafening. “What are you talking about now?” He moved toward me, reaching for my hand. I pulled away. His hand hung awkwardly in the air. He forced a weary smile. “Look, I know what Mom said upset you, but it was just drunk talk. You and Chloe are sisters. Is it really so strange that Bobby looks a little like his aunt?” He was trying to soothe me with logic, to reason away the horror. Before today, I might have believed him. But now, his words were just noise. “Is it?” I stared directly into his eyes. “Then let me ask you this. Why did you transfer twenty thousand dollars to Chloe last month?” The blood drained from his face. “How did you know about that?” he blurted out. I gave a cold, humorless laugh. We were married. His bank account was linked to my phone. I got a notification for every large transaction. I’d never paid them any mind before because I trusted him. But in the instant my mother-in-law had spoken those words, every overlooked detail, every strange inconsistency from the past three years had replayed in my mind like a horror film. The notification was one of them. His excuse at the time had been that Chloe had gotten scammed by a boyfriend and was caught up in some bad online loans. As her brother-in-law, he had to help. I believed him. I’d even called Chloe, full of sympathy. She had cried and told me it was all sorted out, that the money was paid back. Looking back, it was a truly masterful performance. “It’s not what you think!” Mark said, stepping forward, desperate to explain. “That money was really—” “To pay off her debts, right?” I finished for him. He nodded vigorously, clinging to the explanation like a lifeline. “Yes! That’s exactly it! It’s not easy for a young woman out there on her own. I didn’t go into detail because I didn’t want you to worry.” Such a good brother-in-law. Such a thoughtful husband. I watched his frantic attempts to lie, a sheet of ice forming around my heart. “Mark, we’ve been married for five years.” My voice was eerily calm. “When did you start lying to me?” He froze. “I didn’t…” “You did,” I cut him off. “When you lie, you can’t even look me in the eye.” He fell silent, his head hanging in defeat. I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat. “I won’t ask about the money again.” His head snapped up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “I only have one condition,” I said. “From now on, I want Chloe to visit us less.” The relief on his face curdled into a subtle panic. “Why? She’s your sister…” “Precisely because she is my sister,” I said, my voice clear and cold, “I don’t want any unnecessary misunderstandings to come between us.” I held his gaze. “Can you promise me that?” He opened his mouth to argue, but under my glacial stare, he finally, painfully, nodded. “…Okay.” That night, we slept in separate rooms for the first time in our marriage. I lay in Bobby’s room, holding my son’s warm little body, and stared into the darkness all night. My mind raced, replaying memory after memory. I remembered when Chloe first graduated from college and lived with us for six months. During that time, Mark was kinder to her than he was to me. He’d make her a separate sandwich in the morning; he’d watch her favorite cheesy dramas with her at night. I thought he was just treating my sister as his own. I remembered the last trimester of my pregnancy, when I was huge, miserable, and short-tempered. It was Chloe who was by my side every day, massaging my swollen feet, taking walks with me, showing more patience than Bobby’s own father. The day I gave birth, she waited outside the delivery room, crying harder than anyone. After Bobby was born, she was at our house constantly, burying him in mountains of toys and clothes. Everyone told me how lucky I was to have such a wonderful sister. I had believed them. I had felt so blessed. Now, those warm memories were a thousand tiny knives, twisting in my heart. When did it start? During those six months she lived with us? Or even earlier? The little sister I had cherished and protected her whole life. The husband I had sworn to love for eternity. How could they? How dared they? The next morning, I got up and made breakfast as if nothing was wrong. Mark emerged from the study with dark circles under his eyes. He sat at the table, cautiously watching me. “Grace… are you still angry?” I pushed a glass of milk toward him and smiled. “No. I thought about it. Mom was right. We’re all family, it’s normal to look alike.” He visibly relaxed. “I’m so glad you feel that way.” I nodded, sipping my oatmeal and mentioning casually, “By the way, Bobby’s hair is getting a little long. I was thinking of taking him for a haircut. He has that little birthmark on the back of his head, and the barber always seems to nick it. I want to find someone more careful.” As I spoke, I reached over and gently plucked a few strands of hair from Bobby’s head. “Look at this,” I said, holding them up. “So dark and thick. Just like yours.” I rolled the small cluster of hairs between my fingertips. Then, as he watched, I carefully placed them into a small, transparent Ziploc bag. 3 The instant I looked up, the color drained from Mark’s face, leaving it the color of ash. He stared at the tiny bag in my hand, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn’t hide. “What… what are you doing with his hair?” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Just a keepsake.” I slipped the bag into my purse, my tone as light and breezy as if I were discussing the weather. “Bobby’s turning three soon. I want to save things from each stage of his life. His first tooth, a lock of hair, his first pair of shoes. It will be a precious memory for him when he’s older, don’t you think?” The excuse was flawless. I almost believed it myself. The bloodshot veins in Mark’s eyes seemed to pulse. I didn’t look at him again. I took Bobby’s hand. “Say bye to Daddy, sweetie. Mommy’s taking you for a haircut.” “Bye-bye, Daddy!” Bobby chirped, waving his little hand. Mark remained frozen in place. As the front door clicked shut behind me, I thought I heard the sound of a choked, ragged gasp. I didn’t go to a barbershop. I took Bobby straight to the largest genetic testing center in the city. In the taxi, I held my son, my palms slick with cold sweat. Bobby was quiet, content to sit in my lap and play with his fingers, occasionally looking up to give me a sweet, trusting smile. I looked at his face—Chloe’s face—and my heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. The pain was suffocating. The center was quiet. I calmly filled out the forms, paid the fee, and submitted the samples. In addition to Bobby’s hair, I submitted another sample: a few long strands of hair I had found on the sofa last week after Chloe had visited. On a strange impulse, I had saved them. Looking back, it seems fate was already sending me signs. The lab technician took the two samples and asked, in a routine, professional voice, “And what type of relationship analysis will this be?” I looked at her and took a deep, steadying breath. “Maternity.” The technician paused, her eyes flicking up to meet mine with a flash of curiosity. But she said nothing, simply ticking the corresponding box on the form. “Very well. The results will be ready in seven business days. We can mail them to you, or you can pick them up in person.” “I’ll pick them up.” 4 As I stepped out of the testing center, the world tilted violently. I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. What was I doing? I was entertaining the possibility that my husband and my own sister had betrayed me in the most grotesque way imaginable. I was questioning whether the son I had nearly died for was even mine. If… if the results confirmed my fears, what would I do? I couldn’t let myself think about it. The next week was a blur of hollow motions. Mark and I maintained a fragile peace. He became unnervingly attentive, taking over all the housework, cooking elaborate meals, coming home from work on time every single day. He even left his phone unlocked for me to check at will. The more he tried, the colder I felt. This wasn’t atonement. This was the frantic scrambling of a guilty conscience. Chloe didn’t visit, and she barely called. My mother called once to ask if we had fought. I laughed and said no, we were just busy with work. My mom sighed. “Chloe has always been so close to you. You need to take good care of her.” Take care of her? Yes. For over twenty years, I had cared for her like she was the most precious thing in the world. And how had she repaid me? On the seventh day, I got the call from the center. I locked myself in my room, steeling myself for what felt like an eternity before I finally found the courage to leave the house. When I arrived at the center, Mark was standing at the entrance. He looked like a ghost—gaunt, ashen, with dark, hollowed-out eyes. The moment he saw me, he stumbled forward and grabbed my arm. “Grace, let’s just go home, please?” His voice was a raw, pleading rasp. “We don’t have to look. We can tear it up, pretend this never happened… We can go back to how things were…” I looked at him and felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. “Mark,” I asked quietly, “what are you so afraid of?” He flinched as if I’d struck him. His grip on my arm went slack. I ignored him and walked inside. The report was in a manila envelope. It was thin, but it felt as heavy as a gravestone. I didn’t open it there. I walked past Mark, who didn’t even dare to try and stop me, and went home. I locked myself in the bedroom. Mark pounded on the door, his voice shifting from pleading, to shouting, to finally, a broken whimper. I heard none of it. I slid down with my back against the door, my fingers trembling as I tore open the seal. I stared at the single line at the bottom of the page for a long, long time, until the words burned themselves onto the back of my eyes. [Regarding Sample A (Chloe) and Sample B (Bobby)]: [Support for a biological mother-child relationship is found.] [Probability of maternity: 99.9999%]

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I was on a scenic sky-tram with my in-laws when the mountain below erupted into a million-dollar firework display. Against the twilight sky, it spelled out: STELLA, MY HEART IS YOURS FOREVER. I knew instantly. This was for my husband’s childhood flame—a grand gesture to win her back. The blast shook our cable car violently. The support cable groaned, ready to snap. Gripping my phone, I screamed: “Ross, you’re insane! Stop! Your parents are in here with me!” A cold chuckle came through, layered with Stella’s coaxing voice. “Why stop? Three years ago, Stella’s parents died under your care—a surgeon who ‘never’ failed. Today, Peyton, you’ll taste that same pain.” I heard a security guard in the background before Ross commanded sharply: “Fire three hundred more rounds. Aim for the cable car. Obliterate it.” Stella giggled sweetly, “Make those old fools disappear.” The car plunged. My in-laws cried out, pale with terror. Seeing red, I roared into the phone: “Ross, these are your own parents!” 1 “Peyton, do you even hear yourself? How pathetic.” Ross’s voice was a sliver of ice. In the background, Stella tittered. “Oh, Ross, don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to use your parents to control you,” she cooed. “Just like she did to force you into marriage.” That was the trigger. I heard Ross’s breath catch, his anger flaring. He barked an order, and a new volley of fireworks, fifty shells this time, screamed toward us. “You have ten minutes,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Agree to a divorce, sign away everything you have, and tell my parents it was your choice. Do that, and maybe I’ll let you live.” He paused, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air. “Otherwise…” The car’s glass door, already fractured, swung wildly on its hinges, shrieking with the tortured sound of metal. Before I could respond, my father-in-law, his face a mask of fury, snatched the phone from my hand. “You little bastard! Is this how you treat Peyton when we’re not around?” His voice, usually so steady, was sharp with fear and altitude sickness. There was a stunned silence from Ross’s end, followed by an explosion of rage. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?” “I’m your father!” “I never acknowledged that marriage. You think you can claim a connection to me? You must have a death wish.” The barrage intensified. A shell hit the car directly, and the remaining glass shattered. I was thrown halfway out the window, my hands desperately clinging to the frame. Shards of glass dug into my palm, a hot, searing pain that made me break out in a cold sweat. My mother-in-law screamed, her eyes wide with horror. “Peyton, your hand!” For a surgeon, your hands are everything. I managed a grim smile. “I’m fine.” She fumbled for her own phone. “I’m calling Mr. Cole. He’ll get us out of this.” But when she dialed, the call was rerouted. It was Ross who answered. My mother-in-law was hysterical. “You monster! You’re trying to kill us! Stop this right now!” Ross just clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Mom, has Peyton been feeding you stories again? Don’t listen to her nonsense. We’re perfectly fine.” He hung up. A second later, my phone rang. It was him, bellowing with rage. “You bitch! You really think you can use my parents as a shield?” he snarled. “Let me spell it out for you. I fired Cole this morning. No one is coming to save you. It’s divorce, or it’s death. Choose.” My mother-in-law gasped, a strangled sound, and collapsed, clutching her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart. It was a heart attack. I frantically dug through my bag, my fingers finally closing around her pill bottle. Just as I was about to give her one, a helicopter thundered into view, hovering a hundred yards away. Ross stood in the open doorway, Stella wrapped around him. In his hands, he held a hunting rifle. He calmly loaded a round. Bang. The bullet whizzed past my cheek and struck the pill bottle, shattering it into dust. The impact sent a numbing shock up my arm. There was another metallic click. He was aiming at me. “Ten minutes are up, Peyton. Are you signing, or not?” 2 My mother-in-law gripped my hand, her eyes pleading as she weakly shook her head. My father-in-law, his face ashen, tried to lean out to reason with his son. A warning shot from Ross tore through his shoulder. “I’m counting down from ten!” Ross yelled. “Ten… nine…” I looked at the two elderly people, both on the verge of death because of me. My voice was cold as stone. “I’ll sign. On one condition.” “You will send up a new bottle of heart medication immediately, and you will get my father-in-law to a hospital. This is between us. Leave them out of it.” “Deal.” A slow, cruel smile spread across Ross’s face. He snapped his fingers. A drone buzzed toward the cable car, the divorce papers clipped to its landing gear. I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. As I reached for the bottle of pills attached to the drone, another shot rang out. The bullet tore straight through the center of my palm. