Category: English

The chime of the system echoed in the hollows of my skull just as I reached the center of the living room. Only ten minutes ago, my younger sister had been sobbing in my arms, her face a mask of fragile beauty as she begged for reassurance that I wouldn’t abandon her once I was married. Now, Gilbert, my fiancé—the man who hadn’t uttered a word in the seven years I’d known him—was using his hands to shatter my world. His fingers moved with clinical precision. Your sister is pregnant. Then, the follow-up, a jagged blade of a sentence: The child is mine. I stood frozen, the air leaving my lungs in a slow, painful hiss. He reached into his pocket and produced a lab report, the DNA results confirming the biological link between him and the fetus. We did it many times while you were at work, his signs were sharp, colored with a mockery he no longer bothered to hide. We tried every position to make sure she conceived. He paused, a cruel glint in his eyes. Remember when she got sick at dinner last week? You were so sweet, rubbing her stomach to settle her nausea. You had no idea you were touching my child. He continued, his movements fluid and cold. The hospital confirmed it today. Three months. She’s fragile, Jolie. She knew the risks to her heart, but she insisted on carrying my baby anyway. He let out a silent, huffing laugh. It’s your fault, really. You didn’t watch her closely enough. Then, the killing blow: So, whether that baby lives or dies depends on just how heartless you want to be as a sister. My heart felt as though a cold, invisible hand had squeezed it until the valves began to pop. The pain was so acute I could barely breathe. They would never know. They would never understand that the “Redemption Mission” I had accepted seven years ago was meant for both of them. I was their savior, and they were my assignment. I took a shuddering breath and spoke into the silence of my mind. I’m done. Abort the mission. I choose to terminate and return home. … [Warning: Once the mission is abandoned, the world-line will revert to its original trajectory. The final fates of the target characters will be irreversible. Does the Host confirm?] Confirm. [Extraction sequence initiated. T-minus 72 hours until biological shutdown.] As the mechanical voice faded, a tidal wave of agony washed over my nervous system. I looked at the man standing before me, my throat so dry it felt like it was lined with glass. “Why?” I managed to choke out. Gilbert looked at my reddened eyes. There wasn’t a flicker of guilt on his face—only a terrifying, flat calm. He walked over to the master bedroom closet and yanked out my wedding dress. The one I had spent months designing. My eyes snagged on the fabric. There were stiff, yellowish stains across the delicate lace of the bodice. I had sewn every bead onto that dress. Every stitch had been a prayer for our future. You were always working late, his hands signed, nonchalant. You left Maisie and me alone in this house. Fire was inevitable. Our bodies fit together in a way yours never did. He took his time, savoring the destruction. Maisie is young. She’s… adventurous. She would cry and say she was sorry to her big sister, but then she would wrap herself around me and wouldn’t let go. We did it on this dress, Jolie. Over and over again. I stared at him. The face was the same one I had loved for nearly a decade, but I couldn’t recognize the soul behind it anymore. I’ve told you everything now, Gilbert continued. You’re her sister. You’re my fiancée. You’re supposed to be the “big” person here. You should accept us. He seemed certain I would bow my head. He expected me to cave, just as I had a thousand times before. After all, our wedding—the day we had supposedly dreamed of for seven years—was only two weeks away. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat and looked him dead in the eye. “The wedding is off.” I said it clearly. No tremor. No hesitation. Gilbert’s expression darkened instantly. The invitations are out, he signed aggressively. Don’t start acting like a martyr now. Maisie is carrying my child. We’re a family. The three of us. Family. The word felt like a joke. When I first arrived in this world, the system told me the predetermined ending if I failed. Once I left, the erasure protocol would trigger within three days. Without my “redemption,” Gilbert would spiral back into his dark, obsessive psychosis and eventually be butchered in an alley by the creditors he owed. Maisie, deprived of the expensive care I provided, would suffer a fatal heart failure. Seven years. I had exhausted every system point, nearly traded my own life to pull these two out of the abyss and into the light. The progress bar was at 99%. I was one step away. After the wedding, they would have been “saved,” and I would have earned a lifetime of peace. And yet, they chose this moment to gut me. “Why now?” I gritted my teeth. “Why wait until now to tell me?” Gilbert’s face remained a mask of indifference. Maisie’s bump is starting to show. She needs status. Besides… He paused, his hands slowing down. Who else is going to want a woman who can’t even get pregnant? The truth hit me like a physical blow. He let out a sharp, mocking breath. You’re the one who forced your way into my life, Jolie. You don’t get to decide when it ends. You don’t have the right. I looked at the face I had adored and felt nothing but a profound, sickening sense of the absurd. Memories flashed like a strobe light. The first time I met Gilbert—he was a shut-in, drowning in silence and trauma. I spent nights learning ASL, endured the whispers and the laughter of his peers just to stay by his side. I was the one who reached into the mud and pulled him out. Then there was Maisie. Our parents, dying in the wreckage of a car crash, had pressed her into my arms with their final breaths. They begged me to save her—the sister with the failing heart. I had spent countless nights carrying her into ERs, signing consent form after consent form, dragging her back from the brink of death. Back then, Gilbert filled sketchbooks with thousands of portraits of me. He signed oaths that I was his only salvation. Maisie used to wait up for me until midnight, her thin, fragile frame making my heart ache with a protective ferocity. I had loved them more than my own life. To fund his galleries, to buy her imported heart medication, I had worked myself into the ground. I had worked through stomach hemorrhages; I had pushed myself so hard the doctors told me my body was too stressed to ever carry a child. I didn’t care. Not then. But I never imagined the people I saved would be the ones to push me off the cliff. It was almost poetic. They had spent seven years sharpening the blade, waiting for the perfect moment to slide it between my ribs. “Gilbert, you disgust me.” My eyes were raw, but my gaze was steady. For a second, he flinched at the sheer finality in my look. I disgust you? His brow furrowed, looking at me like a temperamental child. If you had just been obedient, we could have gone on like always. He pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped through a few photos before shoving the screen in my face. They were private photos. Intimate. Explicit. Photos of me taken while I was sleeping or in moments I thought were private. He scrolled, a cruel curve touching his lips. Think about how the board at your firm would react if they saw these. What would the world think of the “Saintly Jolie” then? “Give me that!” I lunged for the phone, my heart hammering. I gave you a chance, Jolie. You pushed me. Before I could reach him, his thumb tapped the screen. The whoosh of an outgoing message echoed in the silent room. Then, my own phone began to explode. Notifications, group chat pings, DMs—a digital wildfire. Gilbert looked down at me from his height. Now that your career is dead, what else can you do but marry me? Be a good girl. Close the deal. And maybe at night, you can listen through the walls to how a real woman sounds. Seven years of blood, sweat, and tears—my entire career, my reputation—gone in a single click. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, a high-pitched ringing in my ears. “Gilbert… everything I did… the career, the money… it was all for you.” He turned his back on me, his fingers moving one last time. That was your choice. Nobody told you to be a martyr. He locked the door from the outside, leaving me in the dark. The silence was absolute. A dull, heavy throb began in my chest. I could feel my life force—the “Host energy”—slowly leaking out of my pores. Three days. Just a few more dozen hours, and I’d be back in my own world. I sat there on the floor all night. When the gray morning light finally bled through the curtains, the door clicked open. Maisie walked in. She looked pale, her beauty delicate and ethereal. She shot a timid look at Gilbert in the hallway before dropping to her knees in front of me. “Jolie, please… don’t be mad at Gilbert.” Her eyes went red instantly, tears spilling down her cheeks like perfect pearls. “It’s my fault. All of it. You’ve always taken care of me, you’ve always loved me most. Please, just forgive me this one time.” She reached out with a thin, trembling hand to touch my sleeve. I recoiled, pulling away from her touch. Her hand froze in mid-air. She didn’t look embarrassed, only deeply, performatively sad. “I’m so sick, Jolie. And I was so lonely.” As I looked at her “innocent” face, I saw my parents’ dying eyes. I saw her hooked up to an oxygen mask, begging me not to leave her. I had sworn at their graves that I would protect her from everything. I didn’t realize I was the one she needed protecting from. I watched her performance in icy silence. My lack of reaction started to crack her mask. She looked up, and for a second, the spite leaked through. “Why can’t you just share, Jolie? You have everything. A healthy body, a glittering career… everyone loves you. But look at me! I’m broken! I can’t even run or jump like a normal person!” Her voice rose, her thin frame shaking. “I just wanted a piece of warmth for myself! Is that so wrong? You can still be his wife. I just want to be with you both. Why do you have to be so dramatic?” She was using “love” as a weapon to justify the theft of my life. She honestly believed my “intolerance” was the problem. I stood up, refusing to look at her for another second. “Maisie, you’re both pathetic. And you’re both filthy.” The words hit her like a slap. Her eyes widened, and her face suddenly turned a terrifying shade of purple. She began to gasp, her hands clawing at her chest. “Jolie… why… it hurts… Gilbert! Help me!” Gilbert burst into the room, lunging past me to catch her before she hit the floor. A sound broke from his throat—a strangled, guttural sob. The man who was mute by choice was finally making noise, and it was for her. He held her against his chest, his eyes filled with a terrifying, overflowing agony. He looked at me, his hand signing with a violent, jagged speed. Did you have to push her? She’s your sister! How can you be so cold? For a split second, my muscle memory took over. I moved to grab her emergency medication from the nightstand. But I stopped. The sister I had sacrificed everything for was cradled in the arms of the man I was supposed to marry. The absurdity of it finally broke me. I stood there, paralyzed, as the sirens of an ambulance began to wail in the distance, cutting through the quiet morning. At the hospital, the ER doctor handed over a critical notice. Acute heart failure brought on by severe emotional stress. She needed an immediate transfusion and stabilization, or she wouldn’t last the night. The hospital’s blood bank was low on her rare type. We were sisters. We shared the same blood. In the past, I had considered that bond my greatest blessing. Gilbert grabbed my wrist, dragging me toward the donation room. Give her your blood. Save her. His grip was like iron. It’s your responsibility. You’re her sister. You can’t just watch her die. The nurse approached with a thick needle. I fought them, kicking and screaming, trying to wrench my arm free. “Let me go! Don’t touch me!” But Gilbert stepped closer, pinning my shoulders down against the chair. He was incredibly strong, and he used his weight to crush me into the seat until I couldn’t move. The needle slid into my vein. My struggle only resulted in a smear of red across the vinyl. My warm blood began to flow through the tube, destined for Maisie. As the bags filled, the world began to dim. The room spun. And then, a sharp, white-hot cramp bloomed deep in my abdomen. It felt like a hand was inside me, tearing at my insides. I went pale, cold sweat soaking my hair. The nurse noticed something was wrong and stopped the flow, calling for a doctor. After a series of frantic tests, the doctor looked at me with profound pity. “Ms. Harold, you were nearly two months pregnant.” My brain went numb. “You were already severely dehydrated and exhausted. The stress and the forced blood draw… it triggered a miscarriage. I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save the pregnancy.” The words were a thunderclap. I stared at the ceiling, a single, hot tear tracking down my temple. I was pregnant. The one thing I thought was impossible had happened quietly, a tiny miracle growing in the middle of a nightmare. And before I even knew he existed, he had been sacrificed to save his aunt. His own father had held me down while they drained the life out of us both. I don’t remember the surgery. Afterward, I stood by the window of my hospital room, barefoot on the cold floor. The wind blew through the open pane, tossing my hair, but my mind had never been clearer. My heart was gone. It had been shredded along with that tiny life. The door opened. Gilbert pushed Maisie in a wheelchair. With my blood in her veins, her color had returned. She looked refreshed. “Jolie, don’t be too sad,” Maisie said, her voice a sugary silk. “Some things just aren’t meant to be. You couldn’t keep him… maybe he just didn’t belong to you. But it’s okay! My baby is strong. I can have this child for all of us.” She reached out to pat my hand with her faux-sympathy. I jerked away, my skin crawling. Gilbert watched my cold reaction and let out a long, weary sigh. You can’t blame Maisie for this, he signed. Your body was always too weak to carry a child. It happened. Now, just focus on being an aunt to Maisie’s baby. We can still be— “Gilbert, you are a monster.” Every drop of blood in me felt like ice. “You think I’m going to help you raise your mistake? You think that can replace what you just killed?” The last of his patience snapped. He stepped forward, grabbing my jaw, forcing me to look into his dark, violent eyes. A bunch of cells? You’re going to mourn that? You couldn’t even satisfy me in bed, Jolie. You think you’d be a good mother? Maisie is giving you a gift by letting you be part of this. Be grateful. Seven years of soul-crushing “redemption.” Seven years of guarding their lives with my own. It ended in a hospital room with a man’s hand on my throat and my sister’s smile. I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. The anger evaporated, leaving only a hollow, black void. I didn’t owe them a single breath. The system’s voice chimed one last time. [Detection: Host Despair Level at 100%. Extraction sequence finalized. Protocol: Immediate.] I stepped onto the windowsill. I looked back one last time at the two of them, their faces finally shifting from arrogance to a sudden, piercing terror. They lunged for me, screaming my name. I closed my eyes and let myself fall backward into the light.

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When we were taking photos in the snow, my boyfriend suddenly gave me a shoulder throw just to make his high school crush smile. “Just a joke! Look at your silly face, haha!” That day, his crush gave her most beautiful smile, while I broke my right arm and could never hold a scalpel again. Later, he was diagnosed with a rare disease, and the only doctor in the country who could perform the necessary surgery was me. The moment he threw me over his shoulder to please his crush, he threw his own life away. 01 It rarely snowed heavily in Seattle. After lunch, a few colleagues and I were strolling around the hospital grounds when we bumped into Audrey Miller taking photos of the snow. Back in medical school, she was famously known as the “Ice Queen”—her personality even colder than the surgical scalpels she wielded. She had never smiled. She was the goddess of many underclassmen and upperclassmen alike. “Dr. Miller!” A male colleague called out to her, handing her a coffee to warm her hands. “It’s freezing out here. Why are you all by yourself?” “Thanks, I don’t like crowds.” Audrey turned away indifferently, her pale skin looking as if it had been dusted with a thin layer of frost in the sunlight. Everyone wanted to take a group photo under a tree, so I pulled out my phone to act as the photographer. Bending over to find the right angle and distance, I counted down with my fingers: “Three, two…” On the last second of the countdown, a rush of wind swept past my ear. My boyfriend, Noah Davis, appeared out of nowhere. Laughing loudly, he hoisted me up while I was bent over and brutally slammed me down with a shoulder throw, right shoulder first! Thud! “Look at your silly face, hahaha!” I sank deep into the snow. The impact against the tree trunk hidden beneath the snow caused the branches to tremble slightly, sending a flurry of snowflakes drifting down like a fairy tale. For the first time ever, Audrey broke into a radiant smile, stunning everyone. 02 Why did Noah do this to me? Did he deliberately humiliate me just to coax a smile out of Audrey? What did I do wrong? My brain was completely blank for a few seconds. By the time the feelings of grievance and anger surged up, I realized my entire right shoulder was numb. I had completely lost feeling in my right arm, and when I tried to speak, only a sob came out. “Help…” “Wow, Audrey, this photo of you is so beautiful! I’ve known you for seven years and this is the first time I’ve seen you smile!” Noah had snatched my phone and was enthusiastically showing the photo to everyone like he was presenting a treasure. “Yeah, Dr. Miller, you really should smile more. You’re so beautiful!” “Noah, hurry up and help your girlfriend up. How could you do that?” Noah laughed, saying it was fine, and crouched down to dig me out of the snow. “Chloe’s a prankster offline too. We’re always messing with each other like bros. She’s fine…” His words came to a screeching halt when he met my dull, lifeless eyes. Digging further, he saw my unnaturally twisted right arm and immediately panicked. 03 “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Chloe! I was just joking with you…” My right shoulder had been pierced by a tree root, bleeding profusely. I was rushed into the ER. The Chief of Surgery and the Vice President of the hospital, who had just gotten off a grueling shift, both turned pale when they saw me and hurried in one after another to assist in the emergency operation. Noah gripped my left hand tightly, the corners of his eyes red. He wiped the snowflakes off my face over and over again, trembling uncontrollably in a panic. He was stopped outside the operating room. In the last second before the doors closed, I looked at him calmly and said one word: “Get lost.” 04 When I woke up in my hospital room, Audrey was asking the nurse about my medication from the previous night. The room was filled with a cloying scent. The sickly sweet smell of her floral essential oil even overpowered the smell of disinfectant. Next to my pillow was Audrey’s phone, the screen still illuminated. She had posted that group snow photo on her Instagram. Noah was the first to like and comment: [You really should smile more. You look beautiful when you smile.] I stared blankly for a few seconds. My gaze then fell on the medical chart next to the phone. Whether out of carelessness or malice, my chart had been casually tossed there by Audrey. I’m a surgeon too; I understand what the chart says. My right hand would never be able to hold a scalpel again. 05 The sound of pages turning was exceptionally loud. Audrey glanced back at me, coldly snatched the chart away, and didn’t say a word. Even though we went to the same med school and now worked in the same hospital, we weren’t close. Audrey rarely talked to men, and she completely ignored women. We had nothing to say to each other. “Is Chloe awake? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Noah’s voice shattered the silence of the hospital room. He had just come off an all-night surgery. His handsome face was covered in sweat. His tall frame cautiously approached the bed, and he grasped my hand through the blanket. “I really just wanted to joke around with you. I’m sorry, Chloe.” “I’ve already called your mom and dad. Don’t worry!” “…You just have a fracture. We’ll do a minor surgery in a few days. Our Chief of Surgery will operate personally, and I’ll be there too. Your right hand will definitely recover!” Noah’s voice trembled at the end. Like a lost, helpless child, he kept his head down, stroking my fingers over and over again. Seeing that I wasn’t speaking, he gave a stiff smile and tremblingly pulled a velvet box from his pocket. “Oh right, look at my memory! Actually, yesterday, I wanted to propose to you.” 06 I hadn’t noticed when Audrey slipped out of the room. Noah’s eyes were burning with intensity, looking at me with deep affection: “Seattle has never seen such beautiful snow. I wanted to take advantage of it to propose to you… I wanted to make you mad first and then surprise you. You know, like the videos online. I really was just joking! I’m an idiot, I’m so stupid, I promise there won’t be a next time!” But inside the box was a very ordinary ring, showing no signs of careful preparation. Did he expect me to believe him? Noah grabbed my numb right hand: “Marry me, Chloe.” The silence in the room was terrifying. It felt like I could hear every single drop of IV fluid falling into the chamber. Suddenly, I laughed. Noah visibly let out a sigh of relief. He eagerly pressed his cheek into my palm, nuzzling it like a puppy trying to act cute and seek forgiveness. “Look at your silly face.” I used my uninjured left hand to grab his hair, my eyes turning icy cold: “You’re still thinking about proposing at a time like this? Go to the police station and make a statement first. You’ve committed assault.” “You made me angry just to propose? Stop making excuses for your mistakes. At that moment, you only wanted to humiliate me to make your goddess smile. Do you think I’m stupid?” “Furthermore, the people you should be apologizing to the most are my patients. They waited so long for a chance to have surgery. The highly specialized procedure they need can only be performed by me and our 96-year-old retired professor in the entire country. Now that my hand is ruined, who’s going to help them?” 07 Noah opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, so overwhelmed by guilt after his lie was exposed that he couldn’t speak. The quiet room was left to me alone. The water stains on the ceiling, caused by the melting snow, were slowly spreading, much like my own future—lost and without direction. I closed my eyes, and the hopeful faces of my patients quickly flashed through my mind. How was I going to explain this to them? “Noah, honestly, this isn’t your fault. No one can predict accidents. Chloe is just a young girl, she needs a bit more coaxing. She’ll be fine once she thinks it through.” Hearing the voice, my eyes snapped open. Audrey was standing outside my room, consoling Noah. “I guess this is why I don’t like getting close to anyone. I could never take my anger out on innocent people. Should you unconditionally blame your boyfriend just because he’s your boyfriend? I really look down on women who throw unreasonable tantrums like that.” I thought I was hallucinating. What kind of nonsense was Audrey spouting? Noah sighed heavily, his voice hoarse: “You’re right, Audrey. I understand what you mean. Regardless, I’ll take all the blame. I love her, and I can’t be as clear-headed and rational as you.” “You care about Chloe a lot too, don’t you? Staying here in the room to keep an eye on her. I thank you on her behalf. You should go back and get some rest.” Through the gaps in the blinds, I could vaguely see Audrey standing in front of Noah. Noah helplessly rubbed his face, and finally, with a reverent and gentle motion, he leaned against Audrey— “Thank you, Audrey.” … Expressionless, I picked up the phone: “Hello, 911? I was maliciously assaulted by a male colleague, and I suspect attempted murder!” 08 Noah and I met in college. If there was anything about him that won my heart, it was probably his sincerity—his ultimate weapon. He held nothing back with me and always took my side unconditionally, like a silly, clumsy puppy that loved wagging its tail at its owner. I didn’t have to question his true feelings; I just needed to slowly teach him how to love, how to navigate a relationship… But now, I no longer wanted to accompany a boy as he grew up. He could give his heart to me, but his soul would always lean toward that sacred, pure goddess. He made me sick. My parents rushed to the police station. After learning what happened, they strongly supported my decision. What kind of joke involves executing a flawless shoulder throw on your girlfriend without hesitation? He destroyed my future. And he had the audacity to blatantly lie to my parents afterward: He claimed I accidentally slipped in the hospital and injured my arm. 09 Faced with all my accusations, Noah didn’t say a single word in his defense and accepted whatever punishment was coming. In the end, it was the Hospital President and the Chief of Surgery who stepped forward to mediate, hoping the situation wouldn’t blow up. Noah would face an indefinite suspension, and lawyers would negotiate a financial settlement out of court, all to avoid jail time and protect the hospital’s reputation. Moreover, my 96-year-old mentor was hospitalized and in a coma, and no one wanted to agitate the old man with a massive scandal. An out-of-court settlement was fine. Noah had better get his money ready. The hospital quickly arranged for my surgery, telling me to focus solely on recovering my right hand and not to worry about anything else. But on my very first day hospitalized, a huge argument erupted at the nurses’ station over mandatory overtime. With two surgeons out of commission, all schedules and surgeries had to be reshuffled, drastically increasing everyone’s workload. Audrey, passing by during her rounds, stopped in front of the nurses’ station and said coldly: “Complaining won’t solve anything. You nurses are tired, but aren’t the doctors tired too?” “It was clearly just an accident. It’s Dr. Williams throwing a tantrum and escalating the situation that caused her boyfriend to be suspended. You can’t blame anyone else.” “Don’t mind me being blunt; I’m just telling the truth.” 10 The staff at the nurses’ station were stunned. Not having been at the scene, not knowing the full story, and hearing this from Audrey—the usually aloof “goddess” who hated gossip—made her words naturally convincing. Audrey turned to leave, but I quickly rushed up and grabbed her wrist— “Dr. Miller, if you have something to say, say it directly instead of making passive-aggressive remarks. What do you mean I escalated the situation?” “Let’s get this straight: I am the victim here! If it were any of you, and your boyfriend threw you for no reason, fracturing your arm so badly you could never hold a scalpel again, and then tried to pass it off as ‘just a joke’ or ‘an accident,’ wouldn’t you be angry? Wouldn’t you demand accountability? If not, you must be actual saints!” The nurses’ expressions shifted. I pulled up the group photo and placed my phone on the desk: “Dr. Miller was there when it happened. When Noah threw me, you smiled more radiantly than ever! What were you thinking? Were you really that happy?” Audrey swayed slightly, her teeth biting hard into her lower lip, the color draining from her face. Just as she was about to speak, a strong force suddenly pushed me away from behind. Noah stepped between us, shielding Audrey behind him. “Chloe, Audrey doesn’t understand these petty squabbles between women! Just drop it. Everything that happened is my fault.”

