Category: English

I was the only princess of Royal St. Ashford Academy — the girl with four fathers. After my mother died, her four childhood sweethearts found me still alive inside her belly. And so I ended up with four fathers. My first father, Ethan Sterling, was the head of a hundred-billion-dollar dynasty. He was also the sole trustee of Royal St. Ashford Academy, holding absolute authority over the institution. My second father, Marcus Sterling, was the commander of the world’s largest private military corporation — his army could annihilate a small country with ease. My third father, Julian Sterling, was a universally recognized medical genius — the next Nobel Prize candidate. My fourth father, Liam Sterling, was the most feared legend in the underground fighting circuit — before he even turned seventeen, he had defeated thirty-three elite enforcers from criminal syndicates around the globe. I grew up drowning in the love of four fathers. No matter where I went, I was the center of everyone’s envy. Until the year I turned eighteen, when the four fathers’ shared daughter, Bianca White, was found and brought back. From that day on, these four men became entirely different people. Bianca said I’d verbally abused her. My second father injected me with a hallucinogenic drug — I stripped naked on the school rooftop like a lunatic and danced, then fell and shattered both my legs, missing prom entirely. A video of my naked dance spread across the school’s network in minutes. When my first father saw it, he locked me — a girl with severe claustrophobia — in a pitch-black closet for three days and three nights. When I came out, I discovered that every honor I’d ever earned at school had been transferred to Bianca. She said I’d poisoned her. My third father, Julian, locked me inside his deadly fungal cultivation chamber. I became the perfect host for every pathogen inside — fungal hyphae burrowed through my pores and into my organs. Only when I was on the verge of death did they pull me out and blast me under cold water for an entire night, barely saving my life. But my right eye lost all its vision permanently. After Bianca cried yet again, claiming I’d tricked her into going to a bar where she was nearly attacked by dangerous men, my first father flew into a rage and threw me into an underground bar — where I became the lowest of the low: a stripper. For three years, I went from defiance to submission — because on my eighteenth birthday, my virginity was stolen by eighteen filthy strangers. From that day on, I was reduced to nothing more than the cheapest whore. Whenever my door opened, I instinctively spread my legs and lay back on the couch. That’s when I heard a voice say: “Iris, would you like to come back to your mother?” …… I jerked my head up. There was no one in the room. But the voice came again — I spotted a glowing screen on the floor. An unfamiliar yet somehow warm face appeared on the small display. She said her name was Helen, my mother’s closest friend. She said my mother, Lillian, hadn’t actually died that day. She’d been poisoned — a rare toxin that induced a death-like state — and then smuggled away by people who owed her their lives. And now she knew I was alive. She wanted to bring me home. The grief and pain I’d been suppressing broke free — I sobbed, crying out that I wanted to find my mother. But Helen’s tone was tense. She said the Sterling family’s reach was too vast. If they discovered Mother was still alive, they would track her down. The only safe way was to make everyone believe I was dead. “Only when you ‘die’ will they stop looking for you. Our people will extract you after your ‘death.’ Your mother is waiting on the other side.” “Iris, even a faked death will be extremely painful — are you willing to —” Helen hadn’t even finished her sentence before I was on my feet, grabbing a shard of glass from the broken mirror and pressing it to my throat without a moment’s hesitation. *Yes!* Mother was alive! All I had to do was “die,” and I could see her. Overwhelming joy drowned out every fear of death — this body had already endured too much. If “death” was the only way to reach Mother, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But just as I was about to drag the glass across my skin, a massive force knocked it from my hand. The pain made me let go. The shard fell to the floor, and a foot stepped on it. “Iris, trying to kill yourself?” That familiar voice made me look up. When I saw who it was, I called out instinctively. “Fourth Father.” The moment the word left my mouth, I regretted it. Sure enough, the man’s brow furrowed at the title. “Don’t call me that. I cut ties with you a long time ago.” The person standing before me was Liam Sterling. When I was little, I’d been kidnapped by a rival family. He alone stormed into their compound, took three knife wounds without flinching, and carried me out without a scratch on me. After he rescued me, I cried so hard looking at his wounds that I couldn’t breathe. But he just ruffled my hair and said those cuts didn’t hurt at all. What hurt, he said, was watching me cry. Of the four fathers, the fourth was the one who loved me most. But that love vanished four years ago, when my second father Marcus brought an injured Bianca back from a school field trip. I’d always known my four fathers shared a single obsession — a woman they all loved. I just didn’t know that woman wasn’t my mother. It was Bianca’s mother, Celine White. The truth was something I’d pieced together fragment by fragment: my mother, Lillian, grew up alongside the four Sterling brothers. Their father had been destroyed by a corporate conspiracy — framed, bankrupted, driven to an early grave. It was young Lillian who hid the four boys, placing each with a different guardian, a different mentor. They grew into their own. With Mother Lillian’s help, they completed their revenge — Ethan reclaimed the family empire and cleared the Sterling name. Lillian and Ethan were supposed to be together. Childhood sweethearts — two hearts long promised to each other. But on the eve of the wedding, Celine White appeared. The moment she walked in, all four fathers’ eyes shifted. After that, they called Lillian “jealous” and “unstable.” They said she kept trying to hurt Celine. They said she eventually killed herself out of spite. After Mother’s death, Celine disappeared too. It wasn’t until Bianca appeared that the fathers learned — or thought they learned — the truth: Celine had left because she felt guilty about Lillian’s death. Honestly? I never believed any of it. My gut told me Mother wasn’t the villain. Celine was. But the fathers didn’t trust my instincts. The brothers didn’t either. They even thought I was just like my mother — petty, jealous, always competing for attention. So every time Bianca and I clashed, all eight of them stood on her side. Before long, I went from the most pampered princess of Ashford Prep to the lowest creature in an underground bar. My fourth father picked up the glass shard from the floor, glanced at the cut on my neck. Then his hand flicked, and the shard flew straight at me. I stumbled back two steps on instinct. The glass grazed my throat, leaving another thin red line. My fourth father let out a cold laugh: “If you really want to die, why’d you dodge?” “Iris, you’re just like your mother — always hurting yourself to get attention.” “At least she was smarter about it. She always performed in front of us. You picked this dump. Pathetic.”

I was about to explain that I wasn’t acting. But then I remembered — every explanation I’d ever given, they had never once listened. So I lowered my head. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Sterling. So what brings you all the way to a place like this — here just to watch my performance?” My fourth father paused. “Don’t flatter yourself. Today is Bianca’s birthday, and her heir designation ceremony. She recently said she’s willing to forgive you and start fresh. I’m here to bring you.” He added after a beat, “Ethan wants to see you too.” I’d heard three days ago that my first father, Ethan, was going to formally designate Bianca as the Sterling family heir — the ceremony timed to her birthday, complete with a grand gala. I was a year older than her. *Sterling heir* — that was a title my first father had promised me when I was ten. If this had been the old me, I would have torn the whole thing down before letting anyone take what was mine. But now I just looked at my fourth father, expressionless. “I don’t want to go.” My fourth father stared for a moment, then said: “This isn’t up to you.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me out the door, shoved me into his car. He drove me to his place first — made me shower, changed my clothes — then headed for the Sterling estate. In the car, my fourth father wouldn’t stop talking in my ear — telling me to be kind to Bianca, not to provoke her, not to think about bullying her. My heart ached with a dull, familiar pain. I watched the highway blur past outside the windows, faster and faster, and the desire to see Mother grew louder and louder in my head. Then I sat up, unbuckled my seatbelt, and at a hundred and forty kilometers per hour, I opened the car door. Before my feet left the car, I heard his scream. *At this speed,* I thought, *I’ll definitely die.* But the expected pain never came. Instead, I landed in a warm embrace. My fourth father had caught me. We tumbled across the gravel shoulder, rolling twice before stopping. His furious voice exploded above my head. “Iris, have you lost your mind?!” I looked at him. Blood from a gash on his forehead was streaming down his face. I instinctively reached out to wipe it away. But my fourth father recoiled in disgust, his expression turning vicious: “Can you stop playing these games? You just want to see if I still care, don’t you? Let me tell you — saving you means nothing. I’d save a stranger too. If I’d known this was your angle, I never would have jumped.” “Next time you want to die, go ahead. I won’t stop you.” My hand froze in midair. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the river beyond the highway guardrail. I let out a bitter laugh. “Fine, Mr. Sterling. Remember what you just said.” Before he could react, I was on my feet in an instant. Without looking back, I vaulted over the guardrail and threw myself into the water. My fourth father had nearly drowned in a swimming pool as a child. He was terrified of water. And after saying something that cruel, he definitely wouldn’t come after me. So when the freezing river water rushed into my nose, I felt happy. *Finally — once they think I’m dead, I’ll be free. I’ll get to see Mother!*

I don’t know how much time passed before the darkness lifted. Just as I was excitedly sitting up, thinking I’d find Mother, someone slapped me so hard I hit the floor. “You bitch! All we did was have you wash glasses and carry plates at the bar, and the second you see Liam, you pull this stunt! Do you know he almost drowned trying to save you?!” My third father Julian’s voice came from above me. His face was ashen. Behind him stood Julian, hands in his pockets, watching me like I was some incomprehensible stranger. Of the four fathers, I’d been closest with my third father. The others were always busy, so the daily task of raising and educating me had fallen to him. He taught me to read and write. Taught me chemistry. Taught me to identify plants and compounds. He was the gentlest of them all. No matter how badly I messed up, he was patient. Never once punished me. But my third father — who never even raised his voice around me — hit me the very first day Bianca arrived. That day, Bianca had touched Julian’s lab chemicals on her own. She insisted I’d put them on her. My third father took a belt and whipped me with it. “Iris, I failed you as a teacher. That’s why you turned out this reckless — toying with people’s lives.” Later, when Bianca was poisoned again, my third father force-fed me an allergenic compound, then threw me into his university lab’s hazardous materials room. Countless particles detonated inside my body. Even though Julian treated me afterward, I still lost all sensation in one leg. Seeing that I wasn’t speaking, my third father assumed I was conceding guilt. His anger deepened. He raised his hand to hit me again. But my fourth father caught his wrist just in time. “Julian, calm down. Today Bianca is being formally designated as Sterling heir — of course she can’t handle it. She’s already tried to kill herself three times in front of me.” *Tried to kill herself.* They thought I was suicidal. What they didn’t know was that every time they “saved” me, they were trapping me deeper. I glanced at my fourth father. He’d changed clothes. His wounds were bandaged. But his face was paper-white. I remembered what my third father had just said. So it really was him who’d saved me. But my fourth father couldn’t swim. I couldn’t imagine how much it had cost him to pull me out of that water. My third father scoffed. “Liam, she played you. You’ve been away the past four years — she’s pulled this act on us more times than I can count. It’s just to get attention.” My fourth father blinked, then exhaled a few seconds later as if relieved. “So that’s all it is.” Nolan pushed his glasses up and chimed in: “She’s always been like this. Last time she stood at the edge of the rooftop in the school’s main plaza, she had everyone fooled — students even filmed it and it went viral. Next day she was perfectly fine.” His tone was flat. As if he were describing the weather. My third father turned back to me. “Iris, today is Bianca’s birthday. You can throw your tantrum in front of the two of us, but don’t you dare make a scene in front of Ethan and Marcus. You know how those two are—” Before he could finish, I was already lunging for the medicine cabinet behind him. I’d lived at my third father’s place long enough to know exactly where he kept the dangerous drugs. I opened the cabinet, found the most toxic bottle inside. Took out the most lethal pill. Swallowed it without hesitation. My third father’s face went white.