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. It was Stella. She was holding a pistol, her eyes glinting with venom. “Ross, baby, her incompetence killed my parents. Why should hers get to live? I don’t think so.” She pouted, turning her face away. Ross kissed her cheek, his laughter loud and unrestrained. “Patience, my love. Did you really think I’d let her off that easy? That bottle is filled with rat poison.” My head snapped up. I stared at him, my mind reeling in disbelief. If Stella hadn’t shot my hand, I would have given that poison to his mother. Not even a miracle could have saved her. Seeing the look on my face, Ross’s smile widened. “I never planned on letting any of you live. What difference does it make if you die now or later?” He raised his rifle again, this time aiming at the hook connecting our car to the cable. Bang. The car lurched violently, now hanging by a single, fraying steel wire. The jolt sent my father-in-law flying out the broken window. His hand shot out, his fingers closing around the cable, but he was losing his grip. Dangling from his neck was a jade pendant, a family crest carved into its surface. Ross’s assistant saw it and gasped. “Sir, that pendant… isn’t that the Master’s?” he stammered. “The one he had made for the two of you from that emerald he found? Sir… is that really him?” For a second, Ross’s face tightened with uncertainty. But Stella was right there, whispering poison in his ear. “These people are all thieves, aren’t they? Peyton stole my place as your wife, and her father stole your father’s necklace. They’re a family of criminals!” she hissed. “Ross, you just called your parents last night. They’re in the Maldives. How could they possibly be here?” Her words were all it took. The flicker of doubt in his eyes vanished. I was desperately holding onto my father-in-law’s arm with one hand, my feet braced against the doorframe. A profound, crushing sense of powerlessness washed over me. It was true, they had been in the Maldives. But they had flown back overnight, a surprise trip to help me fix my marriage with Ross. They had made me promise not to tell him. We were all supposed to ride this sky-tram together. We had waited and waited, but instead of Ross, we got his million-dollar declaration of war. My father-in-law had lost consciousness. He was a dead weight, slipping from my grasp. My arm was dislocated, the pain so intense I could hardly breathe. But I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t let him fall hundreds of feet to his death. I squeezed my eyes shut, my voice raw with desperation. “Ross, please, save your father! If you don’t, you will regret this for the rest of your life!” I never imagined he could be so monstrous. He raised the rifle one last time, aimed it at my wrist, and pulled the trigger. “Don’t you dare call that man my father,” he said, his voice flat and empty. “My father is in the Maldives. And I told you, Peyton. Today, you learn what it feels like to lose someone you love.” The impact of the bullet shattered my wrist. My hand went numb, my fingers releasing their hold. My father-in-law fell, a straight, silent line into the abyss. A primal, heart-shattering scream was torn from my throat. “DAD!” 3 The cable car was moments from breaking completely. My mother-in-law was hovering between life and death. I was losing so much blood that my vision was starting to blur. From the helicopter, Ross watched us, sipping from a wine glass, utterly at ease. Stella snuggled against him. “Ross, baby,” she purred, “let’s play a game.” He adored her. He would do anything she asked. He tweaked her nose. “Anything for you, my love.” A wicked smile spread across her face. She clapped her hands, and a guard appeared, holding a massive, buzzing hornet’s nest in a net. She admired her freshly painted nails, then casually gestured toward our car. “Toss it in.” The nest sailed through the air and landed with a thud inside the car. A living, buzzing cloud of fury erupted, swarming toward me and my unconscious mother-in-law. I couldn’t move fast enough. A hornet stung my arm, and the spot instantly swelled into an angry, painful lump. “I heard a rumor that hornet venom is a folk remedy for heart problems,” Stella called out, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I’m just trying to help your mother-in-law, Peyton. You should be more grateful.” She was enjoying this. She gave a signal, and a bucket of honey was splashed into the car. The cloying sweetness filled the air, driving the hornets into a frenzy. Gritting my teeth, I pulled a jacket from my bag and threw it over both of us, a pathetic shield against the onslaught. Ross and Stella’s shrill laughter echoed through the valley. We were their entertainment. The movement made the car swing wildly again. We were thrown against the bent metal frame. And then I saw it—a single, overlooked pill lying in a corner of the car. Ignoring the stinging insects, I lunged for it, my movements fast and desperate. I forced it into my mother-in-law’s mouth. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, I kicked the hornet’s nest out of the car. It plummeted into the canyon below, its furious inhabitants following it down. I collapsed, every muscle in my body screaming. My mother-in-law began to stir, her breathing still shallow. When her eyes focused and she saw that we were alone, she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Where’s your father?” My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t speak. I just turned my head away. She understood instantly. From the helicopter, Ross’s taunts continued. “Looks like the old hag is still breathing. Need some help finishing the job?” Another shot. This one hit the last remaining cable. My mother-in-law’s nails dug into my skin. Her face was a mask of pure hatred. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a small, metal object. A flare gun. “Peyton,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “Signal the Thunder Team. Tell them to come for us.” Her body was failing. The effort of speaking was too much, and she slumped back into unconsciousness. I didn’t waste a second. I aimed the gun at the sky and fired. A brilliant crimson flare shot into the clouds, exploding in a dazzling burst of light high above the mountain—far brighter and more meaningful than the million-dollar fireworks Ross had set off for Stella. The sight of it made Ross jump to his feet. “She gave you that?” he roared. A flare from the head of the family was a summons of the highest urgency. It meant the matriarch was in mortal danger. As a Sterling, he knew exactly what it meant. Once the Thunder Team—the family’s elite private army—arrived, there would be no hiding what he had done. “No,” he muttered to himself, his eyes wild with a new, murderous intent. “I can’t let my parents find out about this.” He reloaded his rifle and aimed it squarely at my head. Stella’s eyes gleamed. “That’s right, Ross! Kill her!” she urged. “Once she’s dead, all your problems will be gone.” Her words mirrored his own desperate thoughts. He didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger. Bang. 4 The bullet sped toward me. But another bullet, fired from the southwest, was faster. The two rounds collided in mid-air, exploding in a shower of sparks. A squadron of black helicopters, the insignia of the Sterling family’s security detail emblazoned on their sides, descended from the clouds, surrounding Ross’s chopper. The powerful downdraft nearly blew him off his feet. A man rappelled down from the lead helicopter. It was Ross’s uncle, Marcus. “Ross,” he boomed, his voice radiating authority, “what in God’s name have you done?” Ross’s face was a thunderous scowl. “Uncle Marcus, you’ve been tricked by this lying bitch! She stole the flare gun! My mother isn’t here!” Marcus ignored his protests. He landed on the helicopter’s skid, reached across, and slapped Ross hard across the face. “Insolence!” he roared. “Have you forgotten all the rules you were taught? How dare you speak back to me!” His voice was like a whip crack. Ross, though seething, could only bow his head. “I understand.” The Thunder Team moved with practiced efficiency, quickly airlifting me and my mother-in-law from the dangling wreck. As I was carried past him, Ross glared at me, his voice a low, venomous hiss. “You’d better keep your mouth shut, Peyton. If you breathe a word of this to my parents, I will hunt you down and kill you.” Before he could finish, his own assistant interrupted, his face chalk-white. He was pointing at the hand of the unconscious woman being carried onto the rescue helicopter. “Sir,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “the scar on her hand… it’s identical to Mrs. Sterling’s.”

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Seraphina Hanover and I were both stolen children. When her family—the Hanovers, titans of industry—finally found her, she clung to my wrist, her grip like iron. “I want him as my brother,” she declared. “I’ll protect him for the rest of my life.” But as the years passed, I didn’t want to be her brother anymore. I was desperately in love with her. “That’s not on the table,” Seraphina told me, her voice gentle but firm. The burgeoning love became a torment I couldn’t bear, so I left, tearing myself away from the only home I’d ever known. Five years later, we met again. My boss, Mr. Wallace, shoved me into the seat next to her. “You’re a dead ringer for the guy on Seraphina Hanover’s lock screen,” he hissed in my ear. “She’s been searching for him like a madwoman.” “This is your shot. The look-alike gambit? You were made for it.” I shook my head so frantically my neck ached, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. “No, seriously, this is a bad idea. She’s not into my type.” 1 I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I’d run into Seraphina Hanover like this. I was with my boss, Wallace, at a dinner for potential investors. He’d told me there was a billionaire investor, notoriously hard to please, and that I was the only one who could crack her. He’d even dangled a promotion and a hefty raise. I thought he valued my negotiation skills. I didn’t realize he was planning on pimping me out. The moment we stepped into the private dining room, he pointed at the back of a woman seated at the head of the table, his eyes glinting with manic opportunity. “That’s her. Tonight’s deal hinges on you, Sam.” “I’ve done my homework,” he continued in a low whisper. “You look exactly like the man on her phone’s lock screen. This look-alike gambit is a sure thing.” Even from behind, I knew her instantly. Seraphina Hanover. The youngest heir to the Hanover fortune. And my sister, in name only. I started backing away, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Absolutely not, boss. She’s not interested in me. I… I suddenly have a stomach ache. I have to go. Don’t try to stop me.” But Wallace’s hand shot out, faster than my escape attempt. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward Seraphina, his voice a conspiratorial hiss. “What are you running for? How do you know it won’t work if you don’t even try?” “I’ve got the inside scoop. Miss Hanover is famous for being an ice queen. Men have been throwing themselves at her for years, and she doesn’t even bat an eye.” “It was her best friend, Chloe, who spilled the beans one night when she was drunk. She said, ‘You idiots don’t know the first thing about getting her attention. If you want to give her a gift, give her the man on her lock screen. Seraphina’s been looking for him for years, even calling his name in her sleep.’” “If you weren’t his spitting image, you wouldn’t be getting this golden opportunity. Now, go seal this deal for us.” For a man who only drank herbal wellness teas and never worked out, Wallace had a grip like a vise. He propelled me forward and shoved me into the chair to Seraphina’s left. He clamped a hand on my shoulder, his face plastered with a salesman’s smile as he presented me to her like a prize. “Miss Hanover, this is our company’s rising star, Sam Cole.” “He may be young, but his talent is off the charts. He’s the one who’s closed all our toughest projects.” My heart leaped into my throat. I cursed myself for not checking my horoscope this morning. My eyes, betraying my will, darted toward the woman I had spent five years trying to forget. Her face was still as captivating as ever, a single glance enough to undo me completely. Framed by a pair of elegant, gold-rimmed glasses, she exuded an air of controlled power, a quiet intensity that was both ascetic and alluring. My resolve crumbled in an instant. As I wrestled with how to greet her after all this time, Seraphina’s assistant, a severe-looking woman to her right, shot to her feet and rounded on me. “Mr. Wallace, what is the meaning of this?” she snapped. “Are you unaware of Miss Hanover’s rules? No man sits next to her. Especially not one who’s clearly had work done to look like… him.” “Are you that desperate to be a substitute? Get out!” 2 I had, in fact, had plastic surgery. I’d also changed my name. I used to be Leo Hanover. After leaving the Hanover family, I found my birth parents. Now, I was Sam Cole. No wonder she didn’t react when she heard my name. She sat there like an unfeeling statue, letting her assistant swat away the flies buzzing around her, not even gracing me with a glance. Her assistant, however, scrutinized my face as if inspecting a cheap forgery. “You’ve had work done on your face, haven’t you, Mr. Cole?” “I studied medicine. I can spot a surgeon’s work a mile away.” “Unfortunately for you, you’ve all miscalculated. The boy in Miss Hanover’s heart can’t be replaced by some cheap imitation.” “What kind of ‘one that got away’ can be so easily substituted?” “Not only does Miss Hanover not entertain look-alikes, she finds the very idea repulsive. You’ve walked right into a minefield. Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to have you thrown out?” I felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails. Why did everyone keep calling me Seraphina’s long-lost love? If only that were true. In her eyes, I was, and would always be, just her little brother. The truth is, Seraphina and I share no blood. We were both kidnapped as children and spent three years together in the hands of our captors, relying on each other to survive. When I was beaten, she would shield me with her own body, taking the searing lash of the whip for me. When she was burning with fever, I’d stay up all night, changing the cool cloth on her forehead. When we were starving, we’d find a single packet of instant noodles; she’d give me the noodles and drink the broth herself. We lived in a place that was no better than a pigsty. One night, a snake bit me. Without a moment’s hesitation, Seraphina knelt, pressed her lips to the wound on my foot, and sucked out the venom. “Am I going to die, Sera?” I’d sobbed. She held me tight. “I won’t let you die.” Then, her wealthy family found her. I cowered in a corner, convinced our time together was over. But Seraphina grabbed my hand, her grip unyielding, and stared down her parents. “I want him as my brother,” she said, her voice shaking with stubborn resolve. “I’ll protect him for the rest of my life.” Her parents were hesitant. So she doubled down. “Then I’m not going either. Where he goes, I go. No one is separating us.” Overjoyed and stunned, I became the adopted son of the prestigious Hanover family. Seraphina’s beloved little brother. And she truly spoiled me. Still a girl herself, she patiently taught me to read and write. Every tutor her family hired for her, she insisted I join the lesson. She bought me the sharpest clothes, the coolest toys. She was always fixing my collar or styling my hair, transforming me from a grimy, scared little boy into a handsome, polished young man of eighteen. Everyone in our circle knew I was the boy Seraphina Hanover kept in the palm of her hand. “He’s less an adopted son,” they’d whisper behind our backs, “and more her future husband, groomed to perfection.” At the time, those rumors sent a thrill through me. I didn’t mind them at all. Because I was so in love with her. I wanted to grow up and marry her, so we could be together forever. But when I finally mustered the courage to confess, her answer shattered my world. “That’s not a line we can cross, Leo. You’ll always be my brother.” Her words were like a bucket of ice water, drenching me to the soul. But I couldn’t suppress the love that grew more intense with each passing day. You can’t command your heart to stop feeling. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching her marry someone else, of another man spending his life by her side. This unrequited love would eventually twist me into something ugly. My only choice was to leave. I thought that with distance, I could finally rein in the almost pathological possessiveness I felt for her. I never imagined that five years later, our reunion would be like this. Mistaken for some shameless stand-in by her own assistant. 3 I didn’t dare say a word, terrified she’d recognize my voice. Honestly, this was for the best. She was exactly as the rumors described: aloof, untouchable, with a complete disdain for any man who tried to get close. She had loyal subordinates to enforce her boundaries. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the lump in my throat and bolted faster than a rabbit. When I left five years ago, I’d sworn to never appear before her again. Because one look was all it took for my world to descend into chaos. I could never forget her. I could never stop loving her. A one-sided love is a war waged alone in the heart, and it’s exhausting. It was better for us to go our separate ways, to never meet again. I found a nearby bar and started drinking, trying to drown the fire in my chest with whiskey. So many nights, I’d dreamt of her. In my dreams, I’d secretly kiss her, doing all the things I’d never dare to in reality. In my dreams, I was bold. In my dreams, Seraphina never pushed me away. She’d stroke my hair gently, letting me press her against any surface, in any room. Like the grand piano in the northeast corner of the living room. After we were brought to the Hanover estate, she loved to sit with me at that piano, her hands guiding mine over the keys. Those were beautiful times. In my dreams, I loved pinning her against that piano, removing her glasses, unbuttoning her silk blouse. A faint, knowing smile would play on her lips, lazy and uninhibited. She’d lean in, her breath warm against my ear, and whisper wickedly, “You want to kiss me? How badly?” “More than anything,” I’d murmur back. And her voice, a low, seductive hum, would tempt me. “Then kiss me, Leo. I’m all yours.” The dream blurred the lines of reality, giving me a courage I didn’t possess. I’d pull off my own tie and blindfold her with it, wild and unrestrained. “Don’t move,” I’d command. But every single time, just as my lips were about to touch hers, I would wake up. I’d hurl my pillow across the room in frustration, closing my eyes and trying desperately to recall the image of her in my dream, to will myself back into that moment. It never worked. Tonight, drunk and reckless, I did something stupid. I logged into an old, forgotten social media account. I hadn’t touched it in years. It was a digital diary filled with all my forbidden feelings for Seraphina, a testament to the secret war I’d waged in my heart since I was a boy. I had tried to bury it, to never look back. But seeing her tonight had stirred up everything. My fingers moved on their own. [Everyone says I’m the one she can’t forget, her ghost.] [If only that were true.] [But I’m the only one who knows the truth. To her, I can only ever be her brother.] I had no idea that this one small act was about to cause an earthquake. 4 Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Wallace. “Sam! Where are you? Get to a bar called ‘Serendipity’ right now!” “Seraphina Hanover is heading there as we speak! This is your last chance!” “She didn’t get a good look at you before. Once she sees your face, you’re in!” I was slumped over the bar, my head spinning. “Boss, please,” I slurred. “Just let it go. Her assistant already warned me off. This whole look-alike thing is a bust.” He wasn’t listening. The man was obsessed. “What do you know? Even an ice queen melts if you’re persistent enough! There’s no such thing as an irreplaceable love, only a stand-in who doesn’t try hard enough.” “Once or twice, she might resist. But seven or eight times? Can she really stay immune?” “Trust me, I know women better than you do. When you can’t have the real thing, even a picture is enough to quench the thirst.” “And listen to this! Just after you left, Seraphina shot to her feet so fast she shattered her wine glass in her hand.” “Her assistant asked what was wrong.” “And Seraphina—her voice was trembling—she said, ‘He’s online. He’s nearby.’” “Turns out her long-lost love just logged into an old account he hasn’t touched in years and posted something.” “She saw it, dropped everything, and personally tracked the location. It’s a bar nearby.” “She’s on her way there now, ready to drag him back. Now, I’m betting this guy doesn’t want to be found. Otherwise, why stay away for five years? And when she finds him and he refuses to go with her, that’s your moment. That’s when you swoop in.”

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I spent four years on the West Coast, earning my PhD. To prevent the vultures—my own extended family—from circling the corporate assets, my grandfather put my boyfriend, Ethan, in charge of the company as acting CEO. He started as my assistant, a bright, ambitious guy I’d handpicked myself. Now he was the regent of my kingdom. The day I came back, striding into the Sinclair Global headquarters that was rightfully mine, I discovered my regent had a new assistant. Her name was Brielle, and she was looking at my resume like it was a piece of trash she’d just scraped off her shoe. “Two internships in four years during a doctoral program?” she said, her voice loud enough for the entire executive floor to hear. “Looks like you can’t hold down a job. A classic flight risk. I’m surprised you even got an interview with a record like that.” With that single, venomous sentence, my authority in the company I was born to lead evaporated. She then offered, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, that she could “do me a favor” and find an opening for me in the mailroom. So I wouldn’t have to face another termination, she said. It would be a shame to tarnish my resume any further. I thought of my grandfather’s final piece of advice before I left: Observe before you act. See the real landscape, not the one you expect. So I bit back the rage, waiting for Ethan to arrive. I expected an apology, a frantic explanation for the mix-up. What I got was a scowl. “Brielle is pregnant with my son, Sloane. How dare you upset her?” he hissed, his eyes cold. “This is for the good of the company, for the Sinclair legacy. We need an heir with the strongest possible genetics. This is a strategic merger of our talents.” He paused, as if granting me a great concession. “I’ll still marry you, of course. That was the deal. The certificate will have your name on it. But Brielle needs the wedding, the ceremony. It’s for the child’s legitimacy.” He looked me up and down, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. “Brielle isn’t going to be some stay-at-home mom; she’s a brilliant executive. She’s no threat to your position as the ‘official’ wife. But this little scene you’re making? It’s pathetic. Now go down to the mailroom and try to be useful.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Me, Sloane Sinclair, the sole heir to this entire building and everything in it, being told to sort mail? He’d been keeping my seat warm for four years, and in that time, he’d forgotten whose name was carved into the granite facade outside. He wasn’t just sitting in my chair; he was trying to saw the legs off. 1 “Everyone is watching, Sloane,” Ethan said, his voice a low, menacing hum. “Brielle is my executive assistant, my right hand. If you openly defy her, how is she supposed to command any respect?” The Ethan I knew—or thought I knew—was gone. In his place was this stranger with chillingly remote eyes. Employees walking past shot me sideways glances, their expressions a mixture of pity and contempt for the ‘flight risk.’ In the cutthroat world of New York finance, a spotty work history is a death sentence. It screams incompetence and a difficult personality. If that label stuck, I could inherit the company tomorrow and never command a shred of real authority. Before I could form a defense, Ethan grabbed my arm and dragged me into an empty conference room. His fingers dug into my wrist, leaving a brutal, blossoming bruise. I sucked in a sharp breath. He looked at me as if I were a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Do you have any idea what she’s going through physically to secure the Sinclair line? You’re a woman. You should have some empathy.” He tapped a manicured finger on my resume, which was lying on the table. “Two internships in four years. That kind of instability… no serious company would tolerate it. You need to face facts, Sloane. Your profile is weak. Your genetics are a risk.” The words were so outrageous, I almost couldn’t process them. “If you want Brielle and me to continue steering this ship for your family,” he continued, his voice dangerously soft, “then you will go down to the mailroom for a few months, keep your head down, and stop causing trouble for her.” Rage, pure and hot, flooded my veins. I had pushed myself to the absolute limit for four years. For my grandfather. To silence my grasping uncles. To walk back into this company not just as the heir, but as the most qualified person for the job. I graduated with a 4.0 GPA. I’d received glowing performance reviews from both internships. The only reason I’d left the first internship for the second was to quietly clean up a catastrophic mess Ethan had made on an overseas acquisition. I’d leveraged the connections from my new position to save him, to save this company, from a multi-million dollar lawsuit. And he hadn’t even bothered to read my file. He just listened to her, to Brielle, and decided I was a failure. My face went cold. “You will walk out there right now and correct the record,” I said, my voice dangerously level. “And then you will fire Brielle.” He actually laughed. “I’m the CEO of Sinclair Global. You’re not in a position to give me orders.” His face hardened. “This company will belong to my son one day. Brielle is being generous by even letting you work here. Don’t push it.” I nearly choked on my disbelief. I pulled out my phone, ready to call the head of HR and have Ethan escorted from the building, only to find the entire executive directory had been… altered. In the four years I was gone, he had systematically replaced every single senior staff member loyal to my family. They were all his people. His face was a mask of arrogance. “Brielle is in a delicate condition. She can’t be under any stress. Apologize to her, sincerely, and I’ll have HR process your paperwork for the mailroom.” He leaned in closer. “Otherwise, you can just sit in this room until you rot.” He slammed the door on his way out. Through the glass walls, I could hear the receptionists gossiping. “God, I hope they don’t actually hire her. The last thing we need is some psycho ex-girlfriend wandering the halls. Total resume-wrecker.” “Don’t worry. Mr. Hayes and Ms. Sinclair are practically engaged. And everyone knows Brielle is the real Miss Sinclair, the one who inherited everything. That woman is about to be blacklisted from the entire industry.” “They’re such a power couple. Homewreckers should just die.