Category: English

My sister told me more than once that she wanted to find a boyfriend like my godfather’s fiancé. Then she fell in love—flew twenty-five hours straight just to celebrate some man’s birthday. I opened my mouth to talk her out of it, but she looked up at me and shook her head. “You don’t get it, sis. Every year, someone else is there for his birthday. Never me.” “This time, I want to be the one.” When her boyfriend found out over the phone, his voice dripped with contempt: “She flew internationally just to celebrate some guy’s birthday? Is she out of her mind?” The night after I dropped Anna at the airport, I was scrolling through her social media and saw the photo. A man’s back. Broad shoulders. A scar on the nape of his neck. The shape, the placement, the curve of that scar—identical to my fiancé’s. The caption was simple: Happy birthday. And the ring on his hand was the same as mine. That’s when it hit me. Anna’s boyfriend and mine were the same person. She’d gone to celebrate Damon’s birthday. … Today was Damon’s birthday. He’d told me not to bother—said he’d make it up to me when he got back, that it was all the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate. It was that someone was already celebrating with him. And that someone was my own sister. I didn’t hesitate long. Screenshot. Save. Send. The message sank like a stone. Damon didn’t reply. But my phone lit up. It was Anna. A photo—a cake centered in the frame, a man’s right hand accidentally caught at the edge. The ring on his fourth finger was even clearer now. It was the ring he’d worn when he proposed to me. Damon had gone abroad to personally negotiate an arms deal. Before he left, he’d knelt on one knee, slid the ring onto my finger, and said when he came back, we’d get married. I stared at my chat with Anna. Didn’t reply. What was I supposed to say? Why are you with your future brother-in-law? What exactly have I been waiting a year for? I’d always known Anna had someone in her heart. For a whole year, she’d been flying abroad two or three times a month. Every time she came back, she’d lock herself in her room. I assumed she was heartbroken over someone she couldn’t have. When I mentioned it to Damon once, he scoffed. His tone was pure disdain. He’d never had patience for Anna. So I never let my mind go there. Never considered that every single one of Anna’s flights landed in the exact city where Damon was stationed. Never questioned how their birthdays just happened to fall on the same day—that it was never just a coincidence. Never asked who was lying beside him on all those nights he refused to video-call me. My phone lit up again. Damon sent four words. [What’s that supposed to mean?] He wouldn’t admit the man in the photo was him. [The person in her photo—isn’t that you?] The phone rang. Damon spoke first. “Evelyn, let me explain when I get back.” My gaze drifted to the calendar on the table. The date of his return was circled in red marker, with a small heart drawn beside it. “Don’t go looking for her.” His voice dropped low. “Please?” That tone—it was pure protectiveness. My eyes burned suddenly, my throat clamping shut like something had closed around it. “Why?” I asked him. Silence on the other end. Then he sighed and said, “Evelyn, wait until I’m back. We’ll talk about everything when I’m back.” Before he even finished, a voice drifted through from his end of the line. “Damon, is that my sister calling?” Damon’s voice changed instantly. Soft. Gentle. Like he was soothing a startled cat. “No.” “Just a friend.”

I didn’t want to hear another word. Five years together. Vows we’d made before both our families. And in the end, to Damon, I was “just a friend.” I hung up. His message came through almost immediately. [Anna doesn’t really want me mentioning you around her. It makes her feel guilty.] I stared at that sentence for a long time. She felt guilty too? Then why go behind my back and be with my fiancé? That night, I saw another post from Anna. This time it was a photo of two hands, fingers interlaced, against the backdrop of candlelight and linen at an upscale restaurant. I noticed the ring on Damon’s hand had changed. It wasn’t our engagement ring anymore. And on Anna’s ring finger, there was a new one too. Matching Damon’s. Someone in the comments asked: [When did you get married?! You didn’t even say anything!] Anna replied quickly: [We’re not married lol, it was a proposal—he proposed on his birthday. I still haven’t recovered, it feels like a dream.] Followed by a string of happy emojis. I looked at it for a very long time. Then I liked the post. If it was a proposal, then our engagement was over. Five minutes later, Damon’s message came through: [She just wanted to know what it feels like to be proposed to. It wasn’t a real proposal. Don’t take it to heart.] [She’s been through enough already. Let’s put our stuff on hold for now.] I turned off my phone and went to the kitchen. When I opened the fridge to grab a bottle of wine, there was a custom magnet on the door. A photo of us. The normally stern godfather, looking at me with tenderness he couldn’t hide. When he’d confessed to me, he was holding a small bouquet of balloon flowers—their meaning: “eternal love.” My hands were shaking when I took them. He looked down at me and said: “I know this is a family arrangement. But I want to ask you first—do you want this?” Back then, I believed the arrangement was just how we met. Falling in love was the choice we made. I stared at that magnet for two seconds. Then I peeled it off and threw it in the trash without hesitation. The day Damon came back to the country, he came back with Anna. I was waiting at arrivals. He’d told me not to come, said he’d take a cab. But I came anyway. Not to pick him up—to see it with my own eyes. To see what they looked like standing together. Anna came out first. She wore a beige trench coat, her complexion rosy, her hair longer than before—golden waves freshly curled. She looked radiant. Like a flower someone had been tending with great care. She ran over and threw her arms around me, her voice sweet and bright. “Your fiancé happened to be flying back today too, so I just tagged along! Same route anyway.” My eyes dropped to Anna’s hand. That proposal ring. She was still wearing it. Then I looked at Damon. The matching ring—the one that went with Anna’s—was gone. He’d switched back to our engagement band. Anna looked at me with the most natural expression in the world. Not a trace of guilt. Not a hint of shame. As if nothing had ever happened. As if she and Damon had never been together. If she hadn’t been wearing that ring, I might have almost believed it. I took a step back. Anna’s expression stiffened for just a moment, then returned to normal. That’s when Damon spoke. “Anna’s just worried about you.” I almost laughed out loud. Worried? How could he even say that? “Oh really? If she’s so worried, then why did she—” “Evelyn.” Damon cut me off. I met his warning stare. I knew that look too well. It was how he looked when he was angry—eyes going dark, lips pressed into a hard line. That look used to be reserved for outsiders. For rival families. For anyone who dared touch what was his. Now it was aimed at me. He was afraid I’d say more. Afraid Anna would hear. Even the slightest mention made him this tense. “It’s late. Just stay here tonight—going back and forth is too exhausting.” Anna looked at me hesitantly. “Would that be… inconvenient?” She shook her head, stepping back half a pace. “Never mind, I’ll just go home.” Damon frowned. “It’s not safe going back this late. Leave tomorrow.” Anna stayed. No one asked my opinion. Damon made the decision, and I said nothing. I turned and went to the bedroom. Damon followed me in. Neither of us spoke first. He leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette, the ember glowing and fading in the dim light, smoke rising slowly, blurring his silhouette. When the cigarette was done, he crushed the butt into the ashtray on the windowsill and finally spoke, his voice raw. “It’s not what you think.” “Anna never expected anything real between us. She’s in pain too.” “She didn’t want this either.” I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Silent. I looked at this man—this man I’d known for seven years, been with for five, waited an entire year for—and for the first time, he felt like a stranger. My sister. The one I’d grown up with. Together with my fiancé. And Damon was telling me she was in pain. “What about me?” I asked him. My voice was quiet. No tears. No shouting. Just a question. Damon was silent for a long time. Then he looked away. “Evelyn, give us a little more time.” “When did it start?” His expression shifted. He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn’t answer. “Seven months ago.” That was five months into his time abroad. During that period, Anna flew out two or three times a month. Every time she came back, she looked terrible—locked herself in her room for an entire day without coming out. I’d thought she was hurting over a failed pursuit. Now I understood. She was going to see him. And every time she came back, she shut herself away to digest her own guilt. Damon closed his eyes, then opened them and turned to face me. “At first I said no.” He paused. “But then…” He didn’t finish. “Evelyn, just one more month. At least give her some time. Okay?” I looked at him. “No.” My voice was barely there—quiet as a sigh. “Damon, if she’s suffering this much, just be with her.” I looked down and slowly twisted the ring off my fourth finger. A ring I’d worn for an entire year. When it came off, it left a faint imprint on the skin where it had sat. The skin had been pressed too long. It wouldn’t go back to the way it was—not right away. I placed the ring on the nightstand. Didn’t throw it. Didn’t slam it down. Just set it there gently. “Let’s break up.”

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The Paris atelier delivered three limited-edition handmade lace gowns. The butler came to ask my godfather-fiancé how the dresses should be distributed between the lady of the house and Miss Ophelia. Silas was helping Ophelia try on a pigeon-blood ruby ring. “One goes into my private collection. The other two are for Ophelia—she can alternate them at next month’s family cocktail.” The butler hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Sir, the madam still doesn’t have a gown for the tenth anniversary.” Silas’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second, as if only now remembering I existed. “Cut a scrap of leftover lace from one of Ophelia’s skirts. Make her a veil or something.” A scrap of leftover fabric. That was the only dignity I’d been granted in ten years of marriage into House Costa. He blamed me for not giving up my spot in the Milan program all those years ago. Ophelia had missed what he called her springboard into the fashion world because of it. So he’d parked me in the farthest wing of the estate, like something too useless to keep but too much trouble to throw away. Later, he was shot in an ambush by a rival family. On his deathbed, he gripped my wrist and asked if I regretted all those years with him. Outside the hospital room, the season’s couture delivery arrived. As always—one piece for his vault, two for Ophelia. What they left me was a discarded ribbon the tailor had trimmed off. I closed my eyes and didn’t answer him. When I opened them again, I was back ten years in the past. House Costa’s engagement banquet—the one that shook the entire New York underground. The emcee held up the pigeon-blood ruby ring, gestured toward the dark, frozen lake, and smiled. “Whoever dives down and retrieves the key will become the future Mrs. Costa.” In my last life, I nearly drowned in that lake, all to make him look at me. This time, I stepped back half a pace and watched the ring sink silently into the abyss. As it dropped, the lake’s surface barely rippled—one faint dark ring, and nothing more. The cheering on the shore died instantly. The emcee stood with his microphone raised, smile frozen on his face, then turned toward the control booth. A woman’s voice leaked through the backup monitor feed. “Get her to move forward a little—the camera can’t catch her face.” The voice was soft. But the control booth was half a step behind me. I heard every word. Ophelia. In my last life, I hadn’t caught that line. All I’d heard was the crowd screaming. “Jump! Evelyn, you’ve chased him for years—don’t tell me you’re chickening out now!” That night the lake water flooded my nose and mouth. I clawed the key off the bottom and dragged myself ashore with three fingernails torn clean off. Silas draped his coat over Ophelia’s shoulders and said she’d been frightened. Now the wind cut across the ice toward me. I stood on the bank and didn’t move. Silas finally looked my way. Black three-piece suit. Silver cufflinks. Those cufflinks were the anniversary gift I’d given him last year. He’d called them too plain. Never worn them once. Tonight he’d put them on only because Ophelia had tossed out an offhand compliment—”Those actually suit you.” “Evelyn.” When he said my name, his tone was low and flat, like someone reminding a disobedient dog not to embarrass him in public. Ophelia stood wrapped in a white fur stole, the corners of her eyes reddened just so—perfectly calibrated distress. “Evelyn, are you afraid of water? If you are, it’s fine—Silas won’t blame you.” As she finished, her fingers settled lightly on Silas’s cuff. He didn’t pull away. He just looked at me with that detached indifference, voice as casual as if he were deciding tonight’s dinner. “It’s just a game. Don’t be a killjoy.” Just a game. A frozen lake, a key, a human life—all to prove whether I deserved to stand beside him. I stepped back half a pace. My heel crushed a thin shell of ice. The sound was barely there. The emcee scrambled to smooth things over. “Miss Evelyn, the divers are standing by—Silas just wanted to give you an unforgettable proposal.” Another sound leaked from the monitor. “Keep the divers back. It looks better if she gets it herself.” I turned toward the control booth. A backup camera sat there, its red recording light glowing, aimed squarely at the lakeshore. So in my last life, while I was thrashing in that water, someone onshore had already dialed in the focus. Silas glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.” Ophelia gave a delicate little cough. Silas immediately shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. I stood in the lake wind, shoulders bare, the hem of my gown soaked through with snowmelt, ankles numb with cold. A server approached with a blanket—and was stopped dead by a single look from Silas. “She chose this herself.” I’d heard that line for ten years. When I fell ill from the cold—I’d chosen it myself. When I took the blame meant for Ophelia—I’d chosen it myself. When I spent a decade waiting in an empty house—that was my choice too. This time, I turned and walked toward the banquet hall. Behind me, Silas’s voice finally carried a blade of frost. “Evelyn, if you walk out of here today, don’t come crawling back.” A server caught up to me, pressing a glass of hot mulled wine into my hands and whispering, “Ma’am, the master had the kitchen prepare this for you.” My fingers paused. The next moment, another server rushed past carrying a silver tray—hot mulled wine, a cashmere throw, a thermometer, a hand warmer. “Hurry. Miss Ophelia had a fright. The master wants to feed her the wine himself.” I looked down at the crystal glass in my hand. So even his concern came in tiers. I set the mulled wine back on the tray. I didn’t drink it. Outside the estate, the frozen lake lay dark and still. That diamond ring rested at the bottom, just like me in my last life. But this time around, no one could force me to dive down and fetch it.

