Category: English

Born with a heart defect, my dying mother willed me her heart. But my husband Ben gave it to Scarlett—his true love. “She was critical,” he said coldly. “You’ll get another.” I screamed: “That was my mother’s heart!” He watched my breakdown indifferently. “As compensation,” he offered, “I’ll attend her funeral.” The next day, he ignored my calls—until I saw him in Scarlett’s social media post: Celebrating my health! At my mother’s grave, I whispered, “I have to break my promise.” Then I called the man she warned me against: “You wanted to make it up to me? Now’s your chance.” … 1 “Okay. You want a divorce? You want to get away from here? Fine. I’ll be there in three days, max. I’ll come for you and your mother.” The excited voice on the other end of the line turned cautious. “Amy… you still won’t call me Dad?” “I’ll be waiting.” I didn’t answer his question. I just hung up. A second later, Ben’s call came through. “What is it?” he asked, his tone laced with impatience. I ignored it. For the first time, I didn’t argue, didn’t fight back. I just spoke, my voice calm and empty. “Let’s get a divorce.” There was a pause on his end. He must have remembered his promise to attend the funeral. “Something urgent came up at the office. I’ll be back in three days. Don’t be unreasonable.” Then, a sweet, cloying voice floated through the phone. “Ben, honey, I forgot my towel. Can you bring it to me?” A flurry of panicked sounds followed. “It’s not what you think. I…” It was the first time Ben had ever deigned to explain himself to me, but I no longer cared enough to listen. I cut him off, my voice still eerily serene. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get a divorce.” His voice turned to ice. “Amy, it seems I’ve been too lenient with you. You can spend the next three days at home thinking about what you’ve done.” Just as he said, Ben’s assistant appeared at the cemetery, flanked by a dozen bodyguards. “Mrs. Hayes, if you please.” I recognized them all. They were the men Ben had assigned to protect me because of my fragile health. I didn’t have the strength to resist. After a final, silent goodbye to my mother, I followed them back to the villa. The silver locket, the ninety-nine love letters, the hand-carved rosewood comb… One by one, I tossed every proof of our past love into the trash. As I tied up the last bag, a jacket was draped over my shoulders. “Don’t stand in the wind. You’ll catch a chill,” Ben’s voice was low, his brow furrowed with concern, as if our bitter fight from earlier had never happened. “Leave this kind of work to the staff.” “What are you doing back so soon?” I asked, confused. Just then, the door of a Rolls-Royce opened. Ben rushed over, his voice instantly softening to a gentle murmur. “Easy now. You didn’t want to stay at the hotel, so I brought you here, didn’t I? Just sit tight, I’ll carry you inside.” A gust of wind blew past, and the jacket slid from my shoulders. I didn’t bother to pick it up. I let it fall and mix with the rest of the garbage. Back in my room, I had just lain down when Ben came in. “You need to clear out one of the other rooms. Scarlett will be staying in here.” “She’s having some post-op rejection symptoms,” he continued, his tone authoritative. “She needs to rest properly.” He spoke as if he were the master of the house and I was merely a servant. My heart, already strained from the day’s emotional turmoil, began to ache with a sharp, stabbing pain. I closed my eyes, exhausted. “This is my home. If she needs medical care, a hospital is a much better place for her.” He was speechless for a moment, then turned and left. I could hear him bustling around outside, the constant rustling noises repeatedly jarring me from the edge of sleep. “Why don’t you just ask the staff to do it?” I sighed, exasperated. Ben’s lips thinned into a straight line. “They don’t know her preferences. I’ll do it myself.” The harsh, white light from the hallway seared my eyes. I remembered then, how many times I had asked him to change the bulbs to the warm, yellow light I preferred. He’d never gotten around to it. Blinking away the moisture gathering in my eyes, I looked at him. “You want a divorce? Fine. I’ll help you.” 2 Ben’s movements froze. He was changing the sheets, and the heavy linen snapped across my arm, leaving a stinging red mark. “Have you not had enough?” he snapped. “There’s a limit to this jealousy, Amy.” Before, it was jealousy. Now, it was just… nothing. My heart was a dead thing in my chest. He hadn’t even noticed all the things I’d thrown away. He tossed the sheet aside and shoved past me. “Forget it. She can just stay in my room tonight.” In the past, a power play like this would have sent me into a spiral of insecurity, begging for his forgiveness. Now, I just put on my sleep mask, went back to my own room, and slept. My mother wanted me to live a long, healthy life. I would honor that. I would eat well. I would sleep well. When I woke, I asked our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, to make a steamer of crab soup dumplings. I had just taken the first bite when the dumpling was slapped out of my hand. “Amy, what the hell is wrong with you? You know Scarlett can’t have seafood after her surgery! Are you trying to kill her?” Ben’s cold accusation rained down on me. I found it almost laughable. “This is my breakfast. There isn’t any for you two. If you’re hungry, go ask Mrs. Gable.” My indifference seemed to ignite a fire in him. The words burst out before he could stop them. “You have a mother, but she clearly never taught you any manners!” The moment he said it, his lips pressed together in regret. My mother had poured her entire soul into raising me, showering me with love. She never let anyone speak ill of me, let alone like this. Tears streamed down my face without my consent. I stood up and slapped him, hard, across the face. “Get out.” Before taking Scarlett to the hospital, Ben locked me in the basement. He knew my heart condition made me susceptible to panic attacks. He knew the basement was my deepest, darkest fear. “I promise to be your shield, to keep you safe from every shadow.” His wedding vow echoed in my mind, a ghostly reminder of a man who no longer existed. I wrapped my arms around myself, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. As my vision blurred, I saw her. My mother. She stroked my hair, just like she used to. “It’s okay, my love. Don’t be afraid. Mommy’s here with you. You have to be strong.” When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. “Don’t worry. I’m already looking for a new heart donor for you,” Ben said, holding a spoonful of egg custard to my lips. I turned my head away. I only wanted my mother’s. I wanted to live on for both of us. But I knew he would never give it to me. I would have to take it myself. “Amy, don’t push your luck,” he warned, his patience thinning. “If your mother were alive, she would understand my decision. She wouldn’t want you to be so unreasonable.” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “If my mother were alive, she would never feed me egg custard. She knew I’m allergic.” A suffocating silence fell between us, broken only by the arrival of Scarlett. “Amy, please don’t be angry with Ben,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was my idea. I suggested the custard for you.” Ben rushed to her side, steadying her. I ignored her pathetic act, my eyes fixed on her chest. My mother’s heart was in there. I would take it back with my own hands. “You’re still in your recovery period. Why did you come all the way here?” Ben chided Scarlett gently. “Besides, it wasn’t your fault. If she can’t eat it, it’s because she’s being difficult.” Tears welled in Scarlett’s eyes. She nodded meekly, then suddenly dropped to her knees by my bed. “Amy, I know I took your heart. If I could, I’d tear it out of my own chest and give it to you. I’d rather die.” Her face crumpled in a look of shame and humiliation. “But I swear I never tried to seduce Ben. Please… please don’t send people to… to do those things to me.” Ben’s expression hardened instantly. He believed her without a second thought. He shook his head, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Amy, I knew you were jealous and possessive, but I never thought you were this vile.” “It wasn’t me,” I said, the denial automatic. “I have a heart condition. I don’t have the strength or the connections to do something like that. You can check.” But he had already stripped my clothes off and thrown me into the hospital corridor. The sideways glances of strangers were like a thousand tiny cuts, slicing me apart. I wanted to run, but Ben had posted guards. There was no escape. He finally brought me back to the room late that night. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t get out,” he said, as if granting me a great mercy. “But you need to learn your lesson. I will not have a wife who is so malicious.” His magnanimity was so absurd I laughed until I cried. He frowned, clearly unsettled by my reaction, and by the fact that I offered no further defense. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” “Would you believe me if I did?” I shot back. I didn’t even wait for an answer. I knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t believe me when I said Scarlett tripped on her own. He didn’t believe I was the one who made him soup when he was sick, not her. He would never believe that her weakness was an act, that her condition was never as urgent as she claimed. I turned and started walking toward the stairs. “About what you asked for earlier,” Ben said suddenly from behind me. “I agree.” A lifetime of humiliation in exchange for a divorce decree. I couldn’t tell if I had won or lost. But before I could get the papers from him, he took a phone call and rushed out the door. “Okay, don’t be scared. I promise I’ll be there before the thunder starts.” That night, a violent storm raged. I curled up in bed, clutching a photo of my mother, and finally fell asleep. The next morning, Ben returned and bundled me into the car. After a few minutes, I realized something was wrong. We were heading in the opposite direction of City Hall, getting further and further away. The cloying scent of a perfume that wasn’t mine filled the car, making me nauseous. I looked at him. “You promised. Where are we going?” 3 Ben shot me a strange look. “You always wanted to go to Disneyland, didn’t you? I’m taking you.” I finally remembered. I had mentioned it so many times, but he always dismissed it as childish. I’d given up hope long ago. When he saw that I wasn’t overjoyed, he did something unprecedented. He asked, “Is there something else you want?” I want a divorce. I want my mother’s heart back. The answers were immediate, but I didn’t say them. He would never agree. Besides, I had already received a message. The man I called was on his way. At that thought, a real, relaxed smile touched my lips. Ben’s own mouth curved upwards, misinterpreting my expression as pleasure. “Amy, Scarlett isn’t your enemy. If you behave, I’ll find you a better heart. Then we can be together forever, for a long, long time.” I ignored him. Scarlett’s perfume was making my chest tight. The moment we arrived at the park, I jumped out of the car, forgetting my phone in my haste. I was just starting to catch my breath when Ben grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. I turned to see his face, dark and stormy. “A man just called you. Who was it?” I knew it was him. He was here. I had sent him my location. I switched off my phone. Facing Ben’s fury, I scoffed. “He called a dozen times. You’ve forgotten my phone password, haven’t you? Just like you’ve forgotten my birthday.” After a tense moment, Ben dropped the subject and went to buy tickets. “What do you want to ride?” “Whatever,” I said, scrolling through my phone, feigning indifference. “Want to take a picture?” “No.” “Oh, why not?” Scarlett’s voice piped up from behind us. “Ben loves taking pictures with me. You should get one too, Amy. I heard you only have one wedding photo. That’s a bit sad, don’t you think?” Ben’s brow furrowed in annoyance, and he cut her off. “You two decide on a ride. I’ll go get the passes.” “Let’s do the TRON Lightcycle Run, the Hyperspace Mountain, and the Grizzly River Run!” Scarlett declared before I could speak. “We’re here to have fun, and those are the most popular rides!” Ben looked relieved. “Good thinking, Scarlett. I’m glad you did your homework.” Without giving me a chance to object, he bought the passes and dragged me onto the TRON ride. Scarlett had picked out the most intense, high-thrill rides in the entire park. For someone with a congenital heart defect. When the ride finished, my face was as white as a sheet. Before I could even steady my breathing, Scarlett let out a theatrical sob. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Amy! I completely forgot your heart isn’t better yet!” she cried. “Ben, quick, go get her medicine from the car!” “Okay, Scarlett, you watch her.” As Ben rushed off, Scarlett’s mask of concern dropped. A cruel smile spread across her face as she leaned in close. “Your heart’s hurting now, isn’t it?” she whispered. “It’s a pity. You’re just so hard to kill.” “I worked so hard to convince your mother to die, and you were so devastated. I can’t believe you didn’t just die with her. And now, even after a ride like that, you’re still alive. It’s infuriating.” My heart hammered against my ribs. My lips turned blue. I stared at her, horrified. “What did you say?” Scarlett’s smile was triumphant and vicious. “Oh, right. You don’t know. Your mother really did love you, though. Willing to die just to give you a healthy heart. It barely took any convincing at all.” My hands and feet went numb with rage. I couldn’t breathe. Scarlett had murdered my mother. She savored my agony. “And just so you know what you’re dying for, I’ll tell you one more thing.” “I never had a heart condition to begin with.” She pointed to her own chest. “That precious heart of hers? It’s not even in my body. I fed it to the dogs.” Something inside me snapped. I don’t know where the strength came from, but I lunged at her, my hands closing around her throat. “What are you two doing?!” A powerful force kicked me away. I heard Ben’s panicked voice. “Scarlett, swallow the pill. You’re going to be okay.” He didn’t even glance at me. He gave Scarlett the only life-saving medication I had, then scooped her up and carried her away. That final, desperate lunge had drained the last of my life force. I knew, with chilling certainty, that I was going to die. … Three months later. I woke up from surgery. A man named Marcus Thorne handed me my phone. “My child,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle. “You had collapsed. Your life was in grave danger. I had no choice but to bring you here immediately.” “Your heart is stable now. You’re going to be fine. This is yours.” I glanced around the room. I recognized the faces of the world’s top surgeons. Men of their stature couldn’t be bought with money alone. To be able to summon them all… this was the power of the Blackhawk Syndicate, the organization that held Europe in its grip. I pushed the thought aside and turned on my phone. A flood of messages from Ben poured in. [Where did you go? I heard you left with some strange man. Who is he?] [I found a suitable heart for you. Come back, and I’ll arrange the surgery.] [Fine. If you don’t want to come back, if you want a divorce, then you’ve got it. In three months, Scarlett and I are getting married. Don’t you dare regret this!] I checked the date. The wedding was in three days. “Child, will you call me Dad?” The man beside me, Marcus, asked, his voice full of a desperate hope. I looked at him, then paused. “Uncle.” “Ah.” He sighed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He held up a hand to stop one of his men from reacting. “It’s alright. I know you resent me. I failed you and your mother. Your mother… I know I don’t have the right to even say her name, but where is she now?” “You’ve suffered so much. She must have, too. Tell me. I will move heaven and earth to get justice for you both.” “My mother is dead.” I watched impassively as this towering, powerful man broke down, sobbing like a child. “Who did it?” he roared, his voice cracking with grief. “Who killed your mother? I’ll make them wish they were never born!” I told him everything. When I was finished, he stormed out of the room. A few moments later, a series of gunshots echoed from outside. They stopped after a while. He came back in, wiping his face. “Amy, what do you want to do now?” I glanced at the last text message from Ben. “Go home. And get my mother’s revenge.”

