Category: English

The moment I stood on the edge of the rooftop, ready to let the wind take me, a ledger crystallized in my mind. Cold. Precise. Irrefutable. It whispered a truth I hadn’t been able to see: I was nothing more than a “disposable muse”—the tragic, short-lived “pure heart” in some twisted redemption arc. And my boyfriend, Grayson? He wasn’t the struggling student he pretended to be. He was the crown prince of a Manhattan real estate empire, a man who could buy and sell the very building I was standing on. For four years, he had played the role of the starving artist, watching me get bullied and overworked with a detached, chilling silence. As it turned out, my suffering was merely his “test.” The most sickening part? According to the script of his life, after my death, he would reclaim his throne and unleash a wave of “vengeful” grief. He’d probably light a hundred-dollar bill at my grave, sighing about how I was the only girl who ever loved him for his soul and not his billions. But the reality? For those four years, I was his benefactor. He ate, slept, and breathed on my dime. Even that five-figure designer watch on his wrist was something I’d bought by maxing out three different credit cards. I didn’t jump. I stepped back from the ledge. I walked down those stairs, found him in the middle of the crowded quad, and slammed a stack of itemized bills—years of accumulated debt—right into his face. “Hey, Grayson. It’s time to settle up. Fifty thousand dollars. I want every cent.” 01 The spreadsheets, crisp and cold, fluttered against his face before hitting the pavement. Grayson’s expression darkened instantly. “Nina, haven’t you had enough of this tantrum?” He reached out to grab my wrist, but I wrenched it away with a force that surprised even me. My skin burned where he’d touched it. “Nina, honey, don’t be like this. If it’s about money, we can talk,” Isabelle stepped forward, her hand sliding possessively into the crook of Grayson’s arm. She looked at me with that pitying, “bless your heart” smile she always used for the help. “Grayson didn’t mean to hurt you.” I laughed. My eyes landed on the limited-edition jacket she was wearing. Grayson had told me it was a birthday gift for her. A “high-end knockoff,” he’d called it. Coincidentally, he’d taken five thousand dollars from me last month. Claimed it was a “family emergency.” “That jacket he bought you last month? I’m pretty sure I paid for that too,” I said, my voice cutting through the humid afternoon air. “Tell him to pay me back for that, as well.” The smile on Isabelle’s face cracked, piece by piece. “What are you talking about?” “Nina, you’ve lost it!” one of Grayson’s hangers-on shouted, stepping into my personal space. “You think a guy like Grayson needs your money?” “Exactly! You got dumped, so now you’re throwing dirt? It’s pathetic,” another chimed in. They circled me like vultures, their faces full of righteous indignation. To them, I was the gold-digger. The jealous ex. The girl who couldn’t handle being told no. I turned to the first one. “Caleb.” “Last week, you bought that new gaming rig. You asked Grayson for five hundred. He told you he was broke and took my card to pay for it.” I pivoted to the next one. “Brooks. Two nights ago at The Onyx. You put a two-thousand-dollar tab on a card Grayson said was his. Want me to pull up the bank statement for the group?” The quad went silent. Only the rustle of the wind and the hushed whispers of the gathering crowd remained. Grayson stared at me, his eyes twin pits of ice. “Nina, four years of everything we shared… and all you see is money?” What a performance. If it weren’t for that ledger burning in my brain, I might have actually believed him. “Yes,” I replied. “Our ‘love’ has a price tag now.” I pulled out my phone, opened the calculator app, and shoved the staggering total in his face. “Fifty thousand. Not a penny less. Venmo? Zelle? Or do you need to ask your daddy for an advance?” The murmurs grew louder. Dozens of phones were out, lenses trained on us. “Holy shit, check the school’s Sidechat!” “It’s going viral! The architecture prodigy has been ‘charity-funding’ the secret billionaire heir for four years?” “Billionaire? Which one?” Just then, a black Maybach glided silently to the curb. The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a sharp charcoal suit and white gloves stepped out. He ignored everyone, walked straight to Grayson, and opened a black silk umbrella over his head. He bowed slightly. “Mr. Grayson, your father expects you home.” Grayson straightened his collar, smoothing out the wrinkles where I’d grabbed him. He looked at me, and for a second, the mask of the “struggling artist” was gone. “Nina,” he said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. “The game is over.” 02 Back in the dorm, I couldn’t stop shaking. “Nina!” Paige jumped down from her loft bed and threw her arms around me. “That was legendary! I’m staying up all night to help you draft the legal notice.” We started organizing the folder. It was a museum of his lies. October 2020: Designer sneakers, $1,200. March 2021: Isabelle’s birthday party at ‘The Onyx,’ $4,500. September 2021: Art gallery rental fees, $8,000. My phone lit up. Grayson. [You have twenty-four hours to take down those posts on the forum, or there will be consequences. Don’t test me.] I screenshotted it and sent it to Paige. “Perfect. Direct evidence of a threat. He’s just adding time to his own sentence.” Paige told me to block his entire circle. I was about to, but Isabelle’s name flashed on the screen. I hit speakerphone. “Nina, please…” her voice was weak, trembling with fake tears. “Just delete the post, okay? Grayson loves you. This was just… a test. He was going to propose after graduation. He already had the ring picked out…” I almost choked on a laugh. Paige was typing furiously, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Isabelle, are you paying the fifty grand? No? Then shut up and hang up.” “I’m trying to help Nina!” Isabelle’s voice spiked. “You have no idea what his family is capable of. Nina is going to get hurt! You can’t win against them. Is the money really worth ruining your life?” Before I could answer, a notification popped up from an anonymous group chat on the university forum. It was a leak of the group chat Grayson’s friends used. Brooks: [Holy shit, Nina is actually going nuclear? Crazy bitch.] Caleb: [She really thinks she’s special? Grayson was just slumming it. She’s just a broke architecture student with no connections.] Brooks: [For real. Grayson letting her hang around for four years was charity. Now she wants a payout? Hilarious.] And then, a reply from Isabelle. A “shy” emoji followed by: [Aww, don’t be mean guys. Nina is actually kind of pitiful.] I remembered the night of Grayson’s gallery opening. Isabelle was wearing a gown I’d paid for, smiling at him while they toasted his “genius.” I was in the corner, sallow-faced from pulling double shifts at the cafe, getting mocked by his friends for my “cheap” clothes. Grayson hadn’t defended me. He’d told me to go back to the dorm early so I wouldn’t “embarrass” him. “Nina?” Paige broke my trance. I hung up on Isabelle. I found Grayson’s contact. Block. Delete. One by one, I scrubbed his friends from my life. Ding. A message from an unknown number. [Ms. Nina, I am Grayson’s mother. Regarding the… misunderstandings between you and my son, I believe we should talk. Name your price. Fifty thousand? I’ll give you seventy-five to end this. Delete the posts and disappear.] I stared at the screen for a long time. I handed it to Paige. She read it and let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Nina, the accounting has just begun. Don’t worry. With me on your side, we’re going to discuss the interest on this debt.” 03 The next morning, my advisor called me into her office. She pushed a cup of lukewarm tea toward me. “Nina, your recent behavior has been… erratic. People are concerned about your mental state. Perhaps you should take a leave of absence? Just to get your head straight?” I started to speak, but a knock at the door cut me off. Isabelle walked in, carrying an expensive-looking fruit basket. “Professor, I just wanted to check on Nina. She’s been so volatile lately. I’m worried she might do something desperate.” She turned to me, eyes brimming with tears. “Nina, I know you’re hurting, but you can’t keep lashing out at Grayson like this. Just delete the post. We’ll find a way to handle the money, I promise.” The advisor nodded in agreement. They were playing “good cop, bad cop” with practiced ease. When I refused to budge, the advisor’s tone shifted from “concerned” to “impatient.” Every time I tried to argue, they talked over me. So this was what Grayson’s mother meant by “ending this.” Seventy-five thousand dollars to buy my silence, my exit, and a “mentally unstable” label to follow me for life. Suddenly, the office door was shoved open with a loud bang. Paige stood there, followed by a very grim-looking Dean of Students. She slammed her phone onto the desk. Grayson’s text was on the screen: [You have twenty-four hours… or there will be consequences.] Paige tapped the screen again. An audio file began to play. It was Isabelle’s voice from the group chat: “Aww, don’t be mean guys. Nina is actually kind of pitiful.” Then, a different recording. A private voice note: “It’s disgusting how broke she looks. Did she really think Grayson liked her? She’s just a walking ATM. My mom already talked to the advisor—she’s getting kicked out today. Who does she think she is, trying to take down a family like ours?” The fruit basket slipped from Isabelle’s hand, apples and oranges rolling across the floor. The advisor froze, her lips trembling, unable to find a single word. Paige tucked her phone away. “The evidence we’ve gathered is enough to prove that my client, Nina, is being subjected to premeditated, organized harassment and psychological coercion. And considering your role in this, Professor, we’ll be reserving the right to pursue legal action against you personally.” For the first time, I felt the true power of using the rules as a weapon. As we left the office, the Dean called out to me. He looked at Paige, then at me, his expression complicated. “The Grayson family… they have deep roots in this city, Nina. This isn’t going to end easily.” 04 Within ten minutes of leaving the office, the university forum had a new pinned post in bright red. EXPOSED: Architecture Student Nina Accused of Extorting Ex-Boyfriend for $50k After Being Dumped! The post was a work of fiction. It painted me as a calculating social climber who had drained Grayson’s “modest” savings and was now lashing out because he couldn’t satisfy my greed. It framed Grayson as the victim—a guy blinded by love, who gave me everything only to be betrayed. The comments were a cesspool. [I knew it. Grayson is way too hot for her. He was definitely doing her a favor.] [Fifty thousand? Who does she think she is? A Kardashian?] [This girl is toxic. Cancel her.] Paige grabbed my phone, her face a mask of cold fury as she scrolled. Isabelle’s “mean girls” squad had joined the fray. They posted photos of me from freshman and sophomore year—wearing faded T-shirts, eating ramen in the library, pulling all-nighters in the studio with messy hair. I looked plain. Tired. Average. The caption: [Some people have been planning the ‘victim’ act since day one. Look at the ‘innocent’ act. The real Nina is the one screaming for cash now.] Paige handed the phone back. “It’s time.” She logged into my account and hit ‘post.’ Subject: Four Years, Fifty Thousand Dollars. The Ledger of a ‘Charity Case.’ The post contained a single, massive image: an Excel spreadsheet. It was an endless, meticulously detailed scroll. Date. Item. Amount. Payment Method. Notes. From fifty-dollar skins for his video games to five-hundred-dollar “boys’ dinners” to thousand-dollar tech upgrades. And behind every single entry was a screenshot of a text message. Grayson begging, wheedling, or simply demanding. The evidence of my “sweet burden” was now the evidence of his parasitic nature. At the very bottom was the watch. $12,000. Next to it was the credit card statement, and the subsequent “overdue” notices from the bank. The forum went dead silent for three seconds. Then, it exploded. The narrative didn’t just shift; it was obliterated. [Holy… my eyes… This isn’t charity. This is a scam.] [Four years? He sucked her dry.] [I take it back. Nina isn’t an ex; she’s a saint. Most tragic partner of the year.] [I’m gonna puke. Isabelle is wearing gifts bought with another girl’s credit card debt?] I watched the comments roll in, and for the first time in years, I felt a strange, hollow peace. 05 Apologies and messages of support flooded my DMs. I felt like I could finally see the light. Until a high-pitched roar of an Aston Martin engine tore through the quiet of the dorm parking lot. The light died. Grayson stepped out of the car. He was wearing a bespoke suit, looking every bit the billionaire heir—a world away from the guy in the “thrifted” tees I’d loved. The crowd of students parted for him like the Red Sea. He walked up to me, pulled a black card from his wallet, and tossed it at my feet. “A hundred thousand. Is that enough?” He looked down at me as if I were an ant he’d accidentally stepped on. “Nina, stop embarrassing yourself.” I smiled. My phone was already recording, the red light blinking silently. “So, the last four years… it was all an act?” His handsome face finally showed something other than boredom: annoyance. “It was a test, Nina. One you failed.” “I was too good to you. I let you forget your place. I gave you a thousand chances. If you’d just stayed quiet, stayed humble, we could have actually made it.” “I even thought that if you passed the final test, I’d tell you everything. I’d bring you to the estate. I’d let you marry into the family.” He spoke as if he were granting me a divine blessing. The crowd began to whisper. The eyes that had just pitied me were now filled with a sickening envy. “A test?” I repeated, stepping forward until my shoe touched the black card. “When I stayed up all night drawing blueprints so I could split my scholarship money with you, was that a test?” “When I worked three jobs to buy you that phone and my hands were literally peeling from the industrial soap in the kitchen, was that a test?” “When I was eating plain bread for a week because my card was maxed out, and you were taking Isabelle to a two-hundred-dollar-a-seat musical using my money—was that a test too?” With every question, his face grew more twisted. He had no answer. His patience snapped. He waved a hand dismissively. “Enough! Nina, stop obsessing over these petty details! It was a game. You lost.” I tucked my phone away and turned my back on him. I didn’t look back. I sent the video to Paige. Five minutes later, the hashtag #TrustFundPrinceTestsGirlfriend hit the top of the trending charts.