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When the family company finally bled out and filed for bankruptcy, the two men I loved most in the world sold me to the highest bidder. My husband and my biological son drugged my tea, dragged my unconscious body into the back of a town car, and delivered me to the sprawling, hyper-modern estate of the city’s most ruthless tech billionaire. “We’re three hundred million in the hole,” my husband’s voice had hissed in the dark, thick with frantic greed, just before the sedatives pulled me under. “Getting on his good side is the only way we survive this.” My son, the boy I had carried and raised, had looked at me not with pity, but with cold, hard resentment. “You’ve been a stay-at-home mom for twenty years. You’ve been living off Dad’s money and my trust fund. It’s time you actually contributed.” He had even leaned in, his words a filthy whisper against my slipping consciousness. “Everyone knows he has a thing for older women. Honestly, a night in a billionaire’s bed? You’re getting the better end of the deal.” What they didn’t know—what they couldn’t possibly fathom—was the tectonic shift of emotion that rocked me to my very core when I was dragged through the gilded doors of this estate. Twenty-three years ago, in a quiet, lonely room, I had given birth to the boy who was now the apex predator of the city’s financial world. And he had spent his entire adult life tearing the world apart, looking for the mother who had vanished into the night. 1 The moment my eyes fluttered open, the harsh bite of a crystal chandelier blinded me. As my vision cleared, the faces of my husband, Richard, and my son, Blake, swam into view. They were looming over me, staring down with eyes so devoid of warmth I could have been a slab of meat on a butcher’s block. “What is this?” My voice was thick, tasting of copper and cotton. “What are you doing to me?” Richard offered a thin, razor-sharp smile. “Diana, don’t act stupid. We told you what the plan was.” He adjusted his tailored cuffs, oblivious to my terror. “You are going to be very, very accommodating to Mr. Gideon tonight. If you keep him happy, our debts vanish.” “And then some,” Blake chimed in, a smug, entitled smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “If you can manage to keep his attention, Dad and I will practically own this city.” Blake scoffed, rolling his eyes as if my visible horror was a personal inconvenience to him. “Jesus, Mom, stop looking like you’re going to a funeral. Gideon is in his twenties. You’re past forty. Even if you have to sleep with him, it’s not like you’re the victim here.” “Listen to the boy, honey,” Richard crooned, a sickening layer of faux-sweetness coating his words. “Just pretend I hired you an incredibly expensive, incredibly fit escort. Have a little fun.” The pieces slammed together, forming an agonizing picture. They were offering me up. Tossing me onto Gideon’s bed to plug the gaping hole of their financial ruin, hoping to ride his coattails to a new empire. But they were utterly, devastatingly blind to the truth. Gideon didn’t seek out older women because of some twisted fetish. He was searching. Sifting through faces and ages, desperately looking for the mother who had been forced to abandon him—me. I was young when it happened. A brief, reckless romance that resulted in a pregnancy. I had every intention of bringing my baby home, of raising him with everything I had. But my mother—obsessed with lineage and corporate mergers—had threatened to end her own life if I brought “shame” upon the family. She forced me into an arranged marriage with Richard’s family. She forced me to walk away from my baby. Backed into a corner, completely isolated, I had surrendered him to an elite, anonymous trust foundation. Over the years, I watched Gideon from the shadows. I watched him rise, brilliant and terrifying, and I knew he was leaving no stone unturned in his search for me. But the guilt was a heavy, suffocating blanket. I never felt worthy of claiming him. And now, through some sickening twist of fate, the family that had caged me had drugged me and laid me at his feet. When I refused to speak, the silence stretching into something brittle, Richard nudged my ribs with the toe of his leather oxford. “Diana, fix your face. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Don’t ruin it with your mood swings.” Blake let out a derisive snort. “You know, Dad, she’s never had an ounce of the class Brittany has. Or the looks.” He looked down at me, his eyes dead. “When this is over, you should just divorce her. Let Brittany be my mom. She actually gets it.” The air evacuated my lungs. “What?” I pushed myself up onto my elbows, staring at my son. “Brittany? Your father’s twenty-five-year-old secretary?” The betrayal was a physical blow. Richard had been sleeping with his assistant. And Blake—the boy I had sacrificed everything to protect—knew. He didn’t just know; he preferred her. Before Richard could even bother to formulate a lie, heavy footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Gideon’s executive assistant walked in. He didn’t even look at Richard. He just tipped his chin upward, radiating arrogance. “You the people who called? You brought the merchandise?” “Yes, yes, of course, Gavin. Please, take a look.” Richard grabbed me by the bicep, hauling me up only to shove me violently forward. I collapsed at Gavin’s Italian-leather shoes. Gavin looked down his nose at me, his eyes sweeping over my trembling form with blatant disgust. “Age is right. Fits the boss’s weird criteria. But…” He lifted his foot and pressed the toe of his shoe hard beneath my chin, forcing my head up. “She’s over forty. God knows how much mileage is on her. She’s filthy,” Gavin sneered. “And she’s had a kid. Body’s probably ruined. I’ll never understand what the hell is wrong with the boss’s head, wanting these used-up hags.” My husband—the man I had slept beside for two decades—didn’t flinch at the insult. He bowed his head, his voice dripping with sycophancy. “You’re absolutely right, Gavin. Honestly, at her age, catching the boss’s eye is the greatest blessing she’ll ever receive.” “Exactly,” Blake added, stepping forward eagerly. “My mom’s built tough. She can take a beating. Tell Mr. Gideon to use her however he wants.” My fingers curled into the plush rug. I dug my nails in until I felt the skin of my palms split. Forget Richard. Forget the son who had just gutted me. Let’s talk about Gavin. A man who worked for my son, who lived on my son’s payroll, daring to speak about my son’s desires with such vile disrespect. Gideon would never tolerate an employee like this. I slowly lifted my eyes, locking my gaze onto the assistant’s face. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “You think I’m ruined?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “I wonder how ruined your life is going to be when this night is over.” 2 “What did you just say, you crazy bitch?” Gavin’s face contorted. Before I could blink, his hand swung down, the back of his knuckles connecting with my cheek in a vicious, cracking slap. “You think just because you’re getting shoved into the boss’s bed tonight, you’re suddenly royalty? He’s probably going to take one look at you and vomit!” Gavin spit on the floor next to my hand. “Apologize. Now. Or the deal is dead.” “We apologize! We are so sorry!” Richard shrieked, the color draining from his face. He shot a panicked, wild look at Blake. The two men lunged at me. They grabbed my shoulders, kicking the backs of my knees until I buckled. They shoved their weight against my spine, trying to force my forehead to the floor. “Let go of me!” I thrashed, kicking out blindly. “I won’t beg! I did nothing wrong!” But I was one woman against two grown men. My strength was nothing against their sheer, panicked desperation. They forced me down, grinding my face into the cold, unforgiving marble. The friction tore the skin on my forehead; my knees bruised and bled against the stone. Only when blood began to pool beneath me did Gavin let out a huff of dark amusement. “Alright, that’s enough,” he muttered, adjusting his Rolex. “The boss is going to want some energy left in her.” Richard instantly beamed, panting heavily as he kept his knee pressed into my back. “Whatever you say, Gavin. We follow your lead. And, uh… we know you have the boss’s ear. When it comes to that venture capital injection we talked about…” Gavin soaked in the flattery, his cruel smile returning. “Relax. As long as you two know your place, the funding is fine. Honestly, I see women like your wife every week. They think they can spread their legs and become queens of the castle. But a tired old thing like this? She’s nothing compared to fresh blood.” Gavin clapped his hands sharply. Two towering security guards stepped out of the shadows. “The boss will be down soon. Throw her in the scrub tub. She needs to be sterilized. God knows what diseases she tracked in.” “What tub?” I gasped, trying to turn my head. Gavin ignored me. At his command, the guards dragged a massive, antique steel clawfoot tub into the center of the foyer. They began filling it with freezing water, and then, horrifically, dumping industrial-sized bags of coarse rock salt into it. It wasn’t a bath. It was torture. Gavin gave Richard a pointed look. “Throw her in. The salt will burn off the stench of failure.” “No!” I scrambled backward, my heels slipping on my own blood. My body was covered in open abrasions from the marble. Plunging into freezing, hyper-saline water would be absolute agony. But I didn’t make it three feet. Richard and Blake grabbed me by the arms, lifting me completely off the floor. “Take one for the team, Mom!” Blake hissed. “Do it for the family, Diana. Just endure it,” Richard grunted, his fingers digging into my bruises. They swung me over the edge and dropped me into the freezing depths. The moment the icy, salt-heavy water invaded my open wounds, it felt like liquid fire. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and agonizing. Tears blinded me. I thrashed, trying to grip the slippery steel to pull myself out. But Richard’s hands clamped down on my shoulders, shoving me beneath the surface. Water flooded my nose and throat. I choked, my lungs burning as the salt scoured my airway. “Stop fighting it, Diana! Get clean so he’ll actually want you!” Richard yelled over my splashing. “Stop acting crazy, Mom! Do you want to get us killed?” Blake screamed, grabbing my hair to keep my head submerged just long enough to terrify me, before yanking me up for air. I couldn’t speak. My vocal cords were paralyzed by the stinging water. Just as black spots began to dance at the edge of my vision, Gavin waved a hand, looking entirely bored. “Pull her out. She’s sanitized enough to be looked at. Bring her up to the second-floor restricted wing.” My entire body convulsed with pain as they dragged me onto the rug, leaving wet, red-tinged stains on the fabric. My teeth chattered violently. But beneath the agony, a cold, terrifying clarity settled over me. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to my feet. I suddenly wanted—needed—Gideon to see me exactly like this. Bleeding, shivering, abused. Because I knew my boy. I knew that years ago, a rival CEO had accidentally spilled wine on a photograph of me, and his entire company had been dismantled within a week. I took one step toward the staircase. Before my foot could hit the first tread, a hand shot out, manicured nails digging painfully into my collarbone, shoving me back. “What is this trash?” a shrill, imperious voice echoed through the hall. “Who gave this garbage permission to enter the private wing?” 3 A woman in her late forties stepped onto the landing. She was draped in head-to-toe vintage Chanel, her face pulled tight with expensive, subtle cosmetic work. But beneath the filler and the luxury, an undeniable truth struck me: she looked like me. Before I could process her identity, the arrogant Gavin practically folded himself in half, bowing deeply to the woman. “Monica! I didn’t know you were coming by! I would have sent the helicopter for you.” He turned to Richard and Blake, his voice sharp with warning. “Show some respect. This is the boss’s surrogate mother. She raised him. She is the most important person in his world.” Surrogate mother. I let out a short, hollow laugh. The final puzzle piece snapped into place. Gideon couldn’t find me. The ache of my absence was so profound that he had found a proxy. A woman who shared my features, whom he kept steeped in luxury just to have a shadow of a mother around. When Monica’s eyes landed on my face, the haughty indifference vanished, replaced instantly by a dark, feral rage. “Gavin. What is this?” Gavin wiped a sudden bead of sweat from his forehead. “Monica, please, she’s just the entertainment for the night. You know how he is. He’ll look at her for five seconds and have her thrown out. You are the only mother figure he cares about!” But the flattery didn’t work. Monica stepped closer, her eyes scanning my face with the paranoid intensity of a woman looking at her own replacement. “Did you scrub her?” Monica demanded. “My Gideon is highly allergic to filth.” “We did. Sterilized her exactly as instructed,” Gavin promised quickly. Monica sneered, stepping into my personal space. “Not clean enough. She still reeks of the gutter.” Without warning, her hand darted out. She twisted her fingers into the wet, tangled mass of my hair. “This hair is offensive,” she spat. “It needs to go.” Richard and Blake were desperate to win the favor of the “most important person” in Gideon’s life. The moment they heard her complaint, they threw themselves at me, tackling me back to the floor. “If it offends you, ma’am, it’s gone!” Richard yelled, pinning my arms. “We’ll shave her bald right now!” “Shave her?” Monica laughed, a high, cruel sound. “Where is the fun in that? Weeds need to be pulled out by the roots.” She wrapped the strands of my hair tightly around her fist, planted her designer heel on my shoulder for leverage, and yanked. A sickening rip echoed in the hall as a clump of my hair was torn directly from my scalp. “Ah!” A primal scream tore from my throat. Blinded by the searing pain, survival instinct took over. I wrenched my upper body free and shoved Monica as hard as I could. Monica, entirely unprepared for a “broken” woman to fight back, stumbled backward, her manicured hands flailing before she hit the floor. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. “You stupid bitch!” she shrieked, scrambling up and raising her hand to strike my face. “You dare touch me? I am a god in this house!” I tried to dodge, but Richard and Blake slammed their weight onto my wrists, pinning them to the floor. As Monica’s hand came down, I lunged forward with my neck and clamped my teeth down hard onto the fleshy part of her palm. I bit down until I tasted copper, until warm blood flooded my mouth. Monica screamed, a horrifying, piercing sound. She wrenched her hand free, staring at the deep, bleeding puncture wounds. Breathing heavily, she aimed a vicious kick directly at my ribs, sending me sliding across the wet floor. “Where the hell did you find this feral animal?!” Monica screamed at Gavin. “Do you want to lose your job, Gavin?!” Terrified of her wrath, Gavin turned on me. He marched over and kicked me squarely in the stomach. The wind left me in a violent rush. “You crazy bitch,” Gavin roared. “Do you have any idea who you just bit? I’m going to bring a pair of pliers and rip your teeth out one by one so you can never bite anyone again!” I coughed, spitting a mixture of salt water and Monica’s blood onto the marble. I looked up at Gavin, my chest heaving. “Pull my teeth? You?” I rasped, a dark smile touching my lips. “Are you sure you want to do that? When Gideon finds out, he will end your life.” “How dare you speak his name!” Monica shrieked, kicking me in the chest. “I won’t just pull your teeth. I’m going to cut your tongue out. Let’s see how much you run your mouth then!” 4 At the mention of cutting out my tongue, Gavin hesitated. “Monica, please. The boss has said a hundred times he hates blood on the floors. Maybe we just…” “Are you questioning me?!” Monica glared at him, her chest heaving. “Gideon worships me! He would burn this entire estate to the ground if I asked him to!” Seeing Monica’s lethal intent, I tried to drag myself backward toward the door. But my own family was my warden. Richard and Blake seized me again, digging their fingers into my bruises. “Monica, she assaulted you first! Punish her however you want!” Richard begged. “Kill her if you want, just please, put in a good word for our investment!” Blake pleaded, holding my shoulders down. Monica’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Investment? As long as I am entertained, the money is yours.” A security guard returned, holding a pair of heavy, gleaming garden shears. The metallic glint sent a cold spike of adrenaline straight through my heart. Just as Monica grabbed my jaw, her fingers digging into my cheeks to force my mouth open, Gavin’s phone chimed loudly. He checked it and gasped. “Monica, stop! The boss just texted!” Gavin’s voice pitched upward in panic. “He said he’s meeting someone incredibly important tonight. He said under absolutely no circumstances is there to be a mess. Please, we have to stop.” A flash of genuine fear crossed Monica’s eyes. As arrogant as she played, she knew the limits of the monster she lived with. Slowly, resentfully, she dropped the shears. But her fury hadn’t burned out. Instead of cutting me, she straddled me, raising both hands, and delivered a barrage of vicious, open-handed slaps. Left, right, left, right. The room spun. The metallic taste of my own blood filled my mouth. One final, brutal backhand connected with my jaw, and I felt a tooth loosen and give way. I spat the tooth onto the floor, my breathing ragged. “You are going to regret this. Every single second of this.” “Regret?” Monica panted, standing over me, adjusting her bloody blazer. “The only one who’s going to regret anything is you. You will regret the day you were born.” She grabbed me by the collar. “You wanted to see the private floor so badly? Fine. I’ll take you.” Monica twisted her hand into the hair that was left on my head and dragged me toward the stairs. My knees slammed against the wooden steps, pulling agonizing trails behind me. When we reached the top of the landing, she threw me onto the floor. I gasped for air, trying to orient myself. When I finally looked up, all the rage and pain evaporated, replaced by a profound, paralyzing shock. The entire second floor wasn’t a modern bachelor pad. It was a perfect, pristine replica of the nursery I had decorated twenty-three years ago. The exact vintage wallpaper. A worn, knitted cardigan—my cardigan—draped carefully over a rocking chair. A stack of classic children’s books arranged perfectly on a low table. It was as if time had stopped. As if I had never left. Richard, who had followed us up, stared at the books in confusion. “Mr. Gideon has a kid? I never read that in the trades…” Gavin kicked Richard in the back of the knee. “Keep your mouth shut! You want to end up in a ditch?” While they were distracted, my trembling hand reached out. I let my bloodstained fingers brush the cover of Goodnight Moon. I used to read this to him, feeling his tiny heartbeat against my chest. Every word was burned into my soul. Before I could open it, Monica’s stiletto heel slammed down onto the back of my head, crushing my face into the floorboards. “You piece of trash!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare touch his things! If you stain that book, a hundred of your pathetic lives wouldn’t be enough to pay for it!” I let out a wet, rattling cough. Every bone in my body ached, but the fire in my chest was absolute. “When he gets here,” I whispered, blood bubbling on my lips, “you’ll see exactly whose life isn’t enough to pay for this.” “You dare say his name again?!” Monica was unhinged now. She lifted her stiletto, aiming the deadly steel spike directly for my temple. A strike there would kill me instantly. But before the heel could drop, a heavy, deadening silence fell over the hallway. Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured. Terrifying. “What… are you doing?” The voice was cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins. It was Gideon. He stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in a sharp black suit, his face a mask of supreme, aristocratic boredom and irritation. Monica reacted instantly. The feral monster vanished, replaced by a simpering, distressed victim. She abandoned me and rushed to him, wrapping her bloody hands around his bicep. “Oh, Gideon, thank God you’re home. The agency sent over this horrific, violent woman tonight. She attacked me. She was trying to kill me, look at my hand!” Richard practically threw himself forward, bowing so low his nose almost touched his knees. “Mr. Gideon! I am so, so sorry. She is completely out of line. But don’t worry, sir, we’ve already disciplined her for you!” Gideon didn’t look at them. His dark eyes slowly tracked past the bowing men, past the hysterical woman clutching his arm, and landed on me. In a fraction of a second, the mask of the untouchable billionaire shattered into a million pieces. The icy detachment in his eyes fractured. His pupils blew wide. The color drained from his face, and a violent tremor seized his shoulders. His eyes rapidly filled with tears, rimming with red. I pushed myself up onto one elbow, ignoring the blood dripping from my chin. I offered him a soft, broken smile. “Long time no see… my beautiful boy.”