The pill was bitter. But I was happy. My third father had once told me this compound had no antidote. Once I swallowed it, they would surely believe I was dead. And Helen’s people would come for me afterward. My third father froze for only a few seconds before rushing forward and shoving his fingers into my mouth. “Are you insane?! Do you even know what that was?!” He pried my jaw open, his fingers clawing at my throat. After I vomited it up, he immediately bound my wrists, pierced my artery, and let the black blood drain out. Only when the blood flowing from my body turned bright red did my third father finally breathe. “Iris, it’s just an heir title. Is it really worth dying over?” My fourth father looked even more shaken. He now truly believed I wanted to die — his voice was trembling. “Iris, stop doing this. Listen — yesterday the four of us talked to Bianca. She’s willing to forgive you. After today, you can come home. Ethan will make you co-heir. We’ll treat you like we used to, okay? Please stop trying to end it.” Hearing this, tears fell from my eyes. Both fathers thought I was moved. But the next second, I dropped to my knees before them. “Third Father, Fourth Father — I’m begging you. Stop interfering. Just let me go.” My third father exploded. “Iris, you don’t understand what we’re—” “I understand.” There was no point in hiding it anymore. “But I don’t want to go home. I want to find my mother.” I poured out everything — Helen’s call, the news that Mother was alive — all of it. Their expressions grew more complicated with every word. Finally, my third father helped me to my feet. “Iris, listen to me. Your mother is truly dead.” When Mother died, it was my first father who found her body by the lake. My third father used every ounce of his medical knowledge trying to save her. He failed. After the four of them delivered me from her body, they sat vigil over her for seven days and seven nights. They watched her body grow cold, stiff, and decompose with their own eyes. They watched her vanish from this world. My third father told me that phone call was most likely a scam, or a delusion born from trauma. It wasn’t. I was certain. It was real. But no matter what I said, they wouldn’t believe me. My third father sighed. “If you really don’t want to go home, then stay here with me. As long as you behave, I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” I was about to shake my head. Then urgent footsteps sounded outside the door. A moment later, my first and second fathers burst in, panic written across their faces. “Julian, Liam — have you seen Bianca? She’s missing!” Both fathers in the room went pale. “She was supposed to be at the estate preparing for the gala. What do you mean, missing?” My second father Marcus’s voice was strained. “It’s my fault. This morning she said she wanted to personally go to the bar to bring Iris back. She asked me for the bar’s address. I was busy with training, didn’t take her — she went on her own. It’s been two hours and she still hasn’t—” He stopped mid-sentence. All four of them seemed to remember something at once, and their eyes locked onto me in unison. Facing those familiar accusatory stares — the four fathers’ righteous certainty, the four brothers’ silent complicity — my heart sank. Before they could even voice their suspicion, I was already shaking my head. “No! It wasn’t me!” “How wasn’t it you?” My fourth father stepped forward and grabbed my throat. “No wonder you’ve been trying to die all morning — it was to cover your tracks. Where did you hide Bianca?” His grip was crushing. Between that and the cuts already on my neck, tears came almost instantly. But I kept shaking my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen Bianca.” When I wouldn’t confess, my fourth father’s fury surged again. “Still lying? Guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson before you’ll talk.” He grabbed my throat and dragged me into the bathroom. Shoved my head into the full bathtub. Up and down. Over and over. Water flooded my nose, choking out every breath. Just when I thought I’d drown, my fourth father stopped. He slammed me onto the tile floor and tilted my chin up with the tip of his shoe. “I’ll ask you one last time. Where is Bianca?” The truth was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. *Iris, when will you learn?* *They’ll never believe you.* *Since they’ll never believe you, you might as well push them over the edge.* *Make them kill you.* With that thought, a smile spread across my face. Casually, I said: “Bianca? Oh — I already killed her.” Sure enough, the moment those words left my mouth, all eight faces went white. The most unhinged was my first father, Ethan. His eyes turned red. “What did you just say? Iris, how could you—” “How couldn’t I?” I threw my head back and laughed. “Her mother killed my mother. She stole my place as heir. All my honors at school became hers. She became the campus Queen. Isn’t that enough reason to kill her? And I didn’t just kill her — I dumped her in the slums and let the dirtiest, most disgusting men have their way with her. You always thought she was so pure, so pristine? She’s dirtier than I ever was now!” “Are you angry? Then kill me!” My words pushed all eight of them past the breaking point. The fathers’ eyes blazed red. My first father called for restraints. My second father brought in his former black-market boxing sparring partner — a man who knew exactly where to hit for maximum pain with minimum lethality. My third father injected me with a drug to keep me conscious at all times, ensuring I’d feel everything, unable to pass out no matter how excruciating it became. They made sure I couldn’t escape into unconsciousness. With that done, my fourth father gave the signal. The pain began. I held on at first, but as the blows intensified, I couldn’t even scream anymore. The worse it hurt, the happier I felt. *Soon — if they just don’t save me this time, Helen’s people will come for me. I’ll get to see Mother.* The four fathers, desperate to find Bianca, ordered the men not to hold back. The four brothers followed them out — Cade was the last to leave, turning back once at the doorway, but he still left. They’d barely stepped outside when a housekeeper came running. “Mr. Sterling — Miss Bianca — she’s been found!” My first father tensed instantly. “Where?” “Alive.” The housekeeper caught her breath. “Miss Bianca got lost on the way to the bar, then stopped at a mall for a while. That’s why she never came back. She’s heading this way now.” My second father blurted: “She’s alive?” The housekeeper looked confused but nodded. “Yes, sir. Alive.” All four faces went white at the same time. They exchanged glances, about to speak. Then my agonized scream — raw and violent — tore through the door behind them. Everyone spun around and threw the door open. My scalding blood splattered across their faces. One of the men was holding a blade — buried squarely in my chest, right where my heart was. **[PAYWALL]**

The blade entering my chest hurt more than anything. I almost couldn’t stop the tears. But this way, they would surely think I was dead. Helen’s people would come for me. Through the haze, I watched everyone rushing toward me. My first father ripped off his jacket and pressed it to my chest to stop the bleeding. My second father kicked the man holding the knife clear across the room. My third father pulled emergency medication from his bag and forced it into my mouth. My fourth father just kept calling my name, over and over. “Iris — don’t close your eyes!” “Iris — Iris, look at me —” The desperate way they crowded around me reminded me of that time I’d had a fever as a child. It was Christmas. All four fathers had cleared their schedules to spend the holiday with me. I’d played in the snow too long and developed a raging fever. I refused to take medicine. The fathers sat around my bed for hours, coaxing me with every sweet word they had. Back then, they really were good to me. The best people in my world. Even after everything they’d done to me because of Bianca, I still remembered those days. I looked at each of their faces one more time — four faces, memorized one by one. Then I closed my eyes. A moment later, the pain dissolved. When I woke, I found myself back in my third father’s guest bed. My wounds were bandaged. All four fathers sat nearby, haggard, looking like they hadn’t slept in days. Bianca was perched at my bedside. When she saw my eyes open, she squealed, “She’s finally awake!” My third father came over to check my pulse. Once he confirmed it was stable, he told me flatly: “The blade didn’t actually reach your heart. It wasn’t as deep as it looked. Combined with the emergency medication keeping you alive, you were only unconscious for five days.” Five days. My third father had driven through the night to his mentor’s private clinic — and used the world’s only state-of-the-art nano-rescue system. All to save me. I laughed bitterly at the news. Such a priceless thing, wasted on me. After all, I was still planning to leave. The moment I got the chance, I would “die” for them again. My second father leaned in. “Iris, if you didn’t hurt Bianca, why didn’t you just tell us? Why go to such extremes and make everyone worry?” This triggered a chorus of agreement from the fathers. They took turns scolding me for being reckless. The only one who spoke up for me was Bianca. “Stop blaming her! It’s all my fault — I wanted to stop at the mall to buy her a gift and then got lost. If I’d gotten to her sooner, none of this would have happened.” Her eyes reddened as she spoke. My first father glared at me. “Iris, Bianca didn’t even celebrate her own birthday because she was worried about you, and this is how you repay her? Apologize. Now.” I almost laughed. “Apologize for what, exactly? What did I do to her? She got herself lost because she’s an idiot. She chose to skip her own party. How is any of that my problem?” The moment I finished speaking. My third father’s brow furrowed: “You’re still this stubborn? Forget the past few days — what about everything you’ve done to her over the years? Don’t you owe Bianca an apology for that?” The mention of “over the years” broke something in me. “No! I’ll say it one more time — I never hit her, never cursed her, never poisoned her, never sent anyone after her. She staged every single incident! She framed me! Why do you always believe her and let her take everything from me?!”

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“Stop! I said stop… I’m old enough to be your mother, you insufferable—ahh…” “Then teach me, my lady.” He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, my own Rosary beads tangled between his fingers and mine, and tilts my chin up with the other, forcing me to look at him. Twenty-five years old. Jaw carved from marble. Eyes dark with fever and want. *Want.* For me. A woman of forty-nine with aching knees and grey at her temples. “Blessed Virgin… this is a mortal sin… I’m going to burn in Hell for this…” “Then we burn together.” His pace is relentless. “I hate you,” I whimper. “You’re dripping down my thighs.” “I *hate* you!” “I’m not stopping until you scream.” I scream. Three times. — I am the Dowager Countess of Everwood. I came to rescue my granddaughter from an abduction. Instead, I ran headlong into the Lord Protector of the realm—drugged out of his mind and burning alive with poison. He pinned me down. One catastrophic night later: Me: ??? The Lord Protector: ??? — In my previous life, my granddaughter Eleanor was violated before her wedding. After the marriage, her husband bled her dry—funneled her entire dowry into his debts and made her raise his mistress’s bastard as her own. In the end, she was sent to a convent. She spent the rest of her days behind those cold stone walls, watching the man who destroyed her live a respectable life with another woman, raising children that should have been hers. No one came to visit. No one came to mourn when she died. Then I wake up. And I’m back. Back to the weeks before Eleanor’s wedding. I can’t stand by and watch history repeat itself. My legs ache—they always ache—but I grab my walking stick, and in the dead of night, I climb the stone steps up the hill to the abbey. I shove open the heavy oak door of the guest quarters. “Eleanor! I’m here, my child. I won’t let that beast lay a finger on you!” I remember it clearly. Last time, Eleanor went to St. Andrew’s Abbey for Mass, and the Lord Protector’s wretched attendant snatched her, dragged her to his master’s chambers, and threw her to him like medicine for a fever. Except—I’m early. The attendant hasn’t taken Eleanor yet. I’m the one the Lord Protector catches instead. A bare, scorching torso presses against me from behind. “So hot… help me…” God have mercy. I lost my husband at thirty. Nearly twenty years without a man’s touch. And now a boy barely past twenty-five has his arms locked around me like a vice. I grip my walking stick. My voice shakes. “Un—unhand me! I am the Dowager Countess of Everwood!” “Let go of me this instant—I’m old enough to be your *grandmother* in rank!” Roland of Leonhart. The Lord Protector of the realm. Forged in military campaigns, built like a battering ram, a face all hard angles and sharp authority. He commands the kingdom’s armies, controls the Privy Council, holds more power than any man alive. My words don’t make him let go. They make him tip my chin up with his fingers and seal his mouth over mine. “Shh… what are you mumbling about…” “Mmm… the scent on you… it’s… calming. Makes me feel safe…” Of course it does. Years of kneeling in chapel have soaked frankincense into my very skin. The rest is parchment and iron-gall ink from copying scripture. Naturally calming. But that is *not the point.* The point is: my name day is next month, and I will be *fifty years old.* I probably smell like dust and old lavender sachets. And he’s still kissing me? Blessed Virgin, how long has this man been starved? “Let… let go of me…” I thrash. My walking stick clatters onto the stone floor. But what chance does a woman pushing fifty have against a young man built like a warhorse? He scoops me up with one arm and sets me on the oak table. A heartbeat later, my flailing hands are bound—with my own Rosary. His voice, low and raw, rumbles against my ear. “Be good. Give yourself to me. I’ll take responsibility…” Holy Mother of God, that makes it *worse.* If he takes responsibility, how do I explain this to Henry—dead twenty years? To my thirty-two-year-old son? To my sixteen-year-old grandson and fifteen-year-old granddaughter??? What am I supposed to say? *Children, Grandmother found you a new grandfather. He’s twenty-five.* “I’d rather you just killed me.” His breath drops an octave. “My little witch… that can be arranged…” He rips the lacing clean off my kirtle. Strips of linen chemise fly everywhere and I—I lose my mind. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!” —

So. A woman of nearly fifty, ravished by the Lord Protector of the realm. All night long. Thank God I’ve taken care of myself. Tisanes, hippocras, regular walks up the hill to the abbey for Mass. Decades of discipline. Otherwise, he truly would have killed me. Somewhere around midnight, a knock sounds at the door. “Your Grace, the girl’s here. To help you break the fever.” What he hears in response is… not conversation. The sounds coming from inside that room are deeply, profoundly improper. Roland doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just turns his head and snarls: “Get out!” The attendant’s voice brightens with understanding. “Ah—Your Grace already has… company. I’ll return the young lady at once.” I try to call for help. “S-save… save me…” Roland clamps a hand over my mouth. “Don’t scream. I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He is… formidable. More formidable than Henry was on our wedding night thirty-four years ago. And Henry had been a young man then. We married at sixteen. By twenty-five, Henry was already flagging. By thirty, he left me altogether—went to meet his Maker. This kind of vigor? I’ve only ever read about it in those courtly romances. Lancelot, Tristan—none of them hold a candle. The pleasure is like nothing I’ve ever known. “How… how is this even possible???” Roland’s voice, husky and amused, brushes my ear. “You’re enjoying it too. Aren’t you?” That night, we are utterly shameless. The Rosary snaps. Beads scatter across the linen sheets, clicking softly, catching the firelight. That Rosary—my most treasured possession. Blessed by Father Benedict’s own hand. I used it every single day in prayer. At first, I can’t fight him. Later, I don’t want to. It is… magnificent. I never imagined—not at my age, with one foot already in the grave—that I could feel something like this. But beneath the bliss, a cold thread of worry coils in my chest. This man controls the kingdom. The Everwoods are respectable, yes, but we are no great house. If Roland decides to destroy us, it takes nothing more than a stroke of his pen. I can’t drag my family into this. So when he finally falls asleep, I peel myself free of his arms and slip away. The damage he’s done to my body is… considerable. I can barely stand. My walking stick trembles against the flagstones with every step. The stone stairs down the hillside are a special kind of torture. My legs buckle. My hips scream. The stick skids on the steps three separate times, and each time I nearly pitch forward into empty air. Somehow—somehow—I make it to the bottom. Agnes, my lady’s maid, waits by the carriage. “Milady, Lady Eleanor was returned safely. I’ve been waiting ages. You look dreadful—did something happen?” Eleanor is safe. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Agnes is still staring at me. I wave her off. “Nothing happened. I dozed off in the guest quarters, that’s all. Lost track of time.” “Eleanor’s safe. That’s what matters. Take me home.” In the carriage, I clench my hands together, close my eyes, and pray. *Holy Mary, have mercy on me… Holy Mary, have mercy on me…* Let no one ever learn of this. Not in this life. Not ever. But my mind won’t cooperate. It keeps replaying—his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the relentless way he moved— Henry. I try to summon Henry’s face. My husband. We were betrothed as children, married at sixteen, parted by death at thirty. I never remarried. Nearly twenty years. I swore at his coffin that no man would ever touch me again. Twenty years, I kept that vow. I thought Henry would be the only man I’d ever have. And now—practically in my grave—twenty years of faithfulness, shattered in a single night. “Henry… God rest your soul… I’m so sorry…” —