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The engagement party had finally begun to wind down, the heavy scent of lilies and expensive perfume hanging in the stagnant air of the ballroom. We had just taken our seats at the head table—my family, the man I was supposed to spend my life with, and his parents. Then, he did it. Without a word, he reached for a plate in the center of the table and grabbed one of the signature honey-glazed wings—the Whitaker family’s pride, a recipe that had built our restaurant empire. He started eating it. Not just eating it, but devouring it with a feral, mindless speed that made my stomach turn. I froze, a chill crawling up my spine. “Oliver,” I whispered, my voice tight. “Why are you eating the wings?” He didn’t even look up, wiping a smear of glaze from his chin with the back of his hand. He sounded bored, dismissive. “They’re just wings, Norah. My family eats what we want. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. The noise of the ballroom—the clinking of crystal, the polite laughter of three hundred guests—faded into a dull hum. I felt a sudden, terrifying clarity. “The engagement is off,” I said, my voice ringing out across the table. “Right now.” … The man I knew as Oliver Donovan froze. The half-eaten wing hovered in mid-air, a gruesome little trophy. He blinked, finally sensing the shift in the atmosphere. He dropped the wing back onto the fine china and shifted into that persona he’d used since we were kids—the one that always worked. “Norah, honey, come on. I’ve been up since five this morning. I’m starving. Is this some weird Whitaker family tradition I missed? You never told me I had to ask permission to eat an appetizer.” I didn’t answer immediately. I looked down at the mangled piece of poultry on his plate, then back up at him. I was looking for a ghost. “Why,” I asked, my voice eerily calm, “did you choose to eat that?” He laughed, a nervous, jagged sound, and reached for my arm. I flinched away. “I told you! I’m hungry. It’s just a wing! Is there a law against it?” I pulled my hand back and rested it in my lap, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Oliver, I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you sure you’re allowed to eat that?” The smile on his face curdled. He looked toward my mother, sitting to my left, and reached for her hand with a performative whine. “Diane! Please, tell Norah she’s being ridiculous. It’s a wing. She’s acting like I just insulted the family crest. Do I really not ‘deserve’ to eat at my own engagement party?” My parents had treated Oliver like a son since the day he was born. Our families were old money, old friends; they doted on him, blinded by decades of shared history. My mother reached over and patted his head, her eyes softening. “It’s just a wing, sweetheart. Of course you deserve it. The Whitaker Grill is practically yours now, anyway. If you love them that much, I’ll have the chef send a crate of them to your house tomorrow.” He shot me a triumphant, smug look. I felt a pang of nausea. “You really don’t know, do you?” His patience snapped. He stood up, walked toward the buffet line, grabbed another wing, and literally tossed it into my lap. “You want one, Norah? Is that what this is? You’re throwing a tantrum because you wanted the last one? I knew the Whitaker wings were exclusive, but this is insane. I told the kitchen to make extra just for us!” His mother, Mrs. Donovan, rushed to his side, rubbing his shoulder as if he were the one being bullied. Before I could speak, she turned her venom on me. “Is this a power play, Norah? Are you trying to humiliate my son on his big day? Is the Whitaker family so bankrupt that you’re rationing food now? I won’t have Oliver treated this way!” My mother’s face hardened. She looked at me with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. “Norah Whitaker, stop this! You are making a scene over a piece of chicken. You’re being a spoiled brat. Apologize to Oliver right now!” Oliver stood there, his face flushed red, looking like the victim of a grand injustice. I looked at him, then at the sea of faces in the ballroom. With a slow, deliberate motion, I stood up and shoved the table. It didn’t flip, but the screech of wood on marble was like a gunshot. “Fine,” I said, the words tasting like copper. “It’s about the wing. And because of it, I’m done. There is no wedding.” The room exploded. The hushed whispers of the elite turned into a roar. “Did she just dump him over an appetizer?” “I bet she has someone else. She’s just looking for an excuse.” The whispers were like thorns. Oliver rushed toward me, trying to grab my hands, his eyes welling with tears. “Norah, please! Don’t do this! I won’t eat them again, I swear! We were going to grow old together. Don’t you remember our promises?” I pushed him back with a force that surprised even me. “Grow old with you? I’d rather die. You don’t deserve to stand where he stood.” The room went silent. Just for a second. Then the chaos doubled. My father, who had been silent until now, surged to his feet. His face was a dangerous shade of purple. “Norah! What is wrong with you? We aren’t the kind of family that fights over food! Get a grip on yourself!” Oliver started to sob—real, heavy tears. He reached for me again, and I stepped back as if he were a leper. “Keep your hands off me, Oliver. Or whoever you are. This engagement is over because you aren’t fit to be my husband. You aren’t fit to be in this room.” Mr. Donovan slammed his fist onto the table. “My son has given you years of his life! You’re going to throw it away over a snack? Are you even human?” Oliver turned to my mother, clutching her sleeve like a child. “Diane, you know how hard I worked on this party. I was just hungry. What did I do wrong?” My mother’s heart shattered for him. She shielded him behind her, glaring at me. “Norah, enough. You’ve wanted this since you were a little girl. You finally got your dream, and now you’re destroying it over nothing. Stop acting out!” I pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing my legs, looking at him with pure, unadulterated coldness. “The fact that you don’t even know what you did wrong is the funniest part of this whole pathetic charade,” I said. Then, to my mother: “I did want to marry Oliver. But I don’t want to marry this.” Oliver dropped to his knees in front of my mother. “I don’t understand! Why can’t I eat a wing? Why is she doing this to me today?” Mrs. Donovan was dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “We have never let our son be treated like this. If this is how the Whitakers behave, Norah, then maybe there shouldn’t be a wedding!” Oliver panicked. He scrambled up and tried to lean his head on my shoulder, his voice a desperate whisper. “Norah, stop playing. I love you. I want to marry you.” I stood up so fast he stumbled, falling onto the floor. I looked down at him. “In your dreams. Get out of my sight.” I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me—cold, sharp, and stripped of the whining. “You walk out that door, Norah, and those photos go public.” He stood up, brushing the dust off his tuxedo, his eyes narrowing. “I have the private shots from your bedroom, Norah. You really want the world to see those?” My mother froze. She rushed over to him, her face pale. “Oliver, sweetheart, don’t say that. We’ll fix this. Norah, apologize!” The crowd gasped. “Private photos? Oh, she’s finished.” “Poor Oliver, pushed to the brink by that ice queen.” I felt a surge of rage, but I suppressed it. I looked at his face. If he had photos, they had to be old. Very old. “What photos?” I asked, my voice light. “When did you take them?” He saw me “soften” and let out a breath of relief. He patted his pocket. “That night you were wasted… I wanted to save them as a surprise for tonight, but you forced my hand.” I took a deep breath. “There won’t be a surprise. Delete them now, or I’ll make sure you never walk again.” Oliver’s face went white. He started shaking, pointing a finger at me. “How can you be so heartless? I kept those because I loved you! They were my most precious memories, and you treat them like trash!” My mother snapped. She marched over to me and delivered a slap that echoed through the entire ballroom. My head snapped to the side. “Norah Whitaker, that is enough! You started a fight over a wing, and now you’re attacking him for wanting to keep memories of you? Apologize!” I held my cheek. It didn’t hurt. Not compared to the hollow ache in my chest. I just laughed. “You want me to apologize to this blackmailer? Never. I will never marry you. Do your worst.” Mr. Donovan stepped forward. “Norah, you have dragged our name through the mud today. You will get on your knees and apologize to my son, or those photos will be on every news site by midnight.” Oliver looked shaken, as if he hadn’t expected his father to go that far, but he didn’t stop him. Then my father moved. He grabbed my collar and shoved me, his voice a low growl. “If you want to stay a Whitaker, you kneel. If those photos get out, you’re dead to this family. Don’t think for a second we’ll protect you.” I wiped a streak of blood from my lip. “I’m not afraid of him.” Oliver screamed at me then, his voice cracking. “Norah! You’re forcing me to do this! I know why you’re doing this! It’s him, isn’t it?” He paused, then switched back to that pathetic, hurt expression. “Norah, don’t be stupid. Cut ties with that… that spa boy. That towel boy you’ve been seeing behind my back.” I froze. My mind went blank for a second. My mother went nuclear. She surged forward, shielding Oliver again. “You’re seeing a masseur? A towel boy? So this isn’t about food at all! You’re just trying to cheat your way out of a marriage to a good man!” Suddenly, the doors burst open. A swarm of paparazzi, tipped off by someone, flooded in, flashes strobing like lightning. The Whitaker Heiress and the Spa Boy. It was the scandal of the decade. I frowned, realizing the trap was closing. They thought they had me. They thought they could break me. “So what if I like the towel boy?” I yelled over the cameras. “He’s ten times the man you are! If he were here, I’d marry him right now just to get away from you!” Oliver pulled out his phone, a cold smirk finally breaking through his mask. “You asked for this, Norah.” He tapped the screen, and a video began to play on the large monitors meant for our ‘Love Story’ slideshow. It was a grainy video of me in a dark lounge, sitting close to a man, my hands wandering over his shoulders. Then, an audio recording played—my voice, clear and sharp. “Oliver, if you tell anyone about this, you’re dead. I’ll ruin the Donovans. I’m in love with Finn, and I’m calling off the wedding.” Mrs. Donovan shrieked. “All this drama! All this lying! Just so she could run off with a servant! She’s been planning to sabotage this since day one!” The reporters swarmed me, microphones thrust into my face. “Norah, is it true?” “Are you leaving a Donovan for a masseur?” “What about the photos?” I stood there, nodding slowly. “Yes. The engagement is off. He can post whatever photos he wants.” My father’s face was unrecognizable with rage. He grabbed a crystal vase from a nearby table and smashed it on the floor. “Norah Whitaker, you are no longer my daughter. Don’t ever come back to this house. You’re a disgrace!” I ignored the cameras. I walked straight up to the man who looked like Oliver and spoke in a voice only he could hear. “That was a good move. But it won’t work. It just makes me want to see you burn. The Donovans are finished. Remember I said that.” He looked startled, then went back to his ‘wounded puppy’ act. “Norah, you’re destroying your own reputation just to hurt me. I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t threatened me first. If you leave, we’re done for good!” I didn’t care. I turned to walk away, but my father signaled the security guards. Three of them blocked my path, then grabbed my arms, forcing me to the floor. “Norah!” my father barked. “You aren’t going anywhere until you explain yourself!” I struggled against the marble floor, looking up at the man I was supposed to marry. “You really want to know why I’m doing this?” I spat. “Fine. I’ll tell everyone.”

