Category: English

My family runs a butcher shop. Turns out, I was switched at birth with the daughter of the Blackwells, the wealthiest family in the state. The day they came to take the real heiress—me—home, I figured the fake one, the girl who’d lived my life, wouldn’t show her face at my old house. But she did. And she brought her copy of A Guide to Scientific Swine Management with her. I, on the other hand, just shoved my hands in my pockets and slid into the car. The broody CEO brother sent to fetch me shot me a sideways glance. “Where’s your luggage?” I answered slowly, “Too lazy to pack. Isn’t bringing myself enough?” My new brother, Ryan, was speechless. 1 I settled into the plush leather seat, buckled myself in, and found a comfortable position to sink into. Then I went still. The look Ryan Blackwell gave me was… complicated. Like he was trying to decipher a piece of abstract art. Oh, right. Ryan is my long-lost biological brother. Profession: walking cliché of a CEO. And I’m the real heiress they misplaced. My attitude, more suited for a picnic than a life-altering family reunion, seemed to throw him. He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “You’re not going to say goodbye?” “No—” “Mia! My one and only sister! You can’t just leave like this!” My reply was cut short by a theatrical wail. A human missile launched itself at the car, plastering its face against my window and clawing at my hands. “I can’t live without you! What am I going to do when you’re gone?” he sobbed, shaking my arm with such force I felt like a strand of seaweed in a storm. My soul was about to vibrate right out of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a goner now,” I said, closing my eyes peacefully. “If you need anything, hold a séance.” My brother, Leo, paused his hysterics for a beat, then cried even louder. “Mia, I finished the diagnostic test for the game! When are you gonna send me an invite code—” He was abruptly hoisted to his feet by an unseen force, and the waterworks stopped instantly. It was Jessie, the girl I’d been switched with. She clutched a thick binder to her chest and pushed a pair of glasses up her nose. A cold glint seemed to flash behind the lenses. “Leo Miller, correct?” she asked, her tone clinical. “According to our parents, you’ve been in charge of the feeding regimen for the eight pigs in the backyard?” Her serious, interrogative manner made Leo snap to attention, adopting the solemn posture of a schoolboy facing the principal. “Y-yes? Is there a problem?” Jessie flipped open her binder with a crisp thwack and produced a fountain pen from her pocket. She began scribbling furiously as she fired off questions. “What are the daily feeding times? How are the piglets’ appetites? What is the duration of their post-meal exercise? Have you observed any abnormalities in their fecal matter?” With each question, Leo’s mouth fell open a little wider until he looked completely stupefied. Ryan, however, seemed to have expected this. He merely lifted an eyelid, observing the scene from the sidelines without a word. I shot Jessie a look of genuine surprise. From heiress of a fortune to the daughter of a butcher, she showed no sign of whiplash. In fact, she was adapting faster than I was. Jessie met my gaze and gave me a polite, professional nod. I smirked and pointed at the dumbstruck Leo. “He’s useful,” I told her. “Whatever grand plans you have, just point him at it.” Jessie’s eyes lit up. She thought for a moment, then stated a simple, powerful fact. “The Blackwells… have money.” Ryan, the Blackwell heir, shifted uncomfortably. Leo, the butcher’s son, looked terrified. 2 It was nearly ten by the time we reached the Blackwell mansion, well past my usual bedtime. My eyelids were in a losing battle with gravity; I was about to fall asleep on my feet. But as I stepped through the door, a saccharine, syrupy voice jolted me awake. “Ryan, you’re finally back! Auntie Liu, please bring out the chicken and wild rice soup you prepared! My brother must be exhausted after such a long day on the road. He probably didn’t even eat properly.” A girl in a floaty white dress fluttered over, fussing around Ryan with a perfectly furrowed brow of concern. After a torrent of words, her gaze finally landed on me. She covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about you.” She glanced at me timidly, then back at Ryan. “Ryan, is this… Mia? Does this mean that… that Jessie really isn’t coming back?” Ryan’s face was a stony mask. “Where she goes is her business. From now on, Mia is your sister.” He turned to me. “This is Lily. She’s a child my mother sponsors. Adopted, more or less.” Lily looked at me, her expression a careful performance of anxiety. “Mia… sister… I didn’t know you were coming today, so I didn’t prepare anything for you. You… you won’t hold it against me, will you?” I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn. My body was here, but my soul had already checked out. Are we done yet? I just want to find a bed and pass out. Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his handsome face. “She’s tired from the trip. Take her to her room to rest.” Lily bit her lip. “…But her room isn’t ready yet.” Ryan’s hand dropped, his brow creasing. “What do you mean? I told you to have it prepared before I left.” His sharp gaze fell on the housekeeper, Auntie Liu. Lily rushed to explain, wringing her hands. “It’s not Auntie Liu’s fault, it’s mine! I thought, since my sister was coming home, I should give her my room. But… but I have so many things, I couldn’t get it cleared out in time.” As she spoke, she looked as if she were on the verge of tears. Ryan’s frown deepened. “There are plenty of empty rooms upstairs. Just prepare one of those.” “But my room has the best light! A sister coming home deserves the very best. It’s all my fault, I should have moved out sooner. I never should have taken such a nice room in the first place… Maybe she can sleep in my room tonight? I can sleep anywhere, really. Sister…” Lily dabbed at her eyes, turning to me with a look of brave self-sacrifice, but her words died in her throat. Ryan followed her gaze. His own composed expression finally cracked. Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, I was already fast asleep. 3 I slept until noon the next day, waking up in a completely unfamiliar room. I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Once, when I was a kid, I went with my dad on a late-night butchering job. On the way back at dawn, I was so tired I saw a pile of hay on the side of the road, flopped down, and was instantly out. Dad was walking ahead and turned around to find his daughter had vanished into thin air. Scared the hell out of him. Mom nagged him about it for a month, and young Leo was given a new, solemn duty: keep an eye on Mia, and don’t let her fall asleep in random places. When I came downstairs, Ryan and Lily were already at the dining table. Ryan looked up at me, a flicker of what seemed like relief on his face. He’d probably never seen someone sleep so much like a corpse—utterly unresponsive. If I wasn’t still warm to the touch, he might have called an ambulance. Once I sat down, he asked a few perfunctory questions about how I slept and told me to make a list of anything I needed so his assistant could buy it. Across the table, Lily bit her lip, looking like she was bursting to say something. Naturally, I said nothing. Getting an extra word out of me was a feat of herculean effort. Leo could attest to the number of times he’d practically begged me on his knees just to acknowledge his existence. When the food arrived, I focused on the dish directly in front of me, slowly picking at it. Ryan glanced at me. Then glanced again. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “There’s so much food. Why are you only eating that one dish?” He softened his tone slightly. “This is your home. Don’t be formal. Take whatever you want.” It was the opening Lily had been waiting for. She immediately began piling food onto my plate. “Sister, you’ve probably never had any of this before. You should try everything. I know your family… runs a butcher shop…” She let out a little “ah!” and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh, sister, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not looking down on butchers, really. It’s just, living in a place like that, you must have suffered a lot. But now that you’re back with the Blackwells, everything is different. Just tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll have Auntie Liu make it for you.” She stared at me, waiting for a reaction. I just gave a flat “Oh,” and added, “Thanks.” She waited, but I offered nothing more. The smile on her face stiffened. After a moment, I turned to Ryan. “It’s too far. Lifting my arm is tiring.” Ryan blinked, taking a second to realize I was answering his earlier question. A look of mingled frustration and amusement crossed his face. “It’s just lifting your arm…” My phone buzzed with a string of notifications. Seeing me ignore it, Ryan prompted, “Aren’t you going to check that?” “It’s nothing,” I said without looking up, continuing to eat. Lily’s eyes darted. Suddenly, she reached out, picked up my phone, and put on an expression of thoughtful concern. “What if it’s something urgent? Just because you’re a Blackwell now doesn’t mean you should cut off everyone from your old life.” With that, she unlocked the screen. A series of desperate cries immediately filled the room. “MIA, SAVE ME! I’M BEGGING YOU! THIS WOMAN IS A DEMON! SHE STAYS UP ALL NIGHT WRITING BUSINESS PLANS FOR PIGS! THE POSTNATAL CARE GUIDELINES FOR SOWS ALONE ARE A HUNDRED. ITEMS. LONG!” “SHE’S TALKING ABOUT EXPANDING OUR BUTCHER STALL, AIMING TO INCORPORATE IN SIX MONTHS AND GO PUBLIC IN THREE YEARS!” “SHE DRAGGED ME OUT OF BED AT 6 A.M. TO CONDUCT HEALTH ASSESSMENTS ON EVERY SINGLE PIG, AND THEN SHE MADE THEM DO AEROBICS!” “I DON’T WANT THE REST OF MY LIFE TO BE TIED TO PIGS! I DON’T WANT TO BE THE HEIR TO A PORK EMPIRE, EVEN IF IT’S PUBLICLY TRADED!” 4 The string of anguished howls echoed through the dining room, painting a vivid picture of Leo’s mental breakdown. An awkward silence fell over the room. Ryan sat up a little straighter. “I’m finished. Enjoy your meal.” He stood up and strode out of the house, heading for work with a sudden, inexplicable surge of energy. As for Lily, who was usually the center of all drama, she was suddenly as quiet as a mouse. A thoughtful expression crossed my face. Jessie. The girl who was supposed to be me, the former Blackwell heiress, and now Leo’s actual sister. She was that intimidating, huh? Under Leo’s continuous barrage of text-message agony, I learned just how much of an overachiever Jessie was. She wasn’t just writing business plans late into the night; she was already renovating the facilities, implementing scientific breeding and butchering protocols. She had even humbled herself to work at Dad’s butcher stall for three days, observing and then implementing a complete overhaul. And you know what? Her changes had elevated the humble stall to a whole new level. Business was booming. The only victim was Leo, who had become the sole soldier in Jessie’s one-woman army. But that wasn’t even the most terrifying part. The butcher shop was just Jessie’s side hustle. Her main job was Team Lead in the project development department at Blackwell Corp. She had applied for the job right after she turned eighteen, starting as a junior employee and earning every promotion on her own merit. No one at the company even knew she was the boss’s daughter. Terrifying. Utterly terrifying. Suddenly, Ryan’s newfound sense of urgency this morning made perfect sense. With a super-hustler like that for a sister, constantly threatening his CEO throne, how could he ever relax? But now he had me, his new slacker sister. He probably didn’t have to worry anymore. While my CEO brother was out providing for the family, I was sprawled on the sofa, playing on my phone. Lily finished her piano practice. I was on the sofa. Lily finished her dance lesson. I was on the sofa. Lily was learning to bake with Auntie Liu. I flipped over to my other side. “Sister, you…” Lily approached me with a plate of freshly baked cookies, her words trailing off. My fingers were tapping away on the screen. I hadn’t even registered the human-shaped organism standing beside me. A flash of annoyance crossed Lily’s pretty face, and her voice rose sharply. “Sister, the Blackwells may be wealthy, but that doesn’t mean we should waste our lives. We should strive to better ourselves.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing. “Perhaps the environment you grew up in was… lacking. You haven’t been exposed to truly exceptional people, so your perspective is limited. You’ve grown accustomed to that… aimless, day-to-day existence of the lower class, but—” Her tone sharpened, her fists clenching as she stared at me, her face a mask of righteous anger. “That’s no excuse for you to be so degenerate!” I looked up, bewildered. “What is she talking about?” Lily frowned, about to speak again, when a familiar voice cut through from my phone. “She’s always been like that. Can’t make a point, no logical flow, her semantics are a mess.” On the other end of the line, Jessie paused, then added with emphasis, “Lily, did you just skip every English class you ever had? Is that what your teachers taught you? Or is there something wrong with the way you learn? How can a grown person be so utterly incapable of articulating a coherent thought?” “Chlo… Jessie?” Lily’s face went pale. She tensed, instinctively standing up straight. Jessie’s words seemed to hit her hard. She turned and walked away, looking utterly dejected. Over the phone, Jessie thanked me. “Your system is brilliant. Leo was right, you’re incredibly good at this.” I gave a noncommittal grunt. Before hanging up, Jessie remembered something. “By the way, Mom and Dad… the Blackwells… will be back in a few days. They’re very different from our parents at the butcher shop. You should probably brace yourself.” Different how? Were they not human? I pondered it for two seconds before dismissing it from my mind. 5 My life at the Blackwells’ was no different from my life at the Millers’. It was just a new place to lie down. And damn, the sofa in the Blackwells’ living room was comfortable. For the past few days, aside from going upstairs to sleep, I’d barely left it. I’d considered just sleeping on the sofa, but Ryan, down for a glass of water, caught me in the act and banished me back to my bedroom. He even escorted me to the door to make sure I didn’t sneak back. “These years with the Millers…” He looked like he wanted to say something, but ended up just pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Get some sleep.” In these few days, Ryan had gotten a full education on the difference between a human and a human sloth. I could hold the same position for hours without moving. The day I arrived, he’d given me a credit card with a $200,000 monthly allowance. Hilarious. I hadn’t even set foot outside the front door, let alone spent any money. It was only because Ryan was home from work today that he realized just how… precariously I was living. The kind of existence where one could accidentally perish from sheer inertia. He couldn’t stand it anymore and took it upon himself to manually flip me over—no, I mean, to correct my unhealthy lifestyle. One minute he was pulling me up to stretch my limbs, the next he was telling me to look away from the screen and focus on something in the distance. He was driving me nuts. For the first time, I voluntarily asked him why he was home. Ryan paused, about to answer, when the sound of a car pulling up outside made him go silent. Lily, who had been practicing piano upstairs, came bounding down the stairs and threw herself into a woman’s arms like a homing pigeon. “Mom! Dad! You’re back! I missed you so, so much!” The woman hugged her, cooing “my baby,” while the man beside them joined the embrace. The three of them were a picture of familial bliss, their conversation a cascade of warm, effusive endearments. Mrs. Blackwell launched into an excited monologue about their trip, showing off a mountain of gifts, while Lily played her part perfectly, gasping with a “Wow!” at every item and providing a geyser of enthusiastic reactions. The chatter continued all through dinner, with Mr. Blackwell smiling indulgently at them. It was a perfectly harmonious scene. Which made Ryan and me stick out like sore thumbs. Ryan was especially quiet today. He glanced at me, a look of what might have been sympathy in his eyes. Me: “?” Ryan’s gaze shifted to Lily, who was joyfully displaying her gifts. His voice was firm. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re eating. You can open your presents in your room later.” Then he turned to Mrs. Blackwell, his tone softening slightly. “Mom, this is your first time meeting Mia. Shouldn’t you have a gift for her, too?” Mrs. Blackwell let out a long, theatrical “Ohhh” of annoyance, as if she’d just remembered my existence. She slapped her forehead, looking for something to give me, but all the gifts she’d brought back had already been claimed and opened by Lily. Without much thought, she simply snatched a gift from Lily’s hands. “Mia, this is for you. Mommy forgot to buy you something, but I’ll make it up to you next time.” Mr. Blackwell added, “Just take what your mother is giving you. We didn’t forget you on purpose, you just… slipped our minds.” If Jessie were here, I thought, she’d definitely say Mr. Blackwell’s grasp of language was also subpar. Or maybe he just majored in saying absolutely nothing of substance. I didn’t take it. “I don’t want presents someone else has already opened.” My words dropped the temperature at the table by twenty degrees. Mrs. Blackwell looked lost and hurt. “Mia, are you angry with Mommy? I didn’t mean to, I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Mr. Blackwell slammed his chopsticks on the table, his face darkening. “Where are your manners? Is that any way to speak to your mother?” Ryan rubbed his temples, the irritation practically radiating off him. Into the suffocating silence, Lily spoke up timidly. “I don’t want the gifts anymore. You can give them all to sister.” This immediately triggered Mrs. Blackwell’s protective instincts. She pulled Lily’s hand into hers. “Oh, my darling, you’re always the thoughtful one. You just tell Mommy what you like, and Mommy will buy it all for you.” “Okay, thank you, Mommy.” The two of them resumed their affectionate chatter, and just like that, the storm seemed to pass. 6 After dinner, the family settled in the living area to chat. Mostly, it was Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell chatting with Lily. Ryan had his laptop out, dealing with work. I, naturally, reclaimed my designated spot on the sofa with my phone. Mrs. Blackwell shot disgruntled looks at both Ryan and me, clearly feeling we weren’t as filial as Lily. She and Mr. Blackwell had been traveling for days, and upon their return, we couldn’t even be bothered to ask about their trip or sit and chat with them. Me: “…?” Mr. Blackwell nodded along, in full agreement with his wife. He even mentioned that Jessie used to be the same way—cold, a workaholic just like her brother, completely inconsiderate of her parents. That, he explained, was why they adopted Lily in the first place. Now their biological daughter was back, and she wasn’t fawning over them either, more attached to her phone than to her own parents. Thank goodness they’d adopted one good one, or they’d never know the joy of a child’s affection. Listening to this, I was at a complete loss for words. I glanced at Ryan. His expression was placid. This was clearly a well-worn lecture he’d learned to tune out. Somehow, the conversation shifted to my schooling. They asked me where I went. Lily, my age and a senior, attended the prestigious Northwood Preparatory Academy. The mere mention of the school brought a proud, irrepressible smile to her face, and Mrs. Blackwell looked equally pleased. My fingers didn’t stop moving on the screen. I answered casually. “Oh, I’m a homebody.” Mrs. Blackwell was still muttering, “Homebody? Is that a magnet school?” when Lily let out a small “pfft” of laughter. When everyone looked at her, she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, sister, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just the way you said ‘homebody’ instead of ‘homeschooled’…” She looked like she was about to laugh again. Mrs. Blackwell’s voice turned sharp. “You’re not in school?” “Nope,” I replied without looking up. I couldn’t be bothered with school. I’d always taught myself. The one day my parents tried to send me to kindergarten, I managed to make the teacher and the entire class cry. After that, the idea of traditional schooling was permanently off the table. They worried endlessly about it. It was Leo who eventually said, “There’s a wall between gods and mortals. Forcing a deity to mingle with commoners just makes everyone uncomfortable.” He got a beating for that. So, I’d never spent a day in a classroom. Though for the past two years, the old principal of Northwood Prep had been trying to persuade me to enroll, especially with the SATs coming up. He wanted me to take them as an official student of the school. Right now, however, Mrs. Blackwell’s face was a thundercloud. She was already in a hushed, urgent conference with her husband about getting me into Lily’s school. The Blackwells couldn’t have a dropout for a daughter. It would be a laughingstock. Where would she hide her face?