The fireplace in the banquet hall was roaring. I’d barely sat down when Silas’s personal secretary appeared. “Ma’am, the master says the press and the family are all here. Would you please change into a gown? The group photo is in ten minutes.” My lap was damp with the soaked hem of my dress. My calves were stiff and aching. “Where’s my gown?” I asked. The secretary’s gaze flickered. She led me to the cloakroom. The door swung open onto two rows of garments. On the left—all Ophelia’s. Champagne, white, red, with backup wraps arranged by color palette. On the right hung a single black dress. The waistline had been re-tailored, the stitching hidden inside the lining where no one would notice. The secretary murmured, “The master said you’re not particular. This one should do for now.” I reached out and touched the waist. The measurements were exact—he remembered my size. He just remembered it and still gave me someone else’s castoff. Ophelia’s voice drifted from the doorway. “Evelyn, don’t blame Silas. I had someone alter that dress ahead of time—I was worried you wouldn’t have anything that fit on such short notice.” She walked in. The white gown she wore looked like fresh snow, its hem made from the very handmade lace the Paris atelier had produced only three of this year. “So the black one is what you passed over?” Ophelia’s face went pale for an instant, then the wounded expression resurfaced. “I just thought black was more dignified. More you.” Silas followed her in, brow furrowed. “Evelyn, Ophelia went out of her way to think of you. Drop the passive-aggressive act.” “I’m not wearing it.” The cloakroom fell silent. Silas stepped closer. His gaze landed on my wrists, which had gone blue-white with cold. He reached out and touched one. The gesture was light. “Just change into the dress. You’ll make yourself sick.” I caught the scent of cedarwood on him. I used to be intoxicated by that smell. In my last life, the moment he came even slightly closer, I could swallow every grievance whole and forget it ever existed. Ophelia laughed softly from beside us. “Silas, don’t go soft too soon. She hasn’t signed the statement yet. Once she’s feeling better, she’ll say we bullied her again.” Silas’s hand froze midair. I went rigid too. So that small show of warmth was meant to coax me into swallowing tonight’s humiliation and helping them save face. Silas turned his head, voice dropping. “Ophelia.” Ophelia immediately lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” But the words had already landed—a needle, puncturing the last membrane of hope inside me. “Take the photo without me.” Silas’s expression went cold. “Evelyn, don’t push your luck.” I pulled on my own coat and opened the cloakroom door. Outside, the reporters were already waiting. The family watched us. The lights hit me. Every lens swung in my direction. I didn’t flinch. A half-wet gown, a worn coat, a face white with cold—I walked step by step down the red-carpeted corridor. Behind me, Ophelia wore the couture dress that should have belonged to the evening’s bride-to-be, her arm linked through Silas’s. Camera flashes erupted like lightning. Someone whispered, “Who exactly is tonight’s leading lady?” Silas didn’t answer. I didn’t look back. The answer had been in front of everyone all along.

The next morning, a black sedan from House Costa pulled up outside my door. When Silas walked in, he was holding a document. He didn’t ask if my fever had broken. He simply placed the papers on the coffee table. “Sign.” My mother held a bowl of medicine, the porcelain spoon clinking against the rim—harsh and loud. “Silas, Evelyn’s fever hit thirty-nine degrees last night. Can’t this wait until she’s recovered?” Silas’s voice was level, without the slightest tremor. “I’m sorry, but this can’t be delayed. The joint project between House Roth and House Costa is already underway. I don’t want the media running with this any longer.” I picked up the statement. The ice-lake segment of the engagement banquet was a mutually agreed-upon interactive element. Miss Evelyn left early due to health reasons. Mr. Silas was attentive and caring throughout. Miss Ophelia was merely an invited guest. The public is asked not to engage in malicious speculation. “I have to clear her name?” Silas looked at me. “She’s innocent.” “And what about me?” He paused. “You didn’t go into the lake last night.” So I wasn’t innocent. Unless I’d followed their script and nearly died, I was the one who’d ruined everything. A soft knock at the door. Ophelia came in carrying a gift. She was dressed simply today, eyes red-rimmed, as though she hadn’t slept. “Evelyn, I came to apologize.” She opened the box. Inside lay a silk scarf. The same one she’d used to block the wind last night. She brought me something she’d already worn and expected gratitude. “I only wore this once. You have such fair skin—it would look even better on you.” Silas watched her, his voice softening. “You’re not well. Why make the trip?” Ophelia shook her head, her tone aggrieved. “Evelyn misunderstands me. It weighs on my heart.” My mother’s hand rested on the rim of the medicine bowl and didn’t let go for a long time. House Roth’s cash flow for the month was still pinned in the ledger on her desk. If House Costa pulled their three-billion investment, hundreds of names would be left dangling in the void. In my last life, it was this kind of silence that made me bow my head again and again. Every time House Costa stripped away another piece of my dignity, I told myself: House Roth still needs to survive. Silas pushed the pen toward me. “Sign it, and I’ll send the family physician over to check on you.” He could always stab the knife in and then offer a bandage, expecting me to feel grateful for his mercy. I picked up the pen. My mother gripped my wrist, eyes reddening. I patted her hand gently. I signed my name. The pen tip came down like a sentence—ten years of it, from a life already lived.

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My brother’s heart stopped. I called my billionaire husband twenty-seven times. He picked up on the last one. “A hundred thirty-six grand? I’m not a charity. That’s not what my money’s for.” “Grant, please. The doctor says any longer and there’s brain damage. I’ll pay it all back.” He laughed. “Your brother’s been a money pit for years. Figure it out yourself.” Behind me, someone in the OR shouted, “Defib ready.” My knees almost gave out. “He’s twenty-two years old. I’m begging you.” “Begging doesn’t change facts. Adults need to learn to carry their own weight.” He hung up. A few seconds later, a GoFundMe setup link appeared in my messages. Then a notification. Donor: Grant Elliston. $10. Comment: Adults need to learn to carry their own weight. I stared at the ten dollars on my screen and crouched outside the OR, shaking so hard I couldn’t feel my legs. At two-thirty in the morning, I went back to the Elliston penthouse to grab Ethan’s old medical records. No lights on. But Grant’s voice drifted out from his study. Soft. Warm. A tone I hadn’t heard directed at me in years. “Order a Panamera for Lena. The pink one. Four hundred K. Put it on the company card.” A pause. “She rode one of those rental bikes today and fell off. Scraped her knee a little.” Another pause. “Girls shouldn’t have scars. Get her a driver from now on. That car picks her up and drops her off every day.” Lena Harper. An intern who’d been at his company for seventeen days. Then, still on the phone, his voice dropped even softer. “The Swiss rehab center. Skip the waitlist, pay for the VIP fast-track. Her ankle got a little scratch. Book the scar treatment too while we’re at it.” He hung up. Turned. Saw me standing in the hallway. He didn’t flinch. He smiled. “See? That’s how it’s done. Adults handle their own problems.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, showed me. “I donated to your GoFundMe too. Ten bucks. You’re my wife, so I figured I’d throw in some support.” I looked at him. “Ten dollars?” He shrugged. “It’s not about the amount. It’s the thought that counts.” Ten dollars. The thought that counts. I asked quietly, “And Lena? She scraped her ankle. You booked her a Swiss rehab spot and a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car.” His eyes went cold. “Lena is different. Her sister saved my life. I owe the Harpers everything.” “So Ethan’s life has to make way for her scraped knee?” His voice turned sharp. “Stop dragging Ethan into everything. Nora Harper died in that fire. Can your family stop using sickness to bleed me dry?” The words landed like a punch to the chest. He must have noticed something on my face because he pulled out the first-aid kit, peeled off a bandage, and pressed it over my cracked fingernail. “Pain is pain. Don’t turn it into an excuse to take from people.” Years ago, Elliston Corp nearly went bankrupt. Grant collapsed with a stomach hemorrhage. I sat beside his hospital bed for three days and three nights. My phone buzzed nonstop. Creditors. Every single one. I called everyone I knew. Begged every favor I could. Wired money piece by piece while he lay unconscious. When he woke up, he held my hand and said, “Vivian, I owe you for the rest of my life.” But later, he gave his guilt to the Harpers. His patience to Lena. All I got were lectures about being a responsible adult. I pulled my hand away. Went into the bedroom. Came back with the divorce papers. This agreement I’d drafted months ago. Revised again and again. Since the first time he ditched me for Lena’s birthday dinner. Since the first time he called Ethan “a long-term liability.” Tonight, the line snapped. I signed my name. Vivian Ashford. My hand didn’t shake.

The next morning, I didn’t go home. I went to the law firm on the ground floor of the Elliston Corp building. Mr. Holden flipped through the documents. “You’re sure you want to file in court?” “Yes. Mediation is fine too, but I’m not dragging this out.” At ten-forty, Grant texted. [Lena has her ankle evaluation today. She’s emotional. Stop making trouble. We’ll talk tonight at home.] I stared at it for a while. Then typed back. [Talk about the divorce. Contact my lawyer.] He called immediately. I declined and turned off my phone. At the hospital, Ethan was awake. Oxygen mask over his face. He saw me and his eyes lit up. “Sis.” I leaned in. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head. “Did Grant come?” I tucked the blanket around him. “He’s busy.” The light in Ethan’s eyes dimmed. Then he smiled again, quick as reflex. “He’s a big deal. Busy makes sense.” My throat closed up. Ethan always liked Grant. He used to say Grant was like a lighthouse. That as long as you could see even a little bit of light, you could hold on. But I know now. That’s not a lighthouse. It’s a spotlight. It reaches the Harpers. It reaches the boardroom. It reaches everyone worth being seen with. It just never reaches us. That afternoon, the hospital called about the remaining balance. I went to a pawnshop. Laid everything on the counter. My mother’s necklace. My father’s old pocket watch. The diamond ring Grant gave me on our wedding day. The owner looked at me. “Emergency?” “Life or death.” He quoted low. I didn’t negotiate. When I swiped the payment, my phone buzzed. A bank alert. [Your supplementary card has been restricted. Transaction categories blocked: medical institutions, pawn services, large transfers.] A few minutes later, Grant’s assistant called. “Mrs. Elliston, Mr. Elliston believes you’ve been emotionally unstable lately and may make impulsive purchases. He’s placed a temporary spending restriction for your protection.” “He says you need to learn financial planning.” I gripped my phone. “Tell him I’ll be forwarding this to my lawyer.” Half an hour later, my GoFundMe went down. Platform notice: Your campaign has been flagged for exaggerating medical conditions and leveraging a public figure’s name for traffic. Under review. Customer service said a verified corporate account filed the complaint. Reason: I was exploiting my status as Mrs. Elliston to manipulate public sympathy and damage company reputation. I stared at that ten-dollar donation still sitting in the account. Grant wouldn’t save me. And he wouldn’t let anyone else save me either. That evening, he showed up at the hospital. A medical loan packet in his hand. “Good terms. Sign it and the money hits your account today.” He set it on the table. “And delete the GoFundMe.” “Why?” “You’re Mrs. Elliston. Public fundraising makes the company look bad.” “Ethan is dying and you care about how it looks?” His jaw tightened. “I care about you not turning yourself into a beggar. Pawnshops, loans, crowdfunding. Any of those work. Why do you always have to come to me?” “Because you’re my husband.” He scoffed. “A husband isn’t an ATM.” “And a wife isn’t a line item you get to freeze.” His face went cold. “You’ve gotten real mouthy lately, Vivian.” I said quietly, “I used to think if I just held it in long enough, you’d feel bad for me. Turns out all it did was make you more comfortable.” I picked up the loan packet. Tore it apart. Page by page. “I’ll figure it out myself.” Grant stared at me. “Then remember this. Don’t call me at two a.m. crying and begging again.” He left. A while later, Ethan woke up. He looked at the shredded paper in the trash can, then spoke. “Sis.” “The fire. Six years ago.” His voice was barely there. “The one who ran in and pulled him out. It wasn’t Nora Harper.” “It was me.”

The water cup slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. “What did you just say?” Ethan’s voice was thin. “Six years ago. The one who went into that fire and pulled him out. It was me.” I couldn’t move. After that fire, everyone said Nora Harper saved Grant’s life. Nora died. Grant took the Harper family as his lifelong debt. And Ethan came home with a fever that wouldn’t break. Coughing blood. His heart damaged. He told me it was just smoke inhalation. He told me not to tell Grant. I grabbed his hand. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He smiled, faint and tired. “Sis, you’d just married him.” “If I said something, it would’ve looked like blackmail.” “Nora was dead. You can’t argue with a dead person.” My throat burned. “So you kept it secret for six years?” “Wasn’t planning on forever.” He stared at the ceiling. “Just feels like it’s too late now.” I pressed my hand over his mouth. “Shut up.” He smiled with his eyes. “Sis. I want some juice.” I went to the nurses’ station to get him something. Right as I turned the corner, a voice called out behind me. “Vivian.” Lena Harper stood by the elevator. A tiny piece of gauze on her ankle. A VIP rehab center bag in her hand. I stared at that little square of gauze, and something bitter rose in my throat. Ethan was lying in a regular ward waiting for surgery funds. She had a paper cut on her ankle and was taking up a VIP rehab spot. I stopped. Looked at her. “Six years ago. The warehouse fire. Did Nora actually go in?” Lena’s face shifted for a split second. Then she bit her lip. “Vivian, my sister Nora is dead. Don’t talk about her like that.” Her voice wasn’t loud. But it was just loud enough for the people nearby to hear. Grant’s call came right on cue. Lena picked up. Her voice trembled, soft and wounded. “Mr. Elliston, I’m fine. Vivian just asked me something about Nora.” A few seconds later, she held the phone out to me. Grant’s voice cut through like a blade. “Vivian, you went after Lena?” “I asked about the fire. What really happened that day.” “I warned you. Don’t touch Nora’s name. She’s dead. Do you really have to drag a dead woman into your scheming?” Scheming. Always scheming. I suddenly didn’t feel like explaining anymore. “Grant. If one day you find out you’ve been kneeling at the wrong grave this whole time. Repaying the wrong debt. Protecting the wrong person. What would you do?” He scoffed. “That day won’t come. I know what I know. Nora saved me.” He hung up. Lena took her phone back. Tears still on her face, but her eyes were steady now. No fear in them at all. “Vivian, some things just aren’t yours to take. You should accept that.” I looked at her. “Things that are taken always burn eventually.” That night, I went back to the penthouse to get my documents. Lena was on the couch, her foot propped up on a cushion. Grant crouched in front of her, carefully peeling off the gauze. The moment she saw me, Lena pulled her foot back. “Vivian, don’t get the wrong idea. Mr. Elliston just said the hospital ointment wasn’t good enough.” Grant didn’t correct her. I walked past them into the bedroom. Took out my marriage certificate, the prenup file, and the copy of the contract from when I mortgaged my parents’ house to bail out Elliston Corp years ago. Grant followed me in. Shut the door behind him. “You’re really taking this to court?” “Yes.” He grabbed my wrist. “Ethan is still in the hospital. You blow things up with me now, who’s going to back you up?” I looked up at him. “I don’t need your safety net. I just need you to stop stepping on me.” From the living room, Lena’s voice floated in. Soft. Helpless. “Mr. Elliston, I think my ankle hurts again.” Grant let go of my wrist. Almost like reflex. And in that moment, the last sound inside me went quiet. I went back to the hospital that night. There was a note on Ethan’s pillow. His handwriting shaky and uneven. [Sis, if I don’t make it, don’t beg him again.] [I just want you to be okay.] I crumpled the paper in my fist and sat there until morning.