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The night before my wedding, my groomsmen dragged me into a high-end adult boutique, buzzing with the chaotic energy of a bachelor party. The moment I stepped through the neon-lit doorway, the laughter died in my throat. My fiancée was standing by the register. And right beside her was her childhood best friend—the one that got away. They were having their own little pre-wedding celebration. He was pressing a sleek, elegantly packaged toy into her hands. He leaned in, his voice low but loud enough to catch over the store’s ambient music. He told her it was custom-made to his exact measurements. A stand-in, he said, to keep her company when he couldn’t be there. Camilla’s cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink. She took the box. She murmured something about how he needed to stop telling her to call off the wedding, adding that she would just tell me she bought it for herself so I wouldn’t get upset. Hearing that, a pathetic, desperate part of me actually felt a wave of relief. She’s still marrying me, I thought. She still cares about my feelings. But then, out of nowhere, glowing text began to float across my field of vision, scrolling like a digital ticker tape in the air: [Wake up, man! That’s not a rejection. She’s keeping him on the hook! She’s telling him she can’t marry him, but he still owns her heart!] I blinked, stunned by the hallucinatory words. But as I looked back at Camilla—at the coy, half-resisting, half-inviting way she looked at him—the truth hit me like a physical blow. The veil was gone. I understood everything. My face felt numb. I pulled out my phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo, and took a short video. I uploaded it straight to my Instagram story, making sure to tag him directly. No need to wait for the future, I typed. You can marry her tomorrow. I hit post. Then, I dialed the wedding planner. “Cancel everything for tomorrow,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Keep the deposit for the venue. Consider it my wedding gift to them.” … 1 An hour later, the heavy oak door of our townhouse was thrown open, hitting the wall with a violent thud. Camilla stormed in. She was unsteady on her heels, smelling sharply of tequila and a heavy, expensive men’s cologne that definitely wasn’t mine. “Theo! Have you lost your mind?!” she screamed, her eyes red-rimmed and wide with disbelief. “Why the hell did you cancel the wedding?!” I was sitting in the unlit living room, letting the shadows swallow me. I looked at her with an ice-cold stare. “You know exactly why. So why are you asking?” Camilla choked on her next breath. It was the first time in eight years I had ever spoken to her with anything less than total devotion. She dragged a frustrated hand through her perfectly styled hair. “Because of Thomas’s gift? You’re calling off a wedding and humiliating us in front of everyone over a stupid little joke?!” The glowing text scrolled past my eyes again. [Holy shit, a ‘stupid little joke’?! She comes home reeking of another man’s cologne and has the nerve to interrogate her fiancé? The audacity is astronomical!] [She doesn’t think she did anything wrong. It’s always the guy’s fault for being ‘insecure.’ Classic narcissist! Textbook gaslighting!] [She just wants to have her cake and eat it too. Don’t cave, man! Emotional cheating is still cheating!] I read the floating words and nodded, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Yeah. Over a stupid little joke.” Seeing the immovable wall of my posture, Camilla faltered. Her tone immediately softened, slipping into the sweet, placating cadence she always used when she needed me to yield. She walked over, instinctively reaching out to take my hand. “Theo, stop this. If something was going to happen between me and Thomas, it would have happened years ago. Why would I wait until the day before our wedding?” “Just be a good guy, take down the post, and let’s get married tomorrow. Okay?” I pulled my hand away before she could touch me. I shook my head. “Before you even walked through that door, I had already notified everyone that the wedding is off. The venue is canceled.” I stood up. “I’ll pack my things and be out of here as soon as possible.” Camilla froze. Her lips parted, her eyes wide with genuine, unadulterated shock. “You’re moving out? Theo, do you even hear yourself?” I couldn’t blame her for being surprised. Anyone in our Upper East Side circle would have dropped their jaw hearing that I was the one walking away. Back in college, when Thomas moved to Paris, Camilla had sobbed until she threw up, unilaterally announcing that her life was over. I was the clown who jumped into a freezing lake in the middle of January just to fish out a silver ring Thomas had given her. I spent three days running a 104-degree fever, just happy she let me keep her company while she mourned him. Everyone in our circle called me Camilla’s lapdog. I didn’t care. As long as she smiled, nothing else mattered. Eventually, she looked at me and asked, “Do you want to try being together?” I had been ecstatic. I thought I had finally loved her enough to make her mine. For eight years, I held her like she was made of spun glass. I anticipated her every need, terrified she might break. Until a month ago. We were shopping for wedding bands when Thomas moved back to New York. That afternoon, Camilla was driving us to Whole Foods. Suddenly, Thomas’s name lit up on the car’s display screen. I will never forget that exact second. Camilla took one look at the screen, and her breathing hitched. Her hands jerked violently on the steering wheel. Her eyes were glued to his name, completely oblivious to the fact that the lane ahead of us had stopped. “Camilla! Watch out!” I yelled. The sound of screeching tires tore through the air. The car spun out of control, slamming brutally into a concrete median. 2 Crash. The impact was violent. Instinct took over; I unbuckled my belt and threw my body over the driver’s seat, shielding Camilla with everything I had. My forehead smashed into the windshield. Blood instantly poured into my eyes, turning the world a hazy, terrifying red. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears, and my ribs screamed in agony. Fighting through the pain, I turned to check on Camilla. She didn’t have a scratch on her. But she wasn’t looking at me. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her phone, her eyes locked on the text message on the screen. It took her a full five seconds to finally look over and see my face covered in blood. “Theo! You’re bleeding!” she cried, hastily shoving the phone into her purse. Her voice shook as she fumbled to start the ruined car, panicked about getting me to a hospital. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat, but my chest hurt infinitely worse than the gash on my head. In a life-or-death moment, her first instinct wasn’t my safety. It was his message. The ER smelled sharply of bleach and antiseptic. The nurse picked shards of safety glass out of my forehead. It hurt so badly a cold sweat broke out over my body, my fingernails digging half-moons into my palms. I turned my head to look at Camilla. She was sitting on a plastic waiting room chair, her head bowed, thumbs flying furiously across her screen. She didn’t even spare me a passing glance. “Camilla,” I asked, my voice raspy. “Is everything okay?” She flinched, quickly flipping her phone face down on her lap. She forced a stiff, unnatural smile. “It’s fine. My parents are just having a massive fight. It’s bad.” Looking at her evasive eyes, a pathetic, hopeful part of me wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe her distraction had nothing to do with Thomas. “You should go deal with that,” I told her. “I’ll come to your parents’ place after I get stitched up.” She looked at me like I had just granted her a pardon. She grabbed her designer bag and fled, not even stopping to ask if I needed anything for the pain. Half an hour later, my head wrapped in gauze, I showed up at her parents’ brownstone. They were sitting on the couch watching Netflix. They looked at me in total confusion. “Camilla hasn’t been here,” her mother said. “And we certainly haven’t been fighting.” I froze in the doorway, a bone-deep chill washing over me. Camilla didn’t come home that entire night. I sat in our pitch-black living room, dialing her number forty-seven times. Every single call went straight to voicemail. A suffocating wave of panic pulled me under. At 2:00 AM, my phone finally illuminated the dark room. It wasn’t a text from her. It was an Instagram update from Thomas. The photo showed a man’s hand gently pulling a duvet over a sleeping woman’s shoulder. On the woman’s wrist was the vintage Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet I had given Camilla last month as an early wedding gift. The caption was a knife to the gut: [People who have loved deeply will always find their way back to each other.] I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. I wasn’t angry. I was terrified. Terrified that eight years of unwavering devotion couldn’t compete with the ghost of her first love. Camilla finally came home the next evening. I was sitting at the dining table. I slid my phone across the wood, stopping right in front of her. Thomas’s post glowed on the screen. I looked at her, my voice eerily steady. “Camilla, if you want to start over with him, I’ll step aside.” All the color drained from her face. “I know,” I continued softly, “that if he hadn’t left, I probably never would have had a chance with you. So if—” Before I could finish, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Theo! What the hell is wrong with you?!” she yelled, her eyes welling with angry tears, her voice shaking. “Thomas and I did nothing! I got too drunk yesterday and just slept in his guest room! You really have zero faith in me?!” She grabbed the collar of my shirt, practically screaming into my face. “I am only marrying you! Theo, do you hear me? Only you!” I looked at her tears and clung to them like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood. “Okay,” I whispered. “As long as you choose me, I will never let you down.” That night, we swore we would only ever love each other. We held each other in the quiet dark. I kissed her forehead, and she made a solemn vow against my chest. I thought that was the end of it. But memories are like scalpels; they cut clean and deep. “Theo, say something!” I snapped back to the present, looking at the woman standing before me, reeking of alcohol and betrayal. She took a step forward, gripping the hem of my shirt in a desperate plea. “I swear, I only love you. Thomas was just drunk and posted that out of context. Please don’t be mad. Please?” Seeing her frantic, pleading eyes, I felt an involuntary softening in my chest. Eight years is a lifetime. You don’t just amputate a limb without phantom pain. But right then, the neon letters scrolled across my vision again. [Classic cheater playbook: Get caught, shift the blame, make him feel guilty, then keep treating him like a backup plan!] [Tears + Promises + Pouting = He falls for it every time. Wake up! Don’t let her manipulate you!] [If you forgive her this time, you’re going to be miserable for the rest of your life!] Any lingering warmth in my heart instantly turned to ash. Slowly, deliberately, I peeled her fingers off my shirt, one by one. “You’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight,” I said, taking a step back to put cold, empty space between us. My voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow morning, we’ll sit down and figure out the logistics of our breakup.” 3 Instead of letting go, Camilla threw her arms around my waist from behind, burying her face into my back. She was sobbing. “Theo, do you remember our sophomore winter? You jumped into that freezing lake for me. You almost died.” Her tears soaked through my shirt, burning hot against my skin. “We’ve been together for eight years. How can you just throw that away?” “Please don’t cancel the wedding. Just tell everyone it was a misunderstanding. We have to exchange our vows tomorrow…” My throat tightened. Eight years of memories tore at my nerves, begging me to stay. And then, the familiar text floated through the room: [Here we go again! Is she going to milk the ‘lake’ story for the rest of her life?] [Emotional blackmail at its finest! She treated him like garbage until she realized she was losing her safety net!] [She doesn’t miss you! She misses her personal ATM and emotional punching bag!] I closed my eyes and swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. Once again, I pried her fingers off my body. “It’s late. Go to bed.” The living room fell into a suffocating silence. I collapsed onto the sofa and lit a cigarette, my hands trembling slightly. The harsh smoke filled my lungs, but it couldn’t stop the flood of memories. The first time she burned her finger trying to cook me dinner. The way her eyes shone with tears when I proposed. The radiant joy on her face when she found her wedding dress. I took a sharp drag. The nicotine burned, but the pain in my chest was sharper. Am I really throwing away eight years? I thought. Maybe nothing really happened between her and Thomas. Just as I hovered on the edge of giving her—giving myself—one last, pathetic chance, the doorbell rang. The sound shattered the heavy silence. I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and went to open the door. Thomas was standing on the porch. He smelled strongly of whiskey. In his hand, he held a sleek, black boutique shopping bag. “Hey, Theo. Is Milla asleep?” I stared at him with dead eyes. “She’s asleep. Whatever it is, say it tomorrow.” “Ah, wait.” Thomas wedged his leather loafer into the doorframe. He lifted the black bag with a smirk. “Milla left in such a hurry, she forgot something in my room. I didn’t want her to be without it for the wedding night, so I brought it over.” My brow furrowed. “Leave it on the porch. Now get out.” Thomas didn’t move. The corners of his mouth curled into a malicious, arrogant smile. “Don’t you want to know what she left behind, Theo?” Slowly, theatrically, he reached into the bag and pulled out a piece of black lace lingerie. “Milla is so forgetful. Leaving her undergarments lying around.” The blood in my veins turned to ice, then rushed to my head in a blinding flash of heat. That lingerie. I had bought it for her. I had gone to the boutique with her just last week and picked it out myself. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. My stomach violently churned, and I dug my nails so deeply into my palms I felt the skin break. This wasn’t just a provocation. This was Thomas stripping me of my dignity and stomping it into the dirt. “Thomas! What the hell are you doing?!” Camilla came sprinting out of the hallway, barefoot. She stared at the black lace in his hand, her face draining of all color until she looked like a corpse. Smack! She lunged forward and slapped Thomas across the face with everything she had. “Get out! Why did you come back to ruin my life?!” Thomas’s head snapped to the side. Instantly, his eyes went red. Camilla’s hand hovered in the air. Her fingers trembled just a fraction, a flash of undeniable panic crossing her features. “I’m sorry, Milla! It’s my fault!” Thomas cried out. “I was just out of my mind with jealousy! I couldn’t control myself! I can’t let you go!” Then, in a sickening display, Thomas raised his hand and violently slapped his own face twice. His voice cracked with emotion. “But can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you felt nothing when you looked at me tonight?” He stared at her, his eyes wild, tortured, and completely obsessed. Camilla opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The phantom comments exploded in my vision: [Gross! What is this, a cheap soap opera?!] [Give her an Oscar! She’s playing the tragic, torn heroine right in front of her fiancé!] [Run, Theo! Let these two toxic freaks destroy each other!] I watched this melodramatic display of star-crossed lovers, feeling nothing but a profound, acidic nausea. I turned my back to them and grabbed my coat off the back of the sofa. “Take your time,” I said. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” Camilla lunged, wrapping her arms around my waist in a death grip, her nails digging painfully through my shirt. “Theo! Don’t leave! You’re the only one I love! We’re getting married tomorrow!” She whipped her head around and screamed hysterically at Thomas: “Get the fuck out! I only love Theo!” Hearing that, Thomas’s face twisted into something ugly and unhinged. A dark, extreme madness flashed in his eyes. He suddenly reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a switchblade, and closed the distance between us in three long strides. He grabbed my right hand, forced the handle of the knife into my grip, and pointed the blade directly at his own stomach. “Theo! It’s all my fault! I couldn’t help myself!” he screamed. “Kill me! If it makes you feel better, if it means you’ll forgive Milla, I’ll die right here!” My pupils dilated. I yanked my arm back to throw the knife away. But in the next split second. A dull, wet tearing sound echoed through the silent room. Hot, thick blood sprayed across the back of my hand. 4 “Ahhh!” Camilla’s shriek shattered the room. Hot, sticky blood slid down my fingers, dripping onto the hardwood floor. I stood frozen, my mind entirely blank for one surreal second. “I didn’t do that,” I said, my voice purely instinctual. Camilla shoved past me, pushing me back with brutal force. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice vibrating with panic. “Theo! Why would you do this to him?!” Thomas clutched his bleeding abdomen and slid down the doorframe, collapsing onto the floor. He leaned against the wall and offered Camilla a weak, tragically pale smile. “Milla, don’t be mad at Theo… It’s my fault. I made him angry.” The ticker tape went wild: [Holy shit! This guy is psycho! He stabbed himself just to frame the fiancé?!] [She actually believes him?! Does she have mashed potatoes for brains?!] [Get out of there, Theo! Let them have each other. This is insane!] I looked at the blood on my hand, then at the tragic, intertwined couple on the floor. A cold, cynical laugh clawed its way up my throat. I grabbed a tissue from the console table, wiped the blood off my skin with utter detachment, and dialed 911. On the floor, Camilla was pressing both of her hands over Thomas’s wound, her tears falling in a torrential downpour. “Thomas, hold on! You’re going to be okay!” Thomas raised a trembling hand, his bloody fingers gently brushing her cheek. “Milla… if I can’t have you in this life, I’d rather die today. At least… at least I’ll always have a place in your heart.” Camilla completely broke down. She pulled him against her chest, and right in front of me—the man she was supposed to marry in twelve hours—she wailed, “Stop talking like that! I love you! I’ve always loved you! Just stay with me, and I’ll do whatever you want!” The floating words returned: [Vomiting everywhere. Confessing their eternal love while her fiancé stands right there? Have they no shame?!] [The mask is finally off! Theo just got the biggest, brightest pair of horns ever!] [Burn it all down. Watching this is giving me an aneurysm.] Watching her weep over another man, the absolute last thread of attachment I had to her snapped. The resentment, the hope, the desperation—it all evaporated into cold, thin air. The wail of the ambulance sirens soon pierced the neighborhood’s quiet. Paramedics rushed in, loaded Thomas onto a stretcher, and hauled him out. Camilla didn’t even stop to put on shoes. Dressed only in a thin silk slip, her bare feet hit the freezing pavement as she chased the stretcher out into the biting wind. Watching her frantic, desperate silhouette disappear into the night, a memory from three years ago flashed in my mind. I had broken my leg pulling her away from a falling scaffolding. I was in agony, covered in cold sweat. But she had covered her eyes, refusing to even look at me, murmuring over and over, “It’s too awful. The blood… I hate blood.” I thought she was just squeamish. I had even comforted her while waiting for the ambulance. Now I knew the truth. She wasn’t afraid of blood. She just didn’t care enough because the man bleeding wasn’t him. Under the weight of that realization, the blood in my veins turned to ice. A gust of wind blew through the open door, snapping me back to reality. Footsteps rushed up the porch. Camilla had run back inside to grab her phone and wallet off the coffee table. “Theo, wait for me to get back. We will talk about this tomorrow,” she tossed over her shoulder. She didn’t even wait for a response before sprinting back out the door. At the hospital, Thomas’s wound turned out to be superficial. After a few stitches, he was perfectly fine. Sitting in his room, Camilla looked at his pale face, her heart breaking for him. She was convinced I had stabbed him in a jealous rage, and a seed of resentment toward me had sprouted in her chest. But remembering the canceled wedding, she pulled out her phone and sent me a few voice memos. “Theo, Thomas is fine. I know you just snapped because you were angry, so I won’t hold it against you. But he’s really weak right now, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone. I’m going to bring him back to our house so I can take care of him for a few days. Pick up some good bone broth on your way home, and just apologize to him. We can put this whole mess behind us.” She hit send. There was no reply. Camilla frowned, assuming I was just throwing a tantrum. Two hours later, carefully supporting Thomas’s weight, she pushed open the door to our townhouse. “Theo, we’re back.” The house was dead silent. There was no smell of dinner cooking. I wasn’t waiting in the foyer to take her coat. Irritated, she settled Thomas onto the couch and marched straight to the master bedroom, fully prepared to give me a piece of her mind. “Theo, are you done acting like a—” Her voice cut off. She stood in the doorway, her pupils dilating in pure shock.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440961”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A phone call from my old neighbor in the States was the first thing to pierce the sun-drenched silence of my life abroad. The voice on the other end was frantic, hushed, as if relaying state secrets. She told me there was a woman at my front door—very pregnant, very loud—claiming to be the “one true love” of my late husband. I told the neighbor to hand her the phone. I didn’t raise my voice. I simply told her that I was Xavier’s ex-wife, and that before he passed, he’d made me promise that if his “soulmate” ever came looking for him, I should step aside and let them be together. I even told her where he kept the spare key: tucked inside the oversized ceramic planter by the porch. On the phone, she played the part of the fragile, wronged heroine. She whimpered about how she never wanted to break up a family, but the baby changed everything. She bragged that “Xavy” told her she could come to him anytime. She even had the audacity to suggest I just wasn’t young or vibrant enough to hold a man like him. I felt a cold, sharp smile tugging at my lips. Of course, I would help them fulfill their “destiny.” After all, there was nothing left in that house except for Xavier’s corpse, which had been liquefying into the floorboards for three years. On his deathbed, he’d begged me. He told me that if the woman he’d been keeping in the shadows ever came for him, I should give her the company, the house, and his ashes. He wanted to be hers in the end. I’d cried beautiful, crocodile tears and promised him everything. But the second he stopped breathing, I took the keys to the kingdom. I consolidated the company, packed my daughter’s bags, and moved to the Mediterranean to live the life he’d tried to deny me. I didn’t even bother calling the morgue. I wasn’t about to waste a cent on a man who’d spent our marriage dreaming of someone else. I just locked the door and left him there. Now, his “true love” had finally arrived. I figured it was only fair to let her have exactly what she asked for. … 1 Back then, I couldn’t bring myself to pay the funeral costs or the transport fees for Xavier’s remains. So, I let him stay in that secluded suburban “love nest” he’d built for his mistress. To the outside world, I played the grieving, noble widow. I told anyone who asked that I wasn’t burying him yet because I was waiting—holding out hope that his “true heart’s desire” would show up to say one last goodbye. I waited three years. And for three years, Xavier rotted. He sat in that house, the one he’d designed as a sanctuary for his infidelity, slowly turning into a biological hazard while I lived my best life. I was currently in a villa overlooking the Amalfi Coast, my fingers tangled in the hair of a gorgeous Italian twenty-something named Luca, thinking Xavier would never actually get his reunion. Then the phone rang. “My god, Katherine! Your husband’s little plaything is here. She’s at least six months along. What do I do?” It was simple. She’d waited three years to come looking for him, which meant she was either out of money or out of options. She wanted the man? She could have him. I’m not a petty woman. The neighbor handed over the phone. I listened to the girl’s pathetic attempts at intimidation, calmly gave her the location of the key, and hung up. I pushed Luca’s perfect abs away with a newfound surge of adrenaline and opened the Nest security app on my laptop. I wasn’t going to miss the season finale of this drama. “Cara, what is it?” Luca pouted, trying to pull me back into the silk sheets. “Not now, baby,” I said, my eyes glued to the screen. “I have a front-row seat to a haunting.” The camera resolution was crystal clear. I could see Hailey’s smug expression, the way she patted her protruding stomach as if it were a trophy. She was wearing four-inch heels and swinging the house key around her finger like she’d just won the lottery. She stood at the front door, her hand on the knob. Then, her face shifted. Her hand flew to her mouth. She scrambled back toward the bushes, and I watched in high-definition as she retched. The “trophy wife” facade crumbled instantly. At first, she probably thought it was just severe morning sickness. But every time she tried to step back onto the porch, her body revolted. The stench of three years of stagnant, unventilated decay is not something a human nose can rationalize. She vomited five times before she finally stood there, pale and trembling. “Xavier said he’d wait for me forever,” she whispered to herself, loud enough for the porch mic to catch. “Why does it smell like something died in there?” Then, she started gasping for air, clutching her stomach, brainwashing herself. “It’s just the pregnancy. It’s just me.” She was determined. Xavier had gone silent three years ago—no texts, no wire transfers, nothing. She assumed he’d been locked away by his “bitter old wife.” She’d spent those three years going through grueling rounds of IVF with the samples he’d frozen, desperate to produce an heir. Now, she was back to claim her throne. She believed that once Xavier saw his son, he’d hand over the Ronald empire on a silver platter. Hailey gritted her teeth, the veins in her neck bulging as she fought the urge to vomit again. She turned the key. The door swung open. She stepped into the foyer and called out in a sing-song, sugary voice: “Xavy! Come see your girl and your little prince!” The moment she opened her mouth to speak, the concentrated, pressurized wall of death from inside the house rushed into her lungs. 2 “Oh god—Xavier! Gag—” I was laughing so hard in Italy that tears were streaming down my face. On the screen, Hailey’s legs looked like overcooked noodles. She collapsed onto the porch, her face twisted in a mask of pure agony. She was clutching her belly, terrified for the baby, but she couldn’t stay away. She crawled back a few feet, staring at the dark hallway of the house with a mix of longing and horror. She scrambled for her phone and called me back, her voice a screeching wreck. “You old hag! Where did you hide him? Where is Xavier?” “I’m carrying his child! You can’t keep us apart anymore! Half of everything he owns belongs to my son!” My fingers traced the lines of Luca’s tattoos as I leaned back. “Hailey, honey, he’s right there in the house. Didn’t you see him?” I couldn’t help it. I let out a sharp, melodic laugh. That sound was the breaking point for her. She started screaming into the receiver. “What are you laughing at? You’re a pathetic, discarded housewife! Just wait until I tell Xavier how you’ve treated me! He’s going to divorce you and leave you with nothing!” “Go ahead,” I said, my voice dripping with mock-sincerity. “Go tell him everything. Ask his family if you don’t believe me—he’s been waiting in that house for you for a long, long time.” I hung up. My daughter, Jade, walked into the room, adjusting her designer sunglasses. She looked at me with that sharp, teenage cynicism she’d inherited from me. “When are we going back to deal with that bitch?” “Language, Jade,” I corrected her, though I wasn’t really annoyed. It was time to go home. I couldn’t let the “true love” reunion happen without being there to witness the fallout. Xavier wanted me to “set them free.” Hailey could have her inheritance. She could have exactly what was left of him—a three-year-old biological weapon. 3 I found out about the affair when I was three months pregnant with Jade. It was a difficult pregnancy; my stomach was a roadmap of bruises and needle marks from the hormone shots. Xavier walked in on me one night while I was changing. He looked at my bruised, swollen skin and actually recoiled. He made a face of pure disgust. “Kat, you’re honestly repulsive,” he’d said. He stopped coming home after that. I spent my entire pregnancy in a cold, quiet house. The day I went into labor, the headlines in New York were splashed with photos of him at a gala with a “young, mysterious muse.” After the birth, I tried to leave. I wanted a divorce, a clean break. But Xavier knew exactly how to hurt me. He knew my daughter was the only thing I had left. “You can divorce me,” he’d told me, eyes cold as ice. “But you’ll leave the kid. Do you really think the courts will give a ‘depressed, unstable’ mother custody against a man with my resources?” He didn’t care about Jade. He just cared about his image. “Keep your mouth shut, play the part of the happy wife, and you get to keep your daughter. If you ever harass Hailey, I’ll make sure you never see the girl again.” So, I checked out. For years, I treated him like he was already dead. Maybe it was karma that his brain turned against him. He was diagnosed with stage four glioblastoma and spent his final months wasting away. When his family came to visit him in the hospital, I played the grieving saint. The moment they left, I had the nurses wheel his bed into the hallway next to the public restrooms. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t complain. To the world, I was the devoted wife. To him, I was the last thing he’d ever see—a woman who no longer felt anything for him. Before he died, he had one final “spark” of life. He’d crawled out of bed and somehow made it to that suburban house, hoping to find Hailey. But she’d vanished the moment the money stopped flowing. He died in that house, crying for her. His last words were a plea for me to “give her everything” if she ever returned. I smiled at him as the light left his eyes. In his blurry vision, I’m sure I looked like I was weeping. “I’ll make sure you’re together forever,” I’d promised. And I kept that promise. I let him stay right there, in their “love nest,” waiting for his queen. As for the money? I’d moved every cent of the Ronald fortune into offshore accounts and trust funds for Jade years ago. He died in the morning. By that afternoon, I was on a private jet to Europe, tasting salt and freedom for the first time in a decade. 4 To keep the company’s stock from plummeting, I never officially announced Xavier’s death. I told the board he was “recuperating in seclusion.” Only a few close family members knew the truth. Hailey had spent the last week digging, eventually confirming that Xavier was indeed at the house. She didn’t notice the strange, pitying looks the neighbors gave her. Under my strict instructions, nobody told her he was dead. Hailey convinced herself that Xavier was waiting for her in their house of memories. Because she’d been vomiting so much from the “smell,” her doctor put her on bed rest, so she spent her days writing flowery, delusional letters to him and mailing them to the house. She wrote pages about how much she hated me and how he needed to “punish” me. I had someone collect those letters and burn them over Xavier’s remains. It felt poetic. The day Hailey was cleared to leave the clinic was the day I landed back in the States. She decided to make an event of it. She showed up at the house with a pack of tabloid reporters in tow, ready to “expose” my cruelty and claim her place as the true Mrs. Ronald. The press followed her into the gated community, but as they got closer to the house, their faces began to pale. Hailey kept gagging. She turned to a reporter from a major gossip site and gave a weak, practiced smile. “Excuse me. My pregnancy cravings are just… a bit intense today.” One of the younger cameramen looked around, squinting. “Is Mr. Ronald really in there?” Hailey straightened her back, radiating false confidence. “Of course! This house was our private sanctuary. He built it for me.” Gag. A veteran journalist in the back had already figured it out. He’d covered crime scenes before. He quietly adjusted his body cam and pulled a mask out of his pocket. He recognized that smell. It wasn’t “morning sickness.” It was putrefaction. He tried to probe. “Miss West, do you notice a… peculiar odor?” Hailey was terrified the press would leave before she got her “big reveal.” She forced herself to take a deep breath, her face turning a sickly shade of grey. “Odor? I don’t smell anything. You’re just being dramatic.” We arrived at the porch. Hailey pulled a key from her designer bag. Just as she lined it up with the lock, I stepped out from behind a tree, wearing a high-grade charcoal mask. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” I called out. I stayed a good thirty feet away. Hailey sneered at me. “Oh, look who it is. The old hag finally showed up to try and stop me.” I shook my head. “Is being a mistress an addiction for you? You couldn’t get enough three years ago, and now you’re trying to force a dead man to father your child? You’re really committed to the bit, aren’t you?” Hailey patted her stomach, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Watch your mouth. When Xavier sees me, I’m going to have him destroy you. And that daughter of yours? I’ll make sure he ships her off to some boarding school in the middle of nowhere.” She smiled, a sharp, ugly thing. “Her inheritance will be my son’s welcome-to-the-world gift.” The reporters went silent. The cameras were rolling, catching every word. I pressed my lips together, keeping my temper in check for the sake of the recording. “Fine. You want to go in? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Xavier couldn’t even close his eyes when he died because he was waiting for you. Go ahead. Be with him.” Hailey hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes. But the thought of the Ronald billions was too strong. “Liars like you always try to play mind games. I’m going in.” She turned the key. “Xavier told me if I ever got pregnant, he’d give me the world! He only wanted my children. Not yours!” I watched her silhouette disappear into the dark foyer. The second the door closed behind her, her voice changed. “Xavy? Where are you? Your mean old wife is being so scary! I have our baby, and she’s so jealous—” The voice cut off. A heartbeat later, a scream erupted from the house—a sound of primal, bone-deep terror.