Back at the manor, I order the servants to fill the wooden tub with hot water in my bedchamber. No one stays in the room. I want to scrub this night off my skin. If I scrub hard enough, maybe it never happened. But the marks on my body tell a different story. They’re everywhere. Vivid proof of just how… vigorous he was. At my age. Nearly fifty years old. Handled like that. Heat crawls up my neck. My cheeks burn. I cross myself quickly and hiss under my breath: “Margaret Everwood, *shame on you.* You’re practically ancient. Stop thinking about it.” That night, I dream of Henry. He has his hands around my throat. “Margaret, you broke your vow!” “You swore on my coffin! You said there’d be no other man! You said we’d be buried together in the family crypt!” “I’ve been waiting for you in Heaven for twenty years. You won’t come down, fine—but you found yourself a twenty-five-year-old *lover?*” I grovel. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Henry—I didn’t mean to break my vow.” “He was too strong! I was forced, I swear—” Then Roland appears out of nowhere, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me upright before I can bow again. He kicks Henry square in the chest. Henry vanishes. “You’re a dead man. The living are none of your concern.” Then Roland covers my ears with his palms. Gently. Like I’m something fragile. “Margaret. Ignore that old ghost. Everything he said is nonsense. You deserve the finest man in the world.” I stare up at him, stunned. “The… finest man in the world?” That’s clearly himself he’s talking about. The audacity. I punch his chest. “Shameless! Absolutely shameless!” He tilts my chin up. Forces me to meet his eyes. “You love it when I’m shameless.” He kisses me. I wake drenched in sweat. Burning up. It’s barely spring. There’s no reason for this heat. “Agnes—draw a bath. Now.” The marks Roland left on my neck are impossible to hide. I lock myself in my chambers for days, waiting for them to fade. The official story: I caught a chill climbing to the abbey and came down with a fever. Eleanor is a good girl. Even when I refuse visitors, she comes to the door of my private chapel every morning to ask after me. Days pass. Agnes knocks gently. “Milady, Lady Eleanor came to see you again at first light. Shall I still turn her away?” I glance at the window. Pale light. Quiet grounds. No strangers at the gate. No one has come looking for me. Maybe it’s over. “Let her in. Tell her I’m much better.” Agnes beams. “Right away!” A moment later, Eleanor bursts through the door and throws herself around my legs. “Grandmother! You’re finally seeing me!” “I thought—I thought you were angry because I snuck out that day and you had to come all the way up the mountain to find me!” “I’m so sorry! It was my fault—I nearly got taken by those awful men! If you hadn’t come for me—” “Geoffrey would have been so upset!” Geoffrey Montfort. Eleanor’s betrothed since childhood. Heir to the Montfort duchy. A young knight who just earned his spurs before the king last year. The kind of man who rides off to the northern front the morning after his wedding. Leaving Eleanor alone to manage a crumbling estate. While he keeps a mistress across the border. Gets her pregnant. And the worst part? The entire Montfort household knows. They blame Eleanor for failing to produce an heir, then force her to raise the bastard under the polite fiction of a “ward.” —

Eleanor pours her dowry into the duchy’s debts. She raises her husband’s illegitimate child with patience and grace. She waits seven years. When Geoffrey finally returns from the wars, the first thing he does is petition the Ecclesiastical Court for an annulment—citing consanguinity, some thread of distant cousinship—so he can marry his mistress. And in open court, he announces that the child Eleanor raised as her own is his bastard. Always was. By then, the Everwoods are nothing. Our influence has withered, our halls stand empty, and not a single soul bothers to pay a courtesy call. Eleanor has no protector. She can’t fight a man riding the crest of military glory. She endures it in silence. Then she collapses. No one visits. No one sends for a physician. She lies alone in an empty room and closes her eyes for the last time. And I—her grandmother—live long enough to watch her buried. Every time I think about Geoffrey kneeling at the altar, playing the pious knight, when he was calculating how to strip us bare from the very beginning—every vow he made before God, a lie—my hands shake so badly I want to wrap them around his throat. But the Eleanor standing before me right now doesn’t know any of this. She doesn’t know her betrothed is a devil wearing a saint’s mask. I can’t tell her. Not yet. So I take her hands and smile. “Ellie, you’re still so young. And you’re my only granddaughter. I can’t bear to let you go just yet.” “Stay with me a little longer. Two more years. Can you do that?” Here’s what I know from the last life: the Montforts are drowning. That’s why Geoffrey pushes for the wedding. Once Eleanor arrives with her dowry, he’s free to ride north and chase glory. If I delay the marriage by two years, the Montforts won’t last six months. Their rot will show through for the whole world to see. Let’s see them come knocking on our door then. Eleanor blushes and nods, sweet as ever. “I want to stay with you too. If you hadn’t come for me that night, I don’t know what would’ve happened!” “Dear Grandmother, you saved my life. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll write to Geoffrey right now and tell him the wedding is postponed!” I pull her into my arms. “My dear girl. I haven’t loved you for nothing.” As long as Eleanor never sets foot in that den of wolves, she’ll never suffer what she suffered before. And if that nest of vipers goes bankrupt in the meantime? That’s not our problem. My son Thomas and his wife Catherine are thrilled when they hear the news. They come to see me together that evening. Thomas sits down and gets straight to the point. “Mother, did you hear something? Everyone’s whispering that the Montforts are practically ruined. The old duke’s war reputation is the only thing keeping up appearances. Their estate income can’t even cover household expenses—apparently the servants haven’t received their wages or livery allowances in months, and the pantry’s nearly bare. Eleanor insists on honoring the betrothal, but she’d be walking straight into misery.” Catherine nods, her brow creased with worry. “Eleanor is my only daughter. I won’t watch her suffer.” “This is perfect timing, Mother. Give it a couple of years, once Eleanor’s gotten over her stubbornness, we’ll find her a family that actually deserves her. She can stay right here by your side. Wouldn’t that be better?” Seeing them both on my side warms my old bones more than any fire. “Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.” Henry and I only had Thomas. I adored him from the day he drew breath. When his father died, Thomas was twelve. I raised him alone. His wife Catherine is a distant relation of mine—a merchant’s daughter, yes, but from a wealthy house. She’s gentle-natured, pious, well-mannered. A perfect match for my honest, upright son. In the previous life, Catherine and I nearly bankrupted ourselves for Eleanor. My dower. Catherine’s remaining dowry funds. We poured everything we had into keeping that girl afloat in the Montfort household. That’s the real reason the Everwoods fell so fast. This time, we will *not* let those leeches bleed us dry. —

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The day I was born, the midwife who touched me aged ten years in an instant. Every servant who made contact with me withered rapidly, their bodies collapsing into dried husks. The pack whispered I was a cursed thing—a creature that fed on life force itself. Father ordered me drowned in the lily pond. The moment they tossed me into the water, the pond dried up. Every water lily shriveled to ash. Fish and frogs became bone. Terror swept through the estate. Father’s face went from pale to green. Finally, he had me locked in the abandoned wing to die alone. I thought that would be my end. Then my sister Elara saved me. Every day, she’d slip me her own scraps—pastries, stew—feeding me through a wooden spoon so she wouldn’t touch my skin. Against all odds, I survived on Elara’s kindness. Mother and Father knew she was keeping me alive. They turned a blind eye. When I turned three, a traveling witch came through our territory. She cured my affliction. I finally became a normal pup. My parents breathed easier. They let me move out of the abandoned wing but still barely acknowledged my existence. Only Elara held me close, crying tears of joy. From then on, I followed her everywhere, her loyal shadow. But it didn’t last. When Elara turned eighteen, she was sent to the Inner Court to become the Alpha King’s consort. The day she left, Elara wiped my tears. “Don’t cry, Lyra. I’ll send for you soon.” I never saw her again. A year later, servants from the palace arrived carrying a coffin. Inside was Elara’s body. The head steward said Elara’s wolf had turned feral in the Inner Court—that she’d lost control during a shift, gone mad, and drowned in the lily pond. I didn’t believe a word. Elara perfect controlled over her wolf. She’d never lose herself to the beast. This was no accident. I tried to see her body. The attendant blocked me. “Insolent! This coffin was bestowed by the Alpha King. Once sealed, it must not be disturbed—any violation would be a grave insult to the Alpha!” I stared at that heavy black coffin, nails digging into my palms. A royal gift—a coffin that denied me even a final goodbye. How could I rest without seeing her one last time? That night, I slipped back to the mourning hall. Candles flickered. Two old servants dozed by the door, their voices drifting: “Such a waste. Lady Consort Elara was so beautiful. Only a year in the palace and she’s dead.” “I heard she crossed Luna Selene. They tortured her beyond recognition.” “Good gods. She died like that and the Alpha King did nothing?” “The Alpha allowed it. Otherwise, would Luna Selene dare? Hush! Walls have ears.” So Elara was murdered. Rage erupted in my chest like wildfire. I stormed into the hall, shoved past the servants, and pried open the coffin. A rotting stench hit me. I saw. Elara’s clothes were torn. Her body covered in blood. Trembling, I lifted her sleeve. Whip marks carved into her arms. Her fingers bent at unnatural angles. Her legs twisted—shattered, deliberately broken. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming. A single thought crystallized with absolute clarity: Luna Selene and the Alpha King will pay in blood. *** To get revenge, I had to enter the Inner Court. Soon, the Alpha King announced a new selection of consorts. I knelt outside Father’s study, begging to be sent. Mother and Father had only two daughters. With Elara freshly dead, Mother refused to let me go. She had me confined to my quarters. So I disguised myself and snuck out to the selection ceremony. The great hall was empty except for two figures behind silk curtains. Luna Selene’s voice dripped with mockery. “Another daughter from the Hale family. Your sister just died, and here you are. Does your family think the Inner Court brings good fortune?” Each word a needle, aimed to wound. I kept my head down, voice steady. “What happened to my elder sister is a loss to our family. I come only to serve, with no expectations beyond that.” Selene laughed coldly. “But I’ve heard you were born cursed. That you drain the life from anyone near you. And you dare present yourself here?” I stayed calm. “Curses are nothing but superstition. My sister was known throughout the pack as blessed—before she entered the palace.” Behind the curtains, Selene’s breath caught. The Alpha King, who had been silent until now, let out a soft laugh. Then a pale hand parted the curtains. He was younger than I’d imagined. Sharp features, cold eyes that studied me with curiosity and something darker—amusement. He watched me for a long moment, then spoke, his tone light. “Interesting. Since you’re here, you might as well stay.” Just like that, I was accepted into the Inner Court and assigned to Moonward Hall—one of the residences closest to the Alpha King’s own chambers. That very night, Kael took me to his bed. The entire encounter was mechanical, cold, devoid of feeling. Yet utterly inescapable. I closed my eyes, swallowed my nausea, and buried my hatred deep. Afterward, he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he leaned against the headboard, watching me. “Aren’t you afraid?” I knew what he meant. Elara had died here. Was I not terrified of becoming another corpse in the Inner Court? I met his gaze. Kael’s eyes held no emotion. Only pure, detached curiosity. I lowered my lashes and leaned into him. “Alpha, to serve you is my greatest honor. My sister simply lacked the fortune to enjoy such privilege.” He studied me in silence, then let out a low laugh—impossible to read. Then he moved, sliding something off his own wrist. A bracelet. Blood-red, with thread-like patterns swirling inside it, glowing faintly in the candlelight. He slipped the bracelet onto my wrist. It fit perfectly. The crimson looked striking against my skin—beautiful and ominous. “Wear it. Don’t lose it.” “Thank you, Your Majesty.” I touched the cold, heavy weight at my wrist and bowed my head. Kael said nothing more. He rose and left. Within days, the Alpha’s Decree arrived. Kael elevated me to the rank of Lady Consort—skipping every rank between me and a nameless selection candidate. Overnight favor. Unprecedented elevation. In the Inner Court, this kind of attention was rare. I stared at the blood-red bracelet on my wrist, a chill settling in my bones. This wasn’t favor. This was Kael painting a target on my back. Sure enough, the next morning, Selene arrived. Selene swept into my chambers in full regalia, frost in her gaze. “Sister, you have quite the talent,” she said, her smile cutting like ice. “One night, and you’re already a ranked consort. It seems the women of the Hale family are gifted at servicing men.” The servants held their breath, frozen in terror. I stood and offered a respectful bow. “You flatter me, Luna. The Alpha praised how fresh and appealing I am—the perfect age. Unlike you, who has served him for years. That must be exhausting.” Selene’s smile froze. Fury flashed across her carefully maintained face. “You—” Her voice choked. Then her eyes landed on my wrist. Disbelief flickered across her features, followed by deeper rage. She lunged forward and grabbed my arm. “Why do you have this bracelet?!” Her voice turned shrill, dripping with jealousy. “He gave you this? You filthy little bitch—you don’t deserve to wear it!” She reached to tear it off my wrist. I yanked my arm back, hard and decisive. Selene stumbled forward, nearly crashing into a flower stand. She caught herself, trembling with rage. “How dare you!”