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My hand hovered over the dotted line of the surgical consent form, trembling so violently the tip of the pen blurred. Before the ink could even graze the paper, my husband’s hand clamped down on my wrist. Three years. We had waited three agonizing years for a matching donor heart, watching the life drain out of our little boy. This was it. His only shot at survival. And yet, Rob looked at me with deadened eyes and casually mentioned that the four hundred and fifty thousand dollars we’d scraped together—our son’s lifeline—had been wired to an underprivileged student’s overseas tuition fund. Then, he slid a different piece of paper across the metal counter. A Do Not Resuscitate order. He had already signed it. “Chelsea said she needs this opportunity,” he said, his voice flat. “If she doesn’t go to Paris now, her whole life is ruined.” “Our son is lying in the ICU, Rob. He is dying.” “He’s asleep. He can wait a few more years. It’s fine.” The words didn’t just pierce my heart; they gutted me. Staring into the face of a man who suddenly looked like a total stranger, I didn’t hesitate. With my free hand, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. 1. I hung up the phone, my fingers still spasming. “Who did you just call?” Rob materialized from behind me, snatching the phone from my grip. His eyes dropped to the screen, and his pupils dilated in sudden, sharp panic. “Are you insane? Why the hell would you call the cops?” He looked at me as if I were the one holding a weapon. “I am getting that money back. I am saving my son,” I choked out, my voice vibrating with a primal kind of terror. Rob grabbed my upper arm and shoved me backward. My shoulder blades slammed against the sterile hospital wall, a sharp flare of pain radiating down my spine. “Sammy isn’t dead yet! What is your rush?!” The breath was knocked entirely out of my lungs. What did he mean, Sammy wasn’t dead yet? Without that heart, Sammy wouldn’t survive the month. He was only six years old. He hadn’t even had the chance to figure out what the world looked like outside of these bleached walls. He had spent half his life in this ICU, his baby fat melting away until he was nothing but fragile bones beneath translucent skin. “Chelsea is a hundred times the woman you are!” Rob shouted, jabbing a finger an inch from my nose. “That heart wasn’t meant for Sammy. Chelsea said that passing the transplant onto the next kid on the list builds grace. It’s good karma for our son!” “All you know how to do is cause a scene!” The blood roared in my ears, a violent, rushing tide. I couldn’t comprehend what I was hearing. The student had suggested this? A stranger had convinced him to give away my son’s heart? I stared at the man I had shared a bed with for a decade. He held my gaze, his jaw set, completely devoid of an ounce of shame. “Chelsea said we can’t be selfish!” Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, shoving him hard in the chest. “Sammy is your flesh and blood! You gave away his only chance at life, and you gave away the money that was going to save him. Are you even human?!” Tears were streaming down my face, hot and furious, my voice tearing at the seams. But Rob just shoved me back again. I stumbled, my sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as I barely caught my balance. “I am his father! I have the right to decide his medical care! So what if he stays hooked up to the machines for another year? It won’t kill him!” “Chelsea is going to do great things for this country. That money was meant for her!” I leaned against the wall, the edges of my vision blackening. “The doctor said his heart is giving out, Rob! He won’t make it to October!” Rob just rolled his eyes, a dismissive sneer twisting his mouth. “Doctors say whatever they need to say to scare you into paying them half a million dollars.” I was shaking from the inside out. Before I could speak, Rob’s hand shot out, gripping the back of my neck and pinning me against the wall. “You are going to call the police back right now,” he hissed, his breath hot against my face. “You’re going to tell them you made a mistake. That you were hysterical.” I shook my head wildly, thrashing against his grip. He let out a low, cold laugh. “If you don’t make that call, I’m transferring him. I’ll pull him out of the ICU and stick him in some discount hospice center, and we’ll see how long he lasts there.” My knees gave out. I practically collapsed, hanging from his grip. “Rob, you’re a monster.” He leaned in closer. “Try me, Paige. I’ll bypass the hospice and take him straight to our living room.” The refined, gentle man I had married was completely gone. In his place stood an executioner. “I want a divorce,” I gasped out. “And I am suing you and your precious Chelsea. I will tear that money out of your hands.” The veins in Rob’s neck bulged. He opened his mouth to scream at me, but the heavy double doors of the ICU swung open. A doctor stepped out, his surgical mask pulled down, a rare smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Paige. Good news. The registry just pinged us—there’s a new donor heart in the system. The preliminary match is incredibly strong.” I froze, pinned to the wall, wet tracks drying on my cheeks. “We need a seventy-five-thousand-dollar deposit to prep the OR and secure the transport,” the doctor continued softly. “The remaining balance is due post-op.” 2. The doctor gave a brisk nod and disappeared back through the double doors. The hallway was dead silent, leaving just me and Rob. Thank God. A wave of dizzying relief washed over me. He has another chance. I took a deep, shuddering breath, straightened my spine, and looked at my husband. “He can still be saved. If you get that money back from her right now, I won’t press charges. We can forget this ever happened…” But Rob’s brow furrowed. He looked at me like I was a psychiatric patient speaking in tongues. “Do you have any idea how long Chelsea has been preparing for her semester in Paris?” he demanded. “What is she supposed to do? You’re willing to destroy a young woman’s entire future just for your son?” “We don’t have the money! Go in there and tell the doctor we’re passing on the heart!” He reached for the handle of the ICU door. Panic seized me. I threw my entire body weight against him, pushing him away from the door. “I will not let you do this to him again!” I screamed. “If you don’t get that money back, I will go to every local news station in this city. I will make sure the whole world knows what you both are!” I had sold the house I owned before we married. I had sold my car. I had borrowed from every relative who would pick up the phone. I had bled myself dry to raise that money to save my baby. And he thought he could trade my son’s life for some stranger’s European vacation? My shove ignited something dark in him. “Do you know how many people die every day waiting for a heart?” he roared, his voice bouncing off the fluorescent-lit walls. “Do you know how many kids in poverty that money could have fed?” “All you care about is your defective son! You don’t give a damn about anyone else in the world!” I stopped. The air seemed to get sucked out of the corridor. I stared at his face—a face that Sammy had inherited. Defective. The word was a jagged blade twisted straight into my ribs. My mind flashed back to six years ago. The maternity ward. Rob holding a swaddled, pink-faced Sammy, his broad shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His eyes had been red-rimmed, his lips trembling so much he could barely form words. He had looked at me with such profound, overwhelming reverence. “You did so good, Paige,” he had whispered, kissing my damp forehead. “I swear to God, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you and this boy never want for anything.” It was the most sincere thing he had ever said to me. Now, that vow was dust. “Chelsea is right,” he spat. “You are pathologically selfish.” Chelsea. It was always Chelsea. Five years ago, he told me he was sponsoring an orphaned teenager through a mentorship program. I had thought it was beautiful. But then it was three hundred dollars a month. Then three thousand. Then thirty thousand. And now, nearly half a million dollars. That wasn’t a charity case. That was a black hole disguised as a girl. I forced myself to breathe. A terrifying, ice-cold clarity settled over me. “Are you in love with her?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. His face color drained, then flared a violent red. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” His hand cracked across my cheek. The slap echoed sharply in the empty hall, a burst of white-hot pain exploding across my jaw. “Chelsea and I are innocent! Your mind is just sick, so you see filth everywhere!” I pressed my trembling fingers to my stinging cheek. He was pacing, agitated, defensive—like a cornered rat. He was willing to let his own child die. Unless he was completely intoxicated by this girl, nothing else made psychological sense. “I’m done talking to you,” he snapped. “Call the police and cancel the report. If Chelsea misses her flight because of you, I will make your life a living hell.” Before I could answer, the ICU doors opened again. Two nurses walked out, their expressions tightening as they took in the scene—me crying, Rob towering over me. “This is a critical care wing, not your living room,” the older nurse scolded sharply. “Keep your voices down. Your boy is hanging on by a thread in there. The surgery is in three days. Find the money.” Rob let out a frustrated growl, turned on his heel, and stormed down the long corridor. I stood paralyzed under the flickering fluorescent lights, drowning. 3. I was sinking. Fast. The $450,000 was gone. Now, I didn’t even have the $75,000 deposit to secure the organ. Sammy’s heart couldn’t wait. Could the police freeze Rob’s accounts and recover the funds in three days? Desperation is a terrifying thing. It strips away all your boundaries. I found myself sitting on a vinyl hospital chair, dialing a burner number I’d seen on a sketchy online forum for an offshore clinic in Tijuana. I barely listened to the man’s broken English explaining the logistics. “Fine,” I interrupted. “I can be down there by tomorrow morning…” Trading one of my kidneys for my son’s life. It was an easy equation. But before I could confirm, a weathered hand clamped down over my phone screen, ending the call. I looked up. My mother was standing there, her eyes swimming with tears. “Paige, what in God’s name are you doing?” she choked out. She unclasped her worn leather purse and pulled out a plain white envelope, shoving a debit card into my hands. “There’s ninety thousand in there. If that bastard won’t save his son, I will.” My chest caved in. “Mom… that’s your and Dad’s retirement. You’ve been saving that your whole lives.” I clutched the plastic card, the tears I thought I had exhausted spilling over again. “Stop talking. Go pay the cashier,” she ordered, her voice fiercely tender. I turned toward the elevators, but a hand shot out from behind a pillar, violently ripping the card from my fingers. “Ninety grand. Perfect. Chelsea’s living expenses for the year are finally covered.” My mother lunged at Rob, grabbing his forearm. “That is my money! It is for my grandson!” she screamed. “Sammy is your boy, Rob! How can you do this to him?!” Rob sneered and violently yanked his arm free. The momentum sent my mother stumbling backward. Her heel caught on the linoleum, and she went down hard. The sickening thud of the back of her skull hitting the metal handrail echoed down the hall. “Mom!” I shrieked, dropping to my knees beside her. Dark, thick blood immediately began pooling on the pristine white floor beneath her hair. “Help! Somebody help! Get a doctor!” I screamed, pressing my hands against the wound. I looked up just in time to see Rob slip the debit card into his jacket pocket. He didn’t even glance down. He just turned and walked onto the elevator. Alarms sounded. Nurses came running with a gurney, lifting my limp mother and sprinting toward the emergency room down the hall. I collapsed against the wall outside the ER, my hands stained crimson. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Rob. It’s just 90k, don’t be so dramatic. I’ll be with Chelsea for the next two days helping with her visa stuff. Deal with Sammy yourself. I stared at the screen, my eyes burning so hot I thought they might bleed. A quiet, dangerous calm settled over me. I opened X—formerly Twitter. I uploaded the screenshots of his bank transfers. I uploaded a photo of the DNR he’d signed. I uploaded the text he just sent me. Caption: My husband stole our dying son’s transplant fund to send another woman to Paris. He just shoved my elderly mother into a metal handrail and stole her life savings. She is in the ER. Please, I need help. I hit post. Within minutes, my phone began to vibrate. Then it began to hum continuously. Retweets, quotes, DMs. It caught fire. “He stole his own kid’s heart fund?!” “Please tell me the cops are involved. BOOST.” The public outrage gave me the faintest sliver of hope. Ten minutes later, Rob called. “Take that post down right now,” he barked. “Post an apology and say your account was hacked!” I grit my teeth. “Bring back my $450,000 and my mother’s money, and maybe I will.” I thought the public pressure would break him. Instead, the line went dead. He blocked me. By the next morning, the algorithm had shifted. My post was buried. In its place, trending under a local hashtag, was a rebuttal video. “Hi everyone. My name is Chelsea. I need to clear up the awful rumors circulating online about the ‘stolen transplant fund’.” She looked perfectly styled—messy bun, no makeup, wearing a tragically oversized sweater. “First of all, Paige was the affair partner who destroyed my mother’s relationship with Rob years ago. My mom died of a broken heart because of her.” “Second, the money was a personal loan from Rob. I signed a promissory note. Paige is just using her sick kid to farm sympathy and donations online.” “Third, her son isn’t even that sick. She has Munchausen by proxy. She’s exaggerating for GoFundMe money.” Attached was a photo of a handwritten IOU. And another photo. An old Polaroid of a much younger Rob, his arm wrapped around a woman who looked… exactly like an older version of Chelsea. The comments were a bloodbath. “Wow, the wife was the side-piece? Karma.” “Using a sick kid to run a scam. Disgusting.” “Someone needs to call CPS on her!” My stomach violently rebelled. I leaned over a trash can and dry-heaved. My inbox, previously full of prayers, was now a swamp of death threats and “homewrecker” accusations. 4. The ER doors hissed open. My mother was wheeled out, her face the color of chalk, a thick bandage wrapped around her head. “Paige…” she mumbled, reaching out weakly. “Did he… take the money?” I couldn’t speak. I just let the tears fall hot and fast onto the back of her bruised hand. She took a slow, rattling breath. “Mr. Henderson down the street has been wanting to buy our house for years. Call him. Tell him I’ll sell it to him today for seventy-five thousand cash. We can transfer the title later.” A sob ripped from my throat. “Mom! You and Dad worked thirty years to pay off that house!” “Just call him!” she wheezed. “Don’t let my grandson die!” I wiped my face with the back of my arm and stood up. I stepped out into the courtyard and made the call. Mr. Henderson was shocked but didn’t ask questions. Within two hours, the wire transfer cleared. I stared at the balance on my phone, my hands shaking. I practically sprinted to the billing department and authorized the $75,000 charge. “The funds have cleared, Paige,” the billing coordinator said gently. “Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow at 2 PM. Just keep him stable.” A massive weight lifted off my chest. I rushed back upstairs to the ICU to sit with Sammy. By tomorrow night, he would have a strong, beating heart. But when I reached the glass window of his room, the world stopped spinning. Chelsea was standing next to Sammy’s bed. Sammy’s oxygen tube had been pulled out. It was dangling toward the floor. Chelsea was holding a Mason jar of amber liquid, tilting it into my unconscious son’s mouth. The broth was spilling down his chin, soaking into his hospital gown. “Drink up, little Sammy,” she cooed. I hit the door so hard my shoulder bruised, lunging into the room like a feral animal. “What the fuck are you doing?!” She flinched, turning to look at me, and actually smiled. “Oh, hi. I felt so bad for him. I brought him some organic bone broth to build his strength.” I looked down. Sammy’s face was turning a deep, mottled purple. His chest was heaving in violent, jerky spasms. A sickening, wet rattle was coming from his throat. He was drowning. “You pulled his oxygen!” I shrieked, a sound tearing out of me that didn’t even sound human. She blinked, holding the jar against her chest like a shield. “Well, yeah. It was in the way. Having tubes shoved down your throat is so uncomfy…” I shoved her back with such force she hit the medical cart. I scrambled for the oxygen mask, my hands slipping on the spilled soup, slamming the emergency call button over and over again. A team of nurses and a doctor sprinted in. The doctor took one look at Sammy’s blue lips and went pale. “Heart rate is dropping—we’re at eighteen! Get the intubation tray! Get them out of here!” A nurse grabbed me and Chelsea by the arms and physically pushed us out into the hallway. The door slammed shut. “I was just trying to be nice,” Chelsea whimpered, brushing off her sweater. I turned slowly. I backed her against the wall, my breathing heavy and ragged. “You pulled his life support. You poured liquid into his lungs. You watched him asphyxiate. And you want to call it being nice?” “Hey! Get your hands off her!” Rob came sprinting down the hall. He saw me backing Chelsea into a corner, grabbed me by the waist, and threw me onto the floor. “She came all the way down here to check on him, and you attack an orphaned girl?!” I pushed myself up onto my elbows, staring at him. “She pulled his oxygen, Rob!” He pulled Chelsea behind him, shielding her. “She cares about him! You’re acting like a rabid dog, attacking anyone who gets close! If Sammy dies, it’s because of your toxic energy!” The ICU doors flew open. The doctor stood there, sweat beading on his forehead. “There is massive fluid aspiration in the lungs. We have to do an emergency bronchial wash before we can even attempt the transplant.” The nurses rolled Sammy out on a transport bed, racing toward the surgical elevators. Rob stepped directly in front of the gurney, holding his hand up. “Stop! I am pulling his consent! Do not waste resources on this!” Chelsea peeked out from behind his shoulder. “That heart should go to someone who actually deserves it!” The doctor’s eyes widened in horror. “Call security! Code white! We have an interference!” I lunged at Rob, trying to claw him out of the way, but I was no match for a man his size. He threw me off effortlessly. “He’s broken! Let him go, Paige! I am not letting you do this!” Sammy’s monitors were screaming. The security guards were too far down the hall. Just as Rob braced himself against the gurney, two uniformed police officers rounded the corner, sprinting. They bypassed me entirely, grabbed Rob, and slammed him against the wall, slapping handcuffs on his wrists in one fluid motion. “Robert Vance and Chelsea Hayes,” the older officer barked. “You are both under arrest for grand larceny, elder abuse, and felony embezzlement. You have the right to remain silent.” Rob froze, the color draining from his face.

