Category: English

My classmate Missy—now engaged to the city’s richest bachelor, Carter Thorne—sent a group chat invite to everyone but me. “I’ll serve tea to Carter’s great-grandaunt tomorrow,” she wrote. “Certain jealous people should stay away.” It started when a photo surfaced of me kissing Carter’s forehead, calling him “sweet boy.” For two years, Missy branded me a homewrecker and bullied me relentlessly. I replied: “Even if invited, I’m busy overseeing my junior’s engagement.” The next day, they ambushed me at the party. “You shameless bitch!” they screamed, breaking my hands, killing my cat, and locking me in a dog cage after pouring chili oil on me. Meanwhile, Missy knelt for hours, begging the great-grandaunt to accept her tea. Too bad my hands were broken. I couldn’t drink it anyway. 1 Carter Thorne, the powerful tycoon who ruled the city’s business world, was kneeling respectfully before me, docile as a puppy. “My fiancée, Missy Vance, is a sweet and sensible girl. I’ve brought her here today for Great-Grandaunt’s approval. She’ll serve you tea and pay her respects, and from now on, she’ll join me in honoring you.” Sweet and sensible? The memory of Missy’s vicious words in the group chat made me frown. Carter’s grandfather, his hair already silver, saw my displeasure and immediately dropped to his knees, assuming he’d overstepped by arranging the engagement without my consent. “Although the younger generation is quite fond of this girl, if you do not approve, Aunt, then she is not worthy of marrying into the Thorne family.” The Thorne family was a century-old dynasty with strict, unbending rules. Though I was young, my seniority in the family was absolute. I held the reins of the family’s resources and its very future. To the outside world, he was the revered patriarch of the Thorne family, but in my presence, he had to kneel, never daring to cross the line. I gave him a cold smile and gestured for him to rise. “It’s fine. Let things proceed as planned.” She didn’t want me at her engagement party? I’d like to see how Missy Vance planned on marrying into my family. After they had all respectfully departed, a message popped up on my phone. The contact name read: That Annoying Dog, Damien Sterling. “Babe, when are we going to go public? If you don’t give me a proper title soon, I’m going to have to show up at your door and demand one.” The four great families of the capital were currently in a delicate balance of power. Damien Sterling was the formidable chairman who presided over all four, including the Thornes. The man everyone else feared was a shameless flirt when it came to me. I couldn’t resist teasing him. “Then by all means, come.” After I was done with my duties, I realized I was starving. I picked up my cat, Patches, and wandered through the manor. The engagement party was being set up in the side hall, with staff already arranging decorations. The evening’s festivities hadn’t begun, and the guests hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone was busy. When I reached the main dining hall, I saw that the luncheon table, which should have been cleared hours ago, was untouched. I remembered then: no one eats until I do. I sat down and began to feast. I’d barely taken two bites when a sharp blow struck the back of my head, nearly sending my face into the bowl. A woman’s shrill voice screeched in my ear. “You filthy beggar! I haven’t even eaten yet, and you dare to steal food?” Clutching the throbbing back of my head, I looked up and met Missy’s eyes. She had no idea that the haute couture gown she was wearing was one I had personally selected, yet her eyes were filled with nothing but contempt for me. “Skylar Thorne, have you no shame? I told you not to come. Not only did you sneak in, but you’re freeloading here too.” Her three lackeys stood beside her, their faces mirroring her disdain. “Do you know where you are? This is the Thorne estate. A poor country bumpkin like you doesn’t belong here.” “Look at what she’s wearing, so provocative. She’s obviously here to seduce Mr. Thorne and ruin the engagement party.” “Exactly! And she had the nerve to call him her ‘sweet boy.’ Mr. Thorne is the future head of this family. Who the hell do you think you are?” I gritted my teeth and retorted, “When I call him my sweet boy, it’s an honor. He should be smiling in his sleep.” To gain my approval, Carter had gone to great lengths to please me. In a moment of affection, I had kissed his forehead like one would a cherished junior. He was overjoyed and posted about it online, which led Missy to believe I was trying to seduce him. That was the beginning of two years of relentless bullying. They tore up my homework, stuffed dead rats in my desk, and poured red ink on my chair. They even started rumors online that I was sleeping with a middle-aged teacher and that my sick days were for abortions. For two years, my reputation at school was in tatters. I reported them to the police time and again, but it always ended with a forced, meaningless apology. I never imagined she would be audacious enough to bring her cruelty into my own home. “I am Carter’s great-…” Before I could finish, Missy grabbed the soup tureen in front of me and dumped it over my head. “Ah!” The scalding broth streamed down my head. A searing pain shot through me, so intense it felt like my scalp was shrinking. Before I could recover, Missy grabbed my ponytail and slammed my head against the table. Bang, bang, bang. My face repeatedly hit the hard surface. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I let out a choked cry of agony. Missy burst out laughing. “Hahaha, listen to her. I bet she sounds just as slutty when she’s servicing a man.” The thought seemed to enrage her further. She ordered her friends to hold me down. “Since you dared to steal food, we’ll break your hands.” “Missy, you wouldn’t dare!” I screamed. The words had barely left my mouth when she grabbed the heavy tureen and brought it down on my hands. Again and again, a piercing, bone-deep pain shot through my fingers. I was held down so tightly I couldn’t move, forced to watch as she smashed my slender, white fingers, twisting them into grotesque, unnatural angles. Just then, Patches, who had been bristling with rage, leaped at Missy, scratching her hands. “Ah! You damn animal!” Missy kicked him, sending him flying across the room. “Patches!” While they were distracted, I fought through the pain, broke free, and threw myself in front of my cat. “Don’t you touch him! If Carter finds out, he’ll never forgive you!” Patches was a gift from my grandfather; he meant the world to me. The previous family head had been stripped of his title and cast out by the family council for accidentally stepping on Patches’ paw and making me frown. He was now a beggar. Carter had earned my approval only after meticulously caring for Patches, even catching his diarrhea in his bare hands. “That’s right,” one of the girls said, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. “I’ve seen the Thorne family’s cat in the news several times. It looks exactly like this one.” Missy, however, only grew angrier. “Are you trying to threaten me, you pathetic loser?” she sneered. “There are plenty of animals that look alike. Your cat is as worthless as you are. And even if it is the Thorne family’s cat, you think Carter would blame me over a damn animal?” A cold smile touched her lips as she exchanged a look with her friends. “Kill the beast. I’ll take responsibility.”

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1 Inside the Maybach, Ted was lost in Aurora’s kiss. The hazy glow of the city lights blurred past the tinted windows as he leaned back into the plush leather, the intoxicating scent of her perfume clouding his senses. She was a whirlwind of controlled passion, her lips claiming his with a fierce possessiveness that left him breathless. Aurora pulled back just enough to whisper against his ear, her voice a low, husky murmur. “The partition is up, Ted. The driver can’t hear a thing. What are you so shy about?” He watched her, the woman who was always so composed, now moving with a raw intensity that made his face flush. He wrapped his arms around her, surrendering completely to the tidal wave of sensation she was building within him. It was climbing, cresting, about to peak when the shrill ring of her phone shattered the moment. Aurora frowned, annoyed by the interruption, but a glance at the caller ID made her answer. Ted, still catching his breath, saw the name on the screen: Yara, her best friend. “Aurora, are you crazy—?” Aurora cut her off, switching seamlessly to flawless Italian. “It’s not convenient. Speak Italian.” There was a sharp inhale on the other end, then Yara’s voice, now a torrent of angry Italian. “You really married Simon Shen? What were you thinking? You went blind saving him, and he abandoned you at the lowest point of your life! He ran off with another woman and nearly destroyed you. And now you’re back with him?!” The foreign words clicked into place in Ted’s mind, translating automatically. By the time he processed the meaning, a chill that had nothing to do with the car’s air conditioning seized him. It felt like falling into an ice cellar. Aurora, oblivious, replied calmly in Italian, “If I don’t marry him, the Shen family will force him to marry some old hag. I can’t bear to see him suffer like that.” “And what about Ted?” Yara shot back, her voice tight with fury. “He was the only one there for you when you were blind! He’s spent years loving you, practically tearing his own heart out for you. All of us see it!” “I’ll keep it from him,” Aurora said, her tone still cool and detached. “He’ll never know.” “How long can you hide it? A lifetime? Doesn’t Ted want to marry you?” The questions seemed to chip away at Aurora’s composure. Her voice grew clipped. “Just make sure the news of my marriage to Simon doesn’t get out. Tell no one. In a while, I’ll have a fake marriage certificate made for Ted.” She hung up, cutting off whatever else Yara had to say. Dropping the phone, she turned her attention back to Ted, her body moving against his once more. But the spell was broken. Ted’s body was trembling uncontrollably. As the moment passed and they began to straighten their clothes, he opened his mouth to speak, but her phone pinged again. A notification from a “favorite” contact. Aurora glanced at it, and her expression changed. “Stop the car,” she told the driver. She turned to Ted, her voice soft. “Darling, something’s come up at the office. I need you to get out here and grab a cab home, okay?” He said nothing, just gave a numb nod and opened the door. The black Maybach shot away like a bolt of lightning, leaving him standing on the pavement. He stared into the river of headlights, the city’s roar a dull hum in his ears. The dam of his composure finally broke, and tears streamed down his face. No one knew he had secretly learned Italian years ago, just to feel closer to her world. He had understood every single word. Each syllable echoed in his mind, a thousand tiny blades plunging into his heart, dredging up memories he’d long since buried. Aurora Murray was the untouchable heiress, and he was the housekeeper’s son. He remembered the first time he saw her, a sun-drenched angel at a grand piano in the Murray family’s magnificent villa. He had never heard music so beautiful, nor seen a girl so radiant. In that single glance, her name was carved into his soul. He never told anyone, knowing the chasm between their worlds was too vast. Besides, her heart already belonged to someone else: Simon Shen, her childhood friend. She had loved him openly, fiercely. At seventeen, she’d thrown herself in front of a car to save him, losing her sight in the accident. But from that day on, Simon vanished. He never visited, got a new girlfriend, and left Aurora to navigate her new, dark world alone. The busy Murray family had little time for a blind daughter, and she was relegated to the old family estate, forgotten. It was Ted who requested a transfer to the old house. For seven years, he was her world. Her hands, her eyes, her shadow. When she turned twenty-three, he knelt outside the home of a world-renowned surgeon for three days and three nights, begging until the doctor agreed to take her case. The surgery was a success. Her light, once dimmed, blazed back brighter than ever. In just one year, she reclaimed her position, becoming the heir to the Murray Corporation. He was the one who had stayed with her through every season, from the deepest night to the break of dawn. He was the one who held her, kissed her, made love to her. And the first thing she did with her reclaimed power was marry the man who had abandoned her. For years, he had worked tirelessly to close the gap between them, to become worthy. But Aurora’s parents only ever saw the housekeeper’s son. They tried to pay him off, again and again. Aurora always fought for him, and for her, he had never once considered leaving. Until today. Ted wiped his tears, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number. “Mrs. Murray,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll accept your fifty million. I’ll leave Aurora forever.” 