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My wife, who had always hated stuffed animals, suddenly bought a life-sized teddy bear and started taking it to bed with her every single night. I was cast aside, ignored. I finally reached my breaking point and announced I was filing for divorce at our son’s first birthday party. Everyone was stunned. My wife, Isabelle, hurled a glass of wine in my face. “You’re jealous of a teddy bear?” she screamed, her voice shaking with fury. “Have you lost your mind?” I wiped the wine from my face, my voice as cold as ice. “You’re the one who’s always talking about spending your life with that bear. I’m just making it official.” … “Noah Sutton!” “Our son just turned one, and you’re using an excuse this absurd to divorce me? You’re a complete and utter bastard.” Isabelle’s eyes were red-rimmed, her entire body trembling with rage. “Sign it,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.” I had no patience for more arguments. I slapped the divorce papers onto the table and turned to leave. The entire room of guests fell into a stunned silence once more. No one could understand how we, the couple everyone envied, had suddenly imploded. A flash of panic crossed Isabelle’s face. Her parents’ expressions darkened, their brows furrowing in unison. They had clearly never expected me to be this resolute. Her assistant, Julian Croft, grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “Don’t all women like stuffed animals?” he pleaded. “Stop acting crazy, Noah. Just apologize to Isabelle.” “And don’t forget what she went through to give you your son,” he continued, his voice rising. “A difficult birth, and she refused the epidural, holding on until she passed out from the pain. She slept in a separate room with the baby because she didn’t want to disturb your rest. Why can’t you see how much she’s sacrificed for you?” The other guests quickly joined in, their voices a chorus of condemnation. “Julian’s right. Your life is perfect, what are you doing? Do you have any idea how many men would kill to have a wife like Isabelle?” “If you have a problem, you talk about it. You don’t take it out on your wife and throw the word ‘divorce’ around.” Isabelle took a deep, steadying breath, composing herself. She rushed forward and threw her arms around me. “Darling,” she began, her voice soft. “We’ve known each other for twelve years. We’ve loved each other, built a life together. I know you. You’re a gentle man; you never lose your temper.” “Is something wrong with the company? Are you worried about dragging me down, and that’s why you want a divorce? Just tell me. We can face it together.” Her unwavering defense of me only made me look worse. The guests murmured their approval of her, their glares at me intensifying. “Noah,” my father-in-law, Mr. Vance, finally spoke, his voice heavy. “I may be retired, but my name still carries some weight in this town. If you’re in trouble, just say the word.” “We’re family,” my mother-in-law added. “Don’t keep it bottled up.” They still trusted me, the son-in-law they had handpicked themselves. Ignoring the sea of judgmental eyes, I shoved Isabelle away from me. My voice was glacial. “It’s simple. I don’t love you anymore.” The room fell dead silent. “What? Say that again…” Isabelle stared at me, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I said, I don’t love you anymore! Did you hear me clearly this time?” With that, I tried to walk past her and leave. “Stop right there!” The next second, Julian was in my face, grabbing me by the collar. “What the hell is wrong with you? Even I can’t stand by and watch this anymore!” he roared. “Have you forgotten how much you loved her? You pursued her for three years! It took another six before you finally got married! Have you forgotten your vows? To have and to hold, for better or for worse. She has never given up on you!” “And you have a child! A one-year-old son! Do you want him to grow up in a broken home?” Seeing him championing her cause so fiercely, a smirk touched my lips. “Why are you so worked up about this? It couldn’t be that…” Julian cut me off, his voice growing louder, more arrogant. “Anyone with a shred of decency would be disgusted by a thankless bastard like you.” “You came from nothing. Isabelle never looked down on you. She brought you into her family’s company, made you who you are today.” “Without the Vances, would you have this life? Would you be sitting in the CEO’s chair?” SLAP! I struck him across the face, the sound echoing in the silent room. “You’re just an assistant,” I snarled. “You don’t get a say in this.” Isabelle gasped, instantly rushing to his side. “Noah, are you insane? How could you hit Julian?” She pushed me away, helping a staggering Julian to his feet, her eyes filled with nothing but concern for him. “He deserved it,” I said, my fists clenched. I felt no remorse. My actions triggered a wave of revulsion through the room. They now saw my usual good nature as a façade, a mask for a violent, hypocritical monster. Julian looked up at Isabelle, his voice laced with faux apology. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. I made Mr. Sutton angry. Please, don’t blame him.” He hung his head, the perfect picture of remorse. “It’s not your fault,” Isabelle soothed, then turned to me, her voice now pleading and small. “Darling, our problems shouldn’t involve other people. Today is our son’s first birthday. Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you.” As she spoke, tears streamed down her face. Her submission. My aggression. The contrast was stark. The entire room was on her side. Mr. Vance took another deep breath, trying one last time. “Noah, for years you’ve been a hardworking, devoted, and respectful man. There’s no need for this. If you can provide any real evidence that you’ve been wronged, I swear I will stand by you.” He was offering me an out. I didn’t take it. My expression remained a mask of stone. “This divorce is happening.” Mr. Vance’s face turned ashen. Tears streamed down Isabelle’s cheeks. “Noah… is there someone else?” “Think what you want,” I said coolly. “If that’s what you want to believe, then fine.” “Enough!” Mr. Vance finally snapped. “Noah Sutton, I’m giving you three days to think this over,” he thundered. “Either you get your act together and be a husband, or I’ll see you in court. And you will walk away with nothing. Don’t you forget, everything you have today, I gave you.” The threat was clear. Everyone expected me to back down. But I just turned and walked away. Outside, my junior from law school, Claire Sterling, was waiting for me. “I’ve already sent my people to Europe,” she said with a small smile. “We should have answers to what you’re looking for very soon.” “Thank you,” I said, slumping into the back seat, utterly exhausted. “In three days, I’m facing Isabelle in court. I’ll need you there as my lawyer.” I pulled out my phone and played a video from a hidden camera. On the screen, Isabelle’s beloved teddy bear was walking, bold as brass, out of the spare bedroom. It even did a little dance for the camera in the living room. Three days. It was enough time to prepare, enough time to let the truth finally come crashing down. I had planned to stay at a hotel, but my credit cards were all frozen. I’d forgotten that over the past year, financial control had slowly shifted back into the Vance family’s hands. The bank accounts were now under Isabelle’s name. It seemed I lived in a warm, happy home, but in reality, I was utterly alone. I crashed at Claire’s for the night. The next day, I went to my office to collect my things. The moment I walked into the lobby, the whispers started. “He married into the family and doesn’t even appreciate it. Filing for divorce? Dumber than a box of rocks.” “So what if Mrs. Vance likes sleeping with a teddy bear? I like it too! What’s the big deal?” “He probably saw that she gained some weight after the baby and got tired of her. I bet he’s got seven or eight mistresses on the side.” They looked at me as if I were a hardened criminal, their eyes full of judgment. Before I could say anything, Isabelle’s voice cut through the noise. “All of you, be quiet. Who gave you permission to gossip? Get back to work.” The employees scattered. “Darling,” she said, her voice soft again. “I bought you a watch. Try it on.” She pulled a brand-new watch from her bag. A gasp went through the remaining onlookers. “A limited edition Patek Philippe! Only three were ever made, all bought by a mysterious collector.” “Mrs. Vance must have pulled every string to get her hands on that. She’s so thoughtful.” Everyone was envious. But my attitude remained glacial. “I’m here for my family heirloom. You can give the watch to the teddy bear.” At my words, Isabelle froze. The employees erupted in a wave of indignation, cursing me under their breaths. I ignored them and headed for the elevator. When my parents passed away, the only thing they left me was a small pendant. They said it would ward off evil. I always wore it. Some time ago, Isabelle had complained that her office felt cold and that she heard strange noises. So I took off the pendant and hung it in her office. The strange occurrences stopped. Now, she no longer deserved to have it. I walked into her office and saw Julian playing with my son. “Mr. Sutton,” he said, a bright, welcoming smile on his face. “You’re back. A happy home is better than anything, right? Come and see your son. He’s so adorable. How could you bear to abandon him?” He picked up my son and brought him over to me. “Get out of my way,” I said, my brow furrowed in disgust. “Mr. Sutton,” Julian pressed, his voice rising in performative disbelief. “This is your son! You won’t even look at him?” “Move!” I shoved him impatiently, striding past him to the wall where my pendant hung. I snatched it down. As I turned, I heard a cry. I looked back to see both Julian and my son on the floor. Just then, Isabelle and several senior executives walked in, witnessing the scene. Isabelle rushed to our son, frantically checking him for injuries. Finding none, she let out a breath of relief. “What happened?” she demanded, her gaze shifting between me and Julian. Julian looked down, his voice shaky. “I… I just wanted Mr. Sutton to see his son. But he didn’t want to, and he pushed me.” “It’s my fault. I’m so clumsy. If I’d just kept my balance, I wouldn’t have fallen.” What? Isabelle turned and slapped me hard across the face. “You’ve become so cold-blooded! That is your son!” she shrieked. “He’s only one year old! What if he had been seriously hurt?” My reaction was still ice. “Say what you will. If he’d died from the fall, it would have nothing to do with me.”

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A week before our wedding, Jason left on a last-minute business trip. When he returned, he pulled me close and said, “You’ve put on weight.” I forced a smile. “Did you hold someone thinner?” He stiffened, kissed me to silence me, then showered as usual. Everything seemed normal. But it wasn’t. In 13 years together, he’d never called me fat. I checked his phone—nothing. Later, he hugged me, chuckling. “Mad over a joke? You just feel different.” I stayed quiet. The next morning, I called my parents: “Jason’s cheating. Wedding’s off.” 1 My parents urged me to investigate further. So I drove straight to Jason’s office. It was a Saturday, but he’d claimed he had to work, bailing on a date he’d promised me for weeks. I pulled out my phone, about to call him, but saw he’d already sent a message. We both had two social media accounts, one for work and one for personal stuff. We usually chatted on Flare, where we’d maintained a 4,000-day streak. Jason’s message seemed normal enough: “Hey babe, have you had lunch yet?” I stared at the screen, momentarily confused. Jason had always hated flashy things. When I’d begged him to use cute chat bubbles with me, he’d refused, calling them childish. But now, his messages were appearing in pink bunny-themed bubbles. I sent back a question mark. He read it instantly. When he replied, the chat bubble was back to the boring default. “Flare must be glitching,” he wrote. “What was that bubble just now? I have no idea.” No idea? I pursed my lips and did a quick search. I found countless videos of couples showing off their matching “lovey-dovey bunny” chat themes. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. My fiancé was sharing a couple’s chat theme with another girl. I clicked on the “newest” tab for the theme. Ten minutes ago, an account called “SweetBunnyCake” had posted a screenshot of a conversation. It was just a bunch of sappy questions, like “Do you love me?” But the problem was the person on the other end of that conversation. The profile picture was unmistakably Jason. It was a candid shot I’d taken of him peeling shrimp for me. My breathing quickened. It felt like a terrible secret was about to surface. I clicked on SweetBunnyCake’s profile and saw a series of “A Day in the Life of a CEO’s Girl” vlogs, none of which had any views. I understood everything. Just then, Jason forwarded me her account, his voice message urgent. “Babe, don’t ignore me. I admit, I changed the chat bubble. It was to help a new assistant with a social media campaign to attract new talent.” “She’s just a kid, fresh out of college, full of ideas. She said young people love this kind of content and that it would be great for recruiting.” I didn’t reply. I got out of my car, walked into the building, and took the elevator to the top floor. I wanted to see for myself what kind of “young person” thought creating a couple’s social media account with her boss was a good way to recruit. 2 I expected an empty office, but to my surprise, everyone was actually working. I let out a small sigh of relief. At least Jason hadn’t lied about that. But then, my heart leaped into my throat. My eyes were fixed on the closed blinds of his office window. Jason hated closing his blinds. In all the years since he’d taken over the company, he had never once pulled them down. Not even when I came to visit. He never minded the staff seeing how affectionate we were. So why were they closed now? What was he hiding? I started towards his office, but a senior employee quickly stepped in my way, her smile stiff. “Mrs. Sterling! What a surprise to see you here today.” “I heard you two are getting married this weekend. I thought you’d be busy with wedding preparations!” Before I’d taken my leave to plan the wedding, everyone in the office knew how strict I was. No one would have dared to approach me so casually. My face went cold. I shoved her aside and pushed open the office door. Jason came out to greet me, a smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “I sent you a message and you didn’t reply. Were you planning a surprise?” I ignored him, my gaze landing on the girl standing primly by his desk. She was the epitome of the “pale, young, and skinny” aesthetic. Definitely thinner than me. She noticed me looking and gave a small, polite nod. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling.” But in that one glance, I saw undisguised provocation and malice. I pushed Jason’s arm off me and slowly walked over to the girl, tilting her chin up with my finger. “What’s your name?” She didn’t look at me. Instead, she shot a pleading look at Jason and said nothing. I laughed. “I was on leave when you were hired, so you probably don’t know. I’m the one who calls the shots in this company. As the majority shareholder, don’t I have the right to ask an employee for her name?” My voice was dripping with arrogance. The girl’s eyes immediately filled with tears, as if she were the victim. Jason rushed over, pulling my hand away and stepping between us. “Her name is Laura,” he said, his tone laced with accusation. “She’s my new assistant. She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know any better. Why are you being so hostile?” I looked up into his slightly displeased eyes and smirked. “What, are you feeling sorry for her?” Jason’s face darkened. “Mia! This is the office! You’ve always been so professional. Why are you throwing a tantrum now? Do you enjoy making a scene?” In thirteen years, it was the first time Jason had ever yelled at me for my personality. In the past, plenty of people had found me arrogant and overbearing. But Jason had always defended me. “Mia comes from a family that gives her the right to be arrogant,” he would tell them. “Besides, if you don’t provoke her, she won’t lose her temper with you. Maybe you should look at yourselves.” But now, he was siding with a new assistant, without even knowing the full story. I shook my head. “No. I don’t enjoy it at all.” With that, I pushed past him and held my phone up to Laura’s face, the Flare app open. “Laura, is it? Explain this to me. I wasn’t aware my fiancé had a ‘CEO’s girl’ in his office.” 3 Laura’s tears started to fall, but her eyes remained fixed on Jason, as if waiting for him to defend her. He just stared at me, silent. She was just a kid, after all. She covered her face and ran out of the office. The gawking employees quickly averted their eyes. I scoffed and looked around the office, noticing several changes. The award-winning painting I’d done in high school, which used to hang on the wall, had been replaced by Laura’s profile picture from her Flare account. The tea set on his desk was gone, replaced by a bubble tea station. Jason didn’t even drink bubble tea. Even the high-end sofa I’d picked out was now covered in a creamy white teddy bear slipcover. The clues had been there all along. Jason followed my gaze, his face still grim. He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the company. In the car, he was silent, running red light after red light on the way home. The second we were through the door, he threw me over his shoulder, ignoring my struggles, and tossed me onto the bed. His kisses were frantic and rough. I fought back, my eyes red with tears, and kneed him hard. “Jason, are you insane?” He grunted in pain but quickly pinned my legs down. “I think you’re the one who’s insane, Mia! Are you really picking a fight with a kid?” “What, feeling insecure before the wedding? Fine, I’ll give you some security!” He ripped my clothes. I stopped struggling, looking at him calmly. “Is this your way of compensating for cheating?” Just one sentence, and he went limp. Jason finally let me go and went out to the balcony to smoke. One cigarette after another. He didn’t come back in for a long time. I changed my clothes and went out to join him. I picked up his pack of cigarettes and paused. Jason had started smoking at eighteen. For seven years, he’d only ever smoked one brand—the one I’d bought him for the first time. Right before his trip, he’d been begging me to buy him more. “All the other guys’ wives buy them cigarettes. You should too, babe.” The new cartons were still in transit, but now he was smoking a brand of blueberry-flavored cigarettes popular with female smokers. I pulled one out, lit it, and took a deep drag. It was sweet. It was the blueberry flavor Jason hated most. When the pack was empty, Jason finally turned to me, his eyes pleading. “Stop it, babe. Can you just stop?” “I know you have cold feet, but we’ve known each other for thirteen years. You know me better than anyone. How could I possibly cheat on you?” “Laura really is just an assistant. I swear.” “If you don’t like her, I’ll fire her right now. I’ll delete the account. Is that what you want?” I looked down, my eyelashes trembling, at the glowing embers in the twilight. My throat felt tight. “This business trip… did you go alone?” Jason didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” “You can check. I was the only one who checked into the hotel.” Since he’d said that, there was no point in checking. After a long pause, I slowly nodded. “Fine. I don’t want to see Laura tomorrow.” Laura was fired the next day. I heard she cried so much her eyes were swollen shut. I didn’t think Jason had physically cheated on me. He had probably just strayed for a couple of days in our seven-year relationship. With the wedding so close, I couldn’t bring myself to break up with him over a minor lapse in judgment. I couldn’t bear it. After that, life seemed to go back to normal. Jason’s cologne was still the one I’d chosen for him. The office was back to the way it was. He’d even unfollowed someone on Flare, and our 4,000-day streak continued. I thought it was over. Until the day before the wedding, when the manager of one of our branch offices called me. “Ms. Monroe, Mr. Sterling sent a girl over a few days ago. She’s not doing any work, but her salary is incredibly high. The other employees are really unhappy. Mr. Sterling isn’t answering his phone, so I had to call you.” 4 The manager sent me a copy of the company’s payroll for Laura, which Jason had approved for a full year in advance. Thirty thousand a month, plus a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus. And her job? She was just an intern, filing papers. Then, the manager sent a few photos of a Maserati, along with a list of employees assigned to the company’s luxury apartments—the ones reserved for top talent. Laura’s name was on the list. And the Maserati… it was the birthday present Jason had given me two years ago. I remembered it perfectly. My heart felt like it had been lifted up gently, only to be smashed to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. The manager’s messages kept coming, complaining about how Laura had been there for five days and had already gotten into fights with five different employees, all of whom Jason had fired the next day. I never in my life imagined that Jason, the man who loved me more than life itself, would be keeping a mistress. Right under my nose. I sat in silence for a long time, then wiped the cold tears from my face and replied, “Sue her. I didn’t hire her, so all salary and bonuses are to be reclaimed. Don’t worry about the rest.” After confirming everything with the manager, my parents called. “Sweetheart, we’ve been thinking. If you think he’s cheating, there must be a reason. Let’s just cancel the wedding! We can deal with the fallout with his family later!” I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal. “It’s fine. I was overthinking it. The wedding is still on. See you tomorrow, Mom and Dad.” I don’t know how long I sat there after that. It was dark when I finally went home. Jason was on his phone, about to call me. He smiled when he saw me. “There you are. Tomorrow’s the big day. Let’s celebrate a little early.” I looked at the feast on the table and forced a smile. “Okay.” Jason seemed genuinely happy. He had a few extra glasses of wine, his face flushed. “I can’t believe we’re getting married tomorrow,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve waited for so long. It feels like a dream.” “We grew up together, went to the same college… We’ve never been apart, and we never will be.” “So, are you tired of me?” I interrupted his sentimental speech, giving him one last chance to be honest. Jason paused, seeming to sober up a bit. But then he shook his head, his voice firm and serious. “No. Marrying you and growing old with you… that’s been my dream since I first saw you when I was twelve. I love you, Mia.” His words were so touching, my nose started to burn and my eyes welled up with tears. It was true. He’d been chasing me since he was twelve. We got together at eighteen. And now, at twenty-five, we were about to get married. We’d been together for half my life. I had believed we would never be apart. But the truth was a slap in the face. A little detour in our long-term relationship… I couldn’t stomach it. I smiled, downed my glass of wine, and stood up, not responding to his declaration of love. “You’ve had too much to drink. You should get some sleep. Good night.” Tradition dictated that we sleep apart the night before the wedding, but Jason didn’t want to leave, so we just slept in separate rooms. As I closed my bedroom door, I heard the click of a lighter. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, after getting my makeup done, we went to the wedding venue. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of—a sprawling lawn, a crowd of cheerful guests. The only thing missing was a genuinely happy couple. Laura was sitting in the audience, her eyes fixed on Jason and me. He didn’t spare her a single glance. The officiant was going through the motions. The moment the wedding march began, the large screen that was supposed to be showing our engagement photos went black. The guests all turned to look. A second later, the room erupted in gasps. The screen lit up with a slideshow of intimate, couple-like photos of Jason and Laura from his business trip. There were screenshots of their chats, filled with “hubby” and “wifey.” There was security footage of them being affectionate in his office. And there was a photo from the night before, of Jason sneaking out to kiss a crying Laura under a streetlight. “Jason! I entrusted my daughter to you, and this is how you treat her—”

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I ran into a burning building to save my wife. The smoke inhalation left me with the mind of an eight-year-old. When everyone suggested she divorce the man I’d become, my wife, Sophia, swore she would care for me like her own child. But just as I’d grown completely dependent on her, I overheard her talking to Larry, the man she’d hired as my live-in caregiver. “Just be patient,” she’d said, her voice a low murmur. “Ethan’s a simpleton now. Divorcing him at this stage would be a financial disaster for us.” “Once I’m pregnant with your child,” she continued, “the entire Blackwood Industries will be ours for the taking. And after that… whether he has a little fall off a cliff or accidentally drowns… well, that’ll be our story to tell.” The bouquet of roses I was holding slipped from my grasp. The moment the petals scattered across the floor, the love I had for her shattered along with them. I thought our love was a fortress we’d built together. I never imagined I was the only one living inside. In the crushing weight of that disappointment, I decided. I would divorce her. But when I confronted her, the woman I’d found wrapped in another man’s arms told me it was all a misunderstanding. That she still loved me. … The moment the doctor confirmed my cognitive functions were back to normal, my heart pounded against my ribs. Leaving the hospital, I went straight to the best florist in town, eager to surprise Sophia. I never, ever expected this to be the surprise waiting for me. My gaze fell to the scattered rose petals on the floor, each one a shard of glass in my heart. I shoved the door open, my shadow falling over the two figures tangled on the bed. Sophia didn’t even bother to untangle herself from Larry. Instead, a sly, seductive smile played on her lips as she crooked a finger at me. “Ethan, sweetie, where did you go play today? Do you want to help your big sis with a little something?” The teacup I’d picked up from the hall table flew from my hand, shattering against the wall beside them. I strode to the edge of the bed. They exchanged a flicker of a glance, a spark of fear in their eyes. Sophia quickly sat up, her voice a careful, testing purr. “Oh, did Ethan figure out our little game? Do you want to play with us?” Her probing tone was the splash of cold water I needed. It snapped me out of my rage and back into reality. Sophia was currently in charge of the company. If I pushed them too far right now, who knew what they were capable of? I forced the ice from my face, replacing it with a look of wide-eyed, childish innocence. “Ethan went to get pretty flowers for Sophy,” I mumbled, my voice thick with a manufactured pout. “But… I dropped them when I came in.” I looked down, fidgeting with my fingers, channeling every ounce of panic I felt into the performance. My mind was a chaotic mess. The car accident yesterday had caused temporary amnesia, and for a terrifying moment, I’d forgotten how to act like the simpleton they believed me to be. Sophia glanced at the ruined flowers on the floor and let out a derisive snort. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll give you some money to buy more later. But right now, I need you to go to the store and buy me some—” Larry cut her off, pulling her back into his arms. He tilted her chin up with one hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Big sis? I like the sound of that. How about you try calling me that in bed sometime? Might make me even wilder, you know.” They flirted openly, completely ignoring my presence. So, they don’t suspect a thing. Larry’s hand slid slowly beneath the sheets. Sophia’s head lolled back, a soft, breathy moan escaping her lips. The sight of their languid, intimate kisses sent a jolt through my brain, like a flash of lightning. And then the memories I’d temporarily lost came rushing back, a tidal wave of degradation. This past year, scenes like this had played out in front of me countless times. Often, in the middle of their… activities, Sophia would call me in from the living room where I’d be watching cartoons. Sometimes it was to fetch them a glass of water. Other times, it was to send me out to a specialty shop for lubricant or toys. I never understood what they were for. I just knew that if I did what she said, I’d get a full dinner that night. The memory of it now was so vile it made my stomach churn. As I gagged, Sophia shoved Larry away and swung her legs off the bed, striding toward me. A sour, intimate scent—their scent—wafted over, clinging to her. I couldn’t stop my nose from wrinkling in disgust. That small expression was enough to ignite her temper. The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re simple, not deaf!” she snarled, her face twisted with fury. “Now get out and buy me some lube. And if you don’t come back, you can just die out there for all I care.” Larry quickly got up and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Hey, don’t get worked up,” he murmured soothingly. “He’s just a fool. We’ll get rid of him as soon as Blackwood Industries is ours.” Sophia nodded, leaning back against him. The rage I’d been suppressing finally boiled over. I swung a fist, connecting solidly with the corner of Larry’s mouth. Sophia stared at me in shock before rushing to check on Larry’s injury. Seeing it was just a split lip, she whirled on me, her voice a furious whip. “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you today? Disobeying me, hitting people… Do you want to be locked up again?” When she first brought me home, I’d been confused and clumsy, making a mess of the house. Enraged, she had slapped me and locked me in the dark, musty storage closet. I screamed and cried and apologized until my voice was gone, but she never opened the door. For three days, I was starved, terrified, and forced to relieve myself in a corner until the stench made me vomit. She only let me out when my mother insisted on taking me to a rehabilitation clinic. After that, the fear of the closet made me obedient. Sophia learned to use it as a threat, locking me away whenever I failed to please her. Over time, it became my own personal hell. I reverted to my old coping mechanism. Clapping my hands over my ears, I scrambled under the dining table. “No! No! Ethan’s sorry! I’ll be good!” “Here’s the money.” Sophia tossed a few bills that fluttered down onto my face. “Now get out and buy what I told you to. You can use what’s left to get a burger.” She turned and slammed the bedroom door shut. A moment later, the sound of their soft, shameless moans began again. I didn’t go to the adult store. I walked out of the house and hailed a cab, giving the driver the address of my former secretary, Nina. As the city lights blurred past the window, a bitter sting pricked my eyes. We’d been together for five years, married for three. Our families called us the golden couple; our friends called us a match made in heaven. I never could have imagined that the moment I was hurt, she would bring another man into our home. The excuse she gave my parents was that she needed someone strong to help manage me. In reality, he was there to warm her bed. Disappointment washed over me, a cold, heavy tide. The four years of our courtship played like a movie in my mind. After we married, I turned down every late-night business dinner so she wouldn’t feel neglected. But she was the one who encouraged me, telling me a man’s world was outside the home and she would always be my support. When I did come home late, no matter the hour, she would have a warm bowl of soup waiting for me. When my parents were hospitalized one after another, she refused to let the hired nurses do everything. She ran herself ragged at the hospital, insisting it was her duty as a daughter-in-law. She loved me, she said, so she was willing to do anything for me. Every time I saw her selfless devotion, I was filled with a profound gratitude, a fierce desire to protect her for the rest of my life. We were so in love. How did we end up here? Was it simply because I was injured saving her? Did that give her the right to betray me? I felt like I was missing something crucial, a piece of the puzzle that remained just out of reach. Just as I was lost in thought, the taxi pulled up. Nina opened her door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw me standing there alone. She rushed forward to steady me. “Mr. Blackwood… Ethan, how did you get here by yourself?” The formal “Mr. Blackwood” slipped out, and for a second, the light in her eyes flickered and died. It returned just as quickly, replaced by a warm, gentle smile as she led me inside. I sat on the sofa, my gaze sharp as I looked at her. “I need an update on the company’s current status.” Nina began her report as if no time had passed at all. “The company isn’t doing well, sir. If it weren’t for your father’s backing, Blackwood Industries would have already lost its position as a market leader. Future prospects are…” She trailed off, her professional mask slipping as she studied me, a hopeful, cautious question in her eyes. “Mr. Blackwood… are you… back?” When I nodded, tears welled in her eyes and traced paths down her cheeks. Sophia had fired her shortly after I was diagnosed. Everything she knew now came from old colleagues still loyal to me. She told me that as soon as Sophia took over, she began systematically replacing my entire executive team. Hearing this, I frowned. It was all too convenient, too planned. It was as if Sophia had been preparing for this all along. Seeing the doubt on my face, Nina voiced a suspicion she’d had since the beginning. “Sir, the official report says your condition was caused by smoke inhalation. But I was at the hospital. You had a head injury. Isn’t it possible it was… deliberate?” A head injury that didn’t match the official medical report. It was more than suspicious; it was a smoking gun. To keep Sophia and my parents from discovering I’d recovered, I made Nina swear to secrecy. I also asked her to discreetly investigate the discrepancy in the medical records. With a plan in place, the crushing weight on my chest eased slightly. Right on cue, my phone rang. It was Sophia. I answered, and her furious voice erupted from the speaker. “Ethan, where the hell are you? It’s been two hours! You could’ve bought gold in that time!” … The second I walked through the door, Sophia snatched the bottle of lubricant from my hand. She twisted the cap off and, with a vicious grin, squeezed the contents all over my head. In moments, the cold, sticky gel was running down my face and into my collar. She watched my humiliation, a cruel laugh bubbling up. “Isn’t this a fun game, Ethan?” I shook my head, and she slapped me again, hard. “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” she hissed, her face close to mine. “Or I’ll make you play games like this every single day.” I nodded quickly, obediently. My compliance seemed to satisfy her. She pointed a manicured finger toward the bedroom. “Go clean up in there.” I stood in the doorway, staring at the chaotic mess of tangled sheets and discarded clothes. My hands clenched into tight fists. I bit the inside of my cheek, a raw, venomous hatred coiling in my gut. If I found proof that she was behind what happened to me, I would make her pay. After mechanically tidying the bed, I retrieved the pinhole camera I’d bought on my way back and installed it in a dark corner of the room, hidden behind a bookshelf. Once it was done, I went back to the living area. Larry was setting plates of food on the dining table. He shot me a mocking look. “Sophia, let’s let Ethan eat at the table with us tonight.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Sophia’s face, but as Larry untied his apron, revealing he was wearing nothing underneath, her expression softened into a coquettish smile. She wriggled onto his lap, her body moving against his. Their intimacy made me feel like an intruder in my own home. After a soft moan, Sophia pointed to an empty chair and glared at me. “Well? Do I have to personally invite you to sit down?” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and sat, keeping my head down as I shoveled food into my mouth. And just like that, with me sitting right there, the rhythmic creak of the chair began, accompanied by their soft, shameless moans. Perhaps my silence as an audience member displeased them. Sophia rapped her knuckles on the table, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Ethan, all this… exercise… is making your big sis tired. Why don’t you be a good boy and feed me?” Her question was a command. After all this time with her, I knew her every nuance. But the hatred burning inside me made it impossible to play along, to serve her while she flaunted her betrayal. When I didn’t move, she shot up from Larry’s lap and swept my bowl off the table, sending it crashing to the floor. “Then eat on the floor where you belong!” she shrieked. “You’re just a pathetic fool! How dare you defy me? Are you asking for it?” The humiliation was a physical blow. I stared up at her, my eyes blazing with fury. “You told Mom and Dad you’d take care of me,” I choked out. “You’re being mean!” “Mean?” She let out a chilling laugh. “Oh, sweetie, you haven’t seen anything yet.” She gestured to Larry, who grabbed me and shoved me to the floor. She then picked up clumps of rice and meat from the shattered bowl and began forcing them into my mouth. His hands pinned my arms, making it impossible to struggle. “Sophia,” I snarled through a mouthful of food, “you will pay for this.” She just sneered and had Larry drag me to the storage closet, throwing me inside. As the door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness, my mind was flooded with images of their fists and feet, of the pain and the terror. I fumbled for my phone, its weak light illuminating the walls. They were covered in gouges and scratches. My own fingernail marks. Stained with dried, blackened blood. Seeing that, the very last ember of love I had for Sophia was extinguished. If she was going to be this cruel, then I would show her no mercy. … That night, after the camera feed showed they were both sound asleep, I used the spare key to let myself out of the closet. I went straight to the study. Rummaging through the desk drawers, I found it: my real hospital file. 【Patient suffers from decreased cognitive function due to a subdural hematoma, caused by external trauma…】 Ever since I’d come home, my nightmares had been filled with fire, with the suffocating feeling of being trapped and helpless. I’d always assumed it was a lingering trauma from the smoke inhalation, a phantom memory of being too weak to stand. It never once occurred to me that I hadn’t been able to save myself because I had been attacked. Whenever I woke up from those nightmares, I would seek out Sophia. Just holding onto her arm was enough to make the fear recede. That was the real reason my parents could never convince me to leave with them. I sat there for a long time, the truth settling in my stomach like a block of ice. Then my eyes fell on another file—the falsified one. The one that matched the story she’d been telling everyone. Could it be? Was the injury… intentional? As I reeled from the implication, I heard two sounds simultaneously: a notification on my phone and the click of the study door opening. I glanced at my phone first, then looked up. Sophia stood in the doorway, her face a mask of panic as she scanned my expression for any sign of recognition. But she was too late. The moment I heard the door, I had wiped my face clean, reverting to my blank, simple-minded stare. Seeing nothing amiss, she walked over and gently took the files from my hands. Her voice was a soft, cooing lie. “Sweetie, what are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be in the closet thinking about what you did.” I didn’t speak. I just stared at her, watching the guilt flicker in her eyes. She nervously touched her nose. “Your mind will get better soon, I promise. In a little while, I’ll take you abroad to see the very best doctors, okay?” Her empty promises finally drew a reaction from me. A cold, knowing smile spread across my face. “If I go abroad with you,” I asked, my voice chillingly clear, “will I ever come back alive?” The color drained from Sophia’s face. Her probing gaze shifted to one of pure, unadulterated panic. “What are you talking about? Of course you’ll come back! You’re my Ethan. I would never, ever leave you alone in a foreign country.” It was then I realized she wore a mask for me, a carefully constructed illusion of a loving wife. The confrontation at dinner had put her on high alert. After locking me in the closet, she had dragged Larry into the bedroom, her voice a frantic whisper on the hidden camera’s feed. She was worried I was acting differently, terrified the blood clot in my brain had dissolved and I was regaining my senses. Larry had initially tried to calm her, but then he remembered the punch I’d landed on him that afternoon, and his face had darkened. To secure their absolute control over Blackwood Industries, they hatched a plan. In three days, they would take me abroad. There, they would stage an “accident,” and I would die. My death would be a tragic story of their own making, a tale no one would question. After all, a man with the mind of a child is curious about everything. It would be my own fault, a tragic consequence of my condition. Watching the recording of their conspiracy, I knew for certain: everything that had happened was their doing. In the past year, I’d been in every room of this house, but the study was the one place Sophia had strictly forbidden me from entering. So I’d waited until they were asleep, searching for the truth. I hadn’t even been in here for five minutes before she appeared. A classic case of a guilty conscience. I was done pretending. I held up my phone, playing the video of their bedroom conversation for her to see. “I know about your plan,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I heard everything you said about how you’re going to kill me.”