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The system urged me to abandon this mission and detach from my host body immediately. It said, “Go take one last look at him.” I went to Arthur’s bedchamber, only to see a woman who looked strikingly like me lying in his arms, the two of them tangled together in bed. I told the system, “He used to love me so much.” The system nodded. “Yeah. Who knew love turning to hate could be so terrifying?” 01 I took one last look at the place where I had been imprisoned for seven years. The layout of the room was exquisite, but without anyone to clean it for years, a thin layer of dust covered almost everything. I couldn’t leave. Every day, all I could do was stare at the small, square patch of sky visible through the window. The housekeeper who took care of me was mute. I had no one to talk to, and the entire courtyard was terrifyingly quiet. To ensure no one would ever find me, Arthur deliberately locked me in the most remote, abandoned manor on the edge of the estate, surrounded by heavy security. The housekeeper who brought my daily meals could only pass the tray through a small window onto a wall-mounted shelf. She didn’t even dare to look at me, let alone communicate. If I didn’t have the system keeping me company… I think… Seven years of isolation would have driven me completely insane. Actually, a long time ago, the housekeeper who brought my meals could speak. Her heart ached for me. Even though she didn’t know why I was locked up here, she always looked at me with deep pity. She would say that even if a young girl like me made a mistake, I didn’t deserve such a cruel punishment. She knew how much suffering and loneliness I endured locked in this place. So, even though she couldn’t come inside, she would often stand by the window to talk to me, praying that one day I would regain my freedom. But before I even had the chance to thank her… I got her killed. That was the first time I truly hated myself. Because Arthur had overheard her. He locked me up to keep me trapped here forever. The word “freedom” was never supposed to be associated with me again. But someone had spoken it, and he had heard it. So Arthur smiled, and he raged. Then, using the calmest tone imaginable, he handed down the most barbaric punishment to the housekeeper. She was tortured to death. Her eyes were gouged out, and her tongue was cut off. Because Arthur said, “I don’t want to hear her voice!” No matter how hard I begged, it was useless. That was the very first time I realized that, over the course of ten years, I had never truly understood who Arthur was. That night, the housekeeper’s agonizing screams echoed in my ears. The metallic stench of blood seeped into the room from outside, and I crouched on the floor, violently throwing up. Arthur stood right outside my locked door. His eyes were colder than ice. The way he looked at me no longer held the love it once did—instead, I saw a twisted, venomous hatred. He said, “Chloe, don’t you ever think about leaving me!” He kept his word. He ordered the manor completely sealed off. Over the next seven years, he turned this place into a ghost house. The housekeeper who brought my meals had to be a mute, and absolutely no one else dared to come near. 02 When I was first locked in the abandoned manor. Arthur would come see me every day. His eyes carried suppressed love, yet he forced himself to stay standing at the doorway, keeping a strict distance. The few dozen steps between us felt like an uncrossable chasm. When I smiled at him, he would avert his eyes, refusing to look. “Chloe, stop trying to use that trick to make me let you go!” Arthur practically ground his teeth when he said that. His eyes were a chaotic mix of love and hate. Yet, before I could even say a single word, he would turn and leave. His retreating silhouette looked almost pathetic, carrying a sense of panicked escape. Back then, the system would comfort me, saying, “You and Arthur have so much history. He will eventually realize he’s wrong.” I didn’t say anything. Because I knew Arthur too well. When he loves, he loves to the absolute extreme. And when he hates, he hates just as deeply. And the person who destroyed everything we had… Was me. It was the night of my birthday. Arthur and I had drank quite a bit of wine, but he had to step away to handle an urgent corporate crisis. I sat alone under the cherry blossom tree, continuing to drink. At that point, Arthur’s love for me was about to reach 100%, meaning I would soon complete my mission and leave. I had spent ten years watching an outcast, illegitimate son claw his way out of the mud to become the ruthless CEO of an empire. He trusted me, and he loved me. Fighting against the entire board of directors, he insisted on making me his wife, declaring I would be the only woman he ever loved. His unconditional, unreserved love for me slowly eroded my defenses over the years. Inevitably, I fell in love with Arthur—the man whose entire heart belonged to me. And because of that, I couldn’t bear to leave him. The system saw right through me. It warned me, “This is just a game. Do not let yourself get emotionally attached.” A game? But it felt so real. I could feel the warmth of Arthur’s skin. I could feel his frantic heartbeat and pure joy every single time he confessed his love to me. He was a living, breathing person. A man I had stayed beside since childhood, a man I poured all my love into. From the time Arthur was seven, I stayed by his side as a lowly servant in his oppressive family estate. Because he was an unrecognized, illegitimate child, his half-brothers constantly bullied him. Even the hired help dared to abuse him. His living conditions were worse than mine as a servant; he was shoved into an unheated, decaying attic. I did everything in my power to treat him well. I gave him the meat I scraped together my wages to buy, while I chewed on dry bread. I shielded him from the malicious schemes of his father’s other wives, protecting him as he grew up. The way he looked at me shifted from initial icy suspicion to an overwhelming, all-consuming love. Eventually, I became the only person in the entire world he could rely on. At first, yes, I only treated him well to complete my mission. My feelings weren’t pure. But over time, we survived so many life-or-death situations together. The boy grew into a man, and he started throwing himself in front of danger to protect me. He shielded me from corporate assassinations and family betrayals. Even when his own life was hanging by a thread, he never once considered abandoning me. Even when the ultimate prize—the CEO position of the entire empire—was dangled in front of him, if I was in danger, he would choose me. I asked him why. He smiled, gentle but absolutely resolute. “Because there is only one Chloe. We promised to be together forever.” He carved that promise so deeply into his soul that it eventually became the very reason for our downfall. There was a time when he took a bullet meant for me, nearly dying on the operating table. Watching Arthur lying unconscious in the ICU, my heart physically ached. It was only then that I realized I couldn’t live without him either. I fell in love with this boy who thought of nothing but me. He gave me the absolute best of everything he had, pouring every ounce of his love into me. So how could I treat this like a game? Pain and inner conflict consumed my mind, which was why I drank so heavily that night. And the greatest regret of my life… was getting drunk and blurting out that I was a system “player.” Rambling under the influence of alcohol, I spilled everything. I didn’t even remember exactly who I was anymore. Arthur found out I was a player. He found out that once I acquired 100% of his love, I would be forced to leave this world forever. He asked me, “Can you stay?” I shook my head. I couldn’t stay. From beginning to end, this was a dead end. He stayed silent, and then the rage took over. He pinned me against the bed, his hands gripping my shoulders, his eyes bloodshot as he screamed like a madman. He said, “Chloe, we swore our vows. We stood before the altar. You are never leaving me in this lifetime!” I didn’t want to leave either. For a player to fall in love with their target… It is the ultimate tragedy. Because the moment he fully surrendered his heart to me, it meant we would have to be torn apart. Arthur couldn’t accept it. He felt deeply betrayed. Because we had promised each other we would never leave. But my “forever” couldn’t be his “forever.” The moment the mission was completed, my life in this world would terminate. I would leave before him, abandoning him in an endless, lonely world. So that night, he violently tore off my clothes, kissing me with terrifying aggression, desperately trying to anchor me to him forever. He said, “Chloe, let’s have a baby. If we have a child, you wouldn’t be able to leave me, right?” But the brutal truth is, a player can never get pregnant. There could never be a biological tie between us. The moment the mission was completed, everything connecting me to this world would simply vanish. He couldn’t keep me. The candles in the bedroom burned all night. The next morning, I woke up to find him standing by the bed, fully dressed. He pressed a highly restrained kiss to my forehead. His eyes were filled with uncontrollable love, mixed with an insane, dark possessiveness. He said, “Chloe, I promise I will find a way to keep you.” That morning, I finally realized what I had confessed while drunk. I was consumed by regret, but it was too late. I originally thought he would be terrified, thinking I was some kind of monster, and distance himself or even try to kill me. I never expected that his only thought would be how to trap me here. I was just as agonizingly torn. I wanted to complete the mission and survive, but I also wanted to stay with the man I loved. But the system told me there was only one path: finish the mission. If I completed it, I could leave. But if I failed, I would face an unknown, terrifying punishment. From the very start, it was a dead end. Arthur and I were destined by fate to never be together. But Arthur refused to accept fate. He tried countless methods, but he couldn’t stop the love in his heart from growing. As long as I stood in front of him, his love for me would incrementally increase. And when it hit 100%, I would disappear before his very eyes. To love someone to the absolute extreme, only to be forced to watch them vanish into thin air. That love itself became a curse. So he made a decision— He locked me away. From the moment he decided to lock me in the abandoned manor, our relationship was permanently shattered. A heavy iron gate separated us. And it severed the decade of deep love we shared. “Chloe, I will fight God himself if I have to. I swear I will keep you.” At first, Arthur came to see me every day. But every time he got close, he couldn’t control the violent surge of love in his heart. So I don’t know exactly when, but Arthur stopped coming every day. Even when he did visit the manor, he would just stand in silence, staring at me for a few minutes, before ruthlessly turning and walking away. And then, his love for me stabilized. It froze at a specific threshold, and never moved again. At that point, he only came to see me once every six months. He always came in the dead of night, so I never actually saw him. The system told me, “When you fall asleep, he sits by your bed. He reaches out to touch you, but the second his fingers brush your face, his love meter starts to spike. Arthur’s face instantly turns cold, and he forces himself to leave.” What was my reaction when I heard that? I probably offered a bitter smile, stared at the hairpin he gave me years ago, and fell into silence. This bizarre, suffocating stalemate lasted for a long time. Until Harper arrived. This woman, who looked 70% like me, was instantly favored by Arthur the moment she entered his corporate orbit, becoming his most cherished companion. At first, the system tried to comfort me: “She’s just a cheap knockoff. Arthur isn’t blind; he won’t actually fall for her.” But then Harper got sick, and Arthur stayed up all night taking care of her. He personally fed her medicine and coaxed her to sleep. Those were things he used to do exclusively for me. He once said, “The only person in the world I would ever do this for is my Chloe.” But now, he was giving that special, exclusive treatment to another woman. Liar! The system chimed in again: “Maybe it’s just pity because she has your face.” A 70% resemblance is rare. Harper, who gained his favor purely because of that face, obviously knew exactly why she was chosen. So she tried even harder to mimic me. She wore the red dresses I used to love, applied her makeup exactly in my style, and perfected every single micro-expression and smile I had. Dressed as my flawless replica, she went to see Arthur. A 70% similar face, a 100% similar style. The ice in Arthur’s eyes was chipped away bit by bit. The way he looked at Harper slowly became tender and loving. He would gently stroke her face and say in the softest voice, “My Harper, you’re so beautiful.” And then, Harper would giggle and throw herself into his arms. Eventually, Harper moved into my old master suite in the penthouse. Arthur slowly drowned in her gentle affection. Fueled by his resentment toward me, he poured every ounce of his romantic feelings into another woman. It was as if only by doing this could he keep his love for me frozen at a specific number, ensuring it would never change. Because his love was being drained elsewhere, his heart regarding me could remain completely numb. Finally, late one night, a drunk Arthur looked at Harper—who now looked almost identical to me—and lost all restraint. He carried her to my old bed, and they spent the night tangled together. I asked the system if it had anything else to say. It stayed silent, then asked if I wanted to leave this world. “Can I even leave?” Arthur had spent all his time tangled up with Harper lately, completely forgetting to check on me. No one knew I had fallen severely ill. Sunlight poured through the window. I tried to reach out and touch it, but my illness had grown so severe I didn’t even have the strength to sit up. “Chloe. Let’s abandon this mission.” When the system spoke, its voice sounded like it was crying. The system that used to care about nothing but completing missions had finally given up hope, just like me. During these seven years of imprisonment, terrified of the unknown punishment for failure, neither of us was willing to be the first to say “abandon.” But dragging it out until now felt worse than death itself. “Abandon the mission. Even though we don’t know what the punishment is… whatever it is, it has to be better than being locked in a cage for the rest of my life.” Seeing my silence, the system added, “Let’s go see him in person. One last time.” The unknown punishment might completely annihilate my consciousness, erasing my existence across all three thousand dimensions. So seeing him one last time would serve as a final, tragic period to this romance. Using its core energy, the system extracted my soul and transported me out of the manor. I arrived at Arthur’s master suite. The layout hadn’t changed much in seven years. Except… the walls that used to be covered in paintings and photos of me had all been replaced by portraits of Harper. I felt a profound wave of sadness. The teenage boy who used to hug my waist, whining that he wanted to cover his entire room with my pictures, had truly vanished forever. Soft rustling sounds drifted through the room. Through the silk curtains, I could see two figures rolling in the bedsheets. Harper leaned against his chest like she had no bones, her eyes hazy with lust, adding a playful, teasing charm. Arthur held her, leaving devout, reverent kisses all over her face. “Harper, your face is so incredibly beautiful.” Harper smiled even brighter, her delicate hands tracing his chest. “Am I more beautiful, or is Chloe more beautiful?” Mentioning my name in Arthur’s presence used to be the ultimate taboo. But Harper was so favored she had already moved into my old room and usurped everything that used to belong to me. But human greed knows no bounds. She had his exclusive favor, but she wanted all of his love. Yet everyone in Arthur’s inner circle knew exactly how deeply he loved me. He loved me enough that, during a hostile corporate takeover, he was willing to surrender the entire empire just to ensure my safety. He loved me enough that when I was poisoned by a rival, he was the only one willing to test the untested antidotes on himself. He loved me enough that if I shed a single tear, he would hate himself for days, believing he had failed to protect me. How could a boy who loved me that much… fall in love with someone else? I couldn’t understand it. “Seven years can change a lot of things. I just didn’t expect that love turning to hate could be this terrifying.” The system’s voice was just as depressed as mine. I originally thought Arthur would be furious she mentioned me, but he wasn’t. He just paused for a second, then rolled over, pinning the beauty beneath him. Kissing her cheek, he whispered, “You’re more beautiful.” A single, uncontrollable tear slid down my ghostly cheek. “System… I didn’t know souls could cry.” I reached up, wiped the tear, and tasted it. It didn’t actually taste like anything, but I felt an overwhelming, agonizing bitterness in my heart. “Stop looking. Chloe, let’s abandon it. Who cares about the punishment? I’ll be with you forever.” The system was crying. It even tried to cover my eyes. But it was just a string of data existing in my mind; the most emotion it could muster was pity for me. I nodded slowly. “System. I give up. Declare the mission a failure.” All that bone-deep, unforgettable love could never outweigh the sheer agony of witnessing this with my own eyes. He imprisoned me in the name of love, and now he was stabbing me to death with it. Every single injury inflicted in the name of love only brutally grinded down the last remaining affection I had for him. Neither of us knew what punishment awaited a failed mission. It was the terror of that unknown that had forced me to endure seven years of torture. But now, I truly couldn’t endure it for another second. “The absolute worst-case scenario is deletion,” the system sobbed. “It’s okay. If we get deleted, I’ll go down with you.” That’s nice. At least I still have the system. 03 The price for failing the mission was being permanently trapped in this world as a wandering spirit. I would be ground down by the passage of time, slowly forgetting who I was, until I became a truly isolated, hollow ghost. And because of Arthur’s obsessive entanglement with me while I was alive, I was physically forced to remain tethered to his side. The system was furious on my behalf. “You suffered so much torture because of him while you were alive, and now that you’re dead you’re forced to watch him be all lovey-dovey with another woman?!” “Chloe, did you dig up someone’s ancestors in a past life? Why is your luck in this life so utterly tragic?” I had been feeling deeply depressed, but hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe I really did do a lot of terrible things in a past life. So this time, God was stepping in to punish me. I was forced to follow Arthur everywhere. The sun was bright outside by the time he finally got out of bed. Harper was still fast asleep, her face flushed red, covered in dark bruises and marks. Arthur glanced at her, his eyes overflowing with gentle love, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He used to do that exact same thing to me every morning. I had asked him why. He said, “Waking up every morning and seeing the person I love lying next to me… it’s the greatest happiness in the world.” What was my reaction back then? Like a lovestruck teenager, I pulled the blanket over my head to hide my blushing face. Then he would pull me into a tight hug, coaxing me softly. The maids who came in to serve us would blush and quietly leave the room, and he would kiss me again. And finally, he would whisper, “My Chloe, you’re the best.” Now, he was taking everything he used to do for me and doing it to another woman. How pathetic. My thoughts snapped back to the present. Even as a ghost, my chest ached agonizingly. Those endless nights of intimacy had become the dullest, rustiest blade, slowly sawing into my heart every single second. I couldn’t bleed, but the pain was constant. As Arthur got out of bed to dress, his personal assistant immediately stepped forward to hand him a meticulously crafted cologne sachet to tie to his belt. “Where is the old one?” He suddenly spoke. I couldn’t help but look at the newly swapped sachet on his waist. The stitching was flawless, the embroidery beautiful. It was thousands of times better than the one I had made. The assistant knelt on the floor, trembling. “Miss Harper said the old one was too worn out and the craftsmanship was terrible, so she ordered me to throw it away.” Terrible? I stayed up for three nights straight, pricking all ten of my fingers until they bled, just to finish that sachet. It held all my love, and it contained a protective charm I had walked miles to a remote temple to pray for. To get that charm, I knelt and bowed every single step up the mountain until my knees were swollen and bleeding. Arthur had promised me he would keep it on him for the rest of his life. People who break their promises get long noses like Pinocchio. The system defended me indignantly. “Exactly! The sachet our Chloe made is the absolute best!” I threw a punch straight at Arthur’s face. But since I was just a ghost, my fist just generated a weak gust of cold air. Suddenly, Arthur exploded in fury. He kicked the assistant violently in the chest. “Who gave you permission to decide that?! Go find it right now!” The assistant’s face turned deathly pale. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled to dig through the trash until he found the sachet I had embroidered, and frantically tied it back onto Arthur’s belt. “If he doesn’t love you anymore, why does he insist on wearing it? What the hell is going through his head?” The system couldn’t understand it. It decided it needed to read more romance novels to expand its database on human psychology. I didn’t understand it either, but I couldn’t say that out loud. Otherwise, the system would mock me, saying a string of data understood human emotions better than I did. Arthur stared at the sachet in his hand, looking strangely lost in thought. Despite his careful preservation, after seven years, the sachet was completely frayed and worn out. Just like our relationship. It could never be repaired. His grip on the sachet tightened, and his expression turned terrifyingly cold. “How is she doing in the abandoned manor?” Before the assistant could even open his mouth, the system sarcastically chimed in: “Not much, just rotting and smelling bad.” Me: … “I… I don’t know, sir.” The assistant knelt on the floor, knocking his head against the ground repeatedly, completely unable to hide the sheer terror in his eyes. If Arthur refused to visit me personally, how would any of his staff dare to sneak over there? Everyone knew exactly what happened to the last housekeeper. The staff were so traumatized that they would probably never step within a mile of that manor for the rest of their lives. No one dared to cross Arthur’s absolute boundaries. The ruthless CEO standing before me had long ago shed the gentle, warm facade of his youth. Bloodthirsty and brutal—that was who he truly was now. Arthur delivered another vicious kick to the assistant’s chest, cursed him for being an idiot, and stormed out. The assistant coughed up blood, but not a single person dared to step forward to help him. “I really don’t recognize him anymore.” The system agreed. “Me neither. I watched you two grow up together. Back then, even though Arthur was a loner, he would never slaughter innocent people. Now… he’s genuinely terrifying.” I floated behind him, watching the direction he was walking, and guessed where he was going. “When he walks into the manor and sees my corpse… what kind of face do you think he’ll make?” I was suddenly incredibly curious. Would it be the cold indifference of a stranger? The agonizing, heart-shattering grief of a deeply devoted lover? Or would he feel a sick, euphoric satisfaction, driven purely by hatred? I was dying to know. So I followed Arthur, drifting slowly toward the manor where I had been imprisoned for seven years. 04 The abandoned manor was heavily guarded. A single glance showed how terrifyingly desolate it still was. The occasional howling wind rattled the broken window panes, creating an eerie, ghostly creaking sound. Even the guards stationed outside looked incredibly uneasy. After all, this was widely rumored to be the most haunted place on the entire estate. The moment Arthur appeared, all the guards immediately dropped to their knees. Someone rushed forward to unlock the heavy iron gates. As the rusted hinges shrieked open, I floated beside Arthur, stepping back into the prison I had lived in for seven years. But the moment he crossed the threshold, Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to another assistant beside him and viciously kicked him in the chest. “I ordered you to maintain this place! Is this how you maintain it?!” I followed his gaze. Because no one had stepped foot inside for so long, the massive oak tree in the courtyard had dropped a thick layer of dead leaves that no one bothered to sweep. The layer was so thick that even stepping on it produced a loud crunch. Weeds grew wildly through the cracks in the stone pathways, and thick spider webs coated the corners of the building. The assistant knelt on the ground begging for mercy. Even though it was entirely Arthur’s fault. “What an absolute hypocrite! If he actually gave a damn about you, Chloe, he wouldn’t have let you rot in this shithole for seven years!” The system raged on my behalf. Lately, Arthur had spent all his time with Harper, never once coming to see me. These snobby, opportunistic assistants naturally assumed the boss had forgotten about me, so why would they waste their energy maintaining the place? In the end, it was all because Arthur had moved on to someone else. How hilarious. But before Arthur could push the front door open, a maid came sprinting frantically toward us. She dropped to her knees and gasped, “Sir! Miss Harper… she’s pregnant.”

