Category: English

After I was passed over for a management position for the fifth time, my mother called, once again nagging me to come home and let her set me up with someone. Normally, I would have shut her down immediately. But this time, I quietly agreed. It was because, after losing the promotion to my arch-nemesis yet again, I’d gone to confront my boss—and boyfriend—determined to get answers. But I accidentally overheard him talking to someone else. “You’ve watched Patty grow in this company. Why do you vote against her promotion every single time?” A cynical laugh from Chad Shaw. “I give her the affection she wants, and I give the owner’s daughter the position she wants. I get to keep both of them, everyone gets something, and I maximize my assets. What’s wrong with that?” The other person sounded impressed. “You’re cold-blooded. You keep her dangling with low-cost affection. Aren’t you afraid she’ll just get fed up and leave?” Chad’s voice was casual, confident. “It’s been a few years in bed, that’s all. It was mutual. If she leaves, it’s no real loss.” He paused. “Besides, last month she’s the one who suggested we stop using protection. I don’t think she’s ready to let go just yet.” He had ripped away the last shred of my dignity with his own hands. Along with the five years of what I had carefully nurtured, what I had foolishly believed was love. I tore the appeal form in my hands to shreds. And bought a ticket for the next train home. A position and a love that seven years of my life couldn’t earn? I was done with them. 1 Amber White snatched the torn pieces of paper from my hand. “An appeal form? You’re going to appeal again?” she sneered, flicking the scraps of paper at my face. “Patty, you need to learn your place. Failing once or twice might be bad luck. But five times? Do you still think it’s just luck?” “You’re out of your league. Appealing a dozen times won’t change that.” I thought of the four previous appeal forms tucked away in my bottom drawer, each one neatly signed by Chad Shaw, each one citing ‘insufficient competence’ as the reason for failure. For the first time, it struck me as funny. Every time, he’d placate me with excuses about fairness and avoiding favoritism. His words were like bitter medicine he forced down my throat, leaving me choked and silent. In seven years, I had landed six multi-million dollar contracts for this company. I was the top performer for thirteen consecutive quarters. I’d ended up in the hospital with two bleeding ulcers from cleaning up my colleagues’ messes. Not a single client I’d worked with had ever called me incompetent. In the past, I would have argued with Amber, defending my abilities to the bitter end. But now, I was just tired. It would only end with us in front of Chad, where he would deliver the same lukewarm verdict. “Past performance is irrelevant. You need to accept that your overall skills just don’t measure up.” And then, under the spell of his manipulation, I’d throw myself back into my work, desperate to prove myself, all while fulfilling his goal of getting maximum return on a minimal investment. Only now did I realize that the one who was never treated fairly was me. Chad Shaw, you really know how to play the game. Tears blurred my vision, splashing onto my phone screen. A notification lit it up. [Come to my office.] My dormant heart gave a weak flutter, a foolish spark of hope. But as I reached the door, I heard Amber’s sobbing from inside. “Alright, stop crying. I told you, you deserve this. I’ll handle her.” Chad’s voice, so gentle and patient, was a dull knife twisting in my heart, churning up the rot inside. Six months ago, Amber had spread a rumor that I’d slept with a client to close a deal. The client’s wife had found me and beaten me so badly my face was a swollen mess; I could only eat liquids for two days. I had looked at him then with the same tearful vulnerability, begging him to clear my name. His only response had been, “Don’t be so dramatic and naive. This is the corporate world. You know the truth will come out eventually.” Bitterness seeped into the old wounds. I had to admit, even his so-called affection had always been rationed. I numbly pushed the door open. Chad’s hand, which had been wiping Amber’s tears, froze. He glared at me, annoyed. “I hear you’re unhappy with Director White’s promotion. Has anyone ever told you that careers aren’t built on gossip? Is it so hard to admit you’re not good enough?” I stared at him, stunned. “I didn’t…” He cut me off before I could finish. “A one-thousand-word self-criticism. And a public apology at this afternoon’s meeting.” A single unconfirmed rumor, and I was being ordered to write an apology. It made all the vicious, actual rumors he’d heard about me—and ignored—seem like a sick joke. Before, I could have told myself he was just keeping his professional and private lives separate. But now, knowing I was nothing more than his cheapest asset, I lost the will to even argue. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down, a small, humorless smile on my lips. “Yes. You’re right.” “I admit I’m not good enough. I’ll apologize.” 2 I gave a slight bow in Amber’s direction. “Director White, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have questioned your abilities or entertained the foolish notion of an appeal.” She didn’t respond. As I started to straighten up, Chad’s hand pressed down firmly on the small of my back, forcing me down again. He leaned close to my ear, his voice a whisper. “I promised her father she wouldn’t be unhappy here. Just play along. Indulge me this once.” He pushed my waist down a little further, and a bolt of agony lanced through me. Yes, Amber’s father had helped him once. It was right for him to repay that debt. But what about me? Once, I was with him on a site inspection when a piece of machinery malfunctioned. To protect him, I’d thrown myself in front of him without a second thought. A heavy control lever had slammed into my back, leaving me with a permanent injury. He’d held me then, his eyes red, telling me I was reckless, that I’d almost gotten myself killed. He’d massaged my back every single day during my recovery. And now, he was pressing on that very same injury, forcing me to apologize to the person who tormented me. What a pathetic way to repay a debt. Those ten seconds felt like a century. When I finally tried to stand, it felt like my back was broken. Amber gasped, feigning concern. “Oh, I almost forgot! Patty injured her back for you, didn’t she, Chad? You’re so thoughtless. It’s not very nice to be so cruel, is it? You might break her heart.” Chad’s hand shot away from me as if burned. His expression was dark and unreadable. “If… if there’s nothing else, you can go.” I bit my lip to keep from crying out, my body trembling. Fighting through the searing pain, I straightened my spine and walked out of the room. Amber’s words were the cruelest cut. There were a million ways to stage an apology. He had chosen the one that would cause me the most physical pain. It took a long time back at my desk before I had the strength to take the resignation letter I’d drafted and hand it to my direct supervisor. He’d fought for me on the promotion, but he couldn’t override Chad’s final word. “The company knows what you’ve given these past seven years. Chad knows it too. You’re still young, there will be other opportunities. Are you sure you don’t want to wait it out?” Later. Next time. Just wait. Over the years, those words had practically become a part of me. It was the later he’d murmur after we made love, when I’d ask when we could finally go public with our relationship. It was the just wait he’d offer after I lost another promotion, when I’d ask when I’d finally have a chance to stand beside him as an equal. It was the next time he’d promise whenever my parents called about marriage, when I’d ask when he would finally come home with me to meet them. I had never questioned my own resolve, but I couldn’t change the ending he had already written for me. I shook my head, a helpless smile on my face. “Twenty-eight isn’t that young. People my age are married with kids. I can’t lose out on my health, my career, and a family, can I?” He didn’t say anything more, just looked at my pale face and signed his name with a sigh of regret. “Finish your handover this week and you’ll be free to go.” “I won’t mention this to Chad,” he added. “It’ll save you some trouble these next few days. Besides, your position doesn’t require you to report to him directly anyway.” A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you, sir.” Just after I submitted the form, a message from Chad popped up on my phone. [How’s your back? I bought some cream. I’ll put it on for you tonight.] This was his typical move. A way of backing down when he knew he’d gone too far but was too proud to apologize. I used to think this was his way of showing he cared. I would even use it as an opportunity to be playful and ask for more affection. Now, I saw it for what it was: a piece of candy to keep me under control. [No need. I’ve booked a massage therapist to come to my place.] As was tradition, there would be a celebratory dinner for the promotion, hosted by management. I politely declined, using my pre-booked massage as an excuse. But Amber grabbed my arm, her face a mask of disappointment. “Patty, does this mean you don’t really accept that I beat you for this position? Is that why you’re making excuses?” “Anyone else can skip, but not you. I want your sincere blessing.” I frowned, about to speak, when Chad, who had just tacitly approved my absence, chimed in. “Everyone else is going. Don’t you think it’s inappropriate for you to be the only one who doesn’t? Show some grace. As a senior employee, you should be able to handle a loss. Don’t be a laughingstock.” He added, “You can get a massage any day.” I froze, a familiar bitterness rising in my throat. I should have known long ago just how cold Chad’s heart was. When a greater benefit was at stake, my feelings were always the first thing to be sacrificed. 3 I was twenty-three, in my second year away from home, when he promised to celebrate my first birthday with me since we’d gotten together. I’d cooked a special dinner, my heart filled with joy, and waited all night. When I finally called him and mentioned my birthday, I could hear a girl crying in the background. There was no apology, no explanation. Just a hint of irritation in his voice, as if I were being childish for making a big deal out of a birthday. He later explained that Amber’s mother had died giving birth to her. Every time someone celebrated a birthday, it reminded Amber of her mother and made her sad. For the next five years, he never celebrated my birthday. He wouldn’t even let me post about it on social media, for fear of upsetting Amber. He always said it was just for show. But even when no one was watching, he never made the slightest effort for me. Now, meeting my supervisor’s pleading gaze, I relented. It was easier not to make a scene. I would treat it as a farewell dinner. At the table, Chad and Amber sat together. She, in her chic power suit, and he, in his tailored blazer, looked like a perfect match. Sometimes, you just have to accept reality. There are some people you can never catch up to, no matter how hard you run. So when a colleague joked that the two of them looked like a power couple, a match made in heaven, I found myself nodding in agreement. “They are a good match. Age, looks, family background… it all fits.” The moment the words left my mouth, both Chad and Mark Chen, the VP he’d been speaking to earlier, stared at me. Usually, at these events, Chad was the subject of endless matchmaking jokes. And every time I heard them, a knot of resentment would tighten in my stomach. I’d either pretend not to hear or sit there with a sour expression. But today, I felt like a spectator, completely unfazed. Amber, however, was glowing from the praise. She shot me a triumphant look. When the conversation inevitably turned to marriage, she steered it directly toward me. “My dad is driving me crazy about getting married. It’s giving me a headache. I heard you have a boyfriend you’ve been with for years, Patty. You’re twenty-eight. Don’t your parents pressure you? You have to tell me your secrets for dodging them.” All eyes turned to me. Even Chad seemed to tense up. I acted as if it were nothing. “Of course they do. But we broke up, so I can’t really help you with that.” A brief, heavy silence fell over the table. Many looked at me with pity. A colleague I was friendly with joked about setting me up with someone. I pulled out my phone. “Sure. Send me his contact.” Crash. Chad’s glass shattered on the table. Shards of glass left thin red lines on his hand. I glanced at it for a second before looking away, no longer feeling the frantic urgency I once would have. A strange, tense atmosphere settled over the dinner. What had started as a celebration ended abruptly. When the cars were arranged, I refused to be put in the same one as Chad. I just held up my phone, showing the ride I’d already hailed, and went home alone. I was just getting ready for bed when the front door opened. Chad, smelling strongly of alcohol, pinned me against it. His kiss was brutal and demanding. He tried to force his way in. The doorknob dug sharply into my injured back. Pain shot through me, and I snapped. I slapped him, hard, across the face. “Chad, what do you take me for?” He slammed the door and left. In five years, we had never had this kind of unspoken war between us. So when he realized I was finally fighting back, Chad couldn’t even be bothered to pretend he cared anymore. He had me reassigned to supervise the construction site in the north district. When the news got out, many of my colleagues were outraged on my behalf. The north district project was an unpaid rework, and the temp workers were resentful and hostile. During the day, there were incidents of falling debris and nails left lying around. At night, there were harassing phone calls and bizarre, staged “hauntings.” Three male supervisors had already cracked under the pressure, one ending up in a psychiatric ward and the others in the hospital with injuries. It was no place for a woman. I remembered Chad being woken up in the middle of the night by one of those supervisors, spending hours trying to sort out the mess. I had joked then, “If you ever want to get rid of someone, just send them there. If we ever have a big fight, I’ll just go myself. Out of sight, out of mind.” He had tapped me on the head and said, “Don’t be ridiculous. No matter how much we fight, I would never send you to a place that dangerous.” I guess he was a liar. I packed up my desk with swift, clean efficiency, as if I were never coming back. 4 Mark Chen, as the head of on-site operations, drove me to the site himself. During the drive, he seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, he spoke. “Patty, I know you and Chad are at odds over the promotion. I don’t know why he’s insisting on sending you out here, but it’s not safe for a woman alone. You two should really talk things out.” I had just received the confirmation for my flight on Friday night. A sense of peace settled over me. “I know, Mark,” I said nonchalantly. “The promotion doesn’t matter to me anymore. And it doesn’t matter where I work. I’m fine with it.” My indifference seemed to cut off whatever else he was going to say. He gave me a long, unreadable look before turning his attention back to the road. It was a lie, of course. I was scared. But I only had to endure it for three days. After that, none of this would be my problem. Winter days grew dark early. The previous supervisors had been given special permission to leave before nightfall. But I was required to clock in and out at the standard times. I figured they wouldn’t pull anything too crazy on the first day. The moment my shift ended, I clocked out and ran. There was a short, unlit path leading from the building to the main road. This was the path they said was the most dangerous, a known haunt for creeps and vagrants. I was moving fast, staying alert, but a man with a leering grin suddenly jumped out in front of me. He was completely naked. “Well hello there, little lady. You’re a pretty one.” I fell backward, scrambling away from him on the ground. As he got closer, my hand closed around a piece of scrap wood with a nail sticking out of it. I swung it wildly, hitting him. He cried out in pain, and I seized the opportunity, stumbling and crawling my way to freedom. My hand was bleeding from a splinter, and I couldn’t unlock my phone. Shaking, I pressed the power button five times to dial my emergency contact. Once, twice—no answer. The number, which Chad had set to his own, just kept ringing. I could hear footsteps and curses behind me. I scrambled faster, but in my panic, I twisted my ankle. The phone flew from my hand and clattered to the ground. I didn’t dare go back for it. I finally burst out of the dark path and into the light of the main street. My hand dripping blood, I managed to get a taxi to the police station. Later, when I went back with an officer to retrieve my phone, a call came through. It was Chad. His voice was impatient, the sounds of a party loud in the background. “Did you call? I didn’t hear it. What’s up?” I could hear Amber’s voice, clear as day, right next to him. “Chad, hang up and come have fun!” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, unable to speak. My thumb slipped and opened my social media feed. At the top was a video Amber had posted five minutes ago: she and Chad, singing a duet, looking into each other’s eyes.