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A wealthy, entitled trust-fund brat chased my daughter. When she rejected him, his fragile ego shattered. In a fit of rage, he pushed her off a balcony, leaving her comatose and brain-damaged. Afterward, he didn’t show a shred of remorse. Instead, he strutted around, spitting venom and mocking my pain. “Your daughter is nothing but a tease,” he sneered. “She should have been honored that I even looked her way. She rejected my gifts, refused to go out with me, and embarrassed me in front of my friends. She had it coming!” Everyone who knew his family’s immense power warned me to stay quiet. They said his family was too rich, too influential, and that I was playing a losing game. They warned me that if I insisted on fighting for justice, not only would my daughter suffer, but I might also end up dead. In my darkest hour, I carried my comatose daughter on my back and collapsed before the gates of the Sinclair estate, home to the incredibly powerful matriarch, Lady Josephine Sinclair. When she finally stepped out and saw us, her very first words boomed with cold fury: “Who on earth dared to lay a finger on my granddaughter?” 1 On Sunday, my daughter, Grace, told me she was going to a college reunion party. She was glowing and full of life when she left. But by evening, my world shattered. I received a frantic call from the hospital, telling me she had been pushed off a balcony and was rushed into emergency surgery, clinging to life. When I arrived at the hospital and saw her pale, lifeless body being wheeled into the operating room, I lost my mind. The nurses begged me to calm down, but how could I? She was my flesh and blood, my entire world. To keep from breaking down completely, I sat shivering on a cold plastic bench in the hallway, praying for a miracle. Then, the monster who pushed her walked in as if nothing had happened. It was Devon Ward, a notorious trust-fund heir. A heavily made-up girl clung to his arm, giggling and playing with her hair. “You Grace’s mother?” he asked, looking down at me. I looked up, meeting his arrogant gaze. He smirked, his eyes filled with nothing but lazy amusement. Looking at the man who had destroyed my daughter, a wave of primal fury washed over me. “Are you insane, or just high on something?” I screamed, lunging forward. “Why did you push her? If anything happens to my daughter, I will make you pay with your life!” Blind with grief, I grabbed him by his collar. He scoffed, violently shoving me away. I hit the hard floor. He rolled his eyes and adjusted his jacket. “Your daughter didn’t know her place. A guy like me wanting her is a privilege. She should have been on her knees thanking me! Instead, she threw my gifts back in my face and rejected my invitations. She humiliated me. Even my own parents don’t dare say no to me!” “She’s just a cheap gold-digger playing hard to get,” he spat. “She got exactly what she deserved!” His sheer shamelessness left me speechless. A human life meant absolutely nothing to him compared to his bloated ego. He truly believed his attention was a divine blessing, and her refusal was a crime. Wild with rage, I scrambled up and lunged at him, swinging my fists wildly. “You monster! You’ll burn in hell for this!” Devon shoved me back again. Clutching his bruised cheek where one of my fists had landed, he slapped me hard across the face. The force of the blow sent me sprawling, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “You crazy bitch,” he snarled. “Nobody lays a hand on me. You’re going to regret that.” 2 Just then, the flashy girl beside him stepped forward and showed him something on her phone. They whispered for a moment, and Devon’s angry expression shifted into a cruel, amused grin. He looked me up and down. “Well, well. Look at this. A couple of helpless nobodies. No father on the registry? Where is Grace’s dad? Did he kick the bucket, or did he just dump you both?” He let out a nasty laugh, shaking his head. “Tell you what. If your daughter dies tonight, don’t waste any more of our oxygen. Go find a rope and join her. It’ll save everyone the trouble.” My husband had died saving a drowning child the year Grace was born. It was the deepest wound in my heart, and I had no idea how this monster had found out. Seeing my silence, Devon sneered, pushing further. “No answer? Yeah, he definitely dumped you for a real woman.” He winked at the girl beside him. She let out a high-pitched giggle. “Oh, Devon, don’t be so hard on her. Maybe there were just too many men in her life back then, and she’s still trying to count which one was the father!” Their vicious laughter echoed through the sterile hospital corridor. “You’re right,” Devon laughed, wiping a mock tear. “I dodged a bullet. I could never date a girl with such trashy origins. Who knows what kind of filthy genes a bastard like her would bring into my family?” Listening to their cruel, coordinated insults, I couldn’t take it anymore. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my face, I bolted upright and slapped both of them across their faces. Before Devon could react, I screamed, “You were raised by human beings! How can you be so utterly vile?” Enraged, Devon lost his temper. He threw me to the ground and began kicking me mercilessly. He only stopped when a crowd of doctors and patients started to gather, murmuring in disapproval. “You touch me again, lady, and I’ll send you straight to the morgue,” he hissed, leaning down. He slipped a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it onto my bruised chest, whispering in a low, smug voice: “Don’t be stupid like your daughter. Take this card. There’s two hundred thousand dollars on it. Take it, shut your mouth, and we’ll call it even.” Every bone in my body ached. Trembling, I picked up the card and used every ounce of my remaining strength to fling it right back into his face. “I don’t want your filthy blood money! You can’t buy my daughter’s life! I will see you in prison!” “Prison?” Devon laughed, brushing the dust off his designer sleeve. “Go ahead and try, lady. Everyone in Boston knows the Ward family owns this city. You want to talk about the law? You’re playing with fire and begging to get burned.” He and the girl shared one last mocking look of disgust before turning their backs on me. Just then, the red operating light finally flickered off. The surgeon walked out, his head bowed. Ignoring my broken body, I dragged myself up and rushed toward him. “Doctor, please. How is she?” “We saved her life,” the doctor said softly, his voice heavy with pity. “But she has sustained severe brain trauma. I can’t tell you when, or if, she will ever wake up.” “What do you mean?” I asked, tears blinding my vision. The doctor sighed gently. “She is in a persistent vegetative state.” Those words crashed down on me like a collapsing mountain. The air left my lungs, and the world faded into black as I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor. When I finally opened my eyes, Devon and his mistress were long gone. My daughter lay in the bed next to mine, her beautiful face hidden behind a massive oxygen mask. Looking at her, I made a silent, sacred vow. I would get her justice, no matter the cost. 3 After hiring a private nurse to watch over Grace, I went straight to the luxury estate where the party had been held. I needed the security camera footage as evidence. But the estate manager refused to show me anything. In fact, he wouldn’t even let me past the lobby. Desperate, I reached out to Grace’s college classmates who had attended the party. But one by one, they blocked my calls and avoided me like I was carrying a plague. With no other options, I went to the home of Lily, Grace’s best friend and the one who had called the ambulance. I hoped that for the sake of their friendship, she would stand up and tell the truth. I knelt on the cold pavement outside Lily’s house for an entire day, begging through my tears. Finally, Lily and her parents came out to face me. “Lily, please,” I sobbed, clutching her hand. “The estate manager won’t give me the footage. It might already be destroyed. None of the other kids will talk to me. You are Grace’s best friend. Please, help her. She’s in a coma. She might spend the rest of her life in a hospital bed. Please, I beg you!” I bowed my head to the ground, weeping bitterly before Lily and her parents. Her parents quickly pulled me up, but their faces were pale with fear. “Vivian, please, don’t put our daughter through this,” Lily’s father said, his voice trembling. “Let’s be honest with you. The Ward family has already warned us. They told us that if any of these kids speak up, our families will be completely ruined and driven out of Boston. We are just ordinary working-class people. We can’t fight a monster like that.” “He’s not stopping you from searching for evidence,” Lily’s mother added quietly. “He’s doing this on purpose. He wants you to run into a brick wall at every turn. He wants to crush your spirit.” “Vivian, take our advice. You can’t beat them. Just focus on taking care of Grace. Don’t throw your life away trying to fight them.” Lily broke down in tears, dropping to her knees beside me. “Auntie Vivian, it’s not that I don’t want to help. They threatened me. Devon’s thugs said if I testified, they would kidnap me on my way home from school and sell me to some human trafficking ring overseas. I can’t sleep at night. I’m so scared. I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Looking at Lily and her terrified parents, the words died in my throat. A cold, absolute despair washed over me. I don’t even remember how I made it back to the hospital. That evening, I bought a simple meal from the cafeteria and pushed open the door to Grace’s room. My heart stopped. A group of sleazy-looking men and women were crowded around her bed. One greasy, middle-aged man was actually reaching out to stroke my daughter’s pale cheek. “Get away from her!” I screamed, lunging forward and shielding her body. “Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?” The man scoffed, entirely unbothered. He pulled out his phone and waved a sketchy classified ad in my face. “Is this your girl? We’re here to negotiate a deal. My friends here are looking for a death-bed bride for their deceased relatives.” I froze, my mind struggling to comprehend. A spiritual wedding? A posthumous marriage contract? Who would be sick enough to post my comatose daughter’s face on the dark web for such a disgusting ritual? In an instant, the truth hit me. Devon. It had to be him. No one else would go to such sickening lengths to torment us. I slammed the man’s phone out of his hand. “Who sent you here? Was it Devon Ward?” The greasy man laughed, shaking his head. “Mr. Ward is a billionaire. We don’t run in his circles. Look, lady, is she available or not? These two over here want a spiritual bride to appease their dead relatives. But I’m different. My old man passed away peacefully last month, but he came to me in a dream saying he was lonely down there. I figured I’d buy him a pretty young concubine to keep him company.” 4 My blood boiled. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “Get out, you sick pervert! Get out before I call the police!” But the man was a hopeless scumbag. Instead of backing down, he spat on the floor and smirked. “Oh, cut the act, lady. Everyone knows your history. You’re a notorious gold-digger who doesn’t even know who fathered her kid. Your daughter took after you, but she wasn’t as smart. She tried to play her games with a real billionaire and got herself turned into a vegetable instead.” “We’re offering to take this damaged goods off your hands, and you’re still acting like you’re too good for us?” A middle-aged woman in the group sneered in agreement. “Exactly. Two trashy women putting on a high-and-mighty show!” She began shouting toward the hallway, deliberately drawing a crowd. “Hey, everyone! Come look at this! This woman and her brain-dead daughter are nothing but cheap grifters! Even now, they’re trying to sell the girl to the highest bidder! How pathetic!” Curious onlookers began to gather outside the room, whispering and pointing. “Honestly, this is too much,” an elderly patient muttered. “They’ve been screaming and fighting since they got here. How is anyone supposed to rest and heal?” “Yeah, she’s already brain-dead. Just take her home and stop bothering the rest of us!” “Ma’am, if you want to live a trashy life, that’s your business, but why bring your daughter into it? Honestly, you two should just leave. Having you in the same ward makes my skin crawl.” The crowd’s baseless accusations and whispers pierced my heart like daggers. “That’s not true!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “They are lying! We have never done anything shameful!” The crowd went quiet for a second, but the greasy man wasn’t finished. “Don’t listen to her!” he shouted to the crowd. “You know how her daughter ended up like this? She tried to seduce Devon Ward, the heir to Ward Enterprises. When he rejected her, she staged a dramatic leap from the balcony to guilt-trip him, but she messed up and landed on her head. She brought this entirely on herself!” His lies instantly poisoned the room. “Ah, so she failed to trap a rich guy and got karma instead! Serves her right!” “Let’s go talk to the administration. Get them kicked out! Let these two grifters rot on the street!” Stirred up by the greasy man, the crowd pressured the hospital staff. Yielding to the outrage, the hospital administration ultimately forced us to leave. I had to carry my comatose daughter on my back, walking past a gauntlet of hateful glares. People looked at us as if we were filth, as if we were the ones who had committed a crime. I finally managed to hail a cab. But just as I was trying to lift Grace into the backseat to take her to another clinic, I saw a familiar figure standing near the curb. Devon Ward was waving at me, a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his face. The greasy man from the hospital room was standing beside him, bowing like a loyal dog. It had all been a setup. Devon walked over, his steps slow and mocking. “Aww, what’s wrong? Kicked out of the hospital? I told you, trash like you needs to learn its place. You think you can go up against me? You’re nothing.” “Oh, and don’t bother looking for another hospital in Boston. None of them will take her. Even if they do, I’ll make sure you’re thrown out within twenty-four hours. As for your little apartment, I had some guys clean it up for you. It looks like a pigsty now. Though, if you want to sleep in filth, be my guest!” He burst into a cruel laugh, his eyes scanning my body. His gaze turned filthy and predatory. “You know, I didn’t notice it before, but you’re not bad-looking for an older woman. Tell you what. Spend a few nights in my bed to make up for your daughter’s rejection, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you two live.”