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The morning I checked out, I was just waiting for the routine release of my incidental deposit when the receptionist slammed my room key onto the marble counter. She told me the sheets were stained. My hundred-dollar hold was being confiscated. I immediately tried to explain that I had knocked over a glass of water late last night while working, but she let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Her eyes dragged over me, heavy with absolute disgust. “Water? You think I was born yesterday?” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “I was on the graveyard shift. I saw the revolving door of men going in and out of your room. It didn’t stop all night.” She leaned over the counter, lowering her voice to a venomous hiss. “You look like a decent girl, but behind closed doors, you’re a complete wreck. And you’re going to stand there and lie to my face about water? I know what kind of bodily fluids get left behind when you’re playing house with half the city.” A cold shock of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. My hands started to shake. “Watch your mouth,” I snapped. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Hit a nerve, did I?” “Either you march upstairs and scrub those sheets yourself, or that deposit covers the biohazard fee. Pick one.” I didn’t yell. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, memorized the name etched on her gold nametag—Krystal—and turned on my heel to wait for the general manager. I took a seat in the lobby lounge, pulling out my phone to distract myself. I opened a local neighborhood app, scrolling mindlessly, until a trending post made the breath vanish from my lungs. The headline was screaming in bold letters: WARNING: Local Hotel Hooker! Brought 5 or 6 guys to her room, ruined the bed, and tried to blame it on spilled water. Acts innocent, actually a total trash bag! Attached to the post was a grainy, secretly snapped photo. I clicked on it, my heart seizing in my chest. The girl in the photo was me. With trembling fingers, I swiped to the next slide—surveillance screenshots of her so-called “johns.” A second later, a bitter, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. They weren’t “men.” They were Doordash drivers, a late-night pharmacy courier, and a guy in a bright neon jacket dropping off an expedited lens rental. 1 The comments beneath the post were a toxic sludge of internet misogyny. “Damn, she’s busy. Five guys couldn’t finish the job? Absolute garbage.” “Always the ones who look like sweet girl-next-door types. Textbook serial hookup.” “Six dudes in one night? Drop the @, I want to see what the hype is about.” A violent tremor wracked my body. My fingernails dug so hard into the leather case of my phone that I thought it might crack. This was blatant, malicious defamation. I whipped my head around to look at the front desk. Krystal was leaning against the back counter, clutching her phone, a smirk plastered across her face. Her thumbs flew across the screen, a soft, self-satisfied giggle slipping out of her every few seconds. I stared at her, completely bewildered. I had never met this woman before today. I had done nothing to her. Why was she trying to destroy me? The anger hit me like a physical blow, a rush of heat straight to my brain. I wanted to storm over, grab her by her cheap polyester lapels, and smash her phone into pieces. But as I began to stand, the sharp sting of my nails biting into my palms anchored me. Breathe, I told myself. Think. If I confronted her right now, she would deny it. Worse, she would flip the script, filming my outrage and spinning it as the hysterical meltdown of a guilty woman. I would be backed into a corner, completely defenseless against the court of public opinion. I took a long, ragged breath, forcing the violent urge down into a cold, hard place in my chest. Moving methodically, I began taking screenshots. I captured the original post, the security footage stills, and dozens of the most vile comments. Then, I typed out a reply under my real name. “I am the person in the photo. The men in the surveillance shots are food delivery drivers and couriers. The stain on the bed is spilled water. The hotel has the full, unedited hallway security footage to prove this. Delete this post immediately, or my next call is to the police.” I hit send. The notification came almost instantly. Krystal hadn’t just replied to me—she had pinned my comment to the top of the thread. “Ooh, the star of the show has arrived! At least put some effort into your lies, honey. Five delivery guys in one night? Do we look stupid? Let me guess, they were delivering emergency condoms because you blew through your stash?” The thread exploded. The digital mob, armed with anonymity, descended in droves. “LMAO ’emergency condoms’, OP is a savage!” “Still trying to lie her way out of it. Embarrassing.” “Stop playing the victim and get out of our city, you filthy skank.” Before I could even process the vitriol, the page refreshed. Krystal had posted a new update. She had linked my personal Instagram handle. “Everyone go take a look! This is her account. Plenty of skimpy little photos on there too!” Within minutes, the floodgates opened. Thousands of strangers swarmed my profile. My notification chime went off like a fire alarm, freezing my phone screen entirely. When it finally caught up, I opened the comments on my most recent post—a completely standard, stylized editorial shoot I’d done for a boutique clothing brand. The comment section had turned into a cesspool. “Dressed like that, no wonder you need six guys a night.” “What’s the hourly rate? If a Doordash guy can hit it, so can I.” “Check your Venmo, baby. Accept my request and let’s talk business.” Something inside me snapped. The quiet restraint I had been holding onto evaporated. I marched across the marble floor and slammed my palm flat onto the front desk. “Delete it. Now.” Krystal barely flinched. “You are committing cyber harassment and defamation,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I have screenshots of everything. If you don’t take it down this second, I am calling the cops.” She looked at me, gave a theatrical sigh, and rolled her eyes. “Why are you barking at me? Who’s defaming who? I’m posting on my own time. What does that have to do with you?” Without breaking eye contact, she leisurely tapped her screen. “Call them. Go ahead. Let’s see if the police care about a cheap escort’s hurt feelings.” I let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. I was just pulling up the dialpad when a push notification dropped down from the top of my screen. It was an alert from the neighborhood app: Live Stream Started. It was Krystal’s account. She held her phone up, angling the camera to capture both her face and me standing in the background. She smiled, a greasy, conspiratorial grin meant for her viewers. “Hey guys, welcome to the live. There she is, the lot lizard herself, throwing a tantrum in my lobby.” She leaned in close to the mic. “The manager isn’t here yet, so I’m gonna take the master key, go up to her room, and do a little unboxing video for you guys!” She winked at the camera. “Let’s go investigate the crime scene. Let’s see if she left any tools of the trade behind. Tap that heart button and stay tuned!” The viewer count skyrocketed past a thousand in seconds. The chat was a blur of rapid-fire text. “DO IT! Let’s see the nasty room!” “Careful girl, don’t catch anything in there lol!” “Zoom in if you find the wrappers!” My head snapped up. Krystal had already pulled a silver master keycard from the drawer. Holding her phone out like a shield, she practically sprinted toward the elevators, her face flush with the thrill of the chase. 2 She practically ran down the carpeted hallway, stopping in front of my room. The lock clicked green, and she barged in before I could even get my arm across the doorframe to stop her. The room was exactly as I’d left it: a few empty takeout bags on the desk and my heavy, expensive camera equipment neatly packed in the corner. But a second later, Krystal let out a wildly exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God! Guys! Look what I just found!” She let out a shrill, mocking laugh, thrusting her camera directly into the small mesh trash can by the nightstand. I followed the lens, and my entire body went rigid. Lying right on top of the trash was a used, torn condom wrapper and the discarded latex itself. Impossible. I had been up until 3:00 AM editing photos. I hadn’t left the room except to grab my deliveries from the door. There was absolutely zero chance that was in my trash can. A hot, blinding fury spiked in my chest, but just as I opened my mouth to scream at her, I caught a micro-expression on Krystal’s face. I saw her hand, the one not holding the phone, subtly wiping something against the seam of her uniform slacks. A sickening realization washed over me. For the sake of internet clout, this girl had brought her own prop. The anger vanished, replaced by an icy, crystal-clear calm. I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “Are you absolutely certain,” I asked, my voice chillingly steady, “that you found that in my room?” She didn’t miss a beat. “What, you’re still playing dumb? The evidence is right here! Unless you think it’s mine?” She pointed the camera closer. “Look at this, guys. Extra-large, ribbed. Our girl likes to play rough! Gotta wonder how much damage she’s taking with a revolving door of guys!” The live chat was moving so fast it was unreadable, a waterfall of crude jokes and visceral hate. “Boom. Caught red-handed.” “Her face right now lmao, she knows it’s over.” “What kind of Doordash comes with that kind of tip??” “Thinking about six dudes using that bed makes me wanna puke.” Krystal looked at the viewer count—it was surging past five thousand. She was practically vibrating with triumph. She shoved the phone screen toward my face. “Lost your voice? You were acting so tough down in the lobby.” She sneered. “The proof is right here. Let’s hear the excuse now. You’re treating everyone on the internet like they’re idiots.” I looked at her smug, victorious face, and the corners of my mouth slowly curled into a smile. It reached my eyes. “Well, since you’re so adamant that this was found in my room…” I tilted my head. “And since I know, for a fact, that I was completely alone in here last night…” I paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough. “I wonder how that got there.” The chat was still roasting me, calling me a pathological liar. “Give her an Oscar!” “The gaslighting is insane. Just admit you’re a pro.” Krystal let out a barking laugh, looking at me like I was pathetic. “You don’t remember? Honey, after five or six guys run through you, I’m sure you just blacked out and forgot!” “Okay.” I nodded slowly. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. “Hi, 911? I need to report a crime.” I locked eyes with Krystal. Her smile faltered. I pitched my voice up, letting a raw, panicked edge bleed into my tone. “I stayed at a hotel in your jurisdiction last night. I was traveling alone. But this morning, the front desk attendant found a used condom in my room.” “I have no memory of this happening. I was entirely alone!” I let my voice crack. “I believe I was drugged. I believe multiple men assaulted me while I was unconscious!” I hung up the phone and smiled brilliantly at Krystal, whose face had just drained of all color. “The police are on their way. Don’t go anywhere.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “After all, you’re the one who found the evidence. You are my star witness.” 3 Panic hit Krystal like a freight train. She lunged forward, her manicured hands clawing for my phone. “No! That’s not what happened! It’s not!” I sidestepped her smoothly, grabbing her by the collar of her uniform and yanking her back into the frame of her own live stream. “Not what?” I demanded, my voice ringing out clearly. “Didn’t you just swear, on camera, that you watched five or six men enter my room last night?” “Didn’t you just discover the physical evidence?” “Are you going to look at the thousands of people watching right now and tell them you made it all up?” Krystal was paralyzed. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, her face flushing violently purple. She couldn’t form a single word. The live chat abruptly shifted tone. The mob realized something was horribly wrong. Within ten minutes, heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and two uniformed police officers stepped into the room. “Who called it in?” the taller one asked, his hand resting near his radio. I let the tears come. It wasn’t hard—the adrenaline and the sheer exhaustion of the morning pushed them right to the surface. I practically threw myself forward, gripping the officer’s sleeve. “Officers, thank God you’re here!” I cried, my voice trembling perfectly. “I ordered dinner last night, ate it, and passed out. I was dead to the world. But this morning, this receptionist came in and said she found that in my room!” I pointed a shaking finger at the trash can, letting massive tears spill down my cheeks. “I’m a young woman traveling alone! I don’t know where that came from! I don’t remember anything! Someone must have slipped something into my food!” I gripped his sleeve tighter, letting out a jagged sob. “And she—” I pointed at Krystal, “—she said she watched multiple men go into my room! She gave explicit details online! She saw them! She’s the key witness to my assault!” The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The officers’ expressions hardened into dead-serious professionalism. The lead officer turned slowly, fixing Krystal with a severe, intimidating glare. “You witnessed this?” he barked. “Can you identify the men? Give me physical descriptions. We need to pull the hallway security footage right now.” Krystal shrank back, her knees literally knocking together. “I… I…” She stammered, swallowing hard before screeching in panic. “The cameras are broken! They didn’t catch anything!” I let out a ragged breath, swiping at my eyes, and pointed at the trash can. “If the cameras are broken, we have the physical evidence. The DNA of the men who did this to me is right there. Please, you have to bag it and send it to the lab. Run it through the system. You have to find out who did this!” The word DNA seemed to short-circuit Krystal’s brain. She had brought that wrapper from home. If the police ran forensics on it, her fingerprints—or worse, her husband’s DNA—would be the only things on it. It would prove she fabricated a crime scene. She would be going to jail. “NO!” She shrieked, diving toward the trash can. She snatched the latex and the wrapper in her bare hands and hurled them frantically out the open window. “What the hell are you doing?!” the officer roared. Tampering with a crime scene in front of the police was the dumbest thing she could have done. Both officers lunged. They grabbed her by the arms, twisting her around and pressing her face-first into the wall. “You are destroying evidence in an active felony investigation!” Krystal was pinned, sobbing hysterically, completely unravelling. Just then, a heavy-set man in an ill-fitting suit squeezed through the door, sweating profusely. It was Todd, the hotel manager. “Wait! Wait! Officers, please, this is a massive misunderstanding!” He wiped his forehead, immediately turning his wrath onto Krystal, putting on a show for the cops. “What is wrong with you?! Is this how I trained you? You can’t even handle a simple checkout without bothering the police?!” Having established his dominance, Todd turned back to the officers with a greasy, placating smile. “Officers, look. That… item… it was left behind by the previous guest. Our housekeeping staff just missed it during turnover. It’s a sanitary issue, nothing more.” While he spoke, he shot Krystal a sharp, threatening look. She caught the cue instantly. “Yes! Yes, I was confused! I made a mistake!” Todd rubbed his hands together, bowing slightly toward the officers. “See? Just a simple mix-up. This is an internal management failure, and it has caused this poor woman unnecessary distress.” He turned to me, his smile not quite reaching his cold eyes. “We will absolutely discipline her, and of course, your stay with us is completely comped. Free of charge.” He gestured toward the door. “So, if we’re all settled here, we shouldn’t keep these fine officers from their important work, right?” He was already ushering the cops toward the exit. I looked at his broad, sweating back, my expression hardening into stone. “Hold on.”