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I am a coffin-born child. A local seer read my fate and declared I was born under a shadowed moon, unlikely to survive my eighth winter. If I was to have any hope of a long life, I needed a patron—a guardian to shelter me from the darkness that clung to my soul. On the day I turned one month old, my father was to follow the seer’s instructions to the letter. He was to hold me, his eyes squeezed shut, and walk from our doorstep, scattering a trail of ash and salt with every step. After one hundred paces, he was to open his eyes. The first thing he saw, whatever it was, would become my guardian. That day, as my father stepped out into the world with me in his arms, the heavens seemed to curdle. A freak storm had swollen the river, and the torrent had torn a chunk out of the old hillside cemetery, dislodging the ancient graves. He walked his hundred paces. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at a casket. A massive, blood-red casket, bobbing silently in the floodwater before him. 1 My name is Luna. I was born on the fifteenth of July, a night of the full moon, hence the name. The old-timers in our town, Blackwood Creek, sometimes call me “Half-Moon,” a grim little joke I wouldn’t understand until much later. My mother’s labor was a nightmare. It ended with her death. It should have been my death, too. The town midwife, a woman who’d seen more than her share of sorrow, warned my father that the spirit of a woman who dies in childbirth is a restless, vengeful thing. A mother and child lost together? That was a curse of the highest order. She insisted my mother be laid in her coffin immediately and moved to the old parish morgue on the outskirts of town. But in the dead of night, I clawed my way out of my mother’s womb. Old Man Silas, the part-time caretaker of the morgue, was nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey when he heard an infant’s cry coming from inside the coffin. The sound sobered him up faster than a slap to the face. He was sure it was a ghost. My father was the fourth son in his family, so everyone just called him “Four.” Silas, his hands trembling, called out into the gloom. “Martha, lass… whatever I did to you, it’s not on me! Don’t you be havin’ a go at an old man!” he stammered. “You… you leave me be! I’ll burn some extra candles for you, how about that?” He lit candles and incense, but the baby’s cries only grew stronger, more insistent. A thought struck Silas. Could it be… Martha ain’t dead? He scrambled to pry open the coffin lid. There I was, nestled between my mother’s legs, slick with blood and still attached to the afterbirth. “A corpse… giving birth?” Silas was so stunned he forgot to even pick me up. He just grabbed his lantern and sprinted through the dark towards our house. “Thomas! Thomas, open up!” he hollered, banging on the door. “It’s your wife! Your Martha… she’s had the baby!” My father, my grandparents, and half the neighbors were in our small house, making grim preparations for a funeral. When they heard Silas screaming that my dead mother had given birth, a fresh wave of fear washed over them. “Silas, what nonsense are you spouting?” one of the neighbors called out. “We carried Martha to the morgue ourselves not five hours ago!” “Yeah, you’ve had too much to drink, old man. The dead don’t have babies.” “Wait a minute,” another voice whispered. “They say on a full moon in July, the veil is thin. What if that ain’t really Silas at the door? What if it’s a spirit?” The suggestion hung in the air, chilling everyone to the bone. My father’s voice shook. “Uncle Silas… it’s not that we don’t believe you, but… can you prove it’s really you? How do we know you’re not… something else?” Silas, a respected elder in our small community, was furious. “You listen here, you little punk!” he roared. “When you were four years old, you fell into the septic tank! If I hadn’t been passing by to pull you out, you’d still be in there eating shit! You think I’d lie about something this big? Your wife had the baby!” My father’s face relaxed slightly. “It’s really him,” he breathed, and unbolted the door. But his anxiety returned in a rush. “Uncle, are you saying Martha… she’s not dead?” Silas’s expression softened with pity. “The mother’s gone, son. But there’s a little one in that coffin, and she’s crying her lungs out. I thought I was seeing things, but I swear on my life, there’s a baby in there.” “Come on,” he urged. “No more talk. Let’s go.” The sheer impossibility of it all—a baby born from a corpse—overwhelmed their fear with a morbid curiosity. A procession of a dozen people, armed with lanterns and torches made from split bamboo, made their way to the morgue. By the time they arrived, my cries had weakened to faint whimpers. Acting on pure instinct, I had crawled up my mother’s body and was suckling at her breast. When the townsfolk opened the coffin, that was the sight that greeted them. Me, nursing from my dead mother, whose eyes were wide open, as if she couldn’t rest until she knew I was safe. My grandmother gasped and quickly lifted me out. “She really did it… I thought the baby was gone with her.” She gently reached down and closed my mother’s eyes. “Rest now, Martha,” she whispered. “I swear I’ll raise this child right. You can go in peace.” My father fell to his knees beside the coffin, his forehead hitting the wooden floor. “Martha… you gave your life for her. I’ll raise our daughter, I swear it. I’ll never take another wife. You can rest now.” And with that, my mother’s eyes finally stayed closed. Father Michael, the local man of the cloth who’d been brought in to perform the last rites, pushed through the crowd. “Quickly, is it a boy or a girl?” My grandmother, having just cut the umbilical cord and wrapped me in her shawl, looked up. “A girl, Father. Why?” Father Michael’s brow furrowed. “Born on the fifteenth of July, at the third stroke of midnight. Her birth signs are all shadowed, and being a girl only deepens the connection to that darkness.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “She was born in a coffin, from a body that had passed. She’s been touched by death. It will be a miracle if she survives.” He paused, his eyes grave. “Her eighth year… there will be a great trial, a calamity that will seek to claim her.” “What?” My father, who had loved my mother since they were teenagers, was already broken by her death. The thought of losing me too was more than he could bear. He scrambled forward, grabbing at the priest’s robes. “Father! You have to save my daughter! She’s all I have left of Martha! If anything happens to her, how can I ever face my wife in the afterlife?” Father Michael stroked his beard. “Get up, son. There is a way. But you must do exactly as I say…” 2 After a week of prayers and rituals, my father laid my mother to rest. Then, on the day I turned one month old, he began the ritual Father Michael had prescribed. He held me close, his eyes squeezed shut, and started walking from our front door, leaving a trail of ash and salt behind him. The seer had been clear: one hundred steps. No more, no less. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw would be my patron, my guardian, whose spiritual strength I could borrow to survive. He had barely taken a few steps when the sky darkened, and a fierce wind whipped through the valley. It snatched the ashes from his hand, sending them swirling like a swarm of gray butterflies. The river beside the path was raging, and in the distance, he could hear shouts. Something about a landslide, a mudslide, the old cemetery on the hill collapsing. Temptation gnawed at him. He wanted to open his eyes, to see what was happening, but Father Michael’s warning echoed in his mind. Not until the hundredth step. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. He walked, wondering what he would see. A tree? A stone? Please, not a toad… Just as he took the hundredth step, I let out a happy gurgle in his arms. My father opened his eyes. And there it was. A massive, blood-red casket, carried by the churning river, had drifted to a stop right in front of him. It was uncanny. The coffin had been moving with the current, but as it drew level with my father, it simply… stopped. He stood there, clutching me, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His first instinct was to turn and run. But then he remembered the seer’s words: The first thing you see. For my sake, for the promise he’d made to my mother, he took a deep breath. He bowed his head, holding me out towards the crimson coffin. “To whoever rests within,” he began, his voice shaking. “I don’t know your name… but our meeting here must be fate. My daughter… she has had a hard start. Her mother is gone. The seer said she needs a patron, a guardian to borrow strength from, just to live. I’m asking you… please, be my daughter’s guardian.” It was a coffin washed down from the old hills, who knew how old it was, what ancestor it held. But he was desperate. He would take the chance. He never expected a response. But as the words left his lips, the piece of red paper with my birth details, tucked into my swaddling, fluttered up and landed softly on the coffin lid. Slowly, the lid began to slide open. A figure sat up inside. It was a woman, dressed in a magnificent, blood-red gown, a coronet of black jet and pearl on her head. Her face was as pale as porcelain, but her lips were the color of fresh blood. Her eyes, dark and intelligent, were unnervingly alive, and a strange, knowing smile played on her lips. Those eyes held a power that rooted my father to the spot, his legs turning to jelly. Then, she spoke, her voice a low, melodic hum that seemed to echo from another time. “If it is fate, then so be it. This child shall be my goddaughter.” She looked at me. “Born on the half-moon of July? We shall call her Half-Moon. Easy to remember.” My father stared, his mind reeling. “You… what are you? A person or a ghost?” The woman’s smile widened. She rose from the coffin, not climbing, but floating, landing weightlessly on the muddy bank before him. She looked down at him, her presence overwhelming. A long, crimson fingernail, sharp as a talon, gently traced the line of my jaw. “Neither person,” she purred, “nor ghost.” Her eyes glinted. “I am… a corpse.” “Aaaah!” A terrified scream tore from my father’s throat, but his body was frozen, as if encased in concrete. His hands trembled so violently he could barely hold me. The woman reached out and took me from his arms, cradling me against her chest. I, a one-month-old infant, felt no fear. In fact, I was drawn to her, to the cold, ancient scent that clung to her. I snuggled into her embrace and gurgled happily, nuzzling against her as if searching for milk. My reaction seemed to amuse her. “Clever girl. Your godmother has no milk for you, but I cannot let my daughter go hungry.” She reached up to her coronet and plucked a pearl from it—a magnificent orb that glowed with its own cold, internal light. She placed it in my father’s trembling hand. “Go,” she commanded. “Take this to the city. Find my daughter the finest wet nurse money can buy.” She gently patted my cheek. “Be good, little Half-Moon. You’ll have your milk soon.” 3 The woman—my new godmother—commanded my father to take the luminous pearl to the city and exchange it for money. With me held hostage in her cold embrace, he had no choice but to obey. But a new fear gripped him. “But… I’m just a poor farmer,” he stammered, his face pale. “How can I explain possessing something so valuable? If someone asks where I got it, what do I say?” “Leave the town,” the woman said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Take a carriage to the provincial capital. Find the street called ‘The Gilded Span’ and look for a shop named ‘White’s Emporium of Antiquities.’ The proprietor is a man named White. You will ask him for five thousand silver dollars.” The sum struck my father like a physical blow. In those days, a good year of farming might earn a man a few dozen dollars. Five thousand was an unimaginable fortune. “I… I can’t!” he panicked. “I wouldn’t dare!” The woman laughed, a sound like cracking ice. “You are not afraid of me, yet you fear the living?” She flicked her wrist, and a flicker of red light, like a spark, shot from her finger and sank into my father’s hand. “Fear not. No one will harm you. Just go.” My father, now more afraid of refusing than of obeying, set off for the city with the pearl. The old saying, “an innocent man with a treasure is a magnet for thieves,” echoed in his twenty-year-old mind. He clutched the priceless pearl, his heart pounding with every step. He caught a neighbor’s ox-cart to the county seat, then boarded a train for a three-day journey to the capital. It was his first time in a big city. The towering buildings and bustling streets were a world away from Blackwood Creek, but the thought of me in the clutches of that undead creature spurred him on. He asked for directions and made a beeline for White’s Emporium. The shop was an imposing, multi-story building with a grand, carved sign. It dealt in antiques, art, and artifacts of immense value. The owner, Mr. White, was rumored to be the wealthiest man in the southern province, a descendant of a high-ranking official from the old imperial court—a master of forgotten arts. When my father stated his business at the door, the shopkeeper looked him up and down, sizing up his rough-spun clothes and worn boots. He spat out a few lines of coded trade-speak. When my father couldn’t answer, the man’s face soured with contempt. “Listen, kid, do you have any idea what kind of establishment this is?” he sneered. “We don’t just let any riff-raff in. We don’t deal in stolen or undocumented goods. Be on your way.” He had my father shoved out the door and, as an afterthought, tossed two copper coins on the ground. “You look hungry. Buy yourself some bread and go home.” My father had left home with barely enough money for the journey, and had been eating scraps to save his return fare. He was shocked that even the act of throwing him out came with a two-penny charity. He picked up the coins, tears welling in his eyes. “Sir, I’m not lying,” he pleaded. “I have something truly special for your master. My daughter… she’s with… her. She’s just a month old, and her mother is gone. If I fail, my little girl will die!” He thrust his sleeve forward, pulling it back just enough to reveal a sliver of the pearl’s cold, otherworldly glow. The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide. “That’s…” “Please, sir,” my father begged, “just tell him I’m here. I, Thomas Croft, will spend the next life as your beast of burden to repay the kindness!” Moved by his desperation and the undeniable authenticity in his eyes, the shopkeeper relented and went to fetch his master. Mr. White of the Emporium looked to be a man in his forties, impeccably dressed in a tailored Western suit and tie, holding a polished cane like an English gentleman. When he saw the pearl in my father’s hand, his professional calm shattered. He seized my father’s wrist, his eyes burning with intensity. “Where did you get this?” he demanded. His fierce gaze terrified my father. “She… she told me not to say,” he stammered. “She only said to ask you, Mr. White… if you would buy it.” Mr. White’s brow furrowed. He studied my father for a long moment, then his grip loosened. “I will,” he said, his tone softening. “How much does she want?” My father, abashed, could barely speak the words. He held up five fingers. “Five… five thousand silver dollars.” Mr. White took the pearl, examining it with a jeweler’s loupe. Without looking up, he gestured to the shopkeeper. “Arthur, go to the vault. Get him five thousand.” My father couldn’t believe his ears. Five thousand dollars, just like that? Seeing his stunned expression, Mr. White clapped him on the shoulder with a friendly smile. “An excellent piece, young man.” “If you ever come across anything else of this quality,” he added, “be sure to bring it to White’s Emporium first. If I’m not here, Arthur will take care of you. Whatever you have, I’ll buy it.” 4 Mr. White not only bought the pearl but also treated my father to a lavish meal. After a few glasses of wine, he started talking more freely, treating my father like an old friend. “Thomas, my boy, I won’t lie to you,” he said, leaning in. “This pearl… it’s from an ancient tomb. Hundreds of years old, at least.” “A gem of this size and quality,” he continued, “is something reserved for royalty, for kings and emperors. This piece… it came from an imperial mausoleum, didn’t it?” As he spoke, his eyes were fixed on my father, searching for any flicker of confirmation. But my father just waved his hand dismissively. “An emperor’s tomb? Nothing like that! We’re from a poor, forgotten corner of the country…” He trailed off, remembering the woman’s warning: Sell the pearl and return immediately. He quickly stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. White, but my daughter is waiting for me. I must be going.” Mr. White didn’t press him. He offered to arrange a ride, but my father refused. The shopkeeper, Arthur, gave him a bundle of dried rations for the journey home. My father sewed the five thousand dollars in bank notes into the lining of his old coat and left without a moment’s delay. He didn’t know that the moment he stepped out of White’s Emporium, he was marked. A gang of thieves had been watching the shop. Four of them, led by a sharp-eyed woman. They weren’t common pickpockets; they specialized in robbing people coming out of high-end antique shops and pawn brokers. My father, with his shabby clothes and nervous demeanor, screamed “big score.” The first one, a wiry man named Finn, bumped into my father “accidentally.” As he did, he slit open the cloth bundle my father was carrying. A pile of hard, coarse oatcakes spilled onto the dusty street. My father cried out in dismay, tears in his eyes. “My cakes! My oatcakes!” Finn feigned embarrassment. “Oh, terribly sorry, friend. Just an accident. They’re all dirty now, you should probably just leave them.” My father, good-hearted and unsuspecting, shook his head. “No, no, sir. These were a gift. They’re made with good flour. We don’t even get to eat this well at Christmas back in my village. I’ll just dust them off.” Finn was bewildered. He’s in the capital city, and he’s not buying himself a decent meal? He’s crying over oatcakes? My father pulled a few copper coins from his pocket. “To be honest, sir, I came to the city on an errand for an elder. I didn’t bring much money. This is just enough for my train ticket back. The shopkeeper gave me these two coins out of pity. When I get to the county seat, I won’t even have money for the cart ride home. I’ll have to walk half a day through the mountains.” Finn was now seriously questioning his life choices. Had the boss been wrong? Was this kid actually broke? He reported back to his leader, a woman named Sadie. She remained unconvinced. She sent Finn to watch the city while she and her other two men, Gus and Jed, bought tickets for the same train as my father. Jed was rail-thin and had a nervous stutter, but he was a fearsome brawler, a master of a strange, jerky fighting style. “B-b-boss,” he stammered, “th-th-that kid… h-he won’t even s-s-spend money on a c-c-cup of water. Y-you s-sure he’s got the goods?” Sadie, idly flipping a small, wicked-looking blade between her fingers, was certain. “He’s got it. I can smell the money on him. And who is Mr. White? He doesn’t waste his time on just anyone. That kid was in there for two hours. He made a big deal.” Gus, the third man, wasn’t a fighter but an expert with knockout drugs. “Even if you’re trying to be discreet,” he mused, “you wouldn’t be that cheap, would you? He’s been gnawing on those oatcakes for three days. I’m getting a sore throat just watching him.” Sadie shot him a look. “Then why don’t you go offer him a drink?” Gus understood. He got a tin cup of water from the train attendant, stirred in a dose of sleeping powder, and approached my father. “Friend, you look familiar,” he said, perfectly mimicking the accent of our region. “You from Redding County too?” The train’s final stop was Redding, and after three days of tailing him, they had the local dialect down pat. My father’s eyes lit up. “Mister, you’re from Redding too?” Gus smiled. “Well, my grandmother is. From Hawk’s Hollow, over by the dam. And you?” My father, overjoyed to meet someone from “back home,” immediately told him everything. “I’m from Blackwood Creek, by the old bridge! That’s only a few miles from there!” “Well, what do you know,” Gus chuckled. “Small world. You must be thirsty, eating those dry cakes. Here, have some water. I just got it.” 5 My father was hesitant. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly…” “Don’t be a stranger,” Gus insisted. “For all we know, your family and my grandma’s could be cousins.” My father took the cup and drank, then, not wanting to take without giving, he offered Gus two of his oatcakes. “Here, you have some! They’re delicious! A friend in the city gave them to me. We never get to eat food this good back home.” He wasn’t lying. In those lean years, with crushing rents and taxes, most families in our village survived on boiled yams and wild greens. A bit of grain in a watery soup was a luxury. He had been saving those oatcakes. Gus, not wanting to break character, took one and bit down. The dry, gritty texture was like swallowing sandpaper. He started choking, his face turning red. If my father hadn’t quickly handed him back the cup of water, he might have passed out. “Ahem… cough… My friend,” Gus wheezed, “you can actually eat this stuff?” My father just smiled a sad, simple smile. “Mister, you’ve never known a hard day, have you?” Gus froze, suddenly paranoid. Had this simple farm boy seen through his act? He mumbled an excuse and beat a hasty retreat. He reported back to Sadie. “Boss, that kid’s not as simple as he looks. I almost blew my cover. He seems naive, but I think he’s got a sharp mind.” Now, only Sadie and Jed hadn’t shown their faces to my father. Jed frowned. “Boss, did we really get it wrong?” But Sadie was stubborn. “We’ve followed this kid all this way. I’m not leaving empty-handed. Jed, we’ll do it the old way.” Jed nodded. They got off the train at the next stop and took a shortcut to head my father off on the mountain path back to our village. Sadie, though a gang leader, was only in her early twenties. She braided her hair, smudged some dirt on her face, and could easily pass for a teenager. Jed, with his naturally cruel-looking face, played his part perfectly. He grabbed Sadie’s arm, twisting it until she cried out in real pain. “You little tramp! Thought you could run, did you?” he snarled as my father approached on the path. “Your father owes me five hundred dollars in gambling debts! He sold you to me to clear the slate! I was gonna make you my seventh wife!” “You want to run?” he spat. “Pay the debt first!” Sadie fell to her knees, sobbing. “Mr. Owens, please, let me go! I’ll work like a slave to pay you back! I’m too young, I don’t want to be your wife!” Jed slapped her hard across the face. “Five hundred silver dollars! You think you can ever earn that much? I’m telling you right now, you either pay the money, come be my wife, or I’ll sell you to the nearest brothel! You choose!” My father saw this and his blood boiled. This was pure bullying. He stepped between them, shielding Sadie. “You have a debt with her father, you take it up with him! What kind of man bullies a young girl?” “Even if she owes you money, you have no right to hit her! Can’t you talk things out civilly?” Jed, with his beady, rat-like eyes, saw his prey had taken the bait. He grabbed my father by the collar. “And who’s this bum? Her boyfriend? You want to be the hero, huh? Then you pay her debt!” My father froze. He didn’t have any money. “H-how much?” Jed held up a hand, five fingers splayed. “Five hundred silver dollars. Not a penny less!” Behind him, Sadie clutched at my father’s sleeve. “Mister, please, save me! I don’t want to marry him!” My father felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Five hundred? Do I look like I have five hundred dollars? He had five thousand sewn into his coat, but that was my ransom money, my life. He couldn’t touch a single dollar of it. All he had to his name were a few oatcakes and the two copper coins the shopkeeper had thrown at him. My father’s bewildered response stunned Sadie and Jed. Could he really be a broke, simple-minded fool who didn’t even have five hundred dollars? They exchanged a look. Jed decided to force the issue. He kicked my father to the ground, straddled him, and slapped him twice. “No money? Then what are you playing the big shot for? Let’s see what you’ve really got on you!” He started tearing at my father’s coat. The coat was old, the cotton fabric thin and brittle. It ripped easily. Panicked that the money sewn inside would be revealed, my father threw up his hands to protect his chest. As he did, a brilliant red light flashed from his wrist. Jed was flung backward as if hit by a cannonball, flying through the air and crashing into a tree thick as a man’s waist. The trunk splintered. Jed crumpled to the ground, coughing up blood. He stared at my father in disbelief and terror. “You… you…” 6 My father was as shocked as anyone by his own power. He remembered the red spark the woman had shot into his wrist before he left. Had she known? Had she foreseen this? Sadie, seeing her man taken down, was furious, but it only confirmed her suspicion: my father was no simpleton. He had been playing dumb all along, hiding his true strength. She grabbed my father’s arm. “Come on, let’s go!” He was dazed. “What? What about him?” “He’s a wicked man, he got what he deserved,” Sadie said urgently. “Besides, what if he tries to blame you for this? Do you have the money to pay for his injuries?” My father felt a pang of guilt about leaving a man injured, but Sadie painted a picture of Jed as a monster who preyed on the weak.