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1 After my sixth failed attempt at demanding a divorce, Jimmy set three rules. If I followed them, he promised he would finally sign the papers. First, I had to drive the college girl he was sponsoring to and from her classes every single day. Second, half of my monthly paycheck had to be deducted to buy her expensive health supplements. Third, I was never allowed to question what time he came home at night. I nodded in agreement without a single word of protest, a stark contrast to the screaming matches we used to have. Every afternoon, I parked my car at the campus gates right on time, politely opening the passenger door for his precious little princess. On payday, I handed over the bank transfer receipts without him even asking. Even on the day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, I didn’t bother calling him; I signed the DNR and treatment refusal forms all by myself. When Jimmy finally found out and rushed to the hospital, all he found was my signed refusal-of-treatment form. Red-veined eyes wide with disbelief, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me, his voice raw. “Susan! Are you out of your mind? Since when did you become so morbid?” “You used to be terrified of pain, terrified of dying! Why are you refusing chemo now? Why?!” I lacked the strength to answer. Instead, I simply slid a signed divorce agreement across the bedside table toward him. In my mind, the cold, mechanical voice of the System chimed on schedule: [Time remaining: 72 hours. The Host will soon be liberated.] … Jimmy’s shock lasted all of three seconds. In the next moment, the phone in his pocket chimed. It was a custom, high-priority ringtone, one I had begged him for years to set for me. He had always refused, but now, that exclusive ringtone belonged solely to Emma. Without a second thought, Jimmy let go of my shoulders and swiped to answer. “Jimmy…” Emma’s whimpering voice filtered through the speaker, gratingly loud in the quiet hospital room. “Is Susan still mad at me? Everyone at school is calling me a homewrecker who ruined your marriage. I don’t want to live anymore…” Jimmy’s face went pale, then hardened. The faint trace of panic from a moment ago vanished, replaced by an icy, deep-seated disgust. He whipped his head around, glaring at me. “Are you happy now, Susan?” “To force Emma out, you actually paid off the doctors to fake this!” “Fabricating a sick lie like terminal stomach cancer… you are utterly repulsive!” Resting my back against the thin hospital pillow, the burning agony in my abdomen made every breath feel like swallowing shards of glass. I slowly lifted my heavy eyelids, looking calmly at the man I had loved for ten long years. “The diagnosis is real.” “Shut up!” Jimmy spat in rage, snatching the medical chart and the divorce papers from the table. With a series of sharp, violent rips, he shredded the documents into tiny pieces right in front of the nurse. The paper confetti fluttered through the air, raining down onto my pale face. “A pathological liar like you isn’t even worth a single hair on Emma’s head!” “Get up! You’re coming with me to apologize to her!” He reached down and violently ripped the IV line from the back of my hand. Blood welled up instantly. The nurse gasped and stepped forward to stop him, but Jimmy shoved her aside. “Back off! Don’t get between a man and his wife!” Ignoring my frail, trembling frame, he dragged me off the bed and out of the ward. He hauled me all the way to his car, throwing me into the passenger seat and slamming the door. The engine roared as he sped toward the house of my so-called family. The moment we entered, the rich aroma of premium bird’s nest soup filled my nose. My mother, Martha, was holding a porcelain bowl of the top-tier delicacy, blowing on it gently. It had been bought with every last cent of my previous month’s paycheck. Seeing Jimmy drag me through the door, Martha’s eyes lit up. She quickly set the bowl down and hurried over with a beaming smile. “Oh, Jimmy, dear! You’re here.” But when she turned her gaze to me, her warm expression froze, twisting instantly into a mask of bitter malice. Slap! Her hand connected with my cheek, a sharp, stinging blow. My ears rang, and the metallic taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. “You ungrateful brat! How dare you show your face here?” Martha jabbed a finger toward my nose, screeching. “Emma is such an angel, and you just have to make her life miserable, don’t you?” “How did I ever give birth to such a malicious creature!” My father, Richard, sat on the sofa, casually puffing on a cigar. He didn’t even spare me a glance, only looking at Jimmy out of the corner of his eye. “Jimmy, Susan has always been difficult. Don’t let her get to you.” “Still, Emma’s twentieth birthday is coming up.” Richard blew a lazy ring of smoke, finally shifting his eyes to me. “Susan, as her older sister, you need to show some generosity. Sign that downtown condo over to Emma as a birthday gift.” I looked up at the two people who had raised me. The agony in my stomach flared, but it was nothing compared to the icy numbness spreading through my chest. That condo was the very place Jimmy had bought when he proposed to me, registered solely in my name. Now, they wanted me to hand it over to Emma on a silver platter. I turned my gaze to Jimmy. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me with absolute derision. “Why are you looking at me?” “You owe this to Emma. Just sign the damn papers.” He pulled a pre-drafted property transfer deed from his briefcase and tossed it in front of me. I didn’t shed a single tear. I was simply too exhausted to fight back anymore. In my mind, the System’s cold prompt chimed on schedule: [System Notification: 60 hours remaining.] My hand trembled violently as I picked up the pen and wrote my name on the dotted line. I pushed the document back to Jimmy, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s done. Can I leave now?” Jimmy stared at the signature, seemingly caught off guard by how quickly I had yielded. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, followed by a mocking sneer. “Stop acting like a martyr.” “Get out. Don’t ruin Emma’s mood.” Leaning against the wall, I dragged myself out of that suffocating house, one agonizing step at a time. The wind outside was biting, slicing right through my thin hospital gown. I hailed a cab and headed back to the suburban villa I shared with Jimmy. The pain in my stomach felt like a dozen dull knives twisting inside me. I stumbled into the master bathroom, frantically searching for the expensive imported painkillers I had spent my last savings on. They were the only thing that could grant me a shred of dignity in my final hours. I pulled the drawer open, but the bottle was gone. “Looking for this, Susan?” A sweet, cloying voice sounded behind me. Emma was standing there, wearing my favorite silk robe, casually tossing the small white bottle in the air. She leaned against the doorframe, her smile wide and seemingly innocent. “I accidentally opened your package, thinking it was mine. What kind of treats are you hiding from me, big sister?” She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with pure malice. “Are you trying to poison yourself to make Jimmy feel guilty, or are you planning to poison me so you can keep him all to yourself?” Cold sweat poured down my forehead. Clutching my stomach, I weakly reached out toward her. “Give it back…” “It’s my medication… please…” Emma giggled, covering her mouth. “Medication? You’re such a drama queen, Susan. But if it’s dangerous medicine, I really shouldn’t let you abuse it.” She stepped over to the sink and unscrewed the cap. “Oops. My hand slipped.” She let out a faux gasp. A shower of white pills clattered into the basin, and she flicked the faucet on. A rush of cold water instantly swept my precious, expensive medicine straight down the drain. “No!” I threw myself forward, desperately clawing at the drain to salvage what was left. The water was freezing, and the pills dissolved almost instantly, turning into a milky, useless slurry that slipped away. I slumped over the counter, my fingernails scraping against the metal drain guard until they bled. “Emma! Are you insane?!” I screamed, the last of my composure shattering. Instantly, Emma’s smug face transformed. Her eyes welled with tears, and she began to sob. “Susan, why did you push me? You’re scaring me…” She let herself slip to the floor, weeping pitifully. Right on cue, the front door clicked open. Jimmy strode in, taking in the scene of Emma crying on the bathroom floor. “Emma! What happened?” He rushed over, pulling her protectively into his arms. “Jimmy, she…” Emma buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking. “I only wanted to help her tidy up the bathroom, but she just snapped. She shoved me… Does she hate me that much?” Jimmy’s head snapped up, his eyes burning with fury as he glared at me. “Susan! Do you have a death wish?!” He stood up, lunged forward, and kicked me hard in the stomach. Ugh! The force threw me backward, my spine colliding hard with the cold bathroom tiles. My already failing stomach ruptured under the impact, and it felt as though my internal organs were being torn to shreds. I curled into a tight ball on the freezing floor, unable to even draw enough breath to scream. Jimmy looked down at me with pure disgust, as if I were nothing but a pile of rotting garbage. “You really will stoop to any pathetic low just to get my attention!” “She was only trying to help, and you laid your hands on her?” He turned around and swept Emma into his arms. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get out of here. Let the crazy bitch rot.” Shielding her, he walked out of the house without a single backward glance. The heavy front door slammed shut, echoing through the empty villa. I lay on the cold tiles, my vision blurring into darkness. Memories of my childhood flashed before my eyes. The year I ranked first in the city exams, I had run home, proudly clutching my report card. My parents hadn’t even looked at it; they were too busy fussing over Emma, who had barely scratched her finger. “Who cares about your grades? Can you eat them? Don’t you see your sister is bleeding?!” Then, I met Jimmy. He had once pulled me into his arms, gently wiping away my tears. “Susan, I’ll be your family from now on. I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” But now, the very man who had sworn to protect me had become the executioner, grinding me into the dirt alongside my family. The copper taste of blood rushed up my throat. [System Notification: 48 hours remaining.] I stared at the dark pool of blood on the floor and closed my eyes. Down in the drain, the faint residue of the white pills slowly dissolved into nothing. I lost track of time lying on that cold floor. Eventually, a violent spasm of agony jolted me back to consciousness. Dragging my broken body, I crawled out of the bathroom and hoisted myself onto the living room sofa. The pain in my abdomen had surpassed any human limit, and it felt as if my insides were being put through a meat grinder. Cough… I bent over double, hacking up a thick spray of dark, stagnant blood. The deep crimson fluid stained the cream-colored wool rug, a gruesome, undeniable contrast. “Ah!” A sharp shriek pierced the silence of the house. Emma had come back; I hadn’t even heard her enter. Standing at the base of the stairs, she stared at me as I choked on my own blood. Instead of calling for an ambulance, she dramatically covered her eyes. “Blood! Oh my god, that’s disgusting!” “I can’t stand the sight of blood! You’re doing this on purpose to scare me!” She squealed, then fluttered her eyelids and elegantly fainted onto the carpeted stairs. Jimmy rushed out of the study. Seeing Emma slumped on the stairs, his face paled. “Emma!” Without even glancing at the pool of dark blood near me, he stepped over it and swept Emma into his arms. “Hold on, sweetie. I’m taking you to the hospital!” He carried her toward the door. As he passed the sofa, he hesitated for a fraction of a second. With blood coating my chin, I weakly reached a trembling hand toward him. “Jimmy… please… help me…” He recoiled in disgust, stepping back as if I were a plague-ridden corpse. “Susan, this desperate attention-seeking is getting pathetic.” “Coughing up fake blood just for sympathy? Do you really think I’m that stupid?” With a harsh sneer, he carried Emma out into the cool night air. Bang. The front door shut. Then came the heavy, metallic sound of a deadbolt turning twice. Click. He had locked me in, cutting off my absolute last chance at survival. My hand fell limp, dropping back onto the blood-soaked cushions. Summoning the last of my strength, I fumbled for my phone to dial 911. But when I opened my banking app, a stark white notification popped up on the screen: [Error: Your accounts have been frozen.] I froze. I tried every single card, even my health insurance account; every single one of them was blocked. Jimmy had cut off my finances entirely. Just then, the screen lit up with an incoming call. It was Martha. Like a drowning person catching a stray branch, I swiped to answer. “Mom… please help me… it hurts so much…” But there was no warmth on the other end, only a shrill, demanding screech. “Susan! Why haven’t you sent Emma her monthly allowance yet?!” “Do you have any idea how stressed she is because of your childish behavior?” I gasped for air, the agony too intense for coherent words. “I’m… I’m dying…” Martha let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Dying? A selfish parasite like you is too stubborn to die!” “You’re just faking it to guilt us!” “No wonder Jimmy is disgusted with you and locked you up.” “Go ahead and rot. Nobody cares anyway!” Beep. Beep. Beep. She hung up. I curled up on the blood-soaked couch, the phone slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor. The entire world fell into a terrifying, suffocating silence. Only the System’s cold countdown echoed in my mind. [System Notification: 24 hours remaining.] I watched the sky outside bleed from gray into a deep, pitch black. The pain in my chest had gone numb, replaced by a dull, hollow ache. I could feel my life force slowly seeping out with every labored breath. The deadbolt on the front door remained locked tight. Outside, the distant city lights flickered, warm and full of life. Countdown: 4 hours remaining. A social media notification lit up my phone screen. It was an update from Jimmy. He had rented out the most exclusive rooftop restaurant in the city. Beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lay a glittering skyline. Emma wore a custom haute couture gown and a delicate tiara, looking like a pampered princess. Jimmy stood beside her, his eyes filled with adoration as he clasped a multi-million dollar diamond necklace around her throat. The caption read: “Happy 20th birthday to my little princess. Congratulations on securing your spot in the Ivy League graduate program.” I stared at the screen, my lips twitching into a grim, bloody smile. Ivy League graduate program? Jimmy had bought that admission spot with a massive corporate donation. In the corner of the photo, I saw my parents. Richard and Martha were beaming, bragging to everyone about how successful their younger daughter was and what an incredible partner she had found. There they were, basked in luxury and celebration, while I lay locked inside a dark, empty villa, writhing on the cold hardwood floor in agonizing pain. My fingernails clawed at the expensive wood, leaving deep, bloody gouges. Several of my nails tore away completely, but I couldn’t even feel the pain in my fingers anymore. My chest felt completely crushed, and every breath brought the hot, metallic taste of blood. I was dying. With the last shred of my strength, my trembling fingers dialed Jimmy’s number. This was my final plea for mercy. It rang and rang. Just as I was about to give up, the line clicked open. “Jimmy…” My voice was barely a thread of wind. “It hurts so much… please… save me…” The other end fell quiet for a second. Then, a wave of loud laughter erupted. Jimmy had put the call on speaker. Every guest at the party heard my desperate, pathetic plea. “Oh, Susan is such a good actress,” Emma’s sweet, mocking voice chimed in. “She just has to try and steal the spotlight on my birthday. That’s so mean.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. “Honestly, Jimmy, your wife’s jealousy is getting ridiculous.” “Seriously. Today is Emma’s big day. She has no class.” Jimmy let out a soft, mocking chuckle, his voice dripping with icy contempt. “Susan, the ‘boy who cried wolf’ routine is getting old.” “If you want to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t ruin Emma’s birthday.” Click. Dial tone. He hung up. The screen flickered in the dark living room for a second, then went entirely black. Staring at the lifeless phone, a single tear slipped down my cheek. It fell into the pooling blood on the floor, dissolving into the dark crimson stain. I stopped fighting. I lay quietly on the freezing wood, feeling my body temperature drop degree by degree. It was so cold. [System Notification: 0 hours remaining.] [Host has successfully exited this world.] The System’s voice finally softened, sounding almost warm. My soul floated upward, light and free, leaving behind that gaunt, blood-covered shell of a body. The next morning, nursing a heavy hangover, Jimmy unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “Susan! What kind of stunt were you trying to pull last night—” His voice cut off instantly. A heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood and the unmistakable scent of death rushed over him. Frowning, he covered his nose and stepped into the living room.