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and sent Ethan a text. One: By the end of the business day, you’ll be begging me to take your office. Two: We’re done. He didn’t even bother to reply, probably assuming it was an empty threat. I opened the company’s internal network, logged into the main employee forum, and typed a single, clear message. To clarify any confusion: the engagement between Ethan Hayes and myself is terminated. I wish him and Brielle all the best. The entire company network exploded. 2 The moment I hit ‘post,’ my phone buzzed with a notification from the family group chat. It was my Uncle Robert. “Sloane, dear, how’s the first day back? Feeling a little overwhelmed? I’ve always said, a girl like you shouldn’t be bothering with all this stress. You should be at home, keeping your grandfather company.” I typed back instantly. “Everything’s wonderful, Uncle. Thanks for your concern. You should focus on your own grandkids.” He didn’t reply for a long time, then sent a curt message saying he would pick me up after work to “see how I was settling in.” The subtext was clear: if I showed the slightest sign of weakness, he and the rest of the pack would be ready to pounce. Before I could even refuse, the conference room door flew open. It was Ethan, his face contorted with fury, the veins on the back of his hands standing out like cords. “You take that post down right now, Sloane,” he snarled. “You tell everyone you’re obsessed with me, that you had a psychotic break, I don’t care. Fix it. My mother was already hesitant about our arrangement because you never seemed serious about starting a family. Brielle is doing what you wouldn’t. I will not let you drag her name through the mud.” My head was pounding. I’d fallen for him years ago because he was handsome, competent, and willing to accept that this was my legacy, not his. To spare his pride, I’d let him tell his family that he was the one in charge, a white lie I was now paying for. I never imagined he was secretly planning to install his own dynasty. He was my grandfather’s choice. For that reason alone, I gave him one last chance. “Fire her, Ethan. Do it now, and you can stay on in a reduced capacity.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking utterly exhausted by my irrationality. “Sloane, I didn’t want to have to spell this out for you.” He gestured to my phone. “If you don’t officially start with this company today, what do you think those wolves in your family are going to do?” He laid out his offer: if I publicly apologized to Brielle, admitted to being a delusional stalker, he would let me start in the mailroom. He would save me from my family. “Otherwise,” he finished, his eyes like chips of ice, “you won’t be working here at all.” I lifted my chin. “Did you forget, Ethan? Sinclair Global is legally in my name.” That broke him. “I am so sick of your arrogance!” he roared. “I’ve poured my life into this company for four years! Doesn’t the mother of my child deserve a say in how it’s run? Stop being so goddamn selfish, Sloane!” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if making a monumental decision, then turned and walked out. I watched him go, wondering what he was planning. A moment later, a searing pain shot up my ankle. I looked down to see scalding hot coffee soaking through my clothes, my skin turning an angry red. One of the receptionists stood there, a half-empty coffee pot in her hand. “Ugh, pathetic,” she sneered. “They’re a beautiful couple, about to get married, and you show up trying to ruin everything. Some of us actually have to work for a living, you know. We don’t have time for gold-digging drama.” Her friends chimed in, their words a volley of insults, convinced Brielle was the true heiress they needed to defend. 3 I never thought they would dare to physically attack me. As I saw another assistant approach with a fresh cup, I shoved the heavy conference room door open. The sudden move startled them. My eyes met theirs, cold and furious, and their bravado withered. A few of them scurried back to their desks, suddenly fascinated by their computer screens. I focused on the ones still glaring at me. “I am the owner of this company. If you value your jobs, you will return to them immediately.” My words were answered by a series of sharp, yapping barks. Behind the crowd, Brielle was approaching, one hand cradled protectively on her stomach, looking radiant. A wave of nausea hit me. My grandmother had left me a little white dog, Pip, when she passed away. I adored him, a living link to her memory. But when I’d first brought him to the office, Ethan had insisted it was unprofessional. For him, for the company, I’d reluctantly agreed to leave Pip at home. And now, here was Brielle, parading a pack of yapping Pomeranians through my office. “Sloane, please,” she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. “The stress… you’re upsetting the baby. You’re the heir to Sinclair Global,” she cooed, for the benefit of her audience. Then she leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. “You’re a washed-up nobody with a trash resume. Without us, who would be running this place for you?” Her public performance solidified the narrative. To everyone watching, I was clearly the unhinged one. “Go get a real job,” someone muttered. “Maybe you’ll get fired less.” I was completely surrounded, completely alone. And then I saw it. The little white dog nestled in Brielle’s arms wasn’t a Pomeranian. It was Pip. My grandmother’s Pip. He saw me, and after a moment of confusion, he let out a series of hostile barks. A pain sharper than the burn on my ankle shot through my chest. Even he had betrayed me. “Excuse me, which of you is Mrs. Hayes?” A group of men in sharp suits stood behind the crowd. One of them held a velvet jewelry box. Ethan strode forward, wrapping a protective arm around Brielle. “Darling, don’t let her upset you. You’re going to be a beautiful bride.” In front of everyone, he took the box from the man, who I now recognized as our private banker. He opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was the Sinclair Sapphire. The legendary gemstone my grandmother had acquired at auction years ago, meant for me to wear on my wedding day. It was kept in the company’s most secure vault. And Ethan had just used his authority to steal it. He fastened the necklace around Brielle’s neck. A collective gasp went through the onlookers. “Oh my god, I’m so jealous. Mr. Hayes is the perfect husband.” “Jealous of what? She’s a Sinclair. She was born with it all.” “It’s just these desperate women who make things ugly. She’s a pretty girl. Why can’t she just get a real job instead of trying to sleep her way to the top? No wonder nobody wants to hire her.” My hands were shaking. I lunged forward, desperate to rip that necklace, my grandmother’s legacy, off her neck. Ethan shoved me back, shielding Brielle. “Are you insane, Sloane? Mrs. Sinclair’s will clearly stated this was a gift for my bride! Are you going to disrespect her dying wish?” Security guards grabbed my arms. In the struggle, the sleeve of my dress tore, exposing my shoulder. I had reached my limit. “You say it’s yours. I say it’s mine,” I said, my voice ringing with a clarity that cut through the chaos. “Let’s have the police settle it.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Whatever happened next, I had to be in that CEO’s office by the end of the day. I would not let my uncles see me fail. 4 Panic flashed in Ethan’s eyes. He lunged, knocking the phone from my hand and ending the call. “Are you out of your mind?” he roared. “Your resume is already a disaster! You want to add filing a false police report to your record? You’ll be a pariah in this city. Anyone associated with you will be toxic.” He lowered his voice, a desperate attempt at conciliation. “Brielle is brilliant, Sloane. Our child will be extraordinary. As his mother—his adoptive mother—you can’t have a criminal record staining his future. Don’t do this.” He played his last card. “That overseas deal I almost botched? It was Brielle who fixed it. She saved me. She saved the company. You should be thanking her.” So that was it. He thought the person who had anonymously pulled strings to secure that foreign patent was her. That’s why he was so slavishly devoted. Suddenly, the fight drained out of me, replaced by a profound, weary emptiness. My finger moved, redialing. He couldn’t believe it. He snatched the phone again, but the call had already connected. He fumbled to hang up. “You’re going to create a PR nightmare!” he yelled, turning to the crowd of employees. “If this hits the press, our stock will tank. And all of you,” he gestured wildly, “could be out of a job because of her!” His words hit their mark. The fear in the room curdled into hatred, all of it directed at me. “You’re a worthless leech, trying to ruin things for the rest of us!” someone shouted. “We need these jobs!” One of the security guards, eager to curry favor, shoved me hard. I stumbled, and then they were on me, a flurry of fists and feet. The pain was shocking, alien. I curled into a ball on the floor, protecting my head, my world reduced to a cacophony of insults and the dull thud of blows. The irony was nauseating: they were beating me for threatening the generous benefits package that I myself had designed. My hand fumbled in my purse and found it: a can of pepper spray. I squeezed the trigger, sweeping it in a wide arc. Screams erupted as they scrambled back, clutching their eyes. “That 911 call went through,” I gasped, getting to my feet. “The police are on their way. You will all be held accountable for assault.” Fear finally dawned on Brielle’s face. The employees who had attacked me exchanged panicked looks. “She sounds so sure of herself… what if she really is…” Ethan laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “She’s bluffing.” He pulled out his phone and typed something. A moment later, phones buzzed all over the room. People looked at their screens, and the expressions on their faces shifted from fear to a mixture of pity, disgust, and contempt. My own phone buzzed. Before I could look, Ethan grabbed my wrist again. “I didn’t want to do this, Sloane,” he said, his voice a mockery of sympathy. “But the company needs Brielle. You have to be sacrificed.” He leaned in, his breath foul. “Your family will disown you after this. But don’t worry. Once I have full control, I’ll still marry you, quietly. You just can’t ever call yourself Mrs. Hayes in public.” Suddenly, Pip launched himself from Brielle’s arms, a flash of white fur, and sank his teeth into Ethan’s leg. Ethan yelped and let me go. Pip stood his ground in front of me, growling, a tiny, valiant defender. A tear slid down my cheek. He hadn’t forgotten me after all. The momentary distraction gave me time to see the notification. Ethan had posted intimate photos of me to the company-wide forum. My photos. The comments were a cesspool. They called me a slut, a whore, demanding that “trash” like me be kept out of their respectable company. “If she’s the Sinclair heir, then I’m the King of England. She’s just some cheap tramp trying to blackmail her way into a payday.” “Look at her trying to steal the real Miss Sinclair’s necklace. She couldn’t afford a single stone in it if she sold her soul.” The Sinclair Sapphire on Brielle’s neck seemed to mock me, flashing under the fluorescent lights. My clothes were torn, my body bruised, my hair a mess. I must have looked insane. Ethan shook his head slowly. “If you’d just taken the mailroom job, Sloane, none of this would have happened.” “Mr. Hayes?” A new voice cut through the air, calm and clear. “I wouldn’t say another word if I were you. You have the right to remain silent.” Before I could turn, a man’s jacket was draped over my shoulders, covering my torn dress. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a kind face stepped in front of me, holding up a badge. “Officer Caleb Wright, NYPD. We received a 911 call reporting a theft and assault.” Behind him, two uniformed officers stood, ready and waiting.

