Category: English

Flames devoured our old family home. My sister, Marie, was trapped inside, severely burned. For some reason, there was an ambulance shortage. Taxis couldn’t get past the roadblocks into the neighborhood. I couldn’t drive. In a blind panic, I called my wife for help. She hung up on me, again and again. Finally, she just turned her phone off. I was left screaming, grabbing at neighbors, begging anyone for a ride. A kind soul finally drove us to the hospital, but it was too late. Marie had missed the golden hour for treatment. She died on a gurney in the emergency room. I was on my knees outside the morgue, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe, when the news report flashed across the hospital’s hallway monitor. “Kathy Delaney, CEO of the Delaney Conglomerate, spares no expense for love. After her childhood sweetheart, Adrian, suffers a minor cut, Ms. Delaney diverts every available ambulance in the city to his aid.” I stared at the screen, my tears turning to ice. In that moment, I made my decision. I was leaving the woman who had killed my sister.

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Julian Shaw paid over ten thousand dollars a gram for rare coffee beans, just so he could personally make me a pour-over every morning. He once told a global news outlet, “My wife is grumpy when she wakes up. Only the aroma of fresh coffee and my kisses can coax her out of bed.” The entire world thought he was madly in love with me. But as I watched that interview, my eyes fixed on the small bouquet of daisies tucked into his suit pocket, I sent him a text. [Let’s get a divorce.] … The news that Julian Shaw, CEO of the Shaw Corporation, had purchased a lot of world-renowned Panamanian coffee beans at a record-breaking price was headline news. Our names shot to the top of every social media trend. [My husband can’t even be bothered to get me a glass of water when I have cramps, and Julian Shaw is making his wife coffee by hand every morning. The jealousy is real.] [When are Julian and Lucy having kids? I need to know so I can plan my reincarnation accordingly.] [What did Lucy Hayes do to deserve a life this good?!] Julian had never been shy about his grand, public displays of affection. For a time, I was genuinely moved by his passionate declarations. But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. He called me the second he got my text. “Honey, don’t be like this,” his voice was a low, urgent murmur. “You can be angry, you can yell at me, hit me, anything. But you can’t say the ‘D’ word. It would kill me.” “Julian, I’m serious.” “Tell me what you’re mad about. I’ll fix it,” he said, his tone gentle, patient, as if he had all the time in the world for my whims. “I don’t like daisies.” A few seconds of silence on his end. “That’s it?” “Yes. That’s it.” It took him a moment to remember why I hated them. “I’m so sorry, baby. It was an oversight. I didn’t notice when Hannah put the arrangement together. Please don’t be angry. When I get home tonight, you can have me any way you want as compensation.” When had “Ms. Vance, my assistant” become just “Hannah”? I doubt even he noticed the shift. Years ago, a single daisy had sprouted in our garden. Julian had hired a team to dig up the entire lawn, terrified a single seed might have been missed. They scorched the earth for a week before replanting it with roses. How could a man so meticulous, so attuned to my every aversion, “overlook” a bouquet of daisies pinned to his chest? The garden outside my window looked lifeless in the winter chill, a perfect mirror of my marriage, slowly dying. A few moments later, my phone rang again. It was Hannah Vance. “Mrs. Shaw, I am so, so sorry. It was my mistake, and I’m terribly sorry for upsetting you. Please don’t be angry with Mr. Shaw. I’ll be much more careful next time.” Her voice was soft and fragile, as if a strong breeze could blow her away. I knew Julian was right there beside her. “Next time?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What other disasters are you planning to orchestrate?” “Okay, Lucy, that’s enough,” Julian’s voice cut in, firm but gentle. He couldn’t bear to see her upset for even a second. “The poor girl has apologized. Be a little more gracious.” A soft sob came through the phone. “It’s okay,” Hannah wept. “I’m fine. She can yell at me all she wants, as long as she’s not angry with you, Julian.” “Shh, don’t cry. It’s nothing, it’s a small thing,” Julian soothed, his voice a tender caress. But to me, it was like the screech of nails on a chalkboard, carving a raw, bleeding wound across my heart. “Just leave me alone,” I snapped, tossing the phone aside. I couldn’t listen to another second of it. Ding. Two messages arrived simultaneously. One was from Julian. [You’ve yelled, you’ve let off some steam. Feeling better now? My darling wife’s temper is getting bigger and bigger. You’re making my life so hard. 😉 ] I let out a bitter laugh. So, raising my voice to the woman he was comforting now counted as “yelling.” The other was from Hannah. [Oops, I forgot. Your mother jumped to her death into a field of daisies, didn’t she? Was it a beautiful field? As beautiful as this?] Attached was a photo. A vast, endless field of daisies stretching to the horizon. The world spun. I reached for a chair to steady myself but missed, collapsing to the floor. My forehead hit the sharp edge of the seat. My mother had jumped right in front of me. My father’s endless affairs had worn her down, day by day, until she was nothing but a ghost. Her final act was the only thing that made him stop. “Love makes you weak, it makes you pathetic,” she’d told me. “Don’t become me.” Her last words still echoed in my mind during my darkest nights. Julian and I were high school classmates. Girls flocked to him, but he only had eyes for me. I rejected him ten times, but he never gave up. He seemed to thrive on the challenge. Later, my father’s company was on the brink of collapse. He wanted me to marry into the Jiang family to secure a financial rescue. Julian had confronted me then, his eyes red and raw. “Why? Why is some stranger you’ve never met acceptable, but I’m not?” The next day, he went to my father with an investment agreement. “Lucy is a free woman,” he’d said. “You can’t force her to marry anyone.” His left cheek was swollen that day. I knew his own father must have beaten him for that deal. I brought him an ice pack and asked if he wanted to marry me. He stared at me for a long moment, and then he started to cry. After we were married, he truly did put me on a pedestal. He remembered all my favorite things, my pet peeves, and showered me with extravagant surprises on every occasion. When I had nightmares, he would hold me tight, stroking my back until I fell back asleep. For a while, I thought my mother was wrong. Love didn’t make you weak; it could make a withered rose bloom again. Until a few months ago, when he hired Hannah Vance as his assistant, against my explicit wishes. That’s when I understood. Julian was no different from my father. He never understood why I had such animosity towards a fresh-faced college graduate. But I knew the moment I saw her photo that he would hire her. Because she looked exactly like me in high school. The me that Julian could never have. After sending the photo, Hannah posted on her social media. [I’m such an idiot. I messed up big time. Boss just canceled my year-end bonus. I just want to go hide and cry.] Julian commented instantly. [Mistakes happen. I’m giving you the afternoon off. Go have a good cry.] I couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect me or flaunting their relationship in my face. After lunch, I drove out to our hot springs villa in the suburbs. It was a wedding gift from the Han family. We’d moved out because the commute was inconvenient, but a lot of our important documents were still stored there. As I approached the door, I heard the sound of splashing water. There was a small hot spring pool in the courtyard, but we hadn’t been here all year. There shouldn’t have been anyone in it. “Feeling better? Still want to cry?” Julian’s voice, so painfully familiar, drifted through the wall. A chill ran down my spine. He’d brought her here. To our wedding home. “You have to make it up to me for my bonus!” Hannah’s voice was no longer soft and fragile. It was playful, coquettish. “You were naughty. You have to be punished so you learn your lesson. I told you not to bring this up in front of Lucy. That’s my one rule.” “Then send a company-wide email about it! I feel so wronged.” “I know you do. Did you like that apartment we looked at? You should move in. It’ll be more convenient for you to get to work.” “Is that all I get? A new apartment?” “What do you want, then?” Hannah’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper. I couldn’t make out the words. I only heard the sound of water, splashing violently from the pool. “Hmph. Let’s see if I can make you cry out for real,” Julian’s voice was a low, husky growl, every syllable crystal clear. I knew Hannah was confident in their relationship to have sent me that photo. But hearing it, experiencing it firsthand… the pain was overwhelming. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick, my body trembling as I dragged myself back to the car. My mother was right. Love made you weak. But I would not become her. I took several deep breaths and called Julian. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” His voice was slightly breathless. “Where are you?” “In a meeting with a client.” “I can’t find one of the old contracts. I was thinking it might be at the villa…” I said, testing him. “No way. All the important stuff was moved to the house. I’m sure of it. Just look again.” “Really? I still think I should go check.” “Don’t go—” His voice shot up an octave. “I mean, it’s not safe for you to drive all that way alone. I’ll go with you this weekend, okay?” “Never mind. It’s not urgent. You’re busy,” I said, my voice flat, and hung up. A new message from Hannah popped up instantly. [So you check up on him too? Here, let me give you a full report.] Attached was a photo. A box of condoms on a nightstand, with only a few remaining. Bile rose in my throat. The man who had sworn to cherish me for a lifetime was utterly filthy. I didn’t go home. I drove to an event production company. They were handling the Shaw Corporation’s 20th-anniversary gala next month. To liven things up, Julian was scheduled to perform a magic trick—an underwater escape act—with one of their professional performers. “Can I be the one in the tank?” I asked the manager. “I want to surprise my husband.” “Mrs. Shaw, without proper training, it’s very risky,” the manager said, hesitant to agree, fearing an accident. “Thirty thousand dollars,” I said. “For my training. I’ll come every day.” “Well, in that case… You and Mr. Shaw are a true power couple. So romantic.” “Please keep this a secret,” I said, forcing a smile. If he loved playing the doting husband so much, then I would be the one to rip up the script. I would disappear from the world, right before his very eyes. Julian came home late that night. I was still reviewing the materials from the production company. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I got held up at the client’s. I’m so late.” He noticed the bruise on my forehead. “What happened to your head? Are you hurt?” He leaned in to inspect the wound. As he did, I saw a faint red mark, a hickey, just visible above the collar of his shirt. I snapped my laptop shut and pushed him away. “Still mad?” He produced a square jewelry box and opened it. Inside lay a magnificent emerald necklace, easily worth over half a million dollars. “Honey, I’ve had my eye on this for a while. It matches your aura perfectly. Do you like it?” I laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. I never thought I’d be in this position. He buys his mistress an apartment and then immediately buys me a necklace to “compensate.” How ridiculous. As if he could balance the scales between his wife and his lover. “I don’t like it,” I said, pushing the box away. “Can’t you just be agreeable for once? You’re harder to please than any of my clients,” he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. He slammed the bathroom door shut. He didn’t understand. I used to be easy to please because I never intended to argue with him. Now, I was difficult because I had no intention of ever forgiving him. In the weeks leading up to the gala, I was busier than ever. I saw less and less of Julian. But someone else was keeping me updated on his schedule. [He introduced me to his friends today. We all went out for drinks. They’re fun. Why do you think they don’t like you?] [Have you ever done it in a car on a mountain top? He’s insatiable.] [Guess where I am? Your old high school athletic field. My legs are jelly.] [This is so boring. You never reply. Are you just going to let me walk all over you? How does it feel to be abandoned? Feel like dying yet?] I ignored her. Julian’s taste in women was truly appalling. I dialed a recent number in my call history. “How is he?” I asked in a low voice. “Is the old man still alive? Did he agree to sign?” “Mr. Hayes has agreed to transfer all his company shares to you,” the voice on the other end replied. I hung up, a sliver of satisfaction finally cutting through the gloom. I pulled open a drawer and scanned its contents—contracts, deeds, plane tickets—my eyes finally landing on a set of divorce papers.

