Category: English

The fire at the Beckett estate was a roaring, monstrous thing, but I broke past the barricades and ran straight into the blistering heat. Through the choking black smoke, ignoring the fresh burns searing my skin, I searched frantically for Beckett. Then, his voice crackled from somewhere outside the burning mansion. “Cass, Amber’s mother’s keepsake is on the desk in my bedroom. Get it out of there.” Through the dancing sheets of flame licking the windows, I saw Beckett. He had his arm wrapped tightly around Amber, his other hand holding a megaphone. “I know you can hear me!” “Bring my pillow out, too. Otherwise, Amber won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Amber’s soft, whimpering cry floated in, grating against my raw, blistering soul as the fire closed in around me. “Is… is that too hard for Cass? The fire looks so big…” “Don’t worry,” Beckett’s voice boomed back. “Cass is the best bodyguard money can buy. Why do you think I tricked her into going in there?” “She’ll get your things and walk out completely unscathed. It’s child’s play for her.” I wanted to tell Beckett that before I even got here, an unmarked car had rammed into me, leaving me with a broken leg and two fractured ribs. I wasn’t walking out of this one. But my throat was scorched, choked with ash. I couldn’t tell him that just this morning, I had heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Thump-thump, thump-thump. It sounded just like the horse hooves racing across the Montana plains when we were kids. … By the time Beckett’s voice echoed through the megaphone, I was already clawing my way across the floor. Flames rose like tidal waves around me. Plaster and burning wood rained down from the ceiling, and just dragging myself up to the second floor had stripped away every last ounce of my strength. “Cass, hurry up! If Amber’s things get burned, don’t bother coming back home.” The smoke stung my eyes, drawing out a prick of moisture that evaporated the second it touched my burning skin. We had fought yesterday. A terrible, exhausting fight. Today, I had gone alone to the orphanage to visit Zoe. An unmarked car had lost control, careening toward her. To shield her, I took the hit. The impact shattered my leg and cracked two of my ribs. Mrs. Albright had tried to rush me to the emergency room, but then the call came: the family estate was on fire, and Beckett was trapped inside. Blinded by pain, I drove like a madwoman, praying to whatever god was listening, offering my life in exchange for his safety. He was safe. He was completely fine. But was I really about to die? “Beck, Cass has never liked me,” Amber’s tear-strained voice wailed through the speaker. “She won’t help me. But that’s my mother’s keepsake. I can’t lose it.” That trembling, helpless sob of hers was always her ultimate weapon. Beckett had told me more than once. “Cass, can’t you be more like Amber? Call me ‘Beck’ with a little warmth for once.” I had always snapped at him, telling him to go to hell. But in secret, I had stood before the mirror and practiced whispering his name a thousand times. Too bad I would never get to say it to his face. “Don’t worry,” Beckett’s voice boomed back. “Cass always does what I say. I’m the only family she has left. She wouldn’t dare make me angry.” “It’s all my fault. I just wanted to cook you dinner, but I started the fire. And now Cass is caught up in it…” “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. That’s literally her job. She’s a bodyguard. Here, drink some water. Calm your nerves.” Their voices drifted in through the broken window, crackling and distorted through the megaphone. I couldn’t afford the luxury of heartbreak. Water. I needed water infinitely more than Amber did. Steeling myself against the excruciating grind of broken bone against muscle, I dragged myself into Beckett’s master bathroom. Ignoring the bloody blisters bursting across my palms, I grabbed a towel and cranked the faucet. If I could just wet it and cover my face, I might survive long enough for the firefighters to reach me. Drip. One single, pathetic drop fell from the spout. The pipes were dry; it didn’t even dampen the lint on the towel. I gasped for air, a crushing wave of despair hitting me. It was so unfair. Beckett didn’t even know our baby was back. “Connect the hoses to the emergency reservoir! Put the fire out! Hurry!” That was Mr. Garrison, the estate manager. A tiny flicker of hope flared in my chest. If the hoses could knock down the flames blocking the doors and windows, I might survive this, even if I was horribly burned. “No! You can’t!” Amber’s high-pitched scream cut through the din. “You can’t use water, Beck! My mother’s keepsake is a carved bone pendant—it has her ashes inside! If the water ruins it, I’ll have nothing left of her. Please!” “If her ashes get soaked, she’ll be gone forever. I’m begging you!” Those final pleading words seemed to echo in my ears, dripping with theatrical desperation. I felt a bitter surge of self-derision. I had never learned how to play the fragile, pleading victim. Maybe that was why I was destined to burn. And predictably, Beckett yielded. “Shh, don’t cry. We’ll let Cass bring your mother’s ashes out first, then we’ll put the fire out. Okay?” “No one touches the hoses!” “Mr. Beckett…” Mr. Garrison tried to protest, but Beckett shut him down instantly. “Remember who you work for, Garrison. This estate is my personal property. If I want to let it burn for fun, that’s my right. It has nothing to do with you.” The usually deferential manager’s voice shook with sudden, uncharacteristic rage. “But Cass is still trapped inside! Are a dead woman’s ashes really worth more than a living person’s life?” “Mr. Beckett, I remember when the two of you actually cared about each other.” The heat was blistering my flesh, and the internal agony of my fractured ribs made my vision blur. Mr. Garrison had asked the very question that was haunting my dying mind. We used to love each other so fiercely. How did we end up here? “My relationship with Cass is none of your business.” “Amber has already lost her mother, Garrison. Have some basic decency. Tell your men to back off with the hoses.” Maybe the searing heat had dried up the very moisture in my body, because my eyes burned fiercely, yet not a single tear would fall. Losing a mother was devastating. But my own Mama was gone, too. Mama and I used to live in the Montana foothills, living a quiet, peaceful life on our small ranch. That was until the day she found a seven-year-old Beckett wandering near the mountains and brought him home. Back then, Beckett was traumatized. He wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t eat. It was Mama’s quiet warmth that brought him back to life. In my oldest memories, Beckett used to call her “Ma” right alongside me. We had one beautiful, happy year. Wanting us to understand the world beyond our valley, Mama bought an old TV and set up a satellite dish. But the very night the screen flickered to life with news broadcasts of the missing Beckett heir, he panicked and rode off into the dark on his colt. Mama went after him. She found him, but she never came back. She was cornered by a pack of timber wolves in the valley. Her death drew the media, and ultimately, she paid with her life to pave Beckett’s way back to his wealthy family. And I was left with nothing. No home, no Ma. Beckett was right when he said he was my only family after she died. But now, it seemed he didn’t want me anymore. “Cass, stop playing games and get out here!” Beckett’s voice crackled through the megaphone again, sharper and more annoyed. “Because of your stubbornness, people are giving Amber a hard time!” The megaphone magnified his irritation, making it sound deafeningly cruel. Suddenly, the floor beneath me groaned. The structure shuddered, followed by a violent, thunderous collapse. Half of the estate caved in. I curled into a tight ball, clinging to survival in the surviving half of the master suite. Beckett’s voice was cut off, buried under the rumble of falling beams. Silence stretched. It felt like an eternity before the distant, wailing sirens of fire trucks finally pierced the smoke. I bit down hard on the inside of my lip, tasting copper. If there was any way out, I wanted to live. I had only just heard our baby’s heartbeat. It was so beautiful, echoing like the rhythmic thud of horses galloping across the Montana grass. The collapse had kicked up fresh waves of embers and blinding ash. I began the agonizing crawl toward the window. The firefighters would know to breach the windows first. That was my only chance. “All units, listen up! Team One, attack the main fire. Team Two, search and rescue breach. Team Three, set up defensive lines!” My entire body was trembling. Every inch I dragged myself left a smudged trail of dark red on the floorboards. The blistered, blackened skin on my knees and stomach tore open, leaving me a bloody mess. I hadn’t shed a single tear, but outside, Amber had already started crying again. “Beck, please! I only want my mother’s ashes! They’re going to use the water hoses—what do we do? What do we do?” Her tears were her ultimate shield, and they never failed. “Who called the station? Who said we needed your help?” Beckett’s voice rang out again. The warmth I had known for years was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, commanding arrogance that sounded like a death knell. “Sir, it’s our duty to respond to active fires. You have no authority to obstruct us.” “Officer, let’s be clear. That brand-new ladder truck your team is using was donated entirely by the Beckett Group. How it’s used, and when it’s used, is up to me.” Having run the Beckett empire for years, he carried himself with an immense, suffocating authority. “We have reports of a civilian trapped inside. Human life comes before property, sir.” “Cass? She’s tough as nails. Trust me, the world could end, and she’d still be standing.” “Two years ago, during that avalanche in the Rockies, she gave me her winter gear and carried me on her back for three straight days. You think a woman like that needs a rescue from a bunch of amateurs?” I finally reached the window. Hope was just inches away, but the moment my hand touched the frame, my heart sank. The window had been boarded up from the outside with heavy steel plates. Ignoring the agony in my hands, I pounded desperately against the metal, praying the sound would carry through. But the reinforced steel was airtight, sealing off my only exit. Suddenly, a blazing piece of the roof collapsed, striking me squarely across my spine. I coughed up a spray of dark blood, and a sharp, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. During the avalanche Beckett had just mentioned, when I dragged him out of the snow, I hadn’t realized I was pregnant with our first child. By the time I got him to the hospital, that baby was already gone, buried forever in the freezing mountain pass. And now, my second baby was going to die right here, consumed by flames. My vision faded into absolute darkness, and a low, heavy buzzing filled my ears. I knew the end was here. But if I burned to ash, Mama wouldn’t be able to recognize me when we met again. I refused to become a charred, unrecognizable monster. Even in death, I wanted to hold onto some dignity. I turned and dragged myself toward the corner of the room. It was only about fifteen feet away, but it felt like a journey of a hundred years. At least the one thing I had bought for Beckett would allow me to leave this world with a shred of grace. Beckett, this is the last time we play hide-and-seek. I hope you never find me. “The heat in there is high enough to melt stone! How could anyone possibly survive that?” Mr. Garrison’s angry voice echoed from outside. “Sir, based on our assessment, the person inside has likely perished. Please step aside and let us do our job.” Beckett turned back to look at the partially collapsed mansion. For the very first time, a flicker of genuine panic crossed his face. But before he could speak, Amber gasped dramatically. “Are you saying Cass might be dead? Oh my god… I—I have to go save her!” Before Beckett could stop her, she spun around and took two clumsy steps toward the smoke, immediately tripping over her own feet and tumbling to the grass. “Amber! Are you alright?” Terrified, Beckett scooped her into his arms. “I think I sprained my ankle… I’m so stupid, I can’t do anything right…” Without another word, Beckett lifted Amber off the ground. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” She whimpered, but he shushed her gently. “Don’t worry. Cass will bring your mother’s keepsake out. And if she doesn’t, I’ll make her get on her knees and beg for your forgiveness.” I was afraid Beckett was going to be disappointed. My feet were already hovering inches above the ground, weightless. My knees were stiff, and I would never kneel for anyone again. Beckett drove Amber straight to the hospital. Throughout the drive, he kept one hand on the steering wheel while his other fingers remained tightly laced with Amber’s. Just a few weeks ago, while we were watching a movie at home, I had tried to hold his hand like that. He had pulled away. “Cass, your hands are completely calloused. Look at yourself. Is there a single feminine thing about you?” Ever since that night, I had slathered my hands in Vaseline before going to sleep, hoping to soften them. They had finally gotten softer and lighter. But now, they were charred black and melted out of shape. Beckett would probably find them even more repulsive now. But it didn’t matter. I had hidden myself well. He wouldn’t have to look at them. At the hospital, Beckett applied the soothing ointment to Amber’s ankle himself, cradling her leg as if she were made of the finest, most delicate porcelain. “Beck, if Cass got burned in the fire… would you worry about her? Would you take care of her like this?” “She wouldn’t let herself get hurt.” I wasn’t sure if he meant I was too tough to get hurt, or if he simply wouldn’t care enough to tend to me. But there was a time when he had held me like I was his entire world. It was right after I finished my training. My very first assignment as his personal bodyguard was accompanying him to inspect a newly acquired commercial property. Some local thugs had shown up, looking to intimidate the young heir. I fought off a dozen grown men with my bare fists, taking a heavy wooden club directly across my back to shield him. When we got home, Beckett had sat me down, applying the medicine with hands that trembled with concern. “Cass, I regret letting you train with those fighters. I hate seeing you hurt.” I had smiled through the pain to comfort him. “I like being strong enough to keep you safe.” He had wrapped his arms around me then, holding me so tightly it felt like he wanted to fuse my soul into his own bones. Amber’s ankle was barely a minor sprain—just a tiny scrape—but Beckett insisted she stay overnight for observation anyway. “Beck, do you dislike Cass because she’s so… intense?” Beckett toyed with the TV remote in the VIP suite, his expression aloof. “Of course. Who wants to come home to a warrior? Men like a little princess. Someone soft, like you.” So, he thought I was too harsh. But in the fighting gyms, if you weren’t fierce, you got broken. Everyone else had years of martial arts training; I started from absolute scratch. If I wasn’t ruthless, I lost. If I lost, I didn’t eat. If I didn’t master every strike, I couldn’t protect him. I could never forget the day Beckett returned to the city, only to discover his parents had been killed in a brutal corporate betrayal orchestrated by his own uncles. He had wept in my arms. “Cass, I have no one left. My parents are gone. Ma is gone. My grandfather is too old. There’s no one to protect me.” His tears had burned my skin. That was the day I dropped out of school, packed my bags for the training camps, and became the relentless shield he needed. Beckett accidentally clicked a button, and the television screen flared to life. A local news broadcast flashed on, showing live footage of the smoking ruins of the Beckett estate. “…The historic Beckett manor has been devastated by a massive three-alarm fire. Search and rescue crews clearing the debris have reported…” Beckett’s thumb rubbed against his forefinger—a nervous habit he only displayed when he was deeply anxious. So, he was capable of fear after all. “…While several priceless antiquities were lost in the blaze, officials have confirmed there are no casualties. No bodies have been recovered from the scene.” The tension in Beckett’s brow vanished instantly. “I knew it,” he murmured. “A little fire could never stop her.” He pulled out his phone, opened our chat, and sent a voice note in a relaxed, almost bored tone. “Cass, stop throwin’ a tantrum and bring Amber’s things to the hospital. Don’t push it today. I’m not in the mood.” My phone had exploded in the heat hours ago. Obviously, there was no reply. Lacking patience, he called me two minutes later, only to be met with an automated voicemail recording over and over. “Still not answering?” Amber asked, her voice laced with feigned worry. “Do you think something actually happened to her?” I had once promised him that as long as I breathed, I would never let him lose track of me. Beckett’s face darkened, but he glanced back at the news anchor on the screen and shook his head. “No. Not her.” He said the words, but the muscles in his shoulders slowly locked up. Suddenly, his phone blared with an incoming call. “Cass, have you had your fun yet?” he barked into the receiver without even checking the caller ID. “You arrogant brat! I don’t give a damn about the house burning down, but if you don’t bring my granddaughter-in-law to the family dinner next week, I’ll personally break both your legs!” It was the Beckett patriarch. Hearing his booming, gruff voice made my eyes ache with phantom tears. He had always loved me, wanting to officially welcome me into the family years ago. But I had refused, knowing that once I became his fiancée, I could no longer stand by his side as his protector. But this year, now that Beckett had secured full control of the corporation, I had finally promised his grandfather that I would attend the fall gala as his partner. “Is that your grandfather?” Amber asked, pretending to be clueless. “Yeah. He wants to see his future granddaughter-in-law.” “Oh… I’m not even ready yet,” Amber murmured, blushing and looking down. She was too busy acting bashful to notice Beckett’s fingers flying across his screen, typing out a message to my number. Cass, be good. Bring the pendant here. If you keep acting out like this, I’m taking Amber to the family dinner instead. He knew how much I had looked forward to this evening. I had even ordered a custom gown for it. Now, he was threatening to replace me. For the first time, I felt a quiet wave of relief that I was dead. It saved me from having to feel that heartbreak. A soft knock rattled the hospital door. Mrs. Albright stood in the doorway, holding little Zoe’s small hand. “Beckett,” Zoe piped up, her voice small and trembling. “Cass got hit by a car. Is the baby okay?” Beckett froze. “What car? What baby are you talking about?” Mrs. Albright looked at the hospital bed, her face falling when she realized I wasn’t the one lying there. “Mr. Beckett, Cass took the impact of an out-of-control vehicle to save Zoe. She had a shattered leg and two broken ribs. I was trying to bring her to the emergency room, but she got a call about the fire and insisted on leaving.” “I couldn’t reach her afterward, so I brought Zoe here hoping to find her.” Beckett’s hand jerked, knocking his water glass off the nightstand. It shattered against the tile floor. “She… she ran into that fire with a broken leg and fractured ribs?” His chest heaved as he turned his eyes slowly back to the television screen. The news broadcast was showing footage of the items the firefighters had managed to salvage from the wreckage. A scorched vase, a blackened dining table, and then, a badly warped household appliance. Beckett’s pupils dilated. Without a word, he bolted out the door. I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Was he finally going to find me? But I had lost this game. And Beckett wasn’t going to win either.