2 A thrill of victory shot through Mrs. Murray’s voice. “You’ve finally come to your senses? It’s about time. A housekeeper’s son has no place with the heir to the Murray fortune. Where are you? Come sign the contract now.” An address popped up on his screen. With a bitter laugh, Ted hailed a cab. At the café, Mrs. Murray interrogated him, her questions sharp and clinical. Satisfied with his answers, she slid a contract across the table. “Black and white. No regrets once you sign. You’ll get half the money now, and the other half the day you leave the country. You are to ensure you never, ever appear in front of my daughter again. Understood?” Ted’s gaze fell on the astronomical sum listed in the agreement. His lashes fluttered. He would never appear again. Not in this life, not in the next. He picked up the pen and signed his name with a clean, decisive stroke. Mrs. Murray let out a relieved sigh, tucking the agreement away. “I’m giving you two weeks. Disappear. Change your name, move abroad, I don’t care how. Just make sure Aurora can never find you.” “I understand, Mrs. Murray. Don’t worry.” He watched her leave, then headed home. Making himself invisible to Aurora would be simple. The Murray family’s deep-rooted political history meant they were barred from leaving the country for three generations. If he emigrated, she would never be able to follow. After a long night of research, he settled on Australia. As he picked up his phone to check the time, a new social media notification caught his eye. It was Simon. A nine-photo grid. Three selfies of him holding roses, three photos of a marriage certificate in the center, and three of their hands, fingers intertwined. Ted knew Aurora would never have allowed this post. Simon must have set the visibility to “Ted only.” A deliberate, triumphant jab. Ted calmly liked the post. A moment later, a message from Aurora came through. “Darling, I have to go on a business trip. I won’t be back for a few days.” He replied with a simple “Okay” and went to wash his face. The next few days were a blur of logistics. He applied for an expedited visa, filed his resignation, and packed his life into boxes. Each day brought a new, poisoned post from Simon: touring a new villa in South Bay, trying on wedding suits with a diamond sparkling on his finger, posing in front of a massive wedding portrait in their new home. Ted liked every single one. He methodically purged his apartment of Aurora. Every gift she’d ever given him, the matching toothbrushes, the framed photos—all of it went into the trash. He was about to turn off the lights late one night when she suddenly returned. She froze in the doorway, her brow furrowing at the sparsely decorated room. “Why is so much stuff missing?” “I didn’t like it anymore,” he said calmly. “Threw it out. We can buy new things.” She nodded, tossing her coat on the sofa. Then her eyes landed on the packed boxes. “You quit your job?” She spotted his official documents on the coffee table. “Why is your passport out?” “I was tired, wanted to take a break,” he explained, tucking the documents into his bag. “And I needed it for some paperwork.” His placid demeanor seemed to satisfy her. She curled into his arms, her voice soft. “I know I’ve been busy. Your birthday is in a couple of days. How about I take you to the auction house tomorrow? You can pick out any gift you want.” He didn’t refuse. The next day, they had just taken their seats at the auction when Simon appeared, striding over with an arrogant swagger and sitting right next to Aurora. Throughout the evening, Aurora kept her head turned towards Ted, ignoring Simon completely. After the auction, she grabbed Ted’s hand and led him downstairs. Ted excused himself to the restroom. When he came out, he saw Simon cornered in the stairwell by a group of rowdy socialites. “Well, well, if it isn’t our dear Simon,” one of them sneered. “Abandoned the great Aurora Murray and now look at you. Isn’t this what you call karma?” “I hear your father is marrying you off to some rich old crone. You’re pretty enough. Why not come with us instead? We’ll be sure to take very good care of you…” The lewd suggestion was cut short. Aurora appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a mask of cold fury. She descended like a storm, kicking one of the women so hard she stumbled back. 3 With chilling efficiency, she slammed the ringleader to the ground, raining down punches until the women were a bloody, pleading mess. “We’re sorry, Ms. Murray! Please, forgive us!” “Get out!” she snarled. “If I ever see you near him again, you’ll regret it.” The terrified group scrambled away. A crowd had gathered, but Aurora ignored their stares. She helped Simon to his feet. “Are you hurt?” He collapsed into her arms, sobbing theatrically. “My ankle… I think it’s sprained. It hurts so much.” Aurora’s expression hardened. She supported him, pushing through the crowd. In her haste to shield him, she shoved past Ted, knocking him off balance. His head cracked against the hard edge of a step. A searing pain shot through his skull, and warm blood trickled down his temple. The onlookers gasped. “He’s bleeding! Someone call an ambulance!” Pain contorted Ted’s face as a cold sweat broke out over his body. The blood dripped onto his eyelashes, each drop feeling as heavy as lead. He watched Aurora disappear down the stairs without a backward glance, a bitter taste filling his mouth. He remembered a time he’d cut his finger while making soup for her. She had fussed over him for an hour, terrified it would scar. She had kissed his hand, murmuring, “Ted, you’re the most precious thing to me. When you’re hurt, I hurt more. Your hands will wear the ring I give you one day. They have to be perfect.” Now, he was bleeding on the floor, and she didn’t even see him. And the ring she’d promised was on another man’s hand. An ambulance took him to the hospital. He navigated the bureaucracy alone—registration, examination, prescription—and got home late into the night, the pain in his head making sleep impossible. Aurora never came home. The next morning, he dragged his exhausted body out of bed to change his dressing and saw Simon’s latest post: a video of Aurora kneeling on the floor, gently massaging Simon’s ankle and applying medicine. Ted watched it over and over, his eyes burning, until he finally drifted into a restless sleep. When he woke, it was dark again. His phone was vibrating. It was Aurora. “The Pavilion, Suite 703. Come now.” He hesitated, then pulled himself from bed and went. Pushing open the door to the private room, the first person he saw was Simon, looking like a wronged, innocent rabbit. Aurora sat opposite, her expression unreadable and severe. The silence stretched until Ted finally broke it. “Why did you call me here?” Aurora sat up straight, her posture radiating authority. “Ted. Those thugs yesterday… did you send them to harass him?” Ted froze. He glanced at Simon and caught the fleeting glint of triumph in the other man’s eyes. He understood instantly. This was all a performance, directed by Simon. A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “No. I don’t know them, and I have no interest in such games.” His denial did nothing to soften Aurora’s expression. “Ted,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, “the moment Simon chose to abandon me, I let him go. We’ve been together for seven years. You should know who is in my heart now. The Shen family is in ruins; anyone can kick them while they’re down. But that person shouldn’t be you. You don’t need to attack him on my behalf.” Her words were a physical blow. He remembered her screaming into her pillow at night, the frantic trips to doctors, the crushing despair when she was misdiagnosed as permanently blind… Seven years of hell, now dismissed as if they were nothing. He thought of the marriage certificate with Simon’s name on it, and tears pricked his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed grief. “Seven years. And only now do I truly understand who is in your heart.” Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” He shook his head, the mocking smile returning. “It means I’m just a housekeeper’s son. What power or connections could I possibly have to hire thugs to bully a young master?” Even with the truth laid bare, she didn’t believe him. He was tired. So tired. “Since you don’t believe me, just tell me. What do you want me to do?” She pressed her temples. “Apologize, Ted. When you do something wrong, you say you’re sorry.” At that moment, Simon, who had been playing the victim, finally spoke. “An apology isn’t necessary. If you’re truly sorry, you can just drink these.” 4 On the table sat a row of glasses filled with amber whiskey. Ted’s gaze lifted to Aurora, searching her face for an answer. In the dim light, her expression was a shadow. The silence in the room was suffocating. He felt a desperate need for air, his mind flashing back. When he first came to the estate, the blind Aurora would drink herself into a stupor every day. He’d pleaded with her to stop, worried for her health. One night, drunk and bitter, she’d shoved several bottles in front of him. “Even a housekeeper’s son dares to control me now? Fine. You drink these, and I’ll listen to you.” He was allergic to alcohol. But to save her from herself, he hadn’t hesitated. He’d chugged every bottle and ended up in the hospital. He’d woken up to see her sitting by his bed, her face grim. “I’m the one who’s drunk, not you! Why would you play with your life when you know you’re allergic?” He’d only said one thing. “Because I worry about you, Miss. Your eyes will get better. And even if they don’t, I’ll be with you forever. So please, don’t give up.” From that day on, she never touched another drop of alcohol. The memory brought a smile to Ted’s lips, but his eyes glistened with tears. He didn’t argue. He reached for a glass, then another, and another, draining them one by one. The fiery liquid burned a path down his throat, a bitter fire spreading through his stomach, scorching the heart it could never reach. On the seventh glass, Aurora finally snapped. “Enough!” Ted looked at the dozen or so glasses left and laughed, a broken sound. “Enough? Is my apology accepted? Is your beloved satisfied?” Aurora shot to her feet, her face, usually so placid, now dark with fury. She grabbed his hand. “You know that’s not what I mean! Ted, I told you, Simon and I are over. My family disapproves of you, and if you do something so reckless, they’ll use it against you. I’m trying to protect you from their judgment!” Her words were so logical, so reasonable. And so utterly false. He laughed again, a raw, painful sound. Her family disapproved of the housekeeper’s son, but they’d welcome the man who had betrayed her? It was all just an excuse. He wasn’t the one she was willing to fight for. He wrenched his hand away and turned to leave. He made it to the door before his body gave out, and the world went black. “Ted!” Aurora’s heart seized. She rushed forward, sweeping him into her arms. But Simon grabbed her sleeve, his voice a pathetic whimper. “Aurora… I feel dizzy.” She paused. But only for a second. Then she strode out of the room, her voice trailing behind her. “I’m taking Ted to the hospital. Call your assistant.”

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1 I drove five hours with my daughter in the backseat, all to surprise him. But the moment he saw me, there was no joy in his eyes. Only sheer, unadulterated panic. I’d been cheated on. Later, I would ask him: “In that moment, were you heartbroken that I’d driven five exhausting hours? Or were you just terrified that your new girl would see me and our daughter?” It was official. Martin had cheated. The instant he saw me and our daughter, Paige, standing there, his face was a mask of pure shock, not delight. In that single, heart-stopping moment, I knew. I’d been replaced. His colleagues, milling about, froze. Their faces flashed with an awkward pity. They wanted to say hello, but a palpable fear of giving something away held them back. They just offered strained, guilty smiles before scurrying away. Martin finally snapped out of his trance. He rushed forward, taking Paige from my arms and wrapping an arm around my shoulder, forcing a look of surprised joy. “What are you doing here? This is amazing!” I didn’t answer. I just moved in a numb haze, letting him guide me toward his car. Paige was thrilled to see her dad, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She chattered away, her face pressed against his, telling him all about her latest adventures in kindergarten. Looking at their two faces, practically carbon copies of each other, a sharp, twisting pain shot through my chest. To keep Paige from noticing anything was wrong, I turned my head, pretending to be fascinated by the passing scenery. Father and daughter chatted happily the whole way, a cheerful bubble I couldn’t bring myself to enter. I remained silent. When Martin asked where I wanted to eat, I didn’t respond. 2 Somehow, I held it together until we reached Martin’s apartment. I set Paige up in front of the TV with her favorite cartoon and then followed Martin into the bedroom. “Give me your phone.” “What’s wrong?” He smiled, reaching out to hug me. I pushed him away. I just stared into his eyes until he finally relented, handing the phone over. The password hadn’t changed. It was still our wedding anniversary. How ironic. I unlocked it, opened his messages, and let my intuition guide me. My eyes landed on a name almost immediately: Hailey. She was a colleague. Their last exchange was just forty minutes ago. Hailey: “Gotta work late tonight. Can you pick me up and grab some takeout? I’m dying for those amazing sliders from that 24/7 diner downtown. Pleeeease?” Martin: “My little foodie~” I scrolled up. They messaged each other every single day. All those times Martin had told me he was “swamped,” too busy to even grab a bite to eat? He was sharing every little detail of his day with Hailey. And they were… colleagues. They worked in the same damn office. 3 Martin and I had been together for almost a decade—three and a half years of dating, six years of marriage. We had a beautiful, sweet five-year-old daughter. Two years ago, for the sake of his career, Martin had transferred to this city. He promised that once he was settled, he’d move us over to be with him. I waited, believing him completely. I handled everything on my own—raising a child, managing the house—without a single complaint, no matter how exhausted I was. But the chat logs told a different story. The night Paige and I were both burning up with a fever, Martin had claimed he was “slammed with a deadline.” In reality, he was celebrating Hailey’s birthday. The time I broke my leg in a car accident and couldn’t make it to Paige’s parent-teacher conference, he said he “couldn’t get away from work.” He was actually on a weekend getaway with Hailey. And on Valentine’s Day, he sent me a $50 Venmo. He bought her a diamond bracelet. A lifetime with Hailey? Was that his plan? Then what was I? Before seeing those messages, the thought of Martin cheating had never once crossed my mind. I believed every sacrifice he made, every long hour he worked, was for our family. I believed he was eternally devoted to our marriage. But it’s true what they say. No woman ever makes it out of her husband’s phone with her heart intact. Every word he’d exchanged with Hailey became a knife, twisting deeper and deeper into my chest. A tidal wave of pain washed over me, threatening to pull me under. The breath was stolen from my lungs. My face went cold, and black spots danced in my vision. Martin grabbed my arm to steady me as I swayed. His voice was hoarse with guilt. “Chloe… I’m so sorry. But I swear, nothing physical ever happened between us. We never crossed that line.” “And that ‘line’… you mean sleeping together?” “We didn’t.” “So, in your mind, you’ve done nothing wrong?” 4 His answer didn’t matter anymore. I handed his phone back, walked out of the bedroom, and said to my daughter, “Paige, honey, we’re going home.” Paige blinked, her expression clouding with confusion. “Mommy, why are we leaving so soon? You said we were staying with Daddy all weekend.” “Mommy has something urgent to take care of back home. We’ll come visit Daddy another time.” As I carried her toward the door, she was still bewildered. But seeing the look on my face, she didn’t dare ask any more questions. Martin rushed after us, grabbing my arm to stop me. “You just got here. At least stay for the weekend.” “No.” They had a camping trip planned for the weekend. I had no intention of getting in their way. “Take a day off on Monday,” I said, my voice flat. “Come back and get the paperwork done.” I didn’t say the word “divorce” in front of Paige, but Martin understood perfectly. He tightened his grip. “You just drove for five hours. You can’t drive another five right now. You’re too tired, Chloe. It’s not safe.” Did he really care if I was tired? In that first moment he saw us, was he worried about my exhaustion, or was he terrified Hailey would see us? As we stood there, locked in a silent standoff, the sound of the front door clicking open echoed through the apartment. It was Hailey. She’d used her own fingerprint to unlock the door. “Martin, I—” Her words died in her throat the second she saw me.