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At three in the morning, I was dead to the world when Gavin suddenly ripped the covers off me and dragged me out of bed. His words tumbled out in a frantic rush—he said I was O-negative, that Brooke was hemorrhaging, and the hospital’s blood bank was completely tapped out. I winced, rubbing my eyes, and told him I was severely anemic. My body couldn’t handle a blood donation. He didn’t listen. He just started shoving my arms into my winter coat, rushing me toward the door, insisting they only needed a pint and that Brooke was fading fast. Sitting in the passenger seat of his SUV, the streetlights blurring into streaks of yellow against the dark glass, the name Brooke acted like a physical barb in my chest. Instantly, it dragged me back to the darkest, bloodiest memory of my high school years. She was the ringleader. The girl who tormented me, who ultimately shoved me down a flight of concrete stairs, shattering my leg and permanently robbing me of my future in dance. It was Gavin who had called the police back then. Because of him, the school couldn’t just sweep it under the rug. Brooke was expelled, and she practically vanished from the earth. I never imagined that seven years later, I would hear her name in Gavin’s mouth again—and certainly not like this. I turned my head to look at his sharp profile. I asked him if he remembered the months I spent in the hospital during my junior year. He stiffened. His eyes darted away from mine, fixing on the road. He muttered that Brooke hadn’t had an easy life these past few years, and at the end of the day, a life was a life. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my lips. I didn’t say another word. Later, the moment the thick needle pierced the vein in my arm, a sharp, electronic chime echoed directly inside my skull. A synthesized voice spoke. It told me that even though I was currently playing the role of the tragic heroine in a cheap melodrama, I still needed to respect my own body. It told me I had to learn how to say no. I flinched, my breath hitching. In a terrified whisper, I asked it what I was supposed to do. The electronic voice instantly spiked in volume, ordering me to pull the IV needle out right this second, walk out the front doors, take a left, and spend twenty bucks on a lottery ticket. 1. I stared at the plastic tubing taped to my inner arm, my hand shaking violently. The System urged me in my head. “Pull it out! Trust me!” But I was terrified. If I pulled it out, how would Gavin look at me? Would he think I was a monster? Would he think I was selfish? Would he… leave me? The glare of the hospital lights overhead was blinding. It reminded me of the lights from seven years ago. I had been lying in a pool of my own blood, watching Brooke’s silhouette disappear at the top of the stairs. When the paramedics finally arrived, the ER doctor had looked at my charts and said, “Compound fractures. I’m sorry, sweetie, but you’re never going to dance again.” Gavin was the one who stayed by my side. He came to the hospital every single day. He held my hand through the agonizing physical therapy, told me terrible jokes to make me smile through the tears. I remember him brushing the hair from my sweaty forehead, whispering, “It’s okay, June. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be right here.” Because of that, for the five years we had been together, he had been my entire universe. I painted for him, I cooked his favorite meals, I waited by the window for him to come home. I bent my life to fit into the spaces he left for me. And now, he was forcing me to bleed for the girl who broke me. “Do it now!” the System commanded. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripped the plastic hub of the needle, and ripped it out. Dark crimson blood immediately welled up and spilled over my skin. A nurse down the hall shrieked and started running toward me. The door slammed open. Gavin froze in the threshold. “June, what the hell are you doing?!” I looked up at him. For the first time in my life, I found the strength to say, “I don’t want to do this.” “You…” The color drained from his face, replaced by a dark, furious disbelief. “Do you realize she is dying in there?” “I know.” I stood up. My bad left leg trembled under my weight, the old aches flaring, but I locked my knee and held my ground. “But I’m dying too.” He reached out to grab my arm. I flinched away. As I limped out of the ER, his voice cracked like a whip down the tiled hallway: “You are being incredibly selfish, June!” I didn’t look back. The air outside the hospital was bitter cold. The wind bit into my bad leg, making a deep, familiar ache settle in the bone. “Fifty yards to your left. There’s a bodega that sells lotto tickets,” the System instructed. I dragged my leg down the sidewalk. As I passed the wing where Brooke’s room was, I looked up and saw a lit window on the third floor. My heart slammed against my ribs. Seven years. I thought I had buried that terror. But just looking at the glass, my mind was flooded with the sensation of freefall, the sickening crack of my bones on the concrete. I clamped a hand over my mouth, bile rising in my throat. 2. The guy behind the counter at the bodega raised an eyebrow as I bought a twenty-dollar scratch-off. “Late night for a walk, hon, especially with that limp.” I just nodded, keeping my eyes down. “You’re going to win five million dollars,” the System said matter-of-factly. I didn’t believe it, but I clutched the ticket anyway. On the walk back to our apartment, my phone vibrated constantly. Gavin. I let it ring. When I finally reached our front door, he was already there, leaning against the frame, radiating anger. “What is wrong with you tonight?” he snapped. “Brooke almost died. Do you get that?” “I have anemia.” I stared at his shoes. “I could have died, too.” “It was a single pint of blood, June, it wouldn’t have killed you!” His voice echoed in the quiet hallway. “You just couldn’t bring yourself to help her!” I stopped talking. What could I even say? Tell him I was terrified of her? Tell him my leg throbbed with a phantom agony every time her name was spoken? Tell him I wished, just once, he would look at my frail, broken body with the same desperate panic he had just shown for her? The words wouldn’t come. Seeing my silence, his jaw tightened. “Fine. Play the victim.” He shoved past me, got back into his car, and drove off. I sat alone in our dark living room. The streetlights cast the shadows of the large oak tree outside across the hardwood floor, swaying like ghosts. Seven years. From the day my leg was shattered until now, that tree had shed its leaves seven times. And I was still trapped at the bottom of the staircase. “You did the right thing,” the System murmured. “Nothing is more important than your own survival.” But my chest felt like it was caving in. The next morning, I scratched the ticket. I held my phone in one hand, comparing the numbers, my fingers trembling so badly I almost dropped it. Five million dollars. It was real. “See?” the System said, sounding deeply smug. “I told you. This is the down payment on your new life.” I stared at the iridescent foil shavings on my kitchen counter, completely speechless. Gavin didn’t come home for the next three days. He sent one text: “I’m at the hospital with Brooke. Her condition is unstable.” I replied: “Okay.” He didn’t text back. I opened the leather-bound journal I kept in my nightstand. The pages were filled with my meticulous, desperate handwriting, documenting every late night he’d had over the past six months. October 3rd. Said he was working late at the firm. Came home at 2 AM. October 10th. Client dinner. Home at 1 AM. October 18th. Said an employee was hospitalized, went to check on them. Never came home. I read the lines, one by one. A strange, broken giggle bubbled up in my throat, but the tears fell faster than the laughter could form. Outside the window, the oak leaves were falling again. I remembered how he had held my waist during physical therapy, promising he would be my crutch forever. Now, he wouldn’t even come home to sleep in our bed. The System paused, recalibrating. When it spoke again, the electronic hum was softer, tinged with a strange, synthetic sorrow. “He changed, June.” Listening to its awkward, robotic empathy, I nodded slowly. “I know.” That evening, Gavin finally texted: “Brooke is being discharged tomorrow. I’m going to pick her up.” I stared at the glowing pixels. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard before typing: “Can I come with you?” Sent. One minute passed. Three minutes. Five. He left me on read. 3. I went to the hospital anyway. He didn’t stop me from getting in the car, but he didn’t welcome me, either. The drive was suffocatingly silent. When we walked into the ward, the heavy stench of antiseptic made my stomach churn. I pressed my hand over my nose and mouth. It was the exact same smell from seven years ago. Lying in that stark white bed, the orthopedic surgeon looking down at me with pity. “Comminuted fracture of the left femur and tibia. The joint is irreparably damaged. She won’t dance again.” I had screamed until my throat bled. I had been dancing since I was a toddler. My mother used to brush my hair and tell me, “June is going to be the most beautiful prima ballerina in the world.” Brooke shoved me down the stairs, and the music stopped forever. “We’re here,” Gavin said, stopping abruptly. I looked up. Brooke was standing in the doorway of her private room. She was drowning in an oversized hospital gown, her face pale, looking agonizingly fragile. My bad leg buckled slightly, a tremor radiating up my spine. Cold sweat broke out across my neck. It felt like the ceiling was slowly crushing me. It was her. It was really her. Seven years, and she still had the exact same face. My mind flashed to her cruel, glittering smile as she stood over me. “Trash belongs in the gutter.” I remembered the sharp point of her stiletto grinding into my knuckles. The sudden, violent force of her hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t breathe. “June?” Gavin noticed my pallor and instinctively reached out to steady me. “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t form words. Brooke saw me. She froze for a fraction of a second before a soft, deeply apologetic smile bloomed on her face. “June… about everything that happened back then… I’m so sorry.” She took a hesitant step forward, reaching out as if to take my hand. I recoiled violently. She dropped her hand, looking utterly heartbroken. “June, do you still hate me? I know I was wrong. We were just kids, I was so stupid and mean… but life has punished me. I’ve eaten dirt for the last seven years. I think about what I did to you every single day…” As she spoke, tears welled up in her large, doe-like eyes, spilling over her pale cheeks. Gavin sighed, a heavy, protective sound. “June, Brooke already owned up to her mistakes.” Brooke? Since when did he drop her last name and say it with such tender familiarity? Brooke aggressively wiped at her eyes, her voice trembling. “June, I know you despise me. But I’ve changed, I swear. All these years, working bottle service at seedy clubs, letting disgusting men grope and humiliate me… every time they put their hands on me, I thought of you. I told myself it was karma. I deserved it.” Gavin’s eyes softened completely. The hardness in his jaw melted away. I looked back and forth between them. I felt a hysterical urge to laugh. The System’s voice crackled sharply in my head. “Do not buy a word of this. She is acting.” I know. But no one else believed me. After he finished the discharge paperwork, Brooke reached out and grabbed Gavin’s sleeve. “Thank you for taking care of me these past few days.” Her hands were delicate, her nails painted a soft, innocent pink. Gavin didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted his grip. I watched his fingers lace through hers. Right there in the hospital corridor, in front of the nurses, in front of God, in front of me, their fingers intertwined. My crippled leg flared with a blinding, white-hot agony. 4. Walking down the hospital steps, my knee finally gave out. I stumbled forward, bracing for impact. Gavin didn’t catch me. He was too busy holding the door for Brooke. Brooke, with four perfectly functioning limbs, practically skipped to the passenger side of his SUV and pulled the door open. I stood on the pavement, frozen, staring at the empty space in front of me. It wasn’t until Gavin looked over, a crease of annoyance between his brows, that the spell broke. “Are you getting in or what?” Brooke suddenly gasped, covering her mouth as she shot me a sickly-sweet, apologetic smile. “Oh my gosh, June, I’m so sorry! I totally forgot this is your seat. It’s just… I get terrible motion sickness in the back. Do you mind if I take shotgun?” She pressed her palms together in a pleading gesture, giving me a playful little wink. Numb, I dragged myself into the back seat. My entire body was shaking violently. All I could see was their laced fingers. Brooke glanced at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes wide with faux concern. “June, are you cold? Why are you shaking so much?” My breath caught. Suddenly, I wasn’t in the car anymore. I was back in the dim, damp locker room behind the gym seven years ago. Brooke had been smiling that exact same sweet smile as she gripped my hair, forced my school shirt off, and used a black Sharpie to write “MUTT” across my chest. She had asked me the exact same question then: “June, are you cold? Why are you shaking so much?” My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that they broke the skin. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth where I had bitten the inside of my cheek. Brooke was still talking. “June, I get the feeling you really… hate me. And it’s totally fair! I hate the person I used to be, too. If I could, I’d become your servant just to make up for the pain I caused you.” Her eyes were the picture of earnestness. I still couldn’t speak. It felt like someone had shoved a fistful of raw cotton down my throat. Gavin let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just an old condition she has. Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. Mixed in with a superficial layer of concern was an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher—annoyance? Pity? Resentment? The drive home was suffocating. I remained mute in the back, Gavin drove in silence, while Brooke effortlessly filled the dead air, playing the charming, reformed survivor, telling self-deprecating stories about her struggles in the service industry. Gavin listened, a faint, fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were heavy with a protective ache for her. He dropped me off at our apartment first. He looked at my deathly pale face, and his tone cooled, tinged with a deep exhaustion. “Brooke is still really weak. I need to get her settled at her place.” I nodded slowly. “Okay.” “Just go upstairs,” he said, not even looking me in the eye. “I’ll be back later.” “Oh,” I whispered. I stood on the curb, the cold wind whipping my hair, and watched his taillights disappear down the avenue. “She’s manipulating you, and she’s manipulating him,” the System said. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Maybe you’re reading too much into it?” “I am an advanced algorithm, June, I don’t ‘read into things’!” the System snapped. “She is putting on a masterclass in gaslighting!” “Maybe… maybe she really did change?” I sat on the floor of my living room, pulling my knees to my chest. “People grow up.” “You—” The System cut off, too frustrated to formulate a response. I spent the afternoon in my makeshift art studio. I tried to paint. I tried to paint the girl from seven years ago, in her white tulle skirt, standing center stage under the hot lights. But I couldn’t get it right. Every time I painted the left leg, it came out crooked. Broken. Bent at an unnatural angle. I hurled my brushes across the room and buried my face in my arms on the desk. Outside, the oak tree had lost the last of its leaves. Gavin didn’t come home until ten o’clock that night. “Is Brooke feeling better?” I asked quietly from the couch. “She’s okay.” He shrugged off his jacket. It smelled heavily of cheap cigarette smoke. “She lives in this dump of a studio. It’s really rough on her.” I wanted to scream. What about me? I sat in this empty apartment all day waiting for you. Is that not rough on me? But I swallowed the words. I was terrified of making him angry. “Say it!” the System yelled in my head. “Scream at him! Call him a bastard, call him a narcissist, call him a piece of shit!” “You are his fiancé! You have every right to demand to know why he’s prioritizing the woman who crippled you!” I shook my head imperceptibly. I was afraid if I pushed him, he’d roll his eyes and call me petty. I was afraid he’d say: Look at you. You’re not even half the woman Brooke is. I was terrified of losing him. After the year of relentless bullying, after being pushed down those stairs, I had developed severe clinical depression. My self-worth was practically non-existent. I didn’t dare speak up. I just turned the knife inward, asking myself over and over: Am I being too sensitive? Should I just be the bigger person and forgive her? Around midnight, as we lay in bed, his phone lit up on the nightstand. It was a text from Brooke: “Gav, I’m feeling really dizzy…” He threw the covers back and sat up instantly. “I need to go check on her.” Over the System’s deafening, screeching alarm in my head, I forced the words past my lips. “Can you… not go?” He paused, one arm in his sweater. “Just get some sleep, June. I’ll be back soon.” “Can I come with you, then?” Gavin exhaled sharply, a sound dripping with condescension. “I am just checking on her to make sure she doesn’t pass out. It’s basic human decency. Could you please stop being so paranoid? Your leg is bad enough, you don’t need to be dragging yourself out into the cold.” And then he walked out. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. A single tear slipped out of the corner of my eye, tracking hotly into my hairline. The System let out a long, static-laced sigh. It didn’t say another word. 5. After Gavin left, the silence in the apartment was deafening. I couldn’t sleep. I dragged myself out of bed and limped into the studio. On the easel sat my half-finished canvas. The stage, the bright spotlights, the faceless audience in the dark. And the girl in the white dress. I stared at her twisted, broken leg. A sudden, violent sob ripped from my throat. I grabbed a palette knife and slashed it across the canvas, right over the leg. It wasn’t enough. I ripped the canvas off the frame. I grabbed the sketches off the wall. I tore the second one, then the third, ripping the heavy paper into shreds. The studio floor was soon buried in torn paper and snapped pencils. I collapsed against the wall, sliding down until I hit the floorboards, my leg throbbing in relentless agony. The System shrieked, “Stop it! June, breathe! Stop hurting yourself! Put your hands down!” I couldn’t calm down. Brooke was back. And this time, Gavin hadn’t stood in front of me like a shield. He had stepped out of the way to catch her instead. The nightmare from seven years ago was playing on a loop, and I was trapped inside it. I fumbled for my phone and dialed Gavin. It rang out. I called again. Voicemail. I called him fifteen times. Finally, a text came through: “Brooke’s running a fever. I’ll be home when I can.” I stared at the glowing blue bubbles. A laugh ripped out of me, harsh and jagged. A fever. She had a fever, so she needed him to hold her hand through the night. What about me? I was drowning, suffocating on the floor of our home. Where was he? I typed: “I’m hurting too.” He replied instantly: “Take some Tylenol and go to sleep.” Nothing else. I let the phone slip from my fingers. It clattered against the wood. Through the studio window, the city skyline glittered against the dark, alive and careless. But I felt totally consumed by the blackness. Just like that night seven years ago, bleeding out on the cold concrete, the darkness pressing in from all sides. I pulled my knees to my chest, curling into a tight ball in the corner. My bones ached. My heart felt like it was tearing down the middle. “Stop crying,” the System whispered. “I’m not crying,” I lied. But the tears poured down my face, hot and relentless. The System let out a soft, humming sigh. “I ordered you some flowers.” I looked up, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “What?” “Sunflowers,” its voice was incredibly gentle now, stripped of all its electronic edge. “It’s a shame I’m just lines of code. If I had arms, I’d try to hug you right now.” I sat there, stunned. After a long time, I whispered, “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me,” it replied. “You need to learn how to love yourself.” “He is not your savior, June. Only you can save you.” Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was a delivery courier. A massive bouquet of bright, golden sunflowers. Nestled among the heavy petals was a small card. It read: You deserve to be fiercely loved. Holding the flowers to my chest, the dam broke, and I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. The weight of the sunflowers was heavy and real in my arms. I traced the edge of a golden petal and whispered into the empty room, “Are you disappointed in me?” It took a moment, but the System’s voice returned, sounding slightly muffled. “Yes.” “But June, you are just sick right now. And people can heal.”