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The first time I met my biological parents, I had just crawled out of the mine shaft, covered in coal dust. Disgust flickered in their eyes—my father didn’t bother hiding it. “Get her another car,” he snapped. “I won’t have her dirtying ours.” My mother forced a smile. “Poor child. Once you’re clean, Mommy will make it up to you.” Then they fled to their car. Only their adopted son, Aiden Ashford, stayed behind. “Ride with me,” he said. I showered at the mine first, washing off the grime before slipping into his Maybach. At the Ashford estate, my parents were absent. Instead, Naomi—the “fake” heiress—greeted me with a saccharine smile. “Sister!” she chirped, grabbing my hand—then shoved a fruit knife into it, forcing my grip toward her own chest. 1 My first introduction to the Ashford family, and Naomi was trying to make me shank her with a piece of cutlery. Was this some kind of bizarre welcoming ritual? I’m lazy by nature, but I’m also strong. She didn’t stand a chance. She tugged, strained, but my arm didn’t budge. She blinked, her wide, innocent eyes betraying a flash of confusion before she tried to pull again. I just pointed a finger at the small camera pinned to my shirt. “Life-logging,” I said, conserving my words. The color drained from Naomi’s face. She dropped my hand as if it were on fire. Just then, Aiden walked in from parking the car. He saw the knife in my hand, Naomi’s terrified expression, and a complicated look crossed his face. I couldn’t be bothered to explain, so I just placed the knife back in Naomi’s hand. “Aiden, you’re back!” she chirped, her tone instantly shifting to one of cloying affection. “I had Mrs. Gable make you some of her chicken soup. I’ll go get it for you right now.” “Not hungry,” Aiden replied, shaking his head. His gaze shifted to me. “Claire? Are you hungry?” “Too much effort,” I said. I slumped onto the nearest sofa, letting my body go limp. I pulled a bag of chips from my backpack and began to shovel them into my mouth with a listless, apathetic air. This was me in my natural state: if I can lie down, I won’t sit; if I can sit, I won’t stand. “Tired?” Aiden asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. “I’m fine.” I kept eating, pulling out my tablet with my other hand. My left hand danced across the screen, tapping out lines of code, while my right hand scrolled through videos on my phone, my snack-shoveling an intermittent, automatic motion. Aiden and Naomi stared at me as if I were some kind of alien creature. Naomi eventually drifted closer, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Sister, you’ve had it so rough all these years, you probably never learned the proper etiquette for a family like ours. If people saw you acting like this, it would be terribly embarrassing for the Ashfords. But don’t you worry, I can teach you all about social graces.” “Too much effort.” I yawned and offered a piece of well-intentioned advice. “The mine’s a busy place. Are you sure you don’t want to go back and help out?” In my mind, a person should see their biological parents. It was the only reason I’d even agreed to come back to this place. I figured she’d feel the same. But Naomi’s smile twitched, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Sister, if you don’t want me in this house, I can just leave…” “Suit yourself.” I could see it then. For all her talk about not pulling any drama, she was itching for a fight. But what was there to fight over? Money? I couldn’t care less about money. I really wanted to tell her that, but I knew she wouldn’t believe me. No normal person would. So, I saved myself the breath. Aiden came and sat down beside me. “Mom and Dad said they have to go abroad for a few days,” he explained softly. “They’ll make it up to you properly when they get back. They hope you won’t overthink things.” “Okay,” I nodded, my spirit feeling like it could drift out of my skull at any moment. Aiden looked a bit helpless. He turned to Naomi. “Is her room ready?” “It’s still being prepared. I want it to be perfect for my sister, so there’s a lot to do,” Naomi said, a hint of distress in her voice. “Aiden… maybe she could just stay in a guest room for tonight?” 2 Aiden’s brow furrowed, as if he could see right through Naomi’s little scheme. “Claire just got here. Why would she stay in a guest room? She’s family, not a guest.” “I get it, Aiden. In this family, I’m the only one who’s an outsider…” Naomi’s voice broke, and she started to cry. I saw Aiden roll his eyes. I wanted to do the same, but it felt like too much work. “I’ll sleep anywhere,” I said, breaking the tension. “As long as it has a window for ventilation.” Aiden let out a breath of relief, seemingly glad that the ‘real heiress’ wasn’t going to be difficult. “Then pick any room you like, except for Mom and Dad’s. I’ll personally see to your permanent room tomorrow.” Naomi looked crestfallen. “But Aiden, I can arrange the room for my sister…” Aiden completely ignored her, speaking only to me. “I have a meeting at the office this afternoon. If you need anything, we can talk when I get back tonight.” “Okay,” I mumbled, melting back into the sofa cushions. He shook his head, a hint of amusement and resignation in his eyes at my profound laziness. Then he was gone, clearly a man with important responsibilities. The moment he left, Naomi’s demeanor changed. “Sister,” she said, her smile returning, “let me show you to a wonderful room. I’m sure you’ll love it.” “Fine.” I reluctantly pushed myself to my feet. Honestly, if they’d let me just strip down and pass out on the living room floor, I would have stayed right there. Moving was such a chore. I knew this girl was up to something, but I was too tired to care. Sure enough, she led me to a room on the second floor. It was immaculate. A faint, sterile scent of lavender hung in the air, and every object was arranged with obsessive precision. It was clearly the room of someone with a serious case of OCD. And from my limited observations, the prime candidate for that in this house was Aiden. My suspicion was confirmed when I saw a framed photo of him on the desk. I shot a weary glance at Naomi. Seriously? Did this girl really think I was that stupid? But she feigned ignorance, smiling brightly. “If you like it here, Sister, you can get some rest.” “Fine.” I nodded. I knew she was setting a trap, but the thought of searching for another room was physically painful. All I wanted was a shower and to lie down until I fused with the mattress. Naomi couldn’t hide a triumphant little smirk as she scurried out, as if afraid I’d change my mind. I took my shower and collapsed onto the bed. Sometime after dark, I was jolted awake by the sound of a soft cough. Aiden was standing by the bed, dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit. His face was a cold mask, an unspoken demand for an explanation hanging in the air. Naomi was right beside him, her voice a soft, poisonous whisper. “Aiden, I tried to stop her. I told her you were a neat freak and couldn’t stand anyone in your space, but Sister just wouldn’t listen. She insisted on this room.” 3 “Is it comfortable?” After a long, tense moment, that’s what Aiden asked. Not the explosion of anger I’d expected, especially with Naomi fanning the flames so expertly. I rubbed my eyes and gave him a serious nod. “Very. The aromatherapy is great for sleep.” A hint of surprise flickered in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected me to know about aromatherapy. “Then you can stay here.” Naomi looked stunned. “Aiden! In the past, you’d get angry if I even stepped into your room. Why does she get to sleep here?” “Are you hungry?” Aiden ignored her completely, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at me. I nodded, adding, “Don’t want to get out of bed.” “Alright. I’ll bring it up for you.” He nodded and turned to leave. Naomi’s eyes widened, her voice a furious whisper. “Why? Why is he so good to you when you’ve just arrived? He’s a complete germaphobe, but he’s letting you sleep in his bed? He’s even going to let you eat in his bed? Why?” I didn’t bother answering, just pulled out my phone and started scrolling through videos. Naomi stood there, looking like a fool, but she didn’t leave. It seemed she was morbidly curious to see how I would manage to eat in Aiden’s pristine bed. A few minutes later, Aiden returned pushing a serving cart. It had a small, extendable tray table that could be positioned over the bed. All I had to do was sit up. I did so, listlessly, rinsed my mouth with some water, and then dug into the food without a word. Aiden went to his desk and started working on his laptop, not paying me any mind at all. Naomi sidled over to the cart and picked up a glass of juice. I knew what she was planning. She was going to “accidentally” spill it on the bed and then tattle to the compulsively clean Aiden about my clumsiness. I had no idea how he’d react, but I was sure it would involve me having to move rooms. I’m lazy. I didn’t want to move. So, I picked up my phone and aimed the camera at her. The motion of her hand, just about to tip the glass, froze. A strained, sickly smile spread across her face as she held the juice out to me. “Sister, have some juice.” “Don’t want any.” I glanced over at Aiden and found him already looking our way. Our eyes met for a moment. He had beautiful eyes, deep and perceptive, as if they could see right through everything. “Naomi,” Aiden’s voice cut through the silence. “Don’t you have your college entrance exams coming up? Shouldn’t you be studying?” Naomi’s smile faltered. She knew she was being dismissed. She had no choice but to leave. After I finished eating, a housekeeper came in to clear everything away. I went back to my routine: left hand coding, right hand scrolling. I have no idea how much time passed, but eventually, I was sleepy again. I was about to go take another shower before bed when Aiden finished his work. He walked over and placed a small bottle on the nightstand. “Nootropic supplements,” he said. “For brain function.” “Thanks, Aiden,” I said, looking at him with suspicion. How did he know I needed something like that? But he had already left the room. I was too lazy to ask. I took a shower, swallowed the pills, and was asleep in minutes. The next few days passed in a similar blur. I barely left the room. Naomi kept trying to stir up trouble, but she never got the chance. Aiden was there every day, working quietly at his desk, but we hardly spoke. Until one morning, as I was still dead to the world, the blankets were suddenly ripped off me. I shot awake to see my biological parents standing over me. It was my father who had torn away my covers. “What do you think you’re doing, sleeping in here?” he roared. 4 “Sister, even though Aiden is adopted, you have to think about appearances!” Naomi immediately fanned the flames. “If people find out that the true Ashford heiress came back and immediately started sleeping in her brother’s room, what would they say? It’s a disgrace! We can’t let you tarnish the Ashford family name like this!” My mother collapsed into a dramatic fit of tears. “Oh, what a tragedy! How could my own daughter be so shameless? I don’t want to live!” My father turned his fury on me. “You’re a student! Why is your mind filled with such improper thoughts? Get out of that bed right now!” I calmly pulled the blanket back over myself and tapped a few commands into my phone. The room’s lights dimmed and a projector whirred to life, casting an image onto the wall. It was a feed from the room’s security camera, showing everything from the moment Naomi first brought me in until this very second. I’m too lazy to argue, but I’m not about to be wrongly accused. My parents shot a look at Naomi, their expressions souring. But my father quickly recovered. “Your sister brought you to this room to give you a nice environment, but you should know to keep your distance!” My mother sighed. “She was raised in the countryside, after all. No sense of propriety, no consideration for others.” It was crystal clear. They didn’t care about right or wrong; they just plain didn’t like me. But if they disliked me so much, why did they go to all the trouble of finding me and bringing me back? I sighed, too tired to press the issue. Thankfully, Aiden arrived and diffused the situation. As my parents were leaving the room, I heard my father mutter something vile. “You need to be more discreet. You’re a bargaining chip for this family’s future. A tarnished reputation makes you worthless.” I caught a glimpse of Aiden’s face as he heard it. It was a blank, dead mask. Later, I was summoned downstairs for dinner. My parents sat with Naomi between them, looking for all the world like a perfect family of three. Naomi was a master at pleasing them, showering them with compliments and laughter. They would look at her with pride, then glance at me with disappointment, the comparison hanging unspoken in the air. Suddenly, Naomi turned to me. “Sister, did you go to school in the countryside?” “Graduated,” I said dismissively. My father frowned. “You’re the same age as Naomi, and she’s only a high school senior. What did you graduate from? What did you even study?” “Computer science and welding.” Smack! My father slammed his hand on the table. “An Ashford does not learn something as low-class as welding!” My mother quickly chimed in. “Naomi is a senior at Northwood Preparatory Academy, she has a real shot at the Ivy League. You should go there for a semester. Even if you can’t get into a good university, your father and I can always endow a new library to get you a degree from a decent school.” “But I’ve already graduated.” I wanted to tell them I was a graduate of MIT’s early entrance program, that I had a job—a job so secret I couldn’t even talk about it—and that I was just here on a family visit. But it was classified, and honestly, I was just too lazy to explain. My father slammed the table again. “How dare you talk back! I’ve decided. You’re enrolling at Northwood tomorrow!” Great. They were sending me back to the forge. If I remembered correctly, I had visited Northwood a few years back as a consultant. I couldn’t wait to see the principal’s face when he found out I was his newest student. Just then, we had visitors. A family of three arrived, the middle-aged couple exuding an air of wealth. With them was a woman around Aiden’s age, beautiful in a sharp-boned way, but her eyes were sunken and her skin had a pale, unhealthy cast. She looked like she’d been hollowed out by a life of excess. I noticed Aiden’s expression harden the moment he saw her. His intended? The introductions were made. The older couple seemed quite taken with Naomi. The younger woman, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Aiden, occasionally licking her lips in a way that made my skin crawl. My father, noticing I hadn’t stood up, scowled. “This is Claire. She’ll be taking the Ashford name soon. She’s my daughter who was… misplaced. We just found her. She doesn’t have many manners.” He then ordered me to greet them. I offered a perfunctory “Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont.” Naomi added sweetly, “Sister, this is our future sister-in-law.” I looked at the predatory woman, then at Aiden’s pale, trapped face. He glanced at me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a desperate plea for help in his eyes. That was all it took. I walked over to Aiden, leaned in, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him. Right there, right then. The world froze. Everyone stared, mouths agape, as if they’d been turned to stone. I pulled back, stood up straight, and rested my hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Allow me to introduce you,” I announced to the silent room. “Aiden. My boyfriend.”