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We were only days away from the engagement party when Declan suddenly announced he wanted to host a high school reunion. He claimed he had some “unfinished business” to attend to before settling down. He tasked Kevin, our old senior class president, with organizing a party centered around a deck of cheap, alcohol-fueled dare cards. Only the single people from our graduating class were invited. The rule was simple: draw a card, do the dare, and pull in whoever the card specified. Declan and I had been quietly dating for six years. We’d never told a single soul from high school. When it was Declan’s turn, his face went completely blank as he pulled a card from the glass bowl. The card commanded him to sing a romantic duet with the person in the room he most regretted not dating. The moment he read it out loud, the rented private room practically exploded. A dozen hands shoved the girl in the white slip dress directly into his chest. They locked eyes for a split second before both of them blushed and stared at the floor. Kevin smacked his own thigh, practically vibrating with excitement. “Man, you two not working out back then broke all our hearts! But look at this! Fate always finds a way, right?” Listening to the roar of agreement from the room, a dry, hot sting crept into my eyes. Six years of building a life together, and I still couldn’t compete with the ghost of his first love. When the song mercifully ended, it was my turn to draw. My card instructed me to pick a guy in the room at random and ask him for one massive favor. I let my gaze sweep slowly across the dim room. When my eyes brushed past Declan, I didn’t pause. But he flinched, his eyes darting away in a sudden panic, terrified I was going to choose him and blow our cover. My voice was perfectly even when I called out Elliot’s name. In the corner of the room, the quiet, impeccably dressed guy lifted his head, his dark eyes widening in surprise. I looked right at him. “Do you want to marry me?” Without missing a beat, Elliot held my gaze. “I do.” 1 The air in the room caught fire. “Holy shit! Margot, you absolute legend! You don’t say a word all night, and then you drop a nuke!” Declan’s head snapped up. His face was a mask of pure displeasure. He grabbed his phone and his thumbs started flying across the screen. My phone vibrated furiously against the sticky tabletop. I didn’t even look at it. Kevin was already making the rounds with a pitcher of beer, shaking his head in awe. “God, Margot, you’ve gotten so much funnier since high school! Going straight for the quietest, sweetest guy in the room!” He bodily shoved Elliot into the empty seat next to me, his eyes bouncing between us like he was appraising a painting. “I honestly can’t believe you two are still single. Look at you. The aesthetics alone… you’re actually a terrifyingly good match. Right, guys?” Two dozen pairs of slightly drunk eyes pivoted to us, and the teasing erupted all over again. “Wait, he’s right! How did we never see this?” “You guys should actually go out. Imagine the power couple energy!” Declan pointedly ignored the crowd. He tapped the back of his phone against the table, glaring at me, silently ordering me to check my screen. Stop messing around. Please. After tonight, I’m done playing. I swear I’m going to commit to you completely. Just let this be the period at the end of the sentence for me and Michelle, okay? Let me have closure. The lukewarm beer had been sitting in my mouth so long it only tasted like bitter ash. Beside me, Elliot quietly took the half-empty beer glass out of my hand. He replaced it with a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, sliding it precisely into my line of sight. “Have something sweet,” he said. His voice was a low murmur, his eyes as impossibly clear as river water. “Damn, man. You look like a saint, but you move fast,” Kevin whispered loudly, leaning heavily over Elliot’s shoulder. “You have no idea how hard Margot is to get. Back in the day, half the football team…” “Kevin,” Declan cut in. His voice was flat, carrying a cold edge that sliced through the laughter. “A joke is only funny for so long. People might actually start taking you seriously.” Kevin’s grin froze. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, muttered something about needing more ice, and vanished into the crowd. “Michelle.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a strange gravity that sucked the noise right out of the room. “Let me toast to you and Declan.” A shy, delicate smile bloomed on Michelle’s lips. She reached for her cocktail glass. “Everyone used to say you two were made for each other. Soulmates,” I said, letting a soft, self-deprecating laugh slip out. “I didn’t believe it back then. But I do now. I hope you guys finally figure it out and make it last.” I delivered the words with absolute, terrifying sincerity. Michelle’s eyes actually welled up with tears. She lifted her glass to clink mine, but before the crystal could touch, a large, familiar hand intercepted. Declan’s fingers clamped over the rim of her glass. The entire table went dead silent, staring at him. Declan was staring only at me. I blinked back at him, modeling an expression of polite, mild confusion. Right as the silence became unbearable, Declan spoke. His voice was tight, layered with exhaustion and irritation. “Michelle… has an alcohol allergy. I’ll drink it for her.” The room collectively exhaled into a chorus of teasing groans. “Here we go again! Mr. Chivalry strikes again!” It was the same script every year. Every reunion, he drank whatever was handed to her. Then he’d call an Uber Black, load a completely sober Michelle into the back seat, and ride with her all the way to her apartment building. “Michelle is just too naive,” he had told me once. “I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t see her walk through her front door.” There would be no exception this year. And clearly, there would be none next year, either. I smiled—a bright, devastating flash of teeth—buried the hollowness in my chest, and drained the glass of orange juice Elliot had poured for me. The game moved on. Declan read the next card aloud. His voice wavered. “Show everyone the most recent note in your phone’s Notes app.” 2 Declan hesitated. His eyes flicked to me, guilty and frantic. He pulled out his phone with agonizing slowness, exited our chat, opened the Notes app, and tried to scroll past the top. Kevin swooped in, snatching the phone right out of his hand, and bellowed the text to the room: “The Little One’s restricted list: Mangoes, alcohol, peanuts.” The Little One. His pet name for Michelle. “Ooooooh!” The room erupted into wolf whistles and table pounding. “The Little One!” Michelle’s face flushed a deep, pretty crimson. She shot Declan a look of pure, manufactured outrage. Declan shifted his weight, clearing his throat awkwardly. The second he got his phone back, my screen lit up again. Don’t overthink this. I made that note back in high school when I got my first iPhone. The minute we sign the venue contract, I’m deleting it. I didn’t text back. I just leaned back in my chair and watched the room fawn over them. It wasn’t just that note. I knew what else lived in his phone. Declan’s digital life was a meticulously curated shrine to Michelle. He tracked her menstrual cycle. He had her grad school schedule saved. He kept photos of her ID, her passport, her social security number. If Michelle forgot her own bank routing number, she texted Declan for it. Every time we went out for a Sunday brunch, an alarm would go off on his phone. The label always read: Remind The Little One to take her meds. “She’s a space cadet,” he’d laugh, his eyes softening into absolute adoration. “If I don’t remind her, she’ll go a week without her prescriptions.” He held every mundane detail of Michelle’s existence in his brain, protecting it like state secrets. But when it came to my birthday, he had to search my name in his text history just to remember the date. When you finally step back from the canvas, it’s brutally obvious what love looks like, and what it doesn’t. Was I only seeing it tonight, or was tonight simply the first time I was brave enough to admit it? The final card of the night went to Michelle. Her voice was sweet, soft as spun sugar. “Read the fifth Instagram post on the feed of the person you have feelings for.” She unlocked her phone with an elegant swipe, tapping into the profile photo I knew better than my own reflection. She scrolled down to the fifth photo and read the caption in a gentle hush: “Walking past the arch in Washington Square Park. Heard some guy butchering a song, and it made me think of a certain someone.” Michelle smiled shyly, holding the phone up and panning it around the table so everyone could see. The screen flashed past my eyes. It was a photo of the park at night, the streetlamps casting long shadows, illuminating a guy in a red beanie strumming a guitar like his life depended on it. My breath caught in my throat. I had never seen that post. But I remembered that night with agonizing clarity. It was the night both our families had dinner together in the city to finalize the engagement details. After dinner, our parents had practically shoved us out the door to take a romantic walk. We had wandered into Washington Square Park, my hand freezing in his. Under the iconic arch, a guy in a red beanie was battling the winter wind, singing his heart out. He was decent on the guitar, but his voice was an absolute atrocity. It was the kind of tone-deaf wailing that made you want to hand him twenty bucks just to beg him to stop. I had tugged on Declan’s sleeve, shivering, wanting to get to the subway. But he wouldn’t budge. I turned around to find him staring at the singer with a massive, nostalgic smile on his face. He was completely captivated, pulling out his phone to take a picture, quietly humming along to the awful, off-key melody. “Let’s go, it’s freezing,” I had snapped, my teeth chattering. He had looked down at me, his eyes swimming in a soft, distant affection that wasn’t meant for me. “Margot, don’t you think it has a certain charm to it?” And so, like an absolute idiot, I stood freezing in the New York winter, waiting for a terrible love song to end. It made perfect sense now. On the day I finally committed to spending the rest of my life with him, his head was entirely consumed by Michelle. “Whoa, wait a second! Dec, how come I never saw that post?” Kevin was practically yelling, sensing the drama. “Spill! Was that an ‘Only Share With One Person’ kind of post?” Declan threw a panicked look my way. All the color drained from his face. He forced a stiff laugh, trying to play it off. “It was probably a privacy setting I forgot to change. You guys know how much corporate garbage I post, I didn’t want you all to mute me.” Michelle rushed to his defense, her tone protective. “That’s just how Dec is! He posts five times a day like a brand account. If you saw all of it, you’d unfollow him immediately.” I opened Instagram, went to his profile. All I could see were four or five links to finance articles. A text banner dropped down from the top of my screen. That’s in the past. Once we’re engaged, my feed will only be you. I placed my phone face down on the table. A girl sitting near the end of the table squinted at me. “Hey, wait. That photo Dec took was in New York, right? But Margot, didn’t your family’s manufacturing company keep you down in North Carolina? Why are you suffering up here in the city?” I offered her a smooth, practiced smile. “I actually just put in my notice at my firm here. I’m moving back to Charlotte permanently.” Declan bolted upright in his chair. The muscles in his jaw locked as he stared at me, unblinking. 3 “I knew it!” Kevin cheered, banging the table. “Who in their right mind ignores a multi-million dollar family business just to grind it out in a New York cubicle?” He raised his glass high. “Let’s get a toast going for our girl Margot, heading down south to claim her throne!” I stood up, holding my glass of juice, keeping my smile perfectly polished. “The millions might be an exaggeration, but the move isn’t. If any of you ever find yourself in North Carolina, drinks are on me.” The whole table stood up to clink glasses. The whole table, except Declan. He sat frozen in his seat, staring a hole through me. Michelle had to lean over, her long hair brushing his shoulder, whispering something soft in his ear before he finally snapped out of his trance and slowly raised his drink. An hour later, the room was a blur of noise and spilled drinks. My phone rang. I slipped out into the quiet of the hallway to take it. “Margot, honey, I told you from day one this boy wasn’t it,” my father’s voice boomed through the receiver. “I don’t care that his family doesn’t have our kind of money. Your mother and I never cared about that. But the boy doesn’t even pay attention to you.” He sighed, the heavy, protective sigh of a father. “Look at that dinner we had. We order a massive seafood tower, and after six years together, he somehow doesn’t remember you’re allergic to shellfish?” “I’m glad you woke up,” he continued. “But the invitations are already out. The country club is booked. Do you maybe want to get a coffee with Elliot? You know, the son of the family friend we introduced you to?” “If it works, we just swap the groom. If it doesn’t, we call off the wedding later. His family has been asking about you for years, Margot.” I finally found a gap in his monologue. “Wait, Dad. What did you say his name was?” My dad perked up. “Elliot! You met him briefly at that gala. Oh, he’s a fantastic kid. Polite, smart.” “I took one look at him and loved him. Your mother adores him. If you ask me, you need a guy like that—someone who handles the home front while you take over the company…” “Dad,” I interrupted smoothly. “You don’t need to set up a coffee date. Just keep the reservations.” After all, I had just proposed to the man twenty minutes ago. I hung up the phone and turned around. Declan was blocking the hallway, his face a storm of anxiety and anger. “Why didn’t you talk to me before you quit your job?” he demanded. I met his gaze dead-on. “Why would I need to consult you about my career?” He rubbed his temples aggressively, like I was the one giving him a migraine. “Stop acting like this. Please. You know I can’t leave New York. I promised Michelle’s grandmother I’d look out for her, and she doesn’t have anyone else in the city…” “That sounds like your problem, Declan,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “You don’t need to explain it to me.” I walked past him, pushing open the heavy door to the private room. The volume hit me like a physical wave. The moment I stepped inside, a girl I vaguely remembered from AP Chem grabbed my arm. “Margot! Are you getting married?! We wouldn’t even know if Kevin hadn’t seen an invitation at his dad’s house! Were you just not going to invite us?” There was no point in dodging it. I hadn’t planned to, anyway. “We’re sending the invitations out in waves,” I lied effortlessly. “The high school batch is going out next week. The party is on the eighth of next month. I’d love it if you all came.” When Declan and I were doing the guest list, he had fought me tooth and nail to keep his name off the exterior envelopes, terrified Michelle might see one on a mutual friend’s fridge and get her feelings hurt. It worked out perfectly. I didn’t even have to order new stationery. Declan, who had followed me back into the room, let out a massive, shuddering breath of relief when he heard me say the date. He immediately went back to his seat next to Michelle. He tapped a few things into his phone, then devoted his entire existence to serving her dinner. Whenever a dish had chili flakes, he meticulously rinsed the meat in a glass of water before placing it gently on her plate. Michelle ate without looking up, entirely accustomed to being worshipped. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Thank God you’re not actually mad. I thought… Actually, quitting your job to focus on the wedding is a great idea. You’ve been so excited about the planning. Now you can handle the details yourself. Give me a couple of days to get Michelle settled with some things, and I’ll take you ring shopping. I didn’t care about the texts anymore. I swiped the notifications away without opening them. I was sitting next to Elliot, my entire focus zeroes in on the subtle shift in his posture. He was looking down at his phone. His dark eyes widened. He closed the app, opened it again, and stared at the screen, double-checking whatever message he’d just received. On the outside, I looked like a woman coolly sipping her water. Inside, I was vibrating with anxiety. Elliot had had a massive crush on me years ago. But back then, I was so blinded by Declan that I had rejected him outright. By the time I realized I should have been gentler about it, his eyes were already red, and he had walked away. And now here I was, years later, publicly cornering him into an engagement. What if he doesn’t like me anymore? What if he’s seeing someone? What if he’s still angry about how I treated him? A warm, dry hand slid across the table and covered my right hand. The frantic beating of my heart instantly leveled out. I stole a glance at him. Elliot was looking at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners with quiet amusement. It felt like every star in the night sky had been pulled down and poured into his gaze. So this was what it looked like when a man actually saw you. 4 “Alright, alright, the bride-to-be!” Kevin yelled, banging his beer glass on the table. “You hide a whole wedding from us? That’s a three-drink penalty, Margot!” I laughed, poured three small glasses of beer, and downed them back-to-back. “So who’s the mystery man?” the girl next to me asked, practically vibrating with gossip. “Do we know him?” I nodded calmly. “You do.” The entire room leaned in. “Is he here tonight?!” My phone was having a seizure on the table. Declan’s panic was radiating from across the room. Don’t say anything yet. Michelle isn’t emotionally prepared. Let me break it to her gently. I need time. Please don’t build your happiness on her trauma, okay? I looked down and saw Elliot watching me, a faint, supportive smile on his lips as I navigated the chaos. “He’s here,” I said softly. “Who?! Oh my god, wait, is it actually Elliot?” Elliot gave his head a microscopic shake. He didn’t want the spectacle. Before anyone could press further, Declan practically launched himself out of his chair. He waved his hands, forcing a strained, booming laugh. “Alright, let the girl eat! Stop interrogating her. You’ll embarrass the guy. Everyone will find out on the eighth anyway.” Kevin smirked. “Look at Dec, getting all defensive! Man, you and Michelle have been dancing around each other for years. It’s about time you gave her a ring, too!” A girl across the table sighed loudly. “Dec treats her like absolute royalty. I bet he already bought the ring and is just waiting for her to say yes.” Michelle lowered her head, a blush creeping up her neck as she took a delicate sip of her drink. For the first time all night, Declan didn’t have a witty comeback. He stayed dead silent, and the air in the room grew thick and uncomfortable. The news of the engagement meant people kept coming up to toast me. By the time the party finally broke up, the edges of my vision were delightfully blurred. Elliot had quietly sourced a glass of warm water and a hangover pill from somewhere. He stood over me, watching to make sure I swallowed it before heading out to pull his car around. On the other side of the room, a small commotion broke out around Michelle. “Michelle spilled a drink on her dress,” Declan’s deep voice carried over the chatter. “I need to get her home.” He stripped off his heavy wool trench coat and draped it over Michelle’s shoulders, cocooning her completely against the winter chill. The black car he’d ordered was already idling by the curb. He ushered Michelle into the backseat. As he turned back around to wave at the remaining crowd, I was already walking toward Elliot’s sleek SUV. We were driving through the night, straight down to North Carolina. Our families were waiting for us in the morning to finalize the shift in the wedding plans. I heard Kevin punch Declan in the shoulder. “Dude, Margot is literally getting married, and you didn’t even raise a glass to her tonight. You’re so obsessed with Michelle you don’t even see anyone else.” I didn’t turn around to see it, but I knew what Declan’s face looked like as he watched my retreating back. He shoved down the uneasy, twisting feeling in his gut and muttered his usual mantra. “It’s fine. We have the rest of our lives. I’ll make it up to her later.” I climbed into the passenger seat of Elliot’s car. The cabin was exactly the right temperature. The speakers were playing a low, acoustic playlist I loved. The air smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry—a scent that instantly put my nervous system at ease. Everything felt as though it had been perfectly calibrated for me over a thousand lifetimes. I leaned my head against the leather seat and closed my eyes, letting the safety wash over me. There was no “later” for us, Declan.