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The wedding was supposed to start in ten minutes. I was standing in the bridal suite, drowning in a sea of white tulle and pure, unadulterated joy, when my brother, Luke, suddenly looked at me with a deep scowl. He told me I was heartless. Before I could even process the venom in his voice, Parker, my fiancé, reached up and unbuttoned his custom tuxedo jacket. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “I’m sorry, Sadie. We can’t do this today. The wedding is off.” Panic flared in my chest. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I grabbed the hem of Parker’s jacket, begging them both to stop. I told them this was a sick joke, and it wasn’t funny. Parker just sighed, looking at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. He asked me if I ever spared a thought for the girl whose life I had destroyed while I was casually dropping hundreds of thousands of dollars on a fairytale wedding just to show off. I froze, my mind going blank. He kept going, his voice cutting through the air. “You got Lexi expelled back in high school. You ruined her life. Do you have any idea how hard she’s had it all these years because of you?” Hearing Lexi’s name was like a physical blow. I stood there, paralyzed. She was the one who had bullied me. She was the reason I had to take a leave of absence, the reason I spiraled so deep into depression that I almost ended my own life. The jagged, ugly scars across my wrists—the ones Parker used to trace with tears in his eyes, promising to protect me forever—seemed to burn. Inside my bridal clutch was a positive pregnancy test, a surprise I had planned to give him today. Now, looking at his cold face, it felt like a cruel cosmic joke. … Parker wouldn’t stop talking, and every time he mentioned Lexi, his eyes filled with an undeniable, aching tenderness. “Her family didn’t have money, Sadie. After she was expelled, she had to work illegal, grueling jobs just to survive.” He stepped closer, his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “You’ve been pampered your whole life. How could a girl like you ever understand what a beautiful, defenseless young woman has to endure in this world just to get by?” Dizziness washed over me. None of this felt real. I stared at him, my voice small and shaking. “Parker… she tormented me. I begged Luke to report her to the school board because I couldn’t breathe anymore. You supported me back then. You knew…” “Enough!” Luke snapped, cutting me off. The harshness of his shout made my eyes sting instantly. Our parents died when we were kids. Luke was the one who had held my hand at their graves and sworn to spend his life taking care of me. To make enough money to give me a good life, he had worked himself to the bone, destroying his kidneys in the process. I had secretly gone through the donor matching process and gave him one of my kidneys, keeping it a secret from everyone. I had only ever seen my big brother cry once. It was when he found out about the kidney. He had broken down, hugging me so tight my bones ached, whispering, Sadie, I will protect you for the rest of my life. I guess a lifetime is much shorter than I thought. Luke pulled out his phone and shoved a picture in front of my face. It was a hospital room. A woman lay on the bed, emaciated and pale as a ghost. Parker was sitting by her side, holding her hand with an intimacy that shattered my heart. “Do you know that Lexi developed severe depression after what you did?” Luke demanded. “Look at her. She’s living a waking nightmare, and you, the person responsible for it all, have the nerve to throw yourself a million-dollar wedding?” I looked at the face in the photo. It was the face that had haunted my nightmares for a decade. Reflexively, I took a step back, knocking the phone out of Luke’s hand. A cold sweat broke out across my skin. “No!” I whispered. The word that wanted to follow was I’m sorry. Because back then, I wasn’t allowed to fight back. That was the rule Lexi had hammered into me. The first time she targeted me was over a pair of shoes. Lexi was the queen bee, showing off her brand-new designer sneakers to a crowd of girls in the dorm. But another girl, eagle-eyed and blunt, looked at my feet and spoke up. “Wait, Sadie’s are the real deal. Lexi, yours look like knockoffs.” I had tried to laugh it off and make an excuse to save Lexi’s pride, but she just stood there, her face dark and silent. Later that night, I was distracted, putting on my sneakers to go to the library. A blinding, white-hot pain shot through my foot. I looked down. Two thumbtacks were lodged deep in the sole of my foot, slick with blood. Terrified, I had gone to Lexi to apologize, practicing my words all night. But when I found her, she just smirked at me, looking me up and down. “I never noticed how big your boobs are, Sadie. Do you let guys feel them up all the time?” She sneered. “I mean, how else does an orphan with no parents afford shoes that expensive?” The surrounding girls erupted in laughter. No matter how much I explained that my brother bought them for me, the narrative was set. From that day on, the entire school “knew” that I had an older, wealthy benefactor who was definitely not my brother. The suffocating shame of that memory rushed back to the present. My hands gripped the expensive fabric of my wedding dress, crushing it into a ruined heap. Seeing me like this, a flicker of guilt finally crossed Parker’s face. He reached out, gently wiping a tear from my cheek. “It’s just a wedding, Sadie. We can always reschedule and do it later,” he said, his voice soothing, manipulative. “But Lexi is in a really bad place right now. If she finds out we went through with this today, she might actually kill herself. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for someone’s death, would you? Be a good girl.” Outside the heavy oak doors of the suite, the guests were getting restless. The murmur of the crowd grew louder. “Is this wedding happening or what? Why are they taking so long?” “Did someone get cold feet? Oh, this is going to be good gossip.” I looked at Parker, the man I had loved for half my life, my voice cracking with a final plea. “You know how much today meant to me. Please, don’t do this to me…” Before I could finish, Luke’s phone rang. The panicked voice of a nurse blared through the speaker. “Mr. Evans! Miss Lexi is having another episode! Please come quickly, she’s trying to hurt herself!” In the background, I heard a woman screaming hysterically. “Let me die! Why does the person who ruined me get to be happy?! Let me die!” The last trace of guilt evaporated from Parker’s eyes. He didn’t even look at me again as he turned and strode out of the room toward the stage to face the crowd. Moments later, a wave of gasps and shocked whispers echoed from the ballroom as Parker calmly announced that the wedding was canceled. Luke didn’t yell at me before he left. He just looked at me with a profound disappointment that screamed, Why are you being so selfish? Then, they both ran out, their retreating backs so familiar. It was funny. Back in high school, these were the exact same two men who had hated Lexi on my behalf. Luke had been too busy working to notice the shift in me at first, so I had confided in Parker, my childhood sweetheart. He had stroked my hair, his eyes burning with protective fury. “Don’t worry, Sadie. As long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you again.” The next day at school, my desk was clean. No slurs scrawled in permanent marker, no missing textbooks. My desk mate had nudged me, whispering, “Some hot guy just transferred to the class next door. Lexi is already trying to flirt with him, but he totally ignored her. It was brutal.” A cold dread had pooled in my stomach. Sure enough, Parker appeared at my classroom door a moment later, smiling brightly. “Surprise, Sadie! I begged my parents to let me transfer here to protect you!” My heart had plummeted. I turned around instinctively. Lexi was staring at me from across the room, her eyes so full of pure, dark malice it made me shiver. I still remembered that day vividly. After school, it was pouring rain. I was waiting for the car Parker had called for me when a violent force shoved me from behind. I slammed into the wet asphalt and was dragged like a stray dog into a dark alleyway. Terrified, I looked up. Lexi was smiling down at me, a sickening, predatory grin on her face. “Strip her,” Lexi commanded the group of kids behind her. “Let’s see if she really has the body to keep hooking all these men.” The memories of that day were fragmented, suppressed by years of trauma therapy and medication. I only remembered flashes in my nightmares. Rough hands roaming over my body. Blinding camera flashes. Tears mixing with freezing rain. Lexi had crouched down, slapping my cheek lightly. “Aw, Sadie. You can’t say ‘no.’ You have to say ‘I’m sorry.’ Haven’t you learned that yet?” The smell of blood in the air. The agonizing sting of a blade across my wrists, over and over. The last thing I remembered was Parker’s face when he finally found me. It was twisted with a grief so raw it looked like madness. He had held me so tight I thought he would crush my bones, swearing to God he would kill Lexi for what she did to me. Luke had sworn it, too. He promised he would make sure Lexi never knew a day of peace again. Because of the two men who loved me most, I had found the strength to rebuild myself from the ashes. I had survived. And now, ten years later… I was the villain, and the woman who had almost destroyed my soul was their precious, fragile flower. How utterly laughable. I pulled out my phone and stared at an email. It was a job offer for a senior management position overseas, a relocation opportunity I had turned down because of the wedding, because of them. I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. Then, I typed out a reply and hit send: I accept the transfer. I can start immediately. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could Luke and Parker, who had witnessed my destruction firsthand, forgive this monster? How could they care about her more than me? Driven by a morbid need to understand, I paid a driver to take me to the private facility where Lexi was staying. It was a luxury sanitarium that cost hundreds of thousands a year. I looked at the billing records at the front desk. The signature on the payments was painfully familiar. The same signature had been at the bottom of every love letter I received as a teenager. The nurse saw me staring and smiled politely. “Are you a relative of Miss Lexi’s too? I haven’t seen you here before, though the other two gentlemen come by all the time.” I forced a polite smile, though my chest felt tight. “Is that so? How long has that been going on?” The nurse thought about it. “About three years now. When she first came in, she was in terrible shape. Her brother—well, the older gentleman—was quite cold at first and didn’t visit much.” “But I guess he saw how pitiful she was, so he started coming more. And then her boyfriend started coming along too.” My breathing stopped. “Boyfriend?” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. The nurse nodded, a gossipy glint in her eye. “Well, that’s just what we call him privately. He’s never officially admitted it, but a few times after his visits, he asked us to delete the security footage. You know how it is.” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Dizzy and nauseous, I stumbled down the hallway toward her room. Three years ago. Three years ago, Luke had thrown me a lavish 25th birthday party that was the talk of the town, declaring to the world that I was his princess. Three years ago, Parker had gotten down on one knee and asked me to marry him, and when I said yes, he had set off a firework show that lasted all weekend. While I was drowning in a sea of absolute bliss, believing I was the luckiest woman alive, they were secretly seeing Lexi. Suddenly, all the strange anomalies from the past few months that I had desperately tried to ignore came rushing back. Parker’s increasingly frequent business trips. His short, cold text messages. Even Luke had started sighing in front of me, saying things like, “Sadie, I feel like we’ve spoiled you too much. You need to realize that not everyone in this world is as lucky and blessed as you are.” I had felt so anxious, thinking I had done something wrong. I had walked on eggshells, trying to please them, to make them smile again. And all that time, they were giving the warmth that belonged to me to the woman who had broken me. Suddenly, a soft, intimate sound drifted from inside the room. “Lexi, who gave you permission to hurt yourself again?” It was a man’s voice, thick with repressed, agonizing passion. A wave of bone-deep cold washed over me. For years, that exact same voice had whispered sweet nothings into my ear in the dark. Lexi let out a soft groan. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be off enjoying your wedding night with your perfect little bride? Go away!” A heavy sigh followed. “Stop crying. The wedding is canceled. Are you happy now?” I was shaking so hard I couldn’t breathe. I turned on my heel, desperate to escape this suffocating nightmare, only to crash violently into a broad chest at the corner of the hallway. I looked up through a blur of tears. It was Luke. An overwhelming, childish wave of grief crashed over me. I opened my mouth, desperate to find comfort. “Luke…” But before I could speak, my brother reached up and wiped away my tears. His face was full of exhaustion. “Let it go, Sadie,” he said quietly. Let it go? I stared at him in disbelief. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Since you found your way here, I’ll be blunt. Parker and I have been keeping tabs on her for years. We wanted to make sure she was miserable. We didn’t want her to have a good life.” “But we didn’t even need to do anything. She’s beautiful, but she had no education. Her deadbeat family kicked her out and forced her to work in underground hostess clubs. Sadie, if we hadn’t stepped in to save her three years ago, those men would have literally played her to death.” Luke’s eyes filled with a sickening wave of pity. “Compared to what she’s been through, what happened to you in high school was nothing. Stop holding onto the past, Sadie. You’re being vindictive.” He paused, looking at me critically. “Besides, you were a spoiled brat growing up. You probably provoked her back then. Why else would she have singled you out to bully?” The world turned cold. A dull, heavy ache blossomed in my lower abdomen. I felt all the strength drain from my body. Maybe seeing how pale I was, Luke sighed again. “I’ll have the driver take you home. Be a good girl.” I didn’t say a word. I just looked down at my phone. A tear fell onto the screen, perfectly blurring the countdown timer for my flight. I had 24 hours until the plane took off. I went back to the house in a trance and walked straight into Parker’s home office. The computer password was easy. It was my birthday. With shaking hands, I clicked on a hidden folder. It was filled with thousands of photos of Lexi over the past ten years. Covert shots, candid moments, tracing her entire life. The further down I scrolled, the softer Parker’s notes became, and the colder my heart grew. [Lexi’s family sold her to a nightclub. She deserves it. I paid off the manager to make sure they give her a hard time.] [She was groped by some old creep today. The girl is clever, though. She managed to talk her way out of it.] [Lexi is being bullied by the other girls. I secretly had someone move her to a different club. She still looks so sad.] I started laughing. I laughed so hard that tears streamed down my face. They were so incredibly kind. So noble that they could magnanimously forgive my abuser on my behalf. So righteous that they were willing to betray me to save a monster. I shut down the computer, went to the bedroom, and packed a single suitcase with a few clothes. When my hand brushed against the positive pregnancy test, I paused. Then, with absolute, cold finality, I ripped it in half and threw it in the trash can. The sun had long set by the time Parker finally came home. I looked up from the couch. Lexi was standing right behind him, wearing a pristine white dress. I flinched violently, shrinking back into the cushions. Parker immediately rushed forward, trying to pull me into his arms. “It’s okay, Sadie. Don’t be scared.” His embrace didn’t smell like the man I knew. It was coated in the heavy, cloying scent of her perfume. My lips were trembling with pure rage. “Parker… you brought her into our home. How dare you!” Parker pursed his lips, looking incredibly pained. “Sadie, I… I need you to apologize to her.” He avoided my incredulous stare, speaking in a low, placating tone. “You don’t understand. Lexi is in a really fragile state. She has severe self-harm tendencies. She told me that if you just apologize to her, she will cooperate with the doctors and take her meds. After all, you were the one who got her expelled back then.” The dull ache in my abdomen suddenly flared into sharp, agonizing spasms. I looked at Parker and laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “You want me to apologize to the person who traumatized me? Parker, have you lost your goddamn mind?” Parker’s brows furrowed. Before he could speak, Lexi spoke up from the doorway. “Forget it if she doesn’t want to. I don’t want to live anyway. I’m sorry for causing trouble, Sadie.” Her tone was playful, mocking. Hearing those familiar words from her mouth made my blood boil. I stood up, consumed by a feral urge to slap the smirk off her face. But Parker immediately grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides to hold me back. Lexi looked at me and smiled. “Wow, Sadie. You really were a straight-A student. You still remember everything I taught you, don’t you?” Parker frowned as I struggled against him, my eyes wild. “Calm down, Sadie.” He pulled out his phone. “Look, I’ve already booked a new venue. I’m going to throw you an even bigger, more lavish wedding to make it up to you, okay?” He looked at me as if I were a throwing a temper tantrum over a toy. “It’s just a simple apology, Sadie. Is it really that hard to say?” My breathing became shallow and rapid. I was back in that alleyway in the pouring rain. Her voice was whispering in my ear like a demon. Sadie, when I beat you, you have to say I’m sorry. Got it? The pain in my stomach was now a tearing sensation. “Parker…” I gasped out, clutching my stomach. Seeing me like this, Lexi’s eyes gleamed with malice. She suddenly spoke up loudly, interrupting me. “I don’t feel well. I want to go back to the clinic.” Parker, who had been about to look at me, immediately let go of my arms. “I’ll take you back.” With the last of my strength, I lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. “Parker, please… my stomach hurts so bad…” He looked down at me, his eyes full of impatience and annoyance. “Sadie, enough. You refuse to apologize, and now you’re faking a medical emergency to manipulate me? Luke was right. We really have spoiled you rotten.” With that, he violently shook off my hand, wrapped his arm around Lexi, and walked out the door. I collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the closed door. I looked down. The white rug beneath me was stained with a bright, terrifying crimson. The child I had loved and dreamed of was leaving me, washing away in a pool of blood on the living room floor. The very last tear I would ever shed for these people fell. My heart turned to ash. Let the world be as wide as it may. I was done with them. I never wanted anything to do with either of them ever again. Late the next night, Parker dragged his exhausted body back home. But the moment he opened the front door, a heavy, metallic scent of blood and dampness hit him. A sudden, violent wave of dread washed over his soul.