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My fingers clawed desperately at the car door as he drove off, dragging me over ten meters across the pavement. Watching the exhaust fumes fade into the distance, my heart turned to ashes. I thought I would die on that frozen mountain, but fate intervened—a passing stranger saved me and, in doing so, restored eight years of lost memories. The first thing I did upon waking was erase my current identity. 1 “Ma’am, are you certain? Once the identity of ‘Jenna Hayden’ is legally dissolved, that person will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist.” I nodded, my voice steady. “I’m certain.” My name was never Jenna, anyway. I am Elara Vaughn. Eight years ago, a plane crash stole my memories and left me stranded in Port Sterling. The Hayden family took me in, and eventually, I became their daughter-in-law. George and I… we were in love once. The golden couple, the one everyone in our circle envied. That all changed two years ago, when she came back. I glanced up at the massive screen dominating the city’s central square. It was broadcasting the final moments of the national piano championship. Unsurprisingly, with me out of the way, Lila Sinclair had clinched first place. In the post-win interview, George was beaming, his smile radiating a warmth I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. “Lila has always been number one in my heart. No one can touch her talent. As her agent, I couldn’t be prouder.” “Oh?” the host chimed in, a little flustered. “My apologies, I just assumed the number one spot in your heart belonged to your wife.” George let out a smooth laugh. “When it comes to my heart, of course, Jenna is my number one. But when it comes to pure talent? That has always been Lila.” Hearing that, a bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. I turned away and dialed a number. “Pierce. I need a pickup in Port Sterling. Seven days.” Leaving the noise of the city square behind me, I slipped into a tattoo parlor on a quiet side street. “Hey, looking for some ink? What did you have in mind?” the artist asked, gesturing to a chair. “I need something removed,” I said, pointing to my chest, just over my heart. “This name.” He leaned in. “G-E-O? Those letters must have meant something special.” I looked down, a sad, hollow laugh escaping me. “They used to.” Four hours later, I walked back into our house carrying a small, custom-ordered cake. George was already home, lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as I entered. “What’s the occasion? You bought me a cake?” The last embers of warmth in my heart flickered and died. It was my birthday. “It’s nothing important,” I said, my voice flat. “Just felt like it.” “Perfect timing,” he said, tossing his phone aside. The mention of Lila brought an unconscious, genuine smile to his face. “Lila won today. We’re having a celebration dinner later. I’ll take this along.” I was silent for a moment, then just nodded. I went to our room to change. George followed me in. “Elara, you should come to the party. You were the five-time champion before her. It would be good for you to show your support.” As he spoke, his eyes caught on something. “What happened to your chest? Why is it bandaged?” 2 “I got hurt when you dragged me with the car.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was fleeting. “Well, at least it’s just an injury. That tattoo is the proof of our love. Make sure it doesn’t get damaged.” “Right,” I said, the word tasting like ash. “I know.” His expression softened, satisfied. “Good. Get ready. We’re leaving soon.” The moment I settled into the passenger seat, a small bear-shaped air freshener on the dash chirped in Lila’s sultry, sweet voice. “Kissy kissy, handsome. Have a beautiful day!” George’s face tensed. “It’s just a stupid gag gift she recorded. Don’t read into it.” “I’m not,” I said, my voice a monotone as I turned to stare out the window, remaining perfectly still. I had to. Because my foot had just brushed against a tube of lipstick wedged under the seat. Lila’s favorite brand. Her signature shade of crimson. But I wasn’t going to say a word. I just wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. I was leaving soon; there was no point in starting another pointless fight. Halfway there, George started texting. He’d forgotten his messaging app was synced to the car’s display. LilaTheCat: When are you getting here, handsome? I’m starving. George: Again? I thought I fed you in the car just now, you greedy little thing. I stared at the screen, my mind numbly trying to picture them feeding each other snacks in the car. Then, like a switch flipping, another image burned into my mind. The lipstick under the seat… Fed you in the car… Oh god. They hadn’t been talking about food. They’d done it. Here. In this very seat. A wave of revulsion, deep and visceral, churned in my stomach. I, a notorious germaphobe, felt utterly defiled. “Stop the car,” I choked out. The moment it slowed, I shoved the door open and threw up on the side of the road. 3 “Can you hurry up?” George called out, his voice laced with impatience. “I’m on a schedule.” There was no way in hell I was getting back in that car. Seeing me dawdle, he slammed the passenger door shut. “Fine! Get in or don’t! I’m not your chauffeur!” By the time I arrived at the restaurant, the party was in full swing. George gestured for me to take the seat beside him. As I approached, I saw Lila’s leg draped casually over his, her hand pulling his own up, guiding it deep beneath the fabric of her skirt. George froze for a second, his eyes darting towards me. But Lila held his hand fast. He watched my face, and when he saw only a mask of indifference, he relaxed, a faint, flushed heat rising in his cheeks, mirroring the one on hers. Later, when the party moved on to drinks and games, George couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Elara,” he whispered, “could you run out and get me some ibuprofen? My stomach is killing me.” It was the perfect excuse to escape. I nodded and left the private room. Just as the elevator doors were closing, I realized I’d left my phone. As I walked back, I heard the muffled sounds of their friends talking through the door. “…the balcony? Damn, George and Lila are getting riskier.” “What choice do they have? There’s a pharmacy right downstairs. Elara will be back any minute. They have to be quick.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to stop my hands from shaking. So everyone knew. Everyone was in on their little secret, and I was the fool left in the dark. Then, I heard George’s voice, strained and breathless. “Hey… keep it down. If my wife hears you, you’ll all answer to me.” A round of mocking laughter followed. They knew I wasn’t there. They knew I wouldn’t hear. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned and fled, my retreat a clumsy, humiliating escape. When I returned with the medicine, they were all composed, sitting on the couches, playing a party game as if nothing had happened. Someone noticed me. “Hey, Elara was the last one here! You still haven’t given Lila a gift. Let’s all guess what our five-time champion is going to give the new winner!” In all my years as a Hayden, the finances were controlled entirely by George and his parents. I had almost no money to my name. Sensing my predicament, George leaned in and whispered, “Just give her some cash in an envelope. Put it on my tab.” I set the box of ibuprofen on the table. “The grand piano I’ve used for the last five years,” I announced, my voice clear and steady. “If you wouldn’t mind taking it.” A collective gasp filled the room. That piano was a one-of-a-kind instrument, handcrafted by the legendary Maestro Valerius himself. George had spent half a year convincing the Maestro to part with it. It had been his second-anniversary gift to me. Suddenly, the way everyone looked at me shifted, their gazes filled with a strange, calculating curiosity. After arranging for the movers, I was about to head to my room to rest when the door was thrown open. George stood there, his face a thundercloud. “What the hell was that?” he seethed. “Giving away the piano I gave you. What are you trying to say?” 4 I met his furious gaze. “You said it yourself. When it comes to talent, Lila is better. An instrument like that deserves a true artist.” His anger faltered. “How did you…?” “The broadcast was everywhere. I saw it on the screens in the city square.” They were his own words, thrown back in his face. He had no comeback. “But that doesn’t mean you just give it away! It was our anniversary gift!” I offered a thin, empty smile. “And?” He froze. “Jenna… what are you saying? Are you trying to leave me?” “I told you from the beginning,” I said softly. “If you ever fell in love with someone else, I would leave you forever.” He suddenly laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Go on, try it. Everything you are in this world, I gave you. Where could you possibly go without me? Don’t forget, Jenna. This marriage ends when I say it ends. You can’t divorce me without my consent.” But he was wrong. Because my name isn’t Jenna Hayden. My name is Elara Vaughn. And my marriage to him was never legally valid. “Don’t even think about leaving me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing command. “You stay here, in this house, and be a good little wife. I’ll give you everything you could ever want. Remember that.” I smiled. A real smile this time. We’ll see about that. For the next four days, I systematically erased every trace of myself from that house. The clothes in good condition were donated to charity. The old ones, I burned in a small, contained fire in the backyard. I closed every social media account associated with Jenna Hayden. I went to the records office and officially relinquished the identity. And George would never notice. He and Lila were gone, jetting off to Singapore to celebrate her victory. Singapore was like their second home; they flew there at the drop of a hat. Three days until my departure. Lila sent me a picture. It was of a little girl, happily eating a snack. Her daddy made her the biggest candy apple today, just because his little princess asked for it~ This wasn’t the first time she’d sent things like this, but I’d never understood the context. The girl… what was her connection to them? This time, however, the photo was a clear close-up. And my blood ran cold. The little girl was a perfect, miniature blend of George and Lila. She was their daughter. So that’s why he never wanted to have children with me. How utterly, pathetically laughable. Two days until my departure. George threw an eight-million-dollar fireworks show for Lila. Eight million dollars, just to see me smile, her message read. He said it was worth it. The display was beautiful, I’m sure. He’d once promised to watch fireworks with me, a promise he never kept. And now, he never would. One day left. This time, there was no picture, no text. Just an audio file. I pressed play. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the silence of the room—his low, sensual groans, her high, breathy moans. I listened to the whole thing, then just smiled faintly. I placed the phone on his desk, next to a sealed envelope. Slinging my only backpack over my shoulder, I walked out of the ‘home’ I had lived in for eight years, and I didn’t look back. My ride was already waiting, a line of men in sharp suits standing discreetly at the private terminal. Just as I was about to board the jet, my burner phone rang. It was George. Hey, honey. I’m back from my trip. I’m on my way to pick you up for dinner. He was back, all right. Standing not fifty feet from me, with Lila and their daughter in tow. I kept my voice even. Dinner isn’t for another hour. Can you make it? He was laughing, bending down to tie the little girl’s shoelaces. As he opened his mouth to reply, I saw Lila lean in and press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Honey,” she purred, “you promised you’d take Nina and me to the amusement park first. And we have to get her back to Singapore tonight. We’re running out of time.” “Daddy, please?” the little girl pleaded. “I wanna go to the park!” A moment later, a text from George came through. Elara, something came up at work. Let’s reschedule dinner for three days from now. A genuine, liberating smile spread across my face. I switched the phone off for good. Sliding on a pair of dark sunglasses, I walked towards the jet, my security detail flanking me. We brushed right past George. He paused, a flicker of confusion on his face as he turned to look at my retreating back. “That’s weird,” he murmured. “That woman… she looked a little like Elara.” Lila laughed, pulling at his arm. “Don’t be silly. Someone that important, with bodyguards? Since when is Jenna Hayden a VIP?” George chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re right.” He scooped up his daughter. “Alright, Nina, let’s go! To the amusement park!” As my plane taxied onto the runway, a calm, professional voice came over the cabin speakers, a sound I hadn’t heard in eight years but recognized instantly. Vaughn Jet-1, this is the tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Welcome home, Ms. Vaughn. Have a safe flight. 5 Upon landing on our family’s private island, I was met by a line of security staff, their stoic professionalism cracking as they saw me, their eyes red with emotion. “Welcome home, Miss Elara.” Eight years ago, after the crash, I was declared missing, presumed dead. My sudden return was a miracle they’d given up hoping for. My parents stood together, tears streaming down their faces as they watched me walk down the steps. My younger brother, Liam, broke from their side and ran to me, crushing me in a hug. “Elara,” he choked out. “I missed you so damn much.” I patted his back, my own eyes stinging. “It’s okay, Liam. I’m back now.” My parents hugged me next, their touch a mixture of relief and sorrow. To break the heavy mood, they immediately started teasing Liam. “Thank god you’re back. He’s been running the company into the ground while you were gone.” I knew it wasn’t true. Liam was more than capable, brilliant even. This was just my family’s way—now that I was home, they’d tear him down to build me up. It was a twisted tradition, but it was born from love. We all knew that. Back in the familiar comfort of our home, they asked where I had been, why I hadn’t contacted them. I’d intended to keep the details vague, but Pierce, the man who’d picked me up, had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He’d spent the last week digging up every sordid detail of my life as ‘Jenna Hayden’ and now recited it all to my horrified family. Liam slammed his fist on the table. “That son of a bitch! You pay for a hooker, for god’s sake! My sister was his indentured servant—giving him her heart, her body, and her goddamn talent for free, just to be thrown out in a snowstorm!” “Liam, what a way to describe your sister,” my father grumbled, though his face was tight with fury. “A ‘free hooker’?” “But Elara,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to me. “You’re home now. Let’s forget all that ugliness. This is a fresh start.” I nodded, my heart swelling with a gratitude so profound it hurt. “A fresh start.” 6 Meanwhile, back in Port Sterling, after dropping Nina off in Singapore, George tried calling me. The line was dead. A knot of anxiety began to form in his stomach. “She’s probably just pouting,” Lila said, trying to soothe him. “You know how dramatic she can be.” But George couldn’t shake a deep, creeping sense of dread. Three days later, they finally returned to Port Sterling. As they drove past a music store, George instinctively pulled over. He went inside and carefully selected a new grand piano. Lila, assuming it was for her, confidently gave the owner an address. “Please have it delivered to Apartment 102 at the Cypress Towers.” “No,” George corrected the owner. “Send it to the villa at Blackwood Manor.” Lila’s smile froze on her face. George looked away, a flash of shame in his eyes. “It’s for Elara. I know she’s mad about the competition… she didn’t say anything, but giving away her old piano like that… she’s hurt. I need to make it up to her.” But when he arrived at the house with the delivery crew, he found it silent and empty. He frowned, calling out her name. “Elara? Jenna?” Strange. She should be home at this time. He told the movers to bring the piano inside. But as they opened the door and he saw the interior, the hopeful smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of stark horror. The house was terrifyingly empty. The potted plants she doted on were gone from the balcony. The elegant vase she always kept filled with fresh flowers was gone from the dining table. Her favorite set of fine china was missing from the cabinet. George’s face paled. He stormed through the house, throwing open the doors to the bedroom, the study… everything that was hers, every single trace of Jenna Hayden, was gone. All that remained was a single envelope on his desk. Inside was a note with two short, brutal sentences. I know about you and Lila. Thank you for taking care of me all these years. I’m gone. Don’t look for me. There was no signature. Because in Elara Vaughn’s world, George Hayden didn’t exist. He immediately tried her phone, only to hear it vibrate from inside the desk drawer. She’d left it behind. A wave of panic seized him, and he gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. “No… it’s not possible,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “Where could she go? Elara! ELARA!” He started calling their mutual friends, only to realize with a sickening jolt that Jenna had no friends of her own. In their circle, she was only ever seen as an extension of him, his quiet, unassuming wife. No one had any idea where she was. He was completely lost, his panic quickly curdling into rage. “You think you can just run away from me, Jenna Hayden?” he snarled at the empty room. “You think you can escape my grasp? If I want to find you, I will find you!” After twenty-four hours, he filed a missing person’s report with the police. 7 The result left him utterly dumbfounded. “Sir, we’ve run the name through every database. There is no legal record of a ‘Jenna Hayden’ ever existing.” He shoved their wedding certificate across the desk, but the officer was firm. No birth certificate, no social security number, no driver’s license. The woman he was married to did not exist. It was a sick joke. The woman he had shared a bed with for eight years, and they were telling him she was a ghost? George mobilized all his resources. Even his parents, sensing the gravity of the situation, pulled their strings. But it was no use. He discovered her social media had been wiped, too. It was as if the last eight years had been nothing but a dream. After two weeks of hitting nothing but dead ends, George finally broke. An all-consuming terror, the fear of losing control, washed over him. He paced her empty room, pulling at his hair, his mind racing. Finally, his eyes landed on her phone, the one she’d left behind. He picked it up. The lock screen was still the same picture she’d always used: her hand making a peace sign against a backdrop of a brilliant blue sky. It had always seemed so serene. Now it felt like a mockery. He opened her contacts. As always, it was empty save for his number and those of his family. Not even a contact for a pizza place. He checked her photo gallery. She had deleted every picture of them together. It was a barren wasteland of digital white space. With a trembling hand, he opened her private messages. And the world fell out from under him. The most recent chat was from Lila. The messages went back two years. Why don’t you just die already, Jenna? George and I have a child together. Don’t you feel any shame, still taking up his wife’s space? And Jenna’s only reply, sent just days ago: The space is yours. Just as you wished. He scrolled up, his heart pounding in his chest. Two years of vitriol. Two years of Lila sending her vulgar, taunting messages. Explicit descriptions of her trysts with George, intimate photos, even audio clips that made his stomach turn. And in all that time, Jenna had never once replied. Not until that final, devastating message. The space is yours. It was the only thing she had ever said to Lila. Staring at the screen, George’s hands began to shake violently. He sank to the floor, clutching his head. “No,” he whispered, the denial a raw, ragged sound. “No, it’s not possible.” “She loves me… She can’t live without me! She wouldn’t leave!” He repeated the words over and over, a desperate mantra to ward off the horrifying truth.