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Three months after William Thorne got back together with his ex, he suddenly asked about me. “Has Sera been hiding away, crying her eyes out again these past few days?” His friends exchanged glances. “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen her in ages.” “Didn’t I hear she got married a while back?” “No way. That’s just a rumor, probably a desperate ploy to get William’s attention.” William’s voice was cool and detached. “Go tell her to meet me at the usual place tonight.” His friends started to whoop and holler. “If she shows up crying, you gonna go soft on her, William?” He let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “We’ll see.” But that night, I never came. I waited until the city was draped in the deep blue of late night, and still, there was no sign of me. He called my phone. I didn’t answer. He had a girlfriend, and I was a married woman. It was better to keep our distance. 1 The day William Thorne and his ex-girlfriend, Melina Vance, got back together was my birthday. Just as I was about to cut the cake, the door to the private room was thrown open with a violent shove. It was Melina again. The one who had nearly driven William to self-destruction. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her dress and makeup flawless, every strand of her hair seeming to catch and hold the light. My first instinct was to hide my hands behind my back, but the rough calluses on my fingers snagged on the delicate silk threads of my dress. “William.” Melina pushed past one of our friends, her designer skirt swishing as she rushed toward him. “I give up,” she declared, her voice ringing through the sudden silence. “I’m waving the white flag this time.” Though her words were of surrender, she held her chin high, a queen refusing to let her crown slip, fighting back the tears that welled in her eyes. The room was dead quiet. I couldn’t help but look at William. He sat on the sofa, his expression a mask of cold indifference. He hadn’t even glanced at Melina, but the hard line of his jaw told a different story. “William, I’m only going to ask you this once,” Melina’s voice trembled. “Do you want me back, or not?” A dry, cynical laugh escaped William’s lips. “Who do you think you are, Melina? You break up with me when you want, and you get back with me when you want?” As he spoke, he reached out, yanking me into his lap. The movement was so abrupt that my nose slammed into his solid chest, the impact sending a jolt of pain so sharp it made my eyes water. “Can’t you see I have a girlfriend, Melina?” William’s voice was a low growl. He dipped his head, and his lips found the damp corner of my eye where a tear was forming. The color drained from Melina’s face. “Fine. You’re ruthless.” She pointed a shaking finger at him, tears finally streaming down her cheeks. “William Thorne, I swear I am done with you for good this time!” Her furious gaze then landed on me, a look of pure venom, before she spun around and shoved the table with all her might. The champagne tower crashed to the floor in a symphony of shattering glass. The cake, my beautiful birthday cake, was now a ruined mess on the carpet. Shards of glass flew through the air, cutting both of us. A deep gash on her arm, and for me, a slice across my face. But in that instant, William let go of me. His immediate reaction was to grab her. “Don’t move. You’re bleeding,” he said, his eyes filled with a raw, undeniable ache for her. “Don’t touch me! Go worry about your precious little girlfriend!” Melina cried, shoving him away before running out of the room. It was as if I’d become invisible. William stood frozen for only two seconds before he bolted after her, not even sparing me a single backward glance. 2 Maybe it was to spare me the embarrassment. Or maybe, more likely, it was because they were William and Melina’s friends. I was just an outsider, someone who didn’t belong in their world. One by one, they all trickled out, leaving me alone in the room. I stood there in my pretty dress, my hand pressed to the stinging cut on my face. A tide of grief, dark and silent, began to swallow me whole. This was meant to be the grandest, most extravagant birthday of my life. That beautiful, two-tiered cake… I had stared at its twin through the bakery window countless times as a child, dreaming of what it would taste like. I almost had it. But now, it was just a ruin on the floor. I knelt, found a piece that was still clean, and took a bite. It didn’t taste as magical as I’d imagined. It wasn’t even as good as the cheap cupcakes I sometimes bought. Still, I ate the whole piece. Just as I finished, my phone rang. It was William. “Seraphina.” His voice came through the receiver, and in the background, I could faintly hear Melina’s. “I’m here,” I whispered. “There’s something I need to tell you. Please, just… don’t cry.” It was true, I cried easily. It was like I was born with tear ducts that were a little too close to the surface. “William, are you serious?” Melina’s voice, sharp with anger, cut through. “You’re breaking up with her, and you’re still trying to comfort her?” William’s tone became rushed. “Let’s break up. They said your face got cut. I’ll send you some money.” He added, his voice low and hurried, “Don’t make a scene. It’ll be more money than your father makes fishing for three years.” Before I could say a word, he hung up. 3 William had always been generous. I’d heard stories about his past girlfriends; he showered them with gifts while they were dating and gave them a hefty severance package when it was over. My best friend, Ruby, practically twisted my ear as she lectured me. “Don’t you dare be stupid, Sera.” “Only an idiot would turn down the money.” “You got dumped on your birthday, and your face was nearly ruined. The fact that we’re not suing him for emotional distress is us being merciful.” The cut, stretching from my forehead to the corner of my eye, began to heal slowly, but the money from William never arrived. I tried to contact him and Melina for an explanation, but I couldn’t even get past their gatekeepers. Instead, I got a vicious verbal beatdown from Melina and her circle of friends. Just as I was about to go to the police, my family ran into trouble. My dad owns a small fishing boat. A few days ago, out on the water, a storm kicked up and his boat scraped against someone’s private yacht. The owner was demanding a huge sum for repairs. Money we didn’t have. If we couldn’t pay, my dad would go to jail. If the compensation William had promised was anything like the legends, it would have been just enough to cover the damages. My dad was so stressed his hair seemed to turn grayer overnight. I transferred all my savings from part-time jobs and scholarships to him, but it was a drop in the ocean. Ruby, fed up with my hesitation, snatched my phone and sent a message to William. His call came almost immediately. But when I answered, it was Melina’s voice on the other end. 4 “Seraphina, is it?” Her voice dripped with contempt. “So pathetic. I guess poor people really have no shame.” “Wasn’t leeching off him enough? You still have the audacity to ask for compensation?” “You women from fishing villages… you really know how to hook a man and reel in the cash, don’t you?” My face burned with humiliation. I wanted to fight back, to say something, but my words caught in my throat, and tears started to fall. How could she say that to me? We had been dating for less than a year, and nearly every fight we ever had was because of her. The first time, he abandoned me on the side of the road in the middle of the night because of her. I was terrified. We gave each other the silent treatment for two weeks, and I cried for two weeks straight. The second time, he flew off to Europe to chase her down and was unreachable for a week. I had decided then and there to break up with him. But he came back a wreck and got into a minor car accident. His friends called me, over and over, telling me he wanted to see me. I saw him, and my resolve melted. The third time was my birthday. My face was almost permanently scarred. The doctor said if the cut had been half a centimeter over, I would have lost my eye. Didn’t they owe me for that? “I’m just asking for what I’m owed,” I said, forcing the words through my sobs. “You’re the one who scarred my face.” “But you’re not disfigured, are you?” Melina scoffed, then hung up with a sharp click. A moment later, a notification popped up. A transfer of five thousand dollars from William’s account. I clutched my phone, tears dripping onto the screen. In the end, out of a stubborn sense of pride, I refused the transfer. Accepting that money would have been settling. I was a poor girl from a fishing village; I couldn’t win a fight against a prince and princess like them. But I swore to myself, one day, I would make Melina Vance pay for what she did. 5 The deadline to pay for the yacht came and went, and we still hadn’t raised enough money. Then, the owner of the yacht showed up at our house. I found it strange. Weren’t people that rich supposed to be busy? Why would he personally come all the way to our small town over something like this? Was he afraid we’d abandon the boat and run? I snuck a glance at the man. The watch on his wrist was a brand William had mentioned once. It was worth at least eight figures. I couldn’t make sense of it, so I stopped trying. I just stood beside my father and brother, our heads bowed, hoping he’d show some mercy. And this man, Nathaniel Vance, did more than show mercy. My father was stunned. “You’re… you’re giving me a new fishing boat?” My brother was trembling with excitement. “You mean… I can open a shop on shore? I don’t have to fish anymore?” A new, state-of-the-art, fully automated fishing boat was my father’s lifelong dream. Opening a small shop and settling down was my brother’s. “Correct,” Nathaniel said, his gaze landing on me. He got straight to the point. “On one condition: she marries me.” He pointed at me. “She has a lucky star. An astrologer I trust told me that marrying her this year will double my assets.” My father and brother both turned to me. “Sera, what do you think?” I was completely dumbfounded. Nathaniel looked to be in his late twenties. He was handsome and well-built, though he had a stern look on his face when he wasn’t smiling. A billionaire with a towering frame and a sharp suit… by any measure, I was getting the better end of this deal. I swallowed nervously. “My dad gets a new boat, and my brother gets a shop. What’s in it for me?” Nathaniel paused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, and then he smiled. When he smiled, his stern features softened, revealing a surprising warmth and elegance. I felt my cheeks grow hot and quickly looked away. He waved a hand, and an assistant brought in several boxes of small cakes. They were delicious-smelling cupcakes. The kind I could eat three of in one sitting. Clutching a box of cakes, I asked him the most important questions I could think of. “Your last name is Vance. Do you know a Melina Vance?” Nathaniel thought for a moment. “I believe there’s someone by that name among the junior members of a branch family.” “Is she… afraid of you?” The smile in his eyes deepened. “Her entire family is most likely very afraid of me.” “In Port Sterling… is the Vance family more powerful than the Thorne family?” “By a significant margin.” “Okay, then.” I hugged the cupcakes tighter and nodded firmly. “I accept.” “But I’m still in college. Can we… wait to get married?” Nathaniel’s gaze was deep as he looked at me, a soft smile playing on his lips. “We can get the license now. The wedding can wait until after you graduate.” I held up my hand to him. “Deal.” Nathaniel shook my hand. “A pleasure, Mrs. Vance.” My face flushed. “Maybe you should just call me by my name for now. I’d rather not go public with this yet.” Nathaniel stood up. He was so tall. I had to crane my neck to look at him. “Of course, Sera.” Hearing him say my name felt… different. So different that my ears were still burning long after he’d gone. 6 I’d occasionally run into William and Melina on campus. Sometimes they were the picture of a perfect couple, all lovey-dovey. Other times they were fighting. But they always made up quickly. I started to actively avoid them. Many students whispered behind my back that I had fumbled the bag, letting a golden goose slip through my fingers. They assumed I was consumed with jealousy over Melina. But none of them knew my little secret. Often, I would wake up in the middle of the night, open my banking app, and stare at the astronomical sum Nathaniel had given me as a betrothal gift. I would count the zeroes over and over again until I drifted back to sleep, completely content. Summer break arrived quickly. I went home to fish with my dad, completely removing myself from William’s world. So, I was surprised when one of his friends called me. After a bit of small talk, he finally got to the point. “Sera, the usual place tonight. William wants to see you.” I was about to refuse. “Dress up, wear something pretty, okay?” he added conspiratorially. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: William and Melina are done. For real this time.” “This is your chance. Seize it.” He hung up before I could even get a word in. My dad was calling me to help with the nets. I quickly forgot all about the phone call. 7 His friend returned, clapping William on the shoulder with a grin. “Just got off the phone with Sera.” The others immediately started their teasing. “So, William, if she shows up crying, you gonna go soft on her?” William tapped the ash from his cigarette, a slight smile on his lips. “We’ll see.” “But seriously, man,” one of them said, “Sera’s way easier to be with than Melina.” “Yeah, Sera’s a sweetheart.” “Remember when you had that car accident? The way she rushed to the hospital?” “She started bawling the second she walked into the room. It was heartbreaking to watch.” William seemed to drift back to that memory, a flicker of softness entering his eyes. “You and Melina have been all over each other lately. Sera’s probably been crying her eyes out in private.” “The last time I saw her, she looked like she’d lost a lot of weight. And you could still see the scar above her eye.” The hand holding the cigarette paused mid-air. Sera had been hurt that day, too. How could he have been so callous, just leaving her there? But Sera was sweet. She was easy to soothe. He went home and changed into a crisp white shirt. Sera loved him in white shirts.