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1 In the main hall of the nightclub, my pregnant sister was shoved onto a stage. Below, a crowd of men, faces flushed and red, argued over the child in her belly. “It’s definitely mine! I was the most energetic that night!” “Bullshit! I went more times, so my chances are higher!” My sister’s face was ashen. She turned to the man beside her, her voice trembling with tears. “Asher, you’re my fiancé. How could you do this to me?” Asher wrapped his arm around a delicate-looking girl and sneered. “You don’t even know whose kid you’re carrying. You have the nerve to ask me that?” The girl covered her mouth in a shy smile, but her eyes, fixed on my sister, were filled with triumph. I sat in the shadows below the stage, my eyes turning to ice. I’d been away for a few years, and someone had dared to bully a member of the Cannon family. … My assistant leaned in and whispered, “Should I have Mr. Cross, the owner of the club, come over and give you an explanation?” I scoffed. “What’s the use in calling him? Have everyone on standby.” “Yes, ma’am.” My assistant quickly withdrew. They dared to touch my sister? Not a single one of them would be leaving this place in one piece tonight. My sister’s voice shook. “It was only you that night! How could I be pregnant with someone else’s child?” The girl in Asher’s arms, Sierra, giggled. “Oh, Olivia, don’t you remember? After you got drunk, you kept saying ‘one isn’t enough’ and dragged several men into the room. Did you forget?” My sister’s face went white. “Impossible! Only Asher was in the room…” Her words trailed off. She froze, her eyes locked on Asher. “It was you… that glass of red wine… you drugged me?!” Asher didn’t deny it. He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he pulled a stack of photos from his pocket and scattered them across the stage. “Come on, place your bets! Whoever guesses right gets a bonus—the hot video from that night!” The crowd below erupted in cheers. “Damn, this is intense! Not a scrap of clothing. You can see everything so clearly!” “Hotter than a porn cover! Just one look and I’m burning up!” Sierra picked up a photo, glanced at it with disgust, and tossed it aside. It fluttered down in front of me. I picked it up. One look, and my vision went black with rage. These people were insane. They were about to find out what happens when you mess with the Cannon family. The men below were like a pack of wolves, fighting over the photos of my sister. Bills slapped onto the card tables, their eyes red as they placed their bets, as if they were auctioning off a piece of merchandise. I sat in the darkness, swirling the wine in my glass, my eyes cold as I watched the absurd spectacle unfold. My assistant wasn’t back yet. I just had to wait a little longer… “All bets are in!” The dealer’s voice cut through the noise. “Now, let’s bring in the professionals to reveal the answer to our little wager!” Several men in white lab coats rushed onto the stage with their equipment. Without a word, they grabbed my sister’s arm. The needle glinted under the lights, about to pierce her skin. “Get off me!” My sister, usually so gentle, suddenly fought back with surprising ferocity. She wrenched her arm free, her nails scratching bloody lines across one man’s face. “Where’s Cross? Get him out here! If I lose a single hair on my head tonight, this shithole of a club will be shut down tomorrow!” My sister’s voice was raw and desperate, but the crowd just roared with laughter. Sierra giggled, her body shaking. “Oh, is our little Miss Cannon still dreaming?” She suddenly grabbed a handful of my sister’s hair and whispered in her ear, “Did you forget? Mr. Cross is my brother. He bankrupted the Cannon family a long time ago. Where do you get the nerve to make threats in his club?” I, who had already moved to the foot of the stage, ready to intervene, felt a jolt of shock. Cross’s sister? The Cannon family, bankrupt? How did I not know this? Asher pulled Sierra into his arms. “Why are you wasting your breath on her?” He turned to the men in lab coats. “Hurry up. Don’t waste any more time.” Just as the needle touched my sister’s skin, the dealer beside them cried out in alarm. “Stop!” he bellowed. 2 Everyone froze, including me. He was trembling as he pulled a jade seal from my sister’s waist, a cold sweat instantly soaking his back. “The… the Cloudwater Seal?!” In his shock, he pressed the button for the club’s highest-level emergency line. “Mr. Cross, the Cloudwater Seal has appeared. Please come and verify its authenticity!” Asher’s face darkened, and even Sierra, in his arms, fell silent. Cross, the “Mr. Cross” they were talking about, was just an adopted son of my father’s. By age, he should be calling me “big sister.” Knowing this was his territory, my taut nerves relaxed slightly. I waited, my expression unreadable, for my assistant to return. Soon, Cross’s personal secretary, Bianca, arrived. “Mr. Cross will be here shortly. Let me assess the situation first.” The moment her fingers touched the seal, Sierra, still in Asher’s embrace, let out a sweet laugh. “What a coincidence. I have one of those cheap things too.” She pulled a brocade box from her purse. The moment the box sprang open, the entire room gasped. Two Cloudwater Seals. Identical. “Hers has a crack in it,” Sierra said, her red lips curving into a smirk. “It’s a fake.” My sister cried out desperately, “My sister gave this to me herself! How could it be fake?” “I’m Evelyn Cannon’s real sister!” The words had barely left her mouth before Sierra laughed again. “I’ve lived in the Cannon family home for years, and I’ve never seen you with a sister. You’re such a pathological liar, you’d even make up a fake sister!” Bianca, after examining the seals, respectfully returned Sierra’s and smoothly joined the conversation. “Evelyn Cannon?” A look of contempt crossed her face, as if she’d heard a joke. “I’ve never heard of anyone by that name.” “Since the real Cloudwater Seal is in Miss Sierra’s possession, we won’t interfere in Miss Olivia’s affairs. You may continue.” With that, Bianca stepped aside, an air of detached indifference about her. The men in the crowd erupted. “Get on with it! I bet a hundred grand that she’s carrying my kid!” “After the test, we can all take turns for a taste.” The men were like flies to blood. One even started unbuckling his belt. “I’m raising my bet! The moment the test is done, I’m getting a piece of that!” The men in lab coats once again pinned my sister to the stage. The needle glinted, aimed straight for her pale skin. My assistant still hadn’t returned, but I couldn’t wait any longer. “Stop!” I leaped onto the stage and kicked over the metal tray of instruments with a deafening crash. Bianca’s pupils constricted. “Who is this crazy woman? How dare you cause trouble in Mr. Cross’s club?” I gave a cold smile. “Cannon family. Evelyn Cannon.” 3 The entire hall fell into a dead silence. But the silence only lasted a second. “Hahahaha—” The room exploded with deafening laughter. Some people were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes. “Evelyn Cannon? You?” “She’s a legendary figure, someone who could shake the capital to its core! We haven’t heard anything about her for years. Why would she show up here?” Sierra clutched her stomach, laughing uncontrollably. “Olivia, which acting troupe did you hire this one from? She’s actually pretty convincing!” Asher frowned, his gaze full of disgust. “Olivia, get this imposter out of here. Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” My sister gripped my arm tightly, her eyes filled with a disbelieving excitement. The veins in my temples throbbed. I fought to suppress my raging fury. “When Cross gets here, we’ll see who’s who.” I pulled my sister behind me, my gaze as sharp as a knife. “Until then, whoever touches a single hair on her head, I’ll chop off their hands.” Sierra covered her mouth in a mocking smile. “Oh, she’s really into her role. If the real Evelyn Cannon were here, she’d have a whole entourage, not just be by herself.” I glanced at my team of bodyguards, currently stuck in a corner, and a cold smile touched my lips. “Get Cross out here! I want to ask him if he still has any respect for me, his sister.” Bianca narrowed her eyes, looking me up and down, a sneer playing on her red lips. “Who do you think you are, to use Mr. Cross’s full name like that? You really don’t know your place.” She slowly twisted the jade bracelet on her wrist, her voice suddenly dropping. “Men, take her down!” “I want to see just how much you’re really worth.” Several burly men heard her and grinned greedily, their voices dripping with malicious amusement. “Yes, Miss Bianca! I’ll make sure to strip her down to nothing and weigh every last ounce for you!” As they spoke, their hands reached for my sister and me. I slapped one of the men across the face. “How dare you! Are you looking to die? Do you have any idea what will happen if you touch me?” The man’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. His eyes turned vicious, and he lunged, his hands closing around my throat. “You bitch, you think you’re something special, huh?” “Today, in front of everyone, I’m going to teach you some manners!” A wave of jeering laughter erupted from the crowd. Several men closed in, some even taking out their phones to record. My sister cried out, trying to rush to me, but Sierra grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. “Olivia, who is this person you found? Is she crazy, causing trouble here?” “You play the part of the innocent debutante so well, but who knows whose bastard you’re carrying in that belly of yours!” With that, Sierra slapped my sister across the face, so hard that blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. I kicked the man beside me, trying to get to her, but several strong arms pinned me down. My bodyguards were blocked by the chaotic crowd, unable to move an inch. “Tsk, tsk. The imposter is really getting into character, isn’t she?” Sierra, in her high heels, pressed the tip of her shoe against my sister’s chin. “Get on your knees and kowtow three times. Maybe then I’ll ask Bianca to let your fake sister go.” My sister looked at Asher, her voice trembling. “Asher, she really is my sister. If you hurt her, you’ll all regret it…” Asher coolly adjusted his cuffs, his eyes looking at us as if we were trash. “If it weren’t for you, none of this would be happening. Apologize to Sierra. Now.” “Kowtow! If you don’t, we’ll strip her clothes off right now!” The men sneered, their hands reaching for my collar. “I’ll do it!” My sister’s knees slammed onto the marble floor. Her forehead pressed against the cold stone. “Please… don’t touch my sister…” I watched her slam her head against the ground, over and over. With every kowtow, it felt like a sharp knife was carving a piece out of my heart. My assistant was still gone. The bodyguards at the door were strangely inactive. Something was very wrong. Bianca looked at my face, her eyes flashing with jealousy. She had produced a scalpel from somewhere, and now the blade was pressed against my skin. “Such a beautiful face. I wonder if Mr. Cross will still recognize you after I’m done with it.” “Don’t touch my sister!” my sister suddenly struggled. “Cross will make you wish you were never born!” “You really think you’re the great Miss Cannon, don’t you? Too bad the Cannon family doesn’t go by that name anymore.” Bianca mocked my sister as she pressed the blade deeper, a warm trickle of blood sliding down my neck. Just as she was about to cut again, the main doors burst open with a deafening crash. Cross entered, flanked by a team of his men. His eyes swept over my sister’s bloodied forehead and the cut on my face. The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped to freezing.

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After 99 failed blind dates, Mia and I vowed to have kids alone. She picked an MIT genius donor; I chose European aristocracy. After birth, her donor—now infertile—demanded marriage to secure an heir. She agreed. At my prenatal visits, Mia would sneer, arm around her husband: “Poor Lana, cursed to be alone. My Julian just got a national tech lead—his future’s limitless.” She didn’t know my baby’s father was a billionaire who’d soon take me to his private island, adorning me in jewels until I nearly sank. When I posted a yacht photo, her desperate texts poured in: “His project got canceled! I can’t afford baby formula!” She begged for friendship, asked me to be godmother. Then she met me with a chainsaw, screaming: “Why should you have more? Just for picking a better donor?” I woke back at the fertility clinic—decision day. “Lana, what’s so great about marriage anyway? Let’s do this on our own! We can be the powerful heroines of our own lives!” Mia shook my arm, her voice filled with a manic excitement. The sterile, familiar smell of the clinic hit me, and a wave of dizziness confirmed it. I was reborn. After a long string of dates with losers and creeps, Mia and I had decided to come to this exclusive clinic to choose premium donors for IVF. Mia’s sharp voice grated in my ear. “Lana, look! This one’s from an MIT genius. The kid would be brilliant! You should choose this one.” Then, without missing a beat, she pointed to the profile next to it—the one described as having a complex European aristocratic lineage. “You know me,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’m all about looks. I’ve always dreamed of a baby with those classic features. You won’t fight me for him, will you, Lana?” In that instant, I knew. She was reborn, too. And she was making a beeline for the billionaire’s genes she thought would be her ticket to paradise. She put on a show of looking out for me. “This MIT profile is a sure thing, Lana. You’d be crazy to pass it up.” It was the complete opposite of what she’d said in our last life. I looked at her, watching the predatory gleam in her eyes, and slowly nodded. The moment I agreed, her face lit up, and she blurted out, “Don’t you regret it!” Regret what? She was so desperate for me to choose the brilliant Dr. Julian Vance because she wanted the billionaire for herself. She wanted the life of obscene wealth and power. In our first life, she’d claimed she wanted a child prodigy and snatched up Julian’s profile first. When he was later diagnosed with infertility, he tracked her down and proposed. At their wedding, I’d dragged my heavily pregnant body there to give them a gift, only to be stopped at the door. Mia had stood there, proud as a peacock, her eyes raking over me with contempt before she let out a tinkling laugh. “Having a baby on your own? You’re living in a fairytale, Lana. I, on the other hand, am about to secure my future. My husband was just chosen by the government to lead a top-secret project! And you? What do you have? Some fancy ‘aristocratic’ lineage? For all you know, that just means he’s some inbred nobody from a country you’ve never heard of.” But a month after her wedding, a gold-leafed invitation arrived at my apartment, delivered by a towering, white-gloved butler. “My lady,” he said in a crisp, formal tone, “our patron is aware that you are carrying his child. He requests your presence on his estate to be wed.” That’s when I found out. My donor was a reclusive, unbelievably wealthy billionaire. And right after I left for his private island, Mia’s social media became a constant stream of complaints. Vague posts about some “homewrecking Ph.D. student” trying to seduce her husband. She’d post pictures from outside his lab, trying to look like a devoted wife standing guard. Then came the videos of her screaming at the young woman, who, seeing Mia was pregnant, never fought back. Mia crowed about it, taking the woman’s restraint as an admission of guilt. I heard through mutual friends that her constant, baseless jealousy and public scenes got the project shut down. Julian’s career was derailed. But Mia felt no remorse. It was his fault for being weak, for not being man enough to keep his project and his team in line. They fought constantly. Soon, Julian’s reputation was so tarnished by Mia’s drama that no one would work with him. He was unemployed, and the bills piled up. Raising a child costs money, and Mia, who had only married him for a life of luxury, refused to contribute a dime. The fighting escalated from