I feigned surprise, looking at Selene with wide, innocent eyes. “Luna, this was a gift from the Alpha. How could I give it to anyone else?” “A gift?” Selene sneered, looking me up and down. “Your sister was far more favored than you, and he never gave her anything like this.” I met her contemptuous gaze. “Luna is right,” I said evenly. “But the Alpha placed this on my wrist himself. If you truly believe I’m unworthy, feel free to ask him directly.” “You—!” Selene’s face twisted. She clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back repeatedly. Her hand flew toward my face. “Bitch! How dare you speak to me this way!” I dodged before she could strike, then slapped her across the face in return. Crack! The sound echoed through the empty hall. Selene’s head snapped to the side, her ornate headpiece trembling violently. She froze, as if unable to believe what had just happened. Several heartbeats passed before she slowly turned back. A vivid handprint was already blooming across her pale cheek. Selene touched her face, eyes widening. The rage in them could have set the room ablaze. Her voice came out strangled, shrill. “Hold this insolent bitch down!” Two burly servants rushed forward, twisting my arms behind my back and forcing me to my knees before Selene. I struggled but couldn’t break free. Selene crouched in front of me, prying at my fingers. Bones cracked under the pressure. The pain was blinding. My grip finally loosened. She ripped the bracelet off my wrist, examined it briefly, then raised it high and hurled it at the floor. The blood-red bracelet shattered on impact, breaking into several pieces. Tiny shards scattered, slicing into my ankle. Selene picked up the largest fragment and pressed it against my cheek. “Your sister probably caught his eye with this face too. And what good did it do her? She died without even an intact corpse. You’re even more shameless than she was…” Her voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Tell me—if I destroy this face of yours, will the Alpha even glance at you again?” I knelt there, arms wrenched back, unable to move. I could only tilt my head to look up at her. The Alpha had said he’d visit after morning council. Calculating the time, he should arrive any moment now. This performance between Selene and me needed an audience—the Alpha himself. I looked into Selene’s eyes and smiled, deliberately provocative. The smile made her eye twitch. Fury deepened. She raised the shard, ready to carve into my face. Just then, a voice called from outside: “The Alpha approaches—”

Selene panicked, clearly not expecting Kael at this moment. I seized the opportunity to wrench free from the servants, collapsing to the floor in tears, playing the picture of wounded innocence. Selene quickly tossed the shard aside and hurried to Kael, her voice instantly taking on the perfect tone of grievance. “Alpha!” She bowed low, her fingertips trembling as she pointed at me. “Thank the moon goddess you’re here! Lady Consort Lyra has been utterly brazen! I merely came to teach her proper etiquette, but not only did she refuse to listen—she struck me!” She turned her face to display the handprint fully, her eyes reddening on cue. “I was so shocked that I had my servants restrain her briefly, but she fought back and destroyed the gift you bestowed. I was terrified, not knowing how to explain this to you, Alpha.” She lowered her head, shoulders trembling slightly, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice and fright imaginable. Kael said nothing at first. His gaze fell on the shattered bracelet, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly scanned past Selene before finally settling on me. I sat crumpled on the floor, hair disheveled, clothes torn from struggling. My appearance alone told the story. At times like this, admitting fault always earned more sympathy than explanations. I lifted my face, tears spilling without warning. I sniffled, voice choking. “The Luna is right. It’s all my fault.” I buried my face deeper, shoulders hunching. “She asked for the bracelet, and I should have removed it immediately and offered it with both hands. It was a royal gift—I’m not worthy of wearing it. It should belong to the Luna. I shouldn’t have tried to keep it, which angered her and caused the bracelet to break…” My voice cracked with emotion, head bowed lower. “Everything is my fault. Alpha, please don’t blame the Luna. I’m willing to accept any punishment.” Selene clearly hadn’t expected this response. She pointed at me, furious words escaping. “You lying bitch! What nonsense are you spouting?!” She turned to Kael, trying to explain. “Alpha, she’s lying! She broke the bracelet herself—” “Enough.” Kael cut her off. He strode forward and stopped before me, pulling me to my feet. My legs were still weak. I could barely stand without leaning against his arm for support, but my tears fell even harder. Kael looked at Selene, his tone flat. “Selene, have I not given you enough royal gifts?” Selene trembled violently, her legs giving out as she dropped to her knees. “Alpha, please see clearly! She struck me first! I only retaliated! The Inner Court has always punished those who act above their station. I’ve managed these halls for years—never have I been…” Kael interrupted again, impatience creeping into his voice. “You destroyed a royal gift and administered private punishment. Which of these actions befits someone managing the Inner Court?” Selene’s composure shattered completely. “Alpha! I’ve always followed protocol! Today I was simply provoked by this bitch—” “Issue the decree,” Kael said, not even looking at her anymore. He turned to his head attendant. “Luna Selene has acted improperly and failed to maintain decorum. Effective immediately, she is confined to Everspring Hall for reflection. Without my direct order, she is not to step outside its gates.” “Alpha!” Selene’s voice broke in a cry of disbelief. But Kael had already turned away, his arm still supporting me as his voice softened. “Are you frightened? Return to your chambers and have the healers examine you.” His tone held no particular emotion, but the protective intent was unmistakable. I was half-guided, half-carried back into the inner hall. Behind us, Selene’s suppressed sobbing echoed. I lowered my eyes, a satisfied smile curving my lips. Luna Selene—this is only the beginning. Everything you did to my sister, I’ll repay a thousand times over.

That night, Kael returned to Moonward Hall. By candlelight, his gaze fell on my bandaged ankle. He gently stroked my hair. “Does it still hurt?” His voice was tender. I shook my head, lowering my eyes. “Thank you for your concern, Alpha. It’s nothing.” He smiled and pulled something from his sleeve, taking my hand and sliding it on. Cold and heavy. Another blood-red bracelet. This one was even deeper in color than the morning’s—so dark red it was nearly black. Under the candlelight, it looked like flowing blood. “Do you like it?” He traced my wrist with his thumb. I looked up, forcing a delighted smile. “Anything you give me, I treasure, Alpha. This color is so unique.” “Good.” He seemed pleased with my reaction, leaning down to kiss my forehead. Then he rose from the bed. “Since you like it so much, let me show you something interesting.” My heart skipped. “It’s so late. Where are we going, Alpha?” “Somewhere fascinating.” Kael pulled on his outer robe and wrapped me in a heavy cloak. He called no servants to follow. Taking only a dim horn lantern, he led me out through Moonward Hall’s back entrance. Night lay thick around us. The palace paths were silent. He guided me through a maze of turns until we reached a derelict courtyard with an abandoned well. He pressed several spots along the well’s edge. A stone slab shifted aside, revealing descending stairs. A dank, moldy stench mixed with the smell of blood rushed up to meet us. My heart pounded in my chest. Kael descended first, lantern in hand. After a short while, the space opened up. It was a massive underground chamber. The center held a sunken circular arena. Around it rose stone tiers with crude seating. Not a palace hall—a fighting pit. The place was empty now. Strange torture implements hung on the walls, some still bearing dark brown stains. “What is this?” My voice came out dry as I clutched the cloak tighter. “One of my… recreational spaces.” Kael led me to the high seats, his tone casual. “Occasionally I watch performances here. Very entertaining.” He clapped lightly. From the far end, a group of shackled prisoners were dragged out by guards on iron chains. About ten people, skeletal and covered in overlapping scars—old and fresh. My gaze locked onto them. Not just scars. Their wrists and ankles were bent at unnatural angles, swollen grotesquely. Several dragged broken legs as they moved. My breathing grew ragged. Rage swelled inside me. Those whip marks. Those deliberate breaks. Identical to the wounds on Elara’s body. I whipped my head toward Kael. He leaned on one hand, watching the prisoners with interest. Even pleasure. “Do you know, beloved,” Kael said suddenly, looking at the bracelet on my wrist, “How this treasure was made?” I shook my head stiffly, throat tight, unable to speak. Kael smiled. “With their blood. Cultivated through a special process.” The moment he finished speaking, a guard in the arena swung an iron rod, smashing it into a prisoner’s kneecap. The crack of bone echoed clearly. A raw, ragged scream followed. I sat beside him, watching this hellish scene unfold. My blood felt frozen. Hatred more intense than ever before consumed me. Now I understood. There was no losing control. No accidental drowning. All lies. Every wound on Elara’s body, every break, every moment of terror and pain—it all started here. The one who truly killed Elara, who tortured her to death, was Kael.

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Thanksgiving weekend was finally here, and my attorney husband had finally agreed to take the family on a trip. But right as we were about to board, Derek still hadn’t shown up ！ him or Lily. Just a text. [Legal heavyweight Nathan Rhodes is meeting with our firm about a partnership. Bringing Lily along. Go enjoy yourself.] Then a voice message from Lily, bright and breathless: “Mom, he’s like my absolute idol! I really want to go!” Looking at the two of them, so sincere and united, I said one word. Fine. Then I called my childhood best friend to come pick me up. The second I saw Nathan, I smiled. “Shouldn’t you be sitting across from my husband right now?” — Nathan stared at me, completely lost. I shook my head, said nothing, and pulled open the passenger door. “Draw up a divorce agreement for me later. But first ！ we’re catching my husband in the act. He’s having an affair.” Nathan didn’t ask twice. He floored it straight to Derek’s firm. The place was locked up. Dark. Not a soul inside. A clerk from the convenience store next door leaned out: “Looking for someone, ma’am? It’s Mr. Gould’s anniversary today ！ he rented out the entire Hartley Estate. Everyone from the firm is there celebrating.” Nathan glanced at me, one brow raised. “Looks like you’ve got it wrong. Derek’s planning a surprise for you.” Looking at Nathan’s teasing expression, I couldn’t even manage a smile. “Today is not our anniversary.” His expression froze. My fist tightened. “Hartley Estate. Now.” — We pulled up to the gate. I pushed the car door open and made it two steps before security moved to block us. I stared through the lit windows at the silhouettes shifting inside the ballroom. My fist tightened further. “I need to find someone in there.” One of the guards let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Got an invitation? No? Then get lost. Tonight is attorney Derek Gould and Miss Lara Sutton of Hartwell Group’s anniversary. Don’t come here starting trouble.” “Hartwell Group?” Nathan turned slightly, lowering his voice, something caught in his tone. “Isn’t that also！” Lara Sutton. The name snagged. I’d heard it before ！ Derek mentioned her constantly. Called her his buddy. I didn’t bother arguing with them. I reached back into the car and pulled out the Hartley Estate membership card. The second they saw it, all three of them straightened up. They stepped aside without a word, eyes trailing us as we walked through. I pushed open the ballroom doors. It was loud inside. Crowded. I spotted them immediately. Lara bent forward with one hand braced on the table, Derek standing close behind her, a balloon trapped between them. The crowd was pounding the tables, egging them on. “Didn’t Lara just say Derek’s favorite position is from behind? So the dare is ！ pop the balloon between them, no hands. Go!” Derek had always been so proper. In all our years of marriage, we’d barely been intimate ！ and every time I brought it up, he told me I was being inappropriate. I was sure he’d be furious. Instead, he reached forward, placed his hands on Lara’s hips, and guided her into a bend. Lara trapped the balloon between their bodies. Derek pressed himself flush against her, and the balloon buckled and warped under the pressure. The room got louder. Whistles cut through the air. Phones went up, recording everything. Something snapped in me completely. I shoved through the crowd and drove my foot into Lara hard. She went down with a sharp cry. Derek didn’t even look to see who it was. He was already crouching to pull her up, face twisted with fury as he raised his eyes ！ And then he saw me. He went still. “How are you back?”