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In five years of marriage, my wife, Vivian, had cheated on me fifty-two times. I had endured it all in silence. Until the day I was laid up with an acute stomach ulcer. Vivian’s young assistant, Leo, had managed to piss off a major client, and to salvage the deal, she told me to go apologize, to smooth things over with drinks. I couldn’t believe it. “I’m sick, Viv,” I pleaded. “The doctor said I can’t drink. If I have even one…” She cut me off, her voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a few drinks, Brad. It’s not going to kill you.” Annoyed by my hesitation, she had someone force the liquor down my throat. The fiery spirit ripped through my stomach, triggering a massive hemorrhage. That day, while I fought for my life in the hospital, she abandoned me and our newborn son to spend the night with her assistant at a secluded villa in the countryside. When I finally woke up in that sterile white room, I looked at my mother-in-law. “Nelly,” I said, my voice a dry rasp, “you promised me. You said once she safely delivered the baby, you’d let me go. Can I leave now?” 1 My question hung in the air, and a storm of conflict and heartbreak washed over her face. “Brad, are you sure? You won’t give her even one more chance? She…” Before she could finish, Vivian’s face flashed across the television screen in the corner of the room. Another scandal. In the photo, she was draped in a man’s blazer, being carried out of a car by Leo, her assistant. She was nestled against his chest, her expression hazy, a feverish blush painting her cheeks. Though she was mostly covered, one photographer had caught a glimpse of her smooth, pale thigh, marred by the faint, tell-tale bruises of a lover’s passion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d been doing in that car. “Vivian Sterling, CEO of Sterling Corp, photographed in an intimate moment with an unidentified man. Could wedding bells be on the horizon for the power couple?” the news anchor chirped. My mother-in-law stared at the screen, her chest heaving with rage. Her entire body trembled, consumed by a fury so pure it was terrifying. But when her eyes fell back on me, the anger melted away, replaced by an ocean of guilt and sorrow. Her eyes welled up. The words of protest died in her throat. After a long moment, she choked out, “Okay. I promise, Brad. I’ll handle the divorce.” Seeing her wipe away tears, a tight, painful knot formed in my own chest. But I couldn’t afford to be soft. Not anymore. “Thank you, Nelly.” Ever since Vivian had insisted on being induced just to get the pregnancy over with for her assistant’s sake, I hadn’t laid eyes on our premature son. All I knew was that he was a boy, four pounds and three ounces, fair-skinned, and that he looked like me. My mother-in-law, her voice thick with emotion, tried again, telling me the baby was perfectly healthy. He’d been brought home from the hospital yesterday. She urged me to go see him. I just shook my head. “No. It’s enough to know he’s healthy.” If I never saw him, I could never miss him. I knew myself. If I looked into his eyes just once, I’d never be able to leave. And I had to leave. I couldn’t stay in the Sterling family’s gilded cage a moment longer. Compared to a life on the run with me, rootless and uncertain, staying with them was the best thing for him. Lying in my hospital bed, I stared out the window, wondering where I could possibly go. I was abandoned at birth, raised in an orphanage. I had no family, no blood ties. No friends to lean on. I was a lone boat adrift on the ocean, with no harbor to call home. My mother-in-law’s heart ached for me, her anger at Vivian growing with every passing second. She pulled out her phone, dialing her daughter again and again, trying to get her to come to the hospital. But each time, she was met with the cold, robotic voice of an answering machine. Finally, on her last attempt, someone picked up. It was a man. “Mrs. Sterling, Vivian is in a meeting. Could you call back later…” Before he could finish, a soft, breathy moan echoed through the phone. My mother-in-law was no fool. She knew exactly what kind of “meeting” was happening. Her face turned ashen. “You tell Vivian,” she roared into the phone, “that if she still considers me her mother, she will get her ass to this hospital right now! Otherwise, she can consider herself an orphan!” She slammed the phone down, tears finally spilling from her eyes. She gripped my hand, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Brad. This is all my fault. I never should have forced you to stay with her. I never should have let you suffer so much…” 2 Our marriage had been Nelly’s creation from the start. She arranged for us to meet right after I graduated from college, telling Vivian that I, and only I, was worthy of being her husband. Vivian had screamed, fought, and thrown tantrums, but in the end, her mother’s will was iron. She agreed to the wedding. In the beginning, I thought I’d finally found the warm, loving home I’d always dreamed of. I was filled with such hope for our future. I threw myself into being the perfect husband, attending to her every need, making her the center of my universe. When my colleagues would go out for drinks after work, I’d always decline, worried she wouldn’t eat properly if she were home alone. After a while, they just stopped asking. My world had shrunk to contain only her, and I didn’t care. I thought if I gave her my whole heart, she would eventually give me hers in return. I was a fool. Not long after we were married, Vivian started staying out all night. I told myself it was work, that she was busy. I’d use my lunch breaks to cook nutritious meals and bring them to her office, just so she’d remember to take care of herself. Then one day, at a gala, a man in a bespoke suit swaggered over to me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Mr. Hayes,” he drawled, “your cooking is quite something. I guess a kept man has to be good at something, right? Must’ve taken a lot of practice.” That’s when I learned that the meals I’d poured my heart into were ending up in another man’s stomach. We had our first real fight that night. Or rather, I had a fight. I raged, I yelled, I let out all my pain and frustration. She just stood there, watching me with a calm, detached expression, as if I were some madman having a fit. When I had finally exhausted myself, she spoke, her voice cool and even. “Brad, have you ever considered that your ‘self-sacrifice’ is just you feeling sorry for yourself?” That one sentence shattered my world. All my efforts, all my love… it meant nothing to her. She was just a spectator in my life, watching my devotion with cold amusement before delivering her casual, devastating critique. How utterly pathetic. I didn’t know how to face her after that, how to face our future. So I retreated. I stopped trying. Soon after, the tabloid headlines started. Yesterday, she was at a fashion show with a male model. Today, lunch with a flight attendant. Tomorrow, checking into a hotel with a business partner. The news broke me. I wanted a divorce. But Nelly pleaded with me. “It’s all for show, Brad, it doesn’t mean anything. She loves you, she really does, she just doesn’t know how to show it. Please, for my sake, just try a little longer.” She had been my sponsor since I was five, the reason I’d had a safe and comfortable childhood in the orphanage. I owed her everything. So, for her, I stayed. Over time, the pain of her infidelities dulled into a familiar, hollow ache. I grew numb. Then, last year, Nelly found the bottle of sleeping pills I needed just to get through the night. That’s when she finally relented. “As soon as Vivian gives you a child,” she promised, her voice heavy with regret, “boy or girl, I will grant you your divorce.” For the sake of that freedom, I forced myself back to life, taking supplements, trying to get healthy. But Vivian wouldn’t let me near her. She started sleeping at her office just to avoid me. So, Nelly took matters into her own hands. She… arranged things. A drugged bottle of wine, a locked bedroom door. And it worked. Vivian got pregnant. She delivered the baby. I was finally going to be free. 3 It didn’t take long for Vivian to show up at the hospital, her face a mask of cold fury. When a nurse mentioned that my ulcer had caused severe internal bleeding, a flicker of shock crossed her features before she quickly composed herself. “He bled out and he’s still not dead?” she muttered. Her mother, who had just stepped back into the hallway, overheard her. Her face went pale with rage. “Vivian Sterling! Brad is in the hospital because of you, and that’s what you have to say? Are you even human?” Realizing she’d pushed her mother too far, Vivian quickly backpedaled. “I was just kidding.” I heard her too. But I wasn’t angry. She’d been wishing me dead for years. I’d told her once I would divorce her. She hadn’t believed me. So I’d stopped talking about it. Nelly ushered her into my room and then left, giving us space. Vivian stood by the door, keeping her distance, looking at me as if I were a stranger she’d been forced to visit. I didn’t care. The silence in the room was thick and heavy. Finally, she walked a little closer, her voice still sharp. “It’s your own fault for not taking care of yourself. You being in the hospital has nothing to do with me.” As she spoke, she watched my face, trying to gauge my reaction. I just offered a faint smile. “You’re right. It was my fault. I won’t put you in such a difficult position again.” My response seemed to displease her. She frowned. “Mom brought the baby home. You’re the ones who wanted him, so don’t expect me to raise him.” “Don’t worry,” I said, cutting her off gently. “Nelly has already hired a top-of-the-line maternity nurse. She’ll handle everything. You won’t have to lift a finger.” My placid acceptance was not what she expected. Her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. She was silent. I knew she was remembering what I’d told her when we first married: that if we ever had a child, I would give him the complete family I never had, shower him with the love of a father and a mother that was stolen from me. Now, I expected nothing from her. She opened her mouth to say something, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the caller ID, then back at me, before turning and stepping out of the room. Even through the door, I could hear the excited voice on the other end. “You had their damn kid, so you’re done. Forget it. I got tickets to your idol’s concert. Let’s go, right now…” She left to take the call and never came back. A moment later, an older man shuffled past my door, supported by his wife. “Honestly,” the woman scolded gently, “if you can’t handle your liquor, you shouldn’t drink. Is a little money worth more than your health? What would the kids and I do if something happened to you?” Her words were a complaint, but her voice was filled with love. Her husband just grinned sheepishly, nodding along. A wave of pure, unadulterated envy washed over me. To be loved like that. What would that feel like? Just then, my phone chimed on the nightstand. A notification. “You have received a payment of $50,000.” I picked it up. The transfer description simply read: Medical Expenses. I stared at it for a moment, then closed the app. I didn’t send it back. After all she’d put me through, I’d earned it. After a few more days in the hospital, Nelly arranged for me to be brought home to recover. She promised me that the day of the baby’s one-month party would be the day our divorce was finalized. With her word, the restless, wandering part of my soul finally found a place to rest. I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in years. That night, I got a call from the head of my old orphanage. She’d found my birth parents. They had passed away a long time ago, but they’d left a letter for me, and a key. I had to go to the police station in their old hometown to retrieve it. I jotted down the address, and as I was tucking the note into my phone case, I heard the bedroom door open. Vivian. A thick cloud of alcohol followed her into the room. Before I could say a word, she collapsed onto the bed beside me. “You’re a clever one,” she slurred, her eyes closed. “My mother actually told me to try and make things work with you.”