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My husband, Eddie, had always claimed to hate kids. Then, suddenly, he fell in love with the neighbor’s baby, spending every night caring for her, not coming home until after midnight. He didn’t just ignore me; when I got into a car accident and needed surgery, he was nowhere to be found. I’d had enough. At the party to celebrate me coming home from the hospital, I asked for a divorce. Our friends and family looked at me like I was crazy, saying the accident must have scrambled my brains. Eddie, my husband, slammed his glass down and threw his drink in my face, his voice shaking with rage. “Just because I didn’t visit you in the hospital, you’re going to do this? Are you really this jealous of a six-month-old baby?” Slowly, I wiped the sticky liquid from my skin. My eyes fixed on the faint, damning blush of a hickey on his neck. My voice was ice. “Since you love her child so much,” I said, “after the divorce, you two can be together forever. I’ll even make it happen.” 1 A storm of emotions crossed Eddie’s face. He instinctively pulled his collar up, trying to hide his neck. His eyes were red with fury as he roared, “Leigh, what the hell are you talking about?” “I was looking after Lily to learn! To practice for when we have our own kids!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “And now you want to divorce me for a stupid reason like this? Have you lost your mind?” I ignored his outburst, my expression a perfect, calm mask. I reached into my purse, pulled out the divorce papers I’d already prepared, and slid them across the table to him. “Sign them. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning.” A collective gasp went through the room. Every eye was on me, burning with shock and judgment. I didn’t care anymore. I left the papers on the table and turned to leave. They couldn’t wrap their heads around it—the couple everyone envied, suddenly imploding. Eddie stared, utterly stunned. He never imagined I’d have divorce papers ready. Seeing the unyielding set of my jaw, my mother finally realized I wasn’t joking. She was the first to speak, her voice trembling. “Leigh, are you serious? You and Eddie have been married for ten years, you’ve always been so happy. What happened?” My dad snatched the papers from the table, his face turning darker with every line he read. One of Eddie’s friends chimed in, trying to play peacemaker. “Yeah, Leigh, come on. Ten years together… don’t throw it all away over the neighbor’s baby.” “He was just helping out a single mom, for God’s sake,” another added. “He felt sorry for the kid. You don’t have to be so possessive.” “He put off having kids because he didn’t want to mess up your career! Can’t you see how much he’s sacrificed for you?” The chorus of accusations grew, painting me as the heartless one. I said nothing. I just pushed the papers back in front of Eddie. “This marriage is over. I can’t take it anymore.” That’s when my father, who had rushed over when he heard the commotion, slapped me. Hard. A sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. I clutched my face as he bellowed, “You ungrateful brat! How dare you divorce a man as good as Eddie? I’ll kill you!” “He’s the one who’s managed this household for years so you could build your career! Have you no shame?” My mother rushed in, grabbing my arm, her voice pleading. “Honey, whatever it is, just talk it out. Don’t use the word ‘divorce’.” “You’ll never find another man this good! If you’re doing this because you found someone else, I swear, I’ll never forgive you!” I slowly lifted my head, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. The room buzzed with whispers. True to form, Eddie was instantly by my side, dabbing at my split lip with a napkin, his touch so gentle. Always the perfect, caring husband in public. Only I knew the cold truth of our life together. “Leigh,” he murmured, his voice laced with manufactured pain. “I know you’ve probably found someone else. But I’m the only one who truly cares about you.” “We grew up together. We’ve been married ten years. How could you let something so small tear us apart?” he whispered, for all to hear. “I don’t care about your flings. Just come home. I’ll forgive you.” With just a few words, he’d flipped the entire narrative. I was the cheater. The room erupted again. The stares felt like knives. My father, incensed, swung again, his fist catching my shoulder. “So that’s it! You’ve been seeing someone else! How could I have raised such a disgrace!” “You ungrateful child, stop this nonsense before you put your father in the hospital! Go home and make things right with Eddie!” Everyone was pleading, begging me to see reason. Eddie was now on his knees, tears streaming down his face, begging me to stay. My gaze was glacial. I shoved him away. “Let go of me. I don’t love you anymore.” He didn’t know it, but our marriage had been dead since the day he started caring for the neighbor’s baby. Eddie stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. His lips trembled. “What… what did you just say?” 2 The entire room fell silent. Eddie’s sobs grew louder, but I just turned to walk away. He lunged, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his grip desperate. “Don’t go, Leigh, please don’t go. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault.” “Just give me one more chance, I’ll change, I swear. Please don’t leave me.” His friend blocked my path. “Leigh, what is wrong with you? Apologize to Eddie right now!” “He’s been by your side for so long. How can you hurt him like this? Have you forgotten how much you two loved each other?” “You were together from high school through college! Eight years before you even got married! Does none of that mean anything to you?” “You monster! Are you saying you don’t even want the baby you’re carrying? You’d rather he grew up without a father?” At that, my parents grabbed me, their words a frantic torrent, trying to shock me back to my senses. “Leigh, you’re pregnant! And you still want a divorce? Do you have a conscience?” I fought against their hold, my voice ringing with a cold fury that shocked them all. “My child is my child. I’ll raise him myself. This divorce is happening.” My mother looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Leigh, you’ve always wanted a child more than anything. Now that you’re pregnant, why are you doing this?” Her words were a punch to the gut. It was true. For ten years, from the time I was twenty until I turned thirty, I had yearned for a baby with Eddie. A decade of hope, dashed every single time. I couldn’t live that life anymore. All I wanted now was to be free of him. The shouting attracted our neighbor, Vanessa. She stood in the doorway, holding her baby, ready to hand her over to Eddie for the evening shift. It was their daily routine; she’d go to work, and he would babysit. The moment Eddie saw her, he forgot all about the drama. He rushed over and took the baby from her arms. The look on his face—a tenderness so profound, so paternal—was one I had never seen before. It was as if he were looking at his own flesh and blood. A sharp pain, like a shard of ice, pierced my heart. I swayed on my feet. We’d had a child once, too. But a convenient “accident” had taken care of that. Vanessa put on a show of concern. “Leigh, I heard the shouting. I had no idea you were upset about Eddie helping me with the baby.” “I’ll find a new place today,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “Lily and I will leave immediately. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you two.” Eddie’s brow furrowed, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “No, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not a big deal, just helping with a baby.” He turned back to me, his eyes wet with tears. “Leigh, don’t take this out on other people. You just got out of the hospital. Can you please stop making a scene?” His performance was flawless. The crowd’s anger shifted entirely onto me. My father’s face was purple with rage. He grabbed my arm, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Listen to me. Stop this. Break it off with whoever you’re seeing and go home with Eddie. That’s all that matters.” “You have a child on the way. If you dare go through with this divorce, I swear I’ll break your legs.” I remained impassive, my face a stone mask. “This divorce is final.” With that, I walked out. My father’s parting shot echoed behind me. “If you walk out that door, you are no longer my daughter!” Eddie didn’t try to stop me this time. His voice was cold. “Fine, Leigh. You want to leave? Then you leave with nothing. Not a single penny.” “You want to throw me away for someone new? Then don’t blame me for what comes next.” The next day, I filed for divorce. As evidence, I submitted the videos I had taken from inside my neighbor Vanessa’s house. 3 That night, I tried to check into a hotel, only to find all my bank cards had been frozen. I remembered then—for years, I had handed my entire salary over to Eddie, keeping almost nothing for myself. I’d worked myself to the bone to build our perfect little life, believing our long courtship would lead to a happy family. What a joke. From the very beginning, I had been completely alone. After borrowing money from a friend, I finally got a hotel room. I opened my phone and saw it. Someone had secretly recorded the argument at the party and posted it online. It was already trending. The comment section was a cesspool of hate, all directed at me. People were threatening to dox me, to ruin my life. “She’s divorcing her husband just because he helped a neighbor with a baby? Is she even human?” “I bet she’s the one who cheated and is just using this as a ridiculous excuse. What a shameless bitch.” The story spread like wildfire. The next morning, even the room service attendant gave me a look of pure disgust. I opened my laptop, and a searing pain shot through me. I watched the videos again, hundreds of them. The intimate moments between them stole the air from my lungs. Every night, after he put Vanessa’s daughter, Lily, to sleep, he would slip into Vanessa’s bedroom. I’d discovered it on Eddie’s phone. He had connected to her home security cameras. I saw everything. While he slept, I linked the feed to my own phone. And since then, every night, I watched them. The way Eddie looked at Vanessa was with a gentleness I had never, ever received. He was the perfect, doting husband in public, but only I knew the icy reality of our marriage. Years ago, he had told me, flat out, that he never wanted children. He warned me not to get any ideas. But then, an accident happened. I got pregnant. I begged him to let me keep it. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made me get rid of it. That day became the defining pain of my life. From that day on, he refused to touch me. And now, right under my nose, he was playing father to another woman’s child. “Ms. Reed, the court date is set for three days from now. I’ve prepared all the documents you requested.” My secretary’s call came early the next morning. The public backlash was already affecting my company; investors were pulling out. When I got to the office, Eddie was already there, blocking the entrance. “Leigh, don’t go in. The reporters are everywhere.” I shoved him aside. He stumbled and fell, a look of pure shock on his face. He never expected me to be so forceful. The cameras swarmed. “Leigh, how can you be so cruel?” he cried from the ground. “Can’t you show me even a little bit of compassion?” Vanessa was there too, of course, rushing to help him up. The scene was a media circus. Cameras flashed, and angry netizens who had shown up started shouting at me, calling me heartless. “It’s not her fault,” Eddie sobbed into Vanessa’s shoulder. “I lost my balance. Please, don’t blame her.” Seeing his phony act, I almost threw up. “If you don’t want this divorce,” I said, my voice carrying over the din, “then I’ll see you in court.” The mask dropped. Eddie scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with rage. “Fine,” he spat, right into the reporters’ microphones. “You want to play hardball? Then don’t blame me when I leave you with nothing.” 4 “My child doesn’t need a father like you. Fine. I’ll see you in court.” It was almost funny. He had no idea. He thought I was still in the dark, completely oblivious. I ignored him, went inside, delegated my work, and began preparing for the hearing. After today’s media frenzy, the story exploded online. I was now a universally hated villain, while Eddie had successfully cemented his image as the long-suffering victim. The rumors were insane. People said I’d had multiple abortions to keep seeing my secret lover, that I’d drained our finances to support him. Others claimed the car accident had left me with brain damage, that I was mentally unstable. The hate was overwhelming. Even my own parents called to disown me. “You’ve gone too far,” my father’s voice crackled over the phone. “From this day on, I don’t have a daughter.” “After all the filthy things you’ve done, I’m too ashamed to even call you my child.” Through it all, I remained silent. I didn’t surface again until three days later, in court. The courtroom was packed. Friends, family, and a horde of online gawkers were all there, waiting for the show. They were all waiting to see me fall, to see the law punish me. Before the proceedings began, Eddie leaned over to me. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered. “For the sake of everything we had, I’ll give you one last chance. Apologize to me, right now, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” His voice dripped with condescension. “You have no chance of winning. The entire country knows what you’ve done. How can you even show your face?” Beside him, Vanessa gave me a smug, triumphant smile. My own parents wouldn’t even look at me, their expressions making it clear they hoped I’d be locked away for the shame I’d brought them. I didn’t flinch. I just waited for the judge to begin. Eddie had hired the best lawyer in the city. He was determined to win. His attorney laid out a laundry list of my supposed sins during our marriage, building a case for why I deserved to be left with nothing. “Simply helping a neighbor with childcare in the evenings does not constitute marital misconduct on the part of the husband,” the judge stated. “Based on the current evidence, you, Ms. Reed, appear to be the party at fault.” “If you cannot provide new evidence, this court will grant the divorce and rule accordingly, with you as the at-fault party.” A wave of cheers erupted from the gallery. Eddie and Vanessa embraced, triumphant. The crowd was buzzing, muttering that I got what I deserved. They were already celebrating their victory. I remained calm. I addressed the judge. “Your Honor, I have new evidence.” “I have the surveillance footage from my neighbor, Vanessa’s, home.” “And I have the results of a DNA paternity test for Eddie and the child, Lily.” In an instant, the courtroom went dead silent. Every face was frozen, the celebratory mood evaporating into thick, heavy tension. Eddie’s face went white. I knew the real show was about to begin.