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“I took Raine in when she had nothing. I taught her how to play the long game in a negotiation, how to be a shark in the boardroom. And then, I watched her star rise until it eclipsed my own. They say the first thing a blind man does when he regains his sight is throw away his cane. So, I wasn’t surprised when I overheard her telling a friend: “Finn? He’s… rigid. A little dull. And let’s be honest, he’s not exactly young anymore.” 1 I stood outside the door to the VIP lounge, a dry itch scratching at the back of my throat. I could picture it perfectly: the way her eyes, the color of stormy skies, would narrow just slightly, the careless, dismissive tilt of her head as she said the words. I was the one pushing for something that was never meant to last. Asking a soul that young, that bright, to pause its flight for me. Perhaps because I’d been bracing for this exact moment for years, the feeling wasn’t sharp agony. It was a dull, quiet ache, overshadowed by the strange relief of a weight finally settling. The other shoe had dropped. The only question left was how to extricate myself from this… arrangement. This sponsorship that had curdled into something I no longer recognized. It had to be clean. And it had to be final. Unable to formulate a plan, I walked down the hall to the men’s room and lit a cigarette, my reflection a stranger under the harsh fluorescent lights. The man in the mirror wore a well-tailored coat, but two strands of hair, meticulously styled with pomade that morning, had fallen across his forehead in my rush to get here. I saw the fine lines at the corners of my eyes that no amount of expensive moisturizer could erase. The longer I was with Raine, the more I felt it. The seven years between us weren’t just a number; they were a chasm. She was a bonfire, burning with the brilliant, fierce light of youth. And I had already crossed the threshold into my thirty-fifth year, a place of quiet embers and carefully managed energy. My stamina, my drive… they just couldn’t keep up. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. After a moment, I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray by the door, waving the smoke away from my coat. Then I walked back to the lounge and pushed open the door. 2 The cacophony of laughter and shouting died in an instant. Only the music, a throbbing bassline with a tragically soaring vocal, continued to bleed from the speakers. My eyes found her immediately. She was lounging on a plush velvet couch, one arm draped casually over the back. A handsome kid was tucked into her side, nestled close. He had positioned himself like a young predator, his arm forming a possessive circle, marking his territory. I recognized him from the file I’d run. Leo. In person, he was leaner than in his photos, radiating a golden, sun-kissed confidence. He blinked, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity as the vibe in the room shifted. “Finn? Mr. Cole? What are you doing here?” someone I vaguely knew stammered out. Someone else scrambled to turn off the music, fumbling with the controls and accidentally cranking the volume higher. The soulful, remixed pop song now echoed through the room, making the scene feel even more absurd. Finally, one of the drunker guys just yanked the plug from the wall. Total silence. The air crackled with awkwardness. My presence, as always, was an intrusion on their world, a stark reminder of a life they hadn’t yet begun to imagine. I offered a practiced, easy smile, lifting my wrist to check my watch. “It’s getting late. I finished up at the office early and figured I’d come pick Raine up.” My gaze flickered to her. She seemed frozen for a second, a small frown creasing her brow. The hand she had resting on the kid’s shoulder moved, covering his eyes as he stared at me. Leo just pouted, leaning his head against her shoulder in a gesture of playful defiance. An intimacy that felt utterly natural, completely oblivious to my presence. Her silence was the only answer I needed. She was young. She was allowed to be thoughtless. And I… in a few days, I would be thirty-five. The dignity of adulthood kept my smile in place. “Actually,” I added, “something just came up at the office, and I have to head back. I ordered some food for you all. It should be here soon. Don’t drink too much on an empty stomach.” “Thanks, Mr. Cole…” Leo, hearing the respectful tone from the others, chirped in brightly, “Thanks, Mr. Cole! Hey… that name sounds familiar. Are you the old guy Raine was talking about?” He slapped his hands over his mouth in a caricature of shock, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Oh, my God, sorry. You’re not as old as she made you sound. Definitely got that whole… distinguished vibe. Actually, maybe ‘Mr. Cole’ is better, you know? Has that silver fox ring to it.” The boy was so young that even his malice had a certain clumsy charm. Still, the casual, toothless attack found a chink in my armor, and a tiny splinter of pain lodged itself there. It was bearable. Nothing like what it could have been. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I lowered my eyes, lighting another cigarette, the small ritual a familiar comfort. After a long drag, I met Raine’s gaze. “Raine,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Clear the room. We need to talk.” 3 Her hand fell away from Leo’s face. Her gaze, dark and unreadable, swept over me. She knew that tone. It was my final offer. Perhaps she was genuinely afraid I might do something to her new boy toy. She was silent for a beat, then rose to her feet. “Everyone, out.” “Raine, come on…” Leo whined, not ready to give up. Raine shot him a look, her voice dropping to ice. “Get out.” The boy shot me a venomous glare before trailing out of the room with the others. The moment the door clicked shut, a heavy sigh escaped my lips. I watched her through the haze of smoke, a silhouette just three steps away. Not too close, not too far. A perfect, calculated distance. The same distance that had been between us when we first met. She would never know how far I had traveled to reach her that day. She’d been wearing clothes that were clean but faded from a hundred washes, her head bowed over a sink full of dirty dishes. Her hands were raw and swollen from the hot water, the kind of cold-weather damage that cracks and bleeds. I walked up to her. The girl looked up, her eyes wary, like a cornered animal. “Do you want to come with me?” I’d asked. Back then, I was just starting out, my own finances stretched thin. But I put on an air of wealth, terrified she’d see the desperation peeking through the seams of my ill-fitting suit. Raine’s pupils dilated, her chapped lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll pay for your tuition,” I’d said. “You can focus on school.” I was young and arrogant, believing, like my own father, that love and money were two sides of the same coin. I’d placed our entire relationship on that transactional scale, only realizing years later that it had tainted everything, reducing a genuine impulse to a sordid cliché. My inexperience blinded me to the painful struggle in her eyes. When she finally smiled at me, I was just ecstatic that I could help someone I was… drawn to. She signed the contract. A sponsorship agreement. But we both knew what it really was. Only with time, as I navigated the brutal landscape of the corporate world, did I begin to understand the bitterness and humiliation that must have been coiled beneath that smile. Pain, I learned, can have a delayed reaction. And the chasm between us grew wider with every passing year. I still instinctively transferred half of every bonus I ever made into her account. But I knew she never touched it. She was earning more than I was now. A rising star in her field, a titan in the making. I saw her name in the headlines all the time. 4 “Raine.” I heard my own voice, distant and strained. She didn’t react, her dark eyes fixed on me. “This Saturday, our contract expires,” I said, my tone gentle, controlled. “Until then, I don’t want to see a repeat of tonight.” Still, she said nothing. Over the years, she had grown quieter and quieter with me. The space between us filled with unspoken things. We were like courteous strangers sharing a home. Finally, she spoke. “Smoking is bad for you. You promised me you’d quit.” I nodded, extinguishing the cigarette. She bent down, pulled a tissue from her purse, dampened it with a bit of water from a glass on the table, and took my hand. She held my wrist, carefully and methodically wiping the ash from my fingertips. “The contract is ending,” Raine said, her voice low. “Are you going to renew it this time?” I pulled my hand back. “No. It’s time for you to be free.” “Your birthday is this Saturday.” I shook my head, managing a small laugh. “I’m too old for birthdays.” She watched me with those dark, impenetrable eyes. I could no longer read what was happening behind them. After a silence that felt heavy enough to suffocate, she asked, “You’ve been counting down the days, haven’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact. A fact she already knew. I nodded. Once the contract was over, we could finally escape this twisted, unhealthy dynamic. We could go our separate ways. Whether her path was smooth or rocky, it would no longer have anything to do with me. “Okay.” Just as I expected. She agreed without a fight. The truth was, when I first started counting down the days, it was with a different plan in mind. I’d imagined that once the contract was dissolved, I would finally confess everything. I would lay my wretched, sincere heart bare before her. But now… now I knew her happiness was more important. As she’d said, I wasn’t young anymore. I couldn’t hold a free soul captive for my own selfish desires. Raine stepped forward and adjusted the collar of my coat. “Are you coming home now?” I gestured to my phone. “No, something came up at work. I have to go back.” She gave a flat, emotionless “hmm.” “I can give you a ride,” she offered. “No, you’ve been drinking. Besides, I drove.” “Okay,” she said. She let her eyes fall. “I thought you were coming to get me.” I turned back to her. “What?” Raine repeated herself, her voice perfectly even. “I thought you were coming to take me home, Finn.””

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My mother forgot me on my fifth birthday. It happened after the accident—the one that stole her memories and left her wandering, lost, until some drifter from the edge of town coaxed her into his shack and kept her. That’s how I came to be. The day it all fell apart, the police finally arrested him for what he’d done to the other women in town. In the chaos, they figured out who my mother was, and the whole story spilled out into the open. The grandparents I never knew existed pulled up in a gleaming black sedan. They rushed to my mother, and the three of them collapsed into a mess of tears and choked sobs. All the noise, all the emotion—it was like a key turning in a rusted lock. Something inside her clicked back into place. And the mother who, just that morning, would have fought a bear for me, shoved me away with a look of pure horror. “I… I don’t have a child.” My grandfather’s eyes swept over me, cold and dismissive, before he turned back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Anna. You don’t have to claim it,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Michael’s been waiting for you. You two can finally get married.” He stroked her hair. “The children you have with him… they’ll be our family’s real little princesses.” I stared at the woman I loved more than anything, my small world tilting off its axis. 1 My mother’s eyes were the eyes of a stranger. They terrified me. The whole town, it seemed, had gathered in a circle around us, their whispers like the rustling of dry leaves. “That’s her, the simple one he picked up…” “Lord, the things he did to her. The beatings…” “And that thing is the result… a little bastard…” A state trooper knelt down, his voice gentle. “Anna, you’re the victim here. We’re going to make sure he pays for what he did. But this little girl is your daughter. The law says you have to take care of her.” My mother flinched as if his words were hot pokers. She shook her head, frantically. “No… No! I don’t have a child! I don’t!” Her voice was a shrill, cracking violin string. I thought of the two hard-boiled eggs she’d pressed into my hands that morning. I knew she’d gone door-to-door, begging, just so I could have a birthday present. She’d peeled them with her chapped fingers and popped one into my mouth so fast I started to choke. She’d panicked then, her hands a clumsy flurry as she patted my back. She couldn’t mean it. All these people were just scaring her. I stumbled toward her on unsteady legs. “Mama,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s me. It’s your Wren.” I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the cold, hard-packed dirt, again and again. A desperate, silent prayer. She was the only thing I had. But she looked at me like I was a ghost. Her leg shot out, the heel of her boot connecting hard with my shoulder. The impact sent me sprawling backward, a sharp pain lancing through my shoulder blade. “Get away from me! Don’t you touch me!” she screamed, her face a pale mask of terror. “You’re not my daughter! You’re a nightmare! You’re my shame!” Her voice dropped to a horrifying whisper. “I look at you and I want to die.” My grandfather immediately wrapped his arms around her, shielding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her back. “We’ll forget all about it. You and Michael will have other children.” He turned to a man standing nearby. “Take the child to a county home. An orphanage.” The trooper stepped forward. “Sir, that’s not legally possible. The mother is present. She has a legal obligation to provide care.” My grandfather’s jaw tightened. He said nothing more, just helped my mother to her feet and guided her toward the black car. Panic seized me. I didn’t know what an orphanage was, but I knew I couldn’t lose my mother. I scrambled up from the ground, my whole body aching, and ran after that big, shiny car. The road was rutted and uneven, forcing the car to move slowly. I pumped my little legs as hard as I could. When I fell, I clawed my way back up and kept running, tears and dirt streaking my face. My lungs burned. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto my knees but kept going, crawling, my hands scraping against the gravel. I could not be left behind. The car stopped. My grandfather got out, his face a thundercloud. “What do you think you’re doing? Get lost!” I just sobbed, unable to speak, and kept dragging myself forward. The trooper walked over, sighing. “Sir, look… legally, this child is your granddaughter. You have to take her with you for now. You have to figure out a proper arrangement. You can’t just leave a kid this small on the side of the road.” My grandfather glanced at the growing crowd of onlookers, then at my mother, who was curled up in the back seat, weeping. He shot me one last look of pure disgust, then turned and got back in the car without another word. The engine rumbled to life. The car started moving again, but slower this time. I wiped my muddy face with the back of my hand and used the last of my strength to follow the cloud of dust it kicked up. I had no idea where I was going. I only knew my mother was in that car. 2 Even moving slowly, the black sedan was too fast for me. It rounded a bend and disappeared from sight for a second. My heart seized in my chest, and I forced my legs to move faster. I tripped and fell again, skinning my knees and palms, but I scrambled up without a thought for the blood. People on the street stared, pointing, but I didn’t care. All I could see was the car. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of my heart. I don’t know how long I ran. It felt like something was about to explode in my chest, and the back of my throat tasted like salt and blood. Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a big, beautiful, quiet house. It had clean white walls and a dark roof, surrounded by a tall iron gate. It was grander than anything I had ever imagined. I practically dragged myself to the entrance, my body trembling with exhaustion. Sweat and grime were glued to my skin. I gripped the cold iron bars of the gate, gasping for air. The world spun, and black spots danced in my vision. My grandfather got out of the car, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl of revulsion. “Damn leech,” he muttered. “Bad luck.” He strode over, not to help me, but to shove me away from the gate. I lost my balance and fell backward, the back of my head cracking against a hard, sharp stone. A sickening thud, a spike of blinding pain, and then the warm stickiness of blood trickling down my neck. Just then, the beautiful iron gate swung open from the inside. A man in a crisp, clean shirt rushed out. He looked kind, gentle. He ran right past me, lying crumpled on the ground, and straight to my mother as she stepped out of the car. “Anna. You’re back. You’re finally back.” He pulled her into a tight, desperate hug. My mother’s body was rigid. She kept her head down, trying to shrink away from his touch, her face a miserable canvas of shame and panic. “No, don’t…” she whispered. The man only held her tighter, his voice thick with emotion but firm. “Shhh, it’s over. It’s all over now. We’ll get married. I’ll protect you. We’ll have the most beautiful little girl in the world…” My grandfather added, his voice cold, “Michael, don’t you worry. Anna will be fine now. As for this…” he shot a glance at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, “I’ll take care of it. Get rid of it. She won’t be upsetting Anna anymore.” Get rid of it? Even though I didn’t fully understand, the words hurt like a physical blow. Watching my mother in that man’s arms, hearing them talk about their “beautiful little girl,” a new wave of panic washed over me. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my head and the dizziness, I used my hands and feet to scramble up from the ground and lunged toward my mother. “Mama, I’m your daughter too! Please don’t leave Wren, please…” Before I could get close, my grandfather’s face hardened. He reached out and, with a grunt of effort, slammed the heavy iron gate shut. My fingers were curled around the bars. The massive weight of the gate crashed down on them. A sickening, soft crunch echoed in the sudden silence, followed by a wave of agony so intense it stole my breath. I heard my own bones snap. I screamed and yanked my hand back. My fingers were bent at unnatural angles, already swelling into a grotesque, purplish mess. The pain was a living thing, pulsing and white-hot. I couldn’t breathe. The gate was locked. Through the cold iron bars, I watched the man named Michael wrap his arm around my mother, his back to me, and lead her toward the beautiful house. My grandfather followed them without a single glance in my direction. I was locked out. The sky began to darken. A cold wind whipped at my sweat-soaked clothes, and I started to shiver. The blood in my hair dried, pulling at my scalp with a dull, throbbing ache. My hand was a swollen club of agony. I was cold and hungry and hurt. I huddled in the corner by the iron gate, watching the warm lights flicker on inside. I cried softly, whispering “Mama” over and over again. But no one came. Eventually, the tears ran out. My strength was gone. Darkness swallowed me whole, and I fainted. 3 I don’t know how long I was out. When I woke up, the wound on my head had formed a crusty scab that pulled with a dull ache. I was cold and desperately hungry, curled into a tight ball at the foot of the gate, staring at the house. A whole day passed. No one came out. My stomach twisted with hunger pangs, and my throat was as dry as dust. I saw a stray dog digging in a nearby trash pile, pulling out a foul-smelling bone. I was so hungry I crawled over, wanting to snatch it away. The dog bared its teeth, a low, threatening growl rumbling in its chest as it shielded its prize. I was scared, but the hunger was worse. I reached out a trembling hand. The dog lunged. I recoiled, watching it run off with the bone. I could only sit there, silent tears tracking paths through the dirt on my face. Just then, the iron gate clicked behind me. I whipped my head around. An old woman was walking out. It was my grandmother. Her eyes took in my filthy, wretched state, and her brow tightened. There was no pity in her face, only a deep, profound disgust. “You’re still here? Like a stray dog with mange.” Her voice was as hard and cold as the stone I’d hit my head on. “If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t dirty our property. And don’t you dare upset Anna again.” I looked at her face, so similar to my mother’s, and I suddenly remembered the mother I knew before. The one who wasn’t all there, who would eat tree bark herself just to give me the scraps she’d begged or stolen. The one who would hold me tight, humming tuneless songs in her hoarse voice, patting my back with her rough, clumsy hands. “Grandma,” I rasped, the tears stinging my chapped lips. “I’m hungry. I want to see Mama. Just for a second…” “See her? She goes crazy every time she sees you! Are you trying to push her into her grave?” I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the pain in my head and hand, I began knocking my forehead against the hard ground, again and again. The newly formed scab on my head split open, and warm blood trickled down my nose, blurring my vision. “Please, Grandma, please. Just one look. I’ll be good after, I’ll leave, I promise…” I begged between sobs, my blood staining the pavement. Maybe she was frightened, or maybe she just figured me dying on her doorstep would be even worse luck. “Fine! Stop it! Get up!” she snapped impatiently. “One look. Then you get the hell out of here.” She made me stand far back as she opened the gate. I stumbled after her into the bright, warm house. It smelled clean and sweet, nothing like the drafty, rotting shack I’d come from. In the living room, the man, Michael, was sitting beside my mother, speaking to her in a soft, gentle voice, trying to make her smile. But her eyes were empty, her whole body lifeless. I took a shaky breath and whispered, “Ma…” The moment she saw me, her eyes flew wide. She grabbed her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “AAAHHH! Get it away! Make it go away! Don’t let it touch me!” She trembled violently, her eyes wild and unfocused. Then, she lunged, aiming her head straight for the wall. “Anna!” Michael and my grandfather screamed in terror, scrambling to grab her and hold her back. She thrashed in their arms, her cries ripping through the house. “Let me die! Just let me die!” My grandfather, holding her tight, cried out to my grandmother, his voice breaking, “My God, what has been done to my daughter? What kind of hell did she endure?” My grandmother rushed to them, and the three of them clung to each other, a tangle of weeping family. I was frozen in horror. I took a step back and bumped into a small table, knocking over a vase. It shattered on the floor with a sharp crack. The crying stopped instantly. My grandfather’s head snapped around. His red-rimmed eyes, full of fury, locked onto me. “It’s you,” he hissed, pointing a trembling finger. “You’re the curse. Why did you have to show up? Why didn’t you die out there? Are you going to be happy when you’ve finally driven her to her grave?!” He was shaking with rage. “Do us a favor and let our family have some peace! Just go! And never, ever come back! I am begging you! Do you want me to get on my knees? Will you finally leave us alone if my entire family begs you?” He started to bend his knees, as if to kneel before me. My grandmother and Michael grabbed him, holding him up. My grandfather’s breakdown. My mother’s madness. The cold, desperate hatred in their eyes. The tears just fell, one after another. 4 I stumbled forward and, with my good hand, tried feebly to help him up. “Grandpa… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” It was all I could say. When I couldn’t lift him, I let go and backed away. Then, I knelt. I looked at my mother, my grandfather, my grandmother, and the kind man holding him up, and I bowed my head to each of them, knocking my forehead solidly against the floor. The sound was a dull thud, and my wound split open again, but I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Grandpa, Grandma. I’m sorry, sir.” I repeated it over and over in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll go now. I’ll go, and I’ll never come back.” I knew then, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that my mother was truly gone. I tried to stand, to walk out, but my legs were made of cotton and wouldn’t hold me. That’s when my grandmother’s voice came from behind me. It sounded exhausted, maybe even a little pitiful. “Forget it… It’s the middle of the night. Where would you go? Just… stay for now.” A tiny flicker of light sparked in the darkness. That night, they made me a small bed on the floor in a corner by the front door. The floor was hard, with only a thin blanket underneath me. The pain in my head and hand throbbed, and my stomach ached with hunger. No one brought me any food, and I was too afraid to ask. It was cold. I curled into a ball but couldn’t sleep. Late in the night, I heard hushed voices coming from one of the rooms. It was my grandfather and Michael. “…have to send her away. The sooner the better. I think Anna’s had a complete breakdown. She can’t take another shock.” “I know… but where? The county homes, the paperwork…” “I made some calls. I have a distant cousin back home, a Mrs. Gable. We’ll give her some money, have her raise the child…” “I guess that’s the only way… It’s tough on the kid, though…” “Tough?! Is anyone’s life tougher than my Anna’s?! My daughter… my baby girl that I held in my arms… what that bastard did to her… forced her to… to have… When I think about the life she was living all those years, it feels like a knife in my heart.” Michael’s voice was choked. “Dad, don’t… It’s over. I’ll take care of Anna now. We’ll have a new life. We’ll have our own children.” Their words faded into the sound of muffled, heartbroken sobs. Their grief was like a hammer, striking me with every sound. And then I remembered. Every night, the man who kept us would drag my mother from our mattress into the other room. She wouldn’t come back until morning, often bruised and bloody. I would hear her awful cries, mixed with the angry shouts of different men. I would beat my fists on the locked door, trying to save her, but I could never get it open. Then one time, the man lost all his money playing cards and said he was going to sell me. My mother held onto me, terrified. Finally, like she’d made some terrible decision, she started nodding frantically at him, pointing toward the door and making desperate, pleading sounds. After that night, my mother started going out on her own every evening. The man never had to drag her again. She always came back dirty, smelling bad, her eyes emptier than before. But she would secretly press a little treat into my hand—a piece of candy, half a cookie. Then she would hold me and shake uncontrollably. I didn’t understand then. I was just glad the beatings had lessened, and I had more treats. But now, hearing my grandfather’s words, the broken pieces of my memory clicked together. To keep me from being sold, my mother had forced herself to do something she hated. Something horrible. Every time she looked at me now, she was seeing that dark, suffocating nightmare all over again. I suddenly felt like my entire existence was a mistake. A monstrous grief swallowed me whole, a pain a thousand times worse than the throbbing in my head, the ache in my stomach, or the cold seeping into my bones. I couldn’t breathe. I got up, moving like a sleepwalker, and felt my way toward the kitchen. There was only one thought in my head: I am wrong. I shouldn’t be alive. If I disappear, Mama will get better. Grandpa and Grandma and Michael won’t have to be so sad anymore. The kitchen was dark. My hand brushed against something cold and hard on the counter. A knife. I gripped the handle, the chill of the steel making me shiver. In the darkness, I saw two images of my mother. The first, her eyes shining as she handed me a birthday egg. The second, her eyes wild with madness and despair as she looked at me today. Mama. I’m so sorry. I closed my eyes and pushed the knife against my body with all my strength.