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My wife, Madeline, told me I looked like I was drowning. She claimed the stress of the firm was eroding me, so she staged an intervention of sorts: a two-week paid sabbatical. She wanted me to take our daughter and fly across the Atlantic, to find some version of myself that wasn’t tethered to a desk. I was ecstatic. I spent the afternoon packing, humming to myself as I folded sundresses and tech gear, until I reached into the back of our shared closet to find a stray shoebox. Inside, tucked beneath old tax returns, was an envelope that looked too fresh to be a relic. The handwriting on the front was a jagged, familiar scrawl. “Madeline, it’s been seven years. I’m finally divorced. Would you still marry me? If you’re willing to give us another chance, I’ll be waiting at the bridal boutique on 5th and Main. The 19th. Please.” Today was the 19th. It explained why Madeline had skipped breakfast and practically bolted out the door this morning, mumbling something about a last-minute project and an all-day quarterly review. She wasn’t at the office. She was with Damian, the “one who got away”—the ghost of a man she’d spent the last seven years pretending to forget. I gripped the letter so hard the paper bit into my skin. I waited for the pain, for the sharp sting of betrayal to register physically, but there was only a hollow, ringing silence. Fine. If she believed her past was a better destination than her present, I wasn’t going to argue. But I was making a choice too. This trip wouldn’t be a vacation. Zoe and I weren’t coming back. … Dinner was cold by the time Madeline walked through the door. She looked exhausted, collapsing onto the sofa with a theatrical sigh. I played the part. I sat beside her, pulled her head onto my lap, and began kneading the tension out of her shoulders. She closed her eyes, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Luke,” she murmured, her voice like honey. “I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you. I’m the luckiest woman alive.” I felt a sharp prick of irony. “You’ve said that a thousand times, Madeline.” “Because it’s true.” I stood up. “Stay there. I’ll go get Zoe for dinner.” As I moved to leave, she caught my hand. I looked down at her. She didn’t speak for a moment, just searched my face with an intensity that felt almost mourning. Then, she pulled me into a fierce, desperate hug. “Luke… two weeks is a long time. I’m going to miss you both so much it’ll ache.” “Then come with us,” I said, testing the water. She pulled back, her gaze flickering. “I can’t. The merger… it’s too much. I have to stay.” “Work is important, Madeline,” I said softly, “but don’t forget to breathe while we’re gone.” “I know. I will.” We sat down, but she barely touched her food. Within ten minutes, she was standing up again, grabbing her coat. “The team is waiting for me. I have to go back in. Finish eating, okay?” I followed her to the door, a plate in my hand, playing the doting husband one last time as I coaxed her to take a few bites of steak before she left. I watched her car pull out of the driveway, the red taillights disappearing into the dusk like fading embers. Later, while Zoe was finishing her homework, I went back to the closet. I found the letter again, reading it until the words blurred. My heart was a lead weight in my chest. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. “Hey,” she picked up on the third ring. Her voice was breathless. “Where are you?” I asked. “The office. Where else? It’s a madhouse here.” In the background, I heard a wet, soft sound—a muffled laugh, the unmistakable friction of skin on skin. “Shh, not now,” I heard her whisper, though she thought the phone was muffled. “Luke? Look, I’m right in the middle of a deck review. I have to go. It’s going to be a late one, so don’t wait up for me. Kiss Zoe for me. Bye.” The line went dead. I stared at the screen until my knuckles turned white. My intuition wasn’t just whispering anymore; it was screaming. At 1:00 AM, the ghost of a key turned in the lock. Madeline stumbled in, smelling of expensive bourbon and something sharper—a heavy, musky men’s cologne. Her hair was damp at the temples, plastered to her forehead by sweat, and as she reached up to adjust her collar, I saw it. A dark, plum-colored bruise on the side of her neck. She saw me sitting in the dark and flinched, the intoxication momentarily clearing from her eyes. “Luke? Why are you still up?” Usually, she’d fall into my arms the moment she got home. Tonight, she kept a careful three-foot perimeter between us, as if the air around her was contaminated. “Is it hot out?” I asked, my voice devoid of inflection. “You’re soaked.” “I… I had a few drinks with the partners after we finished,” she stammered. “I’m going to jump in the shower.” She started toward the bathroom, but I stepped into her path. A flash of pure panic crossed her face. “Madeline…” “Luke, please, I’m just tired—” “Give me your clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash for you so they’re ready for tomorrow.” “No!” she snapped, then softened her tone. “No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. Just go to sleep. I’ll be out in a minute.” She pushed past me, retreating into the bathroom like a soldier into a bunker. I heard the lock click. Then the deadbolt. The next morning, the atmosphere in the house felt brittle. I found Zoe standing in the hallway, her bottom lip trembling, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Hey, Peanut,” I knelt beside her. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head, refusing to look at me. It took five minutes of gentle coaxing before she finally cracked. “Dad… remember that bag Mom bought? The one with the designer’s signature on the leather?” I nodded. “The limited edition one. She told me it was your tenth birthday present.” “She took it when she left this morning.” “Where?” “She didn’t say. She just… she just took it.” My stomach turned. I pulled out my phone and called Madeline. “Where is Zoe’s bag?” I didn’t bother with a greeting. “What bag?” her voice sounded distracted, muffled by street noise. “The limited edition one. The birthday gift.” “Oh. That. You both misunderstood. That wasn’t for Zoe.” “You told her it was for her tenth birthday, Madeline. She’s been counting down the days.” “Look, I changed my mind. It was for a client. It’s too expensive for a ten-year-old anyway; I don’t want her growing up with that kind of entitlement. It’ll just make her difficult to manage later. If she wants a bag, take her to the mall and buy her something from the department store.” Her voice was cold, transactional. I hung up without saying another word. I walked Zoe into her room to find the “replacement” gift Madeline had mentioned. There, on her nightstand, sat a small velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny heart charm. I stared at it, a cold chill settling in my bones. Zoe had received this necklace two years ago. I had bought it for her eighth birthday. Madeline hadn’t even bothered to buy something new. She had scoured Zoe’s own jewelry box, found something she’d forgotten about, and re-gifted it to her own daughter as a distraction. Zoe started to cry in earnest then. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. “Forget the bag, okay? This afternoon, we’re going to the flagship store. You can pick out any bag you want. Anything in the store.” She sniffled, looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. I smiled for her, but inside, I was finished. Madeline was a stranger now. Ever since Damian had resurfaced, she hadn’t just checked out of our marriage; she had checked out of her motherhood. She had made her choice. A moment later, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to a contact I’d been ghosting for weeks. “I’m in. I accept the offer.” It wasn’t long before the reply came through. “Mr. Anderson, we are thrilled to have you. The terms remain the same: Head of Global Operations, London office. We’ll have the contracts ready for signing immediately.” I typed back: “I’ll be there in a few days. I’ll need help with a permanent residence. I’m bringing my daughter. We’re settling there for good.” “Consider it done. The firm will purchase the property under a corporate holding and deed it to you as a signing bonus. A fresh start for you and the little one. See you soon.” I spent the afternoon packing the last of our essentials. To keep my promise, I took Zoe to the luxury shopping district. We were walking toward the leather goods boutique when I saw a familiar silhouette through the glass. It was Damian. And he wasn’t alone. “Dad, look!” Zoe whispered, pointing. “That’s my bag!” Beside Damian stood a young girl, roughly Zoe’s age. Slung over her shoulder was the distinct, limited-edition bag Madeline had promised our daughter. “Luke. It’s been a long time.” Damian had noticed us. He turned, a smug, relaxed grin on his face, and began walking toward us, his daughter in tow. “Seven years, isn’t it?” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Close enough. I was abroad for the duration. Just got back a few days ago.” He reached out as if to ruffle Zoe’s hair. “And this must be little Zoe.” Zoe flinched away, letting out a sharp cry. “Ow! You pinched me!” I pulled her behind me, noticing a red mark blooming on her cheek. He hadn’t been trying to be friendly; he was marking territory. He hated me because I had lived the life he wanted for seven years. “Careful, Damian,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Oh, she’s just sensitive,” he laughed off. He gestured to his own daughter. “This is my girl, Bella Madeline.” Bella Madeline. The name hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t even being subtle. He wanted me to know that Madeline’s name—and her heart—belonged to his family tree now. “Funny,” I said, my jaw tight. “My wife’s name is Madeline.” “Is it? Small world.” He smirked. “We should catch up properly sometime. I’m just out with Bella today. A very dear ‘Auntie’ gave her this bag as a homecoming gift, and she insisted on coming out to buy a matching charm for it. She hasn’t taken it off since she got it.” I looked at the bag. “Must have been expensive.” “A few thousand, I hear. I don’t follow the trends, but hey… it’s the thought that counts, right? And she’s got a lot of ‘thought’ for my little girl.” “That’s my bag!” Zoe yelled, her voice cracking with the indignity of it all. “Don’t be a brat,” the girl, Bella, snapped back. She looked Zoe up and down with a sneer that was far too adult for her face. “My Auntie Madeline gave this to me. It’s worth more than your whole life. You couldn’t even afford the strap.” She was a mirror image of Damian’s arrogance. Zoe’s eyes filled with tears. She looked at me, her voice trembling. “Dad, Mom said that was for me. She promised.” “Honey, stop dreaming,” Bella mocked. “You’re not the type for labels. You’re more… Walmart.” Damian didn’t stop her. He stood there, looking at my daughter’s heartbreak with a sense of triumph. He let Bella flaunt the bag, pivoting it in the light so the gold signature caught the sun. “See this?” Bella continued. “One of these costs more than your dad makes in a month. If he sold you, he still couldn’t buy it back.” Damian finally offered a half-hearted cough. “Bella, play nice. She’s younger than you.” Bella rolled her eyes. “I’m not being mean, Dad. I’m being honest. She’s pathetic.” “Dad…” Zoe sobbed, clutching my hand. “Come on,” I said, my voice cold and hard. “We’re going inside.” I led Zoe into the boutique. Damian followed us in, seemingly intent on rubbing salt in the wound. Every time Zoe looked at a bag, Damian would signal a clerk. “We’ll take that one too. Wrap it up.” I watched him, my expression unreadable. He gave me a mock-apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Luke. I spoil her. Once she sets her sights on something, I can’t say no. You know how it is.” “Does a child really need twenty designer bags, Damian?” “Probably not. But she’s got a very generous benefactor paying the tab.” He pulled out his phone and hit a speed-dial. “Hey, babe. Bella and I are at the boutique on 3rd. We’ve picked out a few things. Why don’t you swing by and settle the bill?” Ten minutes later, Madeline came rushing through the door, breathless and glowing. “Just put it on my card,” she told the clerk before she even looked at the group. “Auntie Madeline!” Bella squealed, throwing herself into Madeline’s arms. Madeline picked her up, laughing, kissing her cheek with a warmth she hadn’t shown Zoe in months. “I gave you a bag this morning, you little rascal. Are you already shopping for more?” Bella pointed over Madeline’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to, but she was looking at the ones I wanted. I had to have them.” Madeline turned around, the smile still on her face. Then she saw us. She froze, the color draining from her skin until she looked like a marble statue.

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I was walking home from school, shoulder-to-shoulder with the girl I had grown up with, the girl I had loved for as long as I could remember. Then, a voice that wasn’t mine scraped against the inside of my skull. It was her voice, but she hadn’t opened her mouth. It was her inner thoughts. Did Noah bring an umbrella today? It’s pouring. Her mind was entirely occupied by the new transfer student—Noah, the incredibly handsome guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Before I could even process the shock, a sharper, far more vicious thought pierced my brain: If my family’s company didn’t desperately need the Crawford money, I wouldn’t spend another second pretending to tolerate Tim. Following me around every single day after school… it’s suffocating. So, that was what I amounted to in her eyes. A suffocating nuisance. I am Tim Crawford. 1 Hearing those words echo in my head, my entire body went rigid. I stopped dead in my tracks. Beside me, Camilla Scott kept her eyes cast downward, her jaw set in that familiar, aloof line. Her lips were firmly pressed together. She definitely hadn’t spoken aloud. Yet, her voice continued to detonate inside my mind. I heard Noah lives all the way out in the Heights. The roads flood so badly over there. God, I’m so worried about him. I just want to drive him home. Ugh, this is so annoying. If I could just find an excuse to ditch Tim… My feet felt like they were cast in concrete. A wave of profound bewilderment washed over me. Camilla lazily lifted her eyelids, shooting me a glance so devoid of warmth it felt like a physical blow. Having known her for over a decade, I was well aware of her icy, detached demeanor. She was never one for words, and I had long ago conditioned myself to accept the emotional scraps she threw my way. But right now, looking into her eyes, I saw something I had never allowed myself to see before: clear, unadulterated disgust. Suddenly, a timid, male voice echoed from the back door of the classroom building. “Camilla… my umbrella broke.” 2 I turned around on instinct. Noah was standing right behind us. His knuckles were white as he gripped a cheap, plaid umbrella. One of the metal ribs had snapped, dangling pathetically in the wind. “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t want to bother you guys, but I can’t afford to ruin my textbooks in the rain…” He trailed off, his gaze darting up to catch Camilla’s eye. The rims of his eyes were flushed red, brimming with a perfectly calibrated mix of anxiety and helplessness. He had only transferred to our prep school last week and barely spoke to anyone. For him to suddenly approach the coldest girl in school for help was… unexpected. Camilla was infamous for despising inconvenience. She was ruthless when she wanted to be. But this time, she paused. When she finally spoke, her cool, crisp voice cut through the sound of the rain. “Tim, I can’t walk home with you today.” “Since Noah lives so far out, I’m going to drop him off.” Her face was an impenetrable mask. If I hadn’t been listening to the live broadcast of her internal monologue, I would have honestly believed this was just a pragmatic, charitable decision. “And what about me?” I asked, a bitter, mocking edge bleeding into my tone. Camilla frowned. “Your driver is literally idling at the front gates, isn’t he?” “Just use Noah’s umbrella for the walk over. It’s a short distance. You’ll survive a few raindrops.” Without waiting for an answer, she snatched the broken umbrella from Noah’s hands and shoved it against my chest. 3 Seeing my silence, Noah’s face twisted into a mask of overwhelming guilt. He twisted the hem of his uniform sweater, his voice trembling. “No, I couldn’t possibly ask Tim to use a broken umbrella… I’ve imposed on you both too much.” “Let’s just forget it. I’ll just make a run for it.” He took a step back, pretending to brace himself for the storm, but Camilla immediately reached out, her fingers wrapping tightly around his forearm. She turned to me, her brow furrowed in silent warning, her lips drawn into a tight, displeased line. Then, her mind screamed into mine. Here we go again. Tim’s throwing another one of his little tantrums. I am so sick of this. He’s spent his whole life coasting on the Crawford name, thinking the universe revolves around him. Well, I’m done catering to his fragile ego. I like Noah. Does he really need me to spell it out for him? I can’t let Noah walk home in the rain… My lungs suddenly felt too small. Something fundamental and fragile was quietly shattering against my ribs. Before she could open her mouth to scold me, I took a deliberate step backward. “Go ahead,” I said. “Both of you.” I watched Camilla exhale a quiet breath of relief. She turned her body toward Noah, her voice softening to a murmur. “Give me your backpack, Noah.” Noah shot me a look—hesitant, almost apologetic—before nodding obediently and ducking under Camilla’s wide, designer umbrella. In a matter of seconds, their silhouettes melted into the heavy gray curtain of the rain. I looked down at my hands. Then, I tossed Noah’s broken umbrella onto the wet concrete and walked out into the storm. At the school gates, the headlights of the sleek black SUV cut through the gloom. Thomas, our longtime driver, froze for a second before hastily popping open a massive umbrella and jogging toward me. “Tim? Where’s Camilla? Why are you alone?” “Just drive, Thomas,” I said, sliding into the leather backseat. I leaned my head against the cool glass, my throat burning with a sudden, agonizing tightness. 4 When I walked through the front door, my mother’s face instantly fell into a mask of panic. She rushed over with a towel, aggressively drying my hair while she scolded me. “Tim Crawford, what on earth were you thinking? You’re drenched!” “Where is Camilla? Doesn’t she ride back with you every afternoon?” “Look at you, your lips are turning blue! If your father finds out about this while he’s closing that deal in London, he’ll charter a flight back tonight…” “Mom.” I lowered my eyes, cutting off her frantic rambling. My voice sounded raw. “I just want to go up to my room and sleep.” She stopped rubbing the towel, her gaze lingering on my pale face for a long, quiet moment. “Maria,” she called out to the housekeeper, turning toward the kitchen. “Boil some ginger tea, immediately. I’ll bring it up to him myself.” She didn’t press me for answers. I changed out of my ruined uniform and walked upstairs. When my bedroom door clicked shut, the silence of the house finally swallowed me whole. But my mind refused to quiet down. The scenes from the afternoon looped endlessly behind my eyes. I thought about the faint, genuine smile that had tugged at Camilla’s lips when she looked at Noah. I thought about the sheer exhaustion and irritation in her eyes when she looked at me. Sitting there in the fading light, the truth finally sank its claws into me. I wasn’t losing my mind. The voices I heard weren’t hallucinations. Camilla didn’t just tolerate me for the perks; she actively despised me. I had spent my entire life rationalizing her behavior, telling myself she was just built differently—that her coldness was a shield she used against everyone. It took a supernatural intervention for me to finally see the pathetic reality. She wasn’t incapable of warmth. She just didn’t want to waste it on me. The heavy silence of my room was shattered by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. The caller ID flashed in the dark: Camilla. 5 The moment I answered, her voice lashed out through the speaker. “Tim, what exactly did you tell your parents?” “It was pouring rain. I simply offered Noah a ride home. Did you really have to run crying to my father about it?” I could hear her breathing over the line—shallow, erratic, panicked. It was rare to see her lose her composure like this. “Camilla,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Did you call just to interrogate me?” “Or did you genuinely believe that just because my parents didn’t make a fuss, your father wouldn’t find out what you did?” Dead silence on her end. Through the phone, my newfound ability to read her mind seemed to be offline. But I didn’t need a superpower to picture the venomous scowl twisting her perfect features. After a long agonizing minute, she spoke, her tone dripping with ice. “Could you not just cover for me this once?” “At the end of the day, you’re just throwing a tantrum. You purposely let—” I took a deep breath, letting the final thread of my childhood affection snap. “Camilla. Why the hell is it my responsibility to cover for your messes?” Whatever she was about to say died in her throat. 6 A dark, bitter laugh escaped me. “You think your dad heard it from me?” “Are you that naive? How many sets of eyes do you think your father has watching us every single day?” “He, better than anyone, knows exactly how many multi-million dollar contracts the Crawfords have handed to the Scotts to keep you afloat.” There was a muffled thud on the other end of the line, like she had slammed her fist against a desk. “Are you done?!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Why?” I countered smoothly. “If I stop saying it out loud, does it stop being the truth?” For years, there were unspoken rules between us. Things I knew but never voiced to protect her pride. But silence is not ignorance. The Scotts were a sprawling, chaotic family with too many heirs and too little liquid cash. Camilla had once been the quietest, most overlooked daughter in the bunch. But the Crawfords were old money, deeply rooted in the city’s power structures for three generations, and I was the sole heir to the entire empire. My parents adored me, and by extension, they extended their gilded umbrella over my favorite childhood companion. Because of me, the Scott Corporation—which had flirted with bankruptcy more than once—was thrown lifelines. Debt forgiveness. Premium real estate developments. Exclusive supply chain contracts. Because I stood next to her, Camilla was suddenly viewed as the golden goose by her ruthless father. She went silent again, calculating her next move. When she finally spoke, the panic was gone, replaced by a suffocating, arrogant entitlement. “I’m not going to contact you for a while, Tim.” “Take some time to reflect on how you’re acting.” Before I could even formulate a response, the line went dead. 7 The cold war began. I knew she was waiting for me to crack. She was waiting for me to show up with an apology and a peace offering, just like I had after every minor argument we’d ever had since we were kids. Day three of the silent treatment. I was walking down the main hallway toward my AP Economics class when Noah suddenly collided with me. Before my brain could even register the impact, he was already sprawled out on the polished marble floor, clutching his ankle, his face contorted in exaggerated agony. The hallway traffic came to a halt. A dozen pairs of eyes locked onto the spectacle. From the crowd, a sharp, furious voice rang out. “Tim, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I turned. Camilla was glaring at me, her eyes practically radiating disgust. On the floor, Noah bit his lower lip, forcing his voice into a trembling whisper. “It’s not Tim’s fault… I was just walking too fast.” He’s so sweet. Look at him, still trying to protect Tim even after what he did. I ignore him for three days, and his response is to physically bully Noah? He really is a spoiled, vindictive brat. Once I take over my father’s company, I am going to make Tim pay for this. The thoughts fired into my brain like a machine gun, loud and violently clear. 