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On the day my parents traveled over a thousand miles to settle the details of our wedding, Caroline’s family didn’t show up. After her phone declined my third call, my mother offered a gentle, strained smile, trying to soothe the quiet panic rising in my chest. “It’s probably just traffic, Ollie. Don’t worry. Your dad and I can wait.” So, we waited. For three hours. In that time, the eager, hopeful light in my parents’ eyes slowly curdled into a quiet, heavy sorrow. My father tugged at the collar of his stiff, cheap suit—bought off a clearance rack in our small Georgia town just for this trip. He couldn’t help himself anymore. His eyes rimmed with red, and his voice trembled when he finally spoke. “Ollie… is it really… does it have to be her?” “We’re country folks. We know we don’t match up to these high-society city people. When they asked you to sign that pre-nuptial agreement and basically live under their thumb, we agreed. We just wanted you to be happy.” “I’m not trying to break you two up, son. I’m just worried. This place is so far from home.” “If you ever get hurt out here, your mother and I… we won’t be close enough to run to you.” My fingernails bit deep into my palms, drawing a sharp, grounding pain. I forced a smile, reached out to steady them, and said, “Dad, Mom, let’s pack up. I don’t want this wedding anymore.” … I brought my parents back to my apartment and got them settled. Only then did Caroline’s call finally come through. The moment I answered, her voice cut in, sharp and defensive. “We’re at the restaurant. Why is the private room empty?” “This is our wedding we’re talking about. Do your parents always show this much disrespect? How could they be late?” I let the silence hang between us for a long, heavy beat before I replied. My voice was entirely flat. “Caroline, my parents and I sat in that room for three hours. You never showed.” “It’s not that my parents don’t care. It’s that you never cared about them to begin with.” A brief, startled pause on her end. Then, her tone softened, shifting into that familiar, reasonable cadence she used whenever she wanted to smooth things over. “Tyler got accepted into his master’s program today with a full fellowship. His parents flew in from upstate to celebrate.” “They don’t know the city, and Tyler is just a student—he couldn’t handle navigating everything on his own. I had to go to the station to help them. You know my family has sponsored Tyler for thirteen years. He’s like a younger brother to me. I couldn’t just leave his parents stranded.” Caroline rarely excused herself, but hearing her reasons now only made the ache in my chest tighten. Yesterday, when my own parents arrived at Penn Station, I was trapped in an all-hands corporate meeting I couldn’t escape. Desperate, I had called Caroline, begging her to pick them up. I still remembered how quickly she had dismissed me: “They’re grown adults, Ollie, not toddlers. They can call an Uber. It’s not like they’re going to vanish into thin air.” “They’ve never left the South,” I had pleaded, my voice tight with anxiety. “They don’t know how to use ride-sharing apps. I had to buy their physical train tickets for them. The station isn’t even far from our place. If you could just drive over…” “I’ve been working all day and I’m exhausted,” she snapped, cutting me off. “Now you’re trying to micromanage my evening. Your parents are your responsibility. Figure it out.” The line went dead before I could say another word. In the end, it was a coworker of mine who drove to the station without a second thought. The woman who was supposed to become my wife had proven less dependable than a casual office friend. The sheer, absurd irony of it hit me, and a dry, humorless laugh escaped my throat. On the other end of the line, Caroline let out a sigh of relief, assuming the sound meant I was softening. “Good, you’re laughing. That means we’re good.” “Ollie, don’t throw these tantrums next time. You know our backgrounds are very different, and my parents were already hesitant about us. I’ll find another date. We’ll have your parents apologize to mine for today, and then we can finally get the wedding details sorted out.” The casual superiority in her voice was breathtaking. It was a command wrapped in a compromise. I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “My parents are leaving.” Caroline hummed thoughtfully, entirely unbothered. “Probably for the best. The wedding is going to be done exactly how my parents want it anyway, so your parents wouldn’t really have much to contribute.” In the background, Tyler’s bright, youthful voice drifted through the receiver. “Care! My parents ordered the food. It looks amazing—thanks for treating us. Come inside and eat!” “Coming!” Caroline called out. Then, with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, she hung up on me. In the living room, my mother walked over, her movements hesitant and careful. She wrapped her warm, calloused hands around mine. “Ollie,” she said softly, her eyes filled with gentle concern. “Your father and I are fine. Don’t say things you’ll regret just because you’re angry on our behalf.” “As long as that girl treats you right, that’s all that matters. We’ll stay for the ceremony and head straight back. We won’t get in your way.” A lump caught in my throat. I turned, gently squeezing her hands. “Mom, the firm just opened a new branch back home. My transfer request was approved this morning.” “In three days, I’m going back to Georgia with you.” My mother’s eyes widened, a sudden, joyful hope lighting up her tired face. “Really? You’re coming home?” I managed a small, genuine smile. “Really. It’s a done deal.” My parents immediately set to work, quietly packing up the things they had brought—hand-stitched quilts, jars of homemade preserves, gifts they had hoped to give us for our new life. Now, they were packing them away to take right back. Caroline didn’t come home until well past midnight. I was drifting off when I felt her arms wrap around me from behind, her perfume thick and cloying in the quiet room. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice sleepy. “Why didn’t you wait up for me tonight?” I rolled over, pulling myself out of her embrace. “I figured you’d want to spend the night celebrating with Tyler. After all, he’s just a student. He clearly needs you.” The bedroom light clicked on instantly, the sudden, harsh glare stabbing at my eyes. Caroline sat up, throwing the covers aside, her face tight with irritation. “Ollie, do you have to be so incredibly passive-aggressive?” “I’ve explained this to you a million times. Tyler is like a brother to me. There is absolutely nothing going on between us.” Without a word, I unlocked my phone and held up the screen, showing her the post Tyler had uploaded to Instagram an hour ago. It was a photo taken in the exclusive private dining room I had spent a week pulling favors to reserve. Caroline’s parents and Tyler’s parents sat side-by-side, looking like one big, happy family. In the frame, Caroline was leaning in, peeling a shrimp for Tyler, while his hand hovered near her cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair. They were so close their shoulders overlapped. The caption read: The parents finally met! The gorgeous woman who sponsored my dreams for years is finally going to be my little wife! I stared at her over the glow of the screen. “You really know how to maximize resources, don’t you? I spent weeks scouting locations and planning a menu, only for you to turn it into your own family dinner.” Caroline’s expression flickered, a trace of unease crossing her features before she frowned. “I didn’t know he posted that. I’ll call him right now and tell him to take it down.” “Besides, Tyler probably just heard we were planning our wedding and got excited. He was just playing around. He’s a kid, Ollie. He doesn’t understand how things look. You’re the older one here. Can’t you just be the bigger person instead of keeping score over every little thing?” I let out a soft, tired laugh. “A twenty-three-year-old kid? Why don’t you just buy him a stroller and call him a toddler?” Caroline ran a frustrated hand through her hair, her patience wearing thin. “We are getting married in a few weeks, and I refuse to have this fight again.” “I’m sleeping in the study tonight. When you’re ready to stop acting like a child, let me know.” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind her, the force of it rattling the frames on the wall. A moment later, I heard my parents’ quiet, anxious footsteps in the hallway. I went out to reassure them, telling them everything was fine and coaxing them back to bed. The next morning, I woke up early. As expected, my parents were already in the kitchen, a modest breakfast laid out on the table. At the center sat a small jar of pickled okra—something my mother had put up herself, knowing it was my favorite since childhood. Caroline walked out of the study, her face pale and drawn. My parents hesitated, but my mother still offered a warm, hopeful smile, gesturing to the table. “Good morning, Caroline. Come eat. We made plenty.” Caroline stopped in her tracks. Her brow furrowed instantly. “What are you guys still doing here?” Her eyes drifted to the jar of pickled okra, and she visibly winced, covering her nose with her sleeve. “And what is that awful smell? The whole apartment reeks of vinegar and garlic.” “This is Manhattan, not some backwoods trailer park. Have some decency and stop bringing your country garbage into my home.” The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel. My parents froze, looking utterly small and humiliated, their hands hovering in midair. My mother scrambled frantically to pull the jar away, her voice trembling with panic. “I-I’m so sorry, Caroline. Ollie loved these when he was little, so I just thought… I didn’t think. I’ll put them away right now. Please don’t be angry…” In her haste, her hand slipped. The glass jar slid off the table, shattering against the hardwood floor. My mother flinched, her shoulders hunching as she stole a terrified look at Caroline, completely frozen. My father, silent and weathered, slowly bent his stiff, aching back to pick up the broken glass. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in my chest, hot and suffocating. Back in Georgia, my parents held their heads high. When neighbors praised my achievements, my father would beam with quiet pride, always humble but standing tall. But ever since I fell in love with Caroline, they had shrunk. They had spent years walking on eggshells, terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing. They refused the money I tried to send home, telling me to save it to buy nice things for Caroline’s family so they wouldn’t look down on me. During holidays, they wouldn’t let me bring gifts home; instead, they packed heavy crates of Southern preserves for me to carry back to her parents. Even yesterday, after being stood up for three hours, they hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint, solely terrified that their anger might make my life harder. I walked over, gently but firmly pulling my father up, my voice thick with unshed tears. “Dad, Mom, sit down and eat. I’ll clean this up.” “And don’t hide the okra. I like it.” They tried to protest, but I gently pressed them back into their chairs. Caroline watched me, her expression hardening before she offered a defensive, muttered explanation. “I didn’t mean it like that. I have allergies, Ollie. You know how sensitive my nose is to strong smells.” I didn’t answer. I simply swept up the broken glass, threw it in the trash, and wiped down the floor in silence. Caroline hovered nearby, watching me, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something, but I refused to give her my eyes. After breakfast, I planned to take my parents to see some of the city, but my phone rang. A critical issue had cropped up with the software deployment I was managing, and I had to go into the office immediately. Caroline stepped forward, her tone surprisingly soft. “Go handle your project. I’ll take your parents out. I don’t have much going on at the office today anyway.” I looked at her, searching her face. She looked away, a rare touch of awkwardness in her posture. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was still annoyed about last night.” “Once we’re married, your parents are my parents. I’ll take good care of them. I promise.” Knowing my parents were leaving in three days and deserved to see some of the city, I finally nodded. By the time the deployment was resolved, the moon was high in the night sky. I was about to call my mother to check on them when my phone began to vibrate. I picked up, and my mother’s frantic, weeping voice filled the line. “Ollie… Ollie, you need to get to the hospital… Your father… he’s hurt, he’s unconscious…” A cold dread seized my chest. My legs nearly gave out as I rushed out of the office. When I arrived at the emergency room, I found my mother huddled on a plastic chair in the hallway, weeping silently. I ran to her side and saw my father lying on a gurney nearby, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. The wound was still actively weeping red. “Where’s the doctor?” I demanded, my voice shaking with fury. “Why isn’t anyone treating him?” My mother choked back a sob, her voice barely a whisper. “There was only one doctor on duty in the ER, and only one trauma bed left… Caroline… Caroline told them to treat someone else first.” My blood ran cold. Before I could process her words, the door to the adjacent private room pushed open. Tyler stepped out, his arms wrapped tightly around Caroline. His eyes were red, his voice thick with tears. “Care, thank you so much. If you hadn’t left Ollie’s parents to come find me, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Caroline gently stroked his back, her voice a soothing murmur. “Your parents are my parents, Tyler. Don’t say things like that. Don’t cry, your eyes are all swollen.” The sheer, monstrous absurdity of the scene snapped something inside me. I strode forward, grabbing Caroline’s wrist with a force that made her gasp. My entire body was shaking. “Caroline, you swore you’d take care of them. Is this your idea of taking care of my family?” Caroline winced, and Tyler immediately stepped between us, pushing my hand away to shield her. He looked at me, a subtle, challenging glint in his eyes. “Ollie, my mom sprained her ankle. Care was terrified she’d have permanent joint damage, so she asked the doctor to treat her first.” “If you’re angry, blame me. Don’t take it out on Care.” “She was just so frantic to help my mother that she didn’t realize your dad’s coat was caught in her car door. She drove off and… and he was dragged along the asphalt. It was an accident.” Caroline stepped out from behind him, her eyes turning cold as she looked at me. “Ollie, I know you’re upset, so I’m going to let your tone slide.” “But you need to be reasonable. Don’t start acting like a hysterical country bumpkin.” “The doctor looked at your father’s head and said it was just a superficial laceration. That’s why I left him out here. But Tyler’s mother’s ankle was a serious emergency. If we didn’t get it treated immediately, she could have been crippled.” Behind me, my father’s weak, raspy voice broke the tension. “Ollie… son, I’m okay. Don’t… don’t fight with Caroline because of me.” “We’re tough country folks. We heal fast. We aren’t delicate like these city people.” Caroline’s expression softened slightly. She took a step toward me, reaching out to touch my arm. “See? Your dad says he’s fine. It’s really not a big deal.” “Stop throwing a fit. Once the morning shift starts, I’ll pull some strings and get him a private room.” I took a step back, letting her hand fall through empty air. I didn’t say another word to her. I pulled out my phone, called a private transport service, and had my father transferred to another hospital immediately. I stayed by my father’s bedside all night. The next afternoon, I returned to the apartment to pack our things. As I unlocked the door, the sound of bright, easy laughter drifted from the living room, accompanied by the sour, pungent smell of pickled cabbage. Caroline—the woman who had claimed she had a medical sensitivity to strong odors—was sitting at the dining table, happily eating a bowl of homemade sauerkraut that Tyler’s parents had brought. Near the trash can by the entryway sat two battered duffel bags. They were my parents’ luggage. I stared at the bags, then looked up at Caroline. “What is this?” Seeing me, the laughter at the table died down. Caroline stood up, a brief shadow of hesitation crossing her face before she spoke with casual ease. “Tyler’s parents are going to stay with us for a while.” “Since your parents are leaving soon anyway, I had the building staff pack their bags and bring them down here to clear up some space.” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Caroline, I never realized what a perfect, accommodating daughter-in-law you could be.” Ignoring the tense, defensive stares of Tyler and his parents, I walked straight past them and into the master bedroom. Caroline followed me inside, her voice dropping into the sweet, coaxing tone she always used when she wanted to play nice. “Ollie, don’t be like this. I already booked your parents a room at a five-star hotel downtown. I’ll drive their bags over myself later.” “Tyler’s family are our guests, after all. We have to show some hospitality.” I didn’t answer. I kept pulling my clothes out of the closet and packing them into my suitcase. Caroline stepped closer, attempting to fold a shirt for me. “Ollie, seriously. You’ve been so distant lately.” “Tyler’s already got his graduate placement. If it really bothers you that much, I promise I’ll limit my time with him from now on, okay?” She reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small black velvet box, holding it out to me like a peace offering. “Look. I bought the wedding ring you kept in your online shopping cart for months. Consider it an apology.” “And I went ahead and finalized the venue for tomorrow’s rehearsal and the welcome dinner. I’ve sent out all the invitations.” “Tomorrow, all you have to do is show up and look handsome.” I froze, slowly turning to look at her. “You finalized the venue? When? Why wasn’t I consulted?” She shrugged, completely dismissive. “You were busy with your project. I figured all guys like the same basic things, so I just had Tyler help me pick everything out.” I repeated her words slowly, letting the weight of them settle in the air. “You had Tyler help you?” “So the location, the aesthetic, the favors, the guest list—you and Tyler handled all of it?” “Caroline, do you have any idea how pathetic this is?” Her face darkened with familiar annoyance, but she forced a tight smile, holding up the ring. “Ollie, I’m not going to argue about this. I love you, and that’s never going to change. Can we just leave it at that?” She took the ring out of the box, reaching for my hand. “Come on, Ollie. Stop playing games.” “I couldn’t even sleep last night without you next to me. Haven’t I been punished enough?” I pulled my hand back, out of her reach. Her smile faded completely. I stared at her for a long moment. “Send me the address of the venue.” A wave of relief washed over her face, and her confident, effortless smile returned. “I knew it. I knew you’d never actually leave me, Ollie. No matter how mad you get, you love me too much to walk away.” She glanced at my packed suitcase, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Alright, now that you’ve got your reassurance, you can stop the packing act. You do this every time we fight, and you never actually go anywhere.” “Besides, Georgia is a long, long way from here. You aren’t going to run back to your parents over a little spat.” I zipped my suitcase, gripped the handle, and walked past her toward the door. She leaned against the doorframe, watching me with absolute certainty, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Get your anger out tonight. Just make sure you’re on time for the dinner tomorrow.” I paused, looking back at her with a quiet smile of my own. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s unforgettable.” The next morning, I stood on the platform at Penn Station, helping my parents load their heavy bags onto the southbound train. As the warning chimes began to echo through the station, signaling the closing doors, my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. It rang three times and went to voicemail. When it began to ring a fourth time, I finally slid the screen to answer. On the other end, Caroline’s mother’s voice broke through—frantic, weeping, and entirely stripped of her usual cold poise. “Ollie! Where are you? Caroline… Caroline’s had an accident, you need to get to the hospital right now…”