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Three years after my death, an app called The Book of Life and Death was forcibly installed on every mobile phone in the world. The rules were simple: Anyone could nominate a deceased person for resurrection. After seven days, the user with the highest global Karma score would have their wish granted. The resurrected person would be soul-bound to their nominator, automatically joined in marriage. The second the app went live, my husband, the world’s wealthiest man, Adrian Lowe, made his nomination. But he didn’t nominate me. He nominated his first love, the one who had always held his heart: Sierra Xia. He leveraged his immense wealth, launching a global charity blitz. His Karma score skyrocketed at an astronomical rate, leaving everyone else in the dust. The world watched, certain he would be the sole victor. But on the second day, another nomination quietly appeared beneath his post. “I want to resurrect the wife of the man above me.” 1 I had been dead for three years, murdered by Adrian Lowe, yet my soul remained trapped in our marital home. Day after day, I watched him. I watched him grieve for another woman, mourn for another woman. Until The Book of Life and Death appeared. Without a moment’s hesitation, Adrian orchestrated an unprecedented spectacle of philanthropy for Sierra. He launched a 24/7 global livestream, donating billions to refugee agencies in Africa. He funded the construction of a thousand schools in remote, impoverished regions. He poured colossal sums into wildlife conservation efforts. His Karma score shot up like a rocket, creating a celestial chasm between him and the next contender. In a live interview with global media, his face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. He played the part of the heartbroken saint, a man willing to sacrifice his fortune to resurrect his one true love, to perfection. “Yes, I nominated Sierra Xia,” he said, his voice husky, filled with a storyteller’s sorrow. “She was the only light in my life. The one and only love I will ever know.” An audacious reporter brought up my name—Nora Grey, his legal wife. A look of carefully crafted helplessness and pity flickered across Adrian’s face. “My marriage to Nora was… a mistake from the very beginning. A debt of gratitude owed by our parents forced us together. I respected her, but I… I never loved her.” He paused, as if wrestling with an immense, unspoken pain. Then, he delivered the lie that would stun and enrage the world. “I never knew a person could be so venomous…” he choked out, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down his cheek. “Three years ago, Sierra needed an operation. It was her only chance at survival. And Nora… Nora was the only bone marrow match in the world. I begged her. I got on my knees. I promised her all my wealth, everything I owned, if she would just save Sierra’s life.” “She agreed, on the surface. But I found out later… she hated me. She hated Sierra. She hated us so much that, when she went to donate her marrow, she took a banned drug, a substance that temporarily alters the viability of bone marrow cells…” He closed his eyes, his face a mask of agony. “It was my fault. I should have seen the darkness in her heart sooner. In the end, the drug backfired. She died on the operating table. But she succeeded… in the most vicious way imaginable, she murdered the woman I loved.” His masterful reversal of the truth instantly transformed him into a tragic hero, a man trapped in a loveless marriage, whose true love was murdered by a jealous wife. And I, Nora Grey, was summarily crucified on a pillar of shame, branded a “murderer who got what she deserved.” The world wept for him. The world spat on my name. Everyone believed he would be the sole victor. But the next day, another nomination appeared beneath his post. It was simple, direct, almost jarring in its audacity. “I want to resurrect Nora Grey, the wife of the man above me.” The nominator: Julian Shen. A name I didn’t recognize. The internet erupted in ridicule. He was mocked as an attention-seeking clown, a twisted freak who sympathized with a killer. But my soul, my trapped and tormented soul, trembled violently at the sight of that name. The bloody, humiliating memories of my life came roaring back, threatening to swallow me whole. 2 My marriage to Adrian Lowe was born from a debt. My family, the Greys, had saved the Lowes from ruin during their darkest hour. To seal the bond between our families, we were betrothed as children. I was naive enough to believe that a childhood friendship could, with time, blossom into love. I was wrong. On our wedding night, there was no celebration, no tender words. Adrian took me to the cold, sterile blood-drawing room of his private hospital. I remember the way he gripped my chin, his eyes colder than a scalpel. “Nora Grey, since you schemed your way into this marriage, you will fulfill your duties as Mrs. Lowe.” “Your duty,” he continued, his voice a blade of ice, “is to use your blood to keep Sierra alive.” That night, I learned the truth. Sierra Xia, the woman he adored, suffered from a severe blood disorder. She needed regular transfusions to survive. And I, I possessed the extremely rare P-type blood that was a perfect match for hers. From that day forward, I was no longer Nora Grey. I was no longer Mrs. Lowe. I was a walking, breathing, warm-blooded IV bag. The weekly forced blood draws became my living nightmare. My body grew weaker, my face paler with each passing day. I watched, week after week, as my blood was siphoned from my body, bag by precious bag, and slowly dripped into Sierra Xia’s veins. She would hold my hand, her face a mask of innocent sweetness, and say, “Oh, Nora, your blood is just wonderful. Look, my cheeks are all rosy now. Adrian says you’re my lifesaver.” And Adrian would stand by, watching her with eyes full of adoration, as if gazing upon a masterpiece. In his masterpiece, she was the beloved subject. And I? I was merely the paint. One day, after a transfusion, Sierra, resting in her hospital bed, began to cough violently, her face turning deathly pale. She clutched at Adrian’s sleeve as he rushed to her side, her voice as fragile as spun glass. “Adrian… I… I don’t know what’s wrong. After the transfusion today, my chest feels so tight, I can’t seem to catch my breath.” The doctors examined her immediately, but all the tests came back normal. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a kind of wounded accusation, before shaking her head at Adrian. “It’s nothing, really. It’s probably just me.” Her performance only made Adrian’s heart ache for her more. “Adrian,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “do you think… maybe… could it be that Nora has been in a bad mood lately? And so her blood… isn’t as clean?” Adrian’s head snapped towards me, his eyes filled with a chilling disgust. He ripped the needle from my arm, heedless of the blood that welled up, and ordered his men to hold me down on the bed. “Take another two hundred ccs!” he barked at the nurse. Then he leaned over me, his face close to my pale, weakened one, and spat out each word with venom. “Nora Grey, I don’t care what you’re thinking. You will get rid of that disgusting resentment and jealousy.” “Your life is worthless, but your blood must be pure. Sierra’s health is a million times more important than your life.” “If Sierra feels the slightest bit unwell again, I will have the doctors double the amount. We will drain every last drop of your filthy emotions from your body!” I went into shock from blood loss that day. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the two of them on the sofa in my hospital room, wrapped in a passionate embrace, oblivious to the world. In Adrian’s hand was a jade bracelet I knew all too well. It was the only thing my mother had left me, a family heirloom passed down from mother to daughter. Adrian had often mocked it, calling it old-fashioned and unworthy of the mistress of the Lowe family, telling me to hide it away so it wouldn’t embarrass him. Now, he completely ignored my frail form on the bed. He took Sierra’s hand and gently slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. Her wrist was slender and pale, and the jade did indeed look radiant against her skin. She feigned reluctance, but her eyes, sharp and venomous, darted towards me in triumph. “Adrian, I don’t know… this is Nora’s mother’s, after all…” “Silly girl,” Adrian interrupted, his voice dripping with affection. “What’s hers? What’s mine is yours. Besides…” He finally turned to look at me, his gaze imperious, as if savoring the look of numb despair on my face. He held up Sierra’s wrist, adorned with my mother’s bracelet. “Nora, open your eyes and look. This bracelet… it truly shines on the wrist of someone as pure and graceful as Sierra.” “On you, it just looked gaudy. It was an insult to the jade. Don’t you agree?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to make a sound. In that moment, I finally understood. I wasn’t just her blood bag. I didn’t even have the right to own my mother’s legacy. They laughed, admiring the bracelet on her wrist, and left the room. And I lay on the bed, my eyes closed, my body cold as ice, a corpse without a soul. My soul was shackled to this house of horrors, forced to relive the agony of my stolen life. Was this my eternal damnation? Or was the arrival of this mysterious Julian Shen a sign? A chance, not just for resurrection, but for retribution? 3 In those dark, sunless days, I sought a sliver of solace in anonymous philanthropy. Using my substantial dowry and with the help of my father’s loyal former staff, I secretly established several charitable foundations focused on education and medical aid. The one I poured my heart into the most was the “Starlight Initiative,” a project dedicated to funding early-stage cancer research. Reading the letters of gratitude from those I helped was the only thing that made me feel like a living person, not just a walking corpse. Adrian was, of course, dismissive of my efforts. “If you have time for these childish, boring games,” he’d sneer, “you should be thinking about how to serve Sierra and make her happy.” He never imagined that these “boring games” would one day become the very tools he used for his grand performance. One day, Sierra casually mentioned to the media that she wished she could contribute more to charity. To please her, to paint her as the kindest soul in the world, Adrian used his formidable resources to uncover all the foundations registered under my name. Then, at a glittering charity gala, in front of a crowd of socialites and reporters, he announced the formation of a new brand: “The Heart of Sierra.” He took my “Nora Foundation,” the one I had built from the ground up, and gifted it to Sierra on stage, renaming it on the spot. He forced me to attend that night. I was dressed in a gorgeous but constricting gown he’d chosen for me, sitting in the audience like a doll. I watched as Sierra, in a pristine white dress, walked onto the stage as the “founder,” accepting the adoration and praise of thousands. I shot to my feet, ready to rush the stage, to tell the world that it was mine, that it was all mine! I had barely taken a step when Adrian materialized at my side like a phantom. His face was wreathed in a gentle smile, but his arm gripped me like an iron vise. SLAP! Another sharp, crisp slap, right in front of all the guests behind me. The sound echoed in the silent hall. Everyone turned to look. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “Don’t you dare make a scene. Sit down. Or tomorrow’s headline will be the bankruptcy of the Grey family.” Then, he straightened up, presenting a pained, tolerant expression to the stunned guests. “My apologies, everyone. My wife… she’s a bit emotionally unstable. Please, forgive her.” I was frozen in place, listening to the undisguised whispers around me. “Look at her. Just like they say, she’s not right in the head.” “Poor Mr. Lowe, married to such an unpresentable madwoman.” “If it were me, I’d have divorced her long ago. It’s only because he’s so kind that he still brings her out.” He held me down in my seat, a prisoner being publicly executed.