shouting matches to him just not coming home for days at a time. Meanwhile, my feed was filled with pictures of royal galas, super-yachts, and the diamond on my finger that was the size of a robin’s egg. So, this time around, she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the billionaire’s profile and pushed Julian’s onto me. I feigned innocence, playing the part of her naive friend. “But Mia, this profile is so vague. ‘Complex European heritage’… what if the genes are bad?” Mia, who had already signed the paperwork, cut me off, her voice hard. “That’s not your problem anymore. My son is going to be the heir to a dynasty. You, on the other hand, will probably be struggling to afford diapers.” A cold smile touched my lips, one she couldn’t see. A brilliant MIT scientist and a future genius son versus an abusive monster and his equally monstrous child. Only a fool wouldn’t know who to choose. I wondered if Mia would still be smiling when she was locked in a cage with a lion. Because in my last life, I was indeed taken to a private, palatial estate. But the man waiting for me was a brute. He threw me into a room and assaulted me. The slightest resistance was met with a rain of fists and kicks, leaving my body a canvas of bruises. The long, concealing robes worn by the women on the island hid the evidence from the outside world, but I couldn’t even sit without wincing in pain. He had XYY Syndrome, a genetic condition that made him prone to explosive, uncontrollable rage. The priceless, beautiful, and heavy ornaments that filled our rooms were often hurled at my head. I bled so much I often hovered on the edge of death, only to be brought back by their advanced medical team, trapped in a cycle of torture and recovery. He forced himself on me even when I was heavily pregnant. There was no one to turn to; everyone on the island looked at me as if I were a slave. And the child? The “aristocratic heir”? I’d seen the prenatal report before I ever left the country. He didn’t just have XYY Syndrome; he had a rare mosaic variant. He was born to be a menace to society. They wouldn’t let me terminate the pregnancy. Even in my womb, he would kick my thinning uterine wall with such force that I couldn’t sleep for nights on end. The memory sent a shiver down my spine. With the procedure confirmed for a few days later, Mia let out a sigh of relief. She caressed the signed consent form, her eyes gleaming with schadenfreude. “An MIT genius just sounds good on paper. Watch out, Lana. You’ll probably end up with a useless deadbeat, and your kid will be an idiot, too.” I remained placid in the face of her taunts, offering a serene smile. “They say when you mix that many bloodlines, you’re bound to get some… mental instability. You be careful, Mia.” Mia always had to be first, always had to win. She thought a second chance meant she could rewrite her destiny. She never understood the truth: it’s not about the choice you make, but who you are. My words hit their mark. Her face flushed with anger, and she stomped her foot, a trembling finger pointed at me. “You just wait! We’ll see whose kid has the garbage genes!” Two weeks after our procedures, just like in the last life, Julian Vance was diagnosed with infertility. He tracked me down using the clinic’s records. He stood at my door dressed in a well-tailored suit, his brow sharp and intelligent, a pleasant, clean scent of cedarwood clinging to him. His voice was as clear and calming as a mountain spring. “Ms. Lana?” I was momentarily stunned, and in that brief silence, the tips of his ears turned a faint pink. He spoke again, a little flustered. “This is going to sound incredibly sudden, but… would you consider marrying me?” He rushed to add, “I wouldn’t interfere with your life, of course…” “Okay,” I said, cutting him off. “I will. Do you want to go to the courthouse now?” My straightforward acceptance seemed to shock him into silence. He just stared at me, completely at a loss. Just then, Mia’s cackling laughter erupted from my phone. I’d been on a call with her. She knew Julian was coming today and couldn’t wait to watch me walk into the same trap she’d fallen into last time. “Hahaha, Lana, you’re that desperate to get married? I guess with a face like yours, you have to take what you can get before it’s too late!” Her voice was shrill with mockery. “When you two get married, I’ll be sure to send you a huge gift. God knows you won’t have many good days left to enjoy it!” Hearing the cruel voice on the other end of the line, Julian frowned instinctively and murmured, almost to himself, “I won’t let you suffer…” Mia’s voice cut him off, her words growing even more venomous. “What kind of future can two broke losers have together? You probably won’t even be able to feed the kid. You’ll just fight all day and live on welfare!” I ended the call and gave Julian a small, steady smile. “I know we won’t end up like that,” I said, my voice firm with a certainty that surprised even me. “Never.” We picked a date and, with our families’ blessings, we were officially married. The wedding was set for two weeks later. Julian was with me for every step—choosing the dress, booking the venue, tasting the cakes. He never missed a thing. Looking at this kind, attentive man, I felt nothing but profound relief. A gentle, respectful husband was infinitely better than an abusive monster. Mia spent those two weeks bombarding me with texts, all mocking me for marrying a “failure.” But the poverty of her last life was her own doing. If that project had gone smoothly, Julian would have become one of the youngest and most respected experts in his field worldwide. His salary would have easily been in the seven figures. But Mia’s pathological possessiveness had destroyed his future. She stormed into his lab, caused scenes, and alienated all the senior researchers who had once championed him. Remembering this, I turned to Julian with a gentle smile. “If you have project work to do, you know I can handle all of this on my own.” A flicker of deep gratitude crossed his face. He suddenly dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring box. The diamond wasn’t huge, but the stone was a stunning shade of sky blue, my favorite color. It was like a piece of a perfect, cloudless day, something that made you happy just by looking at it. “I know my proposal was… abrupt,” he said, his voice soft. “So I wanted to do this properly.” He looked up at me, his eyes full of sincere emotion. “Lana, will you marry me?” I smiled and nodded, holding out my hand for him to slide the ring onto my finger. It couldn’t compare to the gaudy boulder I’d worn on the island, but this small, perfect ring filled my heart with a warmth that spread through my entire body. On the island, the jewelry was just a tool for a tyrant to flaunt his wealth. Every jewel represented a scar, a slap followed by a hollow apology. He had even, for his own amusement, locked me in a pen with a lioness when I was eight months pregnant, dousing me in a scent irresistible to big cats. So go ahead, Mia. Reject this kind of genuine, unconditional love. Go seek out your suffering. The memory of the chainsaw’s teeth tearing through my flesh still felt lodged in my bones. Thinking of her twisted, furious face, all I could do was wish her luck. I hadn’t even started sending out wedding invitations when Mia showed up at my door. “I’m your best friend! Shouldn’t I be the first one to get an invitation?” she demanded. “I want to see what your pathetic little wedding looks like. You probably won’t get to see mine, but I can guarantee you it’ll be a thousand times better than yours! What future does a broke academic have? You’re so shortsighted, Lana. You have a lifetime of misery ahead of you.” I calmly handed her an invitation, my voice light and cheerful. “I truly hope you enjoy your new life, Mia!” After the proposal, Julian dove back into his work, and I focused on the wedding preparations. He was busy, but he texted me every day, letting me know what he was up to. He said the project was making huge progress and would be officially launching soon. “Lana, thank you for being so understanding,” he texted. “I was worried you’d be angry that I can’t be there more.” “Just don’t miss the actual wedding!” I typed back, smiling. I took the initial project funding he’d received and invested it into a few different funds. On the day of the wedding, Mia showed up dressed more extravagantly than I, the bride. She wore a couture gown that shimmered like a fairy’s wing, carried the latest designer handbag, and had a diamond tiara nestled in her hair. Anyone would have thought it was her coronation. She shoved past the ushers, her nose in the air. “Don’t you dare touch me! My presence here is a gift. It elevates this whole shabby affair!” Julian strode forward, his face grim, and signaled the security. “Please escort this person out. We only want guests here who genuinely wish my wife and me well.” Mia’s face went from smug to livid. The man who was her husband in another life was now yelling at her for another woman. The jealousy was a toxic, visible thing. “You think you’ve won the lottery? After all our years as friends, you think I don’t know her?” she shrieked, pointing at me. “She’s a social climber! She’ll kiss up to you now, but the second you’re a nobody again, she’ll kick you to the curb and cheat on you without a second thought!” SLAP. The sound echoed in the quiet hall. I took a deep breath, looking at Mia’s stunned, hand-printed cheek. “You are not my friend anymore,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “No friend would say things like that, especially not on my wedding day. Take the bitterness you feel from going to your own appointments alone and aim it where it belongs: at the father of your ‘aristocratic’ child.” Stunned silent for a moment, she finally recovered, letting out a wild, hysterical laugh as she lunged at me. Julian immediately stepped in front of me, his body a shield, his eyes daring her to take another step. “You are not welcome at our wedding,” he said, his voice cold as ice. Seeing she was completely alone, with no one to back her up, Mia trembled with rage. “Fine! Burn the bridge! But don’t come crying to me when you’re broke and miserable!” she screamed. “The life I’m about to have is one you could never even dream of. You have fun with your useless professor! You just wait and see!” With that, she spun on her stiletto heels and stormed away. The wedding continued without a hitch. Under the loving gaze of our parents, Julian and I shared a kiss. Three days later, Mia posted a picture of a golden invitation on her Instagram, making sure to tag me. The caption read: Just showing some backstabbing ghosts what a real invitation looks like. I turned off my phone and leaned my head on Julian’s shoulder, focusing on the movie we were watching. Mia’s dream life was finally beginning. I just hoped she survived the first day.

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Cresthaven’s infamous ‘Reaper’, Jim McAvoy, had one weakness—Nina Reed. I was his light, his redemption. For me, he traded bloodstained clothes for tailored suits, dismantled his empire, became a philanthropist. “Purifying myself for you is a pleasure,” he’d say. I believed him. Defied my family, married him. For five years, he worshipped me—the feared crime lord cooked for me, knelt to wash my feet, revered my parents. When my father was accused of manslaughter, Jim hired top lawyers. But at trial, the key witness vanished. Father was convicted. As the sentence was read, Jim stood and applauded. I found the witness. She slapped me: “Your husband threatened my parents! I had no choice!” Jim appeared behind me, calm: “Sylvie’s brother is dead. Someone had to pay. Your father’s sentence is light—let it go.” 1. “Your father is only going to prison for a few years. Let’s just leave it at that.” I never thought I would hear those words from Jim McAvoy’s lips. Just last night, he’d held me, murmuring reassurances that justice would prevail. Now, he was the one who had sent my father to prison. I stumbled, whirling around to grab the collar of his shirt. When I spoke, my voice was a raw, broken rasp. “Why? Jim, why would you do this?” He pried my fingers from his shirt, his grip firm but his eyes empty of emotion. “I told you. Your father killed a man. He has to pay for it.” “But you know it was self-defense! If he hadn’t fought back, the one who died would have been…” “That’s not important, Nina. I promised Sylvie I would protect her. Her life can’t have a single stain on it.” I stared up at his handsome, unconcerned face. “So you’re saying my father’s life… isn’t important?” My voice cracked. “You say Sylvie’s life can’t be stained, but what about me? What about my father? How are we supposed to wash away the stain on us?” Jim’s brow furrowed. “You don’t need to. You’re my wife. Who would dare say a word against you? When your father gets out, if he wants, I’ll send him and your mother to live out their days abroad.” A bitter laugh escaped me, followed by a sudden torrent of tears. “So, for the rest of our lives, we’re just supposed to depend on you, live according to your arrangements?” A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. “Nina, you need to learn to be sensible.” “This case is closed.” Sensible? I wrenched my hand from his, my heart filled with scorn. “And if I’m not?” His gaze darkened, becoming a bottomless, black pit. “You know that without a witness, you can appeal a hundred times and the result will be the same.” He leaned in, his lips close to my ear, but his eyes drifted to a point behind me. “And Nina… you wouldn’t want anyone else to die because of you, would you?” My pupils dilated. I spun around. The witness girl stood there, her face ashen, her lower lip bitten raw. I knew. After today, she would never testify for my father again. “You’re a monster, Jim.” All my love curdled into a cold lump of disappointment in my chest. My shoulders slumped, and I dragged my heavy body away. At the end of the courthouse alley, Sylvie Threlfall was waiting, wrapped in Jim’s overcoat. When she saw me, her eyes were like poison-tipped daggers. “You’re just going to leave?” she sneered. “Shouldn’t the murderer’s daughter be at my brother’s memorial, begging for forgiveness on her knees?” I smirked. “Murderer? If my father hadn’t been there, your brother would be a rapist. And you… you’re nothing but a homewrecking…” Before I could finish, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. It was Jim. “Nina, Sylvie is right,” he said, his voice cold. “Someone from your family needs to beg for forgiveness. If it’s not you, it’ll have to be your mother.” I turned my head to look at him, trying to understand how the man who once swore he loved me could become so hideous. The year I met Jim, I was a college student teaching dance part-time. One night, he was cornered in an alley by his enemies, a lone figure against twenty men. Anyone else would have run or died. But Jim McAvoy wasn’t anyone else. He’d earned his title as Cresthaven’s Reaper with his own two hands. He took them all down. When he emerged from the alley, bleeding from a dozen wounds, he simply leaned against a lamppost and lit a cigarette. As he looked up, the warm, yellow light from a second-story window across the street spilled onto the pavement. In that frame of light, a girl was dancing. That girl was me. That, Jim had said, was how I danced my way into his heart and became his eternal guiding light. He said I looked like a fairy, an otherworldly sprite. When he first pursued me, I was terrified. I gave him a thousand reasons to leave me alone. I told him I only liked gentle, refined men, and he was too coarse. So he hired a private tutor, the same one who trained flight attendants, to teach him etiquette. I told him I hated violence and wanted a quiet life. So he dissolved his criminal network, became a legitimate businessman, and dedicated himself to charity. Everyone in Cresthaven said he was madly in love with me. That anything involving Nina Reed was the one thing that could make the Reaper bare his fangs again. And now this man, for another woman, had turned my father into a murderer and was forcing me to kneel before a predator’s memory. The car pulled up to the funeral home. A bodyguard dragged me out and threw me inside. When Sylvie’s family saw me, they