Over in the corner, Lily had been playing with other kids. The moment the commotion started, she quietly slipped behind Lara. I stared at Derek’s hand still holding Lara’s arm. “An anniversary,” I said, my voice cold. “With another woman. Derek, what exactly do you think I am?” The room went dead silent. People exchanged glances. Someone whispered: “Wait ！ who’s the other woman here?” Another: “Gould’s really out here like this?” The murmurs rippled through the room, and something shifted uncomfortably across Derek’s face. Lara looked up at Derek like the whole world had just wronged her. “Derek…” He seemed to make a decision. He looked at me and his voice went hard: “Are you done? I’ve told you ！ we’re over. Stop showing up and making scenes.” I stared at him. “When did we end?” “Stop playing dumb!” His voice cracked upward. “You’re the one who said it was over! I have a wife now, a family ！ why won’t you leave me alone?” I pointed at Lara. Then at myself. A laugh rose in my chest ！ the kind that isn’t funny. “Derek. Look at my face. Tell me who I am. Tell me who Lily’s mother is.” Nathan stepped forward. “You’ve got this wrong ！ Chloe is still your wife！” “Who the hell are you?” Derek cut him off. “This is between me and Chloe Quinn. Stay out of it.” He turned back to me, impatient. “Chloe, I’m telling you ！ walk away. Don’t embarrass yourself. My wife Lara is Nathan Rhodes’ own prot└g└e and the daughter of Hartwell Group. You cannot touch her.” Nathan went very still. I looked at him. He looked at me. He shook his head slowly. The whispers sharpened around us. Eyes shifted toward me with something ugly in them. “So she’s the ex who won’t let go…” “She seemed so put-together. How does someone have that little self-respect?” “Poor guy. Having to deal with someone like her still chasing after him…” Lara moved in at exactly the right moment, draping an arm around Derek’s shoulder, positioning herself between us like she was shielding him. “Lady, Derek has already told you. He wants nothing to do with you.” She turned to the room, her voice dropping into something soft and aggrieved. “The past is the past. Derek and I have a child, a home. Please stop disrupting what we have.” I stared at the two of them, rage burning straight through me. I closed the distance in one step and slapped her across the face. The crack rang through the entire ballroom. Every person in the room went rigid. Lara pressed her hand to her cheek and turned to Derek, her eyes filling on cue. “Derek!” Derek’s face changed instantly. “Hold her down!” Two guards in black suits exploded from the corners of the ballroom, seizing me by both arms and forcing me to the ground. My knees cracked against the hard marble floor and I hissed through my teeth at the impact. “Have you lost your mind?” I thrashed against their grip, screaming up at him. “I am your wife! You’re doing this for her?” Derek said nothing. His eyes had gone red. He turned, grabbed a wooden chair from the nearest table, raised it above his head, and brought it down across my back with everything he had. The pain tore a muffled cry from my throat. My back blazed. He wasn’t done. He stepped forward and drove his dress shoe into my side ！ once, again, again. Nathan fought his way through and lunged to intervene. Another guard slammed him to the ground before he could reach me. “Derek Gould, stop it! She is your wife!” Nathan’s voice tore from the floor. Derek kicked harder. Then I coughed, and tasted blood ！ and caught a flash of movement as Lily came sprinting through the crowd toward me. “Don’t you dare hurt my mom!”

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At the graduation ceremony, I exposed my husband’s affair with a female student in front of everyone. Unable to bear the humiliation, she threw herself from the eighteenth floor to prove her innocence. I became the one they blamed for her death. The guilt broke me — severe depression. I climbed to the rooftop more times than I could count, ready to pay with my life. Every single time, it was Liam who pulled me back — arms locked around me, voice low and steady against my ear. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll stay with you. Always.” Even as the world turned against me, he stood in front of me and took the blows. “Ava is my wife. Whatever she carries, I carry too.” Slowly, I began to wonder if I’d been wrong about the two of them from the start. Then Stella’s letter arrived. I shattered completely. [Ava, I’m sorry. Liam and I lied to you.] [We staged the whole thing — provoked you into a scene, then faked my death to disappear. Ten months later, I gave birth to his child.] [We had to protect the baby. We had to protect my reputation. You were the only option. I’m sorry it had to be you.] That night, my hands shook as I reached for the sleeping pills. I was crying as I forced them down my throat, handful after handful. Liam jolted awake. He lunged across the bed and pried my jaw open, fingers digging deep. “Spit it out — Ava, spit it out right now!” The pills came up in a mess of saliva. He held me so tight I couldn’t breathe, his tears hitting the back of my hand one after another. “Don’t leave me. Please.” I said nothing. My eyes dropped to his neck. There was a mark there — vivid, unmistakable. He followed my gaze and went pale. His hand flew up to cover it, yanking his collar higher. By morning, I stood in front of the mirror. The person looking back at me was hollowed out — skin and bone, dull eyes, hair tangled like weeds. For over six months I’d been folded into the dark corners of this apartment, not living so much as enduring. Outside the door, reporters waited with their cameras like hunters at a blind. “Stella was young and brilliant. You’re weak and pathetic — can’t even have children. What else do you have besides jealousy?” “You drove a rising star to her death with your dirty tricks. You’re a monster.” “Professor Harmon must have the worst luck alive, ending up with someone like you.” Even taking out the trash earned me eggs and gravel from god knows where, hurled with gleeful hatred. Only Liam never wavered. He fed me my medication without complaint. He taught himself to cook, badly at first. He held my hand through every nightmare, all night long. I had believed he was my salvation. My cure. Now the cold words from Stella’s letter crashed back into me. [Don’t blame Liam, Ava. He’s been suffering too — I’m the only one who brings him any comfort.] [Just hold on a little longer. Once the dust settles, I’ll tell everyone the truth. That you never pushed me.] I put on a mask and a cap and quietly followed Liam to a hidden apartment on the outskirts of Chicago. The sunlight hit my eyes like a slap — I’d forgotten what it felt like. The door eased open. He slipped inside with the easy familiarity of someone returning home, his face soft in a way I hadn’t seen in months. But I still saw her. Stella Knox, holding a baby almost a year old, laughing like she owned the world. Everything in the letter was true. My legs nearly gave out. I pressed my palm flat against the wall, my other hand balling into a fist. Before I turned eighteen, my body was whole. Then I went looking for Liam — he’d been taken. I found him, but a rusted blade caught me across the lower abdomen during the struggle. We had no money. All we could afford was the cheapest antibiotics from a back-alley clinic. I crouched on that filthy bathroom floor and tried to hold myself together while everything fell apart inside me. By the time a real doctor found me, I was already delirious with pain. When I came to, I was told the damage was permanent. My uterus — destroyed beyond repair. I would never carry a child. Liam held me and wept until he couldn’t speak. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry, Ava. I will fix this. I swear I will fix this.” He meant it. He went into medicine because of me, pushed himself until he became the youngest professor his department had ever seen. He swore he would find a way. But then, at the top of his field, he met Stella — another prodigy in medicine. He told me he was away at a conference. He was gone for ten months. And when he came back, she had his child. He had let me rot under the weight of a lie while building a life with someone else. A laugh tore out of me — low, broken, unhinged. My whole body shook with it. Tears and snot streaked down my face. I must have looked insane. It was dark by the time I turned and walked home. Liam still hadn’t come out. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and went straight to his study. I found the experimental vials in the back of the cabinet. For nearly a decade, Liam had claimed he was researching a therapy to restore my reproductive system. Every trial had failed. Every subject who took it died of cardiac arrest. I uncapped one without hesitating and swallowed it.

The glass vial slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. A searing heat tore through my throat. I felt none of it. I stepped over the broken glass in bare feet and walked out into the pouring rain. I don’t know how I ended up outside Stella’s building, but I did. My phone buzzed. I lit up the screen. [Ava, I’m working late tonight. Remember to take your meds.] But Liam’s car was parked right in front of me. I didn’t reply. I stood in the rain until almost dawn, barely conscious. The door finally opened. The two of them were tangled together like they couldn’t stand to separate. Stella pressed her lips to his temple. “I don’t want you to go. Can’t you stay a little longer?” Liam held her close, his voice gentle in a way that turned my stomach. “I’ll be back in a few days. I promise.” Something in me broke. I ran at them. Before I could get within reach, I was shoved hard to the ground. Liam looked down and saw me. His pupils contracted. “Ava — how did you—” I was shaking so badly I could barely point. “She’s supposed to be dead.” He went rigid. Then his expression tightened. “Is that what you wanted? To actually watch her die? This is where she’s been staying with the baby. Stop making a scene — we’ll talk at home.” He reached for my arm. Stella dropped to her knees behind him, eyes red. “Liam, I’m the one who told her the truth. I couldn’t stand watching you suffer because of me. This is all my fault. I don’t need any claim on you. Riley can take a different name — or I’ll go back up to the eighteenth floor right now if that’s what it takes—” Liam’s face drained. He turned and caught her, holding her like she was made of glass. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” Then he looked back at me, and something in him went cold. “Ava. Are you done?” “I’ve spent six months walking on eggshells for you because of your depression. I’ve barely seen Stella at all. And you still can’t let it go.” The pain in my chest had nothing to do with the vial. I scrambled up and lunged forward. “You don’t have a heart — neither of you do!” He shoved me back down, harder this time. “At least I have a heart to give. You were so obsessed at eighteen that you got yourself gutted in an alley. You’re broken, Ava. You’ve always been broken.” He saw my face go white. Something flickered behind his eyes. His mouth opened. But what came out was: “How dare you call us heartless. I just wanted a child. What did I do wrong?” “Stop using your depression as a weapon. Stop threatening to die every time you don’t get your way. Stella will clear your name.” ‘You’re getting a child out of this — Riley will be yours to raise. You’re still my wife. What more do you want?” Tears fell from my face and hit the wet pavement. I turned and ran. That’s when Liam finally looked down. My feet were bare and shredded. A trail of blood marked every step I’d taken. He caught up and grabbed me, steadying me whether I wanted it or not, ignoring Stella calling his name behind us. I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten. “Whatever else happens, we’re getting those feet cleaned up.” The car was silent the whole way. At a red light, he took my hand. His voice dropped. “Ten years, Ava. You are the one I love. I know I broke your trust and I know that’s not a small thing. But in a few months, Riley will come live with us. I’ll cut things off with Stella completely. We can start over.” Riley. His child with her. I stared at my lap and said nothing. His phone rang. Stella’s voice, breathless and scared. “Liam, the baby won’t stop crying. She’s burning up. I don’t know what to do—” He hit the brakes so hard my head cracked against the window. He turned to look at me, and his tone left no room for argument. “You’re not far from home. Get yourself inside. And don’t breathe a word about Stella being alive to anyone.” I met his eyes. “And if I do?” His patience ran out in an instant. His voice went flat. “Don’t forget. Your mother is still in the hospital.”

I laughed — a hollow, gutted sound — and stepped out of the car. I’d almost forgotten. After Stella’s faked death, her father had shown up at our door with a canister of acid. My mother pushed me out of the way. It took him instead. She’d been in the hospital ever since. In the rearview mirror, Liam caught one last glimpse of my silhouette — gaunt, soaked through — and felt something snag in his chest. Then Riley’s crying pulled him back, and he drove away. I watched the taillights dissolve into the rain. Something ran into my eye. Hot. Then the sting hit. I pressed my fingers to my face. They came back red. Before I could process it, the compound in the vial detonated through my bloodstream. The world tilted. Then it went sideways entirely. I hit the ground and dragged myself to the nearest wall, fingers scrabbling at the wet concrete. My heart felt like it was being wrung apart. It was a long time before Liam called. His Porsche split the rain and lurched to a stop in front of me. He pulled me up, and when he saw my forehead — still bleeding — his expression shifted. “We need to get that cleaned. I’m taking you in.” He drove fast. The hospital was lit and white and loud. Once my wounds were dressed, he led me by the hand down a corridor and stopped outside a set of surgical doors. He held out a consent form. I stared at it. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His voice came out rough. “Stella went into acute kidney failure. Riley can’t lose her right now. We can’t wait.” “Riley is going to call you Mom someday. You owe Stella this. One kidney isn’t a death sentence — think of it as making things right.” So this was why he’d come back for me. I didn’t move. He frowned. “The dressing already cost us time. If something happens to Stella, your mother’s treatment—” I cut him off quietly. “Fine.” “But you cover every cent of my mother’s ongoing care. All of it. Up front.” I turned and pushed through the surgical doors before he could respond. He stood watching my narrow frame disappear inside a gown three sizes too large. Something twisted in his stomach. From the adjacent table, Stella coughed — weak, deliberate. He was at her side in an instant, hand over hers. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.” The anesthesia needle went into my arm. That’s when I heard the surgeon hesitate. “Mr. Mercer — her vitals are very poor. There are signs of cardiac distress. Forcing a donation right now could trigger acute shock. Honestly, Stella’s condition isn’t yet critical enough to—” Liam laughed, short and sharp. “Did Ava put you up to this? Her health has always been fine. I’m a doctor — don’t tell me about cardiac distress. Your job is to make sure Stella comes out of this intact. Everything else is secondary.” The dull, grinding pull of extraction began. He crossed to my side only once, leaning in close. “Almost done, Ava. Just a little longer.” I didn’t have the strength to form an answer. When consciousness finally left me, the last things I heard were the flat scream of the cardiac monitor, shoes running on linoleum, and Liam’s voice — sudden, frantic, stripped of everything controlled. Three days later, I opened my eyes. Two nurses were murmuring just outside the curtain. “That woman in the next bay is so lucky — her husband is there every night. Changes her dressings himself, sleeps in the chair.” “And he’s gorgeous on top of everything. Some people really do have it all.” “Then there’s this one. Lost a kidney, nearly died, and not a single visitor.” I pressed my nails into my palm until it hurt. The door opened. Liam walked in carrying a thermos. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Is anything hurting?” He ladled soup and lifted the spoon to my mouth with practiced ease. I turned my head away. His hand stalled. Irritation surfaced behind his eyes. He set the bowl down on the nightstand with a crack. “What is your problem? I went through all this trouble and you can’t even—” “I lied to you once. Once. And I was trying to give you a family — something you could never give yourself. Can you not be reasonable about this for five minutes?” I thought about what the nurses had said. “I heard you’ve been making Stella bone broth every day. Your choice of cut, her choice of what she’s in the mood for.” I looked at him steadily. “The fat’s already congealed on top. This is what’s left over. I don’t eat other people’s leftovers, Liam.” His face went rigid. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. What came out was: “You’re being completely irrational.” “I’ll come back tomorrow.” The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame. Tomorrow didn’t come. Neither did the day after, or the one after that. My body grew weaker by the hour. Then a call came in. When I heard what they said, the world went silent. I threw off the blankets and ran — down the corridor, through the double doors at the end, into the room I never wanted to see. My mother was lying there. Cold. Still. Her fingers still curled around a letter she hadn’t finished writing.