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Ever since Wesley and I got together, I became the textbook definition of the perfectly devoted girlfriend. My best friend, Victoria, always used to scold me for it. “A woman needs her own ambition, Mallory. What’s the point of clinging to a man like a lapdog all day?” “Wesley used to be a serial player. You think he hasn’t seen women bend over backward for him before?” “You need to use your own magnetism to keep him hooked, otherwise, he’s going to get lured away by someone else sooner or later.” I would just smile, nod, and carefully place the perfectly peeled shrimp into the bento box I was packing for Wesley’s lunch. Victoria would sigh, looking at me with absolute devastation. “You really have zero self-respect. What on earth makes that walking red flag good enough for you?” Victoria had an incredible career and razor-sharp competence; she was the undeniable main character of her own life. Naturally, she harbored a deep-seated contempt for Wesley and his endless history of casual flings. I, on the other hand, was painfully ordinary. It had taken me five grueling years to finally win Wesley over, and I counted my lucky stars every single day. Then came my birthday. Wesley took a phone call, claimed there was an absolute emergency at the office, and rushed out the door so fast he left his apartment keys sitting on the coffee table. I grabbed the keys and chased after him. Only to stumble upon them in the dimly lit alley right below our apartment building. Victoria had her arms hooked tightly around Wesley’s neck. They were kissing, utterly lost in each other. I stood frozen for a long moment. Then, in the silence, I quietly tossed the keys in my hand into the rusted trash can by the curb. 1 The keys hit the bottom of the empty metal bin with a dull, hollow “clack”. Under the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp, the two embraced figures jolted apart and turned toward the sound. The second Wesley saw me, he shoved Victoria away in a sheer panic. The blood drained from his face, leaving behind an unfiltered, raw terror that he couldn’t mask. “Mallory? What are you doing down here?” The biting wind of early winter slashed through my clothes, sinking straight into my bones. My body began to violently tremble. It felt as if every inch of my skin had been instantaneously stripped of its warmth. I rubbed my freezing hands together and managed to mumble, “Nothing. Just came down to grab something from the bodega.” My mind was a sprawling expanse of static. It was as if the cold had frozen my ability to process complex thought. Victoria casually lifted a thumb to the corner of her mouth, wiping away the lipstick Wesley had smudged. A sharp, breathy laugh slipped past her lips. “Mallory, you’re still as terrible a liar as ever. Look at you, stiff as a board. It’s so unnatural.” “You were just keeping a tight leash on Wesley, right? Checking up on him. It’s fine, it’s just who you are.” I squeezed my numb fingers into fists, my nails digging into my palms. My lips parted, but not a single sound came out. What was I supposed to say? My best friend of over a decade was standing in an alley with the boyfriend I had chased for five years. She looked so poised, so brazenly unapologetic, that it almost made “me” feel like the one who had done something wrong. Victoria playfully punched Wesley’s arm, her tone teetering between teasing and scolding. “Wesley, you really don’t know your own strength when you’re going at it, do you? You completely ruined my makeup!” Wesley frowned, swatting her hand away with aggressive discomfort. “Enough, Victoria! Shut up.” Victoria suddenly giggled, the sound sharp and bright in the quiet alley. “Oh, Wesley, why are you in such a rush to push me away? Are you worried Mallory is going to care?” She turned her gaze to me. “This is nothing. Mallory won’t make a fuss over a little thing like this. Besides, now that she knows, it just means we don’t have to hide it anymore, right?” She looked at me, her smile easy, her voice carrying that familiar, effortless cadence she always used with me. “Mallory, I know exactly how much you love Wesley. You aren’t going to hold this against us, are you?” Back in high school, whenever I encountered a math problem I couldn’t solve, I would take it to Victoria. She was so brilliant, so capable; it only ever took her a few sentences to point out the core of the issue. And then, with that exact same effortless cadence, she would ask, “Mallory, this equation is simple. You won’t mess it up again, will you?” But right now, standing in the freezing cold, I couldn’t bring myself to nod like I did when we were kids. My facial muscles were so paralyzed I couldn’t even force the corners of my mouth into a grateful smile. Wesley stepped forward and grabbed my hands. He looked me up and down, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “Mallory, even if you don’t trust me, how could you run out here without a coat?” “If you catch a chill, you’re going to be up all night with a fever again.” He stripped off his heavy parka and draped it over my shoulders, meticulously zipping it up to my chin. I had picked out that heavy winter coat for him myself. Premium goose down, designed to keep out the chill even in sub-zero temperatures. Yet, standing at the mouth of that alley, enveloped in his coat, my hands continued to shake uncontrollably. I took a deep, jagged breath and pulled my hands out of his grasp. Then, I willed my stiff, frozen legs to move. And I ran. Look at me. I really was this pathetic. No matter how hard I tried, I could never handle a situation with the effortless grace Victoria possessed. Aside from fleeing, my brain couldn’t formulate a single method of survival. I heard Wesley shout my name behind me, his footsteps starting to follow. But I didn’t want to see his face. Not even for a second. I slammed the apartment door shut, locking Wesley and his desperate calls out in the hallway. He stood on the other side of the wood, his voice muffled but frantic. “Mallory, you have to believe me. I promised you I wouldn’t mess around with other women anymore, and I meant it!” “Just open the door, baby. We can talk about this. Please!” I sat alone in the dark living room, staring blankly at the birthday cake on the dining table. My mind was a chaotic hive, buzzing so loudly I thought I might go deaf. I didn’t know how much time passed before the noise outside the door finally ceased. Wesley must have realized he didn’t have his keys and eventually gave up on knocking. The lavish feast I had spent hours cooking had gone entirely cold. When he had told me he’d be free to celebrate my birthday with me, I had been over the moon. I had woken up at dawn to prep all his favorite dishes. Like a ghost, I picked up my chopsticks, grabbed a piece of the spicy Cajun chicken I had made, and placed it in my mouth. The moment the spices hit the back of my throat, a violent coughing fit seized me. Right at that moment, someone knocked on the front door again. A stranger’s voice called out, “Delivery for this unit!” I practically leaped to my feet and threw the door open. Only to find myself face-to-face with Victoria’s beaming, unbothered smile. “Hey, Mal! Wesley had an emergency and had to run back to the office, so I came over to celebrate your birthday with you!” 2 The delivery driver standing behind Victoria awkwardly shoved a paper bag into my hands. He glanced at Victoria, then at me, and offered a polite smile. “Happy birthday, ma’am! You’ve got a really great friend here.” With that, he hurried off down the hall. Victoria cheerfully draped an arm around my stiff shoulders. “Open it, Mal! Let’s see if you like your gift.” I looked down. Inside the delivery bag was the exact bottle of designer perfume I had mentioned to her in passing a month ago. Under normal circumstances, I would have smiled, told her I loved it, and kissed her on the cheek. But right now, there wasn’t a single drop of joy left in my barren heart. I looked up, locking onto Victoria’s face. Without thinking, the question slipped out. “Why are you doing this?” Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she casually patted my shoulder. Her tone was breezy, light as air. “You know me, Mal. My career is the focal point of my life. Sleeping with guys is just how I relieve the pressure.” “You’re always going on and on about how good Wesley is to you, how attentive he is. I guess I was just a little curious. I’ve never actually tried a guy like him before.” “And I have to say, he’s probably the best I’ve ever had. Especially when we did it in his office. You can’t even imagine how good it is for stress relief.” “You’ve got decent taste, Mallory. I’ll give you that.” My hand trembled. The paper bag slipped through my fingers. “Crash.” The sharp, distinct sound of the glass perfume bottle shattering against the hardwood floor echoed in the quiet apartment. I had always known Victoria and I viewed the world differently. She was incredibly open and transactional when it came to men. If she wanted someone, she got him. But none of her relationships ever lasted, and she honestly couldn’t care less. To her, men fell into one of two categories: professional rivals, or objects for physical release. I had always assumed Wesley fell into the first category for her. They were both fiercely ambitious, undeniably arrogant people. It made sense that they naturally rubbed each other the wrong way. But I had forgotten a crucial detail: because they were both so exceptional, they were the ones who truly understood each other. Victoria bent down, glancing at the dripping paper bag with a sigh of pity. “You’re always so clumsy. It’s fine, I’ll buy you another bottle tomorrow.” The faint, elegant floral scent of the ruined perfume filled the air, thick and cloying. A wave of nausea surged from my stomach to my throat. I closed my eyes, my voice coming out like sandpaper. “Don’t bother. I don’t want it.” Victoria narrowed her eyes just a fraction. “Mallory, you aren’t actually going to throw a tantrum and ruin our friendship over a man, are you?” “I let it slide when you act like his personal maid, trailing behind him and pouring his coffee, but if you’re actually going to get mad at me over him, I’m not going to tolerate it.” I shook my head slowly, offering her the only truth I had left. “I don’t know.” Everything had happened too fast. My painfully average brain was short-circuiting under the weight of it all. Victoria used to tell me how much she despised men with heavy romantic baggage. She swore that if she ever settled down, it would be with a guy who had a clean slate, someone who only had eyes for her. Because of that, she always treated Wesley with thinly veiled disdain. She never gave him the time of day when we hung out. She called him a “walking red flag.” He called her an “ice queen.” Even when we shared a dinner table, the two of them would trade subtle, barbed insults disguised as conversation. I was always the peacekeeper, caught in the middle, smoothing things over and defending them to each other. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine they would end up in bed together. Victoria let out a bright, radiant laugh, as if a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I knew it. You’re the best, Mal.” “You mentioned you wanted to marry him, that you were planning to take him back home to meet your parents. I promise I won’t steal your husband.” “But you know how many women he’s been with. His body is never going to be exclusively yours. We’ve both just been so overwhelmed with work lately, we wanted the thrill of something new. Neither of us took it seriously.” Her mouth kept moving, forming words, but my eyes drifted to the Chanel handbag slung over her shoulder. Hanging from the strap was a small, plush leather sheep charm with a little pink bow. It looked utterly ridiculous against the sleek, elegant leather of the bag. But the problem was, I had seen an almost identical sheep charm—this one with a blue bowtie—stuffed inside Wesley’s luggage. It was blindingly obvious they were a matching set. About a year ago, Wesley had returned from a business trip in Europe. I was unpacking his bags when the little plush toy fell out of a side pocket. Since he was never the type to buy cute trinkets, I had casually asked him about it. Wesley had given a nonchalant shrug. “A client’s kid was obsessed with them. I ended up getting roped into buying one.” His tone had been so fond yet exasperated, making it sound like an endearing inconvenience. I hadn’t thought twice about it. I believed him completely. But seeing the pink one now, an entire year’s worth of tiny, overlooked details suddenly slammed into place. How Victoria, who supposedly hated Wesley, would always bring his favorite artisanal chili crisp when she came over. How Wesley, when complaining about how annoying Victoria was, would perfectly omit the hazelnut syrup from the coffee order because he somehow knew she was violently allergic. And how, when Victoria came with me to drop off lunch at his office, the receptionist had greeted both me “and” Victoria by name. I had foolishly smiled at Wesley back then and said, “Wow, your front desk staff is amazing. They even remember Victoria.” Victoria had pinched my cheek, laughing. “I’m your best friend, Mal. Of course they remember me.” And Wesley had smiled that easy smile of his, saying it was just standard protocol. I had been so busy happily unpacking his lunch that I completely missed the dark, electric undercurrent passing between them. Every single memory was a dull blade sawing against my ribs. Staring into Victoria’s beautiful, clear eyes, I forced out every word with deliberate precision. “Leave. I don’t want to celebrate my birthday.” 3 Victoria’s perfectly arched brows drew together. She was visibly displeased. “Mallory, you—” Before she could finish, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, and the irritation vanished from her face instantly. She answered it. “Wesley, I thought you had a work emergency? Why are you calling me?” “Well, perfect timing. Your girlfriend is throwing a tantrum. You need to talk her down.” A beat later, Victoria’s eyes slid over to me. Lazy. Triumphant. She said, “Mal, Wesley wants to talk to you.” Before I could even agree or object, she put the phone on speaker. His deep, magnetic voice filled the room. “Mallory, look, I know you’re upset, but it’s not what you think.” “A few weeks ago, Victoria was getting pressured to drink by some aggressive clients at a dinner. I couldn’t just sit there and watch, so I stepped in. I took her home, and things just got a little blurred…” Victoria rolled her eyes, letting out a soft scoff. “Mallory, you know I deleted every other girl from my phone the day we started dating. But she’s your best friend. I couldn’t just abandon her.” A fiery, suffocating rage erupted in my chest. My breathing turned ragged. Right. The love of my life slept with my best friend to “save” her. What a noble, perfectly rational excuse. Just last night, as we lay in bed, I had been describing my dream wedding to him. He had held me so tenderly, whispering softly against my ear, “Whatever you want, baby. As long as I get to marry you, I don’t care what the wedding looks like.” He had nuzzled his face into my neck, his hair tickling my skin until I laughed. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he had murmured. “I don’t know who else in the world would ever treat me as well as you do.” His words had been so poetic, so deeply affectionate. They had made me laugh with pure, unadulterated happiness. And now, their utter shamelessness was making me laugh all over again. “Wesley, I threw your keys in the garbage. Don’t bother coming back.” The nausea sitting heavy at the back of my throat threatened to spill over. I gripped my hands so tightly my nails broke the skin, using the physical pain to keep from throwing up. Wesley let out a heavy sigh, his tone shifting into tired condescension. “Can you just stop acting crazy for one second? I’m about to walk into a meeting. I’ll come home and deal with this tonight.” The call clicked off. Victoria raised an eyebrow, a flash of genuine surprise in her eyes. “Mallory, even if you’re pissed, you don’t need to take the joke that far, do you?” “You accepted his parade of ex-girlfriends without a fight. Besides, I just told you I’m not trying to take him from you. Just marry the guy and be happy.” “You literally brought him water when he was nursing his ex-girlfriend through a fever. Why are you suddenly drawing the line here? Aren’t you afraid you’re going to push him away?” I lowered my eyes. It felt like someone had hollowed out my chest with a spoon. She was right. When I was desperately trying to win Wesley over, she had witnessed every single pathetic, humiliating thing I did. In her eyes, I was a woman who would gladly sacrifice every ounce of her dignity and temper just to keep Wesley happy. And she wasn’t wrong. I “was” that spineless. I was so pathetic that even after catching them making out, I didn’t even have the courage to scream. Victoria unhurriedly pulled a slim cigarette from her purse. The lighter “clicked”. The tip glowed orange. She took a long drag and blew a stream of smoke into the air between us. “Mallory, I’m only warning you because you’re my best friend. Wesley and I are incredibly sexually compatible.” “I won’t actively try to steal him from you, but if you keep pushing him away like this, and he decides to jump ship? Don’t blame me.” “You can take your time to think about it. I’ll let myself out.” Through the haze of the cigarette smoke, Victoria’s expression suddenly looked foreign to me. Like a stranger’s. The heavy door shut with a definitive “thud”, leaving me alone. 4 It wasn’t until my phone buzzed with a text from Victoria that I realized I had been sitting in the dark, silent living room until late into the night. She wrote: [Wesley knows you go to bed early, so he said he wouldn’t bother coming back tonight since he’s working late.] [Since you already know, I figured I wouldn’t hide it from you anymore.] Following the text was a photo. It was Wesley, eyes closed in deep sleep, his damp hair resting against his forehead. Beneath him were the distinctive dark satin sheets of Victoria’s bed. I noticed immediately that he wasn’t wearing the dress shirt he had left the apartment in. He was wearing a familiar men’s pajama top. I had seen the matching women’s set hanging in Victoria’s closet a hundred times. In the photo, the collar of the pajamas was slightly unbuttoned, revealing fresh, dark red marks scattered across his collarbone. Jarring and violently bright. They had clearly been made very recently. Another message popped up: [He was just too exhausted today. He’s crashing at my place. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.] The tight, agonizing string that had been holding my brain together abruptly snapped. The phone screen went dark, reflecting my plain, unremarkable face. I curled my freezing body into a tight ball, feeling as if every drop of strength had been siphoned from my veins. I couldn’t even keep a steady grip on my phone. Then, the screen lit up again. It was my mom, checking in via text: [Hey honey, are you out celebrating with Victoria for your birthday?] I was so incredibly thankful she hadn’t called. I wouldn’t have known how to manipulate my voice to lie to her. I forced my stiff, rigid fingers to move. I typed back a completely fabricated response: [Yeah!] I even attached a giant, grinning emoji. The screen dimmed for a second before lighting up again. My mom was a fast typer. [You’re twenty-eight today. When are you bringing Wesley back home to visit?] I stared at the glowing words, entirely paralyzed. I had previously told my mom that things with Wesley were incredibly stable. That I was going to bring him home for the holidays this year, and that we would probably start looking at rings soon. Now, it was all a sick, twisted joke. Sensing my hesitation, my mom quickly sent another message. [You aren’t getting any younger, sweetie. You aren’t a big-shot executive like Victoria. You need to find a good man and settle down.] [Mom knows best. Time isn’t kind to women. You really need to lock down a timeline with him.] I blinked, my eyes burning with unshed tears. Growing up, my grades were perfectly average. My jobs were unremarkable. The thing I heard most from my parents was: “Why can’t you be a little more like Victoria?” There were times I tried. I would study until my eyes bled, but I couldn’t even come close to her class ranking. I hated to admit it, but whenever I looked at Victoria, I was consumed by awe. And underneath that awe, a deeply rooted, quiet inferiority. The first time I met Wesley was right after I entered the corporate world. He was the liaison for a massive client account, and within three sentences, he had effortlessly resolved a project bottleneck that had been plaguing our team for weeks. One look was all it took for me to realize he was cut from the exact same luminous cloth as Victoria. He had that magnetic, untouchable gravity that made an insecure girl like me instantly drown. To me, brilliant people like Wesley and Victoria were like the moon. I could look up at them, admire them from afar. But I was just a tiny, insignificant moth, desperately fluttering my wings, trying to get a little closer to the light. For a brief moment, the moon’s light had landed on me, and in my absolute delusion, I thought I could keep it forever. I sniffled quietly, wiping my nose as I typed a few words back to my mom. [Mom, I’m so tired. Can I come home?] If you can’t catch the moon, you have to stop chasing it. It was time to wake up. [Of course. I’ll be waiting for you, baby.] I backed out of the chat and opened Wesley’s. His contact name was still “Mr. Pierce”—the formal title I had saved him under years ago when I boldly asked for his number under the guise of work. I took a deep breath, pressed the microphone button, and sent him a single voice memo. “Wesley, it’s over.”