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The third month of my marriage to Kevin McQuarrie, I slit my wrists. As my soul drifted in the air, I imagined what would come next. I expected to see him weeping, tearing the world apart to find me. At the very least, he should have been clutching my body, kneeling at my grave day and night, drowning in repentance. It would be just like something out of a gothic romance: the billionaire tycoon, chasing after her ghost, his hair turning white overnight, his empire crumbling to dust, left with nothing before taking his own life to join her. But none of that happened. When Kevin McQuarrie looked down at my corpse, all he said was, “What a mess.” There was no regret. No desperate, grief-stricken chase. Instead, my death cleared the way for his darling orphan, Sylvia McQuarrie. In a flash, she became the new Mrs. McQuarrie. I glanced down at the blade in my hand, time snapping back to the moment before I made the cut. Why the hell should I be the one to die? I was never the one who deserved it. I dropped the blade and walked out of the bathroom. This time, before Kevin could move Sylvia into our marital home, I signed my name on the divorce papers. 1 The searing pain in my wrist was the first thing I felt, a brutal confirmation that I was back. The memories of my death replayed in my mind on a relentless loop. I’d been driven to suicide by a single text message I received half an hour ago from Sylvia. It was a photo. Her, straddling Kevin. The pose was intimate, almost obscene, made all the more so by the suffocatingly close confines of his car. Rage consumed me. I called Kevin, again and again. He didn’t pick up. After the fourth frantic call, he simply declined it. All of New York high society knew I loved Kevin McQuarrie to the point of madness. They had a nickname for me: Rebecca Shaw, the Beautiful and Broken. Without him, I couldn’t live. Back then, the thought of Kevin with another woman, doing that… it shattered me. I quickly created a group chat, adding all our mutual friends, and declared I was going to kill myself. Everyone in the group pleaded with me to calm down. Everyone except Kevin. His response was two ice-cold words: “Go ahead.” Those words were a razor to my already frayed nerves. I was so desperate for a scrap of his affection, any proof that he cared, that I actually did it. I started a video call and streamed my suicide. On the screen, my friends’ faces were masks of horror. Finally, Kevin reacted. I heard him mutter, “You crazy bitch,” before the sound of a car engine roared to life. He was coming back for me. He was leaving that other woman to rush to my side. He’s mine, I thought, a triumphant, final flicker of obsession. He can only be mine. But I had cut too deep. I actually died. As a disembodied soul, I had eagerly watched, waiting for the moment his love for me would finally awaken. I waited for him to cradle my body and break down. But he did nothing. He just had me cremated. A month later, he married Sylvia, and she took my place as if I had never existed. That little suicide attempt taught me one thing: to hell with loving a man. It was time to love myself. Kevin McQuarrie, I’m done loving you. Sylvia’s text was still on my phone. I didn’t hesitate to reply. “Kevin prefers to be on top. He’s not into your kind of trashy performance.” Silence from her end. I stepped out of the bathroom and threw everything—the blade, the blood-soaked towels, the despair—into the trash. To think I’d spent ten years trailing after Kevin, begging for crumbs of his affection, only to trap myself in a cage of my own making. What a waste. I sent one last text to Kevin. “The divorce agreement is on your desk. All it needs is your signature.” 2 Kevin returned quickly. The first words out of his mouth were, “Not dead yet? So this is your new tactic, a divorce?” The sneer in his voice was thick, but he wasn’t wrong. The only reason I had managed to marry him in the first place was because of a merger between our families. At the time, the McQuarrie empire was on the verge of bankruptcy, their legacy in ashes. My marriage was the lifeline; my family’s money was the blood transfusion keeping his family’s dying company alive. That was my leverage. Every time I threatened divorce, Kevin would back down, making some small concession. In my delusion, I saw his compromises as proof of his love—the only love he had to give. Now I see it for what it was: not love, but business. He was yielding for the sake of the McQuarrie name, not for me. I schooled my features into a calm mask just as I saw Sylvia standing behind him. Sylvia McQuarrie. Two years my junior, adopted by the McQuarries from an orphanage. She and Kevin had grown up together, the picture of childhood sweethearts. How could I have ever been foolish enough to believe that the fiery new love could ever conquer the tender history of a first love? Besides, I was never the fiery new love. I was just Rebecca Shaw, the unhinged wife. I held the divorce papers out to him. “Sign it.” Kevin let out a sharp, derisive laugh. He snatched the papers and tore them in half, not even glancing at my face. “Sylvia is moving in,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “She’ll be taking the master bedroom. You have a problem with that?” A problem? How could I dare? In my past life, this was the exact moment things had spiraled. Sylvia had demanded the master bedroom, our bedroom. I had refused, and she’d been relegated to a guest room. The next thing I knew, she had fallen from the window of that room. She claimed the bed was too close to the floor-to-ceiling window and she’d “accidentally” tumbled out. A likely story. Who sleeps with a massive window wide open? Kevin had blamed me entirely. To “teach me a lesson,” he locked me in a dark room, without food or water. By the time he remembered I existed, I was barely breathing. My best friend had pleaded with me. “Divorce him, Rebecca! That bastard is going to kill you if you keep this up!” And I, in my infinite wisdom, had shot back, “But why is he only a bastard to me? Why does he only want to destroy me and not anyone else? It’s because he loves me! He’s obsessed with me!” My friends, hearing that twisted logic, slowly backed away until no one was left. Thinking about it now… what a special brand of idiot I was. Since Sylvia was so keen on stealing my nest, she could have it. “Fine,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. 3 A flicker of surprise crossed Sylvia’s face. Whatever manipulative drama she had prepared was now useless. Her eyes darted over me, trying to figure out my angle, before she tugged on Kevin’s arm. “Kevin,” she began, her voice a soft murmur, “about that other thing…” She let the sentence hang in the air. Kevin adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, a gesture so refined and elegant it used to make my heart ache. A wolf in scholar’s clothing. Now I realize if a stray dog had made the same motion, I’d probably have fallen in love with it, too. I was just that sick. “Sylvia’s health is delicate,” Kevin said, his voice smooth as silk. “And we need to prepare for the pregnancy. You’ll look after her for the next two weeks. You studied nursing, didn’t you?” Yes, I had. For him. Years ago, when the McQuarrie company was on the brink of collapse, Kevin had been forced to attend endless dinners, drinking himself into a stomach ulcer that landed him in the hospital for weeks. They couldn’t afford a private nurse, so I taught myself the basics and cared for him night and day for half a month. I never even closed my eyes, it seemed. If he reached, I was there with water. If he shifted, I was there to massage his back. I was more diligent than a paid servant. I thought he would remember my devotion. He did—he remembered he had a free caregiver on call. Still, I agreed without a fight. But this time, I would reclaim what was mine. “Kevin, give me back the three corporate seals my family gave you,” I said coolly. “Do that, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Those three seals were the lynchpin that had saved McQuarrie Industries from utter ruin. I had married into the McQuarrie family from another city, against my parents’ fierce opposition. As a last resort, they had given me those three seals, explaining that with them, every major corporation and enterprise in the city would have to give the McQuarrie family face and do business with them. They told me that the day I took back those seals, they would come for me, no matter how far away they were. When I gave them to Kevin, I made him promise to carry them with him at all times, for the good of his career. In my past life, I had asked for them back once. He had pointed a finger in my face and screamed, “Rebecca, who the hell do you and your family think you are? You think these worthless trinkets matter? McQuarrie Industries doesn’t need the Shaws to rise again!” It was then I learned you can’t tame a viper. You can’t warm a heart of stone. If I’d given those seals to a dog, at least it would have wagged its tail for me. Kevin scoffed, pulling one of the seals from his coat pocket and tossing it to me. “Here. You’ll get the other two, one per week, over the next two weeks.” I understood. I had to serve Sylvia well for fifteen days. In exchange, I’d get my freedom. By the time I had all three, my parents would handle the divorce proceedings. I snuffed out the last embers of my love for Kevin. All I wanted now was to see his face when he was no longer a McQuarrie scion, but a pathetic, debt-ridden nobody. I wanted to see if Sylvia would still love him then. 4 And so, for the days that followed, Sylvia lived in my house. The news of her “preparations for pregnancy” had sent me to the hospital with an anxiety attack in my last life. It nearly drove me insane. Because the baby Sylvia was preparing for was Kevin’s. She had spun a tale about her deep spiritual beliefs, claiming that since the McQuarries had adopted her, she was duty-bound to repay their kindness. Since Kevin was married to me and I had remained childless for three years, she couldn’t bear to see the McQuarrie lineage end. She would “sacrifice” herself to provide an heir. She proposed IVF to Kevin. She called it IVF, but it was clear she was just planting his seed the old-fashioned way. She’d sent me photos and videos, one by one, until the torment made me physically ill, coughing up blood. I remember storming into Kevin’s office, my hair a mess, my face pale and gaunt, looking utterly pathetic. He was in the middle of an international conference call. I burst in, ruining the deal, and threw myself on the floor, clinging to his legs, begging him to love me, to have a child with me. I even shrieked, “I promise! Our baby will be smarter than hers! More blessed!” The scene torpedoed Kevin’s public image. He had his security drag me out and lock me away. When my hysterics didn’t stop, he had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I was only released when I had been “cured”—broken into docile submission. The memory still makes my chest tighten. Why did I debase myself like that? What Sylvia didn’t know was that the reason Kevin and I were childless for three years was because my parents had investigated his family. They had a hereditary genetic disorder. Any child born would be either disabled or suffer from severe cognitive impairments. So now, in this life, with my eyes set on reclaiming my family’s three seals, I was more anxious about Sylvia’s womb than a midwife on call. At 8 a.m., I had the kitchen prepare the finest bird’s nest soup and presented it to her myself. Sylvia took one sip and threw the bowl at me, the hot liquid splashing across my clothes. “What is this garbage? I’m telling Kevin on you.” I endured. During her midday rest, I hired a professional aesthetician to apply firming oils to her body. Sylvia dismissed the woman and pointed a finger at me. “I want you to do it. Are your precious hands too good to serve me, Rebecca?” I endured. At 10 p.m., Kevin came home and disappeared into the master bedroom with Sylvia. He had the gall to look at me with feigned sympathy. “Rebecca, this is all for my sake,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “You love me so much. I know you’ll understand, won’t you?” I stood by the door, listening to the sounds of their passion within, as my phone vibrated. It was my parents. “Rebecca, your mother and I received the seal.” My father’s voice was heavy with relief. “Does this mean you’re finally coming home?” One more to go. Once I had the last one, every project under the McQuarrie corporate umbrella would grind to a halt. Because for the past three years, every contract had been stamped with a Shaw family seal. All of their partners recognized our family’s authority, not theirs. I stood in the hallway, peering through the crack in the door at the two bodies entwined on my bed, and smiled. “Dad, Mom,” I whispered into the phone. “Come get me in a week.” 5 I barely slept or ate during those two weeks of servitude to Sylvia. I lost a dangerous amount of weight, but funnily enough, Kevin’s opinion of me seemed to improve. He would often stare at me, a strange look in his eyes, and occasionally, something resembling a human sentiment would escape his lips. “Rebecca, if only you were always this quiet, this obedient. Life would be so much better.” I would just smile faintly, saying nothing. Oh, I wouldn’t be causing any more scenes. But I wondered just how many scenes he would cause when McQuarrie Industries finally collapsed. The day came. Kevin placed the last seal in my hand. Fearing he might change his mind, I immediately put the signed divorce agreement back on the table, adding a pointed reminder. “Remember to sign this when you get back tonight.” The familiar sneer returned to his face. “What now? You found out Sylvia’s pregnant, so you’re going to pull that live-streamed suicide stunt again?” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “Go on, Rebecca. If you die this time, I’ll even handle the funeral.” I lowered my gaze. I knew he meant it. That’s why I wouldn’t be so foolish this time. I had planned to pack a few things, but as I looked around the house, I realized there was nothing here that was truly mine. The moment Kevin’s car pulled out of the driveway, I was in a taxi heading in the opposite direction. Phone off, SIM card tossed. From now on, the world was my oyster. Kevin McQuarrie, I’ll be waiting for you in LA. Waiting for your downfall.