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A minor fender bender, barely a scratch on him, and suddenly I had two husbands. Or rather, two personalities. The clingy, sweet twenty-eight-year-old husband I married woke up avoiding me like the plague, his memory wiped back to when he was eighteen. But then the shy, awkward teenager would fall asleep, only to wake up as the possessive, jealous man I had been married to for three years. On our first night back from the hospital, I watched with pure amusement as his rigid form clung to the very edge of the bed, pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face. Who says forced chemistry isn’t fun? This was a whole new level of excitement. Two versions of the same man? Yes, please. 1. Maksim lay perfectly still, hands folded over his stomach, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked peaceful, but his twitching eyelashes betrayed his panic. Holding back my giggles, I slipped under the covers and slowly wriggled closer to him. His breathing hitched. The moment his skin brushed against my warmth, Maksim rolled away, trying to act casual, only to tumble straight off the edge. There was a heavy thud. After a muffled groan, Maksim sat up, rubbing the back of his head. I reached over and hauled him back onto the bed. “Are you alright, sweetheart? How did you manage to fall? Don’t tell me you bumped your head silly again.” Maksim’s face flushed crimson. He let me pull him back onto the mattress like a disciplined schoolboy. “Wait… can you please not call me that? I’m not… I’m not used to it yet…” I easily shifted gears. “Alright then. Does it hurt, Maksim? Did you bruise anything?” I began checking him over, my hands sliding across his chest. When they brushed against his well-defined abs, he finally caught my wrist, his face burning. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt. I’m tired. Let’s just sleep.” I took the opportunity to wrap myself around him like a koala, draping my arm over his chest and hooking my leg over his waist. Maksim froze, turning himself as stiff as a board, not daring to move an inch. I leaned close, whispering in his ear, “Maksim, your heart is beating so fast. It’s keeping me awake.” His eyes snapped open, and he scrambled to sit up in a flurry. “I… I’ll go sleep on the couch.” But I held him down, pinning him with my weight. I had locked every other bedroom in the house for exactly this reason. He had nowhere to run. “It’s fine,” I murmured, resting my ear against his hammering chest. Thump, thump, thump. “I like the sound. Maksim, you’re alive. That’s all that matters.” Your heart is beating for me. Even if it is out of sheer terror, it is still for me. 2. I fell into a dream where a large, warm dog was nuzzling against my neck, its wet tongue tracing along my skin, leaving behind a trail of shivers and a deep, aching warmth. Heavy, ragged breaths and wet kisses took over, stealing the air from my lungs. When I felt like I was completely out of breath, I finally forced my eyes open, weakly pushing at the heavy weight pinning me down. “Mmm… Maksim, seriously, are you a golden retriever or something…?” A warm, calloused palm cupped my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a trace of moisture from the corner of my lips. Maksim let out a low chuckle, burying his face back into the crook of my neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down my collarbone. “You were so enthusiastic with eighteen-year-old Maksim last night. I thought you wanted this. Or did I misread the invitation?” He took my hand, guiding it downward. “Didn’t you want to feel my abs? Or do you prefer the shy, innocent teenager over me?” Oh, great. The jealous idiot was actually jealous of his own younger self. I quickly surrendered, pleading, “I only said that because I love you. I always regretted not knowing you when we were younger. Fate Maksime me a chance to make up for it, so of course I wanted to enjoy it.” Even in his busy state, Maksim didn’t forget to grumble, “Hmph, he is just a scared kid. What is so great about him?” By the time I woke up again, it was already noon. Maksim was sitting up, wrapped in the bedsheets, staring blankly ahead. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. The duvet slipped down to my waist, revealing the faint, dark marks on my skin. Maksim snapped out of his daze, immediately covering his burning face with his hands. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t do this… No, wait, I did do this, but I don’t know how… I don’t remember any of it… But… but I’ll take responsibility for you!” 3. Maksim’s eyes darted around, his blush spreading rapidly down his neck. A mature, handsome face wearing such a shy, boyish expression was incredibly endearing. I wanted to bite him. Looking at his burning ears, I burst out laughing. “Silly boy, we’ve been married for three years. How exactly do you plan on taking responsibility?” My mind drifted back to three years ago, shortly after my college graduation. My newly wealthy father, who had suddenly struck gold, was forcing me onto the blind date circuit, scheduling at least three a week. He was determined to find a son-in-law with a sharp business mind to take over the family business, terrified that our sudden stroke of luck would be squandered by his own family. And that was when Maksim appeared. When he sat down opposite me, my mind went completely blank. Only one thought echoed in my head: How on earth did a man like Maksim end up on a blind date with me? In normal social circles, a family of his standing was miles out of reach for a loud, new money family like mine. I was convinced he had the wrong table. I spent the entire dinner in a daze, looking around for his actual date. It wasn’t until he politely drove me home and left that I finally snapped out of it. If a miracle lands in your lap, you don’t ask questions; you lock it down. Besides, Maksim had been my secret high school crush. So, I took the initiative, immediately asking him out for a second date, and we quickly made things official. I thought I was the one rushing to tie him down, but to my absolute surprise, he was even more impatient. The very next day, he arranged for our parents to meet. Everything after that went on fast-forward. Engagement, wedding, honeymoon… Well, the honeymoon phase never really ended. Until the accident, we were still like newlyweds, unable to keep our hands off each other. 4. “Wait.” Maksim, still curled up like a frightened bird at the head of the bed, suddenly froze and looked up. “You said I’m twenty-eight. If we’ve only been married for three years, that math doesn’t add up.” I blinked, caught off guard. Before I could answer, the doorbell rang loudly. I had to swallow my questions and go open the door. It was Higgins, Maksim’s secretary, rushing in like a whirlwind. “Sir, why is your phone off? I have never seen a boss so eager to avoid work! The bidding for the southern district project is about to start, and the merger plan for the Russell Group, and…” Higgins rambled on at lightning speed. Maksim said nothing. He just blinked his large, clear, innocent eyes, looking thoroughly confused. Great. I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was Maksim’s morning antics that had brought the teenager back to the surface. What was I supposed to do now? Higgins ventured a bold suggestion. “Maybe we should try knocking him out? See if he resets?” His gaze drifted toward the nearby bar cabinet, as if evaluating which whiskey bottle would do the trick. “Absolutely not,” I said, stepping in front of Maksim to shield him from Higgins’s calculating stare. “What if you make him even more confused?” “Well, could you check his study for those files? I brought them over last week. If he signed them before… well, before his accident, that would solve everything.” I agreed, secretly locking the liquor cabinet before heading upstairs. 5. Fortunately, Maksim’s desk was immaculate. Within a few minutes, I found the documents Higgins needed. I flipped through them to check for signatures. As I gathered the papers to head back down, the breeze from my movement knocked a few loose sheets of paper to the floor. I bent down to retrieve them, but my eyes immediately locked onto a familiar name. It was a stock transfer agreement. I scanned the lines quickly. Party A agrees to transfer 3% of the shares of the Maksim Group to Party B. Transferor: Maksim. Transferee: Stephanie. My hand froze. Stephanie. A name that had been a thorn in my heart for ten years. And… Maksim’s first love. Not only was Maksim still in touch with her, but he was handing over a small fortune in shares? I was his legal wife, and even I didn’t hold any shares in the company! My mind became a chaotic mess. I practically shoved Higgins out the door in a daze, then ushered a clueless Maksim into the shower. With a heavy heart, I reached for Maksim’s phone. The password was our anniversary. He never hid anything from me. I tried to tell myself to stay calm, that trust was the foundation of a marriage, but my thumb was already swiping frantically across the screen. Finally, I found Stephanie’s profile on his messaging app. There were no text messages, only a missed three-minute call from a week ago. The timestamp was exactly one hour before Maksim’s car accident. 6. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” A damp head of hair poked out of the bathroom, his face filled with genuine concern. I looked up and grabbed Maksim’s chin. “I know this isn’t your fault right now, so you’d better go to sleep and let the other version of you explain. Why has he been secretly keeping in touch with his ex? Was the accident because he was on his way to see her? Are you two planning a reunion, or am I just some side character in your little game?” Maksim looked completely bewildered, his eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There must be a mistake. You’re my only love.” “You don’t get to speak for him.” I pushed his face away, marching over to the medicine cabinet and rummaging through it. “Sleeping pills, sleeping pills… Why does everyone in this house sleep so well? Not a single sedative in sight.” My eyes drifted back to the locked liquor cabinet. Maybe a gentle tap on the head wouldn’t hurt? “No, no, stop it,” I muttered, shaking the crazy thought out of my head. “Cold medicine will have to do. That always makes people drowsy.” I popped two capsules and stuffed them into Maksim’s mouth. “Your hair is wet. If you don’t dry it, you’ll catch a cold. Take these just in case.” Maksim let me dry his hair in a daze, then let me tuck him into bed under the heavy duvet. “I’m not sleepy yet,” he mumbled, trying to sit up. I immediately draped myself over him like an octopus, pinning him down. “Yes, you are.” We wrestled for a moment, but the medicine must have kicked in quickly. Maksim’s face flushed, and his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me down as his warm breath brushed my ear. “Then… sleep with me.”