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My fiancé thinks I’m the easiest girl in the world to make cry. He’s not wrong. I cry when my fiancé comes home late. I cry when he refuses to kiss me. I cry even harder when he kisses me too much. Tonight his phone lights up with an emergency call from the office. My lips start to tremble. Tears pool before I can stop them— And then I remember the post. The anonymous one. The one I’d stumbled across on the gossip forum a few days ago. Some user claiming to know a stranger’s entire future. Normally, I’d scroll past. But the details were too specific. The arranged marriage into old money. The crybaby fiancée who couldn’t stop clinging. The fiancé who tolerated her out of obligation. It was me. Every single line. I told myself it was nonsense. I kept scrolling. ＞Cry all day. That’s all she does. You can see how sick of it the male lead is. ＞He hates clingy vines like her. She only got this arranged marriage because his family owes hers a debt. ＞Relax. He’s about to meet the real female lead at the office. They’ll fall for each other on sight. The crybaby side character will lose her mind with jealousy, get hit by a truck, and her family goes bankrupt. Happy ending. I freeze mid-sob. That comments loop in my head, loud and impossible to ignore. I scramble off him. “Hey. Go ahead. The company’s more important.” Lucas Langford stares up at me. His breathing is uneven. His face is smudged with my lipstick. His wrists are still cuffed—the leather ones I’d cried for half an hour to talk him into wearing. The first time I handed him that see-through V-neck and those cuffs, his face went so dark it looked homicidal. I’d cried for those, too. I told him my best friend’s husband wore exactly that to bed every night. “It makes his pecs look insane. Some girls have all the luck.” Lucas’s face got even worse. But he put them on. Now his voice comes out low and rough. “You sure you want me to go?” His eyes search mine. Probing. I nod and I can feel the tears threatening. “Then unlock me.” His tone goes cold. I scramble for the cuffs. My fingers shake. I keep thinking about the comments. About how I’m supposed to die because I prevented his destined marriage. I can’t get the cuffs off. The more I panic, the closer I am to tears. He sighs. His voice softens. “Jen. If you don’t want me to go, you can tell me—” “It’s open.” The cuff is off. I shove the shirt at him, swallowing the sob. “I’ll be fine. Drive safe.” Lucas pauses. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he really does hate me. When he takes the shirt, his fingers avoid mine. He’s dressed in seconds. The tailored suit transforms him—wide shoulders, narrow waist, silver-rimmed glasses catching the light. “Don’t wait up.” I smile. “Go.” His jaw tightens. He opens the door and leaves without a word. The slam echoes harder than usual. Every tear I’d been holding back comes crashing down. I call my mother. My voice cracks on the first syllable. “Mom… I want a different fiancé.” “What happened, sweetheart?” I can’t tell her the truth. Can’t tell her Lucas is going to fall in love with someone else. That I’ll get hit by a truck. That he’ll bankrupt our family afterward. Not exactly something I can say out loud — Mom, I read it on a gossip forum. “He doesn’t like me,” I mumble. She goes quiet. “Okay, baby. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’ll talk to your father. Don’t cry, okay?” “Okay.” I wipe my eyes. The bed is cold beside me. The forum’s not wrong. My family is new money. Dad won the lottery when I was seven, made some smart investments, and suddenly we were running in the same circles as Kingsfield’s old-money families. Before that, I drooled over cheap sausages from street carts. The Langfords are old money. One of the oldest in Kingsfield. Their connections run through every old name in the city. Lucas is the eldest grandson of the main branch. Groomed as heir since birth. Composed. Decisive. Ruthless. He took over the family business while most people his age were still figuring out their majors. They say my family did the Langfords some favor. A debt of gratitude. No one ever told me what it was. I don’t even remember meeting Lucas before he showed up at our house a month ago and proposed. At first I spent thirty seconds wondering if it was a romance scam. Every doubt I had melted the second I saw his face. *Sign me the hell up.* And we have a one-month trial period. If I wasn’t happy, I could walk away. No strings. Back then I thought he was being sweet. Now I know the truth. He doesn’t like me. He just wanted to help his family pay off a debt. Three days left until I can leave without breaking the agreement. I don’t want to be a side character in someone else’s love story. So I won’t cry anymore. I’ll walk away first.

To rewrite my fate, I’m on my best behavior all night. No whiny texts. No “do you miss me yet.” No blowing up his phone. Not a single message. In the morning, figuring Lucas won’t be home, I head downstairs without a bra. “Why aren’t you sleeping in?” That familiar low voice. I look up. Lucas is on the sofa. His gaze lifts. Drags down my body. His eyes darken for half a second. My face catches fire. He’s not supposed to be here. I have no idea how to play this. I pull up the forum on my phone out of habit. The thread has new comments. > LOL is she seriously acting shy? > The vicious side character throwing herself into the ML’s arms and crying about something stupid AGAIN. She’s a grown woman — drop the baby-wife act. > The ML is exhausted from work and has to come home to someone he doesn’t love. I’d be dead inside too. > Just wait till he meets the FL. He’s gonna fall for her energy so hard. Double strong leads ftw. I dig my nails into my palm. *Don’t cry.* I crush the impulse to throw myself at him and force a casual smile. “Couldn’t sleep. You’re home early. Have you eaten?” Lucas sets down the financial report. A faint crease between his brows. His eyes drop. “The floor is cold. Where are your shoes?” I glance at my bare feet. “It’s summer—” He’s already standing. Walking toward me. He stops one step lower so we’re almost the same height. Faint shadows under his eyes. He looks tired. Worn. The kind of tired that makes me want to kiss his eyelids. He reaches for me the way he always does — to pick me up. That’s when I catch it. A trace of perfume on his collar. A woman’s scent. Not mine. My fingers curl. I step back. “You should rest. I’m going to eat.” Lucas’s arm hangs in the air. His eyes go cold. The kind of cold that makes you shiver. I don’t dare look at him again. I turn and half-jog toward the kitchen. Behind me, I feel his stare burning into my back. He doesn’t move for a long time. Lucas doesn’t stay home long. Before he leaves, he knocks on my bedroom door. I’m cocooned in my blanket gossiping with Tara. The knock makes me shove the phone into my chest. I sit up, polite and stuttering. “Is— is there something else?” I can’t let him catch me. Yesterday he told me to stop gossiping about nonsense with my best friend. If he knew the nonsense was about him… Lucas’s face is unreadable. Those sharp eyes land on mine. Then slide to my phone. Linger. I swallow. My fingers go white around the case. “Lucas?” He pulls his gaze back. His expression is somehow even sourer than before. “I’m heading to the office. If you need anything, reach out. Tell Mrs. Park (Our housekeeper) what you’d like for lunch.” He pauses. “I’m leaving.” Something is off about him today. He said I’m leaving twice. I smile. “Okay. Drive safe.” His hand tightens on the doorframe. Then he pulls it shut. I check the forum again. Fresh comments: > The clingy crybaby is acting different? I was SURE she’d beg for a goodbye kiss. Did she finally figure out the ML likes composed, confident women and try to copy that? Imitation is flattery, I guess. > She probably noticed his disgust is showing. I bet if she tried to kiss him right now he’d literally push her away. > The ML is already subconsciously staying pure for the FL. His virginity is the best wedding gift lol. My heart feels like it’s been dropped in acid. A dull, squeezing pain. I fight the tears with everything I have. My phone buzzes. Tara. “Babe. BABE. Drop. His. Ass.” “Hot or not, he doesn’t get to treat you like an inconvenience. You didn’t beg for this — HIS family came to YOURS.” “Pretty privilege only goes so far. With your dad’s money I’ll line up six-foot-two men with abs AND a personality. You can swipe like it’s a buffet.” “I’m not joking. Say the word and I’ll have someone here in twenty minutes.” I bite my lip. “Okay.” I hit send. My eyelids feel heavy. Sleep drags me under before I can think. I never see the photo Tara sends after. It’s a smiling boy in the white button‑down.

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On my wedding day, my fiancé slapped me across the face. “Can you stop picking on Freya?” My cheek was burning. My ears were ringing. All I could see were Damon’s eyes, pupils blazing gold with rage. His hand was still hanging in the air. On his knuckle — our engagement ring. Platinum band. I designed it myself. Behind him stood Freya, eyes red, wearing my moonlight wedding gown. The one I’d spent eight months making by hand, stitch by stitch. I’d known Damon for fifteen years. Today was supposed to be our wedding. The open lawn of the family estate was filled with white roses and baby’s breath. A breeze rolled in off the lake, carrying the smell of water and fresh grass. Everything was perfect. Like something out of a dream. That is, if Damon hadn’t spent the entire time since he walked in looking for Freya. “Isn’t she your bridesmaid? Where is she?” That was the first thing he said to me. No you look beautiful. No I missed you. Not even a hug. I was standing in front of the mirror in my robe while the makeup artist filled in my brows. Damon stood in the doorway, suit immaculate, eyes wandering around the room. “It’s Freya’s first time at an event like this. Make sure she’s not nervous.” “She’s probably in the lounge. Did you want to see me in my dress?” “It’s fine. I still have guests to greet.” And then he left. I stared at my face in the mirror — blush not yet applied — and swallowed the words: I designed the dress myself. Freya had joined the pack three years ago. It was a blizzard that night. Damon brought her back himself. After that, she started showing up in our lives more and more. At first, I told myself it was just pity. But Damon remembered her favorite foods. He bought her gifts. After pack meetings, she was always the first person he went to find. He even left my birthday dinner early because Freya had a fever. I shouldn’t mind, I told myself. As future Alpha, Damon has a responsibility to take care of every member of the pack. There were a few maids standing outside the dressing room. The moment they saw me, their expressions shifted. “Miss Lyra…” “What is it?” No one answered. I pushed the door open. And then I stopped. Freya was standing in front of the mirror, wearing my wedding dress.

There she was — Freya, in front of the mirror, in my wedding dress. “So this is what it feels like to be the Alpha’s mate.” She tilted her head, admiring herself. “No wonder every woman wants to marry Damon.” The silver-white train pooled across the floor, the moonstone embroidery along the entire skirt catching the light. I had designed that dress for half a year. Revised the pattern twenty-seven times. Lost count of how many nights I stayed up, how many times the needle broke skin. “Take it off.” Freya didn’t react. She gathered the skirt in her hands and spun slowly in front of the mirror. “It fits me perfectly — isn’t that something. Even better than I expected. Are you really this thin? Will it even fit you?” “I said,” I repeated, “take it off. Right now.” Not a trace of panic on her face. “Don’t be so stingy. I’m just checking how it looks.” “You have no right to touch it.” “Really?” She smiled. “Because Damon was with me till midnight last night helping me pick out a necklace. He said white diamonds suit me better than blue.” Something tightened in my chest. Because Damon had told me last night he was busy with wedding preparations. “You know, Lyra,” Freya said, “I’ve always wondered. If it weren’t for the engagement contract — would Damon have chosen you at all?” “Freya.” My voice was flat. “I’m only going to say this once. Take it off. Now.” I walked up to her and reached for her arm. That’s when Damon’s voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” My hand hadn’t even touched her. But the second she heard his voice, Freya crumpled to the ground — as if I’d shoved her. Damon rushed in and caught her. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and leaned softly into his chest. “I just wanted to check the fit for Lyra,” she said quietly. “I was worried the dress wouldn’t be right for her. She got upset out of nowhere and said she was going to throw me out of the estate.” “Lyra.” Damon’s jaw tightened. “Apologize to Freya.” I stared at him. “On what grounds? She’s wearing my dress.” He frowned. “So what? It’s just a dress.” “It’s my fault,” Freya murmured. “I’m sorry. All of this is on me.” “What are you talking about?” I said. “You’re the one who—” I didn’t finish. Damon’s hand came up, and he slapped me across the face. “Enough. Can you stop picking on Freya?”