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Whenever Victoria and I were intimate, the ghost of a man with wildly unkempt hair would suddenly materialize, his broken form lurking in the shadows of our bedroom, terrifying me to my core. Victoria would patiently comfort me, holding me until the trembling stopped. Still, my nerves were completely frayed. For a long time, I genuinely believed I had developed some severe psychological intimacy disorder. Driven to the brink, I finally went to the hospital for a full neurological evaluation. Instead of a diagnosis for myself, I received entirely different news: Victoria was pregnant. After that, the male ghost still appeared from time to time, but he stopped trying to scare me. He would just stand there, an observer in the dark. Until the day our baby was born. He didn’t just appear; he hovered over me, his head lowered, whispering through cracked, bleeding lips. “The baby is going to be taken away by Victoria…” Doubt clawed at my chest. I refused to believe the ramblings of this hallucination. Victoria cherished this pregnancy—cherished me—more than anything. Why on earth would she swap our biological daughter? But later, fighting through a haze of severe hypoglycemia, I forced myself to walk to the nursery. I looked down at the bassinet. The baby sleeping peacefully beneath the pink blanket was flawless. My daughter had a distinct birthmark on her neck. This baby had none. It felt as though I had been struck by lightning. Panic seizing my throat, I frantically scoured every single crib in the maternity ward. Finally, I found her. My real daughter. My eyes dropped to the small, typed card slotted at the foot of the bassinet. Father: Donovan. The blood in my veins turned to ice, rushing backward to my heart. Donovan. My best friend. The man who had been in the delivery room next door, whose child was born on the exact same day as mine. Forcing down the violent hammering of my heart, operating on pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct, I silently swapped the two infants back. When I returned to my hospital room, the ghost was waiting. But this time, I wasn’t afraid. I walked right up to him and gently brushed the tangled, filthy hair away from his face. I stared at him, and the floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. His face… was my own. … The ghost opened his mouth, his chapped, bleeding lips parting as if to speak. Before he could, the door swung open. Victoria stepped in, bringing the scent of expensive perfume and hospital antiseptic. “Just checking in to see if my sweet Oliver is behaving and taking his IV fluids?” She walked over, her eyes entirely focused on me, and affectionately tapped my nose. “You’re a father now, darling. How are you still so afraid of needles? If you don’t take your medicine like a good boy, I’m going to ignore you.” I looked at her. My throat felt like it was coated in glue. Not a single syllable could force its way out. Years ago, when we first fell in love, Victoria had willingly offered to be the kept woman, the secret behind my wealthy family’s curtain. Later, terrified that society’s gossip would ruin my reputation, she took a meager five hundred dollars and moved overseas to build her empire from scratch. Whenever we FaceTimed, I would see the bruises and cuts on her face and legs from the volatile, war-torn regions where she negotiated her first supply deals. Once, an explosion nearly went off right through the screen of my phone. Even a moment ago, I could have dismissed the ghost’s whisper as a fever dream. But the swapped babies were real. Which meant the ghost’s words were real, too. A dark, suffocating fire of pure rage ignited in my chest. I dug my fingernails into my palms, desperately searching her face for even a flicker of guilt. She seemed completely oblivious, wrapping her arms around me intimately. “You know, honey,” she murmured against my shoulder, “Donovan had a baby today too. But he just doesn’t have my husband’s luck.” A cruel little smile played on her lips. “He doesn’t even know who the mother of his kid is. Poor bastard.” I heard the disdain in her tone, yet looking closely, the depths of her eyes were swimming with a sickly, profound tenderness. My heart seized. I managed a seamless, careless laugh. “If your heart bleeds for him so much, why don’t you go be his baby’s mother?” “Only if you want me to,” she replied without missing a beat, then immediately pivoted. “Alright, alright, I’m just joking. Be a good boy and rest. I’m going to go check on the soup I had them make for you.” I watched her figure hurry out the door. It felt as though my heart had been encased in a block of solid ice; every beat pumped freezing water through my veins. The ghost still stood there, looking erratic, broken. I forced my mouth into an ugly, trembling smile. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?” He didn’t speak, but suddenly, the truth crashed over me in a wave of visceral visions. I looked at him—at me. His hair was dry as dead grass, his skin ulcerated and weeping. One pupil was clouded over with a milky white film, entirely blind. All ten of his fingers hung limply, bent at grotesque, unnatural angles, like a monster from a cheap horror flick. Yet, I knew him. He was me. The future me. A tremor started deep in my core. As he finally began to speak, with every word that scraped from his ruined throat, the color drained further from my face. By the end, he threw his head back and let out a manic, despairing laugh. And I understood everything. Two years ago, just days after Victoria went overseas, I casually complained about having a “lack of architectural design inspiration.” Donovan, my closest friend, secretly flew out to help me find it. Eventually, he ended up in the same city as Victoria. Every day, he sent me photos, claiming he was keeping an eye on her for me. “Don’t worry, Ollie,” he’d text. “With me around, your wife won’t even make eye contact with another guy!” Every Valentine’s Day, every birthday, every Thanksgiving, Donovan would set up a video call to celebrate. At the center of their dining table, they always placed a framed photo of me. Back then, I had been blissfully, sickeningly sweet on the idea that I was the luckiest man alive to have such a devoted wife and such a loyal best friend. But the ghost’s words stripped the flesh from my bones. A year ago, they were already sleeping together. No wonder I had occasionally spotted the faint outline of condoms or men’s underwear in the background of those daily photos. I had spent nights wide awake, consumed by anxiety that Victoria had found someone else. It was Donovan who had played the hero. He had held a knife to Victoria’s throat in one of our calls. “Oliver, if she ever dares betray you, I’ll trade my life to get you justice!” Victoria had wept, looking so terribly wronged. “Oliver, do you not love me anymore?” I had let my guard down completely. I gave them the breathing room they needed to destroy me. According to the ghost, my biological daughter was destined to be taken by human traffickers and sold into indentured servitude. Meanwhile, I would raise Donovan’s child as my own precious princess for fifteen years. In the end, my relentless search for my missing daughter would cost me an eye and the use of my hands. I would be framed by Donovan and his mother, and an enraged Victoria would lock me in a basement. My mother and sister, in a desperate attempt to save me, would be blown to pieces, their bodies left in the wilderness. At the thought of it, my teeth began to chatter violently. The fury inside me threatened to burn through my skull. Victoria. You ruthless, cold-blooded monster. I had been with her since I was eighteen, and this was how she repaid me. While I sat there frozen in shock, Donovan walked into the room. I hadn’t even heard the door open. He reached out and affectionately grabbed my hand. “Ollie, I’m so jealous of you,” he cooed. “Having a wife like Victoria, a beautiful little princess. You have no idea—the night you went into labor, it was the first time I’ve ever seen her cry from fear.” Seeing him, the ghost beside me shrieked with absolute malice, lunging forward, only to pass powerlessly right through Donovan’s body. “Sigh,” Donovan continued, his voice dripping with faux self-pity. “Unlike me. I don’t even know who the mother of my little bastard is.” Before I could respond, Victoria stepped back into the room. She scoffed, slapping his hand away from me. “That’s what happens when you sleep around. You make your bed, you lie in it.” “But don’t worry,” she added smoothly, her eyes darting to me. “Our Oliver is so kind-hearted. Maybe he’ll do you a favor and adopt the child for you!” Donovan’s eyes lit up with practiced innocence. “Oliver! Really? Would you?” They both leaned in, waiting with bated breath for my reaction. I kept my head down, utterly silent. A self-deprecating smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. It was such an obvious, absurd setup. Yet, the future me hadn’t seen through it. “No. I don’t agree to that.” My tone left absolutely no room for negotiation. Both of them froze. Instantly, Donovan’s eyes welled with tears. “Oliver… do even you think my baby is dirty?” Victoria’s brow furrowed tightly. “Ollie, you’ve always been the most compassionate person I know. Did someone say something to you? Did you hear some rumor?” I slowly lifted my eyelids. I glanced at the ghost standing beside them, listening to his hoarse, weeping sobs. A sudden, inexplicable ache pierced my chest. Seeing my continued silence, Victoria quickly tried to smooth things over. “Alright, enough crying, Donovan. Oliver isn’t the kind of person you think he is. Go on, get out of here. Let my husband rest!” After they left, I slid out of bed and walked silently to the door. Looking through the crack, I saw Victoria frantically wiping the tears from Donovan’s face. “Alright, my little brat, I was just saying that for his benefit. I could never think you were dirty.” “Victoria, remember this,” Donovan hissed, his voice entirely different now—petulant, demanding. “You begged me to get into your bed! I’ve been called every name in the book for you. If you regret it, just walk away! I don’t care about my pride anymore; I just happen to be in love with my best friend’s wife!” Victoria’s expression darkened. She grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely. “Don’t you dare! Donovan, in this life, you belong to me. Only me.” Bile rose hot and bitter in my throat. My hands trembled as I wiped away a stray tear. Victoria. When you were forcefully claiming another man… did you ever stop to think that back then, I had my pick of the most elite, wealthy women in New York? The line to date me wrapped around the block. You were the one who used every manipulative tactic in the book to beg for my love. A short while later, my mother and my sister, Caroline, came to visit. When the ghost saw them, his silent tears flowed even harder. My own eyes reddened uncontrollably. Remembering the gruesome fate that awaited them, I pulled Caroline into the corner of the room. “Care,” I whispered, keeping my voice dead steady. “I need you to start drafting divorce papers for me and Victoria.” Before she could process that, I pressed on. “Also, secretly transfer all of the Winthrop family’s shares and capital out of her company. Move the assets. It has to be done quietly, and it needs to be finished within a month. We’re relocating to Seattle.” Caroline looked at me with deep suspicion, her mouth opening to question me. I gave her a brief, heavily sanitized version of the betrayal. Her expression instantly turned to frost. “I understand,” she said simply. Over the next few days, Victoria didn’t bring up the idea of adopting Donovan’s child again. While a nurse was changing my IV, she leaned in to gossip. “The father of the baby next door… I walked past earlier and saw him hitting and cursing at his own newborn. Poor little thing was covered in bruises.” Hearing that, my arms instinctively tightened around my daughter. It was karma. The suffering my daughter would have endured in the original timeline was a hundred times worse than what he was dishing out to his own flesh and blood. Half a month passed quietly, leading up to the night before our daughter’s one-month milestone celebration. Victoria sat on the edge of my bed, looking hesitant. “Ollie… Donovan has been diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. I know you two haven’t been as close lately, but he really is quite pitiful right now.” “He asked me to ask you if tomorrow…” I furrowed my brow in feigned concern. “Why are you just telling me this now? Of course, let’s have him join the party tomorrow!” A flash of joy passed through Victoria’s eyes, quickly masked. “What did Donovan do to deserve a friend as incredible as my husband?” My gaze shifted to the ghost’s eyes in the corner. My fists clenched so tightly they trembled. The future me. The exact moment he went blind was at this very party, when Donovan threw a tantrum and drove a knife straight into my eye. The banquet hall was dripping in crystal. Victoria had invited every major power player and socialite in New York. Everything went smoothly until the emcee announced the final event of the evening. “We would now like to invite Ms. Astor and her husband to the stage for a toast.” Just as I stepped up to the microphone, down on the floor, Donovan intentionally stumbled, spilling his champagne and leaning heavily into the chest of an older, notoriously lecherous female executive. “Ms. Carmichael,” Donovan slurred loudly. “I hear you’re single. What do you think of me?” The older woman’s predatory eyes swept down his torso, her hands shamelessly wandering south. Right as they were getting cozy, Victoria snapped. Her face turned stormy black. She stormed off the stage, grabbed Donovan’s wrist, and yanked him back. “You’re coming with me!” Donovan feigned drunkenness, pouting like a petulant child. “Oh! It’s CEO Astor. What, do you want to get into my bed too?” Interrupted, Ms. Carmichael stomped her foot in irritation. “Victoria, he came onto me first!” Victoria’s expression turned murderous. Without a word, she kicked the older executive squarely in the stomach, knocking her to the floor. When Victoria spoke, her voice was chilling. “He is my man.” But Donovan wasn’t satisfied. He began thrashing wildly, screaming at Victoria. “You bastard! You should be up there taking pictures with your precious husband!” “And what about you, Donovan?!” Victoria screamed back. “Who else do you want to take scandalous photos with?! Last time, Oliver’s reputation was dragged through the mud because of you!” I stood on the stage like a stone statue. Dragged through the mud? The ghost’s words from yesterday echoed freshly in my mind. He had told me that when Donovan’s chaotic, promiscuous lifestyle was exposed by the tabloids, Victoria needed a distraction to clear the trending topics. In the dead of night, she had taken intimate photos of me and leaked them to the paparazzi. My face had been splashed across every screen in the city. For days, Donovan’s name was cleared, while the Winthrop family stock plummeted. My brother’s hair had turned gray overnight from the stress. I had been harassed and blackmailed by shareholders until I thought I would lose my mind. Back in the present, Victoria hoisted Donovan over her shoulder, turning to storm out. But in the next second, Donovan let out a hysterical scream, grabbed a heavy steak knife from a nearby table, and aimed it at his own chest. “Don’t touch me! I’m ruined! Just let me die!” The moment the blade descended, I sprinted off the stage and threw my body in front of his. Agony ripped through my torso. I looked down. The knife was buried halfway into my abdomen, warm blood pulsing rapidly through my shirt. “Oliver—!” Victoria’s face drained of color. She dropped to her knees, clutching me, her hands shaking like leaves in a storm. The hall erupted into chaos. The flashbulbs of a dozen reporters went off like a strobe light, all pointed at Donovan. As the darkness edged into my vision, right before I passed out, I saw Victoria. One hand was pressing against my bleeding wound. Her other hand was tightly gripping Donovan, dragging him to safety. When I woke up, two people were kneeling beside my hospital bed. Victoria and Donovan. Donovan’s face was streaked with tears. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I was completely drunk. I almost killed you!” He slapped himself hard across the face, a sharp, echoing crack. “I’m a worthless piece of trash. The things I said… I didn’t mean any of it!” Victoria’s hands were shaking as she looked at me with what appeared to be genuine heartbreak. Slowly, she picked up a silver fruit knife from the bedside table. “Ollie, I lost complete control of myself today. Please, don’t take what I said out there seriously.” “Let this knife be my penance to you.” Without a second of hesitation, she sliced the blade deep into her own forearm. Drops of blood splattered against the sterile floor, quickly pooling into a vibrant crimson puddle. I laid there, watching their display of unshakeable solidarity. This tragic, star-crossed love. My heart ached worse than the stab wound in my gut. Years ago, Victoria was willing to be blown up in a war zone just to protect my reputation. Now, she was willing to mutilate herself to protect another man. In the end, I offered a weak smile and “forgave” them. I watched as they supported each other out the door to get her arm bandaged. Turning my head, I looked at the ghost beside me. Suddenly, the milky white film over his eye cleared. His pupil became dark, sharp, and brilliant. Thank you, he mouthed. My eyes grew dark and unreadable. “I’m only helping myself.” According to the original timeline, that banquet was supposed to cost me my eye. But by taking the initiative, I had actually rewritten the future. I stared at the ghost’s mangled hands, falling deep into thought. Over the next few weeks, I recovered from the surgery while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on my portfolio for a prestigious international architectural design competition. On the day the finalists were announced, the ghost and I both cheered. I had made the top tier. I was just picking up my phone to call my mother when the door banged open. Donovan stormed in, holding a dozen of my master sketches—torn to shreds. He threw them aggressively into my face. “Oliver, you still hate me, don’t you? Is that why you destroyed my entry portfolio?!