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The day my SAT scores came out, several Ivy League admissions officers showed up at my house, all competing to recruit me. My high school teacher, Ms. Peyton — a woman who worshiped male students — deliberately said when she learned I’d gotten a perfect SAT score: “Jenna, I’m so happy for you! I can’t believe you actually slept your way to getting the test answers and still managed a perfect score! Oh my, I’m just joking. It slipped out. Don’t mind me. Just tell me quietly — how many test writers did you sleep with this time?” In my past life, I cried and explained that I’d studied hard for the exam myself. She sneered: “Right, right, you studied for it yourself. If you didn’t seduce male teachers and get the answers ahead of time, then why are you so upset right now?” That statement made the Harvard and Stanford admissions officers suspicious, and they rejected my application on the spot. In the end, I wasn’t accepted by any university. Three years of hard work went down the drain, and I eventually died from depression. Meanwhile, the male student Ms. Peyton favored most stole my admission spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the Ivy League admissions officers came to school. Without hesitation, I chose to call the police: “Officer, I’ve been assaulted, and the witness is my high school teacher.”

The moment those words left my mouth, Ms. Peyton’s expression changed instantly. She never expected that I — usually introverted and timid — would actually call the police in front of so many people. She lunged at me, reaching for my phone. I stepped back, and she nearly fell to the ground. “Jenna, what are you doing? It’s such a small matter. Is it really worth calling the police?” “What witness? I just heard it from someone else. I can’t testify for you!” I froze, staring at her intently. “A small matter? Spreading sexual rumors about me and accusing me of cheating — that’s a small matter?” “You knew the Ivy League admissions officers were coming to my house today. Why would you say something like that?” Ms. Peyton looked as if I’d exposed her, her face turning ugly. But the next second, she laughed dramatically, accusing me of being too sensitive. “I didn’t know the Ivy League admissions team was coming to your house today. I didn’t mean to bring up your… impropriety.” “I’m just worried that if you got into an Ivy League school through these means, you won’t be able to handle the academics there. Your teacher is just looking out for you!” “After all, you’re a girl who became the top science student in the state. Who knows what underhanded methods you used?” She cleared her throat and suddenly raised her voice. Everyone’s attention was drawn back to her, even my mom looked at me with suspicion. “Dear admissions officers, I know this child, Jenna. When she first enrolled, she was at the bottom of the class. Then she transferred to the science class — which was full of male teachers — and suddenly her grades shot up.” “Don’t you think that’s strange? And I’ve caught her going in and out of hotels with male teachers multiple times. As her teacher, it’s hard for me not to think in that direction!” In my past life, Ms. Peyton said exactly this, making the admissions officers deeply disappointed in me. She relied on her position as my high school teacher, knowing no one would question a teacher’s character. She made everyone believe her lies, and no one wanted to hear my explanation. Not only did the Ivy League schools reject my file, preventing me from attending any college. Even my parents were implicated and ridiculed by relatives and friends. Three years of hard work were destroyed. They disowned me. I couldn’t defend myself. In the end, I died from depression. When I opened my eyes again and returned to this day, there was no way I’d let her play her tricks and ruin my college dreams again! “A hotel?” My mom looked at me in disbelief, her lips trembling slightly. “That’s right, Jenna’s mom. You didn’t know, did you? Jenna is a regular at the hotel by the school gate. The first time I saw it, I couldn’t believe she was that kind of person!” After saying this, Ms. Peyton quickly covered her mouth, pretending it was an accidental slip. “Wait, no, no. Oh my! Why did I say that out loud? Just pretend I was talking nonsense. Don’t overthink it!” “I came here today to celebrate Jenna getting a perfect SAT score and bringing honor to our school, even though her methods were a bit… unclean…” All the admissions officers exchanged glances and began discussing among themselves. “I can’t believe she’s that kind of person. Our school can’t admit someone like this…” Even my mom didn’t trust me, frowning as she questioned me: “Jenna, is what Ms. Peyton said true?” “Did you really go to that kind of place? Tell me. How many times did you go?” A trace of delight flashed in Ms. Peyton’s eyes, but I showed no sign of panic. “Ms. Peyton, are you sure you saw me? Then I must have been drugged unconscious, because I don’t remember it at all!” “When the police arrive, you must clearly state the time and location so they can catch the person who assaulted me as soon as possible!”

Ms. Peyton was stunned. The current me was completely different from the me she knew. She never expected I’d be so serious about this — not only showing no shame but practically wanting the whole world to know. “Dear Ivy League admissions officers, I believe Ms. Peyton’s words. She must not be joking!” “But I truly don’t remember any of this. I definitely wasn’t there willingly. With Ms. Peyton here, she can definitely find the culprit and clear my name!” I gripped Ms. Peyton’s hand tightly, speaking earnestly. She recoiled in disgust and immediately shook me off. “You — what nonsense are you spouting, child?” “How shameless can you be? Tell the truth. A month ago, did you or did you not check into the hotel by the school gate?” “And you weren’t the only one who checked in! Admissions officers, if you don’t believe me, you can check the registration records. I swear on my twenty years as a teacher!” At those words, all the admissions officers’ gazes fell on me like countless knives. “Miss Lynn, did you really use despicable means to get the SAT answers and score so high?” “No wonder she scored more than ten points higher than second place. In twenty years, no one has scored this high. So that’s how…” The fruit platter in my mom’s hands fell to the floor, fruit scattering everywhere. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, her voice filled with anger and shock. “Jenna, tell your mother. Is what Ms. Peyton said true? Did you go to a hotel?” “Did you — did you really use those methods to get your grades today? Say something! Are you trying to kill your mother?” “Your father and I poured everything into raising you. How could we have raised a daughter like you?” Ms. Peyton looked at me triumphantly, a smug smile on her lips. I suddenly remembered that before the SAT, I did go to the school hotel. Dylan Cooper had asked me to meet him there. But as soon as I entered and went upstairs, I sensed something was wrong and left through the back door. Only now did I understand — this was a trap set by Ms. Peyton and my classmate, Dylan Cooper. She was determined to have Dylan Cooper take my perfect SAT score. After all, the school’s reward for the top student was a full hundred thousand dollars! To achieve her goal, she was willing to stake her twenty years of teaching reputation. Ms. Peyton knew exactly how to manipulate teachers and parents. She understood that the truth didn’t matter — public opinion was enough to crush a person. Once the admissions officers left, they would spread the news. And then what awaited me would be slut-shaming. In this life, not only would I be unable to attend college, I’d even repeat the tragic fate of my past life. “I did go.” Three words slowly left my mouth. My mom nearly fainted from anger on the spot, and the admissions officers clamored to leave. “However, I didn’t enter any room. I left through the back of the hotel.” Ms. Peyton burst out laughing: “Ha ha ha, who would believe that? Jenna, you usually look so pure and honest, but only I, as your teacher, truly understand what kind of person you are!” “I didn’t deliberately smear you in front of the admissions officers. I just don’t want to see you go down the wrong path and make mistake after mistake!” “As long as you admit your error, we’ll void this year’s results, and you can prepare properly for the SAT next year. I’m willing to tutor you for free!” She spoke with such sincerity, like a good teacher. Only I knew how much she worshiped men and loved spreading sexual rumors about female students. In high school, Ms. Peyton treated male and female students completely differently. When male students asked for leave, she’d approve without checking the reason. But when female students were in so much pain they fainted, she’d just think they were faking. When male students didn’t wear their uniforms properly, it showed boldness and masculinity. But if a female student dared take off her jacket, she was a shameless slut trying to seduce men. She would spend an entire class period scolding female students, treating all the girls in class like enemies. I took out my phone and called the hotel by the school gate: “Could you please check the back door surveillance footage from around 8 PM a month ago?” The front desk quickly sent me the surveillance from that time. It clearly showed me entering through the front door and leaving through the back door less than a minute later.

Everyone watched the surveillance footage. Ms. Peyton’s face showed a moment of surprise, then she also called the hotel front desk. A few minutes later, a year’s worth of check-in records was displayed for everyone to see. “Jenna, the surveillance video only proves you didn’t go this time. It doesn’t mean you never went before!” “This is the check-in record from the past year that I just had the front desk send me. Look for yourself — how many times have you checked in this year?” “Tsk tsk tsk, so shameless at such a young age. I’m truly ashamed for you as your teacher!” “Dear admissions officers, look at what kind of person she really is! Tell me, how could a student like this possibly get a perfect SAT score through her own efforts?” Suddenly, my dad, who had just returned home, saw all of this. He raised his hand and slapped me: “You — how could you do something so disgraceful!” “Go turn yourself in right now, or I don’t have a daughter like you!” My face immediately burned with pain, half of it swelling up. My parents were both furious and shocked. The way they looked at me was complicated. I covered my face, holding back tears. Ms. Peyton’s smile grew even more triumphant. I’d studied hard for three years, finally going from the worst student to the top student, and even my parents didn’t believe me. “Don’t — don’t hit the child! I’m sure Jenna just had a moment of confusion. Otherwise she wouldn’t have done such things for six years!” “I only found out about this from her middle school teacher. Otherwise I wouldn’t dare believe I’d have such a student!” My dad clutched his chest in anger, his face flushed red, pulling out his belt and pointing it at me. “Jenna Lynn! You — you did this disgraceful thing for six whole years! Let’s see if I don’t beat you to death today!” He charged at me with the belt. I ran everywhere to escape. My mom’s tears wouldn’t stop flowing, her eyes red from crying: “Jenna, you’ve disappointed your mother so much!” Seeing me getting beaten, Ms. Peyton almost laughed out loud but forcibly suppressed it, pretending to stop my dad. “Jenna’s dad, don’t get so worked up! No matter what, you can’t hit your child!” The admissions officers also shook their heads in disappointment at the scene. “Miss Lynn, we have doubts about your SAT results and cannot approve your application.” I froze and immediately explained: “Do you believe what she’s saying too? The SAT is fair and secure. How could the answers possibly be leaked?” “Mom, Dad, calm down! Think carefully — I’m just an ordinary student. How could I possibly know the test writers?” “And leaking SAT answers is a criminal offense with a ten-year prison sentence. Who would dare leak them?” My dad lowered the belt in his hand. My mom stopped crying too. Everyone realized this wasn’t realistic. The SAT had military-level security. Even the most powerful person couldn’t get the answers. Suddenly, Dylan Cooper walked in: “Then how do you explain this?” He pulled out a report. My parents were shocked when they saw it. “Jenna, you — you’re pregnant? Early intrauterine pregnancy, six weeks! What do you have to say for yourself?” Ms. Peyton quickly snatched the report and hid it, scolding Dylan Cooper: “Why did you come here? I wasn’t planning to tell them about this. After all, it’s not honorable for a girl…” “Everyone, just treat this as fake, as a joke. Don’t believe it!” Dylan refused to back down: “Why not? Why should someone like her be the top student!” “Jenna Lynn is a shameless slut. She’s always taking birth control pills at school. The whole class has seen it!” With those words, the whole room exploded. My dad wanted to kill me. My mom had a heart attack and fainted on the spot. The admissions officers turned to leave. “How did I give birth to a slut like you! You’re even — even pregnant with some bastard’s child!” My dad grabbed a kitchen knife and came at me like a madman. The scene descended into chaos. Ms. Peyton and Dylan calmly watched the show from the side. “I’m not pregnant! They forged that report! They’re deliberately trying to harm me. Dad, please calm down! Admissions officers, don’t leave!” I desperately explained, completely despairing, but now no one was willing to believe me. My dad couldn’t hear anything. The knife came straight at my neck. The next second, a large number of police officers burst through the door. “We heard a report about SAT answer leaks? I’m the SAT inspection team leader. This matter is serious. We immediately launched an investigation upon receiving the report.” “After examination, student Jenna Lynn’s results are legal and compliant. The test writers and papers were all under strict monitoring, with no leaks whatsoever.” “We are now lawfully arresting Peyton and Dylan Cooper for spreading rumors. Please come with the police.”

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The day before my wedding, I went to get my nails done. My fiancé came back with coffee and casually handed a cup to the nail tech. “Hey, add me on Ins. My wife can book you for her nails from now on.” I stared at him coldly. Sensing my gaze, he smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous again? I’m just making a friend. Maybe she’ll give you a discount next time.” I glanced at his phone screen. The note read: Amy, curvy, blonde, single. I smiled. A dog really can’t stop eating shit. Since he loved making friends so much, I’d help him invite all his female “friends.” Using his phone, I messaged his ex-girlfriends, his flings, the ones he’d met for dinner, the ones he’d sexted late at night, one by one: “My wedding’s tomorrow. I saved you a seat. Please come.” “Hello, is this the Grand Hotel? I need to add three more tables for tomorrow’s reception.” The manager paused. “That’ll cost extra.” Money wasn’t an issue. Less than five minutes after I hung up, Ethan’s call came through. “Why are you adding tables without discussing it with me first?” His voice was sharp and urgent, like I’d committed some unforgivable crime. I leaned back on the sofa, suddenly finding it almost funny. “I just want to invite a few more friends. What’s the problem?” I said. “What friends need three whole tables?” He pressed on relentlessly. “My parents said they can’t pay for the extra three tables.” I said mockingly, “It’s just adding some tables. Do you really need to blow up like this?” He continued angrily: “Sophia, you’re doing this because I added that nail tech on Ins, aren’t you? It’s normal socializing and you have to make a big deal out of it!” Normal socializing. He made it sound so simple. I gripped my phone tighter. “So sleeping with Christine at that hotel was also normal socializing?” Silence on the other end. “That was before we registered our marriage. Are you ever going to let it go?” It was indeed before the marriage registration, but we were still dating then. Last March, he said his company was having a team retreat and stayed at a hotel overnight. I only found out later that his “team retreat” companion was his ex-girlfriend Christine. “And staying at Wendy’s place for three days, that was also before registration?” “Will you ever stop?” Last month, he said he was on a business trip for three days. Turns out he was with Wendy. Right here in the city, less than ten kilometers from my home. Wendy posted a breakfast photo on her feed. The hands visible across the table wore a watch I’d given him. “Transferring twenty thousand dollars to Rachel and saying you’d take care of her, that was also before marriage?” “Sophia!” “You told everyone you were single, said I was just someone your family set you up with, said you didn’t love me at all…” “Enough!” He suddenly roared: “That’s all in the past! What’s the point of bringing it up over and over? What man doesn’t have a past? You’re just petty, just looking for trouble!” He took a breath, his voice turning cold. “Anyway, my parents won’t pay for those three tables. You invited them, you figure it out yourself.”