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My $30,000 year-end bonus became $30. I asked my boss if there had been a mistake. He sighed. “It’s been a tough year, sweetheart. I promise I’ll make it up to you next year.” I looked at the sales report, at the $600,000 figure next to my name. And I thought to myself, Yeah, right. I’m not falling for that. That night, I quit. And I went to work for the boutique right across the street. 1 That afternoon, my boss, Mr. Franklin, walked into the shop carrying two bubble teas. “Year-end is upon us,” he said cheerfully, handing one to me and one to my coworker, Hailey. “Bonuses have been deposited. Have a wonderful holiday, everyone. Let’s keep up the great work next year and push those sales even higher.” Hailey and I exchanged a delighted smile. At the beginning of the year, Mr. Franklin had made us a promise: a five percent commission on all our sales, paid out as a year-end bonus. I’d just checked my numbers. I had personally sold over $600,000 worth of designer clothing. That meant a bonus of at least $30,000 was headed my way. Hailey’s sales were less than half of mine, but she was still looking at a respectable eight or nine thousand dollars. I was floating on air all afternoon. The second my shift ended, I rushed over to the sales office of a new condo building I’d been eyeing for months. I was finally going to buy that perfect little studio apartment. I was so tired of renting. Every time I’d finally get a place decorated just right, turning it into a cozy little sanctuary, the landlord would jack up the rent the following year. But this was it. The down payment on the studio was only $18,000. For just eighteen grand, I could have a place to call my own. A warm little corner of the city that was all mine. After the down payment, I’d still have over ten thousand dollars left from my bonus. Enough for a nice vacation during the holidays. The thought kept a smile plastered on my face, a smile I couldn’t suppress no matter how hard I tried. 2 I hummed a happy tune as I rode my scooter to the sales office. My real estate agent, Leon, was already waiting for me. With a confident flourish, I pulled out my debit card. “Here you go. I’ll take the one we looked at last time.” Leon took the card, his professional smile fixed in place. He swiped it. And then swiped it again. The smile began to look a little strained. “Hm, there seems to be… an issue with this card, Ms. Chen.” My own smile faltered. “That’s impossible. Thirty thousand dollars were just deposited today. Try it again.” He tried several more times. Each time, the machine read: “Insufficient Funds.” I snatched the card back, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. I raced to the nearest bank. The ATM screen confirmed my fears. My balance was $33.82. The thirty dollars and change were what was left from before. Which meant my boss had deposited exactly thirty dollars. As I stood there, utterly dumbfounded, my phone rang. It was Hailey. “Chloe? What was your bonus? I think mine’s wrong. I only got fifteen dollars.” We quickly came to the same conclusion: it had to be a mistake. “Chloe, what do we do?” Hailey’s voice was tight with panic. “I was counting on that money.” “Don’t worry,” I assured her, though my own heart was hammering. “I’ll go talk to him. I’ll get him to fix this.” 3 Mr. Franklin lived just a block away from my apartment. I jumped on my scooter and zipped over to his building, taking the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. When he opened the door and saw me, he didn’t look surprised at all. He just raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Franklin, there seems to be a problem with our bonuses. I think there was a mistake—” He cut me off, clapping a hand on my shoulder with a sigh. “Chloe, Chloe. You’re a veteran here. Business has been terrible this year. The market is in the gutter.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “My other stores are all losing money. I just don’t have the cash for bonuses right now. How about this? Next year, when things pick up, I promise I’ll make it up to both of you. How does that sound?” I knew about his other ventures; it was true they had all failed. But our boutique was a different story. Our boutique was thriving. My sales alone had netted him a profit of at least $200,000. And he was the one who had offered the five percent commission. It was that promise that had driven us to work our fingers to the bone. That commission wasn’t a gift; it was earned. The losses from his other failed businesses shouldn’t be on our shoulders. “Mr. Franklin, with all due respect, that’s not how this works,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “The other stores have nothing to do with us. You promised us five percent.” His friendly demeanor vanished. “Chloe, look,” he said, pulling me into the dim light of the stairwell. He quickly transferred three hundred dollars to my account from his phone. “Here. You’re my best employee. Don’t tell anyone, especially not my wife. This is from my personal stash.” Before I could respond, he slipped back inside his apartment and shut the door. I stared at the three-hundred-dollar transfer notification on my phone. A wave of humiliation washed over me. I felt like a beggar being tossed a few coins. A lump formed in my throat, thick and bitter. That thirty thousand dollars was mine. I had earned every single cent of it. 4 Hailey called me a few minutes later. “Chloe? What did he say? When are we getting our bonuses?” “Hailey,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t think we are.” “What?! Why not? I need that money for my mom’s surgery!” Hailey hung up and was at my door within fifteen minutes. The moment she stepped inside, her eyes were red-rimmed. “What happened, Chloe? How can he just go back on his word? He promised us five percent! I told my mom I’d pay for her surgery as soon as I got my bonus. What am I going to do now?” She collapsed into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Hailey was a sweet girl from a small town, with a family that had never had much. Her dad was killed in a hit-and-run when she was little. The driver was never caught. Her mom had raised her all alone, working multiple jobs just to get by. Just as Hailey was finally old enough to start her own career, her mom was diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctors said surgery would give her a real chance, a chance at more years. “Without that bonus, how can I afford my mom’s surgery?” Hailey’s words were choked with tears. “He promised. How can he just lie to us?” My own heart ached for her. Hailey was the hardest worker I knew, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Knowing I had a sensitive stomach, she would often bring me homemade lunches. “People are made of iron, but rice is made of steel,” she’d say with a grin, quoting her mom. “Eating well is the most important thing in life.” She was three years younger than me, and I thought of her as a little sister. I’d even passed a few of my own clients to her, just so she could boost her sales and get a bigger bonus. And now, our boss had just… decided not to pay us. His promise was worth nothing. It took a long time to calm Hailey down. After I sent her home, my phone rang. It was Leon, the real estate agent. 5 “Ms. Chen, are you still interested in the condo?” I paused. “I… I can’t afford it right now.” He launched into his sales pitch, reminding me of the great location, the perfect price. I rubbed my temples, where a dull throb had started. “I don’t have the money anymore.” That finally shut him up. “Ms. Chen,” he said, his voice now cooler, “are you sure you want to back out? The deposit is non-refundable, you know.” I’d been apartment hunting for six months. When I found this place—perfect location, great price, my favorite floor—Leon had convinced me to put down a deposit to hold it. I had calculated everything. My bonus would easily cover the down payment. So I’d paid the three-thousand-dollar deposit on the spot. I never imagined my boss would just… renege. It was my fault for breaking the contract. There was nothing I could do. The three thousand dollars were gone. “Look, Ms. Chen,” Leon said, making one last attempt, “I’ll hold the unit for you for another week. See if you can pull the funds together.” After I hung up, my head was pounding. I curled up on my sofa, my mind racing. I couldn’t just let my thirty thousand dollars disappear. I grabbed my bag, hopped back on my scooter, and headed straight back to my boss’s apartment.

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I was once the childhood companion of Aurelius, Crown Prince of the Celestial Realm. For three millennia, I loved him in secret. To win his hand, I knelt before the Celestial Emperor countless times, finally begging a decree for our betrothal. Yet, he treated me with an icy disdain. Because my sister claimed I meant her harm, Aurelius forced me to leap from the Sky-Piercer Spire, condemning me to ten mortal lifetimes as a lesson. A thousand years later, I dragged my scarred, broken celestial body back to the heavens. The lofty Aurelius looked down upon me. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” Humbly, I knelt. “I have, Your Highness. I swear on my very soul, I will never again harbor improper thoughts for you.” He nodded, satisfied. But when he saw the marks and scars that covered my body, when he learned that for the last millennium, I had been a courtesan in the Abyss of Lost Souls, his eyes turned blood-red, and he went mad with rage. 1 It was my one-thousand-and-fiftieth year working in the Abyss of Lost Souls. Aurelius finally sent someone for me. “By my calculations, Lady Rhea’s ten mortal lifetimes should be concluded. Go and bring her back. She can attend the wedding feast for myself and her sister, Lady Lyra.” Aurelius’s lieutenant had searched the Three Realms for an eternity before finally tracking me to this infernal brothel. When he arrived to collect me, two hulking demons were just leaving my bedchamber. The lieutenant’s brow furrowed, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “Lady Rhea, what a clever scheme. Hiding in the filthiest corner of the Abyss to evade the Prince’s sentence.” “You are a Celestial, a princess of the Phoenix Conclave. How could you fall so low?” he spat. “Look at yourself. The sight of you makes me want to vomit.” Once, if a mere lieutenant had dared speak to me so, his head would have parted from his shoulders. But I was no longer the Rhea I once was. I lowered my head. “You are right, Lieutenant. I have debased myself. I am unworthy of being a Celestial. Please, take me back to the heavens.” I pulled on my robes, but my legs were weak, my body drained of all strength. Impatient, the lieutenant bound me with a Celestial Chain and simply dragged me skyward. The chain was lined with countless tiny barbs. The moment he pulled, a piercing scream tore from my throat. He barked, “What are you screaming for? You have your celestial energy to protect you. As if this chain could truly harm you! If you hadn’t been feigning weakness and wasting time, I wouldn’t have had to use this at all.” When we reached Aurelius’s Citadel of Eternal Light, he yanked the chain back. The barbs tore my flesh anew. Blood soaked through my thin robes. I clutched the fabric to myself and knelt on the cold, unforgiving marble. Soon, Aurelius appeared. He sat upon the high throne of his Citadel, his gaze a mixture of coldness and contempt. Everyone in the heavens knew the story: Lady Rhea, the young princess of the Phoenix Conclave, had been infatuated with Crown Prince Aurelius for three thousand years. Trading on their shared childhood, she had openly declared she would marry no other. A millennium ago, to secure a betrothal, I had prostrated myself before the Celestial Emperor countless times, finally earning a royal decree. But Aurelius had rejected it, never showing me an ounce of affection. I had once believed he was simply incapable of love. Then I saw him tenderly tracing my sister Lyra’s brow, adjusting her cloak. And I knew. The ice-cold Prince could love. He just didn’t love me. A thousand years had only amplified his commanding presence. I kept my head bowed, not daring to meet his eyes. Seeing me, Aurelius’s lips tightened in a familiar, downward curve. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” he asked. As the words left his mouth, the crushing weight of his royal authority washed over me. My already fragile body couldn’t withstand the impact, and I collapsed. Aurelius snorted. “Look at this pathetic display. How pitiful.” “Rhea, I am warning you. If you ever dare to think of harming your sister again, I will make you pay a thousand times over.” Before he could finish, I scrambled back to my knees, bowing my head to the floor. “I was wrong! I was wrong, Your Highness! I will never dare again!” And I wouldn’t. Once, I had believed our shared past made me special in his eyes. But all it took was a single tear from my sister Lyra for him to believe her lies, to condemn me for a crime I never committed. The Prince’s sentence of ten mortal lifetimes was nearly impossible to evade, unless one fled to the Abyss. When I refused to go, he drew his sword and forced me to the edge of the Sky-Piercer Spire. “Your heart is black with poison,” he’d snarled. “You tried to poison Lyra. A few lifetimes of mortal suffering is a light punishment. What right do you have to refuse?” As I fell, ten thousand bolts of celestial lightning shattered my powers, nearly cleaving my phoenix form in two. Remembering this, I pressed my forehead lower, prostrating myself in supplication. What courage did I have left to resist? How many lives did I have to spare? The celestial handmaidens in the hall began to whisper. “Look at her. A princess of the Conclave, brought to such a miserable end.” “It’s her own fault for being so greedy, for daring to think she could marry the Prince.” “His Highness and Lady Lyra are a perfect match, destined by the heavens. What does she have to do with it?” Celestials have keen senses. Aurelius heard them, but said nothing. I remained bowed, not daring to lift my head. My body trembled as I swore an oath, word by painful word. “Your Highness, it was my foolishness, my delusion. I am awake now. I will never again presume to covet you.” “I, Rhea, swear to the heavens, I will never again harbor improper thoughts for the Crown Prince!” “And I sincerely wish you and my sister a blessed union, an eternity of love.” I peeked up, offering a placating smile, praying he would finally let me go. Aurelius sneered. “If it weren’t for Lyra’s kindness, for her begging on your behalf, do you think you would have ever been allowed back?” “You two are sisters, born of the same mother. Lyra is as benevolent as a saint, while your heart is as black as a demon’s.” “You’ve returned after your punishment, but a few mortal lifetimes was a pittance. You still need to suffer a little more, to truly learn your lesson.” At the word “suffer,” I began to shake uncontrollably. The matron of the Abyss brothel used to say the same thing when I was disobedient. Fear paralyzed me. I crumpled to the floor, my face as white as paper. “No, no, I beg you! Please don’t punish me again!” “I can leave the Celestial Realm forever! I’ll become a mortal! Just please, no more punishment!” But Aurelius saw only another pathetic performance. “Is this a place for you to speak?” he commanded coldly. “Guards! The Lady Rhea has shown disrespect to the Crown. Three hundred lashes!” These were not ordinary lashes. A single strike from his enchanted whip could shatter my phoenix bones. The lieutenant carrying out the sentence, clearly acting on another’s orders, aimed every blow at my old wounds, carefully avoiding any fatal injury, leaving me in a state of living death. When it was over, I was alone in the great hall. My body was a bloody ruin, one leg broken. I began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward my own palace. Behind me, a stark, crimson trail stained the pristine marble of the Citadel of Eternal Light. 