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Victoria isn’t here. Who exactly are you performing for?” Instantly, his entire demeanor shifted. The aggressive facade melted into a mask of pure terror. “W-what do you mean, Ollie? Please, don’t touch me! I’m begging you!” Out of nowhere, he grabbed a heavy glass vase from the table and brought it crashing down onto his own hands. “Aaaaaah!” he shrieked. Right on cue, Victoria rushed into the room. Seeing Donovan’s bruised, bloodied hands, her eyes locked onto me. The look in them was lethal. “Oliver. What is the meaning of this?” I heard the repressed hatred in her voice. If I tried to defend myself, she would tear me to pieces on the spot. A numb, dull ache spread through my chest. Keeping my face entirely blank, I replied, “I was angry. I accidentally hit him.” Donovan peered at me through his fingers, continuing to sob pitifully. “Ollie, I don’t blame you. I just want the truth about the competition! Why did you tear up my work?” It was almost funny. He was a photographer. I was an architect. Why would I ever tear up his work? The lie was so painfully hollow, utterly lacking in logic. But it didn’t matter. When someone favors you, you have the absolute audacity to do whatever you want. I stared at the tight knot between Victoria’s brows. And then, I smiled. I reached down beneath the hospital bed and pulled out the heavy steel emergency hammer kept by the window. Without a flicker of hesitation, I slammed it down onto my right hand. The agonizing pain tore a scream from my throat, but I bit down on my lip until it bled. Grabbing the hammer with my mangled right hand, I lifted it and smashed it down onto my left. The sharp, sickening sound of bones fracturing echoed loudly in the silent room. Both of them stared at me, paralyzed by the sheer brutality of what I had just done to myself. Robbed of her righteous fury, Victoria could do nothing but scoop up the weeping Donovan and flee the room. The moment they were gone, Caroline’s private medical team—who had been on standby—rushed in and surrounded me. My sister’s eyes were bloodshot with tears. “Ollie, why? Why would you do this to yourself?!” Gritting my teeth against the blinding pain, tears streaming down my face, I looked past her to the ghost. His hands—the hands that had been twisted and broken in the future timeline—slowly flexed, whole and perfectly healthy. Pale and trembling, I smiled in satisfaction, and finally let the darkness take me. After three days of intense medical care, my hands were stabilized. My brother sent me a single text: Everything is in place. We leave today. I carefully picked up my daughter and walked out the back entrance of the hospital. As I approached the street, a nondescript van idled suspiciously by the curb. A sharp spike of anxiety pierced my chest. I tried to ignore it, but suddenly, someone down the block screamed. “That’s the van from the news! They’re traffickers! Call the police!” Traffickers! Alarm bells shrieked in my head. I whipped around. Donovan was standing a few feet behind me, a serene, chilling smile on his face. He had heard the screams, yet he just watched me. Suddenly, I realized something was wrong. I ripped open the swaddle in my arms. The baby’s neck was bare. The birthmark was gone. This wasn’t my child! My mouth fell open in a silent scream. Like a madman, I sprinted toward the van as it screeched away from the curb. The ghost floated beside me, his hoarse weeping overlapping with my own ragged breaths. I couldn’t tell if the cries were mine or his. If I didn’t catch that van today, the horrific destiny I had tried so hard to avoid would replay itself flawlessly. Extreme terror and adrenaline pushed my body to its absolute limits. I roared in pure agony. The van suddenly slammed on its brakes. A surge of hope lit up my eyes. Then, a heavy blow struck the back of my head. The world went black. When I regained consciousness, the familiar voices of the two of them drifted through the doorway. “Victoria, is it really a good idea? Making Oliver raise our daughter, while we send his away?” Victoria’s voice was as cold as dry ice. “He ruined your competition. He permanently damaged your hands. Doesn’t he deserve to be punished?” “Besides,” she added dismissively. “I only sent his kid to a normal, working-class family. She won’t starve.” No… Rage detonated in my chest. My eyes burning crimson, I charged out of the room and tackled Donovan to the floor, my hands wrapping violently around his throat. I slapped him across the face, again and again. “Give me back my daughter!” Donovan shrieked, and the ghost beside me begged me to stop. But I was feral. I drove my fists into his face, his eyes, wanting nothing more than to crush the life out of him. But Victoria grabbed me from behind, hurling me violently to the floor. She wrapped her arms protectively around Donovan, finally unleashing a furious scream. “Oliver Winthrop! Have you completely lost your mind?!” “Give me back my daughter!” I screamed back. Victoria stared at me, a cruel, heartless smirk playing on her lips. “Sure. As soon as you pay back every single blow you just gave Donovan.” She snapped her fingers. A dozen of her personal security guards stepped out of the shadows, pinning my limbs to the floor. One. Two. Three… They slapped me until my teeth loosened, until the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth. One hundred times. She still wasn’t satisfied. “You nearly blinded him,” she whispered. “Did you think I’d just let that go?” The guards approached, holding long, industrial steel needles. I thrashed in sheer terror, scrambling backward as the horrific image of the ghost’s ruined body flashed violently through my mind. They grabbed me. The needles pierced my hands. They drove them toward my eyes. I couldn’t see. My hands were shattered. Why… Despair swallowed me like a tidal wave. I was dragged down into the darkness of the basement. Just like the future me. Except that was supposed to be fifteen years from now. For three days in the dark, Donovan came down to gloat. He bragged that Victoria had moved him into the Astor family estate. He bragged that she had publicly named him her partner. Everything she had ever built with my family’s backing, she handed over to him on a silver platter. I struggled against my restraints, roaring like a wounded animal, but the heavy chain around my neck choked me into submission. When Victoria came to see me, she looked at me with a twisted, helpless affection. “I love you, Ollie. I do. But you need to learn to behave. You and Donovan are on equal footing now. We’ll live together, the three of us. Doesn’t that sound nice?” “I’d rather burn!” I spat blood at her feet. “Victoria, you make me sick!” All these years, the Winthrop family had elevated her, turning her into the city’s most powerful woman. And she was nothing but an ungrateful parasite. Finally, my mother and Caroline found me. They breached the basement and dragged my broken body to a waiting SUV. But halfway to the safe house, Victoria’s convoy intercepted us, boxing us in. “Oliver Winthrop,” Victoria shouted, stepping out of her car. “Your mother and sister drove Donovan to attempt suicide! He’s in a coma! And you think you can just run away?!” My teeth ground together in fury. “Check the cameras! He faked it!” Victoria didn’t believe me. She clapped her hands, and her men easily dragged my mother and sister out of the SUV. And then, they strapped heavy, ticking vests to their chests. Explosives. My breath stopped entirely. Victoria just smiled. “Don’t panic. I’m just taking a video to show Donovan when he wakes up. The bombs are fake. Nobody’s going to die.” But I looked at the men holding the detonators. I recognized them instantly. They weren’t Victoria’s men. They were Donovan’s. The countdown started at five seconds. “No!” I shrieked, a sound of absolute, soul-tearing despair. “No!” … At the last second, I sprinted away from the guards, throwing my body over my mother and sister. A deafening, earth-shattering BOOM ripped through the air. Victoria’s pupils dilated in pure horror as the shockwave hit. She screamed at the guards, her voice cracking in disbelief. “Wait! Turn off the timer! Turn it off!”

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I was serving dinner when my son accidentally knocked his bowl of soup onto the floor. He stood there, shivering violently, not daring to look at me. “What are you crying for? You can’t even hold a bowl of soup steady. You’re just as useless as your father!” “Why did I even give birth to you? You’re nothing but a drag!” 1 I stood with my hands on my hips, my voice shrill enough to pierce the thin walls of our damp, hundred-and-fifty-square-foot basement apartment. Jude’s hand froze on the doorknob. He was holding a plastic bag of marked-down bread, his knuckles white from the strain. He looked at me, then down at Sammy, who was shivering on the floor. The dark pools of Jude’s eyes clouded over with a heavy, painful shadow. “Maeve…” his voice was raw, barely a whisper. “Listen to him. He’s only six.” “So what if he’s six?” I sneered, slamming my hand onto the rickety wooden table. “Six years old and he still doesn’t know how to walk on eggshells? He’ll end up just like you, starving to death in this rat hole!” Jude lowered his gaze. He didn’t say a word. He walked over, knelt down, and used his sleeve to wipe the tears from Sammy’s face. The cuff of his shirt was frayed, washed out to a pale gray. “Daddy,” Sammy whimpered, “I’m hungry…” “Daddy will get you something,” Jude said, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. It was what he had earned this afternoon hauling upright pianos at the music shop. After cleaning up the mess on the floor, he glanced at me one last time. There is no anger in his eyes—just a crushing, suffocating exhaustion. He patted Sammy gently on the back and walked out the door. The moment the door clicked shut, my knees buckled. I slid down and collapsed onto the linoleum floor. In my head, the System’s electronic voice went off like confetti cannons. [Incredible! Absolutely villainous! The male lead’s Heartbreak Index is off the charts!] [Reward of $15,000 has been deposited! Next mission preview: Kick the male lead out on a freezing winter night. Let him catch a raging fever in the cold so he can cross paths with the destined Female Lead in his deepest despair!] I took a slow, shaking breath. This job paid well, but it was soul-crushing. Every time I completed a mission, my conscience took a brutal beating. Now that Jude was gone, Sammy instantly dropped the act. The trembling, pitiful little boy disappeared. “Mom,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of me like a tiny, critical director. “That last line—’starving to death in this rat hole’—the delivery was great. Solid nine out of ten. But that ‘dead weight’ bit at the beginning? You hesitated. It felt a little forced.” “Oh, really? You want to try being the bad guy?” “I can’t,” he said, throwing his little hands up. “I’m cast as the victim. But hey, when Daddy hugged me just now, I wiped some spit and snot on his shoulder to make it look more realistic.” I silently pulled out fifteen hundred dollars from my stash and handed him his cut. He scoots over, slides the money into a metal cookie tin hidden beneath the bed, and peeks back out. “Mom, can I get a little extra this time? I want to buy Daddy a nice pair of work gloves. His hands are all cracked from moving those pianos.” “No,” I said, keeping my face stern. “A ninety-ten split. That was the deal we made.” “Gotta teach financial literacy early, right?” He pouted, but then pulled a few bills from his own stack and pressed them into my palm. “You buy them then, Mom. You have better taste anyway.” I held the crumpled cash, a sudden lump forming in my throat. The cookie tin held Sammy’s “acting fees.” We put on these cruel dramas to trigger the System’s rewards, then pool the money to buy Jude pain-relief patches, knee braces, and the expensive stomach medicine he refused to buy for himself. Three months ago, I woke up with this entity in my head. It told me I was the “evil ex-wife” in a classic redemption romance novel. My job was to abuse the fallen male lead, Jude, and his son, until the gentle female lead appeared to save them. Then, I was supposed to run off with whatever money I could steal, leaving them to suffer in poverty until she healed their broken hearts. My first instinct was to tear the System apart. But then we negotiated. It agreed to pay me a hefty cash reward for every “cruelty mission” I successfully completed. I did the math. Jude’s hands had been severely injured years ago when his family went bankrupt, and now hauling pianos left him in agonizing pain every night. Sammy was severely malnourished, a head shorter than other kids his age. And we were living in a basement where black mold crept up the walls. Between playing the villain and ensuring they actually survived, I chose a third path. I played the cruel stepmother, Sammy played the abused child, and we split the profits, secretly using the money to keep Jude alive. “By the way, Mom,” Sammy says, shoving the tin back under the bed. “When Daddy picked me up from school yesterday, he stood outside the pharmacy for a long time. He didn’t go in. His stomach must be hurting again.” “I know.” I reached under my pillow, pulled out my phone, and ordered stomach medicine and heating patches. “Later, pretend you’re going out to play. Grab the package from the Amazon locker and tell him… tell him you found it.” “Ah, the classic ‘I found it on the street’ routine,” Sammy rolled his eyes. “Mom, can we get a more challenging script next time?” I ruffled his messy hair. “We’ll see.” 2 The next mission from the System came fast. [Major Winter Heartbreak! Kick the male lead out of the house. Force him to spend the night under a bridge in twenty-degree weather. Once his fever hits 104, the Female Lead will make her grand entrance and nurse him back to health!] [Reward: $30,000!] That night, a brutal blizzard hit the city. There is no heating in our basement. Even wrapped in our thin blankets, I could see my own breath puffing into white clouds. Jude sat at the edge of the mattress, studying an old sheet music score under the dim glow of a cheap desk lamp. It was a piece he wrote years ago. Once, his only dream was to be a concert pianist. But when his family’s business collapsed, he lost the means to play, and those compositions became nothing more than useless scraps of paper. I took a deep breath and picked up a basin of cold soapy water. “Jude,” I said, stepping over. “You were twenty minutes late tonight. The soup is ice cold.” He looked up, dark bags weighing heavily under his eyes. “The shop had a last-minute delivery.” “A last-minute delivery?” I let out a mocking laugh. “Does a last-minute delivery pay an extra twenty bucks? Does it put real food on your son’s plate?” “Maeve…” “Don’t say my name!” I raised my voice, making sure it carried. “I must have been blind to marry you. From a brownstone to a basement, from a pianist to a glorified mover. Jude, this is all you’ll ever be. Just accept it!” He pressed his lips together, his jaw clenching tight. I steeled my heart, raising the basin, and threw the water directly at his chest. The cold water drenched his shirt instantly, sticking to his skin. He shivered violently, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. “Get out!” I pointed to the door. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Go freeze your head and think about what a pathetic failure you are!” Jude slowly stood up. Water dripped from his collarbone, splashing onto the floor. He looked at me for what feels like an eternity. His gaze was so intense, so dark, it felt like he was trying to etch my face into his memory. “Okay,” he said quietly. Just one word. Soft, but so heavy it made my chest ache. He turned and grabbed the thin jacket draped over the chair. It was a jacket I secretly bought for him, lined with a hidden down layer I had hand-stitched inside. To him, though, I had claimed it was just a cheap rag I found in a donation bin. He opened the door, and the freezing wind and snow howled inside. Sammy poked his head out of the covers. I gave him a quick nod. He caught on instantly. He jumped out of bed barefoot, crying out as he threw himself toward the door. “Daddy! Daddy, don’t go! Mom, please don’t make him leave!” Jude’s silhouette froze in the doorway. He turned around. Sammy clung to his leg, sobbing hysterically. “Daddy, it’s too cold outside! You’ll freeze!” The crying sounded so painfully real. For a second, even I couldn’t tell if he was acting. Jude kneeled down, using his wet sleeve to wipe Sammy’s face. “Be good, Sammy. Daddy’s just going out for a little bit. Just a little bit.” “You’re lying!” Sammy buried his face in Jude’s neck. “You’re not coming back! Mom says you’re useless and you can’t afford to keep us, so you’re going to abandon me!” My heart twisted violently. Sammy and I usually go over our scripts before every scene. But this line… I never wrote this line. Jude was trembling. He pulled his son close, his voice cracking. “Daddy will never abandon you. Never.” He looked up at me one last time. There was no hatred in his eyes. Only a silent, desperate plea. A quiet, humbling prayer that said: “Don’t do this. At least not in front of our son.” I turned my face away, forcing my voice to sound like ice. “Take your little drama outside. Don’t ruin my night.” Jude stood, gently nudging Sammy back into the room, and quietly closed the door behind him. The howling wind was instantly cut off. Sammy’s tears stopped on a dime. He wiped his face, ran to the small basement window, and stood on his tiptoes to peer out. “Mom, Daddy’s heading toward the highway overpass.” I grabbed the backpack I had prepared hours ago. Inside was a thick fleece blanket, a thermos filled with hot ginger tea, some over-the-counter fever reducers, and hand warmers. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone. I’m going to drop this off. Stay warm.” “Got it,” Sammy climbed back into bed. “I know the drill.” I pulled on my mask and beanie, slipping out the back door. The snow was falling hard now. Jude’s figure was just a tiny speck beneath the streetlights. He walked slowly, stopping occasionally to cough. Even with the extra insulation I sewed in, that jacket was barely enough for a night like this. I took a shortcut to the overpass, hiding the backpack behind a stack of abandoned concrete slabs in the darkest corner. Then, I hid inside a large, rusted drainage pipe nearby, watching him walk in. He stood in the darkness for a long time, then slowly slid down against the concrete wall, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked so small. Like a child abandoned by the entire world. I bit down on my hand to keep from sobbing out loud. Jude sat there for about ten minutes before he noticed something. He reached behind the concrete slab and froze. He pulled out the thick blanket. He stared at it for a long, silent moment, then felt the warmth of the thermos. And then, he did something that made the blood run cold in my veins—he raised his head and looked directly at the drainage pipe where I was hiding.