I leaned back on the sofa, suddenly feeling exhausted. Three years. Every time it was like this. I thought marriage would change him, thought he’d settle down. I really overestimated myself. “Twelve hundred for three tables, right?” I didn’t waste any more words and transferred the money directly. He paused for two seconds, saying “what are you doing,” but the next second I saw: Payment received. Immediately followed by a message: “You’re the best, babe. Let’s not talk about the past anymore. You’re the only one I love! Can’t wait for tomorrow’s wedding.” Looking at those words, I felt sick to my stomach. I typed back: “You better look forward to it. I’ve prepared a big surprise for you.” He asked what surprise. I didn’t reply. After hanging up, I picked up the phone and called my lawyer. “Mr. Wilson, draft me a divorce agreement. I need it after the wedding tomorrow.” The lawyer was clearly stunned. “But isn’t your wedding tomorrow?” “Yes. The wedding will happen, and I’m getting divorced too.” He didn’t ask further, just told me to send over the marriage certificate for filing. I pulled out that little red booklet from my bag, took a photo, and sent it over. About five minutes later, Mr. Wilson called back. His voice sounded off. “Miss Sophia, something’s wrong with this marriage certificate.” My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” “I checked the registration number. It doesn’t exist in the system. Miss Sophia, this marriage certificate is fake. You two have no legal marriage relationship.” I stood there holding the phone. Originally, I only planned to invite those women to give him a little surprise. Now it seemed the surprise wasn’t big enough. I opened my phone and started going through Ethan’s flirty chat logs, transaction screenshots, intimate photos, saving them all into a folder. Three years’ worth of evidence was all here—so much the folder could barely hold it all. I compiled all the material into a slideshow, set it to the background music of “Love For Sale,” and sent it to the MC: “For tomorrow’s wedding, replace the video with this one.” The MC was silent for a full ten seconds before replying with one word: “Okay.” I closed my phone and lay in bed. I didn’t sleep all night. The next morning, while I was getting my makeup done, Ethan sent a message: “Babe, I’m so excited. Finally getting to marry you.” I stared at the screen for two seconds before replying: “You’ll be even more excited soon.” Then my mom called: “Sophia, who exactly did you invite for those three tables? Why didn’t you tell us?” I said, “Mom, just watch the show today. Don’t ask so many questions.” She sighed. “Don’t do anything crazy.” I didn’t answer. After hanging up, I deleted all the photos with Ethan from my phone. Not a single one left. I called the hotel manager: “Those three tables of mine, arrange them directly facing the stage.” After hanging up, I took a deep breath, lifted my wedding dress hem, and walked out of the dressing room. Guests gradually arrived. I stood at the entrance greeting them, counting down in my mind. Ethan came over, glanced at the three empty tables, and asked, “Who did you invite? Why aren’t they here yet?”

I smiled and said, “Just invited a few of your ex-girlfriends.” His face instantly went pale. “What did you say? Are you crazy?” He lowered his voice, angry. “I just added that nail tech on Ins and you’re doing this? You have to cause a scene on our wedding day?!” I picked up a glass of champagne and took a sip without responding. Ethan stared at me for a while, then turned and left, his face dark as thunder. After a while, he came back with his parents and mine following behind. He said coldly, “Sophia, come to the dressing room. We need to talk.” My mom asked quietly, “Sophia, what’s wrong?” I didn’t answer. The group entered the dressing room and the door closed. As soon as the door shut, his mother spoke first: “Sophia, what’s the meaning of this? Inviting my son’s ex-girlfriends on his wedding day? Have you no sense of occasion?” I said calmly, “Mrs. Carter, I just invited a few friends to the wedding.” “Friends?” Ethan’s father slammed his hand on the table. “My son said you invited his ex-girlfriends! Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re deliberately trying to embarrass our family!” Ethan pointed his finger at my nose, nearly poking my face. “Sophia, isn’t this all because I added someone on Ins? Is this necessary? Inviting ex-girlfriends? Are you out of your mind?” I looked at him and laughed. “Added someone on Ins? You noted her as hot body, fair skin, single, you flirted with another woman right in front of me, and you ask if this is necessary?” Ethan’s mother interrupted: “Men make small mistakes sometimes. Making such a scene, how will you live together after this? I’m telling you, we’re cutting the wedding money to eight thousand. Let this be a lesson!” My mom exploded: “What do you mean small mistakes? He flirted with another woman right in front of Sophia! How shameless can your family be!” “What’s wrong with our family?” Ethan’s mother’s voice was even louder. “Your daughter invited ex-girlfriends to the wedding! What kind of behavior is that? I’m telling you, if you want this wedding to happen, behave yourselves. If not, forget it!” “You—” My dad’s face turned red with anger. “Eight thousand if you want the wedding, not a penny if you don’t!” Ethan’s mother turned her face away, crossing her arms. My mom’s hands were shaking with rage. “What kind of family are you? Don’t you know what your own son is like? This wedding is off!” “Fine, call it off! Who cares!” Ethan’s mother sneered. “With your daughter’s attitude, who’d want her after my son?” “What did you say?!” My dad rushed forward to argue, but my mom held him back tightly. The dressing room erupted into chaos. Ethan stood in the middle, not saying a word, his face even showing a hint of smugness. I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Of course we’re having the wedding.” Everyone fell silent, all eyes turning to me.

My mom froze. “Sophia, what are you saying?” I didn’t look at her. Staring at Ethan’s mother, I said slowly and clearly: “Forget the eight thousand. I don’t want a single penny.” Ethan’s mother’s expression changed instantly—from scowling to smiling, faster than flipping a page. “That’s more like it. Wouldn’t it have been easier to do this from the start?” Ethan also relaxed, a smile appearing on his face as he walked over to put his arm around me. “I knew you couldn’t let me go.” I stepped aside, dodging his hand. My mom stood frozen, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes full of disappointment. My dad turned his face away, his shoulders shaking. I couldn’t bear to look at them. I turned and opened the dressing room door, walking out. As I left the dressing room, Ethan followed behind me. “Sophia, wait for me.” I didn’t stop. “By the way, I didn’t just invite ex-girlfriends,” I said. He froze, catching up to grab my arm. “What do you mean? Who else?” I didn’t answer. “Say something! Sophia! Who else did you invite?” I shook off his hand and kept walking. The MC approached. “Bride, can we start?” I nodded. “Let’s begin.” The music started. I walked onto the stage. Ethan stood opposite me, smiling stiffly, his eyes constantly glancing at those three empty tables. The MC announced loudly: “Does anyone here object to this union?” As soon as he finished speaking, the banquet hall doors burst open. A woman walked in. She wore a loose dress, one hand supporting her slightly swollen belly, walking step by step to the front of the stage. When Ethan saw her face, he froze completely. “Why are you here?” She didn’t look at him. She raised her head to address everyone, her voice not loud but every word clear: “I object. And so does the baby in my belly.” The entire hall erupted. I looked at her belly, then at Ethan’s face, which had turned deathly pale in an instant. In that moment, I understood everything. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed through the silent hall. Ethan covered his face, eyes wide, staring at me. Before he could speak, the doors moved again. A second woman walked in. “I object too.” A third. “I also object.” Fourth, fifth, sixth… Over thirty women walked in one after another. Five of them were visibly pregnant. They lined up in three rows in front of the stage, all staring at Ethan. The entire venue exploded. People stood up, some screamed, some held up their phones to record. Ethan’s face was deathly pale, his whole body trembling on stage. He shouted at security: “Get them out! All of them out! Security!” Security rushed up to remove the women. The women struggled, screaming “scumbag” and “liar,” their voices sharp and piercing. Ethan grabbed the microphone, his voice shrill and panicked: “Continue the ceremony! Ignore them! Continue!” I smiled. I took off my ring and threw it hard at his face. “No need to continue. I object too.” I turned to face everyone below the stage, saying slowly and clearly: “I organized this wedding to expose this scumbag.” The big screen lit up. Ethan’s expression changed instantly. He rushed over frantically: “Turn it off! Turn it off now!”

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On the fifth day of my postpartum recovery, my husband suddenly brought his mistress into the VIP postpartum suite. He yanked off my blanket and forcibly exposed my engorged chest to the air. “Her kid just got weaned and is throwing tantrums. You’ve got plenty of milk—hurry up and pump a bowl to feed him!” He moved toward me with a breast pump without any regard, his eyes looking at me like I was a free dairy cow. I desperately tried to cover my chest, but he pinned my wrists to the bed with a death grip. His mistress stood beside him holding a bowl, smacking her lips with malicious intent. “Summer, you’re a mother now. Can’t you even spare some milk? How can you bear to watch my child go hungry?” In my panic, I grabbed the scalding hot chicken soup that had just been delivered to my bedside and threw it at them. “Then have this bowl of soup too!” “Murder!” The boiling chicken soup, meat and all, hit her face. The greasy broth dripped down. Ethan raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face without hesitation. “Summer, are you insane?!” My ears rang. I stared in disbelief at this man I’d been with for years. “You dare hit me?” Ethan’s face was full of rage as he pointed at my nose and cursed. “So what if I hit you? Look at what you’ve done!” “Rose came here out of the goodness of her heart to see you. Fine, you won’t give milk, but then you throw boiling water on her!” “How can a woman be so vicious? Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?” Rose covered her face and rolled on the ground. “Oh my face! It’s ruined!” “Ethan, your wife is too cruel. I just felt bad that my little Toby had no milk to drink!” “She’s so engorged—what’s wrong with pumping out a little? It’s not like we’re asking her to die!” “I think she just looks down on us poor relatives from the countryside. She despises us!” Ethan grabbed my collar and yanked me up from the bed. “Summer, get on your knees and apologize to Rose right now!” “If you don’t make Rose happy today, forget about finishing your postpartum recovery!” I looked at him coldly. “Ethan, did they inject progesterone shots into your brain?” “I’m your wife. I just gave birth to your daughter five days ago!” “You bring another woman into my room, forcibly strip my clothes, and want to feed my milk to a three-year-old?” “You call that human behavior?” Ethan showed no remorse. “So what if he’s three? Three-year-olds need nutrition too!” “Your milk would just go to waste anyway. Might as well feed it to my nephew to boost his brain.” “Besides, Rose has doted on me since I was little. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” “You married me, so you have to honor her with me. That’s the rule of the Anderson family!” I laughed bitterly. “Honor her? With my breast milk?” “Ethan, are you sick? If you’re sick, go get treatment. Don’t act crazy here!” As I spoke, I reached for the call button by the bed. Ethan was quick. He grabbed the cord and yanked it hard. “Want to call for help? You think this isn’t embarrassing enough? I’m the one who’s embarrassed!” “Let me tell you, Summer—today you’re pumping that milk whether you like it or not!” He turned to look at Rose, still playing dead on the floor. “Rose, stop crying. Grab the breast pump.” “I’ll hold her down, you pump it. We’re bringing back a bowl for Toby no matter what.” Hearing this, Rose immediately scrambled up from the floor. “Ethan really does care about me. Summer, don’t take this the wrong way, but women are just milk-producing tools after having kids. Now that you’re producing, who cares who drinks it?” I struggled desperately, kicking and crawling toward the corner of the bed. “Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” “This is illegal! I’m calling the police!” Ethan pounced on me, his knee pressing hard on my freshly sutured abdomen. “Call the police? Go ahead! Can the police stop a husband from having his wife pump milk?” “You’re just a selfish, poisonous woman who won’t even make this small sacrifice!” He pinned my hands down, twisting my arms behind my head. Rose took the opportunity to lunge forward and rip open my hospital gown.

“Ethan, if you let her touch me today, I will never forgive you!” Ethan snorted coldly, his eyes full of disdain. “Never forgive me? You’re just a receptionist. Without me, could you even survive?” “If I hadn’t been charitable enough to marry you, you’d still be starving in some rental apartment!” “This VIP postpartum suite costs eighteen thousand a day, and my mother paid for it. What right do you have to make a scene here?” Eighteen thousand a day, paid by his mother? Absolutely ridiculous. Just as Rose’s breast pump was about to touch me, urgent knocking suddenly came from outside. “Is the patient in room 602 okay? Did someone press the call button?” A nurse’s voice came from outside the door. Ethan put on a gentle, refined smile and went to open the door. “Nurse, it’s nothing.” “My wife just gave birth and her emotions are unstable. She accidentally touched the cord.” The nurse looked inside suspiciously, her gaze landing on Rose’s oil-stained clothes. “What happened to this lady?” Ethan sighed, putting on a helpless expression. “My wife has postpartum depression and a bad temper. She just threw soup on Rose.” “We’re trying to calm her down. I’m so sorry for the trouble.” The nurse looked at me lying pale in the bed. “Emotional fluctuations after childbirth are normal. Family members need to be understanding.” “However, if there are violent tendencies, I suggest bringing in a psychologist.” I used all my strength to call for help. “Help me! He’s abusing me!” But my voice was extremely weak. Ethan walked over and held my hand with fake concern. “Summer, I know you’re suffering. Stop talking nonsense.” “Nurse, you can go ahead. I’ll take good care of her.” The nurse nodded and closed the door as she left. The moment the door closed, the tenderness on Ethan’s face vanished instantly. “Smart move, not saying anything crazy.” “Otherwise I’ll send you to a mental hospital where you’ll never see your daughter again!” I didn’t argue back. Fighting head-on now would only hurt me more. Just then, the hospital room door was pushed open again. My mother-in-law, Martha, walked in carrying large bags. “Oh my goodness, Rose, what happened to you?” Rose immediately threw herself at Martha, crying dramatically. “Martha, you have to help me!” “I came to see her out of kindness, and not only won’t she feed Toby, she threw boiling soup on me!” “If my face is ruined, how can I face people?” Martha immediately pointed at my nose and started cursing. “Summer, you dare hit my niece?” “We let you stay in such a nice place—did we bring you here to be some pampered young mistress?” “Rose came all this way. What’s wrong with asking you for some milk?” “Your milk is so fishy anyway. My Toby drinking it is doing you a favor!” I endured the pain from my incision and asked hoarsely: “Ethan said you paid for this VIP postpartum suite?” Martha hesitated, her eyes dodging. “Of course! If I didn’t pay, did you?” “Your pathetic monthly salary couldn’t even afford the toilet here!” A mocking smile appeared at the corner of my mouth. “Really? Then I’ll check the payment records tomorrow to see exactly who paid.” Ethan impatiently grabbed Martha’s arm. “Martha, don’t bother with her. She’s a lunatic right now.”

Ethan turned to look at Rose, his tone ingratiating. “Rose, I’m really sorry about today. She’s so emotional right now, her milk probably isn’t good anyway.” “If Toby drinks it and gets indigestion, that would be bad.” “Why don’t you go take a shower and change clothes? Stay here tonight.” My eyes flew open. “What did you say? Let her stay here?” This was a single VIP suite. Although there was a caregiver bed, it absolutely couldn’t accommodate a third person. Ethan rolled his eyes at me, his tone matter-of-fact. “Why not? This room is so big—leaving it empty is wasteful.” “Rose took an overnight bus to come see you. You want her to stay in a hotel? That costs money!” “Besides, Rose has had a child. She has experience. She can stay and help take care of you during recovery.” I laughed coldly. “Take care of me? Is she here to take care of me or to drain me dry?” Martha slammed her hand on the bedside table. “Summer, don’t be so ungrateful!” “Rose staying is an honor for you. Don’t be ignorant of your blessings.” “It’s settled. Rose sleeps on the caregiver bed, Ethan sleeps on the couch.” “As for you, don’t moan and groan at night and disturb their sleep!” Ethan opened the premium postpartum meal that had just been delivered and started eating with his fork. “The food at this VIP postpartum suite really is good. Better than restaurants outside.” I watched him eat with gusto. “That’s my postpartum meal. I haven’t eaten yet.” Ethan didn’t even look up. “You just threw soup everywhere. You’re probably too upset to eat anyway.” “This stuff gets fishy when it’s cold. Me eating it for you is saving food.” “Besides, you only gave birth to a useless daughter. What’s the point of eating so well? Whether you supplement or not makes no difference.” Rose walked out of the bathroom wearing my pajamas, staring at the empty plates and swallowing. “Oh my, Ethan, you ate it all? You didn’t leave me any.” Ethan wiped his mouth. “Rose, there’s bone broth in the kitchen. I’ll get it for you.” He actually ran to the kitchen and brought out a bowl of premium bone broth. It was specially prepared by the hospital to replenish my blood and qi. Rose picked up the bowl and frowned in disgust. “What is this stuff? It’s all slimy. Looks disgusting.” Ethan quickly explained. “Rose, this is good stuff!” “Women who eat it get beauty benefits. Hurry and try it.” Rose picked up the spoon and was about to put it in her mouth. The hospital room door suddenly burst open as a chubby kid charged in. “Mommy! I want meat! I want meat!” This was Rose’s three-year-old son, Toby. He slammed into Rose’s legs, nearly knocking over the bone broth. “Oh my precious baby, how did you get in here?” At the door, an old woman with a fierce face, Edna, poked her head in. “The security guards at this hospital are so blind. They wouldn’t let me in. Luckily my clever grandson snuck in when they weren’t looking.” I looked at this whole clan of people and felt my temples throbbing. “Ethan, get them out of here immediately! This is a VIP postpartum suite, not your village marketplace!” Ethan’s face darkened. “You shut up! This is Rose’s mother-in-law. How dare you talk like that?” Toby saw the bone broth in Rose’s hands and immediately reached for it. “I want that! I want it!” Rose quickly handed the bowl over. “Okay, okay, Toby eat it. Eat more to grow tall.” Toby scooped a big spoonful into his mouth. The next second, he spat it all out onto the carpet. “Disgusting! What is this garbage!”