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1 The first time we were stranded on Mount Rainier’s icy slopes, Jamie ignored my bleeding leg and clipped the only harness to Luna. “She fears heights,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “You’re stronger.” The second time, a mudslide hit, and he gave her the lone oxygen mask. His teammate excused it, citing her weak lungs. Time and again, he left the safest path to her, assuming I’d endure. During the ninth crisis, a mine collapsed, trapping us in separate tunnels. Dispatch demanded a choice. “Save Luna first,” he said instantly. Over the radio, I asked, “And me?” His tone softened, practiced. “You’re trained, Annie. Hold on. I’ll return after her.” I laughed silently and cut the line. Jamie didn’t know this was a classified drill I’d staged. I’d needed to see if he’d ever choose me when survival hung in the balance. … I looked down at the digital watch on my wrist. It had taken Jamie exactly two seconds to make his choice. That was faster than any of the previous eight times. The heavy silence in my headset was broken by the hesitant voice of the chief commander. “Captain Davis, do we proceed with the simulation?” Leaning my head back against the cold, damp rock wall, I spoke quietly. “No.” “Call it off. End the drill.” After a brief burst of static, a loud automated announcement echoed through the entire cavern system. “The joint emergency rescue simulation has concluded. All units, stand down and remain at your stations.” Within thirty seconds, the emergency floodlights flickered to life, bathing the dark tunnel in a blinding, sterile glow. The crew quickly moved the heavy foam boulders off my legs. I pulled off my helmet, shaking out my hair, and walked out through the secondary exit. Right at the threshold of the staging area, I ran straight into Jamie, who was carrying Luna out of the simulated debris field. Luna’s arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her face buried in his chest. Only when the echoing broadcast repeated did she slowly lift her head. “A simulation?” she whispered, blinking. Jamie stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes locked onto me, completely unharmed, and then drifted to the painted foam rocks behind us. Slowly, the blood drained from his face, replaced by a dark, simmering anger. “Annie, did you lie to me?” I didn’t answer. Luna slid down from his arms, her eyes instantly filling with tears as she looked at me. “Annie, did you seriously trap us in separate tunnels just to force Jamie into making a choice? How could you play with his feelings like that?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but in the quiet of the cavern, it carried perfectly to every rescue worker standing nearby. The atmosphere in the room turned instantly tense. Jamie glared at me, his fists clenching at his sides. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” I looked around at the brightly lit safety exit, marked with highly visible reflective tape. “Dangerous how, exactly?” “Every single collapse point was engineered for absolute safety. The boulders are made of lightweight foam, the communication lines were fully secure, and the medical team was waiting right outside the door. The only real danger here was you, deciding to bypass protocol to prioritize a civilian.” Jamie ground his teeth together, his jaw tight. “Luna has a history of severe asthma. If she panics, she could suffocate. What was I supposed to do?” A dry, bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Did she leave her inhaler behind?” Luna’s face turned incredibly pale. Jamie’s eyes darted down to her utility belt. The standard-issue portable oxygen cylinder was clipped right there, its safety seal completely intact, untouched. A collective murmur went through the watching crew. For a few seconds, Jamie stood there in stunned silence, but he still stepped forward, keeping himself positioned firmly in front of her. “She was terrified, Annie. She probably forgot it was there. You’re a trained professional, why do you always have to hold a grudge against her?” There it was again. That familiar, exhausting line. Because I was a professional. Because I had training, he could leave me in a freezing blizzard while he rescued Luna. Because I had experience, he could push her onto the rescue helicopter during a flash flood and leave me to tread freezing water, waiting for the next turn. No matter if I was injured, freezing, or suffocating, he always assumed I would find a way to survive. Looking at this man whom I had loved desperately for seven long years, I felt a sudden, profound sense of detachment. He felt like a complete stranger. “Jamie.” “In your mind, she is the only one who ever needs saving. Is that it?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking incredibly frustrated. “I never said that.” “But that is exactly what you do. Every single time.” “Because you can handle it!” his voice finally cracked, rising in anger. “Annie, you are the most decorated rescue captain in this region. You’ve survived avalanches. You’ve fought forest fires. You’ve pulled dozens of people out of collapsed structures. And Luna? She’s just a wedding photographer.” “Why do you keep forcing me to make these ridiculous, childish choices?” “Because I was supposed to marry you,” I said softly. The entire cavern fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Our wedding was scheduled for exactly three months from now. The invitations had already been sent, the wedding dress had been altered three times, and I had personally drafted the emergency contingency plans for the venue. But today, I finally understood something. Who a person chooses to save in a disaster has nothing to do with who they claim to love. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, silver rescue whistle. It was the gift I had given him the day he joined the civilian rescue force. On the back, we had engraved a promise. In step, in retreat, in life, in death. I pressed the cold metal into his palm, closing his fingers over it. “The wedding is off,” I said quietly. Jamie blinked, looking entirely lost. “What did you say?” “I said, the wedding is off.” I slipped the diamond ring off my left ring finger and placed it on top of his closed hand. “I’ll contact the real estate agent tomorrow to put our house on the market. Don’t worry about the venue deposits, I’ll cover them. And I’ll handle the calls to the guests myself.” Jamie’s grip tightened around the ring, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. “You’re breaking off our engagement over a damn simulation?” “It’s not because of this simulation,” I said. “It’s because of the nine times before it.” “Every single one of those times was an actual emergency!” He took a step closer, grabbing my wrist. “Annie, I know I lost my temper just now. But you know my history. You know what happened to me.” “Thomas died saving my life. I promised him on his deathbed that I would look after Luna for the rest of her life. I can’t just stand by and watch her get hurt.” I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist, then slowly looked up into his eyes. “And what about me?” “When I’m the one in danger, do you ever feel a single second of fear?” Jamie swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “You’re different.” “How?” The words tumbled out of his mouth without a second thought. “Annie, I trust you more than anyone else on this planet. Even if the entire world collapsed, I know you’d find a way to crawl out alive.” I stared at him, completely speechless. I had never realized that being suffocated by someone’s absolute faith in you could feel so incredibly heavy. I slowly, deliberately pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. “Jamie, I am not immortal.” “I was just too terrified to tell you every time I almost died.” His face froze, his expression turning completely blank. “What do you mean?” I didn’t offer any explanation. I turned on my heel and walked toward the command center. The base director was waiting for me inside, a sealed document resting on the desk. “The transfer request from the Great North International Rescue Center has been approved,” he said, pushing the file toward me. “You leave in a month. It’s a three-year contract. Are you absolutely sure about this, Annie?” I picked up the pen and signed my name on the final line without hesitation. “I’m sure.” The director let out a long sigh. “You turned down this assignment twice because of Jamie. What changed?” I stared at my signature, the ink drying black on the crisp white paper. “I finally grew up,” I said. “Some people are never going to look back, no matter how long you stand there waiting.” A sudden clatter sounded outside the glass door. I looked up. Jamie was standing on the other side of the glass, his helmet rolling across the floor at his feet. He had heard everything. “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice muffled through the glass as he pushed the door open. I closed the folder, slipping it into my bag. “Yes.” “When did you decide this?” “Six months ago, right after the rescue on Mount Rainier. The center reached out to me with the offer.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I looked at him, feeling an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. “Because back then, you told me we were getting married. You said you didn’t want us to be apart right after the wedding. So, I turned them down.” “The second offer came right after the valley mudslide.” “But Luna was too traumatized to be left alone, so you took her abroad to recover for a month. Meanwhile, I was lying in a hospital bed undergoing two consecutive debridement surgeries on my infected leg. So, I turned them down again.” Jamie’s lips parted, his face turning entirely pale. “You were hospitalized?” “Yes.” “Was… was it serious?” “A deep puncture wound to my left thigh. It got severely infected.” “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I offered him a sad, small smile. “Because you left strict orders with the entire team. You told them Luna was in a fragile mental state, and that no one was to disturb you with minor issues from the base.” Jamie stood frozen, his eyes wide as he stared at me, looking utterly lost. It took him a long time to find his voice. “I… I didn’t know.” “Now you do,” I said, stepping past him. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.” The news of our canceled wedding spread through our social circles like wildfire. Jamie’s parents arrived at the rescue base late that very evening. The moment his mother saw me, she let out a sharp sigh of disapproval. “Annie, Jamie is just a loyal boy. You can’t expect him to turn his back on a family obligation. Thomas gave his life to save our son, it is only right that Jamie looks after Luna.” “You’re a rescue captain, surely you understand duty better than anyone?” I poured her a glass of water and set it on the table. “Mrs. Vance, I’ve never stopped him from looking after Luna.” “I’m just choosing not to marry him.” Her expression shifted, a flicker of panic crossing her face. “You’ve been together for seven years, Annie! You can’t just throw all that away over a misunderstanding. Think of our family’s reputation, the invitations have already been sent!” So, it was about their reputation. His father sat in the corner, his face grim. “Marriage requires compromise, Annie. Jamie saved Luna because she is physically weak. Using a safety drill to test your fiancé is a childish, manipulative game.” I nodded slowly. “You’re right,” I said. “And now that I have my answer, I’m not throwing a tantrum, and I’m not asking him to change. I’m simply walking away. Is that not compromise enough?” His mother was left completely speechless. Jamie stood by the window, his eyes bloodshot, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. Only after his parents finally left did he drag his feet over to my desk. “We can postpone the wedding,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “We can do it after you get back from the Great North.” I didn’t look up from packing my gear into my duffel bag. “I didn’t say postpone, Jamie. I said cancel.” “Annie!” He finally snapped, his voice tight with suppressed rage. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to cut Luna out of my life completely? Do you want me to leave her to drown, just so I can live with the guilt for the rest of my life?” I set down the climbing rope I was coiling and looked him in the eye. “You don’t have to do anything for me.” “You can look after her every day. You can take her to her doctor appointments, take her on vacations, and save her first in every disaster. That is your choice.” “And my choice is to leave.” Jamie’s eyes burned with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You’re just using this transfer to punish me, to force me into choosing you. Annie, you used to be so different.” I paused. “Different how?” “You were rational. Calm. You always saw the bigger picture.” He stepped closer, his voice softening into a plea. “You would never let petty jealousy ruin what we have.” A sudden memory flashed through my mind, vivid and painful. It was that first night on Mount Rainier. A jagged piece of ice had sliced a deep gash into my right thigh. As he carried Luna down the mountain, Jamie had looked back at me over his shoulder. “Annie, hang tight! I’ll get her to the medical tent and come right back for you!” I had waited in that howling blizzard for forty-seven minutes. Only later did I find out that because Luna was crying and hyperventilating, he had ridden with her all the way to the city hospital. By the time my team found me, my body temperature had dropped to dangerous levels, and I was severely hypothermic. During the mudslide, when he gave her the oxygen mask, I had inhaled a massive amount of toxic dust. My lungs got severely infected, and I coughed up blood for two weeks. During the flash flood, he gave her his life vest. During the forest fire, he left the last bottle of water for her. During the cable car failure, he pushed her into the first evacuation pod. When we lost signal in the wilderness, he used the final bar of battery on the satellite phone to call a specialist, just to ask what dosage of anxiety medication Luna should take. When the frozen lake cracked, he pulled her out of the freezing water, completely failing to notice that I had slipped into a adjacent crevice. During the aftershock, he shielded her with his body, leaving me to evacuate the remaining casualties in a collapsing building alone. Through all of it, I had never complained. When my teammates criticized him, I had even made excuses for him. Because I was the captain. Because I had to focus on the big picture. I had stayed silent for so long that he had forgotten that I was human, too. He had forgotten that I was never obligated to endure any of it. “Jamie,” I said, staring at his face. “You never loved the rational Annie.” “You just loved the Annie who would never leave, no matter how many times you abandoned her.” “But she died during that ninth collapse.” A week before my scheduled departure, our base received an urgent distress call. A massive landslide had occurred upstream of the Clearwater Canyon. A tour bus carrying over twenty passengers was trapped on a crumbling ledge above the raging river. The rain was pouring down in relentless sheets. As our primary geological consultant, Jamie joined our dispatch team. But just as we were loading the trucks, Luna showed up, carrying a heavy camera bag. “I’m the official documentary photographer for this mission,” she said, flashing a media pass. “The public channel is covering this rescue, and I have full clearance to document the operation.” I looked at Jamie. He quickly avoided my gaze, muttering under his breath, “She’ll stay on the perimeter, Annie. She won’t get close to the danger zone.” I didn’t waste my breath arguing. When we reached the canyon, the situation was far worse than we had anticipated. The tour bus was wedged precariously between two shifting rock slabs, suspended directly over a roaring torrent of muddy water. Six children inside the bus were injured, the youngest only seven years old. I hooked my harness to the main line and rappelled down to begin the extraction. Jamie remained at the staging area above, monitoring the geological sensors. By four in the afternoon, the rain intensified into a torrential downpour. Jamie’s voice crackled through my earpiece, sharp with panic. “The eastern rock slab is shifting rapidly! All units, evacuate the gorge immediately!” Just as I secured the safety line around the last child, a piercing shriek echoed from the cliffs above. “Jamie!” Luna had bypassed the safety barrier to get a dramatic close-up shot of the sliding earth. The ground beneath her feet crumbled, and she began sliding down the muddy slope toward the sheer drop of the cliff. Without a single thought for his post, Jamie dropped his instruments and lunged forward to grab her. In his panic, his foot caught the data cables, ripping them from the main console. Instantly, the command center lost all real-time telemetry on the shifting mountain. At that exact moment, a loud crack echoed from the underside of the bus. “Captain, the support beam is snapping! The bus is going down!” my teammate screamed. I didn’t have time to look up. I shoved the child into the arms of the climbing specialist above me and lunged back into the tilting cabin of the bus. The driver was still trapped, his leg pinned beneath the crumpled dashboard. “Captain, leave me!” the driver screamed, rain splattering his face. “This thing is going down!” I swung my rescue axe, slamming it into the distorted metal frame. “Shut up!” “We don’t leave people behind.” With another deafening groan of metal, the bus began its final slide into the raging waters below. Using every ounce of leverage I had left, I clicked my spare carabiner onto the driver’s harness and shoved him out the shattered windshield. The next second, the bus broke free, plunging into the abyss. My safety line snapped taut, the violent jerk slamming me hard against the jagged stone wall of the canyon. A sickening crack echoed in my ears as a blinding wave of pain exploded in my right shoulder. “Annie!” The comms channel went into absolute chaos. Suspended over the raging waters, my right arm hung completely useless at my side. The dispatcher’s voice screamed through the radio, frantic. “Jamie! Captain Davis’s anchor point is slipping! You’re closest to her position! Get down there and reinforce the line!” After a few agonizing seconds of static, Jamie’s voice came through, tight and strained. “Luna fractured her ankle. She can’t move. I have to get her to the medical tent first.” The dispatcher let out a furious roar. “Her anchor point is going to fail in less than two minutes! Let someone else carry her!” “Annie can hold on,” Jamie replied, his voice shaking. “She’s strong.” I closed my eyes. This was the tenth time. I couldn’t believe that even after the ninth, there was still a tenth. Cold rain lashed against my face as the metal piton slowly ground its way out of the crumbling rock face. I couldn’t wait for him. Using only my left hand, I reached for my gear loops, pulled out a backup piton, and slammed it into a narrow crack in the rock. I struck it once. Then twice. The impact sent a jarring shockwave up my arm, splitting the skin of my palm. Hot blood began to mix with the rain, flowing down my wrist. On the third strike, the original anchor point failed completely. I plummeted straight down. At the very last second, the backup safety line snapped taut, stopping my fall with a violent jolt. My injured shoulder slammed into the rock wall once more. Before darkness claimed my vision, the last thing I heard was the dispatcher screaming through my earpiece. “Jamie! She’s fallen! Annie has fallen!”

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1 In the sixth year of my relationship with Devin, his first love came back. The girl who had brutally bullied me in high school, Angela, had returned from abroad, transformed into an elegant, soft-spoken woman. When she first saw me, she greeted me with a warm, beaming smile. But beneath the heavy tablecloth of the dining room, she pinched my arm with vicious force, her voice dropping into a toxic whisper. “Gwen, did you seriously think you could take what belongs to me? You must be tired of living.” When I told Devin what she had done, his only response was a look of profound disappointment. “Gwen, fabricating stories like a child isn’t a good look on you.” I looked down at my hands, my heart going entirely numb. Fine, I thought. Keep her. I don’t want you anymore anyway. He had promised he would always protect me, but he never did. He only ever protected Angela. … The day I found out Angela was returning, I dropped a porcelain soup bowl. As I knelt on the kitchen tile to gather the pieces, a jagged shard sliced deep into my finger. Devin rushed over, sweeping the broken ceramic away before tapping my nose playfully. “Careless, aren’t we, Gwen? Don’t tell me you’re throwing a jealous fit just because I’m going to see her?” “It’s just a casual high school reunion, everyone’s going. You should come with me.” I looked up at him. Without even looking in a mirror, I knew my face was completely devoid of color. “You’ve ignored every single high school reunion for six years. Why is this one so important?” Devin’s playful smile stiffened. He paused for two seconds before offering a smooth explanation. “Well, Garrett is going to be there. You know he’s my best friend, and we haven’t caught up in ages. Besides, he’s the one who heard Angela was back and insisted on throwing her a welcome-back dinner.” Looking at his calm, steady expression, I let out a cold, quiet laugh. Whether he was doing this for Garrett, or simply using his friend as a shield to see his old crush, only he knew. After all, back in high school, Devin had been one of the most devoted boys in Angela’s orbit. A sudden, bone-deep exhaustion settled over me. During our six years together, Angela’s name had always been a shadow over our relationship. Every time it came up, we would have a screaming match, ending with him sighing and sweeping it under the rug. But today, I didn’t even have the energy to fight. I stood up and walked to the bathroom to clean my cut. Devin followed close behind, hovering at the door. “Gwen, I know you had a rough time with Angela back in school, but it was all just a big misunderstanding. Let’s use this dinner to clear the air. For my sake?” I spun around, glaring at him. “There was no misunderstanding. She is a cruel, manipulative bitch. Just thinking about her makes me physically sick.” Devin hadn’t expected such a sharp, venomous reaction. His accommodating, sweet demeanor instantly vanished, replaced by a cold sneer. “You’re crossing the line, Gwen. Just because Angela is beautiful and was more popular than you, you don’t need to turn this into a bitter, insecure petty girl fight.” His words, loaded with baseless accusations, stung like a whip. It was terrifying to realize that after six years of sharing a bed, this was still how he saw me. Was the power of a first love really that absolute? Even a stray dog would have earned more trust after six years of devotion. I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. “In sophomore year, Angela accused me of stealing the class trip fund,” I said, my voice trembling with the weight of the memory. “She locked me in a dirty bathroom stall for three hours. Because of her, the entire school treated me like a parasite. She even took the last heirloom my grandmother left me before she died and threw it down the storm drain.” “For two years, they wrote ‘thief’ and ‘trash’ on my locker. Have you forgotten all of that?” I stared directly into his eyes. No matter how much time had passed, the memory still made my lungs squeeze with panic. “That was ancient history,” Devin said, his tone genuinely puzzled, as if he couldn’t comprehend why I was still crying. “We were just kids back then. Angela has always been a bit dramatic and reckless, but she apologized to you later. What else do you want from her?” Listening to his affectionate defense of her, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He remembered everything about her. And as for that apology. Yes, she had apologized. She had brought me a box of homemade peanut butter cookies, practically forcing me to eat them in front of everyone. She knew about my severe peanut allergy, yet she watched me swallow them, landing me in the ICU with anaphylactic shock. And afterward, she had stood behind her friends, sobbing softly. “Gwen, did you fake a medical emergency just because you hate me so much?” Her tears had turned the entire class against me. They called me a liar, a manipulative drama queen who would risk her own life just to frame a sweet girl like Angela. I had almost died on that hallway floor, gasping for breath while they stood in a circle and mocked me. It was Devin who had finally called a teacher to get an ambulance, which was the only reason I had fallen in love with him in the first place. I had thought he was my savior. Devin sighed, pulling me back toward the dinner table. “Alright, let’s not fight. We’re getting married in August, let’s not ruin the mood.” I looked at him, my heart hollow. Last month, his parents had decided our six-year courtship had gone on long enough, setting our wedding date for August. We were supposed to start planning the ceremony next week. But once he saw Angela, would he still want to marry me? In the end, Devin still dragged me to the reunion. “Everyone’s going,” he argued as we got out of the car. “If you stay home, it’ll just look weird. Are you worried people will bring up the old days? Don’t worry, it’s been years. Nobody cares anymore.” I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. “Do you really want me to go in there, Devin?” He frowned, clearly annoyed by my solemn attitude, but nodded anyway. And so, I knew that once we crossed that threshold, there would be no turning back. The bistro was high-end, the air smelling of expensive wine and perfume. A few of our old classmates were already there, and they immediately swarmed Devin, slapping his back. “The star of the class! Look at you, you haven’t changed a bit!” “The girls are going to swoon when they see you. We don’t stand a chance tonight.” “Wait… who is this?” One of the men noticed me standing behind Devin, his eyes narrowing with a look of recognition. Devin pulled me forward, his smile tight. “My girlfriend, Gwen. She’s changed a bit since high school, so it’s normal if you don’t recognize her at first.” “Oh! The thief from the bathroom stalls?” the man blurted out. The table went dead silent. The air grew thick with awkward tension. I looked the man dead in the eye, my voice perfectly steady. “I didn’t steal anything. It was proven to be a lie.” The man let out a sloppy laugh, offering a half-hearted shrug. “Sorry, sorry. First impressions, you know?” Devin quickly tried to smooth things over. “Come on, guys, that was a lifetime ago. Let’s not bring up old drama.” I brushed Devin’s hand off my arm, stepping forward. “Why shouldn’t we bring it up?” “If we’re being honest, half the people in this room owe me a sincere, written apology for what they did to me.” Devin’s expression darkened instantly. “Gwen, don’t make a scene,” he whispered, his voice sharp with warning. “Think about where we are.” I looked at him, a mocking smile on my lips. “But Devin, you’re the one who insisted I come. I thought you’d be proud of your future wife standing up for her dignity.” Before he could answer, Garrett arrived. He had heard the entire exchange. He clapped Devin on the shoulder, giving me a dismissive, mocking look. “Don’t sweat it, bro. If our old jokes still hurt her feelings, we can give her a bone. For Devin’s sake, guys, let’s say sorry.” A few of the men muttered a careless, mocking “sorry,” their lips curling into sneers. I didn’t say another word. I took a seat at the far end of the table. The real guest of honor hadn’t arrived yet anyway. Devin sat next to me, his jaw clenched, but he kept his mouth shut, conscious of the eyes on us. Angela was the last to arrive, entering like a queen making an appearance. The moment she stepped into the private dining room, my mind flashed back to high school. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in a simple, pristine white silk dress that made her look like a delicate lily. Every man at the table stood up to greet her. I glanced at Devin. His eyes were wide, filled with an unmistakable, burning fascination. “Long time no see, everyone,” Angela smiled softly, her voice sweet and musical. The men practically tripped over themselves to pull out a chair for her. Naturally, she looked toward Devin, her eyes wide and innocent. “I want to sit next to Devin.” “Of course,” Devin said instantly, pulling out the chair beside him. The classmates moved their plates around, whispering about how perfect they looked together, like a golden couple. Throughout the entire display, not a single person acknowledged that his actual girlfriend was sitting right next to him. But that was fine. I picked up my fork and let it drop onto the porcelain plate, the sharp chime echoing through the quiet chatter. Devin jumped, looking at me with a sudden flash of panic. Angela finally turned her gaze to me, blinking as if she had just noticed my existence. “Is that Gwen? You look… slightly better than you did in school. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Garrett laughed, taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, Angela, did you know? Gwen and Devin are actually together now.” Angela’s eyes went wide, and she playfully punched Devin’s shoulder before looking back at me. “Devin never mentioned it! Gwen, you don’t mind me sitting next to him, do you?” Before I could even open my mouth, Devin spoke for me. “Of course she doesn’t mind. Gwen isn’t that petty.” Angela let out a soft sigh, patting her chest. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you’d be angry, Gwen. I remember in school, you had such a terrifying, aggressive temper.” Devin chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s always been highly sensitive, constantly on guard. She can’t compare to your sweet, easygoing nature.” Highly sensitive. Constantly on guard. Six years of my life, of cooking his meals, cleaning his house, and loving him with everything I had, and I was still the bitter, unstable girl compared to his pure, golden angel. I forced my hands to stop trembling, my voice coming out cold and sharp as glass. “Actually, I mind. Very much. In fact, I am incredibly angry.” “Angela, I want you to apologize to me. Before you arrived, half the guys at this table already apologized for the bullying.”