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During the years Chase pursued me, his greatest trigger was when anyone brought up our six-year age gap. Someone would tease him at a bar, laughing about how he’d bagged himself an “older woman.” His face would instantly turn to stone. “I don’t care that she’s older,” he’d snap, his voice tight. “I only hate that I wasn’t born a few years earlier so I could have had more time with her.” But then his company started growing, and a new, young assistant came along. He began taking her to galas, drinking the cocktails meant for her, and teaching her how to close deals. When I asked him why he wasn’t taking me anymore, he didn’t even look up from his phone. “Georgia, you’re thirty-six. Staying up late at those events is hell on your skin. Besides, Piper is young. She has this energy, this vibrancy. She looks right standing next to me.” Then he added, “Don’t overthink it. No matter how young she is, she could never touch your place as my wife.” But that girl—the one who supposedly couldn’t touch my place—wore my custom couture, lived in my apartment, and handed me my own positive pregnancy test with a sweet, mocking smile: “Georgia, isn’t pregnancy incredibly risky at your age?” Later, she pushed me down the stairs. Lying in a pool of blood, I heard her call Chase. “Chase, Georgia is throwing another tantrum. I’m so scared.” That day, the baby Chase and I had spent three painful years trying for… was gone. I mailed him the pathology report and the divorce papers, then vanished the night before his company’s IPO bell-ringing ceremony. … The courier arrived to pick up the package while it was pouring outside. I handed him the heavy manila envelope. He glanced at the recipient’s name. “Chase Jenson?” “Yes.” “Do you want to declare a value for insurance?” “No need.” There were only three sheets of paper inside. A miscarriage report. A signed divorce petition. And a short, handwritten note from me. Chase, you don’t have to worry about naming this baby anymore. After the courier left, I stood by the door for a long time. The rain dripped steadily against the iron grates of the stairwell window. Drip. Drip. It sounded exactly like the sterile, icy beat of the IV drip in the hospital room. My phone vibrated in my hand. It was my sister, Gwen. “Georgia, are you packed?” “Yes.” “I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything heavy, do you hear me?” “I won’t.” Her voice went tight over the line. “Chase called me.” I paused, my fingers tightening around the phone. “What did he say?” “He told me to tell you to go home when you’re done throwing your tantrum, and to stop playing games with your health.” Gwen let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. “He actually asked me if you were going through early menopause. If that was why your emotions are so ‘unstable’ lately.” I closed my eyes. Menopause. That was a word Chase would have never used to describe me before. When I was twenty-nine and he was twenty-three, he was just a fresh graduate standing under my apartment building with a massive bouquet of white roses. My mother had warned him back then: “You’re so much younger than her. You’ll get tired of her when she starts showing her age.” His ears had flared bright red with earnest desperation. “Mrs. Welles, I won’t. When she’s thirty, I’ll be twenty-four. When she’s forty, I’ll be thirty-four. I’ll always be chasing her. I’ll spend my whole life trying to cherish her.” He was so sincere back then. So sincere I believed him for eight years. “Georgia?” Gwen called out, pulling me back to the present. “I’m here.” “Don’t let him get to you.” “I’m fine.” My eyes drifted to the tiny pair of baby booties sitting by the entryway. Chase had bought them. Two months ago, when the test finally turned positive, he had spun me around the living room three times. “Georgia, we finally did it,” he’d whispered, burying his face in my neck. “I’m going to buy the best crib money can buy. If it’s a girl, we’ll name her Maisie. If it’s a boy, Henry.” I had laughed, telling him it was too soon to decide. “It’s not,” he’d insisted. “I’ve waited three years for this. Every night I dream of a little voice calling me Daddy.” Now, the little booties were still here. But the baby was gone. I picked them up and packed them at the very bottom of the cardboard box. The buzzer rang. Gwen burst through the door, her hair soaked from the rain. Seeing how pale I was, she immediately softened her voice. “Georgia, does it still hurt?” “Not anymore.” “Liar.” She knelt down to help me tape up the boxes. “The doctor said you need bed rest. Why are you moving heavy boxes?” “Because this isn’t my home anymore.” Gwen grit her teeth. “He’s going to regret this.” I offered a faint, tired smile. “What good is regret?” She didn’t answer, pulling the packing tape so hard it shrieked through the quiet room. Just as we hauled the last box to the door, the elevator chimed. The doors slid open, and Chase stepped out. He was wearing his tailored black suit, his tie slightly loosened. Standing right behind him was Piper. She was holding a clear umbrella, wearing the designer wool coat Chase had flown all the way to Milan to bid on for me at a private auction last winter. He had skipped a major client dinner for it, enduring weeks of teasing from his friends about how he’d lose his shirt just to keep his wife smiling. I had kept that coat in the center of our master closet, thinking it was sacred. Piper spoke first. “Georgia, please don’t be mad. It was pouring, and Mr. Jenson was worried I’d catch a cold. He just grabbed whatever was in the car.” Gwen snapped instantly. “Grabbed whatever was in the car? Chase, do you even remember what that coat represents?” Piper shrank behind Chase’s shoulder. “Oh… is this the coat from that auction last year? The one where you lost that massive account just to get it for Georgia?” Her eyes well up with performative tears. “I’m so sorry, Chase. I just… I liked the style. I didn’t know.” Chase frowned. “Gwen, it’s just a coat. Don’t scare Piper. She’s two years younger than you—why are you picking a fight with a kid?” Gwen let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, so being young means she gets a free pass? Is that why you think you can treat my sister like trash?” Chase’s face darkened. “This is between Georgia and me. It’s none of your business.” I braced myself against the doorframe, slowly standing tall. “Why are you here, Chase?” His eyes dropped to the boxes. “Are you actually leaving?” “Yes.” He took a step forward, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Georgia, I don’t have time for this drama. The IPO is tomorrow morning, and I have a board meeting tonight. Yes, I couldn’t make it to the hospital immediately, but you’re fine now, aren’t you? You’re not a teenager anymore. Stop being so dramatic. I am incredibly busy.” “Busy?” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Busy celebrating Piper’s birthday? Busy cleaning up after your little assistant?” His jaw tightened. That was the look he used to give his friends when they made jokes about my age. Now, he was directing it at me. I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a cold, empty feeling spreading through my chest. “Fine? You think I’m fine? Our ba—” Before I could finish, Piper began frantically peeling off the coat, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Georgia! I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless. I didn’t mean to come between you and Chase… Here, take it back.” She shoved the heavy wool coat into Gwen’s arms, shivering in her thin blouse, her shoulders hunched up to make herself look as fragile as possible. She looked up at Chase with wide, watery eyes. “Chase, I’m freezing. Can you please take me home?” Chase scowled, immediately slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. Then he looked at me, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “Georgia, if you’re determined to throw a fit, go stay at Gwen’s for a couple of days. I’ll take Piper home first. Once the IPO is behind me, we’ll talk.” I watched his back as he walked away, guiding her toward the elevator. The last shred of hope I didn’t know I was holding onto finally snapped. “Chase,” I whispered to the empty hallway. “There’s nothing left for us to talk about.” Gwen brought me to her two-bedroom apartment. The space was small but cozy, the balcony piled with her canvases and old art history books. She insisted I take the master bedroom. “Georgia, you sleep here. I’ll take the couch.” “No, Gwen. I’ll sleep on the couch.” “You just had surgery,” she said, her voice cracking. “If you sleep on the couch, I’ll go protest in front of Chase’s office building with a banner. I swear to God I will.” Looking at her fierce, protective expression, I couldn’t help but smile faintly. Gwen set a mug of hot water by my hand. “You’re still laughing.” “I’m just remembering how you were in high school.” “I was more mature in high school than Chase is right now.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Gwen and Chase had been college classmates. That was how Chase had met me. He used to pump Gwen for information: what tea I liked, what flowers I hated, when my birthday was, and the fact that my stomach was sensitive and couldn’t handle spicy food. “I really regret helping him pursue you,” Gwen whispered, tears finally filling her eyes. “Georgia, do you know what his classmates were saying in the alumni group chat today? Someone posted a photo of Piper at the pre-IPO dinner, saying she’s so young and gorgeous, that they look like a couple from a movie poster.” I sat back on the sofa. “What did Chase say?” Gwen hesitated. “He said, ‘Well, you know how it is. Youth brings its own energy.’ And then he said you didn’t like crowded events anyway, which is why he left you at home.” Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a landline from Chase’s office. I picked it up. “Georgia,” Piper’s voice giggled over the line. “Guess what I just found?” I heard the rustle of paper. “Let’s see,” she read aloud, mockingly. “‘Chase, you don’t have to worry about naming this baby anymore.’ Wow. You’re cold, aren’t you? The baby is gone, and you’re still trying to use it to guilt-trip him?” My grip on the phone tightened. “Piper. Give that package to him.” “What package?” she asked innocently. “Oh, the one I signed for? I threw it in the trash. Trash belongs in the bin, after all.” Gwen heard her voice and lunged to grab the phone, but I held her back. “Piper,” I said, my voice steady. “Are you scared?” A beat of silence. “Scared of what?” “Scared of Chase seeing the pathology report. Scared of him realizing I was actually in the operating room while you were sending him tearful selfies to get his attention. Scared he’ll realize a dead child outweighs a petty tantrum.” Her voice went cold. “Georgia, don’t act so high and mighty just because you managed to get pregnant. Do you think Chase actually wanted that baby? He only wanted it because he knew you were pushing forty and it was your last shot. He told me himself that having a baby at thirty-six is dangerous, and that you’d look like an old grandmother dropping the kid off at school anyway.” A sharp, physical pang hit my chest. Not because of Piper’s words, but because the man who used to scream at anyone who mentioned my age was now the one using it as a punchline. He had joked about it with his friends at dinner parties. “My wife has a strict eleven p.m. bedtime now. She can’t keep up with you young girls. I have to cut her some slack—she is six years older than me, after all.” They had laughed. He had laughed. And I had laughed too, pretending I couldn’t hear the humiliation baked into every syllable. “Georgia,” Piper added, “honestly, you should just stay quiet and keep your title as Mrs. Jenson. Don’t make a scene. A divorced woman your age isn’t exactly a hot commodity on the market.” I didn’t say a word. Gwen was practically vibrating with rage. “Georgia, don’t hold it in. Scream at him, cry, do something! You’re terrifying me.” I gently touched my abdomen. It was flat again. Empty. “Gwen,” I said softly. “I can’t cry. I used to think that as long as he loved me, I could bear anything. But now I realize it’s not that he stopped loving me. He just took his patience—the very best part of himself—and gave it to someone younger.” Gwen’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He wasn’t like this. Do you remember our graduation dinner? Someone made a joke about you being a ‘hot older woman’ and Chase literally smashed his glass on the floor.” I remembered. That night, he had gotten so drunk, wrapping his arms around my waist and refusing to let go. Georgia, don’t listen to them. You’re not my ‘older woman.’ You’re just the person I love. I love you at twenty-nine, and I’ll love you at ninety. Every year you get older is just another year I get to love you. My heart had melted completely. But now, he told Piper: Georgia’s too old for late nights. He told his board: She’s the wife, but you’re the face of the company. There’s no conflict. No conflict. I was tucked away in a drawer like a coat out of season, while Piper wore my actual coat and stood in his spotlight. Gwen poured the soup she had made into the sink. “If he comes here tomorrow, I’m not letting him in.” “Okay.” My phone buzzed. It was Chase. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow for your follow-up appointment. Don’t be stubborn. At your age, your body heals slower. You need to listen to the doctors. I stared at the phrase at your age. I flipped the phone face down. Gwen snatched it up and blocked his number. “He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.” I didn’t stop her. I slept fitfully that night. In my dreams, Chase was kneeling before me, his hand resting on my stomach. Hey, little one. Daddy’s been waiting for you. When I woke up, the sky was still grey, and my pillow was soaked. I can still cry, it seems. I just do it silently now. At nine the next morning, the buzzer rang. Gwen blocked the doorway. “Can’t you take a hint?” Chase was standing in the hall, holding a bouquet. Not white roses. Pink carnations. I remembered Piper posting a photo of them once, saying they were her favorite. Gwen spotted them and laughed coldly. “Brought flowers for the wrong girl, Chase?” He looked down at the bouquet, his brow furrowing. “My assistant bought them.” “Your assistant knows what Piper likes, but has no idea what my sister likes?” Chase didn’t answer. He looked past her into the apartment. “Georgia, I want to see you.” I sat at the dining table, unmoving. “Let him in, Gwen.” Gwen stepped aside, glaring. Chase walked in, his eyes immediately searching my face. A flash of guilt passed over his features. “You’ve lost weight.” “Say what you came to say,” I replied. He set the flowers on the table. “I thought about what you said all night. Georgia, I’ve been so overwhelmed with the IPO. I didn’t mean to neglect you. And I didn’t skip the hospital on purpose. Piper had a sudden panic attack at the press conference, and I thought… I thought you were just trying to pick a fight to get my attention.” Gwen slammed her hand on the table. “She called you six times! The nurses called you! You didn’t answer a single one!” “My phone was with my assistant,” Chase said, his voice rising slightly. “Then how did Piper get through to you?” His expression hardens. “Gwen, stop turning everything into a conspiracy about her. She’s a kid. She doesn’t know any better.” I let out a soft laugh. “She doesn’t know any better? Is that why she wears my clothes? Takes my jewelry? Is that why she sent you crying selfies the exact hour of my ultrasound, claiming her blood sugar crashed?” Chase went quiet. I opened the drawer, pulled out a stack of photos, and tossed them onto the table. In one, Piper was wearing the diamond necklace Chase gave me for our fifth anniversary, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. In another, she was using our spare keycard to enter our apartment. Chase stared at the photos, his face pale. “You hired someone to follow me?” “My neighbor sent them to me,” I said calmly. “She wanted to know if we’d hired a new maid.” “Even a maid knows not to wear the mistress’s jewelry,” Gwen spat. Chase’s voice dropped. “I gave her the keycard because she had to drop off some urgent files. I didn’t know about the necklace.” “And the coat?” “She spilled coffee on her dress right before a gala. I told her to grab something from the closet.” “Why didn’t you ask me?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. He frowned. “You never used to care about things like this.” “Because you never used to give me a reason to care, Chase. Your devotion used to belong entirely to me. Now, you’ve handed it to someone else.” His lips parted, but no sound came out. “Georgia… Piper is just a kid starting out. I didn’t think you’d lower yourself to compete with an assistant.” I stood up. “You keep calling her a kid. Because she’s young, her mistakes are just innocent slips. Because I’m older, I’m expected to be the bigger person and swallow my humiliation. Is that the logic here?” He looked stumped. After a long pause, he sighed. “That’s not what I mean. I just… I expected you to be more mature. You have ten years of life experience on her. You should be above this.” Gwen lunged forward, but I held her back. “Gwen, don’t.” Chase looked at me. “Georgia, I didn’t come here to fight. We’ve been together for eight years. Let’s not throw everything away over a misunderstanding. I’m exhausted too.” “A misunderstanding?” I repeated. “Chase, our baby is dead. Is that a misunderstanding?” He froze. “What?” The color drained from his face. “Don’t say things like that just to hurt me.” “It’s not a joke. I mailed you the divorce papers and the pathology report yesterday.” He shook his head, his chest heaving. “No. No, Georgia, don’t play with me. We’ve wanted this child for years.” I walked to the door and opened it. “The package went out last night. Sign the papers. I don’t want a dime of your money.” “Georgia…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was his chief of staff. He answered, his expression gradually shifting from confusion to horror. “What do you mean, Piper took it? Why would she sign for my personal mail?” The caller’s voice was faint, but in the quiet room, the words slipped through: “Ms. Piper said it was just junk mail from a disgruntled neighbor, and she threw it out so it wouldn’t ruin your focus before the IPO…” Chase looked at me through the doorway, his eyes wild with sudden panic. “Georgia, I will handle this. I swear to you. Just… wait for me.”