2 The Citadel of Eternal Light and my Palace of Moonlight were directly across from each other. As a child, I used to flit between them in the blink of an eye. Now, I crawled from dawn until dusk and still had not reached home. The journey was so long, so agonizing, it brought back a millennium of torment. At the end of the first century, Aurelius had sent a phantom projection of himself to me. He had asked, his voice cold and remote, “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” At the time, I was fighting for my life every day, battling various demons to protect my virtue, my body covered in wounds. Outrage and grief churned within me. “I did nothing wrong!” I had shouted. And it was true. I had never intended to harm Lyra. It was all a charade she had orchestrated. Aurelius had sneered. “It seems your life is still too comfortable.” “I suppose you are of phoenix blood. Even with your powers stripped by the Spire, you still have your phoenix bones to protect you. You must be living as you please among the mortals, knowing nothing of hardship.” He had pointed a finger, and a bolt of lightning shattered my phoenix bones. I screamed in agony as the last of my defenses crumbled. After his projection vanished, the demons lurking in the shadows emerged. They took advantage of my grievous injuries, my utter helplessness, and defiled me. They laughed, their voices grating. “A Celestial, as expected. The taste is truly… exquisite.” “A delicacy delivered by the Crown Prince himself. How could we not partake?” I cried until I had no tears left, but I was powerless to stop them. At the end of the third century, Aurelius’s phantom appeared again. He saw me adorned in fine silks and jeweled hairpins and was incandescent with rage. “I sentenced you to self-reflection, and instead you’ve made a fine life for yourself!” He didn’t know that I had been captured by the brothel matron, dressed in finery, and forced to entertain clients every day. Another bolt of lightning struck. With my bones already broken, I had no defense. This time, one of my celestial tail feathers—the core of my being—shattered. I was the last Rainbow Phoenix in existence. With each lost feather, I moved closer to oblivion. When all seven were gone, I would simply cease to be. At the end of the fifth century, the moment Aurelius appeared, I fell to my knees and confessed. I lied, admitting to everything, begging him to stop punishing me, to let me return. But he only laughed coldly. “A little late for regrets, isn’t it? It is Lyra’s misfortune to have a sister like you.” He shattered another of my feathers, for my “own good.” My heart died then. The light in my eyes went out. After that, I learned. When his phantom appeared again, I pretended not to see him. Aurelius, thinking something was amiss, never came back. And so he never knew. I had not been living out ten mortal lifetimes. I had spent a thousand years in the Abyss of Lost Souls. 3 The Palace of Moonlight had been empty for a millennium, draped in dust and decay. But still, a flicker of excitement rose in me. A thousand years, and I was finally home. But just as I reached the threshold, the world went black, and I passed out. When I awoke, I was in a clean, pristine chamber. My wounds had been treated and bandaged. Hearing someone approach, a wave of terrifying memories washed over me, and I shrank back into the bed. “Don’t! Stay away!” My sister Lyra entered, carrying a bowl of medicinal broth. Her gaze was soft and full of pity. “Little sister, don’t be afraid. It’s me.” Seeing her, my fear intensified. She offered me the bowl. “I found you collapsed outside your palace. I couldn’t bear to leave you there, so I brought you here.” “You seem to be covered in wounds,” she murmured. “Were your mortal lives so unpleasant? How strange. The Prince placed a powerful ward of protection on you. How could you have sustained so many injuries?” I stared at her, trying to parse the truth from the lies. After Aurelius forced me from the Spire, I should have been reborn a mortal. But as my power faded, a shadowy figure had abducted me and thrown me into the Abyss. Though the figure had concealed its aura, I had seen a flash of blue feathers. And my sister, Lyra, her true form was that of a Blue Phoenix. Who else in the universe could hate me so much? She held a spoonful of the scalding broth to my lips. “Drink, little sister,” she cooed, but her eyes were cold, pressuring me. I didn’t want it. I shook my head, shrinking away. Suddenly, Lyra cried out. Her hand “slipped,” and the bowl shattered on the floor. She shook her head, sighing with theatrical sadness. “Rhea, I know you resent me, but you can’t trifle with your own health. If you don’t take your medicine, how will your wounds heal?” The words were barely out of her mouth when Aurelius strode into the room. He saw the red, scalded skin on Lyra’s hand and his face filled with concern. He immediately lifted her fingers to his lips. Lyra blushed. “Your Highness, Rhea is watching.” Aurelius paid me no mind. Only when Lyra’s hand was healed did he look up, his eyes blazing with anger at me. “You claimed you had learned your lesson in my Citadel. I see now you haven’t learned a thing.” “Lyra tries to help you, and you throw hot broth on her. If you want to die, then get out! I will gladly grant your wish. But do not trample on Lyra’s kindness here!” Lyra quickly interjected, “Your Highness, don’t be angry. My sister is truly, grievously injured…” Aurelius scoffed. “My lieutenant told me everything. He gave her three light taps with the whip, and she was screaming for her life. Three hundred lashes became three. It was a tickle. What injuries could she possibly have?!” My eyes went wide. The lieutenant had lied? He hadn’t spared a single lash. Whose orders was he following, to slander me like this? Lyra tried to speak again, but Aurelius marched over and seized my wrist to check my celestial pulse. I flinched, terrified he would discover the truth of my condition. But a second later, he threw my hand down in disgust and wiped his own fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Your celestial energy is abundant, your phoenix bones are strong. You are perfectly fine!” My mouth fell open in disbelief. My very essence was damaged, my powers were gone, shattered a millennium ago at the Spire. How could he say this? Lyra feigned a look of dawning comprehension. “Oh, is that so? Then it seems I was the fool, deceived by Rhea once again.” “Sister,” she said, turning to me, “why do you always torment me so?” She gave me a small, tight smile, and in it, I saw an ocean of enmity. It was her. It had to be. She had woven some new illusion, some fresh treachery. 4 My father, the Phoenix King, heard I had returned and came to Lyra’s palace to see me. At the sight of his familiar face, tears streamed down my cheeks. When I was a child, I was his favorite. If I’d asked for a star from the sky, he would have had the Star-Lord pluck one for me. But after Lyra’s endless, subtle manipulations, a chasm had grown between us. Like Aurelius, he believed I had tried to poison my own sister. And so, at our reunion, his eyes held only stern coldness. He was no longer the doting father of my childhood. There would be no indulgence for me. He asked the same question as Aurelius. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” I nodded frantically. “I have. I will never dare again.” My father’s brow furrowed. “What is this… illusion upon you?” Beside him, Lyra’s face paled. With a wave of his hand, the spell was broken. The skin of my arms and neck, now exposed, was a tapestry of old and new scars. “Someone has placed an illusion on you to hide your wounds?” he demanded. “Who? Who did this?!” He looked around the room, his gaze falling on my trembling sister. Aurelius, too, sensed something was wrong. “An illusion? Was the pulse I read a lie?” He strode toward me, intending to check my celestial veins again. “It was me!” I cried out, my voice tight with panic. “I cast the spell on myself!” My father stared at me, confused. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief. Aurelius’s hand froze in mid-air. He stared at my face, a cold sneer forming on his lips. “It seems Lady Rhea’s celestial foundation is quite profound indeed. After ten mortal lifetimes, you still have the power to cast illusions on yourself.” Lyra added smoothly, “Aurelius, don’t be angry with her. A young girl, sent to the mortal realm… it’s only natural she’d feel wronged and want to conjure some fake injuries to get your attention.” “When I discovered it and spoke to her, she saw the error of her ways and used another illusion to hide them. It was all just a misunderstanding. Rhea is still young. Don’t hold it against her.” Her explanation only deepened the disgust in Aurelius’s eyes. Even my father, who had shown a flicker of concern, now frowned deeply. “I had hoped your time in the mortal realm would temper you, build your character. But you are the same as you were a thousand years ago—scheming and manipulative!” “Rhea, I am so disappointed in you!” My father’s anger was a thunderstorm. I dragged my weak body from the bed and fell to my knees, bowing my head to the ground again and again. “I was wrong! Please, Father, calm your anger!” I bowed until my forehead bled, staining the marble, but no one cared. They saw it as just another small lesson for me. My father swept from the room, Aurelius following him. After seeing them off, Lyra returned and kicked me to the ground. “Well done, Rhea. It seems your millennium in the Abyss has taught you a thing or two. You even know how to cover for me now.” She giggled, covering her mouth. The implication of her words hit me, and I shot my head up, glaring at her. “It was you! You’re the one who sent me to the Abyss!” Lyra sat gracefully, a perfect celestial being compared to the wretched creature I was on the floor. In the face of my accusation, she just smiled. “Yes. And what of it? Just like today, you knew I cast the illusion, but you only dared to tell Father and Aurelius that you did it yourself.” “You did the right thing, you know. If you had exposed me, I have a thousand ways to defend myself. It would only have deepened their disgust for you. In their eyes, I am the moon in the sky, and you are the mud on their boots. You see the difference, don’t you?” Her words were daggers, each one piercing my heart. It was true. In their eyes, I was nothing but filth. There was another reason I had lied. I was terrified that if Aurelius discovered the true extent of my injuries, he would demand to know how I got them. And then, he would uncover the unspeakable memories of the last millennium. I had been ruined, tainted beyond repair. I couldn’t bear to have my shame exposed before him and my father. It would be worse than death. So I had to hide it all—the scars, and the thousand years in the Abyss. Lyra grabbed my throat, forcing me to meet her eyes. The horrific memories flooded back, and I began to tremble uncontrollably, terror spilling from my eyes. “What are you afraid of, little sister? Let me tell you the truth. Aurelius’s lieutenant is my man, too. I knew where you were all along. I just told him to take his time finding you. So he made a little detour through the Three Realms before coming to get you.” “Another fifty years in the Abyss for you. You don’t blame me, do you, sister?” “And the three hundred lashes that he told Aurelius was only three? That was my idea, too. Even if the truth came out, Aurelius wouldn’t blame him. He’d just assume you were up to your old manipulative tricks.” “So, you see, you have to swallow all this bitterness. Just like when that matron forced you to take clients, broke your teeth, and you had to swallow them down and keep working through the night.” Every word she spoke was a fresh agony. Tears streamed down my face. I was choking, trembling, unable to form a single word, only a silent, desperate scream. She knew. She knew everything. She was the architect of my ruin. And I was drowning in a grief I could share with no one.

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The new transfer student was magnetic. But my childhood friend, Liam, said her behavior was just a desperate cry for attention. Then, one night, I was crumpled on the floor, paralyzed by cramps. He stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. “Do you have any idea,” he slurred, “that if I hadn’t come to get you, I would’ve had her tonight?” I froze. Later, he blocked my path on the way to school, his face a mask of confusion. “Quinn,” he pleaded, “why are you ignoring me?” 1 The new transfer student, Maya, caused a stir the moment she arrived. The low-cut tank top she wore under her uniform revealed the edge of an intricate tattoo just above her chest. The second class ended, a swarm of boys surrounded her desk, all trying to start a conversation. The only one who didn’t join the frenzy was Liam. He walked over to me instead. A smile played on his lips. “Come on, Quinn. Let’s go get you a carton of chocolate milk.” On the way to the vending machine, I asked him, “Don’t you think the new girl is cool?” Liam’s brow furrowed. “Stay away from her, Quinn. To guys, that’s not ‘cool.’ That’s just being easy.” I didn’t answer. He grabbed my arm. “Did you hear me? A girl like that… she’s cheap.” I just nodded. When we got back to class, the crowd of boys had dispersed. I was surprised to see Maya had moved seats. She was now sitting next to Liam’s empty desk. She smiled and extended a hand toward him as he approached. “Hi there, new deskmate.” The next second, Liam’s hand was in hers. Maya turned her head, and her eyes met mine. For a fleeting moment, our gazes locked. Then, she broke into a wide, triumphant grin. 2 After school, I was packing my bag when I noticed Liam, who was usually the first one out the door, hadn’t moved. Maya was propped on her elbows, gazing at him with an expression of pure adoration. Liam’s eyes found mine. “Hey, Quinn, you head home by yourself today. I’m helping Maya with her homework.” My hands stilled. My gaze flickered to Maya. She gave me a sheepish smile. “Everyone says you and your ‘Prince Liam’ are childhood sweethearts. Mind if I borrow him for a bit? Just to help me with my English?” She winked. “I’ll buy you ice cream tomorrow, little sis.” Liam chuckled. “Why aren’t you buying me ice cream?” Maya leaned so far into him that her body was practically draped over his. “With our relationship,” she purred, “you should be the one buying it for me.” Had they really gotten that close in just one afternoon? I said nothing. I just turned and walked away. As I reached the doorway, I heard Maya’s voice. “Uh oh, is your little wifey upset?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “That’s just a joke everyone in class goes with.” “Hehe, so not your little wifey, huh?” My heart hammered against my ribs, a sour ache spreading through my chest. I walked faster. 3 When I got home, Liam’s mom was already waiting downstairs, just like every other day. She greeted me with a warm smile. “You two rascals, why so late today?” Her eyes scanned the street behind me. “Hey? Quinn, where’s Liam? Why are you by yourself?” I kept my head down, afraid she’d see my red-rimmed eyes if I looked up. “He had something to do.” I sidestepped her and bolted into the building. “What’s wrong, Quinn?” she called after me. “Did Liam bully you? I’ll give him a good talking to for you!” 4 It had always been like this. For as long as I can remember, Liam’s mom had treated me like her own. “Quinn is my future daughter-in-law,” she’d declare. “No one gets to bully her, not even my own son!” When we were in elementary school, there was a trend of buying gold lockets for your “future daughter-in-law.” Without a second thought, Liam’s mom bought one for me. It was a tiny, perfect gold ax charm. My mom said it was too expensive and told me I couldn’t accept it, but Mrs. Anderson insisted, fastening it around my neck herself. Liam’s eyes had crinkled with laughter. “See, Quinn? Now you’re officially my little wifey. You can’t run away now!” It’s embarrassing, really. It seems I was the only one who ever took it seriously. 5 The next morning, I didn’t wait for him like I usually did. I went to school early, alone. My deskmate, Trista, was surprised. “Hey, Quinn. Where’s your other half?” I didn’t say anything, but my eyes drifted uncontrollably to Liam’s empty seat. Trista’s face lit up with understanding. “Ah, you two had a fight.” A moment later, she nudged me. “Look, here comes your knight in shining armor. He’s got breakfast. Definitely an apology offering.” I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. If Liam apologized, maybe I could forgive what he’d said about me and Maya… Just then, Maya came jogging into the school from the other side of the courtyard. She called out his name. Liam stopped. He handed her the breakfast he was holding, a wide, undisguisable smile on his face. Trista’s jaw dropped. “What the hell is going on?” I tore my eyes away and opened my textbook. Liam and Maya walked into the classroom, laughing and talking as they sat down. He didn’t even glance in my direction. Trista fell silent. 6 During gym class, the boys were playing basketball. Maya came back from the snack bar with an ice cream cone. As if by some cruel coincidence, she tripped right in front of me. The ice cream landed, with perfect precision, right on my brand new skirt. Trista gasped. “You did that on purpose, Maya!” Maya looked at me, but there wasn’t a hint of apology in her eyes. “Oops, my bad, Quinn,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. Trista immediately stepped in front of me. “What is wrong with you? Just because you’ve latched onto Liam, you think you can provoke Quinn? Don’t you know they’ve been practically inseparable since they were kids? You really think you can come between them?” Before Trista could finish, a basketball came flying toward us, whistling past her ear. She let out a terrified shriek. Liam jogged over. He pulled Maya behind him, shielding her, his voice sharp and accusatory. “Quinn, are you bullying her?” I stared at him. His face was a mask of impatience. The sour ache in my chest suddenly went numb. “Are you blind, Liam?” He froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. In all our years, even during our worst fights, I had never spoken to him like that. Maya tugged on his arm, her voice a whiny drawl. “Don’t fight, you guys. It was my fault. I’ll apologize, okay?” She prattled on. “I know you and Quinn are a couple. I won’t make things difficult for you.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Liam cut her off, his eyes still locked on me, cold and hard. “That was all a joke. How could I ever be with someone who can’t take a hint?” He picked up the basketball and started walking away. Maya giggled and skipped after him. “What do you mean, ‘can’t take a hint’? You’re just talking nonsense.” The wind whipped across the field, a cold gust that chilled me to the bone.