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The divorce papers hit the marble table with finality. Conrad slid them toward me like a bill as I devoured a $2 donut at his gleaming dining table—its surface so polished I could see my own wretched reflection. Mrs. Gable served Conrad his Ethiopian coffee, the aroma clashing with the fir incense permeating the house. Nauseating. “Sign it.” He stirred his coffee, spoon clinking against china. A grating, delicate sound. I wiped greasy fingers on Lillian’s silk pajama pants (left here “accidentally”) before picking up the thick, gilded document: DIVORCE AGREEMENT Article 1: Rina waives all marital assets. Article 2: Vacate Siega properties within 24hrs. Article 3: No contact with Conrad or Lillian Vance. Article 4: One-time payment: $50,000. My name—”Rina,” a gift from my pretentious father who hoped it’d grant me clarity—stared back, mocking. … And the last one: This agreement is effective upon signing. Rina Williamson agrees to these terms irrevocably and for all time. I finished reading. The only sounds in the cavernous room were the soft sips of Conrad’s coffee and the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, where Mrs. Gable was pretending to be busy. She was listening, of course. Everyone in this sterile modernist mansion knew that “Mrs. Siega” was nothing more than a placeholder. A cheap imitation occupying Lillian’s rightful throne. And now, the queen was returning. The forgery had to be disposed of. “Finished?” Conrad finally lifted his gaze. God, he was handsome. A face carved from stone by a master sculptor, with eyes so deep they could make a dog feel cherished. The look he gave me, however, was colder than the one he reserved for the doormat. “Three hundred thousand?” I pointed to the number. My voice was hoarse. The donut, probably. “Not enough?” A corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. A razor-thin, cruel line. “Don’t be greedy, Rina. You’ve done nothing but spend my money for three years. Three hundred grand is more than enough for you to crawl back to whatever dreary little town you came from and live out your days.” He paused, adding the next part as if tossing a bone to a stray. “Assuming, of course, you don’t blow it all like the idiot you’ve always been.” I looked down at the string of zeros. Three hundred thousand dollars. To Conrad, it was probably less than a rounding error on the watch currently strapped to his wrist. No, wait. That watch was worth over a quarter of a million. This wasn’t even a rounding error. It was an insult. But to me? To the girl whose family had gone bankrupt, whose father had skipped town, and whose mother was wasting away in a hospital bed—to a parasite who had no skills beyond being “Mrs. Siega”—three hundred thousand was a fortune. It was a lifeline. It was the money that could keep my mother breathing for another few months. My fingers tightened on the papers, the sharp edges digging into my skin. A dull ache bloomed in my chest, a phantom pain from a blunt knife twisting slowly. It wasn’t for Conrad. It was for me. For the past three years, I had been a canary in a gilded cage, fed on luxury until my brain had rusted shut. I’d willingly played the background character in his and Lillian’s epic romance. The cheapest kind of extra. Everyone knew he’d only married me to spite his family, a petty act of rebellion to show Lillian, who’d stormed off to Europe after a spat. Now she was back. And my role as a prop was over. What a fucking joke. I took a deep breath. The cloying mix of fir, coffee, and the faint, greasy ghost of my donut filled my lungs. “Fine,” I heard myself say, my voice surprisingly steady. “Pen.” Conrad seemed taken aback. He’d probably expected tears, a tantrum, the usual brainless smashing of expensive trinkets. He frowned but pulled a sleek, heavy-looking fountain pen from the inner pocket of his tailored suit. Sterling silver. He passed it to me. I reached for it. The moment my fingertips brushed against the cool, heavy metal of the pen— ZAP. A bolt of raw, high-voltage electricity shot through my skull. My vision went black. A flood of shattered images and sharp, screaming voices crashed over me, a tidal wave of someone else’s agony, drowning my already fragile consciousness. “Rina is such an idiot! She deserved to be used!” “Damn, Conrad is ruthless. Three hundred grand to dump her after three years.” “I heard Lillian is officially moving in next month. He’s having the entire master suite redecorated for her!” “Did you hear about Rina’s mom? She’s not gonna make it. When it rains, it pours…” “Sign it! Just sign the damn thing and you’ll be free! You can save your mother!” “DON’T SIGN IT! RINA, IF YOU SIGN IT, YOU’LL HAVE NOTHING! Conrad and Lillian will bleed you dry! They’ll cut off your mother’s medical payments! THEY WILL DESTROY YOU!” That last voice. A shriek. Raw and desperate, laced with the taste of blood and regret. It was my voice. But not my voice. It was the voice of a Rina from another time, another life, screaming herself hoarse to warn me. The darkness receded. My vision snapped back into focus. I was still in Conrad’s opulent dining room. The heavy silver pen was still in my hand. Conrad was watching me, his expression a cocktail of impatience and contempt. “What are you staring at? Just sign it.” It felt like an eternity, but it could only have been a second. Yet every pore on my body had erupted. A cold sweat drenched my back. The hand holding the pen trembled violently. Those voices… those images… If I sign, they’ll cut off Mom’s medical payments? Conrad and Lillian will destroy me? An arctic chill shot up from the soles of my feet and exploded at the base of my skull. That wasn’t a hallucination. It was a warning. A primal, instinctual klaxon blaring in my soul. Something inside my head… had just woken up. “I…” My throat was tight, my voice like sandpaper. “I need a minute to read this properly.” Conrad’s brows slammed together. “Rina. Don’t play games. It won’t end well for you.” “I’m not playing games.” I forced myself to be calm, placing the pen gently on the gilded agreement with a soft click. “Three hundred thousand dollars. To buy out three years of my life, to ensure I walk away with nothing, and to buy a promise of my eternal silence.” I lifted my head and looked him directly in the eye. For the first time, truly, without a trace of fear or fawning. A flicker of surprise, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. “This is a big decision. I think I’m entitled to read the fine print, don’t you? A man of your stature wouldn’t begrudge his… ex-wife… a little time, would he?” I let the word ‘ex-wife’ hang in the air, laced with self-mockery. He stared at me, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass, searching my face for any sign of a bluff, any hint of a stalling tactic. But my mind was a chaotic storm, and my face was likely a mask of numb shock. After a few seconds, he looked away, picking up his coffee cup and retreating behind his usual wall of cold superiority. “One day. Tomorrow. At this time. I want the signed agreement on this table. Otherwise…” He didn’t finish the sentence. The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. “Mrs. Gable,” he called out, his voice sharp. “Clear this table. This mess is an eyesore.” The housekeeper scurried out, efficiently whisking away my half-eaten donut and its greasy paper bag, her eyes darting towards me with a mixture of pity and… was that a flicker of satisfaction? The cold, hard truth of my position here. I pushed myself to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, but I willed them to hold. “Understood.” I turned and walked away. I didn’t look back at Conrad. I didn’t look back at the divorce agreement lying on the cold marble, a death sentence waiting to be signed. Step by step, I climbed the sweeping staircase, back to the enormous, empty bedroom that belonged to “Mrs. Siega.” My mind was still buzzing, those fragmented voices echoing like a swarm of angry hornets. “Conrad and Lillian have a suite at The Zenith Hotel! Room 1608! They’re going there tonight!” “Lillian’s pregnant! Conrad’s planning to use the baby to solidify his position at Siega Industries! Your divorce has to be finalized before he makes the announcement, or it’ll tarnish his ‘perfect’ family man image!” “Find a private investigator! Mickey. He’s cheap, but he’s good. Address is behind the old post office on Miller Street, third door in the alley, second floor. Tell him ‘The Magpie’ sent you!” “Your mom’s medical bills! All of them! They’re in the locked drawer at the bottom of your nightstand! The key is… in the lining of your old purse! Don’t let the Siegas find it!” “Rina! Don’t trust him! Don’t sign! You have to live! For your mother! For yourself!” That last voice, a desperate, blood-soaked plea, slammed into my heart. I shoved the heavy bedroom door shut, leaning back against the cool wood and sliding down to the plush carpet. My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild, frantic drum solo threatening to burst through. I gasped for air, my hands and feet ice-cold, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. What was that? A premonition? Or had I finally had a complete psychotic break? No. It was too real. Every detail had the cold, sharp texture of truth. Conrad and Lillian at The Zenith, room 1608? Lillian pregnant? A PI named Mickey? My mother’s medical bills… I scrambled on all fours towards the ridiculously ornate, king-sized bed. The nightstand. The bottom drawer. There it was. A small, discreet drawer with a lock I’d never even noticed before. The key… the voice said it was in my old purse. My old purse? Like a madwoman, I flung open the door to the walk-in closet, a space larger than my old apartment, filled to bursting with designer clothes and handbags Conrad had bought to maintain the “Mrs. Siega” facade. My own things? They’d been purged long ago. In the farthest, darkest corner, covered in a fine layer of dust, was a large, worn-out tote bag. The one I’d brought with me when I first moved in. I dragged it out, its contents spilling onto the floor—a few outdated dresses and a scuffed Coach wallet. So old the edges were frayed. With trembling hands, I opened it. Tucked into a hidden pocket in the lining… there it was. A tiny, brass-colored key. Clutching the key, I rushed back to the nightstand, jamming it into the tiny lock. Click. It opened. Inside, there were no jewels, no hidden cash. Just a thick, terrifying stack of hospital bills. Payment demands. Overdue notices. Final warnings. My mother’s name, Iris Williamson, was at the top of every one. And next to it, a number that made my blood run cold. Total Amount Due: $47,860.00. The most recent notice was dated yesterday. “Failure to settle the outstanding balance exceeding $50,000 will result in the immediate suspension of all treatments and medication.” Stamped below was the hospital’s official seal. Red as blood. My blood. It rushed to my head in a furious, roaring wave. Conrad. He knew. He fucking knew my mother was in that hospital, her life hanging by a thread, waiting for money he controlled completely. He bought me million-dollar necklaces I never wore, haute couture gowns I hated, but he let my mother rack up tens of thousands in life-or-death medical debt. And now, he wanted to buy my silence for three hundred grand. Then, just as the voice had warned, he would cut off the payments. He would let my mother die to clear the way for Lillian and their precious baby. A guttural, animalistic sound ripped from my throat. Rage. Hot as lava, it vaporized every last scrap of my fear and weakness. It burned my eyes red. It made my body tremble not with fear, but with a terrifying, newfound power. It wasn’t a hallucination. The voice screaming in my head was an awakening. It was me, the disposable side character, refusing to be crushed by the plot. It was my own soul’s final, desperate roar against annihilation. Conrad. Lillian. You think you can get rid of me for three hundred thousand dollars? You think you can just let my mother and me disappear into the night? You have no fucking idea what you’ve just unleashed.