swarmed, their faces contorted with rage. Jim only frowned slightly. Sylvie saw it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Her father killed my brother. It’s only fair my family gets to let off some steam. Surely Mr. McAvoy won’t mind?” Jim said nothing. He didn’t move. And so I was swallowed by Sylvie’s relatives. They slapped my face, kicked my stomach, tore at my clothes, and yanked my hair. One man’s grimy hands roamed over my body, a vile, invasive touch. I couldn’t bear it. I screamed Jim’s name. “Jim, no matter what, I am still your wife!” He frowned again, but before he could speak, Sylvie cut in smoothly. “Alright, that’s enough. Jim brought her here today to repent to my brother. Let’s show him some respect.” The crowd parted, revealing me in my battered, disheveled state. Sylvie’s eyes glinted with mockery as she pointed to her brother’s open casket. “Nina Reed. I want you to kneel before my brother and admit that you are the daughter of a murderer. And then, I want you to apologize.” I clutched my torn clothes, my voice ice. “In your dreams. I will never admit my father is a murderer.” The words had barely left my mouth when Jim’s tall frame appeared beside me. “Do as she says. Otherwise, I’ll have to call your mother.” My nails dug into my palms. I looked up at him, my eyes red-rimmed. “Jim, do you really have to be so cruel?” He looked down at me, and his next words sent a chill through my entire body. “They’re just words, Nina. It’s not that serious. Sylvie wants to hear them, so you’ll say them for her.” “If you insist on being this stubborn, I’ll have to use… other methods to train you. And you know I have a thousand ways, ten thousand ways, to make you obey.” Yes. How could I forget? He was the Reaper. Even if I refused, he had a million ways to break me. Psychological, physical. It would be one thing if he used them on me. But if he used them on my mother… on my father… I couldn’t bear the thought. I closed my eyes, helpless. After a long, agonizing struggle, I unclenched my bleeding fists and surrendered. “Fine. I’ll say it.” I crawled on my hands and knees to the casket, each word a sob. “I… am the daughter of a murderer. I am here to apologize to Mr. Brandon Threlfall. I am so sorry.” Sylvie, however, was not satisfied. “Miss Reed, don’t you know a proper apology requires a bow to show sincerity? And your voice is far too quiet.” I trembled, humiliation forcing me to grit my teeth. As if punishing myself, I raised my head and slammed my forehead to the ground. “I AM THE DAUGHTER OF A MURDERER. I AM HERE TO APOLOGIZE TO MR. BRANDON THRELFALL. I AM SO SORRY!” Blood bloomed on my forehead, streaming down my face. Jim’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. I lifted my head and stared straight at Sylvie. “Is that enough?” My reckless abandon seemed to startle her family. They tugged at her sleeve. Sylvie just lifted her chin, her expression arrogant. “Barely.” I scrambled to my feet, unsteady. Jim’s hand shot out to support me, but I slapped it away. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. “You disgust me.” His face darkened with sudden rage. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “What did you say? Say it again. I dare you.” I met his gaze, my voice clear and deliberate, each word a shard of ice. “I. Said. You. Disgust. Me.” Jim looked as if he’d been struck. He abruptly let go of my wrist. This time, I didn’t look back. I strode out of that funeral home and didn’t stop. I never imagined they would film what happened in that funeral home. Overnight, the video went viral. Tabloid vultures spun their own narratives, claiming my father had knowingly broken the law and was trying to hide behind a self-defense claim. Others whispered that my father and the so-called victim had some illicit relationship—why else would his own daughter be so willing to confess? The shame and anger made my mother collapse. But even if we covered our ears and closed our eyes, we couldn’t escape the deluge of insults. “If your father sees this, how heartbroken will he be?” she worried, her face etched with sorrow after she woke. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to explain myself. The next day, my father found out anyway. He tried to kill himself in prison. When we got the news, my mother and I raced to the hospital. But when we arrived, the ambulance carrying my father was parked outside, barred from entering. Blood was still seeping from the wound on his neck. I was frantic. “Why isn’t he being taken inside?” I demanded. The paramedic looked at me, his face a mask of helpless frustration. “I heard Mr. McAvoy’s… girlfriend’s cat was in an accident. It’s being treated in the ER. Mr. McAvoy gave the order: until the cat is stable, no other critical patients are to be admitted.” It felt like a fever dream, so absurd, so twisted. “This is a hospital, not a veterinary clinic! How can you let them do this?” No one answered me. Even the prison guard accompanying us sighed. “You’re the family. Maybe you should try another hospital?” The doctor, who was still applying pressure to my father’s wound, shook his head. “The nearest one is ten minutes away. We don’t have that kind of time.” My breath caught. I turned to get out of the ambulance. “I’ll go. I’ll beg Jim to let my father in.” But as I turned, my father’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He gripped it tightly, and the heart monitor beside him began to beep erratically. I scrambled back to his side. “Dad, don’t get agitated. I’ll save you, I promise. Please, just hold on.” My father’s eyes fluttered open. He raised a trembling hand to my cheek. His lips moved behind the oxygen mask, trying desperately to tell me something. The doctor reached over and removed the mask. “He’s not going to make it. If you have anything to say, say it now.” My ears started ringing. The doctor and the guard stepped out of the ambulance, leaving us alone. My mother, her face deathly pale, leaned in close, her voice choked with grief. “What is it, dear? I’m listening.” My father’s voice was faint, as if coming from a great distance, yet every word was crystal clear. “Don’t be sad. And don’t… don’t beg him. This was my choice. I found my own peace.” “Nina, I don’t want you to appeal. I just want you and your mother to be safe. Nothing is more important than the two of you.” “My love,” he said to my mother, “make that call. Take Nina and leave Cresthaven.” “Yes, yes, I will,” my mother sobbed, clutching his hand. “Good. Then I can… I can rest…” A long, piercing beep filled the air. My father’s hand went limp in hers. I snatched it back, holding on for dear life, as if my grip alone could keep him from leaving me. The silence in the ambulance was suffocating. A tidal wave of grief crashed over my mother and me, drowning us completely. After what felt like an eternity, my mother let out a shuddering breath. She took my hand, her trembling voice laced with a newfound strength. “Nina. Let’s take your father home.” The kind ambulance driver took us to a crematorium. After I signed the necessary papers, my mother and I oversaw my father’s cremation. When we returned home with the urn, my mother handed me a phone number. “Nina. This is the number for your grandfather’s old commander. You make the call.” I held the slip of paper, the rage in my heart impossible to suppress. My father’s last words… it was clear he had been threatened, coerced into taking his own life. Was I really supposed to just run away? But one look at my mother’s frail shoulders and swollen, red eyes, and I dialed the number. I couldn’t let her be endangered because of me. No matter how much I wanted to fight, I had to get her to safety first. The call was answered immediately by a stern, authoritative voice. After a brief explanation, he told me he would send someone to pick us up the next day. I hung up and sat with my mother before my father’s makeshift memorial all night. At dawn, we took his ashes to choose a burial plot. We had intended to bury him next to my grandmother. But in a cruel twist of fate, the plot next to hers was already occupied. By Brandon Threlfall.

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It was for Julie’s birthday. I was hiding in the supply closet of her office, a surprise cake balanced on my knees, waiting to jump out. Then I heard his voice, thin and fragile, just outside the door. Nolan. Her childhood friend, the one who was always sick. “So you’re really with him? With Leo?” he asked, his voice laced with a tremor of disbelief. Julie’s reply was a shard of ice. “It’s just an act, Nolan.” A pause. Then she delivered the killing blow. “He has to be. He’s Rh-negative, just like you.” I finally remembered. She’d asked me out right after the company health screening, the one where they’d tested our blood. 1 “So… you’re only with him for my sake?” Nolan’s voice cracked, full of a dawning, vulnerable hope. “Of course,” Julie said softly. The rustle of expensive fabric filled the silence. Through the thin slat of the closet door, I saw them embrace. A flush of color crept into Nolan’s pale, almost translucent face. At the same time, the warmth in my own chest turned cold, then froze solid. I looked down at the cake in my hands. The cheerful red heart piped onto the frosting seemed to mock me, a bloody, sarcastic smear. “Okay,” Julie murmured, pulling away. “I should get you back.” “Are you worried Leo will see me here?” Nolan asked, a hint of a pout in his tone. Julie hesitated for a fraction of a second. “No. Your condition just stabilized. You can’t be away from the hospital for too long.” “Alright,” he relented, though his eyes lingered on her, full of a possessive longing. He opened the door and left. Julie followed a moment later. The office plunged back into a dead, suffocating silence. My limbs felt like lead as I pushed the closet door open and stumbled back to my own desk in the open-plan area. My colleague, Sarah, noticed the cake. “Hey, you never gave it to the boss?” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “She wasn’t in.” A knot of acid twisted in my gut, so sharp it made me double over. I collapsed into my chair, resting my forehead on the cool surface of the desk, waiting for the wave of pain to recede. When it finally did, I wiped a sheen of cold sweat from my brow and opened a new document. I started typing my resignation letter. I’d only gotten a few words down when she returned. Her eyes landed on the cake instantly. They lit up, a brilliant, false warmth I now saw for what it was. “Is that for me?” she asked, her voice bright and eager. Sarah, ever helpful, chimed in before I could speak. “It is, Ms. Vance! Leo was going to surprise you in your office…” Panic flickered across Julie’s face, a tiny, almost imperceptible crack in her perfect mask. “Leo? You were in my office?” I shot Sarah a look, silencing her before she could say more. “Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “But you were out.” She visibly relaxed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Right. I was just seeing a client out.” A client. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might have even believed her. A bitter smile formed on my lips. She was so good at this. It clearly wasn’t her first time lying. It all made sense now. Miracles don’t just happen. A woman like Julie Vance—wealthy, beautiful, the heir to the Vance Corporation—would never fall for a nobody like me. Not for who I was, anyway. Ignoring my silence, she reached for the cake. “Thank you, honey. I’m starving.” I snatched it away before her fingers could touch it, stood up, and dumped the whole thing into the trash can by my desk. “It’s spoiled,” I said. “Can’t be eaten.” She stared, bewildered. “But it looked perfectly fine.” “Some things look fine on the outside,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, “but they’re completely rotten to the core.” That’s when she finally realized something was wrong. She leaned in closer, her brow furrowed in a flawless imitation of concern. “Leo, what’s going on today? Is something on your mind?” Her gaze dropped to my computer screen. Her voice shot up, sharp with alarm. “Why are you writing a resignation letter?” “I’m not feeling well. I don’t want to work here anymore.” My pale face and the lingering sweat on my brow were perfect evidence. Her concern sharpened, becoming urgent. “What? What’s wrong? Why are you suddenly unwell?” The worry in her eyes was so convincing it almost made me doubt what I’d heard. This was the Julie I thought I knew. The woman who would panic more than I did anytime I got so much as a paper cut. The woman whose gentleness had made me fall for her. But now I knew. She wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about her walking, talking blood bank. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “It’s nothing. I’ve just always been a bit fragile.” Julie’s brow tightened. “If it’s not serious, then don’t talk about resigning. I won’t approve it.” “I’ve already decided. You’re my boss, not my owner. You can’t legally force me to stay.” “You…” She was getting angry now. “I’m your girlfriend, for God’s sake! Can’t you at least discuss major life decisions with me?” I looked at her, my eyes cold. “Then let’s fix that. We’re through. As of now, we are nothing to each other.” “Why?” she demanded, her voice cracking with disbelief. “What did I do wrong?” Heads were starting to turn in the office. The curious gazes of our colleagues felt like physical pressure. Julie took a deep, steadying breath and grabbed my hand. “Let’s talk about this outside.” “I have nothing to say to you.” I tried to pull my hand away, but her grip was like steel. “Then at least give me a reason!” Her eyes were red-rimmed, glistening with tears. She looked for all the world like a woman who couldn’t bear to lose me. But I knew better. She couldn’t bear to lose my blood. I laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The reason is you—” My sentence was cut short by the sharp ring of her phone. She glanced at the screen, and her grip on my hand loosened as she stepped away to answer it. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but I saw the color drain from her face. “…Okay, okay, I’m on my way,” she said, her voice tight with panic. She ended the call and lunged for me, grabbing my arm. “Leo, you have to come with me. Now.” Her face was a mask of sheer terror. Her nails dug into my bicep, sharp and painful. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” She ignored me, dragging me toward the elevator. The icy wind that hit us as we exited the building lobby carried a terrible premonition. I dug my heels in, yanking my arm from her grasp. “Let go! What the hell is going on?” Julie grabbed me again. “Get in the car. I’ll explain on the way.” I shook my head, resolute. “Not until you tell me what this is about.” She wasn’t listening. She was all brute force now, half-pulling, half-shoving me toward a black Range Rover idling at the curb. “Leo, now is not the time to be stubborn!” With a final, desperate shove, she pushed me into the back seat. She slid in after me and barked at the driver, “Go!” The car lurched forward into traffic. Panic clawed at my throat. “Where are you taking me?” She finally looked at me, her eyes stripped of all pretense. “It’s Nolan,” she said, her voice flat and cold. “He was in a car accident. He’s losing a lot of blood. You have the same blood type as him…” Her words hung in the air, and in that instant, I knew. I knew exactly what she intended to do. Nolan. Rh-negative. He already had a blood disorder, and now a car crash on top of it. He was in desperate need of a transfusion. On any other day, I might have done it. But today? After what I’d heard? This blood was the one thing she wanted from me. And I would rather die than give it to her. “Julie, you’ve gone too far!” I yelled, my voice raw. “Blood donation has to be voluntary! This is kidnapping! It’s assault!” I had never raised my voice to her before. My violent reaction seemed to startle her; a flicker of conflict crossed her face. Then, her phone rang again. She put it on speaker. Nolan’s voice, faint and reedy, filled the car. “Julie… where are you? I don’t think… I’m going to make it…” The last shred of hesitation in Julie’s eyes vanished. “Nolan, just hold on. I’m almost there. I have Leo with me. He has your blood type. He can save you.” “Really?” Nolan whispered. “Is… is he willing?” “I’M NOT!” I roared, lunging for the phone. Julie snatched it away, her eyes boring into me with a chilling coldness that terrified me. “It doesn’t matter if he’s willing or not.” I snapped. I swung my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. “His life matters, but mine doesn’t? Is that it?” She clutched her cheek, her eyes blazing with fury. “It’s just a little blood, Leo! It’s not going to kill you. Can you stop being so selfish for one second?” “You’re insane! There are sick people all over the world! Why don’t you donate all your money and your own goddamn organs if you’re so generous?” “You can’t talk to her like that,” Nolan’s weak voice piped up from the phone. “Julie’s just trying to help me. I know this is an inconvenience for you… I’ll have her compensate you. Just name your price.” The implication was clear: I was just a low-life shaking them down for money. The audacity of it, the sheer, slimy condescension, was breathtaking. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed. “Using her to play the big shot with someone else’s life! You’re both disgusting.” “Leo!” Julie was truly furious now. Fearing what else I might say, she quickly soothed Nolan and hung up the phone. I glared at her, my whole body trembling with rage. “This was always the plan, wasn’t it? Keep me around as his personal blood bag? Well, you can forget it. In your dreams!” She shot me a final, dismissive glance. “You don’t have a choice in the matter. But don’t worry,” she added, as if it were a kindness. “I’ll hire a private nutritionist for you. We’ll make sure your levels stay up.” 2 The car screeched to a halt in front of the Vance Family Private Hospital. The doors were pulled open before I could even react. Men in white coats—orderlies, not doctors—pinned me down and dragged me into the sterile, cold building. Julie was right. It wasn’t up to me. No one listened to my shouts for help. They forced me onto a gurney in a small, stark room. I watched in helpless fury as they roughly shoved my sleeve up and swabbed my arm. Then, the needle. I watched my own life, dark red, draining away through a plastic tube. A dull, aching numbness spread through my arm. An exhaustion so profound it felt like it was dissolving my bones began to creep through me. Through it all, Julie stood by the glass partition, her eyes fixed on the room next door where Nolan lay. She didn’t even blink. My fingertips went numb. The world began to tilt, black spots dancing in my vision. My voice was a dry, rasping whisper. “Julie… I’m in pain. Please… make them stop.” Her gaze finally shifted to me, empty of emotion. “Just hold on a little longer, Leo. It’ll be over soon.” I tried to speak again, but no sound came out. The black spots consumed everything, and I fell into darkness. 3 I don’t know how much time passed. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The room was empty. Sunlight streamed through the window, but it felt cold. I tried to move, but it felt like every ounce of strength had been siphoned out of me. My throat was sandpaper. “Nurse…” I croaked. “Water…” Only silence answered. Licking my cracked lips, I fought against a wave of dizziness and slowly, painstakingly, swung my legs over the side of the bed. My room was at the very end of a long, quiet corridor. Faint voices drifted from the other end of the hall, near the nurses’ station. I used the wall for support and shuffled toward the sound. It was coming from inside another room. Nolan’s room. The door was ajar. Through the gap, I could see a crowd: doctors, nurses, and Julie, all gathered around his bed. “The wound is healing exceptionally well, Mr. Hayes,” a doctor was saying cheerfully. “You’re a lucky man. Once you’ve fully recovered, we can proceed with the bone marrow transplant.” “Thank you, Doctor. It’s all thanks to you. And Julie… you’ve done so much for me,” Nolan said, his voice much stronger now. Julie smiled, a warm, genuine smile I hadn’t seen directed at me in a long time. “Of course. As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” “How’s Leo, by the way?” Nolan asked. “Oh, he’s strong. He’ll bounce back with a few good meals,” Julie said with an airy wave of her hand. “I mean, he’s not mad at me, is he? You only did all this because of me.” Julie paused. “It doesn’t matter if he is. Saving a life is the most noble thing a person can do. He’ll understand that one day.” No, I won’t, I screamed in my head. I’m not a saint. I’m not some benevolent martyr. I just want to live. And for anyone who threatens my life, revenge is the only language I speak. I closed my eyes, forcing down the inferno of rage building inside me. While they were all preoccupied, I slipped away. I crept past the nurses’ station, down the elevator, and out the front doors of the hospital. My first stop was the police station.

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1 The day I requested transfer to desk duty, the precinct practically sighed in relief. Approval was unanimous—almost celebratory. Only Ivy Hayes objected. The new M.E., my boyfriend’s childhood friend, and self-proclaimed “Corpse Whisperer.” She burst into my office, red-eyed, clutching my sleeve. “Dr. Kearns, please stay. Keep fighting for the victims!” I shook her off and left without a word. In my last life, she was the real deal—a medium who recited autopsy reports after one glance. Families worshipped her. Me? The ghoul who desecrated the dead. I worked tirelessly, but she always unveiled the truth first. One family, mad with grief, abducted me. They did to me what they believed I’d done to their son. Dismembered. Scattered. Then I woke up—back to the day she first declared herself the Corpse Whisperer. … “Hey, Luke, the M.E. report’s in,” a voice cut through the haze. I snapped my head up, my eyes struggling to focus on the familiar faces around me. “Dr. Kearns, how many pages this time?” one of the detectives quipped, his tone dripping with a casual sort of contempt. But I wasn’t listening. I shot up from my chair, my eyes wide with disbelief. The sterile white tiles, the glint of stainless steel, the faint, cloying scent of antiseptic—I was back in the morgue. I had been reborn. “Clara? You okay?” a colleague asked, startled by my sudden movement. I ignored him. I shoved the door open and scrambled to my desk, snatching the freshly printed report. The pages were dense with my own handwriting, a testament to hours of careful, exhausting work. I had to get to the briefing room. I had to report my findings before she could. But just as I burst into the room, ready to speak, Ivy’s voice cut through the air, clear and confident. “Livor mortis is a deep, dark red. Bloody foam in the oral and nasal cavities. The victim was strangled. The perpetrator is approximately five-foot-seven. Time of death was between midnight and one in the morning.” I whipped my head around. Ivy stood at the doorway, her expression a mask of serene certainty. My face went pale. “How… how did you know that?” a detective asked, his voice a mixture of awe and confusion. Ivy offered a small, knowing smile. “I haven’t had the chance to mention it before,” she said softly. “I’m what you might call a Corpse Whisperer. I can hear them. The dead. They whisper their stories to me.” The world tilted on its axis, and for a moment, my vision went black. It was happening all over again, exactly as it had before. This was the day it all began. The day the legend of Ivy Hayes, the Corpse Whisperer, was born. The story spread like wildfire: she was a guide for the departed, sent to our world to give them a voice, to spare their bodies the final indignity of the scalpel. Families, already terrified by the cold reality of an autopsy, clung to her. They saw her as a savior. “What’s the point of a Chief M.E. who just cuts people up when Dr. Hayes can get the truth with a single touch?” “You have no respect for the dead. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Their curses rained down on me, but I never believed in ghosts or magic. I am a scientist. Driven by a desperate need to prove myself, I threw my entire being into every subsequent case. I refined my techniques, I documented every microscopic fiber, I cross-referenced every last detail. But it was never enough. Each and every time, Ivy would swoop in just moments before I could present my findings, revealing the complete truth to a stunned audience. To the families, I became a monster. The butcher who violated their loved ones for sport. They hated me for it. They hated me so much they kidnapped me, carved me up, and left me for the carrion birds. My parents were destroyed. They fought, they screamed, they demanded justice. But Ivy, the celebrated Corpse Whisperer, simply told the world I’d had a tragic accident—a fall from a cliff, my body ravaged by wild animals. When my parents refused to believe her, when they demanded she be investigated, they were silenced. Ostracized and persecuted by the very families who once lauded them, they died of broken hearts. And now, here I was. Back on the day it all started. This time, I would not let it end the same way. This time, I would uncover the truth. “For real? A ‘Corpse Whisperer’? That sounds like something out of a movie,” someone muttered. “Who knows? Maybe she’s just making it up.” The detectives exchanged skeptical glances, their whispers filling the room. Just then, my boyfriend, Detective Luke Garrison, took the report from my trembling hands. He scanned the pages, then looked up at Ivy, a slow, impressed nod breaking across his face. “She’s right,” he announced to the room. “It matches Clara’s report. Word for word.” The room erupted. Gasps of shock and murmurs of amazement rippled through the crowd. The same colleagues who had been whispering doubts just seconds before now turned to me, their expressions a strange cocktail of pity and disdain. “Guess all that time you spend writing those long reports doesn’t mean much if Ivy can do it in a minute,” one of them whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Seriously. She nails it in a sentence, and we have to read a novel from Dr. Kearns. Gives me a headache.” Their mockery was a familiar sting, a cold poison seeping back into my veins. I forced myself to breathe. It’s just beginning. You can change it. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Ivy wasn’t a medium. There was no magic. She had a method, a trick. She had to be getting my results beforehand. The next day, for a new case, I laid down the law. “I’m performing this autopsy alone,” I declared. “No one enters the morgue until I’m finished.” Ivy stood at the door, her face a perfect portrait of wounded innocence. “Clara… I don’t understand what I did wrong. Why are you being like this?” The others shot me accusatory looks, but I ignored them. My theory was simple: someone was leaking my reports to her. By locking the door, I was cutting off her source. Let’s see what tricks she could pull now. I sealed the autopsy suite and got to work. An hour later, I emerged with the completed report, ready to present my findings. But as I laid the papers on the briefing table, a wave of confusion washed over the room. Everyone was frowning. A cold dread began to creep up my spine. It was Ivy who broke the silence. “Dr. Kearns,” she said, her voice laced with feigned sympathy, “we’ve already been over all this. I told them everything an hour ago. Is there a reason you’re just joining us?” I stared at her, then at my colleagues. A few of them, people I’d considered friends, gave me small, apologetic nods. I was frozen. It was impossible. The door was locked. No one saw the body but me. No one touched the report but me. How? How did she know? I spent the night replaying every autopsy, every interaction, searching for a crack in her story. Then, it hit me. A detail I’d dismissed as irrelevant. Before every single case, Ivy would spend a long time in the cold storage, where the bodies were kept pre-autopsy. An idea began to form. A risky, desperate plan. That night, I swapped the body scheduled for the next day’s autopsy with a different one. Then, I installed a tiny, hidden camera in the corner of the cold storage room. Sure enough, not long after the precinct had emptied out for the night, the footage showed a shadowy figure slipping into the room. It was Ivy. She carefully examined the corpse on the gurney, taking notes, before meticulously putting everything back in its place and disappearing into the night. A triumphant smile touched my lips. The trap was set. The next morning, I announced I’d be performing the autopsy in the main observation theater, in front of everyone. No more closed doors. This time, they would hear the results directly from me, as soon as I found them. Ivy saw my setup and chuckled. “Decided to stop hiding, Dr. Kearns? I know you’re afraid of me stealing your spotlight, but you can’t fight a natural gift. Jealousy won’t change that.” I ignored her, my focus entirely on the task at hand. Once the detectives and senior officers had assembled, I began, narrating my findings as I worked. But something was terribly wrong. For every observation I made, every conclusion I drew, Ivy would speak it a fraction of a second before I could. The same words, the same details. My heart hammered against my ribs. A chill snaked its way up my spine. She had examined the wrong body. She shouldn’t know any of this. But she did. How? How? I stared at her, searching her smug face for any sign of deception, but found only a cool, confident smile. My mind was a maelstrom of confusion and panic. I faltered, my words catching in my throat. Luke’s voice cut through my haze, sharp and impatient. “Clara, what is wrong with you? Your inefficiency is embarrassing. Honestly, Ivy’s more reliable at this point.” A cold numbness spread through my chest. “I… I don’t understand,” I stammered. He cut me off. “Just stop. You’re clearly not up to this. Take a break. Ivy’s abilities are proven. She can take it from here.” The assembled crowd dispersed, leaving me standing alone in the sterile, silent theater. I was completely and utterly lost. No matter how I spun it, how I analyzed it, I couldn’t figure it out. How was Ivy Hayes doing it? From that day on, I was living in her shadow. The precinct’s faith in her grew exponentially, while I was treated like a relic, an inconvenient and obsolete part of the process. My colleagues’ eyes were filled with scorn. “Did you hear? Other precincts are asking for consultations with Ivy. She’s making a real name for the department.” “Yeah, unlike some people. ‘Chief Medical Examiner.’ What a joke. She’s an embarrassment.” I tried to fight back, to prove my worth, but every effort was effortlessly crushed by Ivy. It was all useless. Soon, her fame spread beyond the precinct walls. The families of victims started refusing autopsies. “You have a woman who can talk to the dead!” one father screamed at me in the hallway. “So why are you insisting on cutting up my son? Why are you torturing him even in death?” “You’re not a doctor, you’re a ghoul! A heartless ghoul!” a mother shrieked, her face contorted with grief and fury. It took the Chief of Police himself to calm them down. Ivy’s reputation soared. She was invited to give guest lectures at the city’s top universities. The day she left for one such lecture, a horrific new case came in. A young female student, her face mutilated beyond recognition, her head severed and grotesquely mounted on her neck with a steel rod. The brutality of the crime sent shockwaves through the city. The state command issued a direct order: solve this case, and solve it now. But we hit an immediate wall. The victim’s family flatly refused an autopsy. “Get the Corpse Whisperer!” they demanded. “Let her talk to our daughter!” With Ivy out of town, the precinct had no choice but to try and reason with them. The Chief spent hours gently, painstakingly explaining the necessity of a proper examination. Finally, they relented. He pulled me aside. “Clara,” he said, his voice low and serious. “This is your chance. I know what’s been said, but a break in this case… that would be a major victory. It would silence the critics.” I threw myself into the work, fueled by a desperate hope. I worked through the night, pushing past exhaustion, determined to reclaim a shred of my dignity. But just as I was about to present my comprehensive report to the family and the command staff, Ivy appeared. She walked to the front of the room and, without a single glance at my report, began to speak. “Time of death was approximately 3 a.m. The lacerations on the neck are irregular, with one blunt and one sharp angle at the wound corners. Tissue bridging is visible within the wound cavity, indicating it was caused by a heavy, sharp weapon, like a cleaver.