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Ten years after I took her place, the prodigal daughter who had been off enjoying the world finally came home. She was still as carefree and whimsical as she’d been a decade ago. She handed Adrian Thorne, now a man of thirty-two, a wishing bottle filled with sand as a gift. “Every grain of sand in here,” she said, her voice breathy, “represents a day I missed you.” Adrian’s posture went rigid. Then, Livia turned to me, her chin held high with confidence. “I’m back. The stand-in can leave now.” At twenty-two, Adrian Thorne had nearly died of a broken heart when Livia left. I couldn’t help but wonder. How would the cold, ruthless titan of the business world he’d become react now? 1 Adrian casually placed the wishing bottle on the passenger seat. I took the hint and slipped into the back. He paused, looking back at me. “What’s wrong?” I knew what he meant. It was a silent understanding forged over ten years of shared hardship. “We agreed when we got married,” I said, my voice even. “I would never try to take Livia’s place.” Ten years ago, Livia had run away from home without a word. My biological parents, the Ashwoods, had rushed to bring me back from the countryside, hastily announcing my identity to the world just in time to salvage the arranged marriage with the Thorne family. On our wedding night, Adrian drank himself into a stupor, calling out Livia’s name all night long. For ten years. While Livia was dancing in Hawaii, I was bowing and scraping to Adrian’s stepmother on his behalf. While Livia was flashing a peace sign at penguins in Antarctica, I was drinking myself into a bleeding ulcer to land our new company’s first major contract. While Livia was chasing the northern lights and watching African sunsets, experiencing jungles and savannas… I was losing our first child, and then our second, in the crossfire of Adrian’s family power struggles. I’d even had a kidnapper’s knife pressed against my throat. She had her decade of freedom, and now she could just waltz back in and demand I leave? Did she always expect to swoop in and claim the spoils without lifting a finger? On what grounds? Hearing my words, Adrian’s lips parted as if to say something. “Amy, actually, we…” He never finished. Livia’s call came through. His phone was connected to the car’s Bluetooth, and he hit accept. “Adrian,” Livia’s voice bubbled through the speakers, “Mom and Dad told me you two still don’t have any children.” “Is it because… you were waiting for me?” Her voice was thick with a poorly concealed shyness and glee. “Livia, what are you talking about!” Mrs. Ashwood’s frantic voice cut in from the other end. The topic of children was a minefield for me. At twenty-five, I was pregnant with our first child. Adrian’s stepmother tricked me into drinking an herbal tea that caused a miscarriage. At twenty-eight, I was pregnant again. I was so careful, hiding it until I was six months along, but then I was inexplicably, slowly poisoned. The baby didn’t survive. The day of the induction, my cries were primal, tearing from my soul. Adrian held me tightly, his own tears streaming down his face as he swore he would never let me suffer again. And he had kept his word. In three years, he drove out his stepmother and half-brother, seizing total control of the Thorne Group. At thirty-two, as one of the country’s top CEOs, Adrian gave his first-ever business interview. During the broadcast, he offered a few polite, rehearsed words of thanks to me for my support over the years. A week after that program aired, Livia returned. Now, Adrian caught my expression in the rearview mirror and immediately ended the call. “Amy, Livia doesn’t know what happened these past ten years. Don’t mind her.” “She’s always been sheltered. She just speaks her mind, sometimes without thinking…” “Enough,” I cut him off, my patience gone. “How is it that the ever-composed Mr. Thorne becomes so chatty when it comes to Livia?” “You’re even making excuses for her now?” Adrian’s brow furrowed. He suddenly wrenched the steering wheel, pulling the car to a screeching halt on the side of the road. “Amy, are you still holding that against me?” 2 In our first year of marriage, Adrian’s half-brother suddenly had a severe allergic reaction. His stepmother insisted I’d laced the cookies with peanut butter. Two housemaids held me down, forcing me, the supposed young mistress of the house, to kneel on the floor. I looked at Adrian, pleading. He had been with me the entire time; he knew I was innocent. But he just kept his head down, silent. That day, those two old women slapped me twenty times, until my lip was split and my face was a swollen, bruised mess. When we got back to our room, Adrian handed me two ice packs, his face a mask of guilt. “The timing isn’t right,” he’d said. “I hope you understand.” That single word, understand, forced me to swallow all the pain and humiliation. Later that night, the throbbing in my face woke me. I went to the kitchen for more ice and heard Adrian on the phone. “Thank God it wasn’t Livia,” he was saying. “She never would have been able to handle it…” I froze on the spot. Building a relationship, seeing true colors in hard times… what a goddamn joke. To this day, Adrian has no idea I heard him. My sarcastic remark brought him back to the present. He lit a cigarette and got out of the car, agitated. Just then, Livia called again. He answered, but he forgot to disconnect the Bluetooth. Trapped in the car, I was forced to listen to Livia’s sweet, cloying voice. “Adrian, can you come be with me tonight?” The Bluetooth cut out instantly. Through the window, I saw Adrian crush his cigarette under his shoe. He kicked at a small stone on the pavement as he listened, a flustered expression on his face that made him look like the twenty-something boy I first met. Ha. So this was the power of the one that got away. It could make a man an idiot in a second. Ten minutes later, he got back in the car, his eyes weary. “Amy, I’ll take you home first.” “Tonight, I might have to…” “Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. I couldn’t bear to hear what bullshit excuse he would invent for Livia’s sake. Realizing I’d lost my composure, I forced my voice to soften. “Mr. Thorne, you don’t need to report your plans to me.” The cold formality wasn’t lost on him. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. “Amy Ashwood, you’ve always kept a wall up around me. Are you that desperate to draw a line between us?” How ironic. He was the one dancing on the edge of our marriage, yet he had the audacity to blame me. I turned my head away, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over. Ten years had taught me one thing: you can lose anything, but you can never lose your composure. As the tension thickened, my mother called. “Amy, your father and I… we’re not good with words. We had to ask Adrian to come over and help us convince Livia to move on.” “Can you just give your sister a little time? She’s still young. She’ll understand eventually.” I let out a bitter laugh. Young? She was thirty years old. How funny. Ten years ago, when they were forcing me into this marriage, they’d said, “You’re a grown woman now, Amy. You need to learn to help the family.” My voice was ice. “Mom, I see you and Dad haven’t changed. Still cleaning up Livia’s messes for her.” “But I will say,” I added, “your tone is much gentler now than it used to be.” I was eighteen when my biological parents found me. But Livia couldn’t stand me. She framed me again and again with clumsy, obvious lies, and every single time, my parents chose to believe her. The last straw was when she threw herself down the stairs and claimed I pushed her. My father slapped me without even asking for my side of the story. My mother called me vicious and said they never should have brought me back. Without a single thought for my feelings, they unanimously decided to send me back to the countryside. They only remembered they had a biological daughter when Livia ran from her wedding, and they needed a replacement. All in all, I had spent barely a year of my life with them. “Amy, do you really hate us that much?” my mother’s voice was filled with disbelief. Her question actually made me pause. I thought my lack of affection for them was obvious. Had the last ten years, free of Livia’s presence, somehow made us all forget our places? 3 Adrian didn’t come home that night. I wasn’t surprised. My head throbbed all night as I drafted a divorce agreement I was finally satisfied with. The wrong baby, taken home, abandoned, then forced to marry… I never had a choice in any of it. But this, at least, could be my decision. At 9 AM, Adrian called. “Last night…” “Adrian, come have breakfast! I made you sunny-side up eggs, just the way you like them!” Livia’s voice chirped in the background as he spoke, and a wave of irritation washed over me. “I’m not interested,” I said, my voice cold. I had already imagined a hundred different scenarios for their night together. I didn’t want to hear a single one of them confirmed. “Amy, do you have to be so cold?” I waited in silence for him to continue, but Livia’s voice drew closer. “Adrian, don’t fight with my sister. If she really can’t stand having me around, I can just leave again for another ten years.” “That won’t happen,” Adrian soothed her, his voice gentle. Then, back to me: “There’s a family dinner at the Ashwoods’ later. I expect you to be there.” “You have to come, sister!” Livia called out playfully. The line went dead. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. Go? Of course I would go. My parents, my husband… what was there to be afraid of? Two hours later, I arrived at the Ashwood villa, dressed to kill in a couture gown. Livia, however, was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, barefoot, excitedly showing the three of them a thick stack of photos from her travels. She was in her pajamas, her hair loose and tousled. When she saw me, she froze for a second, then burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “Sister, it’s just a family dinner. What’s with the battle armor?” “Don’t tell me you’re trying to compete with me over a meal?” I faltered, my hands clenching into fists. But I forced a small, disdainful smile to my lips. “Oh, please. That ‘no-makeup’ look on your face must have taken some effort.” “Unlike you, I have an image to maintain. If a reporter snaps a photo of Mrs. Thorne looking sloppy, it reflects poorly on the family.” “You!” Livia shot up from the sofa, her eyes turning red, tears welling up perfectly. “You’re nothing but a thief who stole my life while I was gone! What right do you have to flaunt it in my face?” Coming from her, the girl who had lived my life, the irony was almost comical. I glanced at my flustered parents and threw my head back, laughing. “Hahaha! Between the two of us, who is the real thief?” “When you were happy, you were Miss Ashwood, heiress to the family fortune. When you were unhappy, you were just Livia, a free spirit who had to live her own life.” “You got to just walk away from it all, so why was I the one left to clean up this mess and go through with this goddamn marriage?” “Amy Ashwood!” Adrian, who had been silent until now, roared my name. “Do you have to make your regret so painfully obvious?” His eyes were bloodshot. He stormed toward me, his right hand raised high. I lifted my chin, meeting his glare without flinching. Let the slap come. It would be the perfect way to wake me from the ten-year dream of being Mrs. Thorne. “Adrian, don’t!” Livia cried, throwing her arms around him from behind, her voice choked with emotion. “We made our feelings clear last night. That’s enough for me.” “I couldn’t bear it if you fought with my sister because of me.” Made our feelings clear? Why wasn’t he pushing her away? My mind was a chaotic mess. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re only brave enough to act tough in front of me, Adrian Thorne. In front of her, you’re nothing but a well-behaved dog!” SLAP! The blow finally landed. From behind Adrian’s back, Livia peeked out, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Amy,” my mother whispered, rushing over, her trembling hands reaching for my face. “Get away from me!” I screamed, stumbling back, putting distance between us. Then I fixed my eyes on Adrian, my voice low and steady. “Mr. Thorne, I want a divorce. And for ten years of my life, two billion dollars seems fair.” Adrian’s pupils contracted. He stood frozen, his gaze burning into me.