Crash! The porcelain bowl shattered on the floor. I looked at the mess and shouted sternly. “You spoiled brat! Do you have any manners?!” Toby was startled by my voice, then immediately burst into loud tears. “Bad lady yelled at me! Bad lady!” Rose immediately hugged her son protectively and yelled at me. “Summer, what are you doing? You’re an adult picking on a child?” “It’s just a broken bowl! Toby’s a boy—him breaking your bowl brings you good fortune!” Edna also charged forward, pointing at my nose. “That’s right! Our Toby is the only boy in our family. He’s precious!” “You only gave birth to a useless daughter. What right do you have to yell at my grandson?” Not only did Ethan not stop them, he stepped forward. “Summer, apologize to Toby right now. You scared him. If he has nightmares tonight, I won’t let this go!” This was the simple, honest family I once believed in. “Apologize?” “Dream on.” Ethan’s patience seemed completely exhausted as he rushed over and ripped off my blanket. “Fine, you won’t apologize?” “I think you’ve gotten too comfortable in this VIP room and forgotten who you are!” He turned to Rose and Edna. “Rose, Edna, you sleep in this bed tonight.” “This mattress is imported, really soft. Perfect for Toby.” Rose’s eyes lit up as she immediately carried Toby over. “Oh my, how could I?” Despite her words, she’d already plopped down on the edge of the bed. I was horrified, clutching the sheets desperately. “Are you insane? This is my hospital bed!” Ethan grabbed my neck and started dragging me off the bed. “Your hospital bed?” “You’re a useless woman who gave birth to a girl. What business do you have in a VIP room? Go sleep on the benches in the hallway!” I’d just had a C-section five days ago. The wound wasn’t fully healed yet. Being dragged so roughly, a tearing pain shot through my abdomen. I broke out in a cold sweat, my hands desperately clawing at his. “Ethan, this is attempted murder!” Ethan winced but instead of letting go, he pressed me harder to the floor. “Murder? I’m disciplining my disobedient wife!” “If you don’t give up that bed today and pump that milk, I’ll beat you to death!” Rose fanned the flames gleefully from the side. “Ethan, you have to be harsh with women like this.” “If you don’t beat them, they won’t behave. Once you beat them into submission, they’ll know how to serve people.” Edna chimed in. “Exactly! In our village, what woman doesn’t get back to work right after giving birth?” “She’s the only one who’s so delicate, staying in some VIP postpartum suite. Bah!” I hit the cold floor hard. My wound split open. Blood stained my hospital gown. I stared at Ethan with eyes full of hatred. “Ethan, you’re going to regret this.” Ethan looked down at me from above, his eyes full of contempt. “Regret? The biggest regret of my life was marrying you!” “You think you’re something special?” “I’ll tell you the truth—I’ve been sick of your high-and-mighty act for a long time!” “Once you finish postpartum recovery, get the hell out of my house. You leave with nothing!” As he spoke, he raised his foot, about to kick my stomach. Rose shouted excitedly from the side. “Kick her! Teach her a lesson!” Just as Ethan’s foot was about to land in that critical moment— BANG! The heavy solid wood door was kicked off its hinges. The door slammed into the wall with a deafening crash. “Who are you telling to leave with nothing?” Ethan shuddered, his foot frozen in midair. Everyone in the room turned around in terror.

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On my wedding anniversary with my husband, his female friend Heather pointed at Ethan and suddenly said: “Actually, today is a double celebration. I’m pregnant with your child.” I was thunderstruck and immediately demanded an explanation. Ethan just laughed nonchalantly and laid it all out: “We grew up together. Exploring each other’s bodies is perfectly normal. She and I are fuck buddies at most. You’re still my legitimate wife.” Dizzy, I fell down the stairs and tumbled to the ground. A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, and blood instantly stained my white dress. I trembled as I pulled out my pregnancy test results: “Ethan, I…” Before I could finish, he interrupted me with a sneer: “What tricks are you playing now? Trying to use a fake pregnancy to make Heather get an abortion?” Heather also covered her mouth and laughed: “Natalie, did your blood pack leak? Your acting is so fake. Everyone knows you’re infertile. Stop pretending.” Lying in a pool of blood, watching him hold someone else, I finally made a decision. I accepted my college classmate’s invitation to study at an overseas research institute.

I don’t know how long I’d been lying in the hospital, but I was awakened by the heavy breathing of a man and woman on the ward’s sofa. “Heather, Natalie’s still lying in the hospital bed. Let’s go somewhere else.” “This is so exciting! Right in front of your own wife…” I slowly opened my eyes. A naked man and woman were entwined together. I trembled with rage, finding it hard to believe. This past year, Ethan had used his supposed germophobia as an excuse, and our intimate moments could be counted on one hand. Even when going through the motions mechanically, he always frowned with disgust, calling me revolting afterward, like a bitch in heat. He’d rush to the bathroom as if trying to scrub off a layer of skin. Listening to Heather’s passionate moans, the last trace of warmth remaining in my heart finally turned cold. Ethan unconsciously glanced at me. Only when he saw me motionless did he relax. “This won’t affect our child, will it?” Heather’s voice was sweet and soft: “I asked the doctor. Both your babies can handle moderate activity…” I touched my flat abdomen, tears streaming down my face. The two of them changed positions several times. After more than ten minutes, they finally finished everything amid gasps and satisfaction. After they left, I struggled to sit up. Seeing the miscarriage report on the table, my whole body began to shake uncontrollably. Ever since my uterus was injured, I’d undergone all kinds of treatments to conceive this child. But ten years of feelings, in Ethan’s eyes, ultimately couldn’t compare to a few of Heather’s fake tears and her lies that twisted the truth. After sitting numbly on the sofa all night, I finally saw things clearly. I picked up my phone and decisively replied to my college classmate’s message: “I agree to the overseas study program you mentioned before. But I have one requirement: keep it completely confidential from my family.” Then I tore the miscarriage report into pieces and threw it in the trash. Someone knocked on the door. Ethan walked in and saw the report in the trash can. “You know everything?” He gently pulled me into his arms: “Natalie, we’ll have another child. Heather’s pregnant, so it’s normal for her to be temperamental. Just bear with it.” Smelling the pungent perfume on him, I suppressed my nausea and pulled away: “What exactly do you take me for? Heather’s a pregnant woman who can’t be wronged, but what about me?” Ethan’s expression instantly darkened: “Stop making a scene, okay?” The weather was hot, but my heart was ice cold. That’s right, in Ethan’s view, when guests at the family banquet drowned my dog and I demanded justice, I was “making a scene”; when my intimate photos were spread by Heather and I warned her, I was “making a scene”; when I nearly died in difficult labor and interrupted his date with Heather to sign critical condition forms, that was also “making a scene.” I stared straight into his eyes, trying to find traces of the Ethan who had personally decorated the nursery during my first pregnancy, who had stayed up all night choosing names for the child. But meeting his gaze, I saw only cold ice in Ethan’s eyes. I pulled at the corner of my mouth and spoke hoarsely: “Let’s divorce, Ethan.”

“You and your mother both need my money to live. Natalie, don’t joke around.” Ethan frowned at me, his attitude still superior: “Besides, with my status…” “Ethan, stop wasting time on her.” Heather interrupted our conversation, linking her arm with Ethan’s and acting coquettish: “Today’s the third-week anniversary of my pregnancy. The fireworks show is about to start. Let’s go watch!” The irritation in the man’s eyes instantly vanished. His lips curved upward as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window with Heather: “Be careful, don’t hurt the baby.” “The fireworks show was specially prepared for you. I dare anyone to start without you!” I watched the brilliant fireworks in the sky, feeling somewhat dazed. Years ago, on the night Ethan confessed to me, he couldn’t even afford a decent bouquet of roses. He only held a few cheap sparklers, clumsily lighting them for me. His face was red then, but his eyes were incredibly sincere: “I’ll definitely give you the best life in the future. I’ll give you the biggest fireworks show.” But now we had everything—money, power, everything except love. He could give Heather and the child in her belly a spectacular fireworks display, but he wouldn’t spare me even a word of concern. As the fireworks faded, people in the hospital corridor exclaimed in amazement: “Mrs. Evans is so blessed! Even her pregnancy gets celebrated with a million-dollar fireworks show!” “I heard she’s been accompanied throughout her conception planning and prenatal checkups by Mr. Evans himself, afraid something might go wrong!” Hearing these words, I felt like I’d fallen into an ice cave, trembling all over. So Heather’s pregnancy wasn’t an accident at all! He’d even indulged her in replacing me as Mrs. Evans in front of others, all to give Heather’s child legitimacy. “Crash!” Behind me came the sound of breaking glass. Heather grabbed my arm, sobbing: “Natalie, I accidentally broke your photo frame. Sorry.” My body stiffened imperceptibly. The photo in that frame was the only picture of my grandmother and me before she passed. Even the frame itself was a birthday gift my grandmother had carved for me. Ethan couldn’t possibly not know this. Anger surged in my heart as I shook off the woman’s hand: “Pick it up, clean it, and give it back to me!” But when Heather bent down while clutching her belly, Ethan swiftly picked up the frame and threw it at my head: “Natalie, I thought you’d be sensible, but I didn’t expect you to be so vicious!” Vicious? I laughed out loud. Going to checkups alone, letting outsiders replace my identity as Mrs. Evans, deliberately smashing my grandmother’s keepsake—facing all this differential treatment, Ethan could still call me vicious. Blood from my forehead mixed with tears. I couldn’t help but mock myself: “Ethan, in your eyes, my repeated forbearance is vicious, but Heather causing my miscarriage is just an accident. Don’t you find that absurd?” Ethan’s chest heaved violently. Then Heather said tearfully: “Don’t be angry with Natalie. She just lost her child, so it’s normal for her to be temperamental!” She pushed the man toward the door: “After all, this is between Natalie and me. Let us resolve it ourselves! Besides, don’t you need to handle Natalie’s discharge procedures? Hurry up.” Ethan instructed with concern: “Be careful then, don’t hurt the baby.” After the man left, Heather no longer concealed the malice in her eyes: “Ethan and I have been like two peas in a pod since childhood. Our bond naturally runs deeper than yours. Once I give birth to this child, how much longer do you think you can stay by his side?” Facing her low-level provocation, I didn’t react impulsively as I used to. I just silently picked up the photo from the floor: “He’s just garbage. If you want him, take him. But Heather, stolen goods will never truly be yours!” Perhaps she’d never seen me so sharp before. She stood dazed for a long time. Seeing me walk out of the ward, she finally shouted in exasperation: “Natalie, you just wait!” I left the hospital directly and pulled out my phone to message the divorce attorney: “I’ve sent the evidence of infidelity to your email. Make sure to check it.” After sending the message, I returned to the villa to pack my luggage. But the moment I walked out the villa’s front door, bodyguards blocked my way.

Ethan was furious: “Heather had a miscarriage. Did you do it!” Before I could answer, he angrily grabbed my throat: “Who else but you couldn’t tolerate the child in her belly!” I was confused: “Ethan, what are you talking about? I…” He slapped me across the face. Looking into each other’s eyes, only shocking ferocity remained in Ethan’s: “Heather is delicate. You must apologize to her in person!” He turned to the bodyguards and commanded sharply: “Take Natalie to the hospital!” Already weak, I couldn’t resist the bodyguards’ restraint. By the time we reached the hospital, Heather was watching me with a victor’s gaze: “Ethan, I lost my child. A simple apology won’t make this go away!” I forced myself to stand, the sharp pain in my abdomen making me stagger. Ethan instinctively stepped forward: “Are you uncomfortable?” Then, thinking better of it, he looked at me with disgust: “Trying to play weak to avoid punishment? Kneel and apologize to Heather!” My heart turned completely cold: “I won’t admit to something I didn’t do!” Heather’s provocative expression intensified: “Fine, since Natalie won’t apologize, let’s have her mother from the nursing home kneel and beg for my forgiveness. Ethan, like mother like daughter! We need to solve this problem at its root!” Hearing her threaten to use my mother to make me submit, I couldn’t take it anymore and lunged forward to grab her throat: “She knows nothing about this. Don’t drag my mother into this!” The next second, Ethan violently pushed me away: “Have you lost your mind, Natalie? I told you to apologize to teach you a lesson, not to escalate your attacks on Heather!” I crashed heavily onto the floor, every bone radiating dense pain. “Go bring Natalie’s mother here!” My heart seized with panic. Looking up, I saw Heather’s increasingly smug expression. My eyes reddened: “My mother is my only family. You can’t touch her!” To break free from restraint, I bit down on Heather’s arm. Ethan was livid and flung me three meters away: “Natalie, will you ever stop!” I flew straight into the window, countless glass shards piercing my skin. Ethan instinctively took a step forward, but Heather rushed over to help me first: “When that old hag arrives, guess how I’ll torture her?” My heart raced with panic: “My mom is old. She can’t take any harm!” In my panic, I grabbed a fruit knife nearby and rushed at Heather. “Ah! Help!” Unexpectedly, Ethan blocked the woman. The bodyguards pinned me firmly to the ground. “I’ve been more than generous with you. What has Heather ever done to you? Look at yourself—you’re like a shrew!” Ethan’s eyes turned red with anger, pointing at my nose and roaring. But all I could think about was my mother’s uncertain fate. I cried my heart out: “I’ll apologize! Just don’t touch my mother, and I’ll kneel and apologize!”

And so, I knelt at the hospital room door, slapping myself over and over, saying “I’m sorry” repeatedly. People came and went through the corridor, excitedly watching the spectacle. My forehead kept hitting the marble floor, quickly becoming bloody. A flash of shock crossed Ethan’s eyes. He instinctively moved to pull me up. But Heather covered her nose in disgust: “Ethan, I just had a miscarriage and can’t stand the smell of blood. Make her get away!” Ethan hesitated for a moment, then issued his command: “She’s gone mad. Lock her and her mother in the private apartment to clear their heads!” Supporting my weak body, I was pushed into a dark room. My mother was curled up in a corner. My heart ached as I slowly pulled my mother into my arms: “Mom, don’t scare me. Open your eyes and look at me…” Seeing me, tears filled my mother’s eyes. Her aged hand caressed my cheek: “Natalie, leave him. I can’t burden you anymore.” Then, with a blade she’d found somewhere, she slashed her wrist. Blood gushed out. “No!” The person in my arms stopped breathing. I couldn’t help but scream loudly, my face full of hatred and despair, tears streaming down, nearly collapsing: “I’ll do whatever you say, Mom! Wake up!” Then Ethan knocked on the door: “What’s going on?” I screamed in agony: “I’m going to kill Heather! That murderer!” “So cold… Ethan, let’s go back to the hospital!” The woman fell into the man’s embrace, urging softly. Ethan’s eyes showed complex emotions as he instructed the bodyguards: “It’s cold at night. Turn up the bedroom temperature. Natalie just had a miscarriage and can’t handle the cold.” Heather shot a vicious look at the bodyguards. The bodyguard at the door immediately complied. The heat suddenly intensified. Sweat soaked through my clothes. When I smelled the rotting odor from my mother’s body, I completely broke down, pounding on the iron door with all my strength: “Let us out! Ethan, there’s something wrong with this air conditioning!” As my vision began to darken, my knees were scraped raw, and my whole body felt like the skin had been peeled off. In my ears was Ethan’s final warning: “Natalie, I’ll let you out when you’ve learned your lesson. Heather lost her child. You need to suffer before she’ll be satisfied.” I curled up, my whole body paralyzed by the heat on the floor. I used my last bit of consciousness to speak: “Ethan…” Before completely losing consciousness, I fell into a strong, powerful embrace. A man’s voice was low: “Go investigate everything that happened today thoroughly!” Meanwhile, when Ethan was taking Heather to the hospital for a checkup, he saw breaking news on the lobby screen. The video showed the apartment where Natalie was locked had suddenly exploded. Then dozens of charred bodies were carried out. Ethan suddenly saw the wedding ring he’d given Natalie now on one of the charred corpses! Countless strings seemed to snap in his mind. Panic swept through his entire body: “No way… Natalie has always been lucky. It can’t be such a coincidence!” He scrambled to the explosion site and grabbed a police officer’s arm: “My wife is still inside the apartment. Have all these victims been identified?” The medical examiner removed his mask: “You’re Natalie’s family, right? If nothing unexpected, her body is in the first-floor lobby.”

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