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At Serenity Dolls—a hyper-realistic adult doll showroom—seven men mistook me for an exhibit and assaulted me during my night shift. I bit one attacker severely, leaving him permanently maimed. The court deemed it “excessive self-defense,” sentencing me to three years. The day I was jailed, my fiancé Warren left me. The day I was freed, my parents received a video of my assault and prison abuse. One bashed their head into a wall; the other jumped off our roof. After burying them, the man I’d maimed returned, threatening to desecrate their graves unless I filmed something worse. As I lunged at their headstone, my college friend Kian stopped me, promising me a home. Seven months pregnant, I overheard Kian confess: “You hired those men to corner Stella, destroyed the footage, and fed cops false evidence. When she got out, you orchestrated her parents’ deaths and let that animal violate her again.” His friend asked if he regretted it. “I had to break her. Warren’s family would never have let him marry Peggy otherwise. This is the only way I can give Peggy the life she deserves.” Their words shattered everything. Kian paved a golden road for Peggy. Fine. I’ll pave one for them all—straight to hell. 01 “Those seven guys called again yesterday. They’re demanding three hundred thousand this time.” Kian lit a cigarette. “Pay them. I have another job for them.” Jack, his friend, was aghast. “Kian, are you out of your goddamn mind?” “Peggy is Peggy, but she’s married to Warren now, carrying his child! Stella, whatever her past, is carrying your child.” “You already caused her infertility by spiking her herbal tonics with birth control. She went through hell with IVF—countless pills and injections—just to get pregnant. She’s seven months along now. If something goes wrong, you could lose them both!” Kian finally shot Jack a sideways glance. “You’re awfully worked up about Stella. You falling for her?” A faint blush crept up Jack’s neck. “What the hell are you talking about?” But Kian, his mind consumed by Peggy, didn’t notice Jack’s discomfort. “Once Peggy secures her place by giving the Locke family their first grandson, I’ll make it up to Stella. I’ll take care of her.” As he was leaving, Kian paused. “By the way, is Stella’s baby a boy or a girl?” “A boy.” Kian nodded, a thoughtful, chilling look in his eyes. “A boy is good. If anything… unexpected happens with the Locke family, or with Peggy’s pregnancy, Stella’s baby could be… useful.” Jack was confused. “What do you mean? What does Stella’s baby have to do with Peggy and the Lockes?” A shadow passed over Kian’s face. “Nothing.” After they left, I clamped a hand over my mouth, my legs giving way as I slid to the floor. My heart felt like a block of ice. So, he was the architect of all my suffering. Kian. It was always Kian. And what did he mean, that my baby was connected to Peggy and the Locke family? A dark, formless dread began to take root in my soul. Terrified of being followed, I took the crowded subway instead of a cab. On the way, I called my best friend, Chloe, in another city, asking her to find me a place to stay. I told her I was coming soon. I was just steps from my apartment building when three men grabbed me, shoving me into a windowless van. When I opened my eyes, every nerve in my body screamed. The man I’d maimed stood over me. He yanked my hair, pulling my head back, and slapped me hard across the face, once, twice, three times. “Bitch!” he spat, his face a mask of rage. “Because of you, I’m a goddamn eunuch.” He leaned in close, his breath foul. “Little slut. Just wait and see what I do to you.” Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I didn’t dare cry out. I shielded my head with one arm and my pregnant belly with the other as he kicked my leg, a sharp, brutal impact. Another one of them, a guy with bleached-blond hair, snapped several pictures of me before dialing a number. “Mr. Locke? We’ve got your girl, Stella. If you want her back alive, bring five million. In person. Now.” A cool, detached voice answered from the speakerphone. “You have the wrong person. My woman is Peggy. And she’s in my bed right now.” The blond thug just smirked, tossed the phone aside, and ripped my dress open. He grabbed a beer bottle, smashed it against the wall, and held the jagged neck menacingly close, moving it toward the space between my legs. Just then, the warehouse door flew open with a deafening crash. Kian burst in. He moved like a phantom, a whirlwind of controlled violence. One against seven. It was over in minutes, all of them left groaning or unconscious on the filthy floor. “Stella, honey, are you hurt? I was so worried!” He apologized profusely the entire ride home. I just stared out the window, a cold, hollow feeling in my chest. It was all so laughable. Those thugs were terrible actors, their “unconsciousness” a pathetic charade. And Kian. His flashy moves were impressive, I’ll give him that. His performance of a deeply concerned husband was Oscar-worthy. Later that night, I drifted in a half-sleep, only to be pulled awake by the sound of Kian’s voice from the balcony. He was on the phone. “Peggy,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “I miss you. My whole body aches for you.” “It’s Stella’s birthday tomorrow. Will you come over? Please?” Half an hour later, he slipped into bed, wrapping his arms around me. He whispered into my hair, his voice laced with guilt, “Once Peggy and the baby have secured their inheritance from the Locke family, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” After his breathing evened out into a deep sleep, my eyes snapped open, clear and cold in the darkness. A demon. I don’t want your apologies, Kian. I just want you in hell. 02 At breakfast, Kian brought up my birthday again. “I don’t feel like celebrating. You guys can go out if you want,” I said, my voice flat. But he insisted. “You haven’t socialized at all since… everything that happened. You can’t keep bottling yourself up like this.” “It’s not good for your mood, which means it’s not good for the baby, and…” I was too tired to argue. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” My plan was simple: when they arrived, I’d leave. But I underestimated Kian’s determination to keep me there. He locked me in the house. That evening, he returned with Peggy, who was five months pregnant, and a group of his friends. The way his friends looked at me made my skin crawl. Their leering eyes stripped me bare, and I felt a familiar, chilling dread creep up my spine. It was the same look those seven men had given me, their predatory gazes filled with sickening hunger right before they tore my clothes, right before the pain and the blood. I started to tremble uncontrollably, instinctively curling into myself. “Hey, Stella,” one of them sneered. “No need to be shy with us. We’ve all seen that video of you a hundred times. Gotta say, you sound pretty good when you scream.” “Yeah,” another chimed in, “and at the end, the way you were shaking… looked like you were really getting into it, huh?” “We’re all curious, Stella. How’d you get your rocks off in prison? Did the guards hook you up? Did they pay?” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Say one more word,” I roared, my voice raw, “and I’ll rip your fucking tongues out!” Peggy shot the men a warning glance. “That’s enough. You have to show some respect. After all,” she said, her eyes glinting with malice, “she belongs to Kian.” I stared at Peggy, her undisguised hostility a splash of cold water that shocked me back to my senses. She then turned back to them, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Where in the video did you see her shaking like that? I’ve watched it so many times, and I must have missed it. What’s the timestamp?” “Fifty-two minutes, thirty-seven seconds,” one of them answered immediately. “Clear as day.” Suddenly, the living room was filled with the sounds from that video—my desperate screams, my pleas for mercy, punctuated by the grunts and vile laughter of men. I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the memories. Peggy pried my hands away with a sickly sweet smile. “Why cover your ears?” She gestured towards Kian’s smirking friends, at the noticeable bulges in their pants. “You scream even better than those dolls in the showroom, you know. Look, you’ve got them all worked up.” I slapped her hand away, snatched the phone playing the video, and smashed it against the floor. “Monsters! You’re all monsters!” Kian emerged from the kitchen just in time to see me shove Peggy away. He rushed to her side, steadying her as he turned on me, his voice a furious whip. “Stella, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “Peggy is pregnant! What if you’d hurt her?” I touched my own seven-month belly and looked at Kian, a cold, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “And where were you when your friends were torturing your wife? Are you blind?” My words hit their mark. He flinched, glancing at his friends. “Hey, show some class,” he muttered at them. “Don’t take it too far.” I let out another self-mocking laugh and turned to leave. So that’s all I was. A dog to be scolded, but still his property. “Wait!” Kian called out. For a fleeting, foolish moment, my heart lifted. I thought he was going to apologize. Instead, he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron, and dragged me in front of Peggy. “Apologize to her.” I looked up in disbelief, my eyes meeting Peggy’s, which were now filled with a soft, wounded expression. I turned back to Kian. “For what?” Peggy put on a show of defending me. “Kian, please, let’s just drop it. I’m sure Stella didn’t mean to push me.” Seeing the tears welling up in Peggy’s eyes only fueled Kian’s anger. He stroked her hair soothingly. “You’re carrying a baby, and she’s not blind. I think she knew exactly what she was doing.” He glared at me, his voice a low command. “Apologize.” I knew then there was no hope. He was blind to everything but her. Just as I was about to force the word out, someone kicked the back of my knees. My legs buckled, and I crashed to the floor, kneeling before Peggy. I twisted around. It was the man whose phone I had smashed. “That was a brand new, ten-thousand-dollar phone,” he snarled. “I’ll let it slide today, out of respect for Kian. But you’re going to get on your knees and bow your head to Peggy and beg for her forgiveness.” Peggy covered her mouth, hiding a triumphant smirk as she pretended to help me up. “Oh, Stella, please don’t. I couldn’t bear to have you kneel to me.” Kian pushed her hand away and repeated his command, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Apologize.” I looked at their hands, intertwined and secure. “Fine. You want an apology? I’ll give you one.” I scanned the room, my gaze passing over each of their smug faces. Still on my knees, I shifted back slightly. “In fact, since everyone is here, I’ll apologize to all of you at once.” 03 As they jeered, pulling out their phones to film me, I began. I bowed my head to the floor once, for Peggy. “I’m sorry.” My voice was dead calm. “It was my mistake to have ever crossed paths with you.” I bowed a second time, for the man whose phone I’d broken. “My apologies.” “I am nothing but a dog, and I’m grateful you would even bother to scold me on Kian’s behalf.” Then, I turned my gaze to Kian. A third bow. “I’m sorry.” Sorry that my pain could never compete with your masterful performance. Sorry that I deserved every bit of your venomous scheming. Kian’s face tightened. He opened his mouth to say something, but Peggy squeezed his hand, and his expression softened as he turned his attention back to her. Finally, I looked at the group as a whole and bowed a fourth time. “My deepest apologies to all of you.” May you never be reincarnated as human. May you all burn in the deepest circle of hell. Four bows. It’s a ritual reserved for the dead. One of them finally caught on. “What the fuck? You only bow four times for the dead! Are you cursing us?!” Peggy gasped, clutching her belly. “Kian! Is she putting a curse on my baby?” Kian’s face contorted into a mask of pure fury. He lunged at me, his hand clamping around my throat, lifting me slightly off the floor. “Stella,” he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. “Are you looking for death?” I stared right back into his murderous eyes, a defiant smile playing on my lips as I closed my own. “Go on, Kian. Don’t be a coward. If you have the guts, then kill me.” You already have my parents’ blood on your hands. What’s one more life? The hatred in his eyes burned hotter. His grip tightened, the force making the veins on his arm bulge. “Beg me, Stella.” I couldn’t breathe, my face flushing a deep red, but I refused to make a sound. In front of everyone, he was either trying to save face or break my will. He squeezed harder, determined to do one or the other. “Beg me, or I swear to God, I will kill you right here.” The others just watched, a silent, morbid audience. Peggy smoothed her dress, her gaze drifting to the gold locket around my neck. Only Jack seemed concerned. “Kian, stop! She’s carrying your child!” A flicker of something—hesitation? recognition?—crossed Kian’s eyes. With a final, brutal surge of strength, he threw me aside. “Stella,” he snarled, breathing heavily. “I had no idea you were so unafraid to die.” The searing pain in my neck was a stark reminder of how close I had just come to seeing my parents again. I met Kian’s hateful glare and laughed, a ragged, broken sound. “You really are a coward, Kian.” His face turned ashen with rage. He started towards me again, ready to finish the job, but Jack threw himself in the way, holding him back. Jack reached a hand out to help me up, but I flinched away. A pack of demons in human skin. The reaper is coming for all of you. Peggy pressed herself into Kian’s arms, her voice a pathetic whimper. “Kian, I’m so scared of ghosts and curses and… all that death talk. I know I’m going to have nightmares.” “I’ve heard,” she added, her eyes fixing on my neck, “that a protective charm can ward off evil things.” Without a word, without even a glance in my direction, Kian strode over and ripped the gold locket from my neck. The delicate chain snapped, cutting into my skin. “A venomous woman like you doesn’t deserve protection,” he spat, turning to Peggy. “Here. You wear it for now.” I touched the back of my neck, my fingers coming away sticky with blood. “The great Mrs. Locke,” I scoffed, “so desperate she’s coveting something that belonged to a dead woman. What a pathetic joke.” “Ugh! How disgusting!” Peggy shrieked, realizing the locket was a family heirloom from my deceased mother. She threw it to the ground with such force that the pendant shattered into three pieces. My eyes locked on the broken fragments. A violent tremor ran through my body. Kian’s face went rigid. He took a half-step toward me. “I’ll have someone…” But Peggy cut him off, clutching her stomach. “Kian, my stomach hurts.” Instantly, all his attention was on her. “I’ll help you lie down for a bit.” As they passed by me, while I was kneeling to pick up the pieces of my mother’s locket, Peggy deliberately stomped her heel down hard on the back of my hand. “Ah!” I cried out in pain. At my cry, Peggy stumbled dramatically, her eyes filling with tears as she looked accusingly at me. “Stella, I’m pregnant! How could you be so wicked as to stick your foot out and trip me?” She turned her tear-streaked face to Kian. “Kian, I think I should just go home.” Kian spun around and kicked me squarely in the back. “It was just a piece of jewelry! Do you have to be so goddamn malicious?” He ignored my pale face, my bleeding hand. He dragged me like a sack of garbage into a guest room and threw me inside. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through my abdomen. “It was Peggy,” I gasped, my face ashen. “She stepped on my hand on purpose.” Kian glanced at my bleeding hand and sneered. “You’d even hurt yourself just to frame her. You’re pathetic.” “Think about what you’ve done,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “Don’t even think about coming out until you have. And you can forget about dinner.” Peggy’s eyes fell on the phone in my hand. “It won’t be so bad. She can just scroll on her phone while she reflects.” Kian’s face darkened. He snatched my phone from my hand and slammed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the small room. My stomach growled, and a series of sharp contractions began, each one more intense than the last. I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one came. The sounds of a football game, of boisterous laughter and shuffling mahjong tiles, drifted in from the living room, mocking my isolation. Sometime late in the night, I was drifting in a feverish, half-conscious state when the door to my room began to shake with a rhythmic, sickening thud. A man’s voice, Kian’s voice, pleaded, “Peggy, please, let’s go to the master bedroom. Your belly is so big… this is too dangerous. I’m afraid I’ll lose control and hurt our son.”

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