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Late one night, I caught my husband French kissing a wealthy heiress from the city’s elite circle. My husband looked panicked. The Heiress looked calm. I walked up and greeted them enthusiastically: “Bro, Sister-in-law, what a coincidence!” The next day, I received a Green Card and a 2,000-square-foot apartment in Manhattan. 1 My husband is incredibly handsome. We were college sweethearts, got married right after graduation, and worked together while squeezing into a tiny apartment in New York. I loved my husband deeply. Looking at his face, no matter how broke we were, I had no complaints. I only hated myself for not knowing how to make big money to give him the good life. I worked myself to the bone. In this economic downturn, just not getting laid off was a blessing. I was a useless woman. My husband and I scrimped and saved, wanting to buy a house. Owning a home is the ultimate dream. But real estate prices in New York are astronomical. Our meager savings were destined to be hopeless. 2 Recently, I noticed my husband getting even more handsome. Because I was poor, I couldn’t distinguish luxury brands. But I knew his clothes and shoes looked amazing and fit him perfectly. His skin was better too. Almost like when we were freshmen in college. My husband had a great personality, very gentle, but fierce and passionate in bed. He was simply the perfect specimen of a man. Seeing him become so good-looking recently, I felt this was what a rose should look like. 3 My boss is a wealthy heir in the city’s business circle. My boss’s sister is “The Heiress”—Victoria. I was just one of thousands of employees in their company. But one day, The Heiress came specifically to see me and said, “Oh, so you’re Nora.” The perfume on The Heiress smelled exactly like the scent on my husband. The necklace The Heiress wore matched the one my husband had recently started wearing—a couple’s set. On the weekend, I said I was going shopping, then staked out our apartment building. Soon, I saw The Heiress driving her Bentley downstairs. The shabby neighborhood environment didn’t match her luxury car at all. My husband got into the Bentley. I cried until I was a mess. 4 I wasn’t angry. I only felt sadness and despair. It was all my fault. I was useless, so my husband was seduced by the glittering world outside. I knew I could make a scene. I could accuse him of betraying me. Betraying my youth. But what use would that be? My husband is a kind man. He is so handsome. He accompanied me through my most beautiful years. Waking up every day to that face, sleeping next to such perfection, I felt so happy. What right did I have to resent him? Moreover, because he was so good, I simply couldn’t bear to blame him. True love forgives everything and only blames oneself. Love is often feeling indebted. I should proactively set him free. A handsome man like him would fly out of my poor nest sooner or later. Like a piece of fine jade, he wouldn’t stay in a straw hut for long. It was fate. 5 But I still couldn’t bear to let go. What if The Heiress got tired of playing with him and abandoned him? If I divorced him, wouldn’t he be lonely? Feeling abandoned by the whole world? So I dragged it out, pretending to know nothing. But one night, I worked overtime until 9 PM. When I got home, right downstairs, I saw my husband and The Heiress tongue-kissing. I didn’t react for a moment. Stunned on the spot. My heart still hurt. My husband, I was destined not to keep you. He saw me too. His eyes were red, looking at me in shock. I remembered I forgot to tell him I was working late. He thought I was already home. Sigh. Didn’t miss it. Sad. The Heiress wasn’t panicked at all. Truly worthy of her status; calm even if the sky collapsed. We are both women; I need to learn from her. 6 I stepped forward and shouted enthusiastically, “Bro! Sister-in-law! You guys are out for a walk too?” The Heiress looked at me in shock. “What did you call him?” I wiped my tears and said with utmost sincerity, “Sister-in-law, this is my big brother.” The Heiress burst out laughing, laughing until tears came out. In this awkward battlefield, she could be so relaxed. Truly enviable. My husband looked at me with tragic eyes. He looked like he was being forced. The Heiress said, “You are truly a wonderful person.” I shook my head and quickly said, “Sister-in-law, I am a poor person.” The Heiress kissed my husband. She was bright and moving. My husband was tall and handsome, truly pleasing to the eye. He was being kissed by someone else now. I felt a faint sense of pride. This is the husband I chose. Sure enough, very popular. The Heiress drove away. Even her car exhaust smelled of money. 7 After returning home, my husband said to me with red eyes, “I’m sorry, Nora. I was vain. I couldn’t resist the temptation of the material world.” Seeing him beat himself up like this, my heart ached. Truly loving someone means planning for their long-term future. I held his hand. His fingers were fair and slender, very warm. I always liked holding hands with him. My husband is perfect. I couldn’t even hate him. We sat on the sofa. I apologized to him, “The one who should say sorry is me. I didn’t make enough money to give you a good life. Marrying me made you suffer.” He shook his head. “I’m useless. I wasn’t ambitious. I said I was preparing for exams but played games every day. I didn’t give you a good life.” “You are so handsome. If you didn’t marry a poor woman like me, why would you need to prepare for exams? It’s because I’m useless.” We blamed ourselves for 10 minutes. I felt if we continued, it would never end. So I took the initiative. “Husband, we need to talk.” 8 When we were young, we thought having love meant having the world. Now we had love, but lived so hard. My worldview had changed. I said to him, “Husband, since The Heiress likes you, just date her properly. She is beautiful. I can see she loves you very much. I am very relieved you are with her.” He shook his head. “The one I truly love is you. She… she… she spent a lot of money on me. Every time I encountered difficulties, she helped me solve them… I just couldn’t withstand the temptation…” He detailed how his father lost $50,000 gambling, and The Heiress gave him money to pay off the debt. His mother’s surgery was also paid for with money lent by her. The Heiress is really kind, never forcing him, just giving blindly. Before, he told me about his parents. I felt the sky was falling then. Not only could I not help, but I also had negative emotions, feeling his parents were a burden. My husband is a kind person who considers others. Our savings were only $36,000. Not only was it a drop in the bucket, but I would be very sad if he gave it to his parents. He didn’t touch that money. After that, I acted like an ostrich, pretending nothing happened. I am truly a cowardly woman. But not long after, he happily told me his family matters were resolved. Unexpectedly, it was The Heiress who helped him. Compared to her, the difference was stark. I was very ashamed. “No need to explain, I understand. I hope you live a good life. Since she can make your life easier, just be with her. I love you, I hope you live well.” He looked at me blankly. My heart ached to death seeing him. I sat on his lap. “Let’s go divorce tomorrow. If she doesn’t want you anymore, you come back to me, we’ll remarry.” “Can we be together one last time tonight?” Husband: …

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Ten years into my marriage, I had gotten used to being alone. I went to the hospital alone. I went to the movies and ate dinner alone. Even this afternoon, when I was rear-ended, I handled it alone. Staring at the birthday cake on the table, I called him. He declined the call. A text from Tom popped up. Two words: Working late. I lit the single candle, then blew it out. My phone screen lit up with a notification for a viral post. [From the driver’s expression, guess if the person in the passenger seat is his girlfriend or his wife.] The top comment read, “Definitely a girlfriend. If my wife was in the car, my face would be planted on the steering wheel by now.” I stared at the familiar profile in the photo, at the good luck charm hanging from the rearview mirror, and I didn’t move for a very long time. At two in the morning, the front door opened. He walked in and placed a jewelry box on the coffee table. “Happy birthday.” I looked at him, my voice quiet. “Is she pretty?” 1 My phone screen was still lit up, displaying the post. “Lucy is just the new intern,” Tom explained. “Don’t overthink it.” I stood up, my voice stubbornly repeating the question. “Is she pretty?” He frowned. “She’s… cute.” I closed my eyes. A sharp pain pierced my chest, and a tear slid down my cheek. He pulled me into his arms, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Alright, still the jealous type, huh?” A strange perfume, not mine, filled my senses, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed him away. His brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “I already explained. Believe it or not, that’s up to you.” It was the same as always. He didn’t even have the patience for a real conversation. The bedroom door slammed shut. On the floor, the diamond necklace he’d brought home glittered under the lamp light. I’d seen Lucy’s social media post from earlier tonight. She was showing off an identical one. Even my birthday gift was just a lazy, thoughtless afterthought. That night, I scrolled through every single one of Lucy’s posts. And I found Tom’s private account. October 8th. Lucy posted that she was craving chocolate cake. Tom had commented: Got you one. Be there in a bit. November 3rd. Lucy posted about wanting to go on a trip. Tom’s comment: Tickets are booked. We leave tomorrow. … There were so many. Too many to count. All those little moments of warmth I thought were for me—the cake, the boba tea, the new handbag—they were all just leftovers, scraps he brought home for me after spoiling her. We had so many of the same things. It was a mirror image of a life I didn’t know he was living. Tears blurred my vision. I had always told myself this was just a normal phase of marriage. The lull after the storm. The comfortable silence that replaces endless conversation. But the first sign of fading love is the death of the desire to share. Sunlight streamed through the window, but I felt no warmth at all. Tom emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a sharp suit. He saw me, still on the couch, and sighed. “What do you want from me? Should I have her come over and explain it to you herself?” I stood up. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He started to speak, but his phone rang. As he pulled it out, I caught a glimpse of the caller ID. Moonbeam. His entire demeanor softened as he answered. “Don’t cry. I know about the proposal. It’s okay if you made a mistake, I’ll take care of it.” His voice was gentle, patient. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll come get you. I’ll even buy you your favorite dumplings.” He hung up and met my gaze. “I’ll be home early tonight to have dinner with you.” The apartment fell silent again. Just like our marriage. You could drop a stone in it and it wouldn’t even make a ripple. Before we were married, his name for me in his phone was My Wife. Pinned to the top of his contacts. A special alert for all my calls and texts. Then, one day, he unpinned it. Said he was worried about losing his phone and getting scammed. My contact name changed from My Wife to just… Hannah. He would move mountains for his Moonbeam, but he couldn’t be bothered to give me a second glance, a few extra words. The auto shop called. My car was ready. I went to the bathroom and stared at the haggard woman in the mirror. Her eyes were dull, the fine lines around them more pronounced. This marriage was a hand wrapped around my throat, slowly squeezing the life out of me. At the dealership, while I was signing the paperwork, I overheard two young women talking. “This couple came in yesterday, and the guy was incredible. Bought two cars, just like that.” “I’m so jealous. He was like, ‘If you like them both, just get them both.’” I kept signing, but their next words made my hand freeze. “The girl’s name was Lucy. She’s a pretty popular blogger, actually.” “Yeah, her feed is all lovey-dovey posts lately. I think her boyfriend’s last name is Bennett.” 2 Driving home, a bitter taste filled my mouth, spreading through my entire body until even breathing hurt. I was fifteen when I met Tom. We married at twenty-five. I’m thirty-five now. We started with nothing and built a comfortable life. But somewhere along the way, he became a stranger. I pulled into a parking spot, got out, and walked into a nearby park. I sat on a bench, watching a young couple laughing and playing in the distance. Youth is a beautiful thing, I thought. To be able to love so freely, so openly. My phone rang. It was Tom. “The insurance company called me about renewing the policy,” he said. “They also mentioned you were in an accident yesterday?” A cool breeze blew past, and for a moment, my mind felt completely clear. “Yes.” His voice was tinged with concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I looked away from the couple. “I could handle it myself.” Silence. Then, the dial tone. There was a time when I thought he was my rock. No matter what happened, he was the first person I would call. Once, during a thunderstorm, the power went out. I was terrified and called him while he was on a business trip. “Hannah, how old are you?” he’d snapped. “Can’t you handle it yourself? It’s so annoying having to deal with your problems all the time.” After that, I stopped calling him. When I was hospitalized with acute gastritis, I was alone. When my mother passed away, I handled the funeral arrangements alone. Even… even that thing at the beginning of the year. I never told him about that either. As dusk fell, I went home, ordered some spicy noodle soup, and lay down on the couch. The door opened. I glanced at the clock. It was only eight. For the last two years, Tom had never come home before nine. Once, we went three entire months without speaking a single word. He walked over and took my hand. “Hannah, you’re my wife. If something’s wrong, you need to tell me. We’re supposed to face things together.” I pulled my hand away. His touch felt foreign, unsettling. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d held hands. Let alone kissed. We had been sleeping in separate rooms for a long time. We weren’t husband and wife. We were roommates. “Tom, I can handle it myself.” He lost his composure, his voice rising. “Then what do you need me for? You do everything yourself. Is that all I am to you? A decoration?” I clenched my fists, trying to keep my face neutral. “Isn’t that what I am?” I shot back. “You’re the one who said I shouldn’t bother you with things I can handle myself. You said that even though we’re married, we’re still individuals.” His voice was hoarse. “Are you really going to hold onto that one thing for so long?” It wasn’t that I wanted to hold onto it. It was that every time I tried to talk to him, I could say a hundred words and he wouldn’t reply with one. My desire to share had slowly withered and died. Then he started ignoring my calls. Whenever I needed him most, he was nowhere to be found. The truth was, I could handle everything by myself. I had to. “Tom, Lucy is the one who needs your protection, isn’t she?” Lucy was younger than me, more vibrant. All it took was one phone call, and he would drop everything and run to her. Including that day at the beginning of the year. The day I was lying on a cold operating table, and the space for my husband’s signature on the consent form was empty. Just before the anesthesia took hold, a nurse had handed me the clipboard. Hearing her name now, his anger flared. “Are you insane? Are you trying to make me feel guilty with these pathetic, passive-aggressive comments?” “Lucy is my intern. As her boss, I’m just looking out for her.” I laughed, a cold, empty sound. “Is that it? So, you buy her cars, take her on trips, and when my own mother died, you were with her, stargazing in London?” I met his eyes. “Tom, why even bother with the charade?” He was about to say something else when a knock came at the door. Lucy’s cheerful voice chirped from the hallway. “Hello! Your food delivery is here!” 3 I opened the door and saw her in person for the first time. Twenty-two. The age of a blooming flower. She was wearing a short, pink skirt, her body flawless, her skin radiant. She looked at me, her clear eyes filled with an undisguised contempt, and placed the takeout bag on the entryway table. “You must be Mr. Bennett’s wife. I’m his intern, Lucy.” She extended a hand, and my eyes immediately fell on the diamond ring sparkling on her ring finger. My wedding ring. It had mysteriously disappeared six months ago. Now, it was on her hand. Lucy’s smile widened, her voice light and airy. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Mr. Bennett gave it to me. Oh, and here’s your food.” She gestured to the bag. “But a little friendly advice? At your age, eating heavy, salty food at night will make you bloated. Your metabolism just can’t handle it anymore.” I picked up the bag of noodle soup and, right in front of them, dropped it into the trash can. “You have a point,” I said, my voice even. “Some things are better off thrown away.” Lucy’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Are you doing this on purpose? If you don’t like me, I’ll just leave.” Tom stepped in front of her, shielding her. “What’s your problem?” he snapped at me. “Lucy was kind enough to bring you food, and you just throw it away like that?” “Mr. Bennett, please don’t fight,” Lucy sobbed. “It’s just a bag of takeout,” he said, his voice dripping with impatience. “She’s young, she doesn’t know any better. Why are you picking a fight with her? Throwing it away like that… you’re being cruel.” Cruel. I looked at Lucy’s triumphant, tear-streaked face, and I suddenly wanted to laugh. I was twenty-two once. Young and full of life. I gave him the best years of my life. I lived with him in a basement apartment, ate ramen noodles with him, cooked him hangover soup when he came home late from networking events, and swallowed every single one of my own frustrations and disappointments. Now I was thirty-five. I had fine lines around my eyes and calloused hands from years of taking care of him. I was the shadow that followed him. And because I threw away a bag of takeout delivered with an insult, he called me cruel. My voice was calm when I spoke. “Tom, my ring. Does it look good on her hand?” His eyes darted away, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “She found it. I was just about to ask her to give it back to you.” A mocking laugh escaped my lips. “Really? She just happened to find my wedding ring in my jewelry box and decided to wear it herself?” The color drained from Lucy’s face, and she quickly hid her hand behind her back. Tom’s embarrassment turned to anger. “That’s enough! It’s just a ring. Do you have to be so aggressive?” He turned to Lucy. “Give her the ring back.” Lucy bit her lip and slowly, reluctantly, slipped the ring off her finger. It “accidentally” slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. I didn’t move to pick it up. Seeing my inaction, Tom bent down, retrieved the ring, and held it out to me, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “Hannah, here’s your ring. Now stop making a scene.” The heart that had once beaten so fiercely for him was sinking, sinking into an abyss so deep I could no longer feel the pain. Favoritism doesn’t need a reason. His heart favored Lucy, so no matter what I did, I would always be in the wrong. Suddenly, I felt tired. So tired that I didn’t have the energy to say another word. “You can keep the ring,” I said. “Or give it to someone you think deserves it.” I paused. “And one more thing. Tomorrow, two o’clock, at the courthouse. Let’s get a divorce.” 4 Tom blinked, his voice uncertain. “Are you serious?” I looked at the trash can. “Yes. This noodle soup is like our marriage. It looks hot and steamy, but it’s already gone bad.” Without another word, I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. The voices outside faded away. I sat with my back against the door for a long time. In our wedding photo on the wall, a twenty-five-year-old Tom was looking down at me, his eyes shining like stars in a summer sky. We were so poor then. He had used three months of overtime pay to buy me my first gold necklace. “Whatever other people have, you’ll have too,” he had said. “You’re my star.” He bought me more expensive jewelry over the years, but I only ever wore that gold chain. Six months ago, it broke. I took it to be repaired, but the jeweler said it was too worn down to be fixed. He had found his moon now. He didn’t need his star anymore. The next afternoon, at the courthouse. Tom’s car pulled up right on time. But he wasn’t alone. Lucy hopped out of the passenger seat and linked her arm through his. “You don’t mind if I come along, do you? Today is an important day. I want to be here to support Tom.” I ignored her. “Let’s go.” He frowned, and we walked up the steps of the courthouse like two strangers, one behind the other. Suddenly, there was a screech of tires and a chorus of screams from behind us. I whirled around. Lucy had fallen down the steps. A car, not seeing her, had driven straight into her. “Lucy!” Tom flew down the steps like a madman, dropping to his knees beside her. A pool of crimson was quickly spreading beneath her. He screamed at me, his voice raw. “An ambulance! Call an ambulance!” I stood frozen at the top of the steps, my hands and feet turning to ice. It had all happened so fast. I didn’t even see how she fell. Tom took off his jacket and covered her with it, calling her name over and over. Lucy’s eyes fluttered open. She pointed a weak, trembling finger at me. “It was you… you did this…” The veins on his forehead bulged. He roared, his voice cracking with rage. “Stop pretending! I knew something was wrong yesterday when you were so calm. You hate her, you hate me, so you chose today to do this. Hannah, how could you be so evil?” His voice dropped to a choked whisper. “She’s pregnant. She’s carrying my child.” A murmur went through the crowd of onlookers. Dozens of eyes turned to me, their gazes like needles piercing my skin. I looked at Lucy. And in that moment, I saw it. A flicker of a cold, triumphant smile. It was a setup. She was using her own child to utterly destroy me. A deep, bone-chilling cold settled in my heart. “In your mind, is that really the kind of person I am?” His eyes were bloodshot, and every word he spoke was a dagger. “What else am I supposed to think? You threw away her food yesterday. Are you going to deny that you hate her? You’re a murderer.” Those four words were the final, crushing blow. In that instant, every emotion I had suppressed broke through the dam of my reason. I reached into my bag and pulled out a manila envelope. The envelope I had brought with me for my follow-up appointment today. Under his furious, hateful gaze, I threw it in his face. Papers scattered, fluttering to the ground like ashes. On the top was a surgical consent form from the city hospital, dated at the beginning of the year. Patient: Hannah Bennett. Procedure: Lumpectomy. Date: January 12th. Family Signature: Self. Tom froze. Tears streamed down my face, but I was laughing, my whole body shaking. “A murderer? Aren’t you the murderer?”

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1 My million-dollar investment fund was supposed to be the key to my future. Instead, it became the dowry for my fiancée’s adopted brother. Seraphina’s family had one rule: any man who wanted to marry her had to build a three-million-dollar investment fund. I scrimped and saved, working myself to the bone, ruining my health, until I finally hit the two-million mark. But then, everything went wrong. The stock market crashed. A major project at work fell through. That last million felt impossibly far away. Seraphina, seeing how much I was struggling, promised she would help me save. Then my mother fell gravely ill. She needed an expensive, life-saving surgery. I tried to access the fund, but after three failed password attempts, the account was locked. I couldn’t get a single penny out. I raced to the bank, half-panicked. The teller delivered the news with cold indifference. “Sir, you are not the authorized user of this fund.” How was that possible? I had deposited every single dollar myself! The teller, annoyed, spun his monitor towards me. The name of the fund was displayed in stark black letters: The Leo Matheson Marriage Endowment. … I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. Just then, the bank manager’s voice, hushed and nervous, drifted from a nearby office. “Ms. Matheson, that was a close one. Mr. Ethan Grey was just in here trying to withdraw thirty thousand. I managed to stop him just in time.” “Good.” The tip of Seraphina’s cigarette glowed in the dim light. “Leo has always been sheltered. I don’t want people to think he’s incapable when he gets married. Every dollar in that fund was earned through Ethan’s hard work. It will give Leo’s future in-laws a reason to respect him.” The manager chuckled obsequiously. “But Ms. Matheson… Mr. Grey has been struggling to reach that final million. It’s not like him…” Seraphina casually stubbed out her cigarette. “That was my doing. Leo isn’t done enjoying the single life yet. I can’t get married until he does. We’re not in a rush.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. The money I had traded my health for was nothing more than a status symbol for her brother? A dull ache spread through my chest. Before I could even process the betrayal, my phone buzzed with another urgent message from the hospital. “Mr. Grey, if you can’t pay the surgical fees soon, there’s nothing more we can do.” Sweating, panicked, I ran, losing a shoe in my haste to catch up to Seraphina as she left the bank. I cornered her outside her office, swallowing every last scrap of my pride. “I need thirty thousand. Please. I’ll pay you back…” She froze, her expression hardening into a mask of corporate disapproval. “My parents made you save that money as a test, not so you could find loopholes. Instead of begging for money, you should be developing new projects. Your performance this quarter is already lagging.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “And thirty thousand, just like that? Do you think I’m made of money?” I was speechless. As I tried to follow her, her assistant blocked my path. “Sir, please.” Just then, her brother, Leo, dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes, shouldered past me and bounced into her office, showing off his latest shopping haul. A single watch on his wrist was worth more than my mother’s surgery. And every cent of it was my money. My five years of relentless, back-breaking work. What was that worth in Seraphina’s eyes? As I turned to leave, my phone rang. My mother was gone. Through the blinds of her office window, I could see them laughing together. I pulled out my phone and called a number I hadn’t dialed in five years. “You said you’d always have a position for me. Does that offer still stand?” The funeral lasted three days. It was long enough for me to cry myself empty. The whole world knew my mother had died. The only person who didn’t was Seraphina. She knew I would skip meals, sacrifice sleep, do anything to hit that three-million-dollar mark. She had seen me work until I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer, and she had sat by my bedside, her voice soft with concern. “Ethan, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. I’m here for you, you know.” I thought it was love. I never imagined that she was the one using my blood and bones to pave a golden road for her brother. In my grief, a small, foolish part of me hoped she would notice my absence, that she would call, that she would ask what was wrong. But the tabloids were full of her. She was making headlines for outbidding everyone at auctions, making a spectacle of her generosity as she built a trousseau for Leo. MATHESON HEIRESS D’OTES ON ADOPTED BROTHER, SPENDING MORE ON HIS FUTURE THAN HER OWN WEDDING! Even the paparazzi could see it. I remembered handing her our wedding plans, a thick binder filled with dreams. She hadn’t even looked up from her work. “It’s still a long way off. You handle it.” Now, I was tired. So incredibly tired. When I finally went back to our apartment, she greeted me with a warm hug. “You must be exhausted, honey.” She sighed, her voice laced with practiced regret. “I’m sorry I was so harsh before. I was just thinking about our future. This is the only thing my parents have ever asked of you. As soon as you hit that target, we can get married.” Is that so? The wedding I had waited five years for was entirely dependent on whether or not her brother felt like settling down? I pulled away from her embrace, my smile feeling brittle. “The wedding can wait.” My cool response seemed to extinguish the last of her patience. “Ethan, is this because I didn’t lend you that thirty thousand?” she snapped. “I’m just as anxious to get married as you are, but I can’t help you cheat!” I looked at her, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it steady. “I’m done. I don’t want to save anymore. I’m just… tired.” Her anger vanished, replaced by a flicker of panic. “What are you talking about? Don’t joke like that. If you’re tired, I can help you behind the scenes from now on.” I stared into her eyes, wondering how she could say that with a straight face. A few weeks ago, a project I had spent six months designing was suddenly accused of regulatory violations at a major bidding conference. The “evidence” was damning. I was crucified by the industry, branded a fraud. Seraphina had been my fierce defender, smashing a bottle over the accuser’s head and comforting me all night. I never would have guessed that she was the one who orchestrated the whole thing. The stock market dips, the supply chain failures… it was all her. A heavy pain settled in my chest. I couldn’t even clench my fists. Later that night, I heard her on the phone in her study, her voice a hushed whisper. “Yes, lay off him for now. Let him land a few small projects. It won’t be enough to finish the fund quickly.” I stood on the other side of the thick door and laughed without making a sound. There was no point. I was done playing her game. Leaning against the doorframe, I heard her switch to a video call with Leo, her voice softening as she used his pet name, patiently coaching him on how to pitch my project at the conference the next day. I remembered when I was starting out, how ruthless she had been, her standards impossibly high. I didn’t listen anymore. I went to the bedroom, packed my bags, and booked a flight for the following night. The five-hundred-page project proposal burned brightly in the fireplace. “What are you doing?” Seraphina demanded, rushing in and snatching the charred remains from the flames. A bitter taste filled my mouth. “Nothing. It just fell in.” She didn’t question it. She simply reprinted a fresh copy and handed it to me. “Be on time for the conference tomorrow.” The next day, the conference hall was packed with the city’s business elite. But the center of attention wasn’t me. It was Leo, dressed in a flamboyant tuxedo, his arm wrapped possessively around Seraphina’s waist as he chatted animatedly with investors. He was the star of the show. Until my proposal flashed onto the main screen. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. “Isn’t that Mr. Matheson’s idea? How shameless, stealing someone else’s work!” “It’s blatant plagiarism! He’s really willing to do anything to marry into that family.” “Good thing Leo mentioned his concept to us earlier. Otherwise, Grey might have tried to blame him!” I instinctively looked at Seraphina. Her face was a mask of disappointment and shame. “You don’t believe me either?” She looked away, disgusted. “You know what you did.” She turned her back on me completely, pulling Leo into a comforting embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder, his body shaking with crocodile tears. “I know Ethan doesn’t like me,” he sobbed. “But I worked so hard on this proposal. How could you say it’s yours?” Seraphina’s face hardened. She pointed a finger at me, her voice ringing through the silent hall. “I trusted you! And you repay me by bringing shame to this family? If this is how you intend to earn your money, you will never marry me!” My heart shattered. I remembered when her parents first gave me the ultimatum. She had been so indignant, so ready to fight for me. She said she would rather give up her inheritance than see me crushed under such pressure. Now, I wondered. How much of that was real? My voice was thick with emotion. “You reprinted the proposal yourself last night. You know—” “Shut up!” she roared. “Who knows when you cornered Leo, what despicable means you used to steal his idea!” She didn’t care about my side. She only cared about the tears on her brother’s face. The whispers and jeers of the crowd felt like physical blows. Leo, his eyes red and puffy, gave a deep, theatrical bow to the audience. “I apologize for the trouble we’ve caused. I’ll personally compensate everyone for their time. Please, forgive my brother-in-law.” Seraphina’s heart seemed to melt. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.” She then turned her steely gaze on me. “Ethan, you will pay for the company’s losses.” I started to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. “Seraphina, can I even access the money in the fund?” She flinched, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. But her next words were a death blow. “Doesn’t your mother have an ancestral home? Auction it off.” For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. That house was the only thing my mother had left, a final gift from my father before he died. Even when she was on her deathbed, I couldn’t bring myself to sell it. “No!” My firm refusal only prompted more theatrics from Leo. “It’s my fault. Ethan must hate me for embarrassing him. I’ll give you the proposal, just please, auction the house. Don’t let Seraphina lose face because of this.” I felt the blood rush to my head. “It was my proposal to begin with!” “Enough!” Seraphina slapped me, the sound echoing through the hall. “What is wrong with you? We can rent your mother another apartment. Is that really more important than Leo’s feelings?” The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. The prestigious bidding conference turned into an auction for my mother’s legacy. The crowd whispered and watched, but no one made a bid. “I bid… one dollar!” Leo’s cheerful voice cut through the silence. The room erupted in laughter. Seraphina just sighed, a look of fond exasperation on her face. She knew what that house meant to me. With Leo leading the charge, the bids became a cruel joke. “Two dollars and fifty cents!” “Five dollars, over here!” Their contemptuous gazes were suffocating. From the back of the room, Leo shot me a triumphant smirk. The gavel came down. My mother’s home was sold for the humiliating sum of fifty dollars. My eyes burned. Seraphina signed the transfer papers and gave me a dismissive glance. “The point was to show everyone you were sorry. The price doesn’t matter.” I stared at her, each word a monumental effort. “The house doesn’t matter. My mother’s life doesn’t matter. And from now on, Seraphina, neither do you.”