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To force me to break off our engagement, my fiancé drove my father’s company into bankruptcy, saddling us with millions in debt. The shock triggered a heart attack, and my father was rushed into intensive care. As I knelt and begged my fiancé for the money to cover the surgery, my childhood friend, Julian, suddenly returned from abroad. He arranged for the best doctors and stayed by my side, day and night, as we kept vigil at my father’s bedside. A week later, my father had another, fatal heart attack. To give my father peace in his final moments, Julian knelt before him and swore he would marry me and take care of me for the rest of his life. After the funeral, my heart a hollowed-out shell, I broke off my engagement. And I married Julian. Five years later, I overheard a conversation between him and my ex-fiancé. “You have to admit, your plan was genius. You got that clingy psycho Simone to give up on me, willingly. But tell me, do you think she’d want to kill you if she knew you were the one who really destroyed her father?” … My hand froze on the handle of the private dining room door. Inside, my ex-fiancé’s mocking voice continued. “You’re a cold bastard, you know that? Simone grew up with you, treated you like a brother. I bet she’d never guess in a million years that you were the one who orchestrated her father’s ruin.” Alex chuckled. “If it wasn’t for Eliza, I never would have taken the fall for you all these years. I may have hated Simone, but I’d never go so far as to drive her old man to his grave.” The sound of a glass slamming onto a table. Julian’s voice, thick with alcohol and fury. “What I did to Simone… I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her. I only helped you back then because I wanted Eliza to be happy. If you ever make her shed a single tear, I’ll end you.” Alex tutted. “Such devotion. A shame I met her first. You’d better focus on protecting your precious Simone. After all, you killed her father. I’d watch your back at night if I were you.” Crash! A glass shattered against the door. Footsteps approached. I took a sharp breath and fled, my heart hammering against my ribs. I ran down to the bar, grabbed the first drink I saw, and threw it back. The burn of the whiskey was a fire in my throat, and I choked, tears stinging my eyes. The words I’d overheard echoed in my mind, a torturous loop. The man who had ruined my father wasn’t my ex-fiancé. It was Julian, the man who had paid for his surgery. The sudden heart attack a week later… it must have been because of something Julian had said. No wonder my father had stared so intently at Julian as he took his last breath. At the time, I’d thought it was a look of gratitude, of entrusting me to his care. My husband of five years, the man who held me in his arms every night, who treated me like the most precious thing in his world… was the man who had indirectly killed my father. And our marriage, our life together, all his carefully constructed affection… was nothing more than compensation. A payment on a debt of guilt. The absurdity of it was a bitter pill to swallow. Grief and rage churned in my stomach like a violent storm. Just as my gaze fell on the empty glass in my hand, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. Julian buried his face in my neck, his voice a warm, drunken murmur. “Simone… where have you been? I missed you… Let’s go home. I love you, Simone… I love you so, so much…” For years, whenever he was drunk, he would whisper these same words. His friends always said it was the truth coming out, that he was utterly devoted to me. Now, it was all a grotesque joke. I gently disentangled myself and helped him into the car, my movements numb and robotic. He collapsed onto my lap, his brow smoothing as his breathing evened out. He seemed to be asleep. “Eliza… Eliza… why didn’t you choose me? Why…” This time, I heard it clearly. The name that had haunted his dreams for years. Eliza. My ex-fiancé’s new wife. Julian’s one true love. He had never forgotten her. He had married me, played the part of a loving husband, all for her. I had underestimated the depth of his devotion. A phone slipped from his pocket and clattered onto the floor mat. I bent to pick it up, and the screen lit up with a new message. From Eliza. Julian, thank you for covering for me tonight. But I can’t accept the necklace. It’s far too valuable. A second later, I saw her new social media post. “Love is priceless.” The accompanying photo was of a stunning diamond necklace—the very one that had made headlines last week when a mysterious billionaire paid a hundred million for it at auction. A one-of-a-kind piece. I knew the post was meant for me. Just last week, Julian had collapsed from overwork and a bleeding ulcer. Yet the moment he was discharged, he’d flown to London. I had been sick with worry, furious that he was sacrificing his health for his work. Now I knew. He had gone to an auction. He had endured excruciating pain to buy the most expensive necklace in the world and lay it at the feet of his true love. My fingers moved on their own, typing in the lock screen password. The final digit. The phone unlocked. The password was Eliza’s birthday. Julian never let me touch his phone, always talking about the importance of personal space. The moment the screen unlocked, Eliza’s radiant smile filled the display. His wallpaper. No wonder his expression always softened when he looked at his phone. I opened his photo gallery. It was a shrine. [Eliza, age 10], [Eliza, age 11]… [Eliza, age 25]. Thousands of photos, documenting every stage of her life. There wasn’t a single picture of me. Not even of himself. Only Eliza. Just like his heart. From beginning to end, there was only ever Eliza. I opened his notes app. It was a diary. October 12, 20XX. Sunny. Eliza scraped her knee on a tree branch today. It’s my fault. I never should have planted those trees in the yard. June 5, 20XX. Sunny. Eliza got married today. As long as she’s happy, everything I do is worth it. I live to make her happy. September 19, 20XX. Rain. I got married today. When I saw Eliza in the audience, I wished so desperately that she was the one standing beside me. The car pulled into our driveway. I looked out at the bare, empty yard and a chill went through me, so deep it felt like it was freezing my bones. There used to be two peach trees in that yard. My father had planted them for me on my tenth birthday, and Julian had transplanted them from my old family home. They were my connection to him, a reminder that he was still with me. One day, the trees, heavy with fruit, had suddenly withered and died. Their roots, the arborist said, had inexplicably rotted. Julian had held me for three days and nights as I cried. And now I knew. It was him. He had destroyed the last piece of my father he had left me. A new message popped up on his phone. It was from his assistant. [Mr. Thorne, as per your instructions, the final draft of your will is complete. All assets are to be left to Ms. Eliza Vance.] [It just needs your signature to be executed.] Through a blur of tears, I saw him again, standing at my father’s funeral, holding me, promising me the world. “Simone, I’ll give you a home. Everything I have will be yours.” I put Julian to bed, but for the first time, I didn’t take off his shoes or tuck him in. I went to the guest room and closed the door. When I woke, sunlight was streaming through the window. I opened my eyes to find Julian watching me, his gaze full of a practiced gentleness. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Were you angry with me last night, Simone? I’m sorry, I had too much to drink. I promise it won’t happen again.” His tenderness was a well-rehearsed charade. I pushed him away and went to the bathroom, scrubbing his kiss from my skin until it was raw. The breakfast table was laden with food. A year ago, this would have filled me with joy. But after reading his diary, I felt nothing but a hollow ache. It was a feast of all of Eliza’s favorite foods. The front door opened. Eliza, dressed in a pristine white dress, walked in as if she owned the place and sat down at the table. She smiled at me. “Sorry to intrude, Simone. Julian and I have a photoshoot this morning, so he invited me for breakfast.” I said nothing, my eyes fixed on the house key in her hand, identical to my own. Julian sensed the shift in my mood. He leaned in and whispered, “Eliza is our best friend, Simone. It’s normal for her to have a key.” His words trailed off. He shot up from his seat, his expression suddenly frantic, and snatched the glass of soy milk from Eliza’s hand. “Eliza, you can’t drink that! How many years has it been, and you still can’t remember?” She smiled, a coy, pleased little expression. “I know. It’s a good thing I’ve had you to look out for me all these years.” They stared at each other, lost in their own world, a perfect picture of two lovers. I had no interest in watching. I was about to leave when Eliza called out to me. “Simone, I remember you studied photography. Would you mind shooting for me today? I don’t really trust the new guy.” I hadn’t touched a camera since my father died. He was the one who taught me everything I knew. The weight of it in my hands was too heavy, a reminder of his frail, defeated form in his final days. I couldn’t bring myself to press the shutter. Julian knew this. He had locked all my camera equipment away, telling me not to force it, that he would help me heal. But now, he didn’t even wait for my reply. He ushered me into the back seat of the car. “Eliza gets carsick, Simone. You’ll have to sit in the back.” He had forgotten that my carsickness was worse. At the studio, he fussed over Eliza, carefully arranging the train of her gown. I leaned against the car, gasping for fresh air, my stomach churning. “The shoot is about to start, Simone,” Julian said, his voice impatient as he pulled me inside. “Don’t be difficult. This is important for Eliza, and for the company.” I stumbled, nearly falling. After five years, the camera felt alien in my hands, heavy with a suffocating dread. My hands trembled as I raised it to my eye. During a break, Eliza and I were alone in the studio. She flipped through the photos on the camera’s screen, a sneer on her lips. “You’re just as useless as your father, Simone. Can’t do anything right.” She looked me up and down. “Like father, like daughter.” My nails dug into my palms. A hot rage began to build inside me. Slap! The sting on my cheek was sharp and immediate. Eliza shook her hand, looking down at me with contempt. “You’re pathetic, Simone. I can’t believe after Alex dumped you, you immediately latched onto Julian. You don’t deserve him. Not Alex, not Julian. They’re both mine.” Her voice dropped to a vicious whisper. “You’re not worthy.” My head was still turned from the force of the blow. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand, slapped herself across the face with it, and then collapsed to the floor in a heap. She clutched her cheek, her eyes welling with tears, a perfect, fragile victim. “Simone, I didn’t say the photos were bad,” she sobbed. “I just wanted you to try a different angle. If you didn’t want to, you could have just said so…” The door opened. Julian stood there, a water bottle dropping from his hand and clattering on the floor. He rushed past me and knelt beside Eliza, his face a mask of frantic concern. “Julian, I’m fine,” she whimpered. “Please don’t blame Simone. She didn’t mean it. It was my fault, I lost my balance.” “You’re too kind, Eliza! You don’t have to cover for her. I saw everything!” He gently helped her to her feet, treating her as if she were made of porcelain. He wrapped his arm around her, then turned to me, his face contorted with a rage I had never seen before in our five years of marriage. “Apologize to Eliza, Simone! I have spoiled you rotten these past five years! I’ve turned you into a monster!” His voice was thunderous. “You know how important her face is to her career!” He glared at me, his eyes completely blind to the red, swelling handprint on my own cheek. I lifted my head, my gaze meeting his, my voice eerily calm. “The one who should be apologizing is Eliza. She brought up my father. Speaking of which, Julian, is there anything you’d like to apologize for regarding what happened to my father?” A flicker of shock crossed his eyes. “If it wasn’t for me back then, your father would have died even sooner. Simone, I promised him I would take care of you, but that was on the condition that you would never, ever hurt Eliza.” A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. I shouldn’t have expected anything. The world went black, and I fell.

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Our baby was just a month old when my wife vanished, leaving only a note. “Honey, it’s the planetary alignment, happens once every 77 years. I’ve time-traveled. Don’t worry about me. See you when I see you.” For three years of marriage, she’d used one absurd excuse after another, all to go on vacation with the one who got away. When our son, unable to breastfeed and refusing formula, was rushed to the hospital with a twisted intestine, she was in Norway with Evan, watching the Northern Lights. When our son was undergoing emergency surgery, she was with Evan in a hot air balloon, high above the clouds. When the doctors handed me the critical condition notice for our son, she was with Evan under the Eiffel Tower, sharing a passionate kiss as fireworks exploded overhead. She didn’t return until just before our son’s 100-day celebration, carrying a cheap, dollar-store plastic soldier. “Honey, I’m back from my travels! Look, a present for our son. From now on, we’ll all be a happy family.” That was when I finally saw her for who she was, and all hope died. On the day of our son’s celebration, I vanished too, leaving a note of my own. “Planet Gamma has summoned me back to the mothership. The child stays. Don’t look for me. This is goodbye.” 1 Our son was wailing, his face turning purple as he refused the bottle, when my eyes fell on the note left on the table: “Honey, it’s the planetary alignment, happens once every 77 years. I’ve time-traveled. Don’t worry about me. See you when I see you.” The bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. She’d done it again. Snuck off behind my back, abandoning her one-month-old son. Three years of marriage, and her excuses only grew more fantastical. I pulled out my phone, tracked her location. She was overseas. I knew she was with Evan again, off on another one of their trips. Three years of our life together, meaningless against the ghost of her first love. A suffocating weight settled in my chest. Just then, the baby’s cries stopped. A stream of white liquid shot from his mouth. His diaper filled with a horrifying, jelly-like blood. Panic seized me. I fumbled for my phone and dialed for an ambulance. Cradling my son’s pale, limp body, I was drenched in a cold sweat. He was curled in my arms, his tiny hands clenched in pain. One of the paramedics shouted, “It looks like intussusception! We need to get him to the ICU, now!” His heart-wrenching cries echoed down the hall as they wheeled him into the emergency room. A nurse grabbed my arm. “Where is the baby’s mother? We need to ask some questions about the infant’s condition before we can operate.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. My voice came out a raw, hoarse whisper. “It’s just me.” “The mother isn’t here?” My own lips trembled, a hot sting behind my eyes. “She’s dead,” I rasped. A flicker of pity crossed the nurse’s face. Her voice softened. “Don’t worry. We’ll make your son our top priority.” To me, after three years of her cold indifference, she might as well have been. Just as they pushed my son through the doors, my phone vibrated. It was a new photo from the private investigator I’d hired. In it, my wife, Irene, was clinging to Evan, the two of them gazing up at the Northern Lights against the dark Norwegian sky. She had once promised we would see the Northern Lights together on our honeymoon. She kept putting it off, always for work. Now I understood. It wasn’t about work. It was simply that I wasn’t the one she wanted to see them with. As the oxygen mask was placed over my son’s tiny face, my heart sank to the floor. A cold draft from the emergency room doors seemed to seep into my very bones, a chill that ravaged every cell in my body. The light above the operating room door suddenly went out. A doctor emerged, handing me a critical condition notice. I was shaking too hard to stand, fighting back a wave of terror as I scrawled my name on the form. At that exact moment, my phone screen lit up with another image: Irene and Evan, locked in a passionate kiss beneath the glittering Eiffel Tower. The light went out again. This time, they wheeled my son’s tiny body out of the room. My vision blurred. He had been to hell and back. I leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. From this day forward, I vowed, it’s just you and me. After the surgery, my son was incredibly weak. I was sitting by his hospital bed when my mother-in-law pushed the door open, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And where is Irene? Her son is sick, and she’s not even notified?” A cold smile touched my lips. “She said she time-traveled. She’s vanished.” My mother-in-law’s face fell. Realizing it was just another one of Irene’s excuses, she turned her frustration on me. “Look at you. Can’t even take care of a simple baby. Useless.” Then she turned to my son, a wide, doting smile spreading across her face. “Oh, my handsome grandson. You look just like your mother.” I was used to her veiled insults. My grandfather and Irene’s had been brothers-in-arms. After my parents died in the line of duty, my grandfather, on his deathbed, entrusted me to her family. That was the only reason Irene had agreed to marry me. For all these years, I had stayed in this family for her grandfather’s sake. And it was only to fulfill his dying wish that she had agreed to have a child with me. 2 I had fulfilled my end of the promise. After the baby’s 100-day celebration, I would leave the Vance family for good. My mother-in-law cooed at my son for a few more minutes, then left, satisfied, leaving me alone to care for him. I stayed at the hospital, not sleeping, not resting, until the day he was discharged. Irene never showed. My phone, however, was a constant stream of photos of her and Evan, their intimacy a series of fresh wounds. When we got home, my mother-in-law dismissed the nanny with a smug smile. “You’re the man of the house now, the one who married into the family. Since you have nothing better to do all day, you can stay home and take care of the child.” The baby was fragile after his surgery. He cried often through the night. He wouldn’t take formula, and with no mother’s milk, he grew thinner and thinner. Seeing him waste away was a constant, stabbing pain in my heart. I spent that month teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And then there were the messages from Evan, dripping with scorn. “So what if you married her, Mason? The one she’ll always love is me.” I clicked on the video he sent. A grainy, tangled image of two bodies, the sound a mix of a man’s heavy breathing and a woman’s soft moans. In the dead of night, I would watch my son’s peaceful face as he slept, my own heart aching. My social media feed was a gallery of Evan and Irene’s trip around the world, a new photo marking each new city. I tortured myself, scrolling through hundreds of them. The comments from their friends were a special kind of hell. “Living the life, Irene! Husband’s at home with the baby while you’re off seeing the world.” “Seriously, what was the excuse this time? How’d you manage to escape?” Irene’s reply was right there for all to see. “I told him it was the 77-year planetary alignment and I time-traveled.” “LMAO, Irene, only you could come up with that. Aren’t you afraid your husband will be pissed?” Her response: “He’s put up with it for three years. He’ll put up with this. He’ll just be at home waiting for me, like a good boy.” So my tolerance, my patience over the past three years, had become nothing more than a running joke between her and her friends. Too bad for her. This time, I wouldn’t be so forgiving. I spent the night staring into the darkness, my heart a hollow ache. Just after dawn, a frantic knocking echoed through the house. “Honey, I’m home! And I brought a present for our son!” I opened the door. Evan was standing next to her, impeccably dressed. He looked me up and down with a sneer. “Mason, you look like a mess. A man needs to take care of himself, you know.” I was in my baggy house clothes, a smear of dried spit-up on the collar. Evan wrinkled his nose, pulling a bottle of cologne from his bag and spritzing himself liberally. “What’s that sour milk smell? It’s disgusting.” He then plastered on a fake smile. “No offense, Mason. I just have a sensitive nose.” Irene frowned slightly. “Honey, you must have had a rough few days. I just got back from my trip. Here, this is for our son.” She pulled a cheap-looking plastic soldier from a bag and handed it to me. In the past, I would have thrown her thoughtless gifts back in her face. But not today. Today, I just didn’t care anymore. Noticing Evan behind her, Irene explained, “I ran into Evan on the way. He said he wanted to see the baby, so we came together.” When I said nothing, she assumed I was being my usual, jealous self. The next second, I smiled. “It’s fine. Come on in.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “See, honey? Being a father has changed you. You’re so much gentler now.” Before, whenever she brought Evan home, I would get angry. We would fight, always about him. But now, I saw everything with a painful clarity. It didn’t matter anymore. Evan strode inside in his polished leather shoes. Irene rushed to the bedroom to see our son. I was alone in the living room with him. A mocking smile played on his lips. “Look at you, Mason. A middle-aged man looks younger than you do right now. How are you going to keep Irene interested when you look like that?” I ignored him, sterilizing a bottle. My cold shoulder seemed to annoy him. His words turned sharper. “You know she doesn’t love you. Why do you insist on staying here, clinging to her family? It’s pathetic.” The absurdity of it was almost funny. “I’m her legal husband,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “What does that make you? The other man?” He was speechless for a moment, his face twisting in a snarl. “Don’t think that just because she had a baby with you, she’s settled down. Irene and I can have children too. Your son means nothing.” I continued to calmly scoop formula into the bottle. His inability to get a rise out of me was clearly frustrating him. As I reached for the kettle to pour hot water, he snatched it from me and deliberately poured the boiling water over his own hand.