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The moment I became aware of my role as the story’s villainess, the male lead—my childhood friend whom I had imprisoned and tortured—was kneeling at my feet, his body trembling with pain. My own hands were shaking as I tried to unfasten his chains. He let out a cold, chilling laugh. “Weren’t you going to kill me, Princess?” My hands froze. In the story’s script, I imprison the male lead, Asher Kane, subjecting him to a relentless campaign of physical and psychological torment. My reward for this is being thrown into a mental asylum by him, where I eventually commit suicide by jumping from a window. Tears of pure terror welled in my eyes. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out a crumpled, worn piece of paper. I held it out to him. It was something he had written for me when we were seven. “A Coupon for Forgiving Ellie for Anything She Does.” 1 When the plot flooded my consciousness, I was holding a blood-stained whip. I just stood there, frozen. The… the villainess? My hand trembled as I pointed a shaky finger at myself. Me? A low groan pulled me back to reality. Before me, a dark-haired young man was half-kneeling on the stone floor. His messy black hair fell across his forehead, his sharp jawline lost in the damp shadows of the basement. His arms were suspended by iron chains, his hands hanging limp and powerless. His breathing was shallow, ragged. Asher. The male lead of this redemption novel. And the boy I grew up with. According to the plot, I’d been secretly in love with Asher for a decade. I was supposed to be the pretty, innocent girl who quietly followed him around. But the moment the female lead appeared, my ‘villainy meter’ skyrocketed. I didn’t just frame the heroine time and time again; I kidnapped the hero, imprisoned him, and subjected him to every humiliation I could imagine, one idiotic atrocity after another. Asher’s love for me curdled into absolute disgust. He was the one who personally committed me. Not long after, I lost my mind and threw myself from a high window. And right now, Asher—not yet the all-powerful tycoon he would become—was kneeling at my feet. The collar of his white shirt was torn open, revealing horrifying, crimson welts across his chest. His pale face was slick with cold sweat, his lips trembling. The moment our eyes met, I knew. My life was probably over. His eyes, like those of a cornered animal, were locked on me, looking as if they might crack from the sheer intensity of his gaze. A storm of pure, unadulterated hatred brewed within them. I was about to cry. My name is Eleanor Franklin—Ellie—and I’ve spent my entire life trying to be a good person. I’m a coward. I don’t know the first thing about being a villainess. It’s not too late to fix this, I told myself. It’s not too late. My hands trembled as I worked on the iron shackles around his wrists. My gaze fell on the raw, red abrasions on his skin. A memory flashed through my mind, unbidden. When I had first locked him in these chains, I had touched every inch of his skin with a sick, possessive reverence. My sharp nails had raked across his pale face, leaving red tracks. “Asher,” my other self had whispered, “I’m going to lock you away by my side forever.” “You’ll only ever look at me.” A shiver ran down my spine. The Franklin and Kane families were old friends, our estates practically next to each other. Our parents had even made a half-joking childhood pact about us getting married one day. Asher was a year older than me. My earliest memories were of trailing behind him, calling his name in a sweet, soft voice. Asher had always been cool and reserved, but he treated me like a little sister, spoiling me endlessly. But then, my heart had grown gKennedyy. I was no longer content with being his pseudo-sister. When the male and female leads started growing closer, a venomous jealousy took root in me. And that’s why I’d kidnapped him for this twisted ‘forced love’ scenario. Clink. The shackle fell open, the chain clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed sharply in the vast, empty basement. I forced a placating smile, though I was on the verge of sobbing. “Ash-Asher,” I stammered. “If I told you I was possessed… would you believe me?” 2 A sharp, derisive snort. The corner of his lip curled up. His handsome, almond-shaped eyes were glacial and merciless. His voice was a raw, grating rasp. “Weren’t you going to kill me, Princess?” My body went rigid. He truly hated me. He used to call me Ellie. Asher narrowed his eyes, a dangerous fury simmering within them. He pushed himself to his feet and stalked toward me. His shadow fell over me, a crushing, suffocating weight. “Eleanor Franklin, what new game are you playing now?” More memories flooded my mind. Three days ago. I had lightly tapped his cheek with the whip. Smiled. I told him we were going to play a game. I’d unlocked his chains and tossed him a key. I told him the basement was a maze with seven sealed rooms. Only one path led to the single door to the outside. If he could find it, I’d let him go. He’d stumbled through every corridor, tried every single door, until he collapsed from exhaustion. Only then did I appear before him. My eyes had been bloodshot. I’d screamed at him like a madwoman. “You’re that desperate to leave? Isn’t being with me forever good enough for you?” “Are you trying to get back to Rosalie Kennedy?” “Why?! Why do you only have eyes for her now?” “Asher, you’re mine! You can only look at me!” “If you try to run again, I’ll kill you.” Rosalie Kennedy. The heroine of this story. After a falling out with his family in high school, Asher had stayed in the country for college. In his junior year, he co-founded a startup with Rosalie, his intellectual equal. They were inseparable—in the lab, at competitions, building their company. Their bond deepened, and after overcoming countless obstacles, they were destined for a perfect ending. And I… I was the biggest obstacle they had to overcome. Not only had I targeted Rosalie at every turn, but I had kidnapped Asher right before he was supposed to lead his team in a pivotal, career-making competition. I closed my eyes, wanting to weep but having no tears left. Ellie, oh Ellie, you really outdid yourself. You dared to treat the male lead like a dog. This kind of bold, reckless life… how did it end up being mine? When the hero is offended, there are no happy endings for the villain. Noticing I was lost in thought, Asher’s patience finally snapped. He grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight I thought I heard bone crack. “Eleanor, answer me. What are you planning?” “When are you letting me go?!” His face was a terrifying mask of fury. He looked like he wanted to tear me to pieces, chew me up, and swallow me whole. I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. I stared at him for two seconds, resigned to my fate, then took a deep breath. And buried my face in his chest. I let out a wail that could curdle milk. “Asher!” I sobbed. “I was wrong! I was so, so wrong! The devil made me do it!” Sincerity. It’s the ultimate weapon. If I apologize fast enough, maybe the villainess’s fate can’t catch up to me. I sniffled, looking up at him through a blur of tears, my expression as pitiful as I could make it. “Asher, I’m only twenty. You have to let me make a few mistakes.” 3 The air went still. For a moment, his body tensed. Then, he let out a low gasp of pain as I must have bumped against one of his injuries. He shoved me away, hard. “Eleanor, do you think a simple ‘sorry’ erases everything?” he snarled, his eyes blazing. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He looked like he wanted to flay me alive. It’s over. He’s still going to kill me. Tears streamed down my face. I fumbled frantically inside my pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. I carefully smoothed it out and held it up to him. He’d written it for me when we were seven. So many years had passed that the paper had gone soft and fuzzy. The pencil writing was faded, but you could still just make out the words: “A Coupon for Forgiving Ellie for Anything She Does.” It had been over something stupid. He’d spilled my milk. But I, a spoiled little princess, had thrown an epic tantrum. Asher, who always acted like a miniature adult, had panicked for the first time. To calm me down, he’d written the note. In my previous life—the one in the story—I had used it, too. Right before he sent me to the asylum. But by then, I had done too many unforgivable things. It was useless. Honestly, I didn’t hate him for that ending. The things the original “me” did were monstrous. But now, this was my last lifeline. Asher stared at the note, stunned. He probably never imagined I’d kept it. A childish promise, now being cashed in for real. His lips, usually so expressive, were pressed into a thin, hard line. I couldn’t stop crying. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ice in his eyes began to thaw. He released his grip on my shoulders. He turned and walked away without another word. At the door, he stopped and gave me one last, deep look. “Eleanor Franklin,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t ever do anything that disgusts me again.” Disgusts. Yes. This twisted, possessive emotion… it was disgusting. I collapsed onto the floor, weak with relief. Tears still clung to my eyelashes, but I was already scrambling for my phone. My voice hit a near-supersonic pitch. “Mom!” “Get me into a study abroad program! Now!” “Germany! I want to go to Germany!” Asher belonged to Rosalie. They were a match made in heaven. I’d have to be insane to try and fight for him again, to get myself killed in the process. I was sure of it. Three years of undergraduate study in Germany would be the most unforgettable seven years of my life. And in seven years, Asher and Rosalie would be long settled. And I would be safe from my own terrible fate. Asher’s return was like a shot of adrenaline for his leaderless team. The competition was a high-stakes affair, with countless venture capitalists watching. Every rising star in the tech world was desperate to make a name for themselves and secure funding. The day of the semi-finals, a news alert popped up on my phone. I glanced at it. There was Asher, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his posture ramrod straight. His features were sharp, his rimless glasses giving him an air of calm, formidable intelligence. He was a world away from the battered, broken man in my basement. In the photo, his eyes met Rosalie’s across the crowded room. It was a look completely different from the hatred he’d directed at me. With her, his gaze was confident, steady. It was a silent promise: I’ve got this. He was a man in his element, indomitable. I shut off the screen. In the novel, the basement was just the appetizer. Later, I would take that proud, brilliant young man and torture him until he became a dark, twisted shell of himself. I would break his spirit, strip him of everything he had, until he was forced to grovel in the gutter, clinging to me for survival. In the end, my love would twist into a hatred so profound that I’d try to kill him and his family in a car crash. I rubbed my throbbing temples. That wasn’t love. That was pure, sadistic cruelty. No wonder he hated me. I clutched the study abroad application, stamped and approved by the dean’s office, and hurried my steps. Asher, I thought, Berlin is 5,300 miles away from our hometown. There’s a seven-hour time difference. It’s the furthest I can get from you. 4 The past few days had been a frantic blur of paperwork for my transfer. I was walking across campus, my eyes glued to my phone as I texted my department head, when I slammed right into someone. I rubbed my forehead, about to apologize, when a mocking laugh came from in front of me. “Well, well, if it isn’t Asher’s little shadow.” “Fancy meeting our Asher here. What a coincidence.” I looked up and met Asher’s cold, wary gaze. His brow was furrowed, the hand at his side clenched into a fist. He studied me for a long moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of aversion and some other, unreadable emotion. His voice was stiff. “What are you doing here?” My heart sank. I opened my mouth, but the name “Asher” wouldn’t come out. The people with him, his teammates, were oblivious. “What do you mean, coincidence?” one of them teased. “The way Ellie sticks to Asher, she’s probably got a GPS tracker on him. Wherever he goes, she follows.” They all laughed, thinking it was a joke. I felt like I was being pierced by a thousand needles. The phone in my hand suddenly felt like a hot coal. I nearly dropped it. Because it was true. There was a tracking app on my phone linked to his. Ever since Rosalie had appeared in his life, they had become partners, equals, sharing a world I could never enter. It was like an invisible barrier pushing me out. My insecurity had festered, and under the influence of that sick, possessive urge, I had installed the tracker. I had engineered every “chance encounter,” keeping him trapped within my line of sight, even basking in the teasing from our mutual friends, deliberately creating a false sense of intimacy in front of Rosalie. It wasn’t just Asher who was suffocating. I was suffocating, too. “So, Ellie, how come you didn’t come to watch the competition?” another teammate asked, his eyes still dancing mischievously between us. “You two have a fight or something? Didn’t think you guys ever stayed mad at each other.” A fight? It was closer to attempted murder. Asher’s expression grew darker by the second. I was panicking, my eyes instinctively flicking to the heroine. Rosalie Kennedy was as her name suggested: cool and composed. The teasing didn’t seem to faze her. She even looked at me with a flicker of amusement. As expected of the female lead. Cool, confident, and completely above engaging with a petty villainess like me. But me? The real Ellie? I was just a coward. As I was desperately trying to think of an escape, a loud, arrogant voice cut through the air. “Where’s Rosalie Kennedy?” 5 I turned toward the voice and was nearly blinded by the sheer amount of gold-dyed hair. The guy’s wild, handsome face had a dangerous edge. He was holding an iron pipe, the veins on his hand popping. With that hair and that attitude, he was the spitting image of a high-school bully. A shame. I shook my head. Anyone who goes up against the main characters is doomed to be cannon fodder. Wait. He looked… familiar. Asher moved subtly, positioning himself in front of Rosalie. His eyes were cold as he challenged the newcomer. “What do you want with her?” The bully, Cole, raised a sharp eyebrow, not backing down an inch. “Someone paid me to deliver a message.” He tapped the pipe against the ground meaningfully. A smirk played on his lips. “Rosalie, watch your back when you’re walking alone. Be careful, or…” Before he could finish, I sprang into action like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. It was him! I shot up on my toes, reached around his neck, and clamped my hand over his mouth, hard. “Sorry!” I chirped, my voice shaking slightly. “This is my friend. He got the wrong person! We’re just going to… catch up.” I was trying to drag him away when Asher’s hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His dark eyes lingered for a second on my arm wrapped around Cole’s neck before returning to my face. He did not look pleased. “I didn’t know you had a friend like him.” What was wrong with him? After what I did, shouldn’t he hate my guts? Why was he suddenly concerned about who I was friends with? I lied through my teeth. “We just met. While you guys were at the competition. I haven’t been following you around lately, so you wouldn’t know.” I looked at him, my expression pleading. “Asher, you always told me to make new friends. I made a new friend. Aren’t you happy?” Even Asher, with his infinite patience, would get fed up with my clinging. Whenever he couldn’t take it anymore, he would rub his temples and gently persuade me. “Ellie, don’t you think you should have other friends besides me?” I was leaving. In these last few moments with him, I just wanted him to be happy. But Asher didn’t look happy. He didn’t look angry, either. He just released my wrist. His hand fell to his side, clenching into a fist. His dark eyes stared at me, deep and unreadable. Then, in silence, he watched me go. 6 We were a good distance away before Cole finally broke free from my grip. He ruffled his messy hair, his voice cold. “Hey, what was that all about?” I tried to sound casual. “Asher was right there. I was just afraid you’d blow our cover.” That’s right. The bully threatening the heroine was named Cole. And I had hired him. I paid, he did the work. He shot me a look full of scorn. “Relax. I have professional ethics. I took your money, I’m not going to rat you out.” He leaned in close, his sharp eyes scrutinizing me. “What’s wrong, Princess? Getting scared?” I knew he was provoking me. The tense line of his brow betrayed his own anxiety. He needed the money. Cole’s parents had died when he was young, and his grandmother, who had raised him, was now in the hospital. The medical bills were crushing him. In the original story, I had exploited this. I’d turned him into my sharpest weapon. And as the villainess’s enforcer, his end was just as tragic. He died on a rainy night after kidnapping the heroine. During a standoff with the police, he tried to take her with him and was shot dead. “I” had bought his morals, his future, and ultimately, his life. And in the end, “I” didn’t even use the money to save his grandmother. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. It felt like waking from a nightmare, my body weak and trembling. I was terrified of that other “me.” I pulled a debit card from my bag. “Here’s a hundred thousand dollars.” Cole’s expression shifted, a flicker of mockery in his eyes. But then they darkened, a storm of desperation and madness swirling within them. His voice was a low rasp. “A hundred thousand. That’s enough to buy her life.” I frowned and held up two fingers. “No,” I said seriously. “Two lives.” His frown deepened. I continued, “From now on, I want you to protect Rosalie Kennedy. Don’t let anything happen to her.” As the heroine, Rosalie came with the standard tragic backstory: a gambling-addicted father, a mother who favored her son, a sick younger brother. It was a mess. Consider this money a down payment on a bodyguard for her. And an apology for all the times I’d bullied her. I tucked the card into the pocket of his shirt. I stared him down, my voice fierce. “As for you, from now on, you’re going to be a good person. Every day, I want you to do one good deed. Or else—” “I’ll tell your grandma you were caught keying the principal’s car! We’ll see how long you can keep up that ‘good student’ act then!” I watched his tough-guy face turn from pale to red, then back to pale again. It felt good. Being a good person felt so much better. Why would anyone choose to do so many terrible things? I rubbed my chest, which still ached, my eyes stinging.