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I bought a used laptop online, expecting a beat-up machine to get me through the school year. What arrived was the latest, high-end model, brand new out of the box. I opened it up, and my jaw hit the floor. The wallpaper was a photo of me. The password was my birthday. Just as I was wondering if I had a secret admirer or a stalker, my phone blew up. The seller was spamming me with frantic texts: “Dude! I sent the wrong one! That’s my sister’s brand-new laptop!” “That wasn’t the one for sale! Oh my god, she’s going to kill me.” “Did you see the guy on the wallpaper? That’s her future husband. She’s obsessed with him.” “Please, for the sake of true love, can you send it back?” 1 My four-year-old laptop finally gave up the ghost right before payday. I was broke. I teach third grade; “broke” is my default setting. I scoured eBay for four days until I found a listing that fit my sad little budget. To save even more money, I decided to shoot my shot. I pulled out the metaphorical machete: “Would you take $200?” The listing was for $500. I expected to be blocked or cursed out. Instead, the seller replied instantly: “Sure. Free shipping, too.” I felt like I’d encountered a benevolent god. I sent a string of generic, over-the-top compliments to the default avatar profile: “You are an angel! May you win the lottery! May you get a promotion! May your crush fall in love with you!” After a pause, she replied: “I hope so.” I paid immediately. The seller messaged: “We’re in the same city. Can you pick it up?” “Totally.” A few minutes later: “Actually, something came up. I have to go out of town. I’ll have my family courier it to you tomorrow.” The next day, I came home from school to find a package. I opened it, and my smile froze. This wasn’t the gray brick I ordered. This was a Rose Gold, top-of-the-line beast. It cost ten times what I paid. Confused, I hit the power button. The screen lit up. And there I was. It was a photo of me from high school, standing under a cherry blossom tree, holding an ice cream cone, waving at the camera. I looked young, happy, and full of life. Unlike the current me, who looks like a walking corpse fueled by caffeine. Why did a stranger have my photo as their wallpaper? Was this a prank? A gift? I looked at the password field. on a hunch, I typed in my birthday. Click. Unlocked. I grabbed my phone to ask the seller what was going on. That’s when the barrage of texts came in. “I messed up! I grabbed the wrong box!” “That’s my sister’s laptop! She keeps a photo of her ‘dream husband’ on it because she’s crazy!” “Please, help a girl out!” 2 I stared at the screen. “Dream husband?” Me? I convinced myself it was a coincidence. Maybe my photo became a meme online or a stock image. As for the birthday… plenty of people are born on that day. The seller’s panic seemed genuine, and honestly, a little hilarious. I replied: “Okay, I’ll return it.” I’m a teacher. I can’t steal a laptop, and I certainly don’t want to mess with someone’s “dream husband” delusion. The seller sent a flood of crying emojis. “Thank you! You’re a saint! I’ll meet you at the mall near the elementary school. Call me when you get there.” I grabbed the laptop and headed to the mall. I scanned the entrance for anyone looking like they were waiting for a package. Instead, I saw one of my students. Zoe. Zoe was staring at her massive, pink smartwatch, stomping her foot nervously. Seeing her triggered a memory from that morning. During recess, Zoe had cornered me. “Mr. Miller, do you have a girlfriend?” “No,” I’d said. She slapped her hand on her desk and pulled over another kid, Lucas. “Okay, Mr. Miller. Two choices. One: You become my brother-in-law. Two: You become his uncle. Pick one.” I was confused. Then I remembered Zoe was Lucas’s aunt (don’t ask about the family tree). Lucas had chimed in, “Yeah! My Aunt Nora is super pretty! She’s a police detective! She’s tall and kicks butt!” I had laughed it off. “I’ll give you two choices. Double homework, or triple homework?” They had scattered like roaches. Now, seeing Zoe at the mall, I tried to hide. I didn’t want to get roped into another “Choose Your Own Adventure” romance plot. I looked at the sky. I looked at my shoes. “Mr. Miller!” Too late. Zoe sprinted over. “What a coincidence! Are you waiting for a girlfriend?” I sighed. “No, Zoe.” It was 7:30 PM. “Where are your parents? It’s getting dark.” Zoe held up her watch. “I am on a mission. To protect my sister’s love life… and my own survival.” “Is your ride here?” She pointed to a sleek, expensive black car by the curb. “Driver’s right there.” I remembered I needed to call the seller. I dialed the number. Zoe’s giant pink watch started ringing. 3 The look on Zoe’s face was a masterpiece of pure terror. She stared at the laptop in my hands. Her brain rebooted. “M-Mr. Miller? You bought the laptop?” I handed it to her. “Here.” “Lying isn’t a good habit, Zoe. Also, tell your sister to refund my money.” Zoe looked like she was about to cry. “I can’t refund it! If she sees the transaction, she’ll know I sold the wrong one! She’s a cop! She knows how to hide a body!” “She beats me! You don’t want to see your favorite student with a black eye, do you?” “I thought you said she was nice?” I asked. “She is! I mean… no! She’s a tyrant! Please, Mr. Miller!” She was spiraling. “Okay, okay,” I said. “But I need the computer I actually bought. Or the money.” Zoe sniffled. “Can you… come to my house and get it?” 4 I followed Zoe into her house. The living room was full of people. “Mom, Dad, I’m home!” Zoe announced. “Sister… you’re back?” On the couch sat a woman. She had her eyes closed. She was wearing a simple T-shirt and sweatpants, but you could see the muscle definition underneath. Tan skin. Sharp jawline. Even sleeping, she looked intimidatingly gorgeous. So this is the sister. My eyes lingered a little too long. Zoe tugged my sleeve. “Mr. Miller, you’re drooling.” “I am not.” Zoe ran over to the woman and shook her. “Nora! Wake up! Emergency!” Her parents walked over to me, looking confused. “Who is this?” They didn’t recognize me. Which was weird, because “Zoe’s Guardian” liked every single one of my Facebook posts. “Hi, I’m Liam Miller. Zoe’s teacher.” The woman on the couch snapped her eyes open. She looked at me. Her gaze was sharp, analytical. A predator assessing prey. I looked away, nervous. Zoe was whispering to her sister. “Buy me the Lego Death Star! Or else!” Nora grabbed Zoe by the collar and tossed her aside like a sack of potatoes. “You failed math. No Death Star. Be quiet.” Zoe’s mom ushered me in. “Is Zoe in trouble at school? She’s a handful.” “No, no,” I explained. “I actually bought a laptop from… Zoe’s sister. There was a mix-up.” “Nora?” Her dad called out. “Go get Mr. Miller his computer.” Nora stood up. She walked past me without a word, her face completely blank, and went into a bedroom. Zoe was punching the sofa cushions in rage. “She won’t buy it! Evil woman!” I sat awkwardly with the parents. I decided to make conversation. “Zoe is a great kid,” I lied. “Very spirited. She’s talked the ears off nine different desk-mates.” Before I could finish, a slice of orange was shoved into my mouth. “Eat, Mr. Miller,” Zoe hissed. “My sister peeled it.” Zoe hopped off the couch and grabbed the rose gold laptop I had placed on the table. She opened it. The screen lit up. My face, eating ice cream, beamed at the entire family. Just then, Nora walked out of her room. Zoe gasped theatrically. “Oh my god, Nora! Why is Mr. Miller on your wallpaper? That is so weird!”