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The day I got married, my childhood sweetheart, Blaze, crashed the wedding. He and his pack of friends kicked open the chapel doors, declaring he was here to take me away, to run away with me. But not far from the chapel doors, he let go of my hand and a lazy, triumphant smile spread across his face. “Boys, I won the bet. Again. The hundredth time. Pay up.” Then he turned back to me. “It was just a joke, Eliza. You didn’t actually take it seriously, did you? You can go back in and finish getting married.” They all laughed, mocking me for the ten years I’d spent chasing after Blaze, for being willing to do anything for him. But what they didn’t know, what Blaze didn’t know, was that this little wedding crashing scene was just another scheduled event on my wedding day program. 1. By the time Blaze explained it was all just a bet, the hall was already echoing with raucous laughter. The taunts were so sharp they felt like they were piercing my eardrums. “Damn, Blaze, I’ve lost so much money betting on her. Can’t you just get her to use that dumb brain of hers for once?” “This is hilarious. Did you really think Blaze would ever actually marry you?” The humiliation was a familiar, bitter taste in my mouth. My fingers tightened on the fabric of my wedding dress, my nails digging painfully into my palms. Blaze lit a cigarette, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. “Eliza, if you’re thinking about how to cling to me right now, I’d advise you to drop it.” The jeers grew louder, a chorus of mockery. Normally, this would have been the moment I broke down, sobbing, asking him why he would do this to me. But this time was different. The moment he finished speaking, I turned to leave. A strong hand clamped down on my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to my wedding.” Blaze froze, stunned. A moment later, a cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. “You know, Eliza, when it comes to debasing yourself, you really are in a league of your own.” I closed my eyes. His words still sent a tremor through my heart, an involuntary flinch. Yes, that’s what I was in his eyes. No matter what I did, I was always debasing myself. Three days before the wedding, I had sent him an invitation. Somehow, his friend had pocket-dialed me, and I’d overheard their entire conversation. “Interesting. She’s really going all out this time, actually marrying someone.” Someone asked Blaze, “You think she’s for real?” Another voice cut in before he could answer. “No way. Everyone knows she won’t marry anyone but Blaze. She’s just jealous because he has a new girlfriend, probably trying to get his attention.” Blaze’s new girlfriend was named Sienna. He was completely smitten with her, had pursued her for ages. I heard the rustle of paper as she picked up my invitation, then a soft thud as she tossed it to the floor. She giggled. “This is the kind of trash he was dealing with? If I were a man, I wouldn’t be interested either.” After another round of laughter, Blaze’s voice cut through, low and cool. “Wanna make a bet?” “Another bet? Fine. If we win, you have to break up with Sienna.” Blaze’s voice turned to ice. “Don’t you dare use Sienna’s name in a bet.” And right there, over the phone, I heard him set the terms of the wager, so easily, so carelessly. The bet was whether or not I would abandon my own wedding for him. Sienna was too precious to be used as a gambling chip. But me? He’d used me as the centerpiece of his games for a hundred bets. 2. Almost everyone in the room got in on the action. “Damn! That’s a huge bet. No way she’d actually run out on her own wedding. Count me in!” “Yeah, Eliza’s obsessed, but even she’s not that pathetic. I’m betting against it.” My hand holding the phone trembled. I fumbled with the screen, my fingers too clumsy to hit the end-call button. A tear I didn’t know I was shedding dripped from my chin and landed on the speakerphone icon. I panicked and just shut the phone off completely. I stared blankly into the space in front of me and then, I started to laugh. It was absurd. Pathetic. This was my relationship with Blaze. Everyone knew I loved him. But no one knew that we had once been together for a very long time. Before he went abroad to study, he’d asked me to wait for him. Three years, he’d said. Once he made a name for himself, he would come back and marry me. But when I saw him again, he was surrounded by a revolving door of beautiful women. He had made a name for himself, just like he’d promised. I asked him if he remembered what he’d told me. The look in his eyes was that of a stranger. “We all do stupid things when we’re young. Are you trying to use that to blackmail me?” After that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close the distance between us. So I gave up. But why? I was already getting married. I had already willingly admitted defeat. Why couldn’t he just let me go? “Eliza, you’re so damn stupid.” “If I were the guy you’re marrying, I’d walk back in there and slap you across the face. Don’t you know how cheap you look right now?” Blaze’s voice was a torrent of insults. But all I felt was a profound sense of exhaustion. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Is that so? Well then, watch and see.” As I walked away, Blaze’s voice followed me, laced with irritation. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’ve made a fool of yourself.” I didn’t look back. As I re-entered the chapel, confetti cannons exploded at the entrance, a celebratory bang showering down on me. Inside, everyone was applauding. “I didn’t believe it when the program said there would be a ‘wedding crashing’ segment, but I guess it’s real!” “A little dramatic, isn’t it?” “I think it’s supposed to symbolize something, right? Like true love conquering all obstacles?” 3. My face was a blank mask as I walked back onto the dais to continue the ceremony. Someone closed the heavy chapel doors, leaving Blaze frozen in place outside, his eyes wide with shock. We exchanged rings. We said our vows. During the reception, I finally got my phone back. There were several frantic messages from Blaze. “What was that all about?” “Eliza, did you set me up?!” He wasn’t wrong. I had done it on purpose. I was just so tired. I didn’t want to be the girl at his beck and call anymore. I just wanted him to have some decency, to know when to stop. I ignored the messages and was about to block his number when his call came through. I declined. It rang again. Finally, I sighed and answered. Blaze’s voice was thick with fury. “Eliza, you have three minutes. Get out here and explain yourself.” I answered casually, “Blaze, your bet is over, isn’t it? I thought you were happy with the result.” I could hear him take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control his temper. Just as I was about to hang up, his tone shifted. “You really went all out just to piss me off once, didn’t you? Was the fake wedding fun?” “Fake wedding?” “Let me make this clear, Eliza. After today, you can forget about ever seeing me again.” Blaze had always been arrogant, but I no longer cared whether he believed me or not. I was just so done with this endless drama. I pressed my fingers to my temples. “That would be for the best,” I said, and hung up. As I turned, a tall shadow fell over me. I looked up and met the strikingly handsome face of Liam. He was leaning against the wall, a little taller than Blaze, his black suit radiating a quiet, powerful presence. “On the phone?” he asked. I paused. There was an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice that I couldn’t quite place. But Liam and I hadn’t known each other for long; our marriage had been a sudden decision. Before I could answer, he leaned in. His breath was warm against my skin, and I instinctively held my own. The thought, isn’t this a little too fast? hadn’t even fully formed in my mind. He reached past me, grabbing a glass from the table. He saw my reddening ears and smiled. “A toast to celebrate?” 4. Liam had chosen fruit juice. We stood there quietly by the stage for a moment before he asked, “You still haven’t told me why you were at City Hall that day.” I’m a lightweight, and even with juice, I could feel a warmth spreading across my face. I squinted, trying to remember. “Just a coincidence, I guess.” But the truth was, it had been my birthday. I hadn’t spoken to Blaze in a while, but he’d suddenly contacted me, saying he had a birthday surprise. Even though I didn’t believe him, even though he’d played cruel tricks on me so many times before, a pathetic part of me still wanted to see. As I approached the City Hall building, I heard a thunderous roar from above. It was a helicopter, scattering flower petals. And Blaze was inside. My heart gave a violent lurch. The petals were specially made, large enough to have words printed on them. My hand trembled as I picked one up and unfolded it. “Be with me—” At the same time, my phone rang. It was Blaze. “Told you it was a surprise.” But I was frozen solid, because as I flattened the petal, I saw the name written after the proposal: Sienna. Blaze’s laughter echoed through the deafening noise of the helicopter. “Eliza, she said yes! Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” In that moment, a chill washed over me, so cold it felt like ice was forming in my veins. I couldn’t hear anything he said after that. I remembered back in college, when Blaze had “confessed” his feelings for me. It was after he’d lost a game of Truth or Dare, and he’d picked me out of a group of girls. It was a joke, something to be laughed off. But at the time, I thought maybe he just needed an excuse, a bit of courage. So I said yes. We were together for four years after that, just like any other ordinary couple. Staring up at the shower of petals meant for another woman, I had a sudden, devastating realization. In all our time together, Blaze had never once said a sincere “I love you” to me. I was so, so tired. No matter how much I followed him, there would never be a future for us. That’s when Liam had walked up to me, emerging from a crowd of people near the entrance to City Hall. His face was breathtakingly handsome, and he was being completely swarmed. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Please, I was just passing through. Can you help me out? Just pretend to be my girlfriend for a minute.” An afternoon later, we had a marriage certificate. It felt completely surreal. He said his family was pressuring him to get married. And me? I was 28, and I’d wasted enough time chasing Blaze. It was a perfect match. 5. Liam finished his juice and helped me into the car. My head was spinning a little. Halfway home, the car screeched to a halt. I opened my eyes to see a black SUV parked sideways, blocking our path. I recognized it instantly. It was Blaze’s. Through the window, I could see Sienna in the passenger seat. Blaze got out and strode over, rapping on my window. Liam only rolled it down a crack. He was wearing sunglasses, and his gaze collided with Blaze’s in the space between the cars. “Need something with my wife?” Blaze’s eyes swept over him, and a condescending smile played on his lips. “Eliza, the actor you hired is really committed to the role, isn’t he?” “Must have cost a bit to keep a fake wedding going for that long, huh?” I bit back a sarcastic remark. If I’d had our marriage certificate with me, I would have thrown it in his face. But I didn’t even have the patience to prove myself to him anymore. “Get out of the way,” I said, my voice cold. Blaze’s expression flickered, then quickly returned to his usual arrogant mask. “Sienna forgot her jacket. It’s cold out. Give her yours.” Sienna glanced over at me, then turned her head away with a disdainful sniff. I was speechless. “Blaze, are you really that broke?” He used to do this all the time. He loved seeing me jealous and upset for his sake. Then, when I was truly angry, he’d coax me with a few sweet words. I always fell for it, always clung to the sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, I was different to him. But now, I just calmly reached into the backseat, grabbed my jacket, and tossed it at him. “It’s fine. Consider it a gift.” It was part of a matching set we’d bought in college. It was about time I threw it out anyway. He recognized it. He froze, his expression hardening into anger. “Eliza, that’s enough. Don’t take it too far.” Liam had already hit the gas, expertly maneuvering around the SUV. A few moments later, the car stopped. I realized we weren’t at Liam’s place. We were in front of a high-end designer boutique. Liam got out and opened my door. “Let’s go.” “Huh? Today? I don’t really need any clothes.” He deftly changed the subject. “Is that so? Well, I do.” “And I’m particularly in need of something that matches.” He strode into the store, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk for a moment. How did Liam know that jacket was part of a matching set?