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Ever since my husband died, his Golden Retriever had been suffering from depression. Then my brother-in-law offered to take him for walks in the evening. Miraculously, my dog, Buddy, recovered. I thought maybe it was because my brother-in-law and my husband were identical twins, looking almost exactly alike. From then on, my brother-in-law, Liam, took him for a walk every single night. But watching Liam, the spitting image of my late husband, so happy with Buddy… I couldn’t bear it any longer. Finally, at my mother-in-law’s sixtieth birthday party, I called the police and told them my brother-in-law had raped me. Everyone thought I was insane. “You’re accusing him of rape just because he likes walking your dog?” I nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly why.” 1 “Anna! How could you say something like that?” Liam’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. His voice trembled, his wide eyes bloodshot with disbelief. In stark contrast to his agitation, I was unnervingly calm. “I’m just stating a fact. Are you going to deny that you and I have ever been intimate?” Seeing this, my mother-in-law began to shake with rage. She snatched a bowl of steaming hot soup from the table and, without a word, hurled it straight at my face. “You damn jinx! It wasn’t enough that you killed my eldest son, now you’re trying to destroy my youngest?” she shrieked. “What did our family ever do to deserve a monster like you?” The scalding liquid rushed toward me. Before I could even flinch, a figure lunged in front of me. “Ah!” Liam cried out in pain as the hot soup splashed all over his arm, the skin instantly flushing an angry red. I ignored my mother-in-law’s tirade, my gaze falling coldly on Liam. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain, yet his face was a mask of concern as he reached for me. “Anna, are you okay?” I recoiled, yanking myself away from his touch, my eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “Wipe that sickeningly noble look off your face,” I seethed. “Aren’t you tired of the act?” The expression on Liam’s face froze. A child’s wail cut through the tension. It was Liam’s five-year-old daughter. She stumbled toward me, clinging desperately to my leg. “Aunt Anna, please don’t hurt my daddy!” she sobbed. My sister-in-law, Jessica, rushed over, pulling her daughter behind her. She pointed a finger in my face, her voice a shrill accusation. “Anna, have you no shame? My husband helps you out of the goodness of his heart, and this is how you repay him? Did you try to seduce him and, when you failed, decide to ruin him?” “You black widow!” she screamed. “Your husband dies, so now you’re trying to steal someone else’s!” Then came my own mother’s furious roar, followed by a slap so hard my head spun. “How did I raise a monster like you!” “Have you gone crazy from loneliness? You slut!” I staggered, nearly falling to the floor, my cheek burning. Ignoring his own pain, Liam was the first to try and steady me. “Auntie, please don’t hit her! I’m sure she has her reasons!” He maintained his posture as the kind, innocent victim in everyone’s eyes. “Anna,” he pleaded, “if you’re unhappy with me about something, we can talk it out. You don’t have to scare me like this. Haven’t we all gotten along just fine these last three years since Ryan passed? I’m sure whatever misunderstanding this is, it doesn’t mean our family has to fall apart.” Liam’s seemingly casual words only enraged his wife, Jessica, further. “Liam, are you an idiot?” she shrieked. “She’s accusing you of rape! Do you have any idea how many men have their lives destroyed by false accusations like this online?” With that, Jessica grabbed a glass of iced tea from the table and flung it at me. “I think she’s had too much to drink!” she yelled. “Let’s sober her up!” 2 I had no time to dodge. The cold tea drenched my face. The tea leaves stung my eyes, and I fumbled blindly for a napkin. In the ensuing chaos, Liam cried out, “Jessica, don’t do this to her!” He immediately found a towel and began dabbing at my face. “This is a family matter,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “We can just sit down and talk through this misunderstanding.” Even as he faced a sea of accusing stares, he stood firmly by my side. His forgiveness and gentleness only highlighted my own cold cruelty. Seeing me cornered by everyone, yet still stubbornly clinging to my accusation, my mother-in-law finally broke. With a sudden thud, she fell to her knees right in front of me, in the middle of her own birthday party, surrounded by all her friends and family. “Anna, I’m begging you! I’m on my knees!” Her face was a mess of tears as she clutched at my pant leg. “Ryan is already gone. Liam is the only son I have left. You can’t destroy him!” “Is it my pension you want? My house? I’ll give you everything! Just please, I’m begging you!” A sixty-year-old woman, at her own birthday celebration, kneeling and pleading with her daughter-in-law. Everyone glared at me, their eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like they wanted to tear me apart. But my face hardened. I ignored the woman on the floor and kept my gaze locked on Liam. “I don’t want your money,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “I want him to face the consequences he deserves.” A wave of condemnation washed over me. My husband’s cousin flexed his fist, stalking toward me. “You ungrateful snake. I’m going to beat the hell out of you for my cousin’s sake.” My mother grabbed my ear, yanking my head to the side as she slapped me again. “I’m giving you one last chance. Tell the police this was all a misunderstanding! Otherwise, I’ll disown you!” I licked the blood from the corner of my lip and let out a hollow laugh. “Do what you want.” “No one is changing my mind.” Liam wiped the tears from his face, his expression a mask of pure anguish as he stood in front of me. “Anna, I didn’t do it!” The wail of sirens grew closer. I stared hard at Liam, catching the flicker of panic in his eyes. “If you won’t admit it,” I said, “then we’ll let the police sort it out.” As I turned to walk toward the door, Liam’s daughter rushed forward again, crying and grabbing the hem of my coat, refusing to let go. “Aunt Anna, please… don’t lie about my daddy…” Her heart-wrenching plea moved everyone in the room. I hardened my heart, pried her small fingers from my coat, and, in front of everyone, walked to meet the police officers stepping into the room. I sat in the police car, still dripping with tea, making no effort to clean myself up, letting the drops fall from the ends of my hair. My mind drifted back, uncontrollably, to that night a month ago. That night, Liam had come back from his usual walk with Buddy. I’d bought some takeout and a few beers to thank him. Under the soft glow of the lamp, his face—a perfect copy of Ryan’s—and his bright, easy smile as he played with Buddy made me feel dizzy, as if my dead husband had returned to me. The alcohol blurred my reason and magnified my longing. After a few drinks, I found myself staring at him, and he was staring back at me. His usually clear eyes were now filled with a tender, complex emotion I couldn’t decipher… The memory stopped there. I was trembling uncontrollably, my face streaked with tears I hadn’t realized I was crying. 3 When I was released from the station, I had nowhere to go. I had burned my bridges with Liam’s family; there was no going back there. Dragging my exhausted body, I found a hotel, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a long sleep. But when I handed over my ID, the receptionist gave me a strange look. She pushed the card back across the counter with a practiced, thin-lipped smile. “I’m sorry, miss, but we’re fully booked.” I pointed to the electronic sign next to her, which clearly showed vacancies. Her smile turned condescending. “Well, a small establishment like ours can’t afford any… trouble,” she said. “What if you were staying with us and decided one of our male staff members had improper intentions? We couldn’t defend ourselves against that, could we?” I heard a few muffled snickers from nearby, followed by blatant, pointing whispers. “That’s her… the crazy woman from the internet who accused her brother-in-law of rape!” “God, she looks so normal. How can someone be so toxic?” A cold dread washed over me. I immediately pulled out my phone. Sure enough, I was famous. Liam had posted an edited version of the restaurant’s security footage online. The title was pure clickbait: Vicious Widow Accuses Saintly Brother-in-Law of Rape in Bitter Revenge Plot. The comments section was a flood of “eyewitness” accounts from friends and family: “Liam is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. He’s been taking care of his widowed sister-in-law for three years without complaint.” “She’s clearly mentally unstable to go this far!” “Anna’s been a widow for three years. She’s obviously lonely and desperate. She saw her brother-in-law looked just like her dead husband and got twisted ideas.” “Did you see that poor little girl? Begging her not to frame her dad? It’s heartbreaking. This woman is a monster!” Liam’s repeated acts of patience and his desperate pleas had filled the internet with a torrent of vitriol directed at me. I had become a pariah. With nowhere else to go, I ended up back at the office, sleeping slumped over my desk. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my boss’s furious voice. “Anna! What are you still doing here?” He slammed a file down on my desk. “Look what you’ve done! Your mess is affecting the company’s reputation!” “The company has decided to terminate your employment, effective immediately. Get out. Now.” I walked out of the office, clutching a cardboard box with my personal belongings, my body numb. I hadn’t even made it out of the building before I was swarmed by a pack of reporters who had somehow gotten wind of my location. “Why would you accuse your brother-in-law of rape over a dog-walking incident? Is there something more to this story?” “We’ve heard that you made multiple advances toward him and were rejected. Is that why you lashed out in revenge?” “Many legal experts have stated that a baseless accusation like this could land you in prison if he decides to countersue. Are you still determined to ruin your husband’s only brother?” I didn’t try to hide. I let the countless cameras and malicious glares surround me. I knew what they wanted: to paint me as a sexually frustrated, predatory harpy who had failed to seduce her brother-in-law. A venomous feminist weaponizing false accusations. Suddenly, Liam’s angry shout cut through the noise. “Leave my sister-in-law alone! If you have questions, ask me!” Seeing Liam shield me from the crowd, someone in the pack of reporters sighed audibly. “Wow, even after she’s tried to destroy him, he’s still protecting her. What a good man!” My stomach churned as Liam put a caring hand on my arm, promising to protect me. I was the only one who knew what a selfish, soulless monster was hiding behind that mask of kindness. My anger boiled over. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Will you ever stop?” I screamed. “This is all your fault, and now you’re playing the hero?” Liam stumbled backward and fell hard to the ground. “Oh my god, she’s attacking him!” Liam’s feigned innocence sent the crowd into a frenzy. A hail of water bottles pelted me. “A woman like that deserves no forgiveness!” someone yelled. “In the old days, they would have drowned her!” Liam scrambled to his feet, a look of profound shock on his face. “Anna, do you really have to make this so ugly?” Clutching my forehead where a bottle had split the skin, I nodded, my eyes burning with hatred. Liam’s eyes reddened instantly. He clenched his fists and, in front of all the cameras, issued a public warning to me. “If you’re going to be this stubborn, then don’t blame me for forgetting we’re family,” he declared. “I will hire the best lawyer and prove my innocence in a court of law!”

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To torment her ex who dumped her for money, my CEO girlfriend hired him as her assistant. She humiliated him weekly but never fired him. Ross was incompetent, constantly messing up. Each time, Victoria berated him while I fixed his mistakes. I told myself it was temporary revenge. Then he cost the company millions by misplacing a decimal. When he tearfully offered to resign, Victoria turned to me: “Take the blame. We must set an example.” She threatened breakup, certain I’d cave. But this time, I just said, “Fine. Let’s break up.” 01 Victoria froze for a second, then a practiced smile spread across her face. The tension in her shoulders eased as she slid back into a familiar routine, taking my hand and cooing. “Oh, baby, I forgot you had a temper. My Ethan is always so good and does whatever I ask. Of course we’re not breaking up. We’re getting married!” She squeezed my hand. “Ross stole my mother’s life-saving surgery fund, Ethan. I’ve only been tormenting him for six months. If he quits now, where do I get my revenge?” “Come on,” she wheedled, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I won’t make you take the official blame. But you’ll have to work some overtime, okay? Make up the loss, keep the board happy. You can do that for me, can’t you?” Before I could answer, she whipped out her phone. A moment later, a notification pinged on every device in the company: an all-hands meeting in the main conference room. We all filed in. Ross, naturally, was the last to arrive, shuffling his feet. He was about to slump into a chair when Victoria’s voice cut through the room, sharp as ice. “Who said you could sit? Have you forgotten what you did? Do you have any idea the kind of damage your ‘mistake’ has caused? How many people will have to work their asses off to fix it?” Her voice was low but carried an authority that made the air crackle. Ross’s eyes immediately reddened with theatrical tears. The rest of the staff, however, were used to this show. Heads bowed as phones lit up with a private group chat. And here we go again. Round six of the public humiliation show. The best part is, after she’s done screaming, he’ll get a promotion, and we’ll be the ones working weekends to cover the million-dollar ‘oopsie’. She thinks we’re just part of their sick little game. I don’t know, this time feels different. I saw her and Ethan arguing in her office earlier. And look, he’s not even sitting next to her. Is this it? Is Ethan finally putting his foot down? God, I hope so. I can’t take another day of that leech Ross. I’d joined that group chat under a fake name months ago. It was the only thing that kept me sane, knowing I wasn’t the only one suffering. I used to tell myself to just hang in there, that Victoria would eventually get bored. I was a fool. From her seat at the head of the table, Victoria watched Ross’s lip tremble. She cleared her throat, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “However, this company has always been lenient with its employees. Since this is your first major offense, your punishment will be…” The room held its breath. “…a one-hundred-dollar deduction from this month’s performance bonus. Let this be a warning to you all.” A collective, silent groan rippled through the room. Victoria then rose and walked to my side, placing her hands on my shoulders. She tilted her chin at Ross. “Well? Aren’t you going to thank Mr. Cole? If it weren’t for Ethan agreeing to work overtime to cover the company’s losses, you’d be out on the street.” My hand tightened around the pen I was holding, and it snapped in two with a sharp crack. The same old story. A grand gesture of punishment that meant nothing, followed by me cleaning up the mess. When Victoria hired Ross, she insisted his salary had to be high enough to keep a “gold-digger like him” around. He made thirty thousand a month as an assistant—more than most of our department heads. A hundred dollars was less than his dinner budget. I remembered a time I’d negotiated a deal that, while costing us a million in upfront profit, secured a hundred-million-dollar contract down the line. Victoria had docked my entire year’s salary, lecturing me that if everyone took risks like that, the company would go under. She’d said that because I was her fiancé, she had to be harder on me, to avoid demoralizing the staff. All her principles, all her rules, were a fucking joke when it came to Ross. Ross, trembling as if he’d been mortally wounded, dragged himself to his feet and walked over to me. SMACK! He slapped me across the face. “You’ve had it out for me since day one, Ethan,” he spat, his voice shaking with manufactured rage. “You knew there was a problem with that contract and you let me fail. I’m sick of you. Thank you? Go to hell! This company isn’t big enough for both of us!” Victoria’s face contorted with fury. She pushed me behind her. “What do you think you’re doing?” Ross then turned and slapped her, his eyes filled with a lover’s tragic despair. “Victoria, you know I only put up with this torture because I love you! If you’re going to defend him like this, then I quit! I’m done with you!” The room erupted. People shot to their feet, asking if we needed a doctor. I calmly addressed Ross, my cheek stinging. “I told you the contract was wrong. You ignored me and went over my head straight to Victoria to get it approved. Don’t you dare try to rewrite history.” Victoria’s face was a mask of conflicting emotions. “That’s enough, Ethan!” she hissed. “Are you trying to blow this up so the board finds out? Will you be happy once Ross is fired?!” She turned back to Ross, her voice a low, threatening whisper. “Without the salary I pay you, what happens to your mother? Don’t be a fool.” I had to laugh. Years ago, when Victoria and Ross were engaged, her mother suddenly fell ill. Ross’s mother, seeing an opportunity, convinced him to steal the thirty thousand dollars Victoria had scraped together for the surgery. He dumped her and fled the country. If I hadn’t stepped in, pulling together loans and my own savings, Victoria would have lost her mother. She told me she would have ended her own life. And for the past six months, I’d watched her use “client dinners” as an excuse to go take care of Ross’s mother, who’d had a stroke. What a saint. When my own mother passed away, Victoria had been “too busy with work” to be with me. Her own frail mother? I was the one who sat with her in the hospital, who remembered her on holidays. But Ross’s mother got Victoria’s personal attention. Ross stood there, fists clenched, defiant. “I can make it on my own!” I couldn’t help but sneer. “On your own? The only thing you’re qualified for is washing dishes. You think you can afford a Patek Philippe on a dishwasher’s salary?” “Ethan!” Victoria’s voice was sharp. She shot me a death glare, then let out a sigh. “Ethan, you’re suspended. Go home. Ross will cover your duties.” A shocked silence fell over the room. I laughed, the sound brittle. “He hits me, and you suspend me?” Ross’s face lit up with a smug grin. Victoria gave his cheek a dismissive pat. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not sending Ethan home because of you. We have a wedding to plan. He needs the time off.” She turned her cold gaze back to Ross. “And as for you, since you’ve caused so much trouble, you can do his job. That’s your real punishment.” Even a child could see her blatant favoritism, wrapped in a tissue of corporate bullshit. My colleagues looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. I let out a cold laugh and unclipped my ID badge from my suit. “No need for a suspension,” I said, my voice ringing with finality. “I quit. That way, you won’t have to choose the next time he throws a tantrum.” 02 I didn’t get to be Victoria’s second-in-command by accident. I was good at my job, and I had a Rolodex of offers from bigger companies willing to pay me a fortune. The VP title meant nothing to me. If she wanted to give it to Ross, she could have it. I walked out of that conference room, went straight to HR, and had my access revoked. I was out of the building in fifteen minutes. Victoria tried to follow me, to “explain,” but I brushed her off each time. She was the CEO; her pride wouldn’t let her make a scene. Her face hardened, and she let me go. My car keys were with her, so I was about to call a cab when my phone started buzzing. You did the right thing, man. We’ve all been sick of her favoritism for months. You’ll always be the boss to us. Fly free, Ethan! We’re right behind you! That pretty boy Ross is going to make our lives hell. I’m polishing my resume tonight. I messaged each of them back, telling them to hang tight, that if they wanted out, I’d help them. By the time I got home, Victoria had finally deigned to text me. I know you’re just angry. I’m not going to hold it against you. Use this time to focus on the wedding plans. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. Our wedding. It was a month away. But the bride had already chosen another groom. What was the point? I opened the wedding planning group chat and typed a message. To all our friends and family: Due to unforeseen circumstances, the wedding scheduled for September 9th has been postponed indefinitely. We wish you all the best. The chat exploded. Victoria’s cousin was the first to chime in. Okay, my cousin-in-law-to-be is the most stable guy I know, so this has to be Tori’s fault. What did you do this time, @VictoriaQuinn? Last time your assistant pissed off a client, Ethan was the one who went to smooth things over and got a bottle broken over his head. He put up with that. So what did you do to finally push him over the edge? Spill the tea! Victoria replied with a single question mark. Then: Ethan’s just joking. The wedding is still on. A second later, my phone rang. Her voice was laced with annoyance. “You’ve been complaining for months that I never have time to plan the wedding with you. Now I give you the time, and you pull this stunt?” In the background, I heard Ross’s voice, deliberately loud. “Tori, this VP chair is so uncomfortable. Can you buy me one of those fancy ergonomic ones? It would be great for my gaming.” “Who gave you permission to call me Tori?” Victoria snapped. “And who are you to make demands? I hired you to work, not to play games! …Which model? I want to make sure it’s comfortable for when Ethan comes back.” I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. The whole situation was absurd. I hung up and blocked her number. If she wanted to play her little push-and-pull games with Ross, she could have at it. I walked into the bedroom and saw the stacks of handwritten invitations on the desk. I’d insisted on doing them by hand, telling her it was more personal. She’d laughed and called me an old-fashioned romantic. Only three left to write. And now, they would never be sent. I found a pair of scissors and started cutting them into pieces, one by one. Then I stopped. One of the invitations had different handwriting. It was Victoria’s. And on the line for the groom’s name, she had written: Ross Vance. A cold wave washed over me, starting from my toes and crashing into the base of my skull. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. All this time, while I was joyfully planning our future, the groom in her fantasies had been someone else. I spent the rest of the afternoon dismantling our wedding. I returned what I could, gave the non-refundable decorations to the kids downstairs, and packed my own belongings into boxes. By the time I looked up, the sky was dark. I ate some frozen dumplings for dinner. As I was washing the dishes, the front door opened. Soft footsteps crept up behind me, and a pair of delicate hands covered my eyes. “Guess what surprise I have for you?” 03 “Red roses,” I said flatly. It’s all she ever gave me. When she first asked me out, she brought red roses. I’d mentioned, once, that I liked them. For the next seven years, on every birthday, every anniversary, every holiday, it was red roses. Ninety-nine times. I used to think it was a sign of her devotion. Now I just saw it as lazy. “Nope!” Victoria said with a laugh, dropping her hands. I turned, surprised. She was holding out a small, elegant box. Inside was a deep navy-blue tie. “Will you wear this at the wedding? Come on, my handsome groom, don’t be mad anymore.” She didn’t notice the blood drain from my face. She didn’t notice how my body had gone rigid. She took the tie out of the box and tried to loop it around my neck. I shoved her hands away. Her face instantly clouded over, and she tossed the tie back into the box. “Ethan, that’s enough.” She then took a picture of the tie and started texting, a smirk playing on her lips. I could see the screen. It was Ross. I begged you to buy me this tie for months, and you give it to him?! he wrote. Victoria’s smirk widened. My fiancé likes it, so I bought it for him. What right do you have to be angry? I moved then, stumbling into the bathroom. I collapsed in front of the toilet and retched, my stomach heaving. She had forgotten. I had told her, years ago, about my father. About how my mother had been having an affair, and how she’d stood by and watched as her lover strangled my father to death with a tie. It was the defining trauma of my life. I couldn’t even button the top button of my shirts. I never forgave my mother, not even on her deathbed. And now, to win a petty game against Ross, Victoria had given me a tie. The force of my heaving brought tears to my eyes. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I walked over to the box and swept the tie into the trash can. Victoria finally looked up from her phone, her eyes wide with shock. I went into the bedroom and came back with her pair of matching slippers, her coffee mug, her little trinkets from our shared life. I set them on the table. “I’m looking for a new place. I’ll be out in a couple of days. This is all your stuff. Do what you want with it.” Her face was pale, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “What is it now?” “You love your ex so much?” I said, my voice dripping with scorn. “Then I wish you two a long and miserable life together.” I went into the guest room and locked the door. A long time later, as if she’d finally figured it out, there was a soft knock. “Ethan,” she whispered through the door. “I’m sorry. I screwed up. I won’t do it again. I took the day off tomorrow. We can go get our wedding photos taken. Please?” I was about to refuse, but then I remembered: I had to go to the studio anyway to cancel the appointment. I remained silent. Let her think I agreed. My actions would speak louder than any words. The next morning, she insisted on holding my hand as we left the apartment. Ross was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs, looking pathetic. The moment he saw Victoria, he threw his arms around her, his voice cracking. “Tori, my mom was discharged from the hospital, but my apartment is too small for her to recover in. Can you help me find a place?” He could have texted her. He was here to provoke me. Victoria pushed him away, annoyed. “For God’s sake, Ross, can’t you do anything for yourself? I’m your boss, not your mother’s caretaker. And my fiancé is standing right here. Don’t give him the wrong idea. We’re on our way to our wedding photoshoot. I don’t have time for your drama.” She got the reaction she wanted: Ross’s face fell. But when he clutched his stomach, her expression softened. She snatched the box of dumplings from my hand and shoved it at him. “Stop being so dramatic. Here. These were Ethan’s leftovers. You can have them.” And with that, she grabbed my hand and pulled me away. She knew I had stomach problems, a souvenir from years of stressful client dinners. She knew if I skipped breakfast, the pain would be excruciating. And she had just given my food away. I curled my fingers into a fist, then pulled a piece of hard candy from my pocket and popped it into my mouth. It wasn’t worth the fight anymore. In the car, Victoria launched into a tirade about Ross. “He’s still such a pathetic gold-digger! Too cheap to even rent a decent place for his own mother! And she’s just as bad, letting her grown son beg me for a place to live. It’s ridiculous!” I ignored her, scrolling through apartment listings on my phone. Her voice trailed off. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Our new house… it’s been airing out for six months now, right?”

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The night before the Grand Art Competition, Leo, the boy I’d grown up with, drugged me and tied me to a chair in the studio, making me Vivian Vance’s canvas. The drug burned through me. I trembled, legs clamped shut, but my frantic breathing drew lewd whistles. Leo adjusted the spotlight, bathing me in harsh light. “Is this the expression you wanted?” he asked Vivian. “That first blush of desire?” Vivian’s pencil scratched. “Yes,” she purred. “The way she wants to curl up but can’t. Try to look natural, Nora.” Laughter erupted. “Twisted like a pretzel,” someone mocked. “Still playing the virgin?” I bit my lip bloody, glaring at Leo. “Why?” He spun a paintbrush, indifferent. “Vivian said you have good proportions. It’s for art—don’t be dramatic.” He wiped my tear, his touch a mockery. “Hold on. Don’t ruin her inspiration.” Vivian, the Vice Dean’s daughter, his campus queen. My body, my dignity—just a tool for him. For six hours, I endured the light, the stares, the laughter—a nightmare I’d never escape. Later, when they groveled, Leo would shout, “It was for art! Must you be so vindictive?” “Yes,” I’d say. “I do.” 1 Finding myself naked and bound in the center of the art studio, my mind went completely blank. My hands were tied high above my head, my body draped in a single layer of transparent chiffon that might as well have been air. Worse, a searing heat was spreading through me, my skin crawling with an itching, tingling sensation, like a thousand ants marching beneath the surface. “I always thought Nora was so plain,” a guy from my class snickered. “Who knew she was hiding a body like that under all those baggy clothes?” “If I’d known, I would’ve asked her out,” another one chimed in. “But now… everyone’s seen everything. I wouldn’t touch her now if she paid me. Damaged goods.” “Look at her, all flushed and curled up. Doesn’t she look like a boiled lobster?” The art students roared with laughter. They gestured crudely, tracing my curves in the air, their eyes violating every inch of my skin. I struggled, trying to make myself smaller, but every movement only made my breasts heave, earning a fresh wave of whistles. Leo leaned over Vivian’s easel, nodding in approval. “With this piece,” he said, his voice full of pride, “first place in the competition is a sure thing.” Vivian tilted her delicate face up at him, a coy smile playing on her lips as she stuck out the tip of her tongue. “It’s all thanks to you, Leo. After I win, we’ll celebrate at that new romantic restaurant that just opened.” I stared at Leo, praying this was all a hallucination. The person who, since we were in kindergarten, had sworn to protect me forever—how could he be part of this? Tears of humiliation streamed down my face. I begged him to let me go. His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Nora, this competition is everything for Vivian’s future. What’s the big deal with you helping out a little?” he snapped. “You’re so selfish. Nothing like Vivian. She’s so generous, she’s even willing to share her artistic inspiration with our classmates.” I was being gawked at like a circus animal, my dignity shredded and stomped into the floor, and he called it “helping out a little”? The flimsy chiffon was soaked with sweat, clinging to my body. “Damn, a wet t-shirt contest,” someone hooted, rubbing his hands together in glee. Another guy stepped forward, a disgusting grin on his face, his hand reaching for my chest. “Art demands authenticity,” he said with a laugh. “I’m just going to feel the dimensions for myself.” “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, trying to shrink away. “I’ll call the police!” But the drug had stolen the strength from my voice, turning my shriek into a pathetic, breathy plea. It only made them laugh harder. Just as his hand was about to make contact, Leo finally stepped in, grabbing the guy’s wrist. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re here to draw, not to touch.” But his tone was light, casual, without a hint of real anger. The guy shot me another hungry look before reluctantly pulling his hand back. As he turned away, I heard him mutter, “What a prude. If we can look, why can’t we touch?” Vivian giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Alright, everyone, back to work,” she chided playfully. “Let’s appreciate this rare opportunity. It won’t be so easy to get Nora to help us out next time.” She sauntered over to me, her arms crossed, and poked my ribs with the wooden end of her paintbrush. “Hey, Nora. Look alive. Don’t lie there like a corpse.” Then, she leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “You have nothing, and you thought you could compete with me? This is what happens.” Her breath was hot against my ear. “A competition, a man… if I want it, it’s mine.” Her triumphant, blinding smile made me tremble with a rage so profound it shook my very bones. Because they had power, they could do anything they wanted? 2 I endured the torment for the entire night. It wasn’t until Vivian finally put down her pencil that Leo untied me. My arms, suspended for so long, were swollen and numb, the joints screaming in protest. My wrists were raw and bloody. Leo frowned, taking my wrist in his hand. “How did it get this bad? Why didn’t you say something if it hurt?” I glared at him, my voice cold as ice. “And you would have stopped if I had?” His eyes flickered away. He said nothing, just quietly let go of my hand. I snatched up my clothes, holding them against myself as I walked like a zombie through the campus, stepping over discarded sketches of my own body. Back in my dorm, I curled into a ball in the corner of my bed, hugging my knees and crying without a sound. Suddenly, my phone started buzzing relentlessly. Notifications from the class group chat. It was flooded with photos and videos of me from the studio. Thanks to Nora for her sacrifice! Everyone, feel free to draw some inspiration. My head spun. The air left my lungs. They were pushing me over the edge. The comments in the chat kept coming. In my own room, my roommates started talking, their voices loud and clear. “Nora is such a slut. Offering herself up as a nude model like that.” “She probably thought she could seduce someone by taking her clothes off. It’s so embarrassing for the rest of us.” “And she always acts so high and mighty. Makes me sick.” I ripped open my bed curtain. “It wasn’t my choice!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Leo drugged me!” They just stared at me, their faces masks of contempt and disbelief. My hands shaking, I dialed 911. The wail of sirens soon cut through the campus quiet. But before the police could even reach me, my student advisor was standing in front of me, his eyes full of disgust. “Nora, you’re calling the police over something this trivial? Have you given any thought to the academy’s reputation?” His voice was low and menacing. “You will tell them you consented to everything. If you don’t, your time at this academy is over.” He was worried about the school’s reputation. Who was worried about mine? Just to protect Vivian, they were threatening me, the victim? Two uniformed officers entered the classroom. “Who is Nora?” The room was split into two camps. Me, standing alone. And on the other side, Leo and Vivian, surrounded by their sycophants. I stepped forward, pointing a trembling finger at them. “I want to press charges. Leo and Vivian drugged and held me against my will. They distributed indecent images of me online. Everyone in this room is an accomplice.” A murmur went through the crowd. One of Vivian’s lackeys immediately jumped to her defense. “You’re crazy! You volunteered to help us find inspiration. What’s all this drama about?” His words sparked a chorus of agreement. “That’s right, we’re all witnesses. Nora did it willingly.” “She even said she was proud to sacrifice for her art!” Looking at the sea of faces, all twisting the truth, I started to shake uncontrollably. My teeth chattered. “Lies! You’re all lying!” Vivian buried her face in Leo’s chest, feigning fear, but her eyes shot daggers of mockery at me. Her look said it all: I’m untouchable. What are you going to do about it? Leo stroked her back soothingly. “It’s okay, Vivi,” he cooed. “I won’t let Nora hurt you.” Then he held up his phone, opening his Venmo app. “I can prove Nora was a willing participant. Here’s the evidence.” On the screen was his transaction history with me. A single payment of $0.99. The memo read: For your help, thanks! The timestamp was from that morning. He looked at me, his face a picture of feigned heartbreak. “You said you didn’t need money, that it was a favor between friends. I’m glad I insisted on paying you something, or I’d never be able to clear my name now.” A ninety-nine-cent payment was absurd, but the drugged juice I’d drank was long gone, disposed of by them. With everyone’s testimony aligned against me, the case was closed before it even opened. As the female officer left, she gave me a look of pity mixed with disapproval. “You should have more self-respect, young lady. Don’t waste our time with false reports again.” Leo sauntered over to me, his hands in his pockets. “Don’t blame me, Nora. You were the one who tried to ruin Vivian.” As Vivian passed me, she leaned in and whispered, her voice dripping with venom, “You dare cross me? Just you wait.” I stumbled back to my dorm in a daze, only to find all my belongings thrown into the hallway. My clothes had been cut to ribbons. My roommate stood there, hands on her hips. “Since you hate wearing clothes so much, we figured you didn’t need these.” Then, she and the others grabbed the tattered dress I was wearing and ripped it to shreds. The entire dorm hallway was filled with girls watching the spectacle. 3 My phone pinged. A message from my advisor. Nora, due to the disturbance you caused by filing a false police report, you are suspended, effective immediately. Outside, the sky was clear, the sun brilliant. But for me, the world had gone dark, smothered by a suffocating storm cloud. I let out a bitter laugh. Clutching the scraps of my dress to my chest, I decided to go to the studio to retrieve my competition entry from my locker. Along the way, every head turned. Every finger pointed. “Look, it’s her. The nude model. Gotta say, she has a great body. Got me worked up just looking at the pictures.” “I heard she tried to extort them for more money and when they refused, she called the cops. A real snake. Better stay away from her.” I finally understood. They hadn’t just shared the images with the class; they had spread them across the entire campus. They’d twisted their crime into an act of my own volition, and my cry for justice into an act of blackmail. The truth had been turned completely upside down, and there was nothing I could do. My father was gone, my mother was just an ordinary woman. What power did I have to defend myself? When I opened my private locker in the studio, I found my competition piece—my masterpiece—slashed and smeared with crimson paint. Besides me, only Leo had a key. In a single day, he had used my trust to destroy not only my dignity, but also my future. My hand was injured from the ropes; there was no way I could paint a new piece in time. I collapsed onto the cold floor, the last of my strength giving out, and sobbed. When the tears finally ran dry, I dragged my exhausted body to a clothing store just off campus. One after another, shopkeepers took one look at me and slammed their doors shut. Finally, one let me in, but the salesclerk spoke in a gruff, contemptuous tone. “No touching, no try-ons. Pick what you want and pay. I don’t want you getting your filth on my merchandise.” I pointed to a group of girls happily browsing the racks. “Why can they try things on, but I can’t?” The clerk snorted. “You think you can compare yourself to them? They’re decent girls. What are you?” Her words sent the other girls into a fit of giggles. My nails dug into my palms. I pointed numbly at a random outfit and paid. As I walked towards the dressing room, I heard the clerk mutter, “What’s the point of a dressing room? It’s not like there’s anything left for anyone to see.” I bit my lip so hard I could taste salt and blood, stripping off my ruined clothes in the tiny cubicle and stuffing them into the trash. Suddenly, the curtain was ripped open. The flash of a camera blinded me. I screamed, grabbing the new clothes to cover myself, but it was too late. A group of boys stood there, phones held high, leering at me. “What are you hiding? We’re just studying human anatomy for inspiration. We can even pay you.” I slapped the boy in front, my hand stinging. He just rubbed his cheek and spat on the floor. “Don’t act so innocent. You’ve probably been passed around more than a bottle of cheap wine.” I threatened to call the police again, and only then did they grudgingly delete the photos, grumbling as they left. I left the store, my face hidden behind a mask, and got on the bus home. The entire ride was torture. I felt every eye in the bus on me, judging me. When my stop came, I bolted out the door. Back in my neighborhood, the familiar, friendly faces of my neighbors offered a brief moment of relief, a loosening of the knot in my chest. I was wrong. The nightmare was just beginning. The next morning, my front door and the entire hallway were plastered with the photos. Neighbors were gathered in a small crowd, whispering amongst themselves. My face burned with shame as I tore the images down, trying to explain that I was the victim. But their eyes were filled with disbelief. “I’ve seen online what college girls are like these days,” one woman said loudly. “If I had a daughter that shameless, I’d have drowned her at birth.” Even the elders who had always been so kind to me just shook their heads in disappointment. I slammed the door and burrowed under my covers, pulling out my phone to confront Leo. “You gave Vivian my address, didn’t you? Are you trying to drive me to suicide?”