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My family went bankrupt. Then my best friend’s brother decided to force my hand. My best friend was fighting for me. “Sebastian! How could you do this to my best friend?” Her brother’s expression was calm. “You have a crush on her brother, don’t you? I had him brought here for you.” My best friend’s face changed in an instant. “Oh! Well, in that case!” Me: ? My brother: ? 1 My family’s business collapsed. My younger brother, Liam, and I were handling it with a grim sort of calm. The one person who wasn’t calm was my best friend, Isabelle Thorne. She called me, practically screaming into the phone. “Chloe! Are you okay? Are there loan sharks camped out on your lawn? Did they splash red paint on your door or something?” “…” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m fine, Izzy. And maybe you should watch a little less TV.” “Can you even afford to eat?” She had already pictured me begging on a street corner. “Quick, give me your bank details, I’ll wire you some money!” “It’s okay, really,” I reassured her. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” After another ten minutes of dramatic wailing, she suddenly switched gears. “Chloe! I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come up with three possible solutions to save your family!” Thinking she was finally about to be serious, I sat up straighter. “I’m listening.” Isabelle declared, “Plan A! I’ll beg my brother to marry you!” “…” I knew I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. Before the bankruptcy, my family’s business had been successful. But compared to the Thorne family, we were small-time. Theirs was old money, an empire that had only grown more formidable in recent years. And that was all thanks to Sebastian Thorne. Liam, Izzy, and I were the creative types, none of us with an ounce of business sense or any desire to take over our family companies. Sebastian was the complete opposite. In the business world, he was ruthless, decisive, and terrifyingly brilliant—a true titan of industry. I’d only met him a few times, but each time, he was like a walking glacier—imposing, cold, and radiating a chill that dropped the room temperature by ten degrees. Even though Izzy was his sister, she’d been on the receiving end of his lectures more times than she could count for her wild antics. She would often come to me, crying. “Everyone else’s brother is so sweet and gentle! Why is mine so scary?” But for all his scolding, their bond was strong. When Izzy’s chatter got on his nerves, Sebastian’s go-to solution was to throw money at her until she went away. Izzy would instantly transform, snatching the cash with a grin. “Thanks, Seb! You’re the best brother in the world!” If even his own sister was a little intimidated by him, what chance did I have? Besides, despite his frosty demeanor, Sebastian was tall, devastatingly handsome, and had a line of admirers stretching from New York to Paris. Why would he ever choose me? I immediately vetoed her first plan. “What’s Plan B?” Izzy’s voice jumped an octave, clearly thrilled with her next idea. “Plan B is—” “I’ll marry your brother!” 2 I have a younger brother, Liam, who is two years my junior. Liam is a lot like me—quiet and reserved. He’s also incredibly good-looking, the classic cool, aloof campus heartthrob all through school. Girls were constantly asking me to pass love letters to him. Izzy and I met during our junior year of college. As we grew closer, we started visiting each other’s homes. The first time Izzy saw Liam, she fell for him. Hard. Her jaw dropped, her eyes lit up, and she grabbed my hand, her voice a dramatic whisper. “Chloe, I think I’ve just met my Prince Charming.” “…This is my brother, Liam,” I introduced them. “What!” She got even more excited. “This is perfect! It’s fate, Chloe! Fate!” Liam just gave her a weary look and walked away. I tried to gently warn her. “Izzy, are you sure? Liam is… a tough nut to crack.” I had seen him turn down more girls than I could count. But Izzy didn’t listen. She launched a full-scale, no-holds-barred campaign to win him over. So far, it hadn’t worked. But she was nothing if not persistent, her spirit commendable. I couldn’t stand it anymore and asked Liam myself, “Do you really not like Izzy? She’s amazing. She’s beautiful, and she’s so fun and cheerful.” Liam just handed me a freshly peeled apple. “Eat your apple, and stop asking questions.” So, I shut up and took a bite. Deep down, I really hoped they would get together. Liam might not be a man of many words, but he was the best brother anyone could ask for. When I first heard about the bankruptcy, I was terrified. Liam, an architect, was out of town for work, but he rushed back overnight. He found me sitting in a daze and put a steadying hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’m here.” Instantly, I felt a surge of confidence. “I know.” I could tell that while Liam hadn’t been interested in Izzy at first, she was slowly getting under his skin. The last time I’d casually mentioned that some guy was asking Izzy out, Liam had been in a foul mood for the rest of the day. But a crush was one thing. With our family’s current situation, he was under immense pressure. Marrying Izzy was out of the question. So, Plan B was a no-go. Izzy sighed dramatically. “Well, that only leaves Plan C,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe we should just elope!” 3 As ridiculous as it sounded, it somehow seemed more plausible than the first two options. But I still turned her down. “Why are all of your plans about one of us marrying one of you?” “To make us family, of course!” Izzy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, my family is loaded. We could pay off all your debts in a heartbeat!” She had a point. Then she suddenly gasped. “Wait! Don’t you have a childhood fiancé or something?” She meant Noah. Our families had lived next door to each other when we were kids. Noah was my shadow, following me everywhere. Our parents used to joke that we should just have an arranged marriage when we grew up. It was just talk, of course, nothing official. I’d always thought of Noah as a good friend and never took it seriously. Until my family went bankrupt. Noah showed up at my door, looking frantic. “Chloe, I told my parents we have to honor our engagement, but they won’t agree!” “I’m still trying to convince them! Just wait for me!” “Don’t worry,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “I won’t break things off just because your family is broke!” I stared at him, completely baffled. Break things off? We weren’t even together. I tried to explain. “Noah, uh, I don’t think we ever had a real engagement…” “Of course we did! My dad said so himself when I was five! Our families were going to be joined!” He wouldn’t listen, his eyes wide with conviction. “Chloe, wait for me! You just have to wait for me!” He ran off, shouting “Wait for me!” over his shoulder, leaving me utterly confused. I kept meaning to sit him down and explain things properly, but after the bankruptcy, life was a whirlwind of paperwork and phone calls. Thankfully, most of it was sorted out now. After liquidating our assets, we were still in debt, but it was a manageable number, not an insurmountable mountain. Liam and I were both working overtime to pay it off, bit by bit. I was a freelance illustrator, and I had taken on a flood of private commissions. Liam was constantly working late or traveling for business. Seeing how exhausted I was, Izzy insisted on dragging me away from my endless pile of sketches for a weekend getaway. “Come on, please!” she begged. “It’s my brother’s new mountain villa! We can watch the sunset, it’s gorgeous, I promise!” I couldn’t say no. “Okay, fine.” So that weekend, we drove up to the villa. It was perched on a mountaintop, lavishly decorated, with a breathtaking view. “What do you think? Isn’t it amazing?” Izzy said, pulling me along excitedly. “I begged my brother to let me throw a party here, but he always said no. This time, when I told him I wanted to bring you here for a vacation, he had a rare moment of mercy and actually agreed!” On the second floor, there was a huge observation deck overlooking the lush, green mountains. Izzy and I lounged on recliners, and watching the scenery, I felt my stress begin to melt away. After a while, Izzy went downstairs to get the desserts she’d been baking. I was lying there alone when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned my head. And froze. Izzy hadn’t mentioned Sebastian would be here. I fumbled for a moment, not knowing what to call him, and just stared up at him dumbly as he approached. He stopped beside my chair and spoke first. “How have you been holding up?” His voice snapped me out of my trance. “I’m… I’m okay.” A breeze swept across the deck, making the trees sway like a green ocean. It was so beautiful, I let out a soft sigh of admiration. He caught it. “You like it here?” “I love it,” I nodded, then joked, “The view is so incredible, it’s completely cleared my head. If only I could live here forever.” I was just making a casual remark, but Sebastian replied without a hint of hesitation. “You can.” I didn’t understand. “What?” “You can live here forever.” He looked down at me, his usual intimidating aura softened by the serious look in his eyes. “All you have to do is marry me.” 4 For a second, I was sure I’d misheard him. After a few stunned blinks, I quickly waved my hands. “I was just kidding.” But his expression didn’t change. “I’m not.” Now I was completely lost. I remembered Izzy’s joke about getting her brother to marry me and wondered if she had actually asked him. But Sebastian wasn’t the type to do things just because his sister asked. “Marry me,” Sebastian repeated. “You can name your terms.” I started to stammer. “I-I don’t think so.” A frown creased his brow, a clear sign of his displeasure. He was about to say something else when Izzy came back up, carrying a plate of cake. “Seb?” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?” “Just passing through. I’m leaving soon.” He turned to go, then paused and looked back at me. “Think about it.” “Passing through what? The middle of nowhere?” Izzy watched him go, confused. “What were you guys talking about? I swear my brother looks even angrier than usual. His iceberg face is extra frosty.” I didn’t know what to say, so I asked her cautiously, “Did you, by any chance, ask your brother to marry me?” “Nope!” she said, shaking her head. “I was going to, but then I saw his face and chickened out. I was afraid he’d tell me to get lost, so I dropped it.” That only made me more confused, but I didn’t press the issue. After that, Izzy kept dragging me on “getaways,” sometimes to a resort her brother had invested in, other times to one of his properties. “I don’t know what’s gotten into my brother lately,” she’d say. “He’s suddenly being nice to me! He says yes to everywhere I want to go. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth!” I tried to refuse, but she was relentless. I only agreed to go after making sure Sebastian wouldn’t be there. Our fourth trip was to a beach house he’d bought a year ago. Izzy said she’d only been allowed to stay there once since it was renovated. We ended up just curling up in the home theater to watch a movie. Halfway through, Izzy complained of a stomachache and ran to the bathroom. I paused the movie to wait for her. But she wasn’t the one who came back. It was Sebastian. Before I could even think of some polite small talk, he cut straight to the chase. “Have you made your decision?” I just stared at him blankly. “Huh?” “Marrying me,” he clarified. “I can pay off your family’s debt.” I didn’t answer right away. To be honest, I was tempted. But my hesitation must have looked like a refusal to him. His brow furrowed. “Why not? Is it because of that childhood fiancé of yours?” I was shocked. Izzy had even told him about Noah! “No, that’s not it,” I tried to explain. “That whole thing was…” He didn’t seem interested in my explanation. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” He produced a glass of milk from somewhere and handed it to me. “Drink.” “Oh, okay.” I took the glass obediently and took a sip. “Finish it,” he commanded. I dutifully drank the rest of it. “It tastes a little bitter,” I remarked. “Mm,” he said, taking the empty glass back. “Are you tired?” Now that he mentioned it, a wave of drowsiness washed over me. I rubbed my eyes. “Yeah, a little.” My thoughts suddenly felt fuzzy, and my eyelids grew heavy. In the last few seconds before I lost consciousness, I heard his voice, low and soft. “Go to sleep.”

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Danny was on his deathbed, and I was the only one there, his faithful companion. I was peeling an apple, the rhythmic scrape of the blade a comfort. I smiled at our children. “Want to hear the story of your parents’ golden anniversary?” I expected fond smiles. Instead, they looked at me as if I’d served them poison. My son, Ben, shook his head. “Mom, look at me and Maya. We’re not married. Don’t you understand why?” I stared, bewildered. “Why? Your father and I have been through fifty years together.” Maya shot to her feet. “Fifty years as his mistress?” she shot back, her voice shaking. “Fifty years with no name, no rights, raising two illegitimate children while another woman shared him as your equal? You call that a golden anniversary? I’d rather be alone!” Rage flared in me. Crack. My palm struck her cheek. Maya clutched her face, eyes blazing with tears. Those eyes were screaming, He’s not worth it. A wave of vertigo hit me. I clutched my chest, a sharp pain lancing through my heart, and crumpled to the floor. All that came out was a choked gasp and the coppery taste of blood. 1 “Mom! Mom, don’t scare me!” Maya cried, her anger instantly replaced by panic. I grabbed her arm, my voice a desperate rasp. “You think he doesn’t love me? Your father? After fifty years, you think there was never any love?” She turned her face away, unable to meet my eyes. I violently shook off the hand she offered to help me up and scrambled toward the hospital bed. I seized Danny’s frail, withered wrist, the skin a roadmap of needle marks and faded bruises. I leaned in close, staring into his clouded eyes, my voice a raw shout. “Danny! Don’t you love me? Huh?” “In high school, you skipped breakfast every day to save up and buy me a rose. In winter, you knitted me a scarf and warmed my hands in yours. In college, you worked all summer to buy me a ring… Have you forgotten all that?” “Say something! Answer me!” I shook him with all my strength, but not a single sound could escape the tube in his throat. He’d endured five major surgeries this year alone. The handsome, strong man I once knew was gone, replaced by a fragile skeleton trapped in this sterile white bed. He’d had two women in his life, and children from both. But in the end, the only one here, tending to him day and night, was me. “How dare you say you don’t love me? Speak!” I slapped him, once, then again, the sound sharp in the sterile room, my hands striking his hollowed-out cheeks. “You liar! You’ve lied to me my whole life! Give him back to me… Give me back the Danny I knew when I was twenty!” His head lolled to the side from the force of the blows. He couldn’t move, but his old eyes slowly, painfully, turned back to me. And then, large, cloudy tears began to roll down his temples, quickly soaking the white hair at his sides. Maya wrapped her arms around me from behind, her voice choked with sobs. “Mom, stop! Please, stop! He can’t talk!” My mouth was open, but I couldn’t breathe. The world swam before my eyes. All I ever wanted was to fool myself for a lifetime. 2 Danny had two women in his life. We grew up on the same block, in a rough part of town. Childhood sweethearts, inseparable. The year we graduated, Danny’s academic excellence landed him a coveted position as a senior aide to Chairman Sterling, the head of the Sterling Corporation. The other woman was the Chairman’s secret, illegitimate daughter. On my twenty-second birthday, I accepted Danny’s proposal. The very next day, I was taken. The kidnappers demanded a twenty-million-dollar ransom, or they would kill me. But Danny and I were just kids, fresh out of school. Twenty million was an impossible sum. To prove they were serious, they’d sent him my ring finger, the engagement ring still on it. Danny knelt before Chairman Sterling for a day and a night, begging. He came back with a check for twenty million dollars. And he brought me home. The price was a night with the Chairman’s daughter, Eleanor Sterling. On his deathbed, Chairman Sterling used that twenty million to secure a stable future for his illegitimate daughter. He saw Danny’s talent and ambition. He entrusted him with the entire Sterling Corporation, and with Eleanor. I was in agony. I struggled. The man I loved now had a woman who would be by his side for life. I should have wished them well and disappeared. But every time I made up my mind to leave him for good, Danny would appear. Sometimes drunk, sometimes sober and clear-eyed. He would kiss the mutilated finger that could never again wear a ring and whisper, “Lena, don’t you ever think you can leave me. You owe me twenty million. You owe me your life.” Later, he confessed that his relationship with Eleanor was just for show, a necessary evil. He swore that I was the only woman he considered his wife. And when I learned they had no official marriage certificate, I accepted his terms. From that day on, I became his life in Northwood, and Eleanor was his life in Bay City. Over fifty years, we even bore him the same number of children, a boy and a girl each. He was the master of juggling two lives. “…Don’t be a fool, Mom. You call that juggling?” 