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1 “Fiftieth test run, and we’re still number one! The data is solid!” Mitch slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled forward. I wasn’t a paralyzed husk in a hospital bed. I was reborn. “You earned this, man!” Mitch grinned, thinking my daze was from the thrill of the car’s performance. He urged me to get ready for the race tomorrow. “Wait!” I shouted, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t submit the car’s specs yet. I need to check something!” As I sprinted towards the garage, I pulled up the preliminary data Kane had already posted online. It was completely different from mine, which was why, last time, I suspected nothing. But as I stood before my own car, the webpage on my phone suddenly refreshed. “Blaze! What the hell is going on? Kane just updated his specs—they’re identical to ours!” Mitch’s face was ashen as he ran in after me, already dialing to complain to the race organizers. My own expression was grim, but I held up a hand to stop him. “The submission deadline is midnight. We have time.” In my past life, Kane had “accidentally” leaked the two identical spec sheets online, siccing his fan army on me. It all hinged on this single moment. My frantic posts of my build videos were drowned out by their sneering comments. “Wow, technology is amazing. You can even deepfake videos now.” “Everyone knows the real competition is in the custom builds. Why don’t you just steal Kane himself and have him drive for you?” “Kane was putting his entire legacy on the line for this race, and you rich bullies just had to cheat. Is there no justice in the world?!” My team was harassed, pelted with rotten eggs in the street, afraid to even go home. My only recourse was to prove my skill on the track. But the moment I hit the ignition, my car exploded right on the starting line. Kane was the only one untouched by the blast. He coasted to victory, basking in the glory. The investigators, professional engineers, they tore my car apart and found nothing. No faulty parts, no explosives. Nothing that could have caused the detonation. So Kane’s fans spun a new narrative: I had done something terrible, and this was divine retribution. I deserved to die. Even as a comatose patient, I was subjected to a decade of quiet torment and neglect. I couldn’t even call for help. I could only pray for someone to grant me the mercy of a quick end. My parents, broken by the public hatred, eventually took their own lives. And then my fiancée, Bella, walked into my hospital room on the arm of Kane, disguised as a grieving fan, and unplugged my life support. The official story was that the comatose patient, wracked with guilt, had finally given up. I died with my eyes wide open, a silent scream of injustice trapped within me. But now… now heaven had given me a second chance. And I would make damn sure the ones who were truly guilty paid the price. 2 “A race of this caliber happens maybe once in a generation! This is your shot, Blaze, you can’t just give up because of this!” “Forget about Kane. Just double-check the car. We’re racing, no matter what!” Mitch snatched the phone from my hand and locked me in the garage with the car. I clenched my jaw and began a meticulous inspection, stripping the car down, piece by piece. Even if someone had leaked my design, the performance data would be wildly different if even a single component was off by a fraction of a millimeter. How could Kane possibly have found parts identical to mine when my own were still installed? And even if he did, under the exact same conditions, why did my car explode? I wracked my brain, replaying that day in my mind. Kane was a master of self-promotion, always surrounded by a swarm of fans. He never had a chance to get near my car. But the person on his arm at that time… It was my fiancée, Bella. An invisible hand squeezed my heart. Eight years together. I was so sure we were going to exchange rings. Instead, she had stood by the man who framed me and cut short my life. I couldn’t dwell on it now. I shook my head, clearing the chaotic thoughts. I began disassembling the car, removing every custom part. I had poured three years of my life into this machine. I loved these cold, metal components. It wasn’t easy to let them go. But then the image of my parents flashed in my mind—leaping from my hospital window, with me powerless to even claim their bodies. My hands moved faster. Once the parts were removed, I pulled a dusty collection of components from a storage locker. This was my original design—a masterpiece in its own right. But my obsession with perfection had led me to dream up a new, nearly flawless version, the one I had just dismantled. Even with my stolen specs, Kane couldn’t match my skill on the track. He’d need a rocket ship to beat me. Within minutes, the car was reassembled with the older parts. I’d made a few tweaks, and the overall performance had jumped significantly. It was a panther, coiled and ready to strike. Elated, I sent the new specs to Mitch. The situation had developed too quickly, and I was the only one in the garage. Not even a master thief could copy me this time. I had just started to relax when Mitch appeared again, his face bone-white. A terrible premonition washed over me. “Kane…” Mitch’s voice was strained. “He just posted online about his ‘original concept.’ The specs… they’re identical to the version you just built.” “Impossible!” I snatched his phone. On the screen, Kane was speaking with a wistful look on his face. “Honestly, when I first reached this stage, I thought it was perfect. But then… someone stole a key component. I had no choice but to create the newer, more flawless version you see today.” I refreshed the official race page. Kane’s vehicle specs had been updated to match my new build. His fans lauded him as a resilient genius. My face grew paler with every comment I read. How could this be? A significant portion of the parts in this build were vintage, off-the-market components I had found in a rural junkyard. I had spent months grinding and lubricating them, and only a few had become usable. I’d picked the best one. A part that, by sheer chance, had its edges perfectly rounded by a rainwater leak while in storage, allowing for a seamless fit with the machinery. The odds of replicating that were astronomical. And the part Kane had… its specs were identical to my single best one. A statistical impossibility. I opened the hood and carefully removed that very component. It felt warm in my palm. Could this be it? The source of the explosion? The memories of the endless nights spent perfecting it, and the lonely curses in the hospital room, swirled in my head. I walked silently to the furnace, the component clutched in my hand. As the workshop crew watched in dismay, I tossed it into the flames. Hearing the sound of it melting, I turned without hesitation and went back to my garage. This time, I would only choose the path that gave me the advantage. 3 Mitch watched me do it all, his eyes brimming with tears. After all, I had just personally destroyed the only two working designs I had left. “Blaze… what do we do now?” I took his phone and glanced at the screen. As expected, fans were already swarming my comments section, parroting Kane’s bravado. “Not so tough now, are you? Kane released all his specs. You’re hiding yours because you know you can’t compete. Just drop out!” “This guy’s style was always a cheap knock-off of Kane’s. He probably copied his way to the top and is panicking now that the specs have to be public!” … In minutes, they had tried and convicted me online. Then, my own phone buzzed. A message from Bella, who hadnt spoken to me in days. My brow furrowed. “Stop messing with those machine parts. Come out and have some fun with me tonight.” I hadn’t told her what I was doing. And she knew I needed absolute focus before a race; she never bothered me during this time. But now, she was spamming me with a chain of messages, using every excuse to lure me out of the garage. A voice message came through, her tone laced with a sob. “Blaze, give up. If you keep going like this, you’re going to die!” I simply closed my phone and said to Mitch with a faint smile, “It’s fine. There’s still time. I’ll make another one.” I took a deep breath and set my phone to Do Not Disturb. I sat back down at my workbench. I started from scratch, designing and building based on the standard parts I had on hand. This was, by far, the simplest build I had ever done. It took only two hours. As I compiled the data to send to Mitch for review, I lit a cigarette and collected my thoughts. On the surface, this was an intermediate, entry-level build—the kind a rich kid would buy to get into the sport. But I had altered one crucial aspect. This was a sleeper build. It looked basic, but once it hit a professional track, its performance would surge to its absolute maximum in an instant. It was a dangerous, high-risk technique—a masterpiece of desperate genius I had conceptualized during my ten years of torment in that hospital bed. Kane had never lived my hell. He would never see the secret hidden within the design. The next second, my phone buzzed with a notification. A “special feature” from Kane’s team. “We’ve heard some of our fans want to get into racing! As a special treat before the championship, Kane has designed this exclusive starter model. For anyone interested, now’s your chance!~” My hands started to tremble. I couldn’t even bring myself to open the message from Mitch confirming my fears. It was impossible. It couldn’t be this coincidental. I had just finished it. Kane, who had been out and about all afternoon, had somehow instantly produced an identical design, right down to its functions and its strengths and weaknesses. Clenching my fists, I tapped open the detailed specs. The same. The same. Everything was exactly the same. A sliver of hope remained. As long as Kane hadn’t discovered the final, crucial secret of the build, he would use my previous, more powerful design in the race. If he did, I could clear my name. With that thought, I immediately opened the official race website. The data flashed before my eyes for a second, and then—the site went down for maintenance. CRACK! Mitch slammed his fist into the wall. “Damn it, Kane!” he roared. “It has to be him, pulling some strings again!” “Once the data is uploaded, it can’t be changed! How is the committee letting him get away with this over and over again?! I’m gonna go find someone and take him down!” I looked up from the sea of scattered parts on the floor, my face a dark mask. “No. The organizers… I have to see them myself.”

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1 It was the seventh day since I’d faked my own death to escape the gilded cage of The Silk Sparrow pleasure house. To save my dying parents, I’d taken on a piece of dirty work: a Corpse-Right, a deathbed union with a fallen soldier to claim a widow’s stipend. The battlefield was a charnel house, the air thick with the iron tang of blood. I was shoved before a knight who had just breathed his last. “Get on with it,” the procurer, a grim man named Gris, snarled. “We need to consummate the union before he’s cold and stiff. If we can’t get his seed, we get nothing. And neither of us can afford that.” With that, he forced my head down toward the dead man’s groin. … The corpse reeked of stale sweat and old wounds, his armor and skin caked in a shell of dried blood. Gris was in a frenzy, pushing me into the dead man’s embrace. He clawed at my dress. “The union, now! You paid a pittance for this chance; be glad I found you a fresh one. Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” I felt the fabric of my bodice rip, exposing the curve of my shoulder as his hands fumbled to pull it lower. Panic seized me. “Wait! Please, wait! Let me do it myself!” I cried out, my voice thin and desperate. “Even on a battlefield… a union between a man and a woman deserves a moment of privacy, doesn’t it?” I scrambled for a better excuse. “Besides, at the Sparrow… I learned a certain art. A way to bring a man pleasure, even after death.” The brutal force on my dress lessened. Gris squinted at me, his eyes filled with suspicion. “What kind of art can please a dead man? Don’t play games with me, girl. Or have you forgotten about the Crown’s stipend? You’re no virtuous maiden to be hesitating now. Just a whore from a pleasure house.” His words branded me with shame. A hot, bitter tide of humiliation and rage swelled in my chest. But he wasn’t wrong. I had escaped a pleasure house. But I was not some wanton woman who reveled in being used. I had done it for money, to save my parents. When the matron tried to force me into the bed of a depraved lord—a true monster in the sheets—I chose to die. Or at least, to pretend to. The night I fled and returned home, my parents had wept as they held me. “Jenny, my child, forgive us,” my father had choked out, his body frail. “To have let you suffer so. I would rather die than see you debase yourself like this.” Four years ago, a plague had settled in my father’s lungs. We didn’t have a single coin for an apothecary, let alone the herbs he needed. So I went to the city, intending to sell myself into service at a lord’s manor. But on the way, a recruiter for the pleasure houses found me. A girl like me, he said, was worth ten silver pieces. More than I could earn in a year as a scullery maid. When I returned with the money, the apothecary and his tinctures in tow, my parents finally understood what I had done. They held me and cried until their eyes were raw and swollen. “Jenny, my life is not worth your future,” my father had pleaded then, just as he did the night I came home from the dead. “Run. Live for yourself.” I thought it was worth it. In those dark, suffocating moments at the Sparrow, when I had to force a smile for some fat, greasy merchant, the thought that my parents were out there, waiting for me, was the only warmth I had. When they took my hands and led me home, I accepted that my life would be lived in the shadows. It didn’t matter, as long as I could be with them. But the lord I had spurned would not let it go. My refusal was a stain on his pride. He sent his men to our small cottage. They burned it to the ground and stole the few coins my parents had saved over the years. I fell to my knees in the ashes and wept. It was the first time I truly understood: for people like us, there is no justice against the powerful. 2 Homeless and starving, my parents’ health failed again. Desperate, I was wandering the muddy streets of the war camp when a girl approached me. “Become a Corpse-Bride,” she’d told me. “Follow the army. When the soldiers fall, you perform the rite. Pleasing a dead man is no different than pleasing a living one, and you get the Crown’s stipend. Your parents will be safe for the rest of their days.” “Many women do it,” she’d added. “You’ll see.” And so I came. But I hadn’t expected this. I’d barely arrived when Gris dragged me onto the battlefield. After a brutal clash, the ground was littered with the gruesome, broken bodies of men. Some were still warm. Others were already cold, stiff, barely recognizable. This was my first union. My stomach churned with fear. I didn’t know any secret arts to please the dead; it was a lie to buy myself a few more seconds. Gris was the broker for these rites. He took a cut from us and a fee from the army command, who saw it as a tidy way to manage the affairs of their fallen men and distribute the Crown’s stipend. If a union was sealed, he got paid. That’s why he was so impatient. Seeing my hesitation, his face hardened. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will!” Panic flared. I grabbed his sleeve, forcing a placating smile. “No, no, please, don’t be angry. I’ll undress. I’ll do it now.” But as I moved closer to the body, the metallic smell of blood filled my lungs. I pictured maggots, rot… and I gagged, bile rising in my throat. Gris exploded. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “You useless bitch!” he roared. “You dare waste time? The moment for the rite is passing! He’s getting cold, don’t you understand? You’re costing me my coin, damn you!” His hand cracked across my face. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth, my head ringing from the blow. I stumbled, my hand falling against the corpse. The flesh was no longer warm. It was cold, firming into the unyielding hardness of a true corpse. A fresh wave of terror washed over me. Gris kicked me hard in the chest and spat on the ground beside me. “Bad luck charm.” He left me there, a lone figure on a battlefield of the dead. As darkness bled into the sky, I clutched my bruised ribs and began the slow walk back to the camp. Suddenly, a sound drifted from nearby—a strange, rhythmic noise. The sound of a woman in the throes of something that was both pleasure and pain. I froze, turning my head in disbelief. Not far away, by the side of the dirt track, lay the body of a soldier, his torso wrapped in fresh linen bandages. A woman was on top of him, her skirts hitched up, her body rising and falling in a steady, practiced motion. Her face was a blank mask, her eyes empty and distant. From my angle, I could see the pale flash of her naked thighs. If I were any closer, I knew I would see everything, the point where living flesh met dead. A hot blush flooded my cheeks. I had serviced many men at the Sparrow, but always behind closed doors. Never like this, out in the open, under the dying light of the sky. The sight sent a shockwave through me.