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Harris Croft and I were both stolen children. When his wealthy parents finally found him, he clutched my wrist, his grip like iron. “I want her to be my sister,” he told them, his young voice fierce. “I’m going to protect her for the rest of my life.” But years later, I didn’t want to be his sister anymore. I had fallen hopelessly in love with him. “That’s not an option, Taylor,” Harris said, his voice gentle but firm. The love I felt for him was a fire growing wilder each day. I couldn’t bear it. So, with a shattered heart, I left. Five years later, we met again. My boss shoved me into the seat next to a man at a dinner table. “You look just like Harris Croft’s long-lost love,” he whispered urgently in my ear. “He’s been searching for her for years, driving himself mad.” He gave me a hard nudge. “This is your chance. Play the part of the stand-in. You were made for this role.” I shook my head so hard my neck ached, wishing the floor would swallow me whole. “Absolutely not,” I hissed back. “He’s not interested in me. Not like that.” 1 I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I would see Harris again like this. I was accompanying my boss, Mr. Davies, to a dinner with potential investors. He’d told me there was a notoriously difficult billionaire tycoon—worth hundreds of billions—that only I could win over. He’d even promised me a promotion and a hefty raise if I sealed the deal. I thought he was banking on my negotiation skills. I didn’t realize he was planning on taking a much darker, more desperate path. The moment we entered the private dining room, he pointed to the back of a man sitting at the head of the table, his words a conspiratorial hiss. “That’s him. Tonight’s deal is all on you. I’ve done my homework—you’re a dead ringer for the woman on Mr. Croft’s phone wallpaper. This is your big break, the classic stand-in story. You got this.” I only needed to see his back. I knew him instantly. The youngest heir to the Croft Corporation. My brother, in name only. Harris. I shook my head, a frantic, silent plea, already backing toward the door. “No way, boss. Absolutely not. He’s not my type.” My mind raced for an excuse. “I—I have a sudden stomachache. I have to go. Don’t try to stop me.” But Mr. Davies’s hand shot out, his grip surprisingly strong. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me forward, his voice a low, insistent growl. “Don’t you dare run off. How do you know if you don’t even try? I’ve looked into this. Harris Croft is famous for being an ice king. Women throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t even blink. It was his best friend, Carter, who let it slip one night when he was drunk. He said, ‘You idiots have no idea how to get to him. If you want to give him a gift, find the girl on his phone screen. He’s been looking for her like a madman, calls out her name in his sleep.’” Mr. Davies tightened his hold, practically frog-marching me to the table. “If you didn’t look so much like her, this opportunity would’ve never fallen into your lap. Now pull it together. The investment is counting on you.” For a man who only ever drank herbal tea and never worked out, he had a shocking amount of brute force. He propelled me forward and pushed me down into the empty chair to Harris’s left. He pressed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay seated, and plastered a greasy smile on his face as he began his sales pitch to Harris. He sounded like a pimp selling his prize girl. “Mr. Croft, this is the hidden gem of our company, Stella Crawford. Don’t let her age fool you; her capabilities are second to none. She’s the one who single-handedly cracked all of my toughest accounts.” My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I was sure everyone could hear it. I cursed myself for not checking my horoscope before leaving the house. From the corner of my eye, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing a glance at the man I had thought about every single day for five years. His face was still devastatingly handsome, a single look enough to make my defenses crumble. He wore a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of cool restraint, an ascetic appeal with a terrifying stillness that hinted at something wild just beneath the surface. My carefully constructed composure shattered. As I was frantically trying to figure out how to greet him after all this time, the man sitting to Harris’s right—his assistant—shot to his feet and glared at me. “Mr. Davies, what is the meaning of this?” he snapped. “Are you not aware of Mr. Croft’s rules? No woman sits next to him. Especially not one who’s surgically altered her face to look like… that. Are you that desperate to play the part of a substitute? Get out!” 2 He wasn’t wrong. I’d had plastic surgery. And I’d changed my name. I used to be Taylor. Taylor Croft. After I left the Croft family, I found my birth parents. Now, I was Stella Crawford. No wonder Harris hadn’t reacted when he heard my name. He sat there like an impassive stone statue, letting his assistant fend off the ambitious women who tried to get close, not even sparing me a single glance. The assistant, however, stared at my face as if he were examining a cheap forgery. “You’ve had work done, haven’t you, Ms. Crawford?” he sneered. “I studied medicine for a time. I can spot a scalpel’s work from a mile away. But you’ve all made a grave miscalculation. The woman in Mr. Croft’s heart cannot be replaced by some cheap imitation. If she could be, she wouldn’t be his one true love, would she? Mr. Croft doesn’t just avoid playing these pathetic stand-in games; he finds them utterly 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 his one true love? If only that were the case. In his eyes, I was only ever his sister. Nothing more. The truth is, Harris and I share no blood. We were both victims of child trafficking, and for three hellish years, we survived by clinging to each other. When I was beaten, he would wrap his arms around me, taking the sting of the whip on his own small back. When he was burning with fever, I would stay up all night, changing the cool, damp cloth on his forehead. When we were starving and managed to snatch a single packet of instant noodles, he would tell me to eat the noodles while he drank the broth. We lived in a place no better than a pigsty. One night, a snake bit me. Harris didn’t hesitate. He knelt, pressed his mouth to the wound on my foot, and sucked out the venom. “Am I going to die, brother?” I’d sobbed. He held me tight. “I won’t let you.” Then, his wealthy parents found him. I huddled in a corner, my world collapsing. This was it. We were going to be separated. But Harris clutched my hand, his knuckles white, and stubbornly told his parents, “I want her to be my sister. I’m going to protect her for the rest of my life.” His parents were hesitant. So he doubled down. “Then I’m not going back either. Where she goes, I go. No one is tearing us apart.” A wave of shock and joy washed over me. And just like that, I became the adopted daughter of the wealthy Croft family. Harris’s most beloved sister. And he did spoil me. He was just a boy himself, but he patiently taught me to read and write. Every tutor his family hired for him, he insisted they teach me too. He bought me the most beautiful clothes, the most popular toys. He even learned how to braid my hair. He transformed me from a dirty, scared little girl into a poised, eighteen-year-old young woman. Everyone in our social circle knew I was the girl Harris Croft held in the palm of his hand. They whispered behind our backs, “She’s not an adopted daughter; she’s the wife he’s been grooming since they were kids.” At the time, those rumors made my heart flutter. I secretly loved them. Because I was so, so in love with him. I dreamed of marrying him when we grew up, so we could be together forever. But when I finally mustered the courage to confess, Harris’s answer was a gentle, but devastating, blow. “That’s not an option, Taylor. You’re my sister. Always.” His words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the hope that had burned so brightly in my heart. But I couldn’t extinguish the love. You can’t command your heart to stop feeling. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching him marry someone else, of another woman spending her life with him. This one-sided love would eventually twist me into someone bitter and ugly. My only choice was to leave. I thought maybe, with distance, I could finally tame the obsessive, all-consuming desire I had for him. I never imagined that five years later, this is how we would meet again. Mistaken for a shameless impostor by his own assistant. 3 I didn’t dare say a word, terrified that he would recognize my voice. In a way, this was for the best. He was just as the rumors described him: aloof, untouchable, utterly uninterested in the women who flocked to him. He had loyal subordinates to build his walls and keep the world at bay. I took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and ran. The day I left five years ago, I swore I would never appear before Harris Croft again. Because seeing him, even once, would throw my world into chaos. I couldn’t forget him. I couldn’t stop loving him. Unrequited love is a lonely war, 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, one glass after another, trying to quench the fire in my soul. So many nights, I would dream of him. In my dreams, I would secretly kiss Harris. All the things I never dared to do in reality, I did with a fearless passion in my sleep. The Harris in my dreams never rejected me. He would stroke my hair gently, letting me push him down anywhere, anytime. Like against the grand piano in the corner of the Croft family living room. After we were rescued, he loved to sit with me there, his hands guiding mine over the keys. Those were beautiful, sun-drenched memories. In my dreams, I loved pinning him against that piano, taking off his gold-rimmed glasses, and unbuttoning his shirt. He would always have that faint, lazy smile on his lips. He would lean in, his breath warm against my ear, and whisper wickedly, “You want to kiss me? How badly?” “Desperately,” I would answer through tears. His voice would drop to a low, seductive murmur. “Then I’ll let you. Alright?” The dream blurred the lines of reality, giving me a courage I never possessed when I was awake. I would pull off his tie and use it to blindfold him, feeling bold and reckless. “Okay,” I’d say. “But you can’t move.” But every single time, just as my lips were about to touch his, I would wake up. I’d throw my pillow across the room in frustration, then close my eyes, trying desperately to recall the feeling of his voice in my ear, to slip back into the dream and finish what I started. It never worked. I was drunk. And my drunken fingers did something stupid. I logged into my old, private social media account. I hadn’t touched it in years. It was a secret diary, filled with all the forbidden thoughts and feelings I’d had for Harris since I was a teenager. It was the chronicle of my lonely war. I had tried to bury it, to never look at it again. But seeing Harris tonight had stirred up a storm inside me. I couldn’t stop myself. I typed out a new post. [Everyone says I’m his irreplaceable, long-lost love.] [If only that were true.] [But I’m the only one who knows the truth. To him, I can only ever be his sister.] I had no idea that this small, drunken act was about to cause an earthquake. 4 Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Mr. Davies. “Stella, where are you? Get to a bar called ‘Serendipity’ right now! Harris Croft is on his way there as we speak. This is your last chance! He didn’t get a good look at you before. Once he sees your face, you’re in!” I was slumped over the bar, my head spinning. “Boss, please,” I slurred. “Let me go. His assistant already warned me off. The stand-in trick isn’t going to work.” He wasn’t listening. “What do you know? Even the toughest guys have a soft spot if you’re persistent enough. There’s no such thing as a failed substitute, only one who didn’t try hard enough. He might resist once or twice, but seven or eight times? Can he really remain unmoved? Trust me, I know men better than you do. When you can’t have the real thing, even a picture is enough to quench the thirst.” His voice dropped to an excited whisper. “Listen, I have inside info. A minute ago, Harris suddenly shot to his feet, so agitated he crushed a wine glass in his hand. His assistant asked him what was wrong, and Harris’s voice was trembling when he said, ‘She’s online. She’s nearby.’ Turns out, his long-lost love just logged into an old, dormant social media account and posted something. After he saw it, he forgot all about dinner, personally traced the location, and found out she was at a bar nearby. He’s rushing over there now, looks like he could fly.” Mr. Davies was practically giddy. “I bet she doesn’t want to see him, otherwise why would she stay away all these years? When he gets to the bar and finds out she won’t go back with him, that’s your moment. That’s when you strike.” The world snapped into focus. Harris was coming here? Who gave my boss the audacity to say something so insane? Wait. Harris found my private account? That meant all my teenage angst, my unrequited love, my possessive desires… it was all laid bare for him to see. My head throbbed. I wanted to delete every single post, to erase every trace of my secret heart. I scrambled off the barstool and headed for the exit, desperate to escape. I hadn’t even reached the door when I heard Harris’s voice, cool and controlled, cut through the noise of the bar. “Lock this place down. I don’t want so much as a fly getting out.” His assistant was right behind him, promising, “It’s done, sir. I have guards at the front and back doors. We’ll find Miss Taylor this time, I guarantee it.” Then, he spotted me. His face twisted in disgust. “You again? Are you deaf? Still haven’t given up? Get lost.” A guard next to him spoke up. “Mr. Hanson, Mr. Croft just said not even a fly gets out.” Hanson pointed a dismissive finger at me. “She’s the exception. This woman is trying to pass herself off as Miss Taylor’s stand-in. The man he wants to see the least right now is her.” Harris hadn’t seen me. The moment his assistant said my name—Stella—the gaze that had been sweeping the room, the gaze that was about to land on my face, slid right past me. His body language was a clear, brutal message: he had no interest in a substitute. He walked straight to the bar, holding up his phone to the bartender. “Have you seen the girl on this screen?” With my head bowed, I fled. No one stopped me.

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