3 It was Maya again. Her words were always so hard to hear. And they always cut right to the bone. “Do you have any idea how much jewelry she owns? How many apartments, how many limited-edition cars? Do you know how many shares of the company have been funneled to her, openly and secretly?” My lips moved, but no sound came out. “Fine,” Maya said, her voice thick with the frustration she felt on my behalf. “You can say you don’t care about that stuff. But what about his time? In fifty years, you can count on one hand the number of times Dad flew to Northwood to be with you. When Grandma and Grandpa were sick, when they were dying, you were the one who stayed by their bedsides day and night. Did Eleanor Sterling ever bring them a glass of water? A single pill?” “When we were kids, how many people pointed at us and called us bastards, illegitimate… You always said Dad was busy! Yes, he was busy! Busy celebrating a birthday with his other children in Bay City! How many of our birthdays did he come home for? We couldn’t even call him ‘Dad’ unless no one else was around!” Finally, a flicker of pity softened her voice, as if she was afraid of pushing me too far. “And in the end… Mom, she had a wedding of the century, broadcast around the world. Her dress was custom-designed by a master couturier. Her ring was bigger than a quail’s egg. And you?” She paused, her voice barely a whisper. “You have a finger that can never wear a ring again.” I staggered back until my spine hit the cold wall. The dignity I had fought to maintain for fifty years was, in my daughter’s eyes, nothing but a pathetic lie. I could still see the broadcast of that wedding, clear as day, even after all these decades. The air filled with falling petals as Danny, in a perfectly tailored suit, kissed Eleanor. The applause of countless guests. They were a beautiful couple, a perfect match. Beside me on the sofa, Danny’s mother had let out a long, weary sigh and patted my hand, saying nothing. That sigh was more shaming than any curse. Even if Danny swore they would never get a marriage license, that in name, Eleanor and I were the same, what did it matter? He bought her priceless jade at auctions, hosted art exhibitions of her paintings, even cooked for her. The tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her was undeniable. The world said Danny Sterling adored his wife. And I was just a sewer rat, peeking at a happiness that wasn’t mine. I’d fought back, of course. The worst time, I smashed everything in the house I could get my hands on. At first, he was patient. He tried to hold me like he used to, to kiss my broken finger and murmur, “Don’t, Lena… You know you’re the only one in my heart. I could never love her. What is Eleanor Sterling to me? Anything she has, you’ll have too…” But eventually, he stopped saying that. The last time I raged, he stood amidst the wreckage, looking down at me as I sat, disheveled and broken, on the floor. He watched me for a long time, then said softly, “You’re getting old, Lena. What’s the point of all this?” He was right. I was old. My skin had loosened, my waist had thickened, and the lines around my eyes were too deep to hide. And Eleanor, with her expensive beauty treatments, was always perfect, always radiant at the galas, the charity dinners, the international art shows where she was needed. More importantly, I had no way out. He had long since forbidden me from working, slowly clipping the wings that connected me to the outside world. The money he gave me was enough to raise the children, enough to keep up appearances, but never enough for me to have ideas of my own, and certainly not enough to leave and live independently. I was a frog in a pot of slowly boiling water, and I’d been simmering for so long. Eventually, I started to believe it myself. I had to love him. I had to act like I loved him more now than I ever had when I was young. It was the only way to find a reason for this absurd, laughable love, a pillar to keep it from collapsing entirely. Danny’s visits to Northwood grew less and less frequent. But I poured all my energy into caring for his parents, so much so that on their deathbeds, they wept and told me how sorry they were for what I’d endured. I pushed my children relentlessly, my standards for them almost cruel, until they became top performers in their fields. Their success was my greatest medal, proof that my silent suffering had been worth something. 4 Danny’s health took a sharp decline in the spring. A man of his wealth should have had access to the world’s best doctors, to 24/7 private care. He shouldn’t have been in this state. But his son and daughter in Bay City were just waiting for him to die so they could take over his empire. Danny was stubborn and refused to relinquish control. He came to Northwood on his last legs. When I opened the door, he collapsed into my arms. Through five major surgeries, I let no one else near him. I bathed him, fed him his medicine, tended to his every need myself. He wasted away to nothing. In his rare moments of lucidity, he would dictate instructions to his secretary. One day, the secretary mentioned arrangements for his ashes. I suddenly spoke up. “He should come back to Northwood. Come home.” His cloudy eyes turned to me. On a strange impulse, I added, “…I want to be buried with you.” The words were out before I could stop them. I was stunned. The resentment I had buried for fifty years had never truly gone away. If I couldn’t have him exclusively in life, I would bind him to me in death, forever. Danny smiled, a weak, tired thing, and laboriously raised a hand to my face. “…That wouldn’t be fair.” He paused. “My ashes… half and half. Buried in two different places.” “Danny…” I stared at the dying man. “And was it fair to me?” Eleanor and I both had a son and a daughter, all around the same age. But I never told Danny that we should have had three children. Eleanor had always known about me, but Danny had passed me off as a live-in housekeeper. A housekeeper. Someone who would never threaten her position as Mrs. Sterling. Even so, she couldn’t stand the thought of me bearing his child before she did. One day, there was an “accident.” I fell, and started bleeding heavily. Danny wasn’t there. There was no one to even sign the emergency medical forms. I passed out from the pain. I was lucky to survive, but I nearly lost my uterus. I never told anyone about it. It was a scar I carried deep inside. 5 Today was December 6th. Fifty years ago today, Danny emptied his pockets, took me to a jewelry store, and bought me a ring. On that day, with a ring on my finger, I accepted his proposal. In my heart, I married him fifty years ago. That’s why I told my children we’d had a fifty-year marriage. Today should have been our golden anniversary. But there were three people in this marriage. It was too crowded. I wiped away a tear. Maya was right. A golden anniversary like this? I would rather not have it. Today was also the day of Danny’s sixth major surgery. The head surgeon said the risk was extremely high, with only a ten or twenty percent chance of success. But the potential reward was just as great. If it worked, he could recover most of his strength. If it failed, he would die on the operating table. He was with his secretary now, scribbling instructions on a notepad. Soon, the nurses would come to take him away. I don’t know what came over me, but I shouted, “You fell in love with her, didn’t you? You’ve loved Eleanor for a long time!” You just couldn’t admit it to me. He struggled, shaking his head. I laughed through my tears. Even at death’s door, he wouldn’t tell me the truth. My children and I waited outside the operating room. I stared at the floor. Maya came over and put her arm around me. “Don’t worry, Mom. Dad will make it through.” I forced a smile. “I almost wish he wouldn’t.” Then I would finally be free. Six hours. The surgery dragged on. I couldn’t sit still. The longer it took, the greater the risk. Which meant… Suddenly, the doors to the operating room burst open. A doctor rushed toward me. “The patient’s condition has taken a turn! He’s in cardiac arrest! We need to reopen his chest immediately! Where’s the family? We need a signature on the consent form!” A piece of paper was thrust into my hand. My mind went blank. Images of Danny flashed before my eyes—young, old, tender, cold. The tip of the pen hovered over the signature line. My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t write. “Sign it! Sign it now!” the doctor urged, his voice frantic. “We can’t proceed without a signature! You’re wasting precious time!” Slowly, I put the pen down. “Doctor,” I said, looking up, “there are no direct family members here. I can’t sign this.”

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I was Julian Thorne’s companion for three years. He set many rules for me. No touching him. No crossing the line. He was afraid his “white moonlight”—his childhood sweetheart—would misunderstand. I was cautious, terrified of being thrown back to the poverty-stricken mountains I came from. The day his sweetheart became single again, perhaps to avoid suspicion or simply because I disgusted him, he told his grandfather, Mr. Thorne: “I don’t want Autumn to be my companion anymore.” Terrified of losing my chance at an education, I swore a solemn oath: “I swear, I, Autumn Reed, will never fall in love with Julian Thorne in this lifetime. If I do, may I die a horrible death. Are you satisfied?” Later, that oath trapped him for a lifetime. 1 The Thorne family wanted to pick a companion for Julian from the underprivileged students they sponsored. Mr. Thorne chose me at first glance. At that time, Mr. Thorne was visiting the countryside, and his car got stuck in the mud. I was catching mudfish nearby and went up to help push. Despite my small frame, I was incredibly strong. After we got the car out, I cheekily asked if they wanted to buy my mudfish. Just like that, I was chosen. The day I was brought to the Thorne estate, Julian immediately put me in my place. He pushed a test paper in front of me. “If your IQ isn’t high enough, you don’t deserve to be my companion.” That day, I took a Math Olympiad test for the first time. The questions were interesting, the difficulty average. Seeing me finish in under an hour, Julian was surprised. Sitting in his wheelchair, he started laying down the rules. “I only have three requirements. First, no touching me.” Pushing a wheelchair didn’t require touching him, so that seemed easy enough. “Second, no pitying me.” Looking at his empty pant leg, I nodded solemnly. The Thorne family controlled 40% of the nation’s shipbuilding industry. To say they could turn clouds into rain with a wave of their hand was no exaggeration. Born into such a prominent family, who was I to pity him? “Third, we have an employment relationship. I hope our relationship remains purely professional. Don’t get any funny ideas.” I looked at his sculpted profile in the dappled light, then at my own dusty reflection in the glass cabinet. I understood. He meant a toad shouldn’t dream of eating swan meat. 2 Being a companion meant accompanying Julian through three years of high school. Mr. Thorne said as long as I stayed with Julian, helped him around school, and looked out for him, the Thorne family would cover my future education—whether it was a master’s, a doctorate, or studying abroad. To me, this wasn’t a transaction, but a blessing. The Thorne family gave me clean clothes, a spacious room, and ample time to study. All I had to do was fetch water, run errands, and push Julian’s wheelchair between classes. It was a luxury work-study program. At school, Julian was an eye-catcher. He was exceptionally handsome and the only student in a wheelchair. Even though he dressed and traveled low-key, gazes followed him everywhere. Naturally, classmates were curious about our relationship. One day, after I politely asked Julian for the seventh time if he needed fresh air, the student in front of us turned around. “What exactly is your relationship? You seem close but distant. You can’t be master and servant, right?” Without looking up, Julian replied, “None of your business.” He was always like this—withdrawn, cold, seemingly uninterested in making friends. Oh, wait, not always. Every weekend when he made international video calls, his mood would turn from cloudy to sunny. I didn’t know who made him so happy. 3 At school, besides taking care of Julian, I buried my head in books. I didn’t socialize much. Gradually, Julian and I became known as the odd duo. Some called us “The Crippled Prince and his Country Bumpkin Follower.” Yes, my accent, my sun-darkened skin, my whole aura screamed “rural.” It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. But the “Crippled Prince” remark led to a fight between me and the strongest guy in the sports class. That day, I was pushing Julian out of school. A jock holding a basketball sneered, “Yo, isn’t that the crippled prince and his bumpkin sidekick?” I stopped and glared at him coldly. Julian didn’t even look at the guy. He just said to me, “Ignore him. Let’s go.” The jock laughed loudly. “Keep pretending, you little coward.” Julian reminded me again, “Let’s go.” I didn’t leave. Instead, I walked straight up to the guy and punched him. Yes, a punch, not a slap. I jumped up and hit him on the right cheek. I was strong. He stumbled back several steps, clutching his face, stunned. I dropped a threat: “Keep running your mouth and I’ll hit you every time I see you!” The driver, waiting in the distance, said he finally understood why Mr. Thorne chose me. However, Julian wasn’t grateful. His evaluation was: “Reckless, impulsive, stupid.” He said arguing with low-class people lowered one’s status; using physical violence against verbal violence invited trouble. But what civilization can you discuss with uncivilized people? I retorted, “He insulted you, he deserved it.” In the car, Julian was silent for a long time before speaking slowly: “Autumn, we have an employment relationship. Don’t bring personal emotions into it.” I knew what he was reminding me of. 4 There were many such reminders and warnings later. Two instances left the deepest impression. Once, I went to his study to borrow an Agatha Christie collection. There, I saw a photo of him surfing. Spirited, smiling brightly. Involuntarily, I looked at where his right leg should be. Strong, powerful, tanned. When Julian coughed behind me, I jumped and hurriedly put the photo back. He looked at me, his voice cold. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I said, no pity.” That time, I nodded furiously. Another time was accompanying him to a music festival. Usually, he was gloomy and silent, locking himself in his room or the music studio. But at that festival, he transformed. Seeing him DJing on stage in his wheelchair completely overturned my perception. The powerful electronic beats, synced with his finger movements, pounded against my heart. He raised his arms confidently to welcome the cheers. The breath of youth, the vigor of life. Hot and passionate; broken yet resilient. I admit, my heart skipped a beat. But—I knew my place. The Little Prince says: “You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” And that “One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets oneself be tamed.” I didn’t want to weep. Besides, he set the rule: no funny ideas. I promised him. As I was giving myself a pep talk, he came off stage. Taking the water bottle I handed him, his fingers brushed mine. The warm touch made my face heat up uncontrollably. Julian keenly caught my reaction. This time, he was blunt: “Why are you blushing? Don’t get any ideas about me. I have someone I like, and she’s coming back soon.”

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