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I am Dominic Vane’s Dona. He took me from his underboss Killian. A man who stole another man’s woman doesn’t sleep easy. He watched every man who came near me. Once I fed a stray on our block. He had someone confirm the dog was female and its owner wasn’t a man in disguise. Then the family promoted a young guard. Twenty-two, still carrying that fresh-out-of-training look. One morning he opened my car door at the estate gate and I smiled at him out of politeness. Dominic said he didn’t care. That night he had the kid handled. He didn’t break out in hives or throw a fit like some jealous boy. He just sat by the fireplace, cleaning his Beretta with slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes cold and flat. “Kid’s muscles were all needles. Couldn’t even handle the recoil on a .45. Pathetic.” He flicked something onto the table. A bloody strip of cloth. The guard’s tie. “And that height he reported? Six-one. Maybe if you count the bones they stuffed under his feet after.” His private physician came by later to bandage the cuts on his hands. In the hallway, the doctor pulled me aside. “Mrs. Vane, your husband has been taking that new male contraceptive. The one that just hit the market. The side effects are severe—extreme paranoia, mood instability. He’s taken triple the dose in one week. He seems… obsessed with making sure you never have to bear the risk of pregnancy.” I stopped walking. I was three months pregnant. … He was asleep when I picked up his phone. The passcode was my birthday. His photo gallery was all me. Candid shots, screenshots of my texts, surveillance stills of him watching me sleep. His search history: *”How to install covert GPS tracker on spouse’s car”* *”Best undetectable phone cloning software”* *”How to make a grieving wife emotionally dependent”* His notes app: *”March 20. She dreamed about the old man again. Cried hard. I need to cut off all contact with her father’s people.”* *”March 21. Morning sickness getting worse. Made her dinner myself. She ate a little. She can only eat what I give her.”* My eyes burned. Then a notification from the navigation app: *”Based on your frequent routes, we’ve planned your trip to 812 Sutton Place. Estimated arrival: 15 minutes.”* Our safe house was at 814. —

My fingers opened the route history before my brain caught up. For three months, every day at noon, he drove to that address and stayed for two hours. The morning sickness had hollowed me out. Fifteen pounds gone in three months, and the only food I could keep down was whatever Dominic cooked. He ran the whole operation and still came home every day to make me lunch, up until two or three in the morning handling business. I told him to stop. To rest. We fought. He said he’d rather die than let me eat alone. I had to fake feeling better before he finally agreed to stay out through lunch. Except he hadn’t stayed out. Every day, for three months, he’d been two doors down with someone else. A message came in. “Dom, I left a pair of panties at your place. She didn’t find them, did it? I left them on purpose. Unwashed. Bring them for my birthday?” I tapped the profile picture. Bianca. My father’s bastard. The girl whose mother destroyed mine, who moved into my house before my mother’s grave had settled. She spent her whole life grabbing everything I had—my clothes, my father’s love. Even Killian. I found them in our bed. That was the crack Dominic walked through. He didn’t comfort me. He collected me. He held me and said it to my face, slow enough that I’d remember every word: “I will never want anyone but you. I don’t care what she does, what she tries. She doesn’t exist to me.” And he’d proven it. When Bianca sent him nudes, he forwarded them to the police. She got seven days in holding and he made sure her university expelled her. Career over before it started. I thought leaving that wreckage and finding Dominic was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. So why her. Why was it always her. I opened their messages like pressing a finger into a wound. Dominic calling her *babe*. Bianca threatening to tell me everything, and Dominic shutting her down, blocking her, punishing her—then taking the punishment to bed. Me in the hospital, crying over a bad prenatal result. And the two of them in the room I’d decorated with my own hands, Bianca wearing my robe. Behind me, the bed shifted. “Sera?” —

He saw my red eyes and reached for me. I smelled it on him. Purfume faint and sour underneath his cologne. I shoved him back, grabbed the glass ashtray off the counter and hurled it at him. “Get away from me!” It caught him on the temple. Blood ran down his brow. He didn’t touch it. He just watched me with something close to panic. “Is it the baby? Are you in pain?” I sat on the floor and watched him bolt out, then come back with water and pills, blood dripping onto his white collar. He held out the pills like I might shatter if he moved too fast. “Why?” I looked at his face and the tears came. Days ago we were picking out names. We were talking about the future, the three of us. Minutes ago he was mutilating a guard because I smiled at him. “Why did you betray me?” Dominic went still. His hand tightened around the pills. “You know.” I waited for him to explain. I told myself I would believe anything. Anything at all. “I’m sorry.” His voice almost cracked. “I know you’ll be upset that I had the guard handled behind your back. But I can’t stand the idea of another man looking at you.” He stepped closer. “You have no idea what it took to pull you away from Killian. What I had to destroy just to stand next to you. And some kid gets to open your door like it’s nothing.” “I know what I am. I’m not apologizing for it.” “Hit me. Scream at me. Just don’t leave. You leave, and I’m done.” I looked at him and knew I should walk out. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give up the way he held me. I couldn’t give up these days that felt like the only good thing left. So as long as I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I could pretend none of it was real. I smiled. “I want your mother’s pot roast.” His eyes lit up and he turned toward the kitchen. Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Something came up. I’ll make it when I’m back.” He was out the door before I could answer. I got in my car and followed him. —

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Five years had passed. I ran into my former fianc└e, Vivienne Holt, again at the awards ceremony for the Paralympic Games. When I reached out to accept the trophy, she stared at my six missing fingers, her voice edged with panic. “Ethan ！ what happened to you?” She couldn’t have imagined it. The legendary NYU hockey champion, the man who had once ruled every rink in the city, now couldn’t even claim a complete body. “You were released early ！ why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t come home?” Her assistant stepped forward, bristling with indignation. “The day you walked out of Rikers, Ms. Holt stood at the prison gates in her wedding dress and waited for you all morning. The whole city knew how much she loved you. And yet you’ve been hiding in this nowhere town, letting her look like a fool!” Hearing those words, I felt nothing but contempt. She couldn’t live without me? If it weren’t for her, I would never have been forced into that marriage with that Mafia lunatic ！ then my fingers cut off, my legs taken, my face carved up, my kidney harvested. I would never have been framed for murder, never spent five years rotting in a cell for a crime I didn’t commit. But, for revenge, I didn’t mind dancing with the lunatic again, as long as I could drag them all down to hell.

Vivienne finally tore her gaze away from my scarred and ruined face, her voice sharpening with anger. “No matter how angry you are, you can’t just vanish like this. Whatever misunderstanding there is between us, we can talk it through.” She snatched away my crutch in frustration, then bent down to help me up. But without the support, I pitched forward and crashed hard to the ground. The stumps where my legs had been were already raw and swollen from weeks of intense training. The impact sent white-hot agony straight through me. The color drained from my face. Vivienne stared at the empty, folded fabric of my trouser legs. She stood there, rooted, helpless. “Your legs ！ where are your legs?” Just then, a man walked in leading a boy of about five or six years old. Looking at a face that was once my own, it took me a long moment to recognize him� Connor Ashby. Vivian arranged surgery to give Connor my facial features, and I with his face, my fate was changed to a darker version. He glanced at Vivienne. “Vivienne has been turning this whole city inside out looking for you.” The little boy broke away and ran to Vivienne. “Mommy! I missed you!” Vivienne lifted him naturally into her arms. “Mommy missed you too, baby.” I looked coldly at Vivienne, but directed my words at Connor. “She’s been so busy hunting for me ！ still found time to have a child with you?” Vivienne’s expression stiffened. I didn’t look at her. I braced my crutch to stand. Seeing my struggle, she set the boy down and moved toward me. “Let me help you up.” I swept her hand away with my crutch. “Get away from me.” Vivienne’s face darkened. “Do you want your parents to see you like this too?” I hauled myself upright. Connor picked up the boy and came closer. “Say hi to your Uncle Ethan.” “Ethan, take the mask off. Let us see your face.” Before I could stop them, my ruined face was exposed for all to see. “Mommy ！ a monster! I’m scared!” The boy buried himself in Connor’s arms, wailing, screaming that he wanted to go home. My mother rounded on me. “Cover that face of yours right now!” My father hurled a stack of banknotes at me. “Take it. Get some plastic surgery. Stop frightening my grandson.” “Refusing to come home, showing up at this pathetic little sideshow ！ you’re trying to humiliate us, aren’t you? If Connor hadn’t told us you were here, God knows how much shame you’d have put us through.” The crisp edges of the fresh checks sliced across my scars. Tiny threads of blood welled up and fell. My knuckles, trembling and bloodless, betrayed the fury I was fighting to keep buried. I bowed to them. Smiled. Thanked them. “Thank you. You’re both very generous people. May you live long, healthy lives.” My father heard the venom beneath my words ！ heard, too, that I hadn’t called them Mom or Dad ！ and ground his teeth together in rage, cursing me as an ungrateful son. My mother told me to watch myself, then left with Connor and the boy. I lowered myself on my crutch and began gathering the scattered checks from the floor. Vivienne seemed unable to watch. She pressed her hand over mine. “What happened back then ！ I owe you for that.” “I’ll marry you, Ethan. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” The hand gathering checks went still. Behind my eyes, hatred surged like a tide. “All right,” I said. “Give me time to finish what I’ve started.” Vivienne wanted to come back with me to my place and help me pack. Just then, Connor called her. “Vivienne, the boy’s been crying. He won’t stop asking for you.” I gave a cold laugh. “Go.” “I don’t have legs anymore. Where am I going to run?” Vivienne left her number and told me to call whenever I needed anything. The moment she was gone, I blocked her contact, called uber, and left. I reached out to a man I’d done time with, and moved into the room he was renting. Only when I heard no trace of Vivienne searching for me did I finally begin to breathe.

I worked from a corner of a farmers’ market. I was just starting to think about renting a proper room and settling in when Vivienne found me. “Come on,” she said softly. “Come home with me.” When I refused, she turned to the vendors and shoppers around us, appealing to them for help. “Please ！ talk some sense into him.” “I genuinely want to marry him. I want to spend my life taking care of him.” Everyone in the market had already noticed the Rolls-Royce she’d arrived in. They pressed in from all sides. “You’ve got a beautiful, wealthy woman like this wanting you ！ and you’re still out here as a labor?” “She’s not bothered by your face, she’s not bothered by the missing fingers or the legs ！ what are you throwing a tantrum about?” “Stop being difficult. Go home with her!” I was furious, but I refused to show it. I made an excuse ！ said I needed to say goodbye to my former cellmate ！ and slipped away under his cover. This time I traveled for five days before reaching a small city two thousand miles south. With missing fingers and no legs, it took genuine effort to land even a menial job at a butcher stall. But I didn’t have time to feel relieved. Vivienne found me again. “Ethan, you can’t run from me forever!” The butcher, dripping with sarcasm, chimed in: “You’ve got a woman that rich willing to marry you and look after you ！ what are you doing out here punishing yourself? Go live the good life!” I looked at Vivienne with contempt. “Good life?” The exhaustion of days of running and the hatred coiled deep inside me finally overwhelmed my self-control. “Vivienne ！ why won’t you leave me alone?” “You’ve already turned me into something less than human. Can’t you at least let me go?” Vivienne’s face fell, her eyes genuinely confused. “Marrying you is what you need most right now. And it’s a promise I made to you. I’m trying to help you.” I laughed bitterly. “Help me? The way you helped me lose my fingers, my legs, and five years of my life?” “It was Connor who got tangled up with that lunatic woman. But you killed our child, manipulated the surgery so I’d end up with his face, shipped me off to her ！ and she hacked off my fingers, dismembered my legs. I served five years in prison for the two of you.” “Did you sleep well, these five years? Any nightmares?” Vivienne sighed, her face drawn with what looked like genuine pain. “What’s done is done. Tearing it all open again won’t fix anything.” “I told you ！ I’ll marry you.” I looked at her coldly. “And what does that make Connor? What does that make your son?” Something flickered ！ guilt ！ in her eyes. “What happened with Connor and the boy was an accident.” “As for Connor, I’ll compensate him another way.” Looking at the certainty in her expression, I asked, in a voice like ice: “Your way of compensating ！ is it me on odd days, him on even days?” The guilt in her eyes confirmed it. I’d guessed right. Revulsion rose in my throat. “Vivienne ！ keep dreaming.” Vivienne’s patience finally ran out. Her voice cracked like a whip. “Ethan Grayson, a marriage certificate is the greatest dignity I can offer you.” “I don’t want your dignity,” I said flatly. “Give it to him.” “I just want the two of you as far from me as possible.” I moved to leave. Vivienne’s warning came from behind me. “Ethan ！ keep pushing me, and your old cellmates may find their peaceful lives coming to a rather abrupt end.” I stopped. I turned back, jaw set. “Vivienne ！ you make me physically sick.”