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1 Otto and I were a perfect match and each other’s worst nightmare. Both too proud, stubborn, and competitive for our own good, we fought constantly. Our ninety-ninth fight ended with him kicking me out on the highway in a downpour. I retaliated by hiring teens to smash his windshield. When he gave me the silent treatment, I blocked him everywhere and enjoyed the quiet. We always fought dirty and made up fast. By day seven of our cold war, my pride caved. I unblocked him and texted, I’m sorry. An instant reply came, not from him, but a photo of Otto asleep on his childhood best friend Hailey’s shoulder. Hey Summer, Otto crashed at mine after playing too hard, she wrote. I’ll have him call when he wakes. A bitter burn rose in my throat. This was our ninety-ninth fight over Hailey. As I deleted his contact, I checked the box to erase every chat. Our ninety-ninth storm would be our last. No hundredth chance, no rainy reunion. The love I had chased to exhaustion was finally dead. … I wiped my face, stood up, and began packing my life into cardboard boxes. As I looked around the apartment, a heavy ache settled in my chest. Everything here was a monument to us. The shoe rack by the door was something we had built together on a lazy Sunday. The abstract canvas on the wall was covered in our messy, blended brushstrokes. Even the plush slippers on my feet were a custom pair Otto had ordered for me. I still remembered how smug he had looked when he gave them to me. “Summer, I’m doing all this so that if you ever think about leaving, you’ll realize no one else will ever treat you this well. You’re stuck with me.” “No other guy on this planet is going to make sure your feet stay warm.” But my gaze drifted from the slippers to the smart lock on the front door. I had bought it just last week, and it had been the catalyst for our final explosion. On the day of the installation, Otto had insisted on registering Hailey’s fingerprint. “Summer, just let Hailey register her print. It’ll make things easier for her when she comes over to hang out.” I had frozen, my chest tightening as I stared at him. “Then I want my best friend, Becca, to have a keycode too.” Otto’s face had instantly darkened. “No way. The lock only holds five registered prints. One for you, one for me, one for Hailey, and two for my parents. That’s it. It’s perfect.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped me. “Otto, in this family dynamic of yours, where exactly does Hailey fit? Is she your second wife?” That was all it took. Otto slammed the door so hard the walls shook, leaving me behind. I didn’t chase after him because my finger had been caught in the frame when he slammed the door, ripping my acrylic nail clean off and leaving my nailbed bleeding and raw. But in Otto’s mind, my silence was just another round of our endless game of chicken. On Wednesday, he kicked me out of his car in the middle of a flash flood warning. On Friday, when I sent a brief text asking if he had eaten, he left me on read. An hour later, he posted a picture of a lavish steak dinner with the caption: [Funny how much brighter life gets the moment you finally cut out the dead weight.] And today, Sunday, my apology was met with a picture of him sleeping on Hailey’s shoulder. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing his usual power games, waiting for me to break, waiting for his ultimate victory. But I was done playing. There are no winners or losers in a relationship, only the one who cares more and the one who cares less. I used to be the one who cared more, which was why I had bowed my head ninety-nine times. Now, that love had been ground down to dust. I sighed, reached into a drawer, and began packing my passport and birth certificate. Suddenly, the front door clicked open. Otto walked in, his eyes dropping to the suitcase at my feet. His brow furrowed in immediate irritation. “Where do you think you’re going?” I noticed he was holding a small box from the bakery I had bookmarked on TikTok yesterday. But the gesture felt hollow. “Otto,” I said, my voice quiet and flat. “We’re done. I want a divorce.” “I’m not playing these games with you anymore.” The veins on Otto’s forehead bulged. He opened his mouth to snap at me, but a voice chimed in from the hallway behind him. “Oh, look at this. Are we moving out?” Hailey stepped into the entryway, a patronizing smirk on her face. “Otto, your girl really knows how to pull your strings, doesn’t she?” Otto’s mouth snapped shut. He shot me a cold, calculating look and sneered. “Fine. If you want to leave, delete your fingerprint from the lock first. And don’t bother coming back.” A wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. I knew what he was waiting for. He wanted to see tears, regret, and desperation. He wanted me to beg. I didn’t have the energy to fight him. My injured finger was still tightly bandaged, throbbing with a dull pain, but he didn’t even notice. I walked over to the smart lock to delete my data. As the machine emitted a sharp confirmation beep, Otto suddenly grabbed my arm and shoved me hard out the door. “Get the hell out! And don’t you dare come crawling back!” I lost my balance, falling hard onto the concrete corridor. My knees scraped against the rough ground, the sharp sting bringing hot tears to my eyes. A suffocating sense of injustice threatened to choke me, but I forced myself to stand, biting my lip until it bled, and walked away. Nobody is indispensable, especially a toxic partner who brings another woman into your home. After Becca helped me clean and bandage my scraped knees at her apartment, she sat back and looked at me with deep concern. “What’s the plan now, Summer?” I offered her a weak, tired smile. “I think I’m going back to Savannah. Back home.” Becca nodded in approval. “Honestly? That’s probably the best thing for you.” I bit my lip. “I just have to go back to Otto’s place one last time.” “For what?” “I need to get my cat, Joey.” When Becca and I returned to the apartment, it was Hailey who answered the door. She feigned surprise, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Oh, Summer, you’re back. Let me get you some tea. You really should have called ahead, the place is a bit of a mess.” I didn’t have the patience for her performance. “I’m just here for Joey.” Hearing my voice, my little orange tabby came sprinting from the living room, meowing loudly as he rubbed his head affectionately against my ankles. A flash of malice crossed Hailey’s eyes. She reached down, grabbed Joey roughly by his tail, and yanked him backward. “Actually, Otto bought the cat food last week, so technically he’s Otto’s. We’ll have to wait for him to decide.” “Don’t pull his tail like that!” I cried, stepping forward. “You’re hurting him!” Hailey let out a sharp scoff. “It’s just a dumb animal. It doesn’t feel anything.” She gave me a cruel, taunting smile. “See? He doesn’t mind.” With that, she swung her foot and kicked Joey hard in the ribs. The cat let out a painful screech, and without thinking, I lunged forward to push her away. “Stop it!” “Joey is my cat! Otto never cared about him! You have no right to touch him!” But before my hand could even brush Hailey’s shoulder, a hand seized me by my hair and threw me violently to the floor. Otto stood protectively in front of Hailey, his eyes flashing with fury as he glared down at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing to her?” Joey lay on the floor a few feet away, panting heavily. I scrambled over to scoop him into my arms, glare icy with hatred. “Are you blind? She just kicked Joey!” The cat trembled in my arms, licking my fingers weakly. Otto’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before his stubborn pride took over. “Fine,” he muttered. “Apologize to Hailey, and then I’ll apologize to you. We’ll call it even.” Even now, he was calculating. Always keeping score, always ensuring he didn’t lose an inch of ground to me. I stood up, cradling Joey close to my chest. “I don’t want your apology. We’re leaving.” Otto’s face darkened, and he stepped forward to grab my wrist. Terrified, Joey wriggled out of my arms and jumped to the floor, hissing defensively at Otto and Hailey. Hailey grabbed a heavy outdoor boot from the rack and flung it directly at the cat. “Get out of here, you little rat!” The heavy boot slammed near Joey, sending him into a panic. He bolted out the open door and down the stairwell, disappearing into the night. I tried to run after him, but Otto grabbed my shoulder, dragging me back. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a bizarre, twisted resentment. “Why didn’t you chase after me like that when I walked out?” “Is a stupid cat really more important to you than I am?” I didn’t have time for his ego. I shook off his grip with all the strength I had left. “Get away from me!” By the time I made it down to the street, Joey was gone. I searched the neighborhood for four agonizing hours. By the time the streetlights flickered on and the air turned freezing, there was still no sign of him. Just as despair began to take hold, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Otto. [New kitty.] Below the text was a link to a TikTok video. I clicked it. The video showed Otto and Hailey sitting on our old sofa, laughing brightly as they cuddled a sleek Maine Coon kitten. The caption read: [Meet the new Joey.] I had always been a passionate, hot-tempered person, but in that moment, a strange, hollow numbness washed over me. The sheer malice of it left me cold. A toxic cocktail of hatred, grief, and exhaustion bubbled up inside me. For a split second, I wanted to find a weapon and go back up there to end them both. But instead, I collapsed onto the curb and sobbed until my throat was raw. When Becca finally found me, the sun was beginning to rise. My eyes were so swollen I could barely see. She wrapped her coat around my shivering shoulders, immediately calling a local pet rescue group while cursing Otto under her breath. “Why didn’t you call me? You just let them treat you like this? Are you out of your mind?” I buried my face in her shoulder, my voice cracking. “I’m so tired, Becca. I can’t win against her. I never could.” I had never stood a chance against Hailey. She was the childhood sweetheart, the keeper of countless inside jokes and decades of shared memories. Otto would always choose her. The passenger seat of his car belonged to her. His pinned chats belonged to her. His priority list always had her at the top. And now, he was hers too. I didn’t care about Otto anymore. I just wanted my cat back. By the time we got back to Becca’s apartment, I was burning up with a severe fever. I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, shivering violently under the blankets. Sometime in the afternoon, my phone buzzed with a message from Otto. [I found your cat.] The words shocked me awake. Forcing myself upright despite the dizziness, I threw on a jacket and dragged myself to the address he sent, a private room at the Velvet Lounge. The moment I pushed the door open, the deafening music and drunken cheers hit me like a physical blow. “Man, Otto is a genius! Five words and the ex comes running across town!” “Incredible! She’s totally wrapped around your finger, man!” “Never let a woman keep you on a leash!” I ignored the jeering crowd and looked straight at Otto, silently praying he had a shred of humanity left. “Where is Joey?” He grinned smugly, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I don’t know.” He reached under the table and pulled out the Maine Coon from his video. “But look at this one. Same breed, basically looks identical.” “Stop making a scene. Apologize to Hailey, and I’ll let you keep this one.” “We can even call her Joey.” Hailey giggled from his side. “Actually, let’s call her Joey the Second.” Tears of sheer humiliation spilled over my cheeks. Otto smiled, looking immensely proud of himself. “Look at that, she’s crying tears of joy.” Gathering every ounce of strength left in my fever-ravaged body, I stepped forward and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “I despise you, Otto.” Otto’s head snapped to the side. He froze, his hand slowly rising to touch his reddening cheek, staring at me in utter shock. Hailey lunged forward and shoved me hard, sending me crashing against the edge of the table. “Who the hell do you think you are, Summer? How dare you lay a hand on him! He went out of his way to get you a new cat, and this is how you act?” I slowly hauled myself up, my vision swimming, but my voice was deadly calm. “I act this way because I hate him.” Without another word, I turned and walked out of the room. But as I reached the end of the dimly lit corridor, my knees gave out, and the world went black. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed. A doctor in scrubs was reviewing my chart, looking at me with a stern, disapproving expression. “You’re in the early stages of pregnancy and running a dangerously high fever. Collapsing like that in public is incredibly risky. What were you thinking?” I stared at her, the words failing to register. “I’m… what?” The doctor softened her tone slightly. “You’re pregnant. About four weeks along.” Becca, who had rushed over the moment the hospital called, squeezed my hand tightly, her eyes filled with worry. “Summer… oh my god, what are we going to do? Otto… how could this happen now?” I let out a cold, empty laugh and shook my head. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m not keeping it.” I looked out the window at the gray sky. “I am never going back to him. Being with him is slow torture. I refuse to be that stupid again.” Becca bit her lip, her eyes flashing with anger. “No! An abortion is a serious medical procedure. He needs to know what he’s caused. He needs to take responsibility.” “Becca, don’t—” But it was too late. Her fingers were already flying across her screen. [Summer is pregnant.] I leaned my head back against the pillow. “It won’t matter. Even if he begs, I’ll never forgive him.” A minute later, Otto’s name flashed on my screen. I answered, and his slurred, mocking voice filled the quiet room. “Wow, Summer. Are you really this desperate? Is this the best you can do to win an argument?” “Do you think a fake pregnancy is your ultimate trump card?” “Do you honestly think that if you make up some lie about a baby, I’ll crawl back to you and beg for forgiveness?” “Let me tell you something, it means absolutely nothing to me.” “It’s just like your stupid cat. I don’t care if it lives or dies.” “Because I don’t care about you.” “Go ahead and get your fake abortion. Make sure to send me the medical bill so I can laugh in your face. I, Otto, will never lose to you.” The line went dead. Becca turned her head away, her shoulders shaking as she wept silently. But I didn’t shed a single tear. I had run out of tears a long time ago. I looked at the nurse entering the room. “Please help me schedule the procedure.” On the day of the appointment, as I sat in the cold waiting room, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Otto. [Ahem. It’s my birthday today.] [You know where to find me. Velvet Lounge, Suite 40.] A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. I typed back a quick reply. [I’ll make sure your gift arrives on time.] Becca looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and concern. I gently patted her hand. “Let’s return his property to him.” The procedure itself felt like an eternity, yet it was over in minutes. The cold metal instruments sent a sharp ache through my abdomen, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the numbness in my chest. When it was over, I stared at the sterile white ceiling, feeling lighter and emptier than I ever had before. I looked at Becca and forced a faint smile. “It’s finally over, right?” Two hours later, after my fever had subsided and I had regained some strength, I packed my remaining belongings and headed to the train station. Before boarding the express train to Savannah, I took one last look at the city skyline. When we were together, I had loved him more, so I was always the one to back down, regardless of who was right. But now, the love was gone. I didn’t care about who was right or wrong. I didn’t care about winning or losing. None of it mattered anymore. Over at the Velvet Lounge, inside the loud, chaotic atmosphere of VIP Suite 40, Otto stared at his phone, typing out a message. [Are you almost here?] But when he hit send, a bright red exclamation mark appeared next to the bubble. Hailey noticed his sour expression and patted his arm reassuringly. “Don’t sweat it, Otto. Didn’t she say she was sending a gift?” “She’s just trying to make you anxious. Think about it, she was desperate enough to lie about being pregnant just to get you to apologize. There’s nothing she won’t do to get your attention.” Otto’s tense shoulders relaxed. He knocked back a shot of whiskey, his smug smirk returning. “Who cares about her anyway? If she doesn’t get down on her knees and apologize to me tonight, we are never getting back together.” Right then, a firm knock sounded on the suite door. A delivery courier stood in the doorway, holding a sealed thermal box. “Delivery for Otto? I need a signature from a Summer Davis.”