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When the world ended, my entire family woke up with miracles in their veins. Everyone except me. To them, I was just dead weight, the only powerless one in a squad of elite survivors. But they didn’t know the truth. I wasn’t useless. I was the anchor—their living hotspot. Only within a five-hundred-yard radius of me could they wield their magnificent, terrifying gifts. Without me, they were as vulnerable as anyone else. So, I stayed glued to their side, never letting them out of my sight. And in return, believing I was a fragile, ordinary girl who needed constant protection, they held me close, keeping me safe like a precious secret. Until the day my brother pulled a girl out of a screaming horde of the infected. A girl who looked so much like my mother it made my breath hitch. That was the day I found out I was the imposter. The fake daughter switched at birth. Once she was brought back into the fold, she unlocked a rare space-manipulation ability, a pocket-dimension storage system that allowed her to stockpile endless supplies for the camp. But during our next scavenging run, she grabbed my arm, yanked me out of our defense circle, and threw me straight toward a grocery store crawling with the infected. “You’ve been playing princess in my house for twenty years, you useless leech!” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Everyone else is out here bleeding, and you think you can just hide in the back and ride our coattails?” I broke free from her grip, desperate to make her understand. “I can’t go in there! If I die, your powers, all of them, they’ll—” I didn’t get to finish. I couldn’t even get the word vanish out of my mouth before the cold, heavy metal of a gun barrel pressed hard against my forehead. … “Go in, or I’ll blow your useless brains out right here.” Cassie’s voice was ice. Cold, calculated, and malicious. My scalp prickled. The terror of facing her gun was far worse than the mindless groans of the monsters lurking nearby. Go in empty-handed? She wasn’t just asking me to scavenge. She was executing me. And the people who had spent my entire life promising to protect me? They stood by, completely silent. Cassie had deliberately sent our parents and my brother to scout another block. Right now, there was no one to speak for me. Suddenly, a rusted piece of rebar, slick with dark, coagulated blood, was thrust into my line of vision. It was Jared Caldwell. He was the quiet one in our group. Silent, stoic, and completely powerless—just like me. “Take it,” Jared said, his voice low but steady. “Stay right behind me.” He didn’t have any powers either. He was just a normal guy, yet he was the only one brave enough to stand between me and a bullet. I managed a small, grateful smile, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold iron. Seeing this, Cassie let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Look at that. The useless helping the useless. What is this, a tragic romance movie in the middle of the apocalypse?” She tapped the side of my face with the gun barrel, her lip curling. “You two trash bags really do belong together.” I grit my teeth, giving her one long, silent look. I couldn’t die. Not because I was afraid, but because the lives of everyone in this camp—including hers—were tethered to my heartbeat. The supermarket entrance loomed before us like the open maw of some sleeping beast. Clutching my makeshift weapon, I followed Jared into the shadows. The stench of rot was thick enough to taste. Between the towering metal shelves, dark silhouettes drifted, emitting low, guttural clicks. We moved cautiously toward the canned goods. Suddenly, a tiny metallic clink echoed through the aisle. A single brass bullet casing rolled across the floor, stopping right at my feet. Cassie had thrown it. Groooaaarrr— The sound broke the silence, and a snarling shape lunged from the darkness directly at my throat! My heart hammered against my ribs. Adrenaline taking over, I swung the rebar with everything I had, driving the jagged tip straight into the creature’s milky eye. As I yanked it free, three more emerged from the shadows, snapping their jaws. Jared didn’t hesitate. He stepped in, his back pressed against mine. Together, we swung, stabbed, and fought, our movements falling into a desperate, rhythmic dance of survival. Meanwhile, Cassie walked behind us like she was on a Sunday stroll, shielded by a ring of our family’s elite guards. With a casual wave of her hand, she swept canned soup, boxed rice, and dry goods into her pocket dimension. Holding a lavender-scented handkerchief to her nose, she scoffed. “Hurry up! This is why normal people are such a drag. An evolved human could clear this room with a flick of their wrist, and you two are taking all day.” By the time we finally cleared the aisle, the shelves were completely bare. Our own backpacks held nothing but a few pitiful sleeves of hardtack crackers. Then, Cassie’s eyes locked onto a heavy, bolted metal door at the back of the store. “The main warehouse,” she whispered, her eyes lighting up with greed. Without a second thought, she reached for the handle. “Don’t open it!” I screamed, a cold dread seizing my chest. But it was too late. She yanked the heavy door open. A foul, humid wind rushed out, and with it, a massive, mutated hound—shaggy, blood-matted, and twice the size of a wolf. Cassie shrieked. But instead of running, she reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled me violently in front of her to block the attack. My pupils dilated. Time slowed down. I could see the yellowed, serrated teeth of the beast inches from my neck. Then, a brilliant flash of purple lightning cut through the gloom, striking the beast directly on its skull. The hound collapsed, instantly charred to ash. It was my brother, Brody. I turned around, gasping for air, only to see Cassie throwing herself into Brody’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “It’s her fault! The useless thing… she was running around like a headless chicken, she almost got me killed!” Brody stroked her hair, his eyes softening as he murmured, “I’m here, Cassie. You’re safe now. Don’t cry.” But when his eyes shifted to me, the warmth vanished, replaced by a gaze as cold as winter stone. “If I had been a second later, Cassie would have been torn apart.” “Gwen, I don’t ever want to see you pull a stunt like this again.” By then, our parents had rushed in, panic written all over their faces. My mother grabbed Cassie’s hands, checking her for scratches, before immediately casting a shimmering, iridescent kinetic shield around her. My father, without saying a word, channeled his healing light over Cassie’s body, even though she didn’t have a single scratch on her skin. Only when they were absolutely certain their precious biological daughter was unharmed did they turn their attention to me. Not with worry. With disgust. My mother looked at my blood-spattered, disheveled clothes and sighed, her voice tight with anger. “If you don’t have powers, Gwen, you need to stay locked up in the safe zone. Stop coming out here and making a mess of things!” “Cassie spent twenty years suffering in the slums because of a hospital mistake. I will not let her get hurt. Not even a little.” My father frowned, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Gwen… to make sure you learn your lesson this time, I won’t be healing your cuts. Maybe a little pain will teach you some respect.” I opened my mouth, the truth burning at the back of my throat. I wanted to scream it at them. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. From the moment Cassie stepped through our door, their hearts had completely shifted. Whenever Cassie shed a single tear, they would look at me with silent guilt, asking me to give her my bedroom, my favorite sweaters, my share of the fresh milk. I had been relegated to a damp, drafty apartment on the outermost edge of our compound, while Cassie took three-hour hot baths in a world where water was more precious than gold. Even this dangerous scavenging run was put together just because Cassie wanted to find some high-end designer makeup. They called it compensation. My fingers tightened around my palm, where the hard brass bullet casing Cassie had thrown was biting into my skin. I had loved them. I had considered them my flesh and blood. But Cassie wanted me dead, and they were letting her do it. Seeing the family rally around her, Cassie’s face twisted into a smug, triumphant grin. She tilted her head, pointing a manicured finger at my dusty backpack. “Hand over everything you scavenged. It belongs in my space.” I froze, my face pale. “I fought for these… Jared and I nearly died for these crackers…” “And?” Cassie sneered, laughing as if I’d said something hilarious. “You lived high on the hog under the Galloway name for twenty years. You stole my life. You stole my parents. What’s a few packets of crackers compared to that?” “This isn’t a tax, Gwen. This is back-payment.” “You’re a parasite who took over my nest. It’s time you paid me back.” Her words were sharp, her hatred raw and suffocating. Brody pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at me with a tired, dismissive expression. “Gwen, please. The mix-up at the hospital is a sore spot for Cassie. Just let her have the backpack.” Without waiting for my answer, he reached over, unclipped my pack, and tossed it at Cassie’s feet. Cassie looked inside, wrinkling her nose at the cheap crackers. “Is this it? Gosh, normal people really are pathetic.” Brody ruffled her hair, his voice dripping with affection. “Don’t let it ruin your day, kiddo. Come on, let’s go find that perfume you wanted.” As their backs retreated down the aisle, I stood frozen in the dark, my chest feeling as though it were filling with lead. During our afternoon break, neither Jared nor I were given any rations. Exhausted, bruised, and lightheaded from hunger, I could feel my vision swimming. Since all our food was locked away in Cassie’s pocket dimension, I forced myself to stand up and walk toward the trucks to find her. But as I approached Brody’s armored SUV, I stopped. Cassie was sitting in the passenger seat, taking a bite out of a crisp, red apple, her fingers playfully tugging at Brody’s sleeve. “Brody, you’re just too soft on her,” she pouted. “Gwen has no power, and she’s a magnet for trouble. Keeping a parasite like her around is just a waste of good food. When the real hordes hit us, she’s going to get us all killed.” Brody chuckled, flicking her forehead affectionately. “She might be useless, Cassie, but she hasn’t done anything unforgivable yet. I can’t just dump her on the side of the road.” Useless. The word felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs. A wave of nausea washed over me. Not from hunger, but from pure, unadulterated disgust. On the very first day of the outbreak, we were all just terrified human beings. My parents and Brody had been cornered in our driveway by a dozen snarling, flesh-eating monsters. They had been paralyzed, screaming, unable to even run. I was the one who grabbed a shovel, screamed at the top of my lungs, and drew the pack away from them. I ran until my lungs burned, dodging teeth and claws by mere inches. It was in that terrifying moment of life and death that a strange, humming warmth had bloomed deep inside my chest. I had unlocked my gift. And at that exact second, my parents and Brody felt their own powers ignite. My mother raised her hands and conjured a shimmering, impenetrable shield, stopping a lunging zombie inches from my face. My brother summoned a web of crackling purple electricity, frying the monsters in an instant. My father ran to me, his hands glowing with a warm, soothing light that closed my scrapes. That night, they had clung to me, weeping, asking me what magnificent power I had received. When I told them my power didn’t let me throw fire or lightning—that I was just a living generator, a “hotspot” that allowed their powers to exist—they had laughed, hugging me tightly. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t fight, Gwen,” they had whispered. “We will protect you forever.” Their love back then had been real. Their disgust now was just as real. Suddenly, a dark, wrapped square appeared in front of my face. “Eat it,” Jared whispered. “It’s still sealed.” My heart swelled. A chocolate bar in this barren wasteland was worth its weight in gold. I shook my head, pushing his hand away. “I can’t take your food, Jared.” But Jared was stubborn. He pressed it firmly into my hand, his dark eyes fierce with sincerity. “It was always yours.” “A year ago, when I was starving in the outer sector, you gave me half your sandwich. All I had left was this chocolate bar. I saved it for you.” I stared at him, my throat tightening. Then, a soft, genuine smile broke through my exhaustion. I tore the wrapper, snapped the bar perfectly in half, and handed one piece back to him. “We share.” But before our fingers could touch, a sharp hand smacked the chocolate out of my grip. Cassie’s shrill voice cut through the air like a siren. “Gwen! How dare you steal from our supply cache!” The chocolate landed in the dirt, covered in gray dust. I slowly stood up, looking straight into her eyes. “I didn’t steal anything. If anything, you’re the one who withheld our lunch.” Cassie sneered, her voice rising to make sure the entire camp could hear. “You contribute absolutely nothing to this squad, Gwen. Why on earth should you get fed?” Her shouting quickly drew a crowd. The other combatants and scavengers began to gather around us. Cassie picked up the dirty chocolate wrapper and held it high above her head. “Look at this, everyone! She thinks because she was raised a Galloway, she can just leech off us forever. And now, she’s stealing premium rations from our vault to feed her little stray dog!” The crowd erupted. “Seriously? Stealing from the vault? That is so cheap!” “I’ve been sick of Gwen for months. She’s the only one who gets a free ride while the rest of us risk our necks!” “Cassie is the real Galloway, and her pocket dimension keeps this entire camp alive!” “Gwen is just a charity case. An ungrateful parasite. We should kick her out!” “Yeah! Exile her!” The sea of angry faces parted as three familiar figures pushed their way to the front. My mother’s eyes were red, looking at me with a mixture of shame and fury. “You’re fighting with Cassie over some useless boy? You are dragging our family name through the dirt, Gwen!” My father stepped in front of Cassie, his face hard with disappointment. “Ever since Cassie came back, you’ve turned into a bitter, jealous stranger, Gwen. You hate that she’s our flesh and blood, and you hate that she has a real gift.” Brody’s face was like granite, his tone icy. “We never held your lack of power against you, Gwen. But stealing from the camp’s survival reserve is where I draw the line.” “The people want you gone, and honestly, I can’t blame them.” My heart didn’t just break; it froze over. So this was my “unforgivable crime”? I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Exile me?” I raised my head, letting my gaze sweep over the angry crowd, finally resting on the cold, indifferent faces of the family I had loved for twenty years. “If I leave, you will regret it. Every single one of you.” “The moment I walk away, those magnificent powers you’re so proud of? They will vanish. Completely.” For a second, there was silence. Then, the Galloways burst out laughing. My mother’s face was filled with mockery. “Vanish? Gwen, listen to yourself. You have officially lost your mind. You are a powerless, ordinary girl.” My father shook his head in disgust. “You would make up a pathetic lie like that just to keep your warm bed?” Brody’s eyes held no warmth, his voice dropping to a freezing whisper. “Get out.” “Don’t make me drag you out myself.” To emphasize his point, he drew his sidearm, pointing the dark, hollow barrel of his pistol straight at my head. At that exact moment, a blood-curdling roar ripped through the trees. The ground began to vibrate. “Oh god! It’s a Goliath class!” someone screamed. “An alpha zombie! It’s leading a horde right to us!” Brody’s face paled. He immediately turned to the squad. “Fall back! Defensive positions, now!” A sea of gray, rotting bodies began to pour over the ridge. In the ensuing chaos, Cassie’s face twisted with pure malice. She subtly stuck her foot out, trying to trip me into the path of the oncoming stampede. But she was too eager. Her foot caught my ankle at an awkward angle, causing her to lose her balance and face-plant hard into the dirt. To my parents and Brody, who had only seen the sudden movement, it looked like I had shoved her. “Gwen! How dare you hurt Cassie!” Brody roared, his face contorted with rage. He lunged forward and kicked me hard in the ribs, sending me sprawling. Screeech— The alpha zombie was almost upon us, its towering, mutated frame shadowing the clearing. With a ruthless glint in his eyes, Brody drew a hunting knife from his belt and sliced it clean across my left wrist. “Since you’re so eager to kill, you can be useful for once. Distract the alpha. Bleed for us.” The thick, metallic scent of fresh blood immediately filled the air. Brody gave me a violent shove, throwing me directly into the path of the towering monster. The roaring horde closed in around me, swallowing me whole. My parents didn’t even look back. Only Jared went wild, trying to break through the line of guards to reach me. “Gwen!” he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. As the monsters closed in, I screamed back, “Jared, run! Don’t look back!” Surrounded by teeth, claws, and the stench of death, a sudden, violent surge of heat exploded from the depths of my soul. My hidden gift—the dormant, quiet anchor inside me—didn’t just activate. It evolved. I looked through the gaps in the rotting bodies, my eyes locking onto the retreating figures of the three Galloways, who were desperately shielding Cassie as they ran. A parasite? A useless normal? No. Without me, you are the powerless ones. “Since you no longer choose to be my family,” I whispered, the words tasting like iron, “I am taking back everything I ever gave you.”