It had taken me five days to reach that small town. The flight home took five hours. I arrived at the house just in time for the welcome-home party my parents had apparently organized in my honor. Connor stood in the middle of it all in a perfectly tailored suit, looking every bit the groom ！ every bit the man of the house. My father gave a contemptuous grunt. “So the prodigal son deigns to return.” My mother sighed. “At least the boy has no blood connection to you. Otherwise, even his career prospects would be ruined.” “Step over the fire pit before you come in. Don’t bring your bad luck and misfortune into this house.” The neighbors and relatives, seeing me with my mask and my crutch, whispered to one another: “Why did they even bother bringing him back? Isn’t there enough shame already?” “I heard that while he was with Vivienne, he was sleeping with some Mafia woman on the side. Had surgery to look like the woman¨s first love, even pressured Vivienne into terminating their baby.” “If you ask me, having his fingers cut off, his legs taken, his face carved up, his kidney harvested, and five years in prison ！ he brought every bit of it on himself.” Connor stepped in and cut the neighbor off. “Ethan made serious mistakes, but he’s served five years. Not every dog is beyond redemption. We believe Ethan won’t make the same mistakes twice.” I watched this kangaroo court, tailor-made for me, and felt nothing but cold, nauseating contempt. Then Connor carried over a fire pit. He added fresh charcoal to it. “The bigger the fire, the brighter the future.” The new coals popped and spat sparks. You could feel the heat from ten feet away. He gave me a challenging look, a mean little smile. “Step over it. Start your life over.” Before I could react, he grabbed me and dragged me toward it. Then someone shoved me hard in the small of my back. I had no balance. I pitched straight forward. I managed to knock the pit aside, but the tipping coals scattered across my body and ignited my synthetic clothing. “Help ！ please！” I screamed, but no one moved to help. In the end, it was Vivienne who tore the burning fabric from me. Connor followed with a bucket of cold water poured over my head. The mask came off. Hair matted, clothes destroyed, knife scars crossing every inch of my back. The crowd recoiled, breath hissing through teeth, from the wreckage of my face. My father pointed at my half-naked body and swore at me. “How long are you going to keep humiliating this family? Get back to your room!” Connor, seeing Vivienne move to go find me fresh clothes, flashed me a cold smile. He reached into the dog kennel, pulled out the blanket from under the old retriever, and draped it over me. “Use this to cover yourself for now.” I tried to pull free. Connor held me down, hard. I smiled. Let go of the struggle. This whole spectacle had been designed for me. All they wanted was to see me broken enough. Only when I’d been broken enough would they finally leave me alone. I looked at Vivienne. “Satisfied?” Vivienne glanced at Connor, something flickering in her eyes. “A dog blanket is better than being completely exposed.” Connor’s eyes lit with quiet triumph. He made a show of offering to help me up. I shook him off. “Keep your filthy hands off me.” Without looking at my parents’ curses or the neighbors’ stares, I hauled myself on my crutch toward the house. Connor’s voice drifted after me: “Mom and Dad said the good rooms will be tainted by your bad luck. You’re in the attic.” I made the slow, agonizing climb up the stairs. When the door closed behind me, my eyes burned against my will. I pulled away the dog blanket. In the mirror: a body mapped in scars, and fresh burn blisters rising in patches across my skin. These wounds ！ some from the Mafia woman’s knife, some from prison ！ cut deep enough to show bone. I hadn’t forgotten a single one. I was waiting for the right moment to return every last one of them. That night, Vivienne knocked on my door. I didn’t open it. Sometime after midnight, sounds drifted up from the balcony below: “You bastard ！ you said tonight was our wedding night.” “It is. Did you like what I wore today?” “I loved it. The moment I saw you, I wanted you to！” What followed were the low, intimate sounds of a man and a woman. Only then did I understand. The red balloons plastered across every room and across the yard ！ they weren’t for my homecoming. They were for a wedding. Theirs.

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Five years. That’s how long it had been since Julian Thorne and I broke up. Yet there he was,at our best friend’s wedding at the Plaza Hotel. Across the crowded room, under those chandeliers, our eyes locked for a split second. Then,as if burned,we both looked away. Later,my half-drunk bestie Chloe nudged me. “You know,Ella…”she whispered. “After you two broke up, every single woman he dated was basically a copy of you. We used to call them the’Ella Clones’.” She nodded at the petite blonde next to Julian. “Except Kenzie. Been with him a year,looks nothing like you. I think…he’s playing for keeps this time.” I knew what Chloe was doing. Seeing if I was drowning in regret. I just forced a tight smile. Playing for keeps or not,I didn’t care. Because I came back to New York for one reason only. To get married. …… As the reception ended, Chloe dragged everyone to an after-party, determined to get us wasted. I was about to say no when Julian was shoved next to me. “Hey,Julian!Ella flew all the way from Europe. For old times’sake,you better play host tonight.” Julian didn’t say anything. He took the suitcase from my hand. I glanced at my watch. I still had an hour to kill. So,I nodded and got into the car. I took the shotgun; Julian and Kenzie got in the back. As we turned onto Fifth Ave,a sickly sweet voice cut in. “Julian,you haven’t introduced me to this pretty lady yet.” “I thought you were strangers.Silly me.”

She was talking to Julian, but her eyes locked on mine in the rearview mirror. A blatant provocation. Julian’s gaze lingered on me for a beat. I didn’t wait for him to speak. “Hi.Ella Vance. Mr.Thorne and I went to college together.” “Miss Vance?” Kenzie covered her mouth and giggled. “College?Please.You’re Julian’s ex.Everyone knows that.” “But don’t worry.I’m not the petty type. I don’t get jealous over ancient history.” She clung to Julian’s arm. Planted a loud kiss right on his cheek. Staking her claim. Kenzie didn’t shut up the entire ride. And Julian?The guy famous for being ice-cold? He ate it up. Every single word. “Are we actually drinking later? You know I’m a total lightweight. If I get drunk,Julian,will you take me home?” “I’m not letting you get drunk.I’m taking you straight home.” “God,those vows today.I almost cried. I’m so jealous.It was a total fairytale.” “When we get married,I want Central Park covered in red roses. And thousands of colorful balloons.” “Done. It’s your wedding.You call the shots.”

I rolled the window all the way down. Let the cold Manhattan wind whip in. Anything to blast away the suffocating tension in that car. We finally pulled up. An exclusive penthouse club. I stepped out as Julian swept Kenzie into his arms. His eyes met mine. His arms went rigid for a second. Kenzie pressed into him,smiling sweetly. “I’m not used to heels this high. But Julian insists—he’s terrified I’ll hurt myself.” I gave a polite nod. Flashing my best fake smile. “How thoughtful of Mr.Thorne.” Inside the room,Chloe shoved a glass my way. “You’re late!Take three shots!” Before I could reach for a second glass, Julian knocked back the other two without batting an eye. “Kenzie doesn’t drink.I’m taking hers.” The crowd went wild. But I felt everyone’s eyes shift to me. I downed my shot. Acted like I felt nothing. But just as I reached for a refill, Kenzie stepped in front of me. “Guys,come on,don’t pick on Ella. You know she’s single now.” “If she gets blackout drunk,who’s taking her home? Whose couch is she crashing on?” I gave her a dead look. Reached right past her and grabbed my drink. “Save the concern.But I’m not a charity case.” “And I’m not single.” Shut down in public, Kenzie’s face dropped. The whole room froze. Every pair of eyes snapped from me to Julian. Under the dim lights, I watched his hand gripping the empty glass. Fingers tightening.Knuckles turning bone-white. One more squeeze,and that glass was going to shatter. A beat passed. Julian finally arched a brow,his voice pure ice. “Yeah?Then where is this boyfriend tonight?” “Picking me up at midnight.”

The air grew suffocating. Chloe jumped in to break the tension,waving a deck of cards. “Alright guys,we said we’re getting wasted!Let’s play Kings.” Kenzie tugged at Julian’s shirt,pouting. “But I’m such a lightweight! Playing this,I’ll be under the table in five minutes.” Julian stroked her hair. His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “Don’t worry.I’ll take your shots.” “I could never let you drink that much.” She shot me a sly look. “Ella,you’ve had so much and you aren’t even buzzed. Your tolerance is insane. How about…you take my shots for me?” Someone frowned,muttering low to Julian. “Reel your girl in,Julian.That’s out of line.” “She keeps me in line,”Julian answered flatly. Then,he actually slid a glass right across the table to me. “You do have a high tolerance. How about we split Kenzie’s drinks?” I stood there. My fingers went ice-cold,trembling.

When Julian and I first got together, he was a broke kid with a startup dream. We crammed into a leaky Brooklyn apartment, praying the rain wouldn’t flood our bed. Two years of that. We dumped every last cent into our company. At endless networking dinners, sleazy clients always tried to push drinks on me. “Ella looks like she can hold her liquor!Drink up!” Julian always took the glass before I even touched it. “Ella,we’re partners.We split everything.” He’d secretly swap my liquor for soda water,and drink himself into a blackout. Once,he even landed in the ER with a bleeding ulcer. He used to whisper that promise in my ear. “Ella,I’ll never let you touch another drop. I’m gonna give you the world.” I looked at the man standing in front of me now. Impeccable suit.Ice-cold eyes. I took a step back,putting distance between us. “Mr.Thorne,Kenzie is your girlfriend.Not mine.” “Five years later…and you still can’t protect your own girl?” An awkward silence settled over the room. Kenzie sniffled. Tears welled up in her eyes,playing the perfect victim. “Look,Ella,I know you’re still bitter that Julian dumped you… but you don’t have to take it out on us.” Everyone gasped.

Stepping in as peacemaker,Chloe shot Kenzie a warning look. “Alright,enough with the breakup talk. Let it go,guys.We’ve all got history,right?” I let out a scoff. “No baggage here.We were just close friends a long time ago. Why keep digging it up? If you care that much,Kenzie, maybe take it up with Mr.Thorne behind closed doors.” Kenzie didn’t know rule number one about me. I always hit back. Leave me alone,and we’re fine. Cross me?I make it hurt. Even over a few words. Kenzie bit her lip. The tears dropped on cue. But she caught Julian’s eye. He just sat there,watching in cold silence. She still stubbornly wiped her face. “Fine.No drinking. Let’s play Truth or Dare.I’m spinning.” The drama fizzled out. Nobody wanted to push it. Kenzie slammed an empty bottle on the table. “Whoever it lands on has to tell the truth!” The bottle spun…and came to a dead stop. Pointing right at me. A smug smile touched Kenzie’s lips. “Ella…did you really fly all this way just for a wedding? Or is there…another reason?” I felt Julian’s gaze burning into me. I picked up my glass and took a casual sip. “I came back to get married.”

Every eye in the room darted between the two of us. Kenzie tugged at Julian’s arm. “Aw,wait!If Ella’s getting married,she can’t be our bridesmaid,can she?” “It’s fine.” Julian brushed her off. His eyes still locked on me. I set my glass down. Fired off a quick text. Then,slowly looked up. “Even if I were single,I have no interest in being your bridesmaid.” Shot down again,Kenzie huffed and spun the bottle hard. “Since you guys are getting wasted, whoever it lands on next slams this entire pitcher!” Just as the words left her mouth, the bottle stopped right between Julian and me. “How does this count?” “Split it down the middle?”someone joked. Chloe leaned into my ear. “Seriously,Ella. I think you two still have a shot.You came back for him,admit it.” I’d been traveling all day.My temples were throbbing. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No.I’m literally here to get married.” Chloe rolled her eyes. Not buying a word of it.

I was done explaining. So I reached out to split the pitcher with Julian. But Kenzie blocked my hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way,Ella… but I don’t do the whole’my boyfriend sharing a drink with his ex’thing. Let’s just spin again.” She made sure to emphasize the word’boyfriend’. Like a blatant warning. “What?It’s not like they’re sharing the same glass.” Chloe had finally had enough of the petty jabs. “If you’re that insecure, why don’t you put your Julian on a leash and drag him home?” Kenzie instantly played innocent, looking up at Julian with puppy-dog eyes. “I just wanted everyone to have a good time.” Julian frowned slightly,but caved. “Whatever you want.” The bottle spun again. This time,it stopped perfectly in front of me. Fair is fair. I didn’t hesitate. Grabbed the pitcher and chugged the whole thing.

The game dragged on. I don’t know if Kenzie rigged the bottle… But every single round after that, it miraculously landed on me. Jet lag mixed with way too much booze. A dizzying wave crashed over me. I reached for a glass again. Suddenly,Julian’s strong hand clamped down on my wrist. The chill jolted me half-awake. “That’s enough for tonight.” Kenzie shot me a hateful glare and muttered, “But this round isn’t over.” “How about…no drinks this time? Ella just answers one more Truth” I yanked my hand free. Glanced at my watch. Ten minutes to midnight. “Fine.” A nasty smirk crossed Kenzie’s face. She whipped out her phone. Tapped on a photo,and shoved the screen in my face. “So,the Wall Street sex scandal from five years ago… just how many guys were really in the pictures?”

Staring at that familiar photo,I couldn’t stop shaking. The nightmare I tried to bury came crashing back. It was the eve of our company’s IPO. At a cutthroat corporate dinner,Julian stepped out to take a call. And someone drugged me. When I realized something was wrong,I smashed my glass. Jabbed the shards into my palm. The blinding pain bought me a few seconds of clarity. I stumbled out of the hall,desperate to find Julian. But a burning heat took over my body. I collapsed in a corner of the hallway. With no other choice,I drove a shard of glass into my wrist. Using the sharp pain to stay conscious,I dragged myself to the restroom. The lock clicked. My heart finally settled. When I woke up,it was the next day. I rushed home. Julian had been going crazy looking for me all night. But before I could explain,the photos dropped. Splashed across every financial and tabloid site. Overnight,it was a media bloodbath. Julian held me tight,whispering in my ear. “Don’t be afraid,Ella.No matter what happens,I’m never leaving you.” I tried to explain that nothing happened that night. But wave after wave of twisted photos crucified me online. Anonymous”insiders”started crawling out of the woodwork. Claiming I was a slut. Saying our company’s bottom line was secured in bed. Some creeps even posed as the guys in the photos, swearing I was the one who threw myself at them. The company drowned in the scandal. Stock prices tanked.Investors pulled out. The IPO was dead in the water.

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