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1 After I was dragged back from the brink of suicide in the emergency room, a voice appeared in my head. It called itself a system. It told me that if I completed its gold-digging tasks, it would take me to another world. A world where I would have a family who actually loved me. I was so starved for affection that I agreed instantly. So, when my family abandoned me yet again to take their adoptive daughter, Vivian, to Disneyland, I didn’t throw a tantrum. I didn’t beg them to stay. I simply opened my bank app and showed them my transfer code. “From now on, I won’t fight you over Vivian. As long as you wire me money.” “A hundred thousand dollars per person on weekdays, and triple that on weekends and holidays.” My parents froze, looking at me with pure disgust. My eldest brother, Mike, a prestigious surgeon, tried to force me to choose between a crucial reconstructive surgery for my legs and the wire transfers. I chose the money without a second thought. Because the surgery was delayed, my legs became severely infected and had to be amputated. My second brother, Tristan, the CEO, called me a gold-digging parasite. Every wire transfer he sent was accompanied by a vicious, insulting note. I didn’t argue. I just kept counting my bank balance. … Three months later, the system’s gold-digging task was finally complete. I stopped demanding money. Instead, I chose to exit this world in a blaze of explosives. And suddenly, the Sinclair family, whose wire transfers were now being automatically rejected, went into a panic. “Are you sure you want to exit the world this way, Host?” The system’s disbelieving voice echoed in my head. Just as I was about to answer, the family group chat started buzzing frantically. “We got Vivian. Her stomach issues flared up again, so I postponed a heart transplant surgery to stay with her.” This was Mike, the surgeon. “Is Vivian okay? I canceled a ten-billion-dollar merger that the company spent six months preparing. On my way to the hospital now!” Tristan wrote. “Your mother and I just contacted the airline and grounded our flight to London. We’ll be at the hospital in twenty minutes,” my father sent. The screen kept lighting up with messages showing their desperate worry for Vivian. I watched quietly, remembering how just an hour ago, a fire had broken out in our villa. I was trapped inside, disabled, sending dozens of frantic messages for help in the group chat. They had only replied with a cold, single digit: “1”. But the moment Vivian complained of a mild stomach ache, they dropped everything. My phone screen flickered again. Mike sent a sarcastic meme. “Time to pay up!” “Or else someone’s going to threaten suicide again!” “1” “+1” After a few read receipts, the notifications fell silent, followed by the usual transfer alerts. In the past, to finish the system’s task, I would accept the money instantly. This time, I left it untouched. I typed calmly: “No need to send any more money. Not now, not ever.” Because I was leaving. All the money in the world wouldn’t matter where I was going. I closed my phone and looked at the system’s countdown timer. “System, in the next world, my parents and brothers will really love me, right?” My fingers tightened around my phone. Before the system could answer, my greed got the better of me. “Can they… can they love only me?” No, wait. Never mind. As long as they love me, that’s enough. I quickly took back my words, sitting up and reminding myself not to ask for too much. As long as my new family loved me, it would be enough. As long as they didn’t immediately point fingers and blame me when Vivian framed me. As long as they didn’t believe Vivian’s lies when I got my acceptance letter to Columbia, reporting me to the education board for cheating and plagiarism. I repeated these thoughts like a mantra, using my hands to lift my weight and strap on my cheap prosthetic legs. Guided by the system, I headed toward my exit point. The city’s international airport. In thirty minutes, a massive explosion was scheduled to happen here. My task was to find the bomber, and the moment the device went off, throw my body over the blast to shield others. I had researched it before. Dying in an explosion might look horrific, but it would be over too fast to feel much pain. I pumped myself up, taking one deep breath after another as I walked inside. Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently. “Sienna, what the hell is this?” Tristan’s angry voice note played. “What do you mean you don’t need our money anymore? Are you dying or something? Do you want us to wire you funeral money instead?!” I stopped in my tracks, a familiar bitterness rising in my throat. “Yes, actually. I am going to die.” I thought sending that voice note would spark at least a shred of concern in my parents or brothers. But a second later, a loud burst of laughter erupted from behind me. “I told you she’d say that!” “I won! Pay up, a million dollars!” Tristan’s mocking voice cut through the airport noise. I turned around and saw my parents and brothers standing not far away, laughing. They hadn’t gone to the hospital at all. Before I could even process this, Mike marched over, grabbing my wrist tightly, his face twisted in disgust. “Sienna, didn’t you say that as long as we paid you, you’d stop competing with Vivian? What’s with this dramatic ‘I’m going to die’ act in the group chat?” “Our family despises manipulative hypocrites! You really are rotten to the core. Stop making a scene at the airport and get back home before you embarrass us any further!” The word “suicide” tasted like venom on his tongue. My heart ached. Months ago, when Vivian framed me for cheating to get into Columbia, my family hadn’t questioned it for a second. They reported me, and then burned my acceptance letter right in front of my face. “Our family has a reputation to uphold. We won’t let a cheat ruin our name!” My father had roared, locking me in my room for a month, causing me to miss the enrollment deadline. So, my desperate jump from the balcony back then was nothing but a dramatic act to them. I didn’t explain. I didn’t say a word. I just looked at the system’s timer. Ten minutes left. Only ten minutes until I could go to a world where I had a family who loved me. I pulled away and limped toward the waiting area. Mike grabbed my arm again, his grip cold and unyielding. “Sienna, I am talking to you! Even if you want to throw a tantrum, pick a better place. What are you going to do at the airport? Throw yourself under a plane?” Tristan pulled out his phone, sighing with annoyance. “Enough of this. Let’s go home. Vivian needs to get back to her dorm to study. How much do you want this time?” He tapped lazily on his banking app. I looked him in the eye. “I told you. I don’t want your money.” Tristan’s fingers froze. He sneered, “No money? Sienna, are you really planning to play dead here?” His gaze drifted down to my stiff, awkward prosthetic legs, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “If you actually die today, I’ll donate every penny of my ten-billion-dollar fund to disabled cripples like you!” He spat the word “cripples” with deliberate malice. I froze, my nails digging into my palms. Before I could speak, Mike chimed in. “Donating money is boring. If Sienna actually dies today, I’ll kneel and bow to every single disabled person who walks into my hospital!” I looked up at the system’s timer. Three minutes. “Fine,” I whispered, interrupting Mike. “Keep your word.” “Sienna, do you even know what you’re saying?” Tristan’s face darkened. Before I could answer, Vivian chimed in, clutching her stomach. “Mike, Tristan, I’m so hungry. If Sienna keeps wasting our time, my stomach is going to start hurting again!” Hearing this, Mike dragged me toward the exit. “Did you hear her? She’s hungry. Move!” The pulling made me lose my balance on my prosthetics. Suddenly, Tristan kicked my leg from behind. With a sharp crack, one of my prosthetic legs snapped off. I collapsed onto the cold floor, the stump of my leg scraping against the metal connector, drawing fresh blood. Tristan looked startled for a fraction of a second, but his face quickly hardened again. “You ruined your own body by jumping off a building. You brought this on yourself!” He picked up my broken prosthetic leg and held it high. “Either get up and walk, or crawl back on one leg! We’ll be waiting in the VIP lounge. You have ten minutes. If you’re not there, don’t bother coming back to our family ever again!” I stared at the cheap, shattered plastic of my prosthetic. I remembered when I first arrived at the Sinclair house. They had held me so tight, whispering sweet promises that they would make up for all the years I spent suffering in foster care. They said our family was finally complete. But a few lies from Vivian were all it took for them to throw those promises away. Tears welled in my eyes. I looked up at my parents, who had remained silent the entire time. “Mom, Dad… if I really die today…” Will you be even a little bit sad? But Vivian interrupted me. “Mom, Dad, let’s go to the VIP lounge. I want some of those imported fruits. Remember how good they were when we went on vacation for the holidays?” A sharp pain pierced my chest. During those holidays, they had locked me in the house without food for three days, nearly starving me to death, while they went on a family trip. “Sienna, stop playing these cheap games,” my mother said, frowning. “We have to take Vivian shopping for bags later. Ten minutes is too long. We’ll give you five.” She smiled warmly at Vivian, taking her hand as they walked away. I dragged myself up against the wall, wiping the tears from my face, forcing a smile. “System, in the next world, my family will really love me, right?” The countdown hit zero. Near the security checkpoint, a middle-aged man carrying a heavy black duffel bag was pushing his way through the crowd. He looked wild-eyed, unzipping the bag as he reached the center of the terminal. I hopped and crawled, dragging my single leg, scraping against the wall. The pain of the raw skin rubbing against my remaining prosthetic was agonizing, but I pushed through, reaching the man’s side. I just needed to grab the bag. I reached out, but suddenly, Vivian threw a piece of watermelon rind down from the VIP balcony above. “Oops, my hand slipped!” she giggled, walking away. The wet rind hit my head, alerting the man. His eyes went red, and he grabbed my wrist, twisting it violently. With a sharp crack, my bone fractured. A spasm of pain ripped through me. The crowd finally noticed and began to scream. The man screamed, “I’ll blow us all to hell! Your airline killed my wife and daughter!” He opened the bag to reveal the bomb. The crowd panicked, stampeding for the exits. I was knocked to the floor, but I clamped my hands onto the straps of the duffel bag. The man kicked my face repeatedly, breaking my nose, filling my mouth with blood, but I didn’t let go. “Fine! We die together!” the man roared, hitting the detonator. “Beep, beep, beep…” The countdown echoed. Regret suddenly washed over the man; he let go of the bag and ran. The bomb was left entirely in my hands. Through my blood-slicked eyes, I saw the fleeing crowd. Without hesitation, I pulled the duffel bag tight against my chest, throwing my body over it, trying to absorb the blast. In the distance, I thought I heard gentle, loving voices calling my name. The family from the other world was waiting for me. I smiled and closed my eyes. Beep… Beep… BOOM. The shockwave rattled the entire terminal. In the VIP lounge, the Sinclair family instinctively shielded Vivian. A moment later, shouts echoed from outside: “A bomb went off! Someone tried to blow up the terminal!” They hurried out toward the emergency stairs. But then they heard the frantic voices of the crowd: “That poor girl… she only had one leg… she hugged the bomb to her chest to save us… she was blown to pieces…” The words made Mike freeze. “One leg? Sienna? How is that possible?!” Tristan sneered, “She really went all out with the actors this time!” Our parents shrugged. “Five minutes are up. If she’s not here, let’s go. She needs to learn a lesson.” They turned to leave. But then, all of their phones rang at once. On the screens, their own faces looked back at them, faces from the future, pale, desperate, and screaming in agony. “Stop Sienna!” “Don’t let her touch that bomb!!”

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