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “There are multiple lacerations on her face, varying in depth. This suggests a crime of passion, an extreme hatred for the victim. The killer was likely someone she knew.” Then, she turned to the grieving parents, her voice softening with theatrical sorrow. “I am so, so sorry. If only I had gotten here sooner, we could have spared her this… and she could have rested whole.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen, a bone-deep chill washing over me. Every single word she had just uttered… was identical to what I had written in my report. The victim’s father snatched the papers from my hand and scanned them, his eyes darting between the page and Ivy. A moment later, his face purpled with rage. “You bitch!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. “What’s the point of you? She knows everything without even looking! You just wanted to butcher my daughter for fun!” “You mutilated her!” the mother screamed, her voice cracking. “She couldn’t even have a proper burial because of you! Don’t you have a soul? Don’t you fear retribution?” “Get out of this precinct! Get out of our sight!” Like a pack of wolves, they surged forward. The father grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the wall. A few of my colleagues rushed in to pull them off me. “Everyone, calm down,” someone pleaded. “Dr. Kearns was just trying to find the truth…” “Calm down?” the mother shrieked. “Our baby is dead and desecrated, and you want us to be calm?” Then, Ivy stepped forward, the picture of magnanimity. “Please, everyone, don’t be upset,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Dr. Kearns is still our city’s Chief Medical Examiner. Her professional skills are… undeniable.” She drew out the last word, her eyes flicking towards me with a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. “We simply use different methods,” she continued, turning her gaze back to the crowd. “For me, the most respectful way to honor the dead is to listen to them. To give them a voice. And I, Ivy Hayes, swear that I will do so for every single soul who needs me.” Nausea churned in my stomach. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop it, Ivy!” I shouted, my voice raw. “Stop this charade! What did you do? What dirty trick did you use to steal my work?” I advanced on her, my eyes locked on hers. “You claim to know everything? Fine. Tell me this: what were the residual contents of the victim’s stomach?” I had deliberately left one crucial detail out of the written report. A final, desperate gambit. Let’s see her talk her way out of this. Suddenly, Luke pushed through the crowd and stood in front of me. His face was a mask of fury. He raised his hand and slapped me, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room. “If you have no talent, then have the decency to shut up and stop embarrassing yourself!” he hissed. “Now get out.” I clutched my stinging cheek, staring at the man I thought I loved. He was a stranger. In that moment, I knew. He wasn’t just a bystander. He was in on it. He knew the truth, and he had chosen her side. A triumphant smirk played on Ivy’s lips. She spoke slowly, savoring each word. “The stomach contents,” she announced, “contained traces of cyanide. A lethal dose, enough to cause death in minutes. That was the true cause of death.” I froze, my eyes wide with horror. How? How could she know that too? The Chief’s face had turned to stone. “Clara Kearns,” he boomed, his voice shaking with rage. “Look at yourself. What have you become? You are a disgrace to this department!” I looked at the ring of accusing faces, at Luke’s cold fury, at Ivy’s victorious smile. A profound, soul-crushing cold enveloped me. It felt like being trapped in a dense fog, unable to see the truth that was right in front of me. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, a brilliant flash of light cut through the fog in my mind. It all made sense. The truth… it was so simple. So horrifyingly simple. I took a deep breath, my gaze meeting the Chief’s. My voice was steady, devoid of all emotion. “Chief,” I said, “I am requesting a transfer. I want to be reassigned to clerical work. Effective immediately. I am no longer a medical examiner.”

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I’m supposed to be an emotionally stable capybara, but I’ve been dropped into the body of a tragic wife, complete with all her baggage—every last ounce of her heartbreak. Her husband, Jack, dotes on his childhood sweetheart, Sophia. Even their son, Tim, dreams of Sophia becoming his new mother. This is great. I don’t want to do anything, anyway. So when Jack gets a call late at night and tries to sneak out, I don’t make a scene. Instead, while clutching the phantom ache in my chest, I calmly hand him his coat. 1 The sound of Jack’s voice, hushed and urgent, pulled me from sleep. He was tiptoeing out of bed, his voice a low murmur of concern for the woman on the other end of the line—his precious Sophia. He slipped on his clothes, grabbed his car keys, and made a beeline for the door. “Wait.” The sound of my voice froze him in his tracks. He turned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features. “Sophia’s alone,” he began, his tone already defensive. “The power’s out, and I—” “Put on your coat before you go,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s cold out.” His irritation morphed into stunned disbelief. He stared at me for a long moment, as if seeing a stranger. But I just turned away, listless, gently rubbing the ache in my chest that wasn’t truly mine. Seeing that I wasn’t gearing up for the usual tear-filled fight, Jack’s expression softened. He walked back to the bed and pressed a quick, dutiful kiss to my forehead. “Don’t be difficult, Erika. I’ll be back soon.” I nodded, feeling nothing but the relentless throb in my heart, which now seemed to be intensifying. The click of the front door was my cue. I dragged myself out of bed and swallowed a painkiller. It was a futile gesture, more for psychological comfort than any real relief. It’s been two months since the original Erika tried to end her life, paving the way for my arrival. This late-night drama with Jack was routine. I was too tired to be angry. For a capybara, anger is just too much trouble. Even if I am cursed with her memories and her pain. The feeling, or lack thereof, persisted the next morning. I’d woken up early to make breakfast for our son, Tim. He took one look at the oatmeal I’d prepared and wrinkled his nose in disgust, scraping the bowl’s contents directly into the trash. “Mom, I’ve told you a million times, I want pancakes for breakfast! Sophia always remembers. Why can’t you?” His disdain was written all over his face. I should have been furious. I should have felt a pang of hurt. Instead, I just picked up my own bowl and slowly ate my oatmeal. “Then you should go ask her to make you breakfast.” Tim, who had been ready to launch into a full-blown tirade, choked on his next words. My quiet suggestion, meant to be helpful, landed like a venomous dart. His face crumpled, and he burst into tears. With a furious swipe of his arm, he sent his own empty bowl and silverware crashing to the floor. “You’re a bad mom! A horrible mom!” he wailed, his voice echoing through the cavernous villa. “Why did Daddy have to marry you? I want Sophia to be my mom!” I continued to eat my oatmeal, calmly turning away from the mess. Capybaras don’t do drama. Not interfering was the best I could offer. My lack of reaction only fueled his tantrum. He swept everything within his reach off the table, the sound of shattering porcelain filling the air. Children have a cruel, innate understanding of how to inflict the deepest wounds. “No wonder Daddy likes Sophia more than you!” he screamed between sobs. I ignored him, though the phantom pain in my chest was becoming unbearable. I set down my bowl, moved to the living room couch, and turned on the morning news. It was my primary way of understanding this world; smartphones were a labyrinth of complexity I had yet to master. Two months in, and I could barely send a text message. The television was so much simpler. “What is going on in here?” 2 Jack stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage in the dining room. Tim, spotting his father, immediately ran to him, a fresh wave of sobs racking his small body as he tattled on my supposed morning-of-terror. Jack, who clearly hadn’t been home all night, scooped him up and stormed over to me, his face a mask of fury. “It was just a little outburst, Erika. He’s a child. Did you have to be so cruel? What if he cries himself sick? If you can’t handle something this simple, then maybe you shouldn’t be looking after him at all.” I gave a slight nod, my eyes still fixed on the television screen. “What is that supposed to mean?” he seethed. “Don’t think playing the silent treatment is going to work. One more incident like this, and I’m asking Sophia to move in.” “Okay,” I said. Jack’s rage intensified. “Fine,” he snapped, his jaw tight. “You said it. Don’t you dare regret it.” As if afraid I’d change my mind, he immediately pulled out his phone and started dialing. While he was on the phone, a news report caught my eye. It was about a spectacular firework display at the city’s largest amusement park. “Last night at midnight,” the cheerful anchor announced, “Ashton City’s largest theme park was exclusively booked by Jack Kartalian, CEO of Kartalian Corporation. Mr. Kartalian had the park’s entire fireworks inventory set off in a single, breathtaking display to woo his sweetheart. The two were seen in a tender embrace, a truly enviable picture of romance.” The screen showed two figures silhouetted against the glittering sky. Even from the back, they looked perfect together. I noticed the coat draped over the woman’s shoulders. It was Jack’s. He turned back to me just then, the very same coat now looking glaringly out of place on him. He seemed to realize it too, fidgeting with the glasses on his nose. “Erika, listen, it’s not what you think. Last night was just—” A sharp, sudden pain lanced through my chest. I shot up from the couch. “You don’t have to explain,” I said, my voice strained. “I trust you.” I tried to keep my tone even as I turned and hurried toward the bedroom. But Jack followed, his voice insistent and grating. “Erika, what is this new game you’re playing? Sophia is like a sister to me! I did that for her as a friend. Can’t you stop listening to tabloid nonsense?” Every word he spoke was another dagger in my heart. As I reached the stairs, the pain overwhelmed me, and the world went black. I collapsed. Through the fog of my fading consciousness, I thought I heard Jack’s voice, cold and distant. “Don’t think playing the victim is going to work on me.” “Get up, Erika.” “Fine. Stay there. See how long you can keep it up.” The last thing I heard before slipping into complete darkness was the decisive click of the front door closing. He had really just left me there. A small, detached part of my mind silently condemned his callousness. I couldn’t fathom why the original Erika had ever fallen for a man like this. And yet, every time the thought of divorce surfaced, a powerful, deep-seated obsession from her memories would rise up, sealing my lips shut. When I finally woke up, the house was empty. And for some reason, a profound sense of relief washed over me. I knew this emotional rollercoaster wasn’t normal. I went online and booked an appointment with a psychiatrist, determined to figure out what was wrong with this body. “Your condition,” the doctor said, peering at me over her glasses, “presents as a severe case of Emotional Transference Syndrome. Given the unique circumstances, I’d recommend you first try to redirect your emotional focus. Find a new anchor—a hobby, a passion, anything. But a person can never be your sole pillar of support. If that fails… we may have to consider more intensive treatments, like ECT.” Her words echoed in my mind all the way home. I pushed open the front door to the sound of cheerful laughter. 3 Sophia’s luggage was already in the entryway, but she herself was comfortably settled on the couch, sharing a slice of cake with Jack and Tim. Jack fed a bite directly to Sophia, and Tim giggled, playfully complaining that his father was showing favoritism. They looked like the perfect family. The moment I stepped inside, the laughter died. The smiles vanished. Tim shot me a cold glare and turned his head away. Jack’s face hardened. “Well, well,” he said with a sneer. “Done with your fainting act?” I just nodded, my emotional state still strangely placid. My chest didn’t even hurt. It was an unexpected, welcome reprieve. Ignoring them, I started walking toward my bedroom. A sweet voice called out from behind me. “Erika.” I turned. Sophia was looking at me, a shy, almost blushing expression on her face. “Erika, I was just looking around, and I absolutely adore your room… the master suite. It’s so lovely. Do you think… could I have it?” Her words hung in the air. Both Jack and Tim swiveled their heads to look at me, their eyes filled with a silent warning. It was clear: if I protested, they would pounce. But… throwing a fit was simply not in my nature. “Okay,” I said. “It’s yours.” A flash of triumph, sharp and provocative, lit up Sophia’s face. “Oh, thank you, Erika! I knew you wouldn’t mind. Could you possibly help me with my things? My self-care skills are a bit weak, and Jack always says you’re so good at housekeeping. It would be such a help.” The thinly veiled insult was impossible to miss. It was a direct jab, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of genuine annoyance. Without a word, I walked over and took her suitcase. And then I kicked it, hard. It went flying, tumbling down the short flight of stairs with a series of sickening thuds. The smug smile was still on Sophia’s face when the final crash echoed through the hall. “Erika, what the hell are you doing?!” Jack was on me in an instant, his voice a furious roar. “If you didn’t want to help, you could have just said so! Why would you kick her luggage?” Seeing Jack leap to her defense, Sophia’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Jack, it’s not that I want to make a fuss,” she sobbed, “but… the porcelain inside… it was a piece I’ve been working on for a year…” She knelt and opened the battered suitcase. Inside, a ceramic vase lay in a thousand pieces. Jack couldn’t stand to see his beloved cry. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring comforting words. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll make her apologize. She’ll pay for it.” A simple ceramic pot, of course, wasn’t worth much. But Jack wasn’t about to let it go. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “Erika. Apologize.” I shook my head, a flicker of satisfaction in my aching heart. “Don’t make me say it again. Apologize!” “Miss Kartalian,” Sophia whimpered, her eyes misty and pathetic, “if you’re angry with me, that’s fine. But please, don’t take it out on my art. I…” “No apology,” I said, my voice steady. “You deserved it.” I was simply stating a fact. Who in their right mind packs fragile porcelain in a suitcase for a move, instead of, say, clothes? “Erika! If you don’t apologize right now, we are getting a divorce! You can get the hell out of this house today!” I had expected a wave of sorrow to crash over me. But, surprisingly, my heart remained calm, my breathing even. “Okay.” I wrenched my arm free and marched to the bedroom, quickly packing a small bag. “If you walk out that door,” Jack yelled after me, “don’t you ever come back!” I nodded. As I passed Sophia, I slipped the wedding ring from my finger and placed it on the table beside her. “This,” I said, “should cover your vase.” The sight of the ring on the table finally seemed to break through Jack’s rage. A flicker of panic crossed his face. “What do you mean by that, Erika?”