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The day Leo brought his childhood sweetheart to our home to ask for a divorce, I had just returned from the hospital. The pregnancy report in my purse read, Fetus developing normally. “If she hadn’t tried to save me, Liesl never would have been assaulted by those thugs, never would have gotten pregnant,” he said, his voice heavy with a sense of noble sacrifice. “I have to give her my name. It’s the only way she can move on.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. “As soon as Liesl and the baby are settled, I’ll remarry you.” He didn’t know. The thugs, the assault… Liesl had orchestrated the entire thing. I glanced at Liesl’s swelling belly and nodded. “Okay.” Then I went and got an abortion, and I never saw him again. 1. Marrying Leo had always been a step up for me. His father was an executive at Atherton Engineering, the company that was the lifeblood of our town. Leo had followed in his footsteps, becoming one of their top engineers. I was just an orphan. To close the distance between us, I studied relentlessly until I earned a place at the same university. But even then, I ended up in a low-level admin job at the plant, barely even crossing his path. I still remember those early days, how I’d turn beet red and speechless whenever I saw him in the company cafeteria. It was always him who spoke first. “Stella, right? I remember you.” My crush on Leo was an open secret at the plant. He knew it, too. From the day he’d first shown me kindness, there had been no one else for me. When I was ten, my parents died in an accident. It was Leo who found me crying by the side of the road, who comforted me. He introduced me to the couple who would become my adoptive parents, a warm, loving pair who had wanted a child for years. He gave me a home. Three years ago, I was offered a spot in a specialized technical fellowship, a chance to move to another city and build a real career. The opportunity was huge, but it meant leaving, maybe for good. I finally worked up the courage to tell Leo how I felt. The confession hung in the air between us, but the awkwardness I’d feared never came. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “Let’s get married.” With those five words, he brought an end to a decade of my own quiet turmoil. I gave up the fellowship and dedicated myself to taking care of him and our home. His father often reminded me of my place. “You’re lucky to have married into our family,” he’d say. “Leo was supposed to marry the CEO’s daughter.” His words only added to the pressure. I threw myself into being the perfect wife, terrified of making the smallest mistake, of disappointing his father, of making Leo regret choosing me. In three years of marriage, I thought I had done everything right. I’d even cared for my adoptive parents through their final illnesses, burying them with the love and dignity they deserved. My only failing was that Leo and I were still childless. Today was our third anniversary. It was also the day I found out I was two months pregnant. The pure, unadulterated joy of knowing we were finally starting our family was impossible to hide. I carefully tucked the report away and splurged on two pounds of prime steak. But I never got the chance to celebrate. He came home with Liesl. “Stella, we need to get a divorce, just for a while.” He laid it all out. Five months ago, on a work trip to a remote site, he’d been cornered by muggers. Liesl had appeared out of nowhere, creating a diversion that drew them away, saving him. “If she hadn’t done that for me,” he explained, his voice strained, “she wouldn’t have been… assaulted. By the time she realized she was pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it. I have to marry her, give the child a name. Her reputation would be ruined otherwise.” In a small company town like ours, an unwed pregnancy was a scandal, especially for the daughter of a prominent family like Liesl’s. If the truth came out, the gossip would be merciless. And they had grown up together. Childhood sweethearts, a perfect match. Leo was a good, responsible man. It was a tragic love story, and he was playing the hero. I looked at the perfect couple standing before me and replied calmly, “Okay.” 2. My reaction seemed to throw him. His eyes were a mixture of confusion and surprise. “You… you agree to the divorce?” I nodded. “Yes.” “I thought you would fight for me.” I managed a small, tired smile. “What would be the point? You’d already made your decision before you even walked in that door, hadn’t you?” He flinched. “Did you want me to scream and cry? No. I wish you both the best.” Hearing that, Leo seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. Liesl murmured from the side, “Stella, it’s just a temporary marriage. Please don’t hate us. As soon as the baby is born, I’ll give him back to you.” Leo saw her shivering and immediately shrugged off his coat, draping it over her shoulders. Then he came to my side, his large, warm hand settling on my shoulder. “Stella,” he whispered, his voice close to my ear. “You don’t have to move out. Just take care of yourself. Liesl’s right, this is just for show. Don’t overthink it. Just wait for me to come back.” Once, being held by him felt like holding the entire world. Now, the heat from his palm felt like ice. I took half a step back, slipping out of his embrace. “When do we sign the papers?” “They’re already drawn up. You just need to sign.” I laughed, a hollow sound. He wasn’t here to discuss it; he was here to inform me. I signed my name quickly. He snatched the paper and tucked it into his breast pocket with a swift, careful motion, more precious to him than my pregnancy report had ever been to me. Liesl’s voice cut through the silence. “Leo, my mom’s waiting for us with dinner. Can we hurry up?” Without another glance at me, he rushed to her side. “Right. Let’s go.” I watched them leave, her hands already linked through his arm, holding on tight. If he had cared, even a little, he would have noticed the expensive steak I was still holding. He would have asked what we were celebrating. I would have told him I was carrying his child. But he didn’t care about me. And maybe he wouldn’t have cared about our baby either. Perhaps I had lost the moment Liesl came back to town. Three years ago, I thought my devotion had finally won him over, that he had finally noticed the girl who had adored him from the shadows. The truth was, he had proposed to Liesl first, and she had turned him down. She’d been angling for that fellowship, pulling strings to get the position. But the program supervisors in the other city cared about talent, not connections. I was the other top candidate. By marrying me, Leo ensured I would give up my spot. That was why he’d insisted I quit my job, saying he didn’t want me to struggle in the workplace, that it was too tiring. He broke my wings so his true love could fly. I remember the day Liesl was transferred back to Atherton. Leo spent the whole night in his study, reading a romantic novel, the kind he never touched. It must have been one of her favorites. I cooked the steak for myself, eating what I could. I stored the rest away. I’d need it to recover after the abortion. I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. It was Leo’s father, summoning me to the main house. I figured Leo had already told him about the divorce. When I arrived, Leo was kneeling in the center of the living room, a fresh bruise blooming on his cheek. Liesl was crouched beside him, sobbing. His father sat on the sofa, his face a mask of thunderous rage, muttering about the disgrace of it all. I knew that while he’d never been fond of me, in his world, divorce was a serious, shameful affair. Especially a divorce in the morning followed by a new marriage in the afternoon. When he saw me, his expression softened slightly. “You’re here. Come into my study.” 3. Leo’s father, for all his bluster, would always side with his son. “Stella, I know Leo was unfaithful, but you bear some of the responsibility,” he began, his tone severe. “Married all this time and not a single child. The Atherton line can’t end with him.” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. It was clear he had no idea the child wasn’t Leo’s. To protect Liesl’s reputation, Leo had shouldered all the blame. What good would it do to tell him now that I was carrying his grandchild? I gave a bitter smile. “It’s all right, sir. I have no complaints. Please don’t be too hard on him.” “That boy… to do something like this, it’s a disgrace to the family. I used to be fond of Liesl, but he’s married to you now! How could he…” He sighed, his anger deflating. “Still, you married into this family, so you’re one of us. Even though you’re divorced now, if you need anything, you can come to me. I’ll arrange a better job for you at the plant.” My heart was a tangle of emotions. In his own way, he was trying to be fair. I forced a smile. “Thank you, sir. But I’ll be fine. As for work, I’d like to rely on myself.” He nodded. “Alright. You should head home. But if you run into any trouble, you know where to find me. In the end, it’s our family that has wronged you.” As I left their house, snow had begun to fall. “Stella!” Leo called out from where he still knelt. “The roads are slick. Let me walk you home.” But just then, Liesl clutched her stomach and cried out in pain. Leo looked at me, his face a canvas of guilt. “I’m sorry, Stella. I have to get Liesl to the hospital. Please be careful on your way home.” “Okay.” I was used to it. Liesl’s needs always came first. Besides, we had no connection anymore. That night, I stayed up late, digging out my old textbooks and study materials. The dreams and the career I had given up—I was going to reclaim them. I also scheduled an appointment for an abortion for the following day. Three years. The memories were a constant, piercing pain. I had wondered, of course, what would happen if Liesl ever decided she wanted him back. But I’d always dismissed it as needless worry. We were married. Marriage was supposed to be unbreakable. Reality had slapped me hard in the face. The procedure went smoothly, but it hurt more than I ever could have imagined. Lying on that cold operating table, I bit back every sound, but silent tears streamed down my face, pooling in my ears, cold and ticklish. By the time it was over, I was drenched in sweat, a bloody crescent moon dug into my palm where I’d clenched my fist. I clung to the wall, trembling, as I stumbled out of the operating room. And ran straight into Leo and Liesl. He was holding her arm gently as she beamed, holding up an ultrasound picture. “Look,” I heard her say. “You can see the baby’s foot. Isn’t it cute?”

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When I arranged breeding for our family dog, my husband called me insane while my mother-in-law had a meltdown. In my past life, after Buddy—my loyal companion of ten years—died, Aiden and his mother bought a lookalike dog to console me. I thought it would fill the void. Instead, it urinated on our bed, destroyed the house, and once even wore my pajamas on my marital bed. When I demanded they remove it, they scoffed, “Why fight with a dog?” On our anniversary, they insisted on feeding it our leftovers to “avoid waste.” That night, I died of a sudden heart attack. Only then did I learn the truth: This dog carried the soul of Aiden’s wealthy ex, Amber, who’d recently died of the same condition. They’d brought it home to swap our fates. When I reopened my eyes, I was back to the day they first brought the dog home. … Aiden stood at the door, holding a small dog, his face beaming with a joy he couldn’t contain. “Jenna, come look! Doesn’t she look just like Buddy?” I looked over instinctively. A small puppy, dressed in a set of exquisite little clothes, was nestled in his arms. My body jolted as the familiar scene replayed in my mind. Seeing the excitement on Aiden’s face, I knew. I had been reborn. Seeing my silence, he prompted me again. “Honey, I put her in the bedroom for you. She’s here to keep you company, a replacement for Buddy. You have to treat her well, okay?” His words snapped me back to reality. I turned and saw the dog looking at me with an unnervingly human-like smile. My heart hammered in my chest. The horrific images of my last death flashed before my eyes. Without thinking, I refused. “No! I don’t want it!” Aiden was stunned. “Jenna, she looks so much like Buddy. Why wouldn’t you want her? Besides, I went to half a dozen breeders to find her for you. They don’t do returns.” Without waiting for another word, he carried the dog to my bed and set her down, stroking her head soothingly. Watching them together, I felt no warmth. Only a profound, chilling cold. In my last life, after Buddy died, Aiden had brought this same dog home. I suspected nothing and treated her as I had Buddy. I thought she would heal my broken heart, but I never realized she was no ordinary pet. The very first day, she urinated all over my bed. From then on, it only got worse. She would deliberately shatter my belongings or put on my pajamas and lie smugly on my marriage bed. In those moments, she didn’t seem like a dog. She seemed like a person. The strangeness of it all terrified me. I called Aiden and his mother to see, using it as an excuse to get rid of her. But they just told me I was overreacting, asking why I was so obsessed with a simple dog. This continued until our wedding anniversary. That day, they prepared a huge feast. When we couldn’t finish it, they suggested giving the leftovers to the dog. I remembered how she usually ate better than most people, so I readily agreed. I thought they were finally going to discipline her. Instead, that night, I died of a massive heart attack. That’s when I learned the truth. The dog wasn’t a replacement for Buddy at all. She was Aiden’s dead, rich ex-girlfriend. They brought her home to swap our lives. The memory of dying in her place, of watching her smugly take over my body and kiss my husband, filled me with a white-hot rage. I watched Aiden and his mother fussing over the dog, a strange smile playing on my lips. Since you’re here, you might as well stay. This time, it’s my turn to give you a gift. Just like last time, the dog pissed all over my bed on her first night. I stared at the yellow stain spreading across the sheets, a vein throbbing in my temple. I knew the soul inside that canine body was my husband’s first love. I knew she understood everything, that she was doing this deliberately to torment me. A fire ignited in my gut. I grabbed a feather duster, ready to strike. The dog erupted in a series of piercing shrieks, leaping and scrambling around the room, shattering my water glass and knocking over the wedding photo on my nightstand. Her cries brought Aiden and his mother running. The second the door opened, the dog scrambled into Aiden’s arms, peering at me with wide, terrified, and wounded eyes. Hearing her pathetic whimpers, Aiden’s heart melted. He shot me a look of pure exasperation. “Jenna, what is your problem? Why are you picking on a puppy?” he grumbled. “She’s just a baby, she doesn’t know any better. Look how you’ve scared her!” The scene was a perfect echo of my past life. Seeing that damned dog wagging its tail, taunting me, I trembled with fury, my voice shaking. “My problem? Are you blind? Can’t you see she’s soaked my entire bed? It reeks of piss! How am I supposed to sleep in that?” I shot back. “The second I picked up the duster, she started screaming and tearing the place apart. I never even touched her! And you say I scared her? Have you lost your mind?” “That’s it. I can’t have this dog in my house for one more day. Get rid of it, now! Or we’re getting a divorce!” A divorce would be for the best, but I knew they would never let me go that easily. They were determined to use me. Even if I managed to escape this house, they would find another way to kill me. Aiden just frowned, looking at me as if I were an irrational, shrewish wife. “Jenna, you’re losing it,” he spat. “You’re completely obsessed with this dog. You’ve gone mad.” He carefully cradled the dog and turned to leave, tossing one last sentence over his shoulder. “We’ll sleep in separate rooms for a while. You need to calm down.” His heartless words extinguished the last spark of hope I might have had for him. I slammed the door shut and, with a cold smile, dialed the number for a dog training facility. After our fight, Aiden and the dog were inseparable. When he went to work, he’d leave her with his mother, making sure I couldn’t get rid of her. Protected by the two of them, the dog found new ways to provoke me every day. She’d dart into my room the second I opened the door to shit on my bed. She’d smash my things and hide shards of glass in my shoes. The worst was when she burst in while I was on the toilet and sprayed a full stream of urine right in my face. Soaked in the foul-smelling liquid, I watched as Aiden and his mother praised the dog for how high and far she could aim. I was shaking with rage. But I told myself to endure it. The time wasn’t right. I couldn’t show my hand yet. I swallowed my disgust and waited, biding my time until our wedding anniversary. Just like in my last life, my mother-in-law was up early, her voice cheerful. “Today is your anniversary! You’ve always had such quiet celebrations, but this year is different. This year, you two need to celebrate properly…” Aiden chimed in. “She’s right. This year is different. We have to have a huge feast to celebrate.” Hearing the exact same words from my past life, I sneered inwardly. Back then, when I’d asked what was so different, they’d just mumbled something about it being our fifth anniversary, a special milestone. Now I understood. The “difference” was that they were preparing to welcome their rich ex-girlfriend into my body, and preparing to kill me. Suppressing the turmoil in my heart, I forced a smile. “Okay. Let’s celebrate.” With that, Aiden and his mother went out to buy groceries. Before they left, he turned to me, smiling. “Honey, it’s our special day. When Mom and I get back, we’re going to have a real celebration.” He even pulled me into a hug. I feigned shyness, burying my face in his chest to hide the icy glare in my eyes. They were gone for four or five hours. I wondered what kind of groceries took so long to buy, but I knew it was nothing good. When they returned, my mother-in-law locked herself in the kitchen, and Aiden went in to help her. They shut the door, and I could only guess what they were concocting in there. When the food was finally ready, my mother-in-law gestured to the overflowing table. “Jenna, dear, it’s your anniversary with Aiden. Mom made all your favorites. You have to eat a lot.” Aiden added, “That’s right, honey. We’ve been fighting so much lately, our relationship has suffered. I’ve been thinking, a husband should be more patient. Eat up, have some wine. Consider it my apology.” I stared at the dazzling array of dishes, remembering what had happened after I ate them last time. Back then, they’d coaxed me into eating until I was fit to burst. When I tried to get up to use the restroom, my head was spinning, my mind foggy. I knew the food was tainted. But with both of them watching me, I slowly picked up my chopsticks and began to eat. Aiden’s expression visibly brightened. My mother-in-law’s eyes gleamed as she clenched her fists. Fearing I wouldn’t eat enough, they kept urging me on. “Eat more, Jenna. You’re too thin, you need to eat more…” “Why aren’t you two eating?” I asked, my mouth full. They exchanged a fake, benevolent smile. “You eat first, Jenna. We’ll eat after you’re done.” They watched me, practically counting the seconds. Once I was visibly stuffed, they decided it was enough. They each took a symbolic bite or two of food before my mother-in-law stood up. “I think I made a little too much. It’ll be a shame to waste it.” “Why don’t we call our little darling over and let her finish it for us?” Aiden nodded immediately. “Right. Waste not, want not. I’ll go get her now!” He stood and left. His mother remained standing, craning her neck expectantly. But no matter where Aiden looked, he couldn’t find the dog. Panicked, he and his mother searched the entire house, but there was no sign of her on the second floor. They were frantic, sweat beading on their foreheads as they rushed back to me. “Jenna! Where is our little darling? Did you get rid of her behind our backs?” Seeing their panicked faces, I couldn’t help but laugh. A thrill of vengeance shot through me. I stood up slowly and pointed towards a room on the first floor. “You two love her so much, how could I possibly throw her out?” Before Aiden could look relieved, I continued. “But I’ve noticed her climbing into my bed a lot lately. I figured she must be in heat. She’s our little treasure, after all. We can’t let her suffer.” “So, I found her a dozen studs to mate with. Big, black ones. I’m sure they’ll get the job done.” At my words, the color drained from Aiden’s face. My mother-in-law swayed and collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap. Watching their faces turn a pasty white, I smiled and delivered the final blow. “So don’t worry about calling her for dinner. She’s going to be busy for a while. To make sure the mating was successful, I gave her a little something to… heighten her excitement. I imagine she’s having a great time right now.” It took them a long time to process my words. When they finally did, their bodies began to tremble as if they’d been plunged into a nightmare. Aiden raised his hand to slap me, but his mother scrambled up and pulled him towards the stairs. “Forget that bitch, Jenna!” she rasped in a voice I wasn’t supposed to hear. “Go save Amber!” Aiden snapped out of it. He shot me a venomous glare and scrambled downstairs. I followed at a leisurely pace. I watched them run screaming from room to room on the first floor, tearing each one apart in their search. But after checking every room, there was still no sign of the dog.

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