8 I casually scanned the circle of students watching us. My pulse was completely steady. “He walked into me,” I stated flatly. Camilla’s brow pinched in deep irritation. “Just stop. Why are you even lying?” “What, you think he threw himself on the floor and sprained his own ankle just to frame you?” She sneered the last word, dripping with condescension. I looked down at Noah, who was still wearing his mask of perfect victimhood. “Actually, yeah,” I said smoothly. “Because he knows there’s someone pathetic enough to come running like a dog off its leash to defend him, regardless of the facts.” A collective gasp sucked the air out of the hallway. Noah’s head snapped up, a single, perfectly timed tear tracking down his cheek. “Tim, I know you hate me, but how could you say something so degrading to Camilla? She was just trying to help…” Camilla’s fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned stark white. “Are you really going to push it this far, Tim?” “It’s obvious you haven’t learned a damn thing from this space I’ve given you—” “If you think I’m out of line,” I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave, “then you should probably sever ties with the Crawford family.” “I’ll make sure to let my parents know your stance when I get home. You might want to start prepping your PR team.” There it is again. Every time he throws a fit, he uses his family’s money to threaten me. Whatever. He’s bluffing. I’ll ice him out for a few more days, and he’ll come crawling back. When he finally calms down, I’m making him apologize to Noah on his knees. Her internal monologue laid out her delusional strategy bare. “Whatever. I don’t care,” she shot back, her voice dripping with ice. She leaned down, slipping an arm around Noah’s shoulders, hauling him to his feet. “Just hold onto me,” she murmured softly. “I’ll take you to the nurse.” Noah leaned heavily against her, the tear still wet on his cheek. But as they turned away, the corner of his mouth quirked up, and he shot me a look of triumphant, undisguised mockery. I didn’t even flinch. I just turned and walked into my classroom. 9 My father flew back from London that evening. Behind the heavy oak doors of his study, he loosened his silk tie and tossed a thick manila folder onto his mahogany desk. “Take a look. That’s the proposal from the Scotts.” “It’s the Eastside Development project. Robert Scott has been blowing up my phone for weeks, but I’ve been stalling.” “What do you think, Tim?” I knew exactly how my father felt about the Scott Corporation. Over the years, the Scotts had built their empire using the Crawfords’ blueprints, our capital, and our political connections. My father was a man of straightforward integrity; he had always loathed Robert Scott’s slimy, opportunistic business practices. The only reason he had tolerated them—the only reason he had poured millions into their sinking ships—was because he loved me. He saw how devoted I was to Camilla, and he had operated under the assumption that he was funding his future daughter-in-law’s inheritance. But judging by the cool detachment in his voice, he had already caught wind of the shifting tides at school. His patience with the Scotts had evaporated. I looked him dead in the eye. “Dad, I was stupid for a long time. But I’m awake now.” “Cut them off. We’re done doing business with the Scotts.” A slow, proud smile spread across his face. He pushed the heavy folder toward the edge of the desk. “Done. I’ll make the call.” “But I want you to remember something, Tim. You are a Crawford. You are the future of this empire.” “You don’t ever bow your head to anyone.” Looking at the fierce, unwavering loyalty in my father’s eyes, I gave a firm nod. 10 My dad didn’t reject their proposal outright. Instead, he employed a much crueler tactic: radio silence. He ignored every call, letting the Scotts drown in their own mounting panic. Back at school, I went to the administration and requested a seat transfer. As I was packing up my books, Camilla glanced up from her iPad. Finally moving. I can actually breathe. After what he did to Noah, I need to ice him out longer to teach him a lesson. But… what if he goes after Noah while I’m not around? Her concern was entirely misplaced. For the next few weeks, I completely erased Camilla from my orbit. I didn’t text her. I didn’t wait by her locker. I took the chauffeured car home alone. I gave her all the suffocating “space” she could ever want. She lived in blissful ignorance, genuinely convinced I was just throwing a prolonged tantrum. Meanwhile, her romance with Noah blossomed into a public spectacle. She tutored him in the library. She took detention with him when he was late. For Noah’s birthday, she gifted him a custom-engraved silver ring with their initials. At first, the whispers in the cafeteria were filled with pity and amusement directed at me. Everyone knew Camilla and I had been practically attached at the hip since childhood. The rumor of our inevitable arranged marriage was prep school lore. But when it became blatantly obvious that I was entirely unfazed—that I wasn’t plotting a comeback or brooding in the corner—the gossip died out. I was boring. I had moved on. This fragile ecosystem lasted for about half a month. Until Robert Scott finally hit a wall with his stalling investors, and turned the pressure on his daughter. 11 With the Eastside project in limbo and their invitations to Crawford galas politely declined, the Scott family’s cash flow was drying up. To make matters worse, a massive piece of commercial real estate they had mortgaged was bleeding them dry, waiting for an injection of Crawford capital that was never coming. Unable to hold out any longer, Robert Scott dragged Camilla to the Crawford estate. In our sprawling living room, Camilla sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, her head bowed, her jaw locked. Her thoughts, however, were screaming. Three investors pulling out on the same day? Bullshit. The Crawfords absolutely orchestrated this behind the scenes. There is no way Tim has the guts to pull this off. It has to be his old man pulling the strings. They’re just bitter that I’m choosing Noah, and they’re using dirty financial warfare to force me to crawl back to Tim. I don’t get it. We’re the Scotts. We’re a massive corporation. Why does my father act like we’ll die without the Crawfords? I shouldn’t have to sell myself to Tim. Seeing Camilla’s stubborn silence, Mr. Scott leaned forward, offering a pristine folder to my father with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Richard, this is the revised proposal for the Eastside deal. We’ve restructured the profit-sharing entirely in your favor. Just let me know if there’s anything else you’d like adjusted—” My dad took the folder, didn’t even open it, and dropped it onto the glass coffee table with a heavy thwack. “Robert, since you came all the way out here, I’ll spare you the corporate dance.” “We are not funding this project. Furthermore, the Crawford Group will be systematically divesting from all current joint ventures with Scott Corp.” The blood drained from Robert Scott’s face, leaving him a sickly, translucent white. He scrambled to speak. “Richard, please. We’ve known each other for decades. We’re practically family! Why take it this far?” “I know you’re upset about the friction between the kids. That’s why I dragged this ungrateful daughter of mine here today.” He whirled around, his voice vibrating with sudden, explosive rage. “Apologize to Tim! Now!”

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I was just settling into bed, sliding my noise-canceling headphones on to drown out the world with some lo-fi beats, when the music cut out. Instead of the soothing piano, a high, saccharine giggle bled through the speakers. “I told you she was faking that strawberry allergy,” a girl’s voice whispered, thick with a performative shyness. “Did you hear her earlier? She wasn’t exactly holding back.” “I timed you guys, by the way,” a second voice chimed in—a different girl, playful and sharp. “Two hours and twenty-three minutes. Honestly, Mr. Shaw, I’m impressed. You’ve got stamina.” The words hit me like a physical blow. My eyes snapped open, the darkness of the bedroom suddenly feeling claustrophobic. My mind flashed to the kitchen trash can. Earlier this evening, I’d seen a discarded carton of organic strawberries—a premium brand we never buy. When I’d asked Beckett about it, he’d hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling me into his arms. “One of the guys from the firm dropped it off after drinks,” he’d murmured against my neck. “You know how the junior associates are—always trying to kiss up with ‘thoughtful’ gifts they don’t realize will kill my girlfriend. I told them to take it back, but they insisted. I’ll toss it, babe. Don’t worry about it.” Then he’d kissed me. He’d kissed me until I stopped asking questions, until I felt guilty for even noticing. I’d told myself that the corporate world was just like that—boozy, boundary-crossing, and full of tasteless jokes. I didn’t want to be the “difficult” girlfriend. Now, the lie tasted like ash. The bathroom door creaked open. Beckett stepped out, steam clinging to his skin, a towel low on his hips. I watched him, my heart hammering against my ribs, and forced a jagged, cold smile. “Since you’re keeping a timer to spice things up,” I said, my voice eerily steady, “why don’t you just invite them over to ‘enjoy’ the show in person?” … The call disconnected with a sharp click. Beckett froze, seeing me staring him down. He let the towel slip slightly, a smug, practiced look in his eyes. “You want another round, Gwen?” “Doesn’t your little fan club get jealous?” I gestured toward my headphones, my smile widening into something bitter. “The Bluetooth auto-synced to your phone again. I caught the tail end of the commentary.” The blood drained from his face. He scrambled for his phone on the nightstand, his thumb swiping frantically. The silence in the room became deafening. I answered the question he was too afraid to ask. “I heard everything. I heard how she left the strawberries out on purpose to see if I’d react. And I heard her complimenting your… performance.” Beckett’s jaw tightened. The charming facade was cracking. “Making an intern buy your condoms is cheap, Beckett,” I spat. “At least have the decency to use your own credit card next time.” I turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist. “She’s just an assistant, Gwen. She’s a kid. She has a big mouth and a dark sense of humor.” He was scrambling now, his voice dropping into that soothing tone he used for clients. “It’s not what you think. We had a department dinner, played a round of Truth or Dare, and I lost. I couldn’t exactly back out without looking like a stiff…” The chill in my chest deepened. He wasn’t even trying to give me a good lie. “Whatever. There are a few boxes left in the nightstand. Don’t let them go to waste.” “Gwen!” His grip tightened. “Are you really doing this? You can check my phone. I tell you everything. I give you a play-by-play of my entire day. You really have that little trust in me?” I looked at him—really looked at him. I saw the fine lines creeping around his eyes. We’d been together for seven years. Seven years since I’d quit my stable job back home to follow him to Seattle, to live on instant noodles in a cramped studio just so he could chase this version of himself. I remembered the way he looked when he promised he’d build us a life. We’d spent five years in the trenches together, and we’d finally made it. My friends told me to be careful—that men change when they finally get a taste of power. I thought he was the exception. Looking at this bedroom now, I realized I was just the rule. “I’m tired,” I said, pulling my arm away. “I’m going to sleep.” I went to the closet to grab a spare blanket, but when I pulled the door open, I stopped. All our crisp white linens were gone. In their place was a stack of blankets in a garish, neon lime green. I hate green. I’ve always insisted on white. Beckett has mild red-green color blindness; he never buys anything in those shades. “Spring is coming,” he said from behind me, his voice thin. “I thought the place needed some color. Something… lively.” I didn’t bother responding. I walked into the living room. The minimalist sanctuary I’d spent years curating was gone. There were plush stuffed animals on the sofa. Pink adhesive stars on the walls. Even my hand-woven rug had been replaced by a cheap, trendy cartoon-character mat. No wonder he’d covered my eyes when I walked in from my business trip earlier. He’d claimed it was a “surprise.” He hated clutter. He hated “cute.” My phone buzzed. An unknown number. “Hey, sorry! It’s Lexi, Mr. Shaw’s assistant. That call was just a stupid dare, totally didn’t mean anything. If I offended you, I’m so, so sorry!” A second message followed immediately. “Mr. Shaw and I spent three whole days redecorating the place while you were gone. He said the apartment felt cold and depressing, like a museum. Doesn’t it look so much brighter now? Please take the makeover as my apology gift! I just know you’re going to love it.” Beckett stood in the doorway, watching me read. “Lexi was just trying to help, Gwen. She’s a sweet girl. She apologized. Don’t be petty.” I dug my nails into my palms. My home—the one I’d built with my own hands while he worked eighty-hour weeks—had been gutted. And now, I was being told to be “the bigger person” in the face of a blatant territorial marking. I started grabbing things. The stuffed animals, the stars, the rug. I threw them all into a pile by the door. Beckett watched me, his expression shifting from guilt to a simmering, defensive rage. Finally, he grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him. I packed my bags. I didn’t know how far they’d gone, but I knew I was done breathing this air. It tasted like rot. At 5:00 AM, Beckett returned. He was carrying a bag of fresh donuts and expensive coffee. “It’s pouring outside, Gwen. Where do you think you’re going?” He tried to take my suitcase, his voice casual, as if the last eight hours hadn’t happened. He set the donuts on the table. Back in the early days, this would have been a luxury. We used to share one cruller, laughing about how we’d eat steak every night once he made partner. Seeing him now, fumbling with the coffee cups, I felt a ghost of that old affection. But it was overshadowed by the realization that I didn’t recognize the man in front of me. “How long?” I asked, leaning against the back of a chair. He nearly choked on his coffee. “I told you, it was a dare! Lexi and I are strictly professional. How much more drama are you going to milk out of this?” “A month ago,” I said, my voice flat. “I found a pair of boxers in the laundry that aren’t yours. Then there were the DoorDash receipts for a pharmacy—ibuprofen and Midol delivered to your office, things you never take. And that air freshener in your car? Since when does a thirty-two-year-old man like the smell of ‘Sugar Sparkle’?” The room went silent. Beckett set his cup down with a deliberate thud. He stood up and stared at me for a long time. “You’re leaving because of… errands?” His voice was thick with disappointment. “The firm is full of Gen Z kids, Gwen. I felt old. I wanted to fit in. Is it a crime to want to feel relevant at my own company?” It was a pathetic excuse. “You need to stop hanging out with your sister,” he continued, his voice gaining strength as he shifted the blame. “She’s miserable in her own marriage, so she wants everyone else to be as paranoid as she is.” That did it. The heat flared up in my throat. “Leave my sister out of this! And have some goddamn dignity, Beckett!” “I am doing this for us!” he roared, finally snapping. “I work myself to the bone so I can provide for you! Do you have any idea how many women throw themselves at me? And I turn them down! Every single one! What more do you want? Do you want to drive me into their arms? Is that the goal?” A year ago, Beckett couldn’t even win an argument with me without blushing. Ever since Lexi joined the firm, he’d learned how to weaponize guilt. “Did Lexi teach you that line, too?” His flinch told me everything. “I am done talking about her! Everyone at the office loves her. She’s bright, she’s capable, and she has a hell of a lot more heart than you do right now!” He didn’t even notice the small, subconscious smirk playing on his lips. It was the same look he used to have when he introduced me to his friends. The front door opened. A shivering, soaking wet Lexi stood in the entryway. “Mr. Shaw… you forgot your jacket in my car.” So, there was a third person with the code to our apartment. My stomach turned. I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound. Beckett looked at me, ashamed for a second, but his body moved before his brain could catch up. He rushed to her, draping a towel over her head. “Why did you come out in this? I could have picked it up later.” “I was just scared…” Lexi peeked at me from under the towel, her eyes wide and watery. “I was scared Gwen would misunderstand. I wanted to apologize again.” Beckett gave me a look. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I didn’t move. Lexi twisted her fingers together. “Gwen, honestly, Beckett and I are just friends…” I looked at the faint, purple mark on her neck she was trying—and failing—to hide with the towel. “Stop. I really don’t care about the logistics of your hookups. Since you brought breakfast, consider it my housewarming gift to the new couple.” I walked out to the sound of her sobbing and his hushed comforts. But the weather was brutal, and it was too early for an Uber to accept the fare. An hour later, Beckett came down to the lobby, supporting a trembling Lexi, who was now wearing one of my sweaters. When he saw me still standing there, he actually chuckled. “I thought you were so ‘done,’ Gwen. Turns out you’re just standing in the rain.” Lexi lunged toward me, grabbing my arm. “Gwen, please! It’s all my fault. Don’t leave because of me, I’ll go, I’ll quit…” I tried to shake her off. She went down like a sack of bricks, collapsing onto the marble floor. “Gwen!” Beckett screamed, rushing to her side. Lexi moaned, shaking her head. “I can’t get up… go to her, Beckett. I’m fine, really…” “I’m taking you to the ER,” Beckett said, lifting her into his arms without a backward glance. Three hours later, my phone rang. I thought maybe he’d realized she’d faked the fall. Maybe he was calling to see if I’d finally caught a ride. “You are unbelievable,” he barked the moment I picked up. “Lexi was trying to be kind, and you pushed her? Do you have any idea how hard she’s crying right now? You’re going to come down here and apologize to her.” “Or what, Beckett?” “Or you can see how far that ‘freelance’ income gets you on your own. You’ve had it too good for too long, Gwen. You’ve forgotten who actually pays for your life.” I hung up. He was the one who had forgotten. He’d forgotten the girl who worked two jobs to pay his bar exam fees. He’d forgotten the girl who believed in him when he was nothing. A week of silence followed. Then, a text from Beckett. “My parents are in town. We’re doing dinner at the Grill. You’re not going to blow them off, are you?” He sent the location. “Everyone knows we’re supposed to get married this year. Please, Gwen. Just stop the theatrics and show up.” I thought about my own parents, how proud they were of my “successful” fiancé. I thought about the messy divorces my friends were going through. I felt trapped. I dressed up. I did my makeup in a way that made me look younger—a desperate, subconscious attempt to compete. When I arrived at the restaurant, I could hear the laughter from the private room. I pushed the door open. Lexi was sitting right between Beckett and his mother, her mouth moving a mile a minute. I froze in the doorway. Lexi scrambled to her feet. “Gwen! I was shadowing Beckett for a client meeting today, and his parents were so sweet, they insisted I join. You don’t mind, do you?” Beckett’s mother smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Gwen is always so sensible. She knows you’re Beckett’s right hand. She wouldn’t dream of being petty.” If I caused a scene now, I was the villain. “Sit,” Beckett said, pulling out a chair. “We were just waiting for you.” The waiter brought a dessert platter. Lexi expertly picked up a chocolate truffle and fed it to Beckett. He’s always hated sweets, but he ate it without a word. Seeing my expression, Lexi chirped, “Oh, don’t mind us! Beckett’s been so stressed with the merger, he keeps skipping meals. I make sure he gets some sugar for energy during the day.” Beckett’s mother nodded approvingly. “A good assistant thinks of everything. Honestly, Beckett, she’s a treasure.” She glanced at me. “Some people are about to join this family and still haven’t learned how to take care of a household. Being an ‘illustrator’ is all well and good, but you can’t eat a drawing. You should take notes from Lexi on how to actually support my son.” She conveniently forgot the five years I spent bankrolling his life with my “drawings.” I looked at Beckett. He stayed silent. Maybe he agreed. Maybe he just wanted to punish me. “It’s fine, Mrs. Shaw,” Lexi said, her voice dripping with fake humility. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling. “You don’t mind, right, Gwen?” “Of course not,” I said, my voice hollow. Lexi beamed. She grabbed a water glass to toast me. “To the happy couple!” Predictably, her hand “slipped.” Half a glass of ice water splashed directly into my face. She jumped up, dabbing at me frantically with a napkin, smearing my mascara across my cheeks. “Oh my god, Gwen! Your skin is so clear without the makeup! We should take a selfie!” Before I could react, her phone was up. The flash blinded me. I knew what the photo looked like: me, disheveled and aging, next to her, glowing and youthful. I swiped the phone out of her hand. Beckett immediately pulled her toward him, scowling at me. He noticed the water had made my blouse transparent. He started to take off his blazer, but Lexi let out a tiny, theatrical sneeze. “I’m so cold,” she whispered. The blazer that was meant for me redirected to her shoulders. “Don’t start,” Beckett warned me. “Lexi has to travel with me for a conference tomorrow. She can’t get sick.” I stared at him. “Beckett, was the point of this dinner to show me how much your parents prefer your mistress?” Beckett’s face turned purple. “Gwen, enough! My parents are right here! Why are you always attacking her? She’s done nothing but try to be your friend!” Lexi started to sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll go…” I stood up. “No. You stay. I’m done.” I looked at Beckett’s parents. “The wedding is off.”

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