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On the day of my difficult labor, my sister threw herself against a wall to induce a miscarriage—just to lure our mother, a renowned physician, away from my side. I begged my mother to stay, pleading that my child was the Duke’s heir. But my sister, bleeding and petulant, refused any other doctor and died crying for our mother. After her death, my family acted as if nothing happened. No blame, no resentment. Until the Duke became King. His first act was declaring my sister his ‘First Queen’—his one true love. I was cast aside, my marriage annulled, banished in disgrace. At my family’s estate, my mother forced poison down my throat. I writhed for seven days before dying. My father drowned my infant son in the fountain, snarling, “The spawn of Isadora’s killer doesn’t deserve to live.” They scattered my ashes over her grave, whispering, “We’ve avenged you.” Then—I woke back in the birthing bed. My mother stood over me, hands bloody. “Isadora is hemorrhaging. Your labor can wait.” 1 A sharp, violent pain tore through my abdomen. I instinctively grabbed my mother’s sleeve, the old, familiar plea rising in my throat. She shook me off, her face a mask of fury. “Isadora’s life is in danger! If you have a shred of decency, you will let me go right now.” Hearing those words, I knew. I had been reborn. I was back on the day my world had ended. In my last life, my baby was in a breech position, a dangerous and difficult birth. I had summoned my mother, the most celebrated physician in the capital, to ensure my safety. But my sister, Isadora, hearing of this, took her five-month pregnancy and hurled it against a stone wall, all to pull our mother away from me. I had begged my mother to stay, reminding her that my child was the Duke’s heir, whose birth would secure our family’s future. After a moment of hesitation, she had agreed. I delivered my son safely, but moments later, word came that Isadora, in a fit of pique, had refused all other medical aid and bled to death. My parents had collapsed from grief. But when they awoke, they never spoke of Isadora’s death again, treating me with the same cool affection as always. It was a lie, a long and patient performance of forgiveness. Until Duke Alistair became King. He named my dead sister his ‘First Queen,’ while I, the mother of his heir, received no title. I was nothing. Alistair himself had the royal guard hold me down while he personally severed the tendons in my wrists. “If it weren’t for you,” he’d spat, his voice thick with hatred, “Isadora and I would have been together forever.” He cast me out, sending me back to my parents for the final judgment. My mother brewed the poison herself, a special concoction designed not for a quick death, but for maximum suffering. As I lay convulsing on the stone floor, I watched my father drown my son, my beautiful boy. He threw the small, lifeless body at my feet. “This monster who killed my Isadora should never have been born! We let him live in luxury for years. That was mercy enough.” Trapped in a prison of agony and boundless hatred, I suffered for seven days and seven nights before I finally died. My last memory was of them at her grave, their voices mingling in a triumphant whisper. “She and the monster are dead, Isadora. You can rest now.” Remembering it all, this time, I let go of my mother’s sleeve. I let her go. As she rushed from the room, I forced my mind to focus, recalling the techniques my mother had used in my previous life to turn the baby. I called for the midwives. “Help me,” I gasped. “We have to turn him. Now.” Hours of excruciating effort followed. Finally, through a haze of pain, I gave birth to a son. The sound of his first cry was the sweetest I had ever heard. The breath I had been holding for two lifetimes finally escaped my lips. But my relief was short-lived. My father burst into the room, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t insisted your mother attend you, Isadora would never have hurt herself!” He started pulling me from the bed. “Her child is gone, and she won’t stop crying! You’re coming with me to her house. You will let her vent her anger on you until she is calm.” 2 Five months prior, Isadora had been married off to a minor court official and moved into a lavish new villa our mother had prepared for her. It was a half-hour’s ride from the ducal palace. It was early winter now. I had just given birth. To be dragged out into the cold would be a death sentence. The royal physician stepped forward. “My Lord, you mustn’t! Her Grace just endured a perilous birth. This could kill her!” he pleaded. “If she catches a chill now, she may never recover.” My father hesitated, but the thought of Isadora’s tears hardened his heart. “She has always been strong. A little cold won’t kill her. She can recover later. But Isadora is fragile. If she keeps crying, she’ll do herself a permanent injury.” The icy wind bit at my skin as he dragged me out the door. I shivered violently. “Go!” I hissed to my handmaiden. “Get the Duke! Now!” Her face was streaked with tears. “His Grace left with your mother for Lady Isadora’s villa hours ago! He hasn’t returned!” My father shoved me into a carriage. I was wearing nothing but a thin bed robe. When we arrived at Isadora’s villa, her room was warmed by underfloor heating. She was wrapped in a thick fox-fur blanket, nestled in the arms of Duke Alistair. My mother was patiently coaxing her to drink a tonic. “There’s a good girl. It’s not bitter. Just a few sips.” Isadora took two small sips and pushed the bowl away, burying her face in Alistair’s chest. “My love,” she sobbed, “our baby is gone. It’s not fair! Why does she get to have your son, when our child never even had a chance to be born?” In that single, devastating moment, I understood everything. The child in Isadora’s womb was Alistair’s. My father, my mother, Alistair—they all knew. I was the only one in the dark. The marriage to the official was a sham, a cover to legitimize the birth of the Duke’s bastard. Of course. Alistair had always preferred her. If the old Queen hadn’t forced his hand, insisted he marry me for political alliance, he would have chosen Isadora in a heartbeat. It was no surprise she had secretly conceived his child. A wave of profound desolation washed over me. A gust of wind made me cough, a small, weak sound. It was only then that my mother seemed to notice me standing in the doorway. “What are you doing just standing there?” she snapped. “This is your fault!” She rose, pulled a long, stiff peacock feather from a vase, and pressed it into Isadora’s hand. “Here, my love. Your sister is here. If you are angry, take it out on her. It is not good to hold in such feelings.” She turned back to me, her voice cold. “A woman’s recovery is paramount. We cannot have you falling ill from grief.” She tried to force me to my knees to apologize. I stood rigid, my neck stiff with defiance. “She threw herself against a wall. How is that my fault?” My words sent Isadora into a fresh paroxysm of tears. “How could I dare to be angry with my sister?” she wailed. “She is the Duchess, and I… I am nothing!” Her performance was flawless. My father, my mother, and Alistair all looked at her with heartbroken pity. My mother fell to her knees before the Duke. “Your Grace, Isadora has sacrificed so much for you! Will you let her suffer this indignity without a name, without honor? Even her own sister dares to bully her now!” Alistair’s voice was thick with self-reproach. “It is my fault. I was too cowardly to defy my mother. I have made you suffer for years.” He gathered Isadora into his arms, wrapping the furs tighter around her. “Come. We are returning to the palace. Tomorrow, I will go to the Queen. I will demand she grant you the title of Royal Consort!” 3 I was forced into the carriage with them. Isadora, cradled in Alistair’s arms, met my gaze. A triumphant smirk played on her lips. I turned away, staring out the window, my mind racing. I had to get to the Queen. Isadora let out a delicate cough. “It’s so stuffy in here,” she murmured weakly. “The air is… heavy. I feel I might faint.” Her words sent them into a panic. Alistair’s eyes scanned the carriage, landing on me. “You. Get out. I’ll send someone to fetch you later.” We were on the busiest thoroughfare in the capital. I was in my bedclothes, my hair a mess, and he was going to throw me out onto the street. I refused, clinging to the carriage door. My father saw my defiance. He heard Isadora’s coughing grow more frequent, and his face twisted with worry. Without another word, he kicked me. Hard. I tumbled out of the carriage and landed in a heap on the cobblestones, in full view of the entire city. The carriage sped away. A murmur went through the crowd. Who was this woman? Some nobleman’s discarded mistress? I was freezing. I huddled in a darkened alleyway, trying to block out the whispers, praying Alistair would remember me and send someone. I waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Helena? What are you doing here?” I looked up into a face that was almost a perfect mirror of Alistair’s. It was his twin brother, Prince Brigham. He stared at me, then his gaze dropped to my flat stomach. “When did you give birth? Why did my mother not say anything?” He took in my disheveled state. “And why are you here, dressed like this?” He saw me shivering and, without hesitation, removed his own heavy cloak and wrapped it around me. It was the first act of simple human kindness I had received in so long that I burst into tears. Sobbing, I told him everything. As he listened, a vein pulsed in his temple. He helped me onto his horse. “I’m taking you to the palace. We will have justice for this.” But a sudden, chilling thought struck me. My son. He was still at the palace. If my father was willing to drown my child to avenge Isadora in one life, he would surely do it again in this one. “No,” I begged Brigham, “take me back to the ducal palace. And please, go to the Queen. She is the only one who can help me now.” I rushed into the palace grounds, my heart pounding. I found them in the inner courtyard. My father’s hands were wrapped around my infant son’s neck. He was hesitating, his hands trembling. Isadora was weeping. “When I look at him, I think of my own lost child. If only my baby had lived, I wouldn’t feel this torment every time I see my sister’s son.” My mother’s voice was a venomous hiss. “If you cannot bring yourself to do it, then take him to the lake. We will say Helena’s labor was too difficult, that the child was stillborn. The Queen will have no reason to doubt us.” My father, weak and suggestible, agreed. They started walking towards the ornamental lake, my baby in their arms. I stumbled after them, my legs weak, my body screaming in protest. I caught up to them just as they reached the water’s edge. “He is my son!” I screamed, clawing at them, trying to snatch my baby back. “I am your daughter! This child is your grandson! Why are you so determined to destroy us? Isadora is human, but am I not? Is this child not?” My mother tried to wrestle the baby from me. We struggled, a frantic, desperate tangle of limbs. My father kicked me in the stomach, sending both me and my son tumbling into the icy water. The cold was a shock, a brutal embrace that stole my breath. But I could swim. Despite the weakness from childbirth, I fought my way to the surface, holding my son’s head above the water, and swam towards the small pavilion in the center of the lake. I prayed with every fiber of my being. Please, let the Queen come quickly. My mother saw where I was headed. “Fools!” she shrieked at the guards. “Get a boat! Bring the Duchess back here! She has clearly sent for the Queen. If her majesty hears her lies, who knows what will happen to us. We must kill them both before she arrives! We’ll say they both died from the difficult birth!” “With her gone,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “the way is clear for Isadora to become the Duchess.” They found a boat and began to pole their way towards me. Just as they were closing in, a proclamation echoed from the palace gates. “Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived!”

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