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The campus belle, pure and principled, swatted the black card from the rich boy’s hand. “Don’t insult me with your dirty money!” I, being even more destitute, picked up the card that had landed at my feet. I carefully handed it back to the rich boy, Caleb Thornton. Caleb’s eyes swept over me. “You convince Riki to take the card,” he said, his voice low and bored, “and I’ll sponsor you, too.” Afraid the card might actually end up with me, Riki snatched it. And just like that, both Riki and I began receiving financial support from the Thornton family. The difference was, I got my sponsorship by groveling to Caleb. Riki got hers with Caleb groveling to her. Years later, Riki went abroad for her master’s, and I started my career. Caleb pulled me into his bed and made me her substitute. Until the day Riki returned. “Riki’s a little uncomfortable knowing about us,” he told me. “You should go find a boyfriend.” I said, “Okay.” 1 No one knew Riki was coming back early. The night before, Caleb and I had been tangled in the sheets until the early hours. I fell asleep curled in his arms. The next morning, a message buzzed on his phone. He shot up in bed, ripping the covers off me. I was completely naked. The sudden cold made me shiver, and I mumbled without opening my eyes, “What’s wrong?” “Riki’s back. Get up, now. Clean this place up, erase every trace of yourself from this room. I don’t want her to find anything. Hurry.” He was already pulling on his pants, his voice urgent and sharp. I was wide awake now. I sat up, acutely aware of my own naked, mark-covered body. The shame hit me like a physical blow. I felt like a dirty secret, a mistress who couldn’t be seen in the light of day—even though he and Riki had never officially been a couple. “Hurry up. I need you gone before I get back with her.” He strapped on his watch and, without another glance at me, strode out the door. After I’d meticulously tidied his apartment, I left quietly. Not long after, my phone rang. It was Caleb. “Riki’s back and she’s craving your cooking,” he said. “Come over and make dinner.” I paused. “Okay.” I returned to Caleb’s apartment, let in this time by the housekeeper. Riki was lounging on the sofa, dressed in an elegant but comfortable-looking loungewear set, the very picture of effortless beauty. “Ava, it’s been so long. You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, her greeting lazy but polite. I managed a small smile. “You’re even more beautiful.” Caleb emerged from the hallway. “Ava, get started on dinner. Riki’s getting hungry.” Riki smiled, shifting over to make room for Caleb beside her. “You know,” she sighed dramatically, “the one thing I missed desperately while I was abroad was your cooking, Ava. I’m so glad I can finally have it again.” Caleb chuckled. “See? If you’d come back sooner, you could have had it every day.” “Hmph,” she pouted. “I had to finish my degree. You’re always trying to distract me.” They bantered and laughed, their joy filling the room while I toiled in the kitchen, just as I had countless times before. After dinner, Riki went upstairs to rest in the room Caleb had always kept for her, right next to his. As she left, she asked if my room was still the small maid’s room downstairs. I said yes, but added that I had my own place now. A few days of this routine passed. As I was leaving one evening, Caleb stopped me. “Riki found out about us. She’s… a little uncomfortable.” “Ava, go find a boyfriend. It’ll put her mind at ease.” I stood there for a long moment, the words hanging in the air. Finally, I nodded. “Okay.” “I’ll do my best.” 2 Riki was hired at Stellar Corp, a key subsidiary of Thornton Holdings, which Caleb personally managed. The position of Associate Director in the Strategy Department, a role I had fought tooth and nail to achieve, suddenly had a new Director. She was my boss. I took a few team members to her office to walk her through our current projects. As she flipped through a file, she looked up at me. “Ava, could you get me a coffee?” The other two people in the room shot us a surprised look. They were clearly wondering why the new Director was asking her second-in-command to do a coffee run instead of her assistant. I just nodded. “Of course.” I had always known my place in our little trio. I was the add-on, the bonus prize. I was the lackey trailing behind them, the gofer who ran their errands. Even now, as adults, Riki’s attitude hadn’t changed, and I had learned to accept these small humiliations. On Friday, Caleb announced a get-together to welcome Riki back, telling me to be there early. As I approached the private room, I heard my name. I froze. “Caleb, are you really done with Ava for good?” one of his friends was asking. “What else? Just watch what you say later,” Caleb replied casually. “Don’t bring this up in front of Riki.” “Damn, Caleb, you’re a true romantic,” another voice chimed in. “From high school until now, it’s only ever been Riki. You were just using Ava as a stand-in, right? To keep your family off your case until you could make it official with the real deal.” “To be fair, Ava’s not bad,” the first friend mused. “She’s cleaned up well—good-looking, poised, nothing like that timid, mousy girl from high school. And she’s utterly devoted to Caleb, so obedient. Does anything he asks. You sure you want to let that go?” Caleb laughed. “I had no choice. Riki is my moon, the only one. Ava was a decent way to pass the time, I guess. She’s obedient, compliant.” “But now that Riki’s back, everything else has to be swept clean. I’m just waiting for her to officially say yes.” The friends erupted in laughter, praising his unwavering devotion. “Ava? Why are you just standing at the door?” Riki’s voice came from right behind me. 3 Everyone in the room turned to look. Seeing me, they remembered what they’d just been saying, and a wave of awkwardness rippled through the group. Even Caleb stiffened for a second, a rare sight. But when he saw my neutral expression and Riki walking toward him, he relaxed. He kicked the friend next to him, motioning for him to give up his seat for Riki. I walked in and quietly took a seat in the farthest corner. “Ava, what are you doing all the way over there? Come sit here!” Riki called out magnanimously. I shook my head with a smile. “It’s fine, I can see everything from here.” After the initial awkwardness, the party slowly came back to life with drinking games. Riki, having been away for so long, was rusty and lost several rounds. Caleb drank for her every time. At one point, someone laughed and said, “The last time I got that drunk, I made a total fool of myself. If it hadn’t been for Ava—” He cut himself off abruptly. The atmosphere turned tense for a split second before someone quickly changed the subject. Later, on my way back from the restroom, I heard familiar voices coming from the fire exit stairwell. “Hmph. I don’t like how familiar you and your friends are with Ava,” Riki said, her voice laced with displeasure. “Ava was part of our group for years, of course we’re familiar,” Caleb said, a note of weariness in his tone. “Besides, if you’d just agree to be with me, none of this would matter. You saw how they were all cheering for us tonight.” “Hmph. I’m still observing you,” she cooed. I quickly tiptoed past, making no sound. During a lull in the party, Caleb cornered me in the hallway. “How’s the boyfriend search going?” he asked immediately. He seemed to suspect I was just paying him lip service, and that my lack of action was affecting things with Riki. Impatience flickered in his handsome features. “I really am trying,” I said softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way.” He looked at me, and for a moment, a hint of guilt seemed to cross his face. “Well… make sure you find someone suitable.” “I will.” 4 That weekend, I had dinner with Mark Thompson. We’d met through a corporate partnership. He was the Director of Marketing at his company, tall, good-looking, and had been pursuing me for a while. I hadn’t been interested, but… I sighed internally and forced myself to focus, to engage in conversation, to actually give this a chance. After a couple of dates, we grew more comfortable with each other. When Riki found out, she cornered me in the breakroom, her eyes wide with feigned surprise. “Wow, you already have a boyfriend? I thought you were so in love with Caleb you’d never be able to accept anyone else.” Her words were a casual, stinging slap. I felt my face flush. I forced a smile. “The past is the past. You have to move forward.” “Well, my birthday is this weekend. You should bring him,” Riki said with a bright smile. “Caleb will probably be happy to see you’ve found someone.” I nodded. “Okay.” … Caleb spared no expense for Riki’s birthday party. It was extravagant, a grand affair. Mark and Caleb exchanged pleasantries, Mark eagerly shaking Caleb’s hand and calling him “Mr. Thornton.” Caleb gave him a brief, assessing look, then glanced at me before giving a cool, noncommittal nod. After the main celebration, the party moved to the riverfront to watch the fireworks display Caleb had arranged for Riki, lighting up the entire southern skyline of the city. I watched them from a distance. Riki and Caleb stood in the best viewing spot, her eyes on the glittering sky, his eyes on her, a look of such tender devotion on his face he seemed ready to pluck the moon from the heavens for her. I looked at Caleb’s tall, imposing figure and saw it merge with the image of the arrogant, vibrant boy from all those years ago. The day he said he would sponsor me, he changed the course of my life. Back then, my gambler of a father kept showing up at school, trying to drag me out, trying to marry me off to a fifty-year-old limping widower to pay off his debts. One afternoon, he was beating me right at the school gates, and no one dared to intervene. Caleb saved me. “I said I’d sponsor you,” he’d declared, “and that means I’ll protect you.” He was the one who helped me escape my father for good. It was the Thornton family’s money that got me through high school and into the university of my dreams. My life finally began to have color. I knew I was just an accessory, a means to an end so Riki would accept his money, a runner he could keep by his side. But the boy who descended from the heavens in my dreams was also the moon I gazed up at. And in that moment, watching the brilliant fireworks explode and fade, I felt something inside me fizzle out and disappear along with them. 5 There was a disaster at the company. A structure at a venue Riki was in charge of collapsed, nearly injuring several major clients. Those clients and a few corporate partners immediately demanded compensation and terminated their contracts. Stellar Corp was hit with a flood of complaints and a full-blown credibility crisis. Thornton Holdings headquarters demanded an explanation, and heads were going to roll. Caleb summoned me to his office. Riki was in his arms, sobbing pitifully. When Caleb saw me, he hesitated. But then Riki tugged on his shirt, and he spoke. “Ava, Riki just got back. It’s her first time managing a venue this big, so it’s understandable she’d make mistakes. As the Associate Director, you should have been assisting her properly. This wouldn’t have happened if you had.” A bitter, ironic smile tugged at my lips. Everyone in the department knew Riki had rejected every single one of my suggestions. “Riki’s professional reputation can’t be ruined by this one incident,” he continued. “She has a bright future, she needs the clients’ trust. And I can’t have my father thinking she’s incompetent.” “You, on the other hand, have a great reputation with our clients, Ava. One mistake like this won’t affect you too badly.” “So, Ava… you’ll take responsibility for this one. Give the public and headquarters an answer.” “I’ll make it up to you later.” I listened to his words, my expression unchanging. I wasn’t even surprised. It was the same role I had played back in school. But still, I couldn’t help it. I stared at him, searching his face, hoping for even a flicker of regret. All I saw was him avoiding my gaze as he comforted Riki. “Forget it,” Riki sniffled, pulling away from him. “If Ava won’t do it, I’ll take the blame. I’ll just leave the country. I can’t stay here and be a disgrace.” “Riki,” Caleb said, pulling her back into his arms. He frowned at me. “Ava, is this really so difficult for you? You’re the best at handling these kinds of situations. Are you saying you won’t do it?” I watched his entitled, impatient expression. My lips moved. “Fine.” Caleb let out a breath of relief. He cooed at Riki, “See? It’s all sorted. Don’t worry. Ava will handle it. The partners trust her the most.” “Ava, thank you,” Riki said, offering me a faint, triumphant smile. I turned and walked out of his office. I went to headquarters. Mr. Thornton Sr. threw a file at my head and screamed at me for ten minutes. He ordered me to personally win back every partner, every client, and to cover all the damages. I left Thornton Holdings in disgrace and began the humiliating process of begging. I was belittled, mocked, and thrown out of offices. I bowed and scraped and pleaded for forgiveness. Finally, I posted a public apology on Stellar Corp’s official website and announced my resignation. My colleagues in the department knew the truth. They felt sorry for me, but they were powerless to say anything. I went to Caleb’s office one last time. “I know it’s been tough these past few days,” he said. “You don’t have to resign. I’ll give you paid leave. Take a good long rest.” I shook my head. “I want a permanent rest.” He sighed. “Fine. When you want to come back, just let me know.” I didn’t answer that. Instead, I said, “I’ve transferred some money to your account. It’s to repay you for your sponsorship and care over the years.” He sat up straight, stunned. “I never expected you to pay that back. You don’t have to.” I shook my head again. “I should. I’ve been saving up for this. Thank you, Caleb.” Thank you for giving me a new life with a single sentence. Thank you for saving me from hell. And thank you for finally giving me a reason to sever all ties, to leave without a single lingering feeling. Caleb stared at me. “Are you angry that I asked you to cover for Riki?” “I already explained, it would have had a huge impact on her career. You’ve been in the industry for years, everyone trusts you. You even handled the fallout perfectly.” “Why are you making such a big deal out of one little thing?”

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