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My father’s life-or-death surgery was only an hour away. I was practically running down the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the hospital when a bizarre, glitch-like hallucination flickered in my peripheral vision—a scrolling stream of glowing text, resembling a live-chat feed, bleeding into reality. [Oh god, the NPC dad’s donor heart is about to be completely ruined by the sweet little darling. Without a matching heart, the NPC dad is as good as dead.] [So what? The girl lost her mother years ago anyway. Losing her dad now just makes it a matching set.] The “NPC” they were talking about was me. And the one whose death was guaranteed was my father. I pushed through the double doors of the surgical wing, my breath catching in my throat. There, standing by the nurse’s station, was my husband, Luke, and his childhood friend, Sadie. Sadie was holding a specialized surgical cooler—the kind used to transport transplant organs. As I approached, Sadie let out a soft, delicate gasp, her eyes instantly pooling with theatrical tears. “Oh, Bella… I am so, so incredibly sorry,” she whimpered, her voice dripping with sweet, faux-innocence. “I honestly thought this was just medical waste. I… I threw it down the incinerator chute. I completely ruined your dad’s donor heart, didn’t I? You won’t hate me, will you?” Luke stood right beside her. He didn’t even look at me, only offering a dismissive, impatient sigh. “Sadie just started her nursing rotation, Bella. A little oversight is completely normal. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill.” A blinding rage surged through me. I was ready to tear them both apart, to scream until my lungs bled. But before I could take a step, my phone buzzed in my palm. It was an automated alert from the surgical coordinator. Dear Bella, your father’s heart transplant is scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. The donor organ has been successfully prepped and delivered to Operating Room 4. Thank you. The suffocating weight on my chest suddenly lifted, leaving behind a cold, clarifying silence. I stared at the empty surgical cooler in Sadie’s manicured hands. My dad’s donor heart was already in the operating room. If that was the case… whose heart did Sadie just destroy? … I quickly typed a reply to the surgical coordinator, my fingers trembling slightly. Is it confirmed that my father’s surgery will proceed as scheduled? The response was almost instantaneous. Yes, ma’am. The organ is in the OR. We are on track for a 4:00 PM start. I let out a long, quiet breath, letting the cool hospital air ground me. Then, I turned a cold, level gaze onto Sadie. Sensing the shift in my demeanor, Sadie immediately shrank back into Luke’s space, wrapping both of her arms tightly around his elbow. She practically hung off him, her shoulders trembling with practiced vulnerability. She looked up at me with wide, watery eyes, her voice taking on a sickeningly sweet, childish whine. “Bella, why are you looking at me like that? You’re scaring me.” “I just started this rotation. I don’t know how things work yet,” she continued, her lower lip quivering as she swayed slightly against Luke. “I really thought that box was garbage. I didn’t know there was something inside.” Before I could even open my mouth, Luke stepped forward, physically shielding Sadie from my sight. He frowned, his eyes hardening with irritation. “Bella, drop it.” “It’s Sadie’s first day on the floor. It’s completely understandable that she can’t distinguish between medical equipment yet. She already apologized. What more do you want?” Tucked safely against Luke’s chest, Sadie peeked out. She stomped her foot lightly, her nose turning a delicate shade of pink. “Luke, I tried to apologize nicely… but Bella just keeps staring at me like she wants to kill me.” She began playing with the hem of her scrub top, tilting her head in a display of pathetic helplessness. “You know how bad my learning curve is. I can’t keep track of all these different coolers. Getting yelled at by Bella makes my chest hurt so badly.” She clutched her heart, letting out a series of quiet, pathetic sniffles. A couple of passing nurses slowed down, casting disapproving glances in my direction. It was infuriating. With nothing but a pout and a childish act, Sadie was attempting to brush off what she believed was the destruction of a human life. I clenched my fists, forcing my rising temper down, and forced a look of panicked distress onto my face. “Do you have any idea what was in that cooler? It was a transplant organ! Without it, the surgery cannot happen!” A flicker of genuine panic crossed Sadie’s eyes, but she masked it instantly with another petulant pout. “But I genuinely didn’t know!” she argued, her tone turning defensive. “If the hospital didn’t label it clearly, that’s on them. It’s not my fault, Bella. You can’t just take your anger out on me.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine. I’ll pray for your dad’s soul, okay? That’s the most I can do.” I rubbed my temples, pretending to be on the verge of tears. “Who said that was my dad’s donor heart? Look at the label on the side of that cooler. It clearly says—” Luke reached over, smoothing a hand over Sadie’s hair, murmuring sweet reassurances. Then he looked up and cut me off, his voice dripping with condescension. “Bella, stop being so hysterical.” “The damage is done. Blaming Sadie won’t change anything. Organs are rare, and throwing a tantrum won’t magically produce another one.” “Can you try to be the mature one for once?” Sadie leaned heavily into Luke’s embrace, casting a sly, triumphant smirk in my direction when she thought Luke wasn’t looking. “Do you really not know whose…” I began, but the words caught in my throat as I stared at the empty cooler. Luke’s mother, Martha, had always been incredibly kind to me. She treated me like her own daughter. I couldn’t let her die because of Sadie’s malicious stupidity. “I don’t have time for this,” I said, my voice hardening. “I’m going to the administrative office to request an emergency search for a backup donor.” The moment the words left my mouth, Sadie’s face fell. “No, don’t!” she squeaked, grabbing Luke’s arm again. “Luke, my stomach is hurting so much from all this stress. Can we please just go get lunch?” Luke immediately agreed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do what Sadie says, Bella. Stop running around like a headless chicken. Just sit down, wait, and accept the situation instead of causing unnecessary trouble.” I didn’t waste another breath on them. I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the medical records and administration office. Behind me, I could hear Sadie’s high-pitched complaints, quickly followed by Luke’s soothing, patient murmurs. I didn’t slow down. I found the charge nurse on duty and immediately asked about the protocol for securing a backup transplant coordinator. The nurse opened her terminal, pulling up the regional database, and began explaining the matching criteria. Suddenly, the door burst open. “Bella! Why did you run off like that?” Sadie rushed in, dragging Luke behind her. She scurried to my side and grabbed my arm, shaking it with frustrating force. I tried to wrench myself free, but her grip was surprisingly tight. With tears welling in her eyes, Sadie pouted. “We told you it’s pointless to look for another heart. Why do you have to be so difficult and exhaust yourself?” “You’re making my heart palpitate. It hurts so much.” She leaned her weight against me, pretending to be on the verge of fainting. The charge nurse stopped typing, her eyebrows knitting together in frustration. Before I could speak, Luke stepped forward and forcefully pried Sadie’s hands off my arm. He pulled Sadie behind his back, glaring at me with utter disgust. “Bella, get a grip!” he snapped. “Sadie is only trying to look out for you, and you’re just getting more erratic. Are you trying to force everyone in this hospital to cater to your drama?” Sadie peeked from behind his shoulder, her lower lip trembling. “Exactly, Bella… I just didn’t want you to tire yourself out over nothing. You’re acting so scary.” She gripped Luke’s waist tightly, adding in a soft, mocking whisper, “Besides, if your dad passes away, he gets to go to heaven and be an angel. Don’t you want him to be an angel?” I ignored them entirely, turning my back to address the charge nurse again. In that brief window of silence, Sadie’s eyes darted around. She slipped out from behind Luke, stepping up to the desk. With an air of childish curiosity, she began flipping through the physical registration logs lying on the counter. “Don’t touch those, please,” the charge nurse warned sharply. “Those are confidential patient files.” But before the nurse could finish her sentence, Sadie’s wrist swept outward. With a loud clatter, a massive stack of matching logs and patient records was sent flying. Papers scattered across the floor, and pens rolled into the corners of the room. The entire office fell dead silent. Every eye in the room locked onto her. My face went entirely cold. Sadie didn’t look remotely sorry. Instead, she sucked in her breath, widening her eyes in a display of childlike shock. Her lower lip wobbled, and she began to sniffle. “Oh… I’m so, so sorry.” “I didn’t mean to. My hand just slipped. I’ve always been so clumsy. Please don’t yell at me…” She grabbed the hem of Luke’s shirt, her shoulders shaking as if she were a terrified child. The charge nurse’s face was livid. “Those are the active donor match registries for the entire surgical wing. Do you have any idea how much chaos you’ve just caused?” Luke stepped in front of Sadie, completely shielding her from the nurse’s wrath. “I’m incredibly sorry, nurse. I apologize on her behalf.” “She’s young, and she’s a bit sheltered. She doesn’t always understand the weight of her actions. But it’s really not a national emergency. We can just pick the papers up. There’s no need to be so hostile.” With a few dismissive words, Luke completely erased her deliberate act of sabotage. With Luke defending her, Sadie grew bolder. She peeked out, whispering loudly to the nurse, “I really didn’t mean to… why is everyone always so mean to me? I’m practically still a baby.” Then, she shot me a quick, venomous look of pure triumph. My hands clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. Luke glared at me. “Are you happy now? You insisted on dragging this out just to make Sadie miserable. Bella, when did you become so vicious?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Luke, that donor organ was for your mother.” “If you and your little side-chick want to play daycare in a hospital corridor, do it somewhere else. Get out of my way before you cost someone their life.” Luke’s expression darkened instantly. He stepped closer, his jaw clenched. “What the hell are you talking about?” Sadie whimpered, shrinking back. “Why is Bella saying things like that? It’s creepy.” I didn’t want to waste another second. “The cooler you threw away didn’t contain my father’s heart. It contained the donor heart matched for your mother, Martha.” Luke’s temper flared violently. He raised his voice, drawing stares from the hallway. “Bella, that is sick!” “Just because you’re throwing a tantrum over Sadie’s mistake, you’re going to use my mother’s life to hurt us? You’re actually wishing death on my mom just to spite a girl who made an honest mistake?” Sadie’s eyes welled with fresh tears. “Luke… Bella shouldn’t use your mom’s health to punish me, even if she hates me.” On the floor, the scattered patient records still lay in a messy heap. Sadie knelt down, mumbling about helping to clean up. But as she reached out, her arm made a sudden, sharp motion. A rack of sealed glass vials containing pre-op cross-match blood samples was knocked off the edge of the desk. They shattered on the hard tile floor, thick red liquid pooling rapidly amid the shards of glass. A surge of pure adrenaline hit me. I lunged forward to grab her. Seeing my movement, Luke stepped in and shoved me back with brutal force. The impact sent me stumbling backward. My lower back slammed hard into the sharp corner of the wooden desk, and my forearm scraped against a metal bracket, tearing the skin. A sharp, burning pain shot up my arm. “You’re completely out of control!” Luke yelled, pointing a finger at me. “You lunged at Sadie, knocked over the blood samples, and now you’re going to blame her for that too?” He looked at me with deep, bitter disgust. “You’re lying about my mother, and now you’re destroying her actual medical samples. I can’t believe how malicious you are.” Sadie slumped against Luke, clutching her forehead and groaning softly. The charge nurse knelt by the ruined blood, her forehead creased in deep worry. “These were the urgent pre-op compatibility samples. With these destroyed, we have to draw new blood and run the labs all over again. That takes at least twelve hours. We will miss the surgical window.” Ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm and back, I reached into my pocket for my phone. If I called the regional blood bank immediately, we might be able to expedite a backup courier. But before my fingers could grasp the device, Luke snatched it from my hand and shoved it into his own pocket. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vise, and began dragging me out of the office. “Stop making a scene.” His voice was like ice. “You’ve done nothing but lie and manipulate my mother’s health to bully Sadie. I’m not letting you ruin this hospital’s peace any longer.” I thrashed against his grip, trying to pull away. “Luke, you idiot! That is your mother! Go check the patient log yourself before you accuse me of lying!” Luke sneered, but before he could speak, a nurse came running down the hall. “Mrs. Bella! There’s hope for the donor heart you inquired about. We have a patient who—” Luke cut her off immediately. “Don’t bother. Give the backup heart to someone else. We don’t need it.” I stared at him, my heart stopping. “Luke, that is your mother’s life! If you reject the backup, what is she going to do?!” The nurse looked highly uncomfortable, her eyes darting to Luke’s tight grip on my bruised wrist. Luke offered the nurse a polite, chilling smile. “We’re fine. Thank you.” He turned back to me, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Let this be a lesson to you, Bella. This is what you get for falsely accusing Sadie.” The sheer absurdity of it left me speechless. Sadie giggled, wrapping her arms around Luke’s bicep. “Luke, you’re the best. It was just a tiny mistake. Why is Bella being so obsessive? I’m practically still a baby!” I yanked my hand back with all my strength, finally breaking his grip. “Luke, I truly hope you don’t regret this day.” Luke sneered. “I never regret anything.” “If you get on your knees right now and beg Sadie for forgiveness, maybe I’ll consider calling that nurse back and letting your dad have the backup heart.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Why would I apologize? I’ve told you three times: that first cooler was your mother’s heart. If you had half a brain, you’d look at the tag.” Seeing the cold conviction in my eyes, a shadow of doubt finally crossed Luke’s face. He looked down at the cooler in Sadie’s hand. “Sadie, let me see that…” Sadie’s eyes widened in temporary panic, but she quickly recovered, pouting sweetly. “Luke, I might be silly, but I can read! The tag says Room 305!” Room 305. My father’s room. She claimed it was an accident, but she had been targeting my father from the very beginning. Relief washed over Luke’s face, and his glare returned, colder than before. “Bella, you are pathologically unrepentant.” “Remember this: whatever happens to your father today is entirely your fault.” My father’s surgery was starting, and I had no interest in wasting another second on them. I turned to walk away. But Luke grabbed my shoulder, forcing me back. “Apologize to Sadie!” When I didn’t move, Luke stepped forward and kicked the back of my knee. A sharp, white-hot pain shot through my leg, and I collapsed onto the hard tile floor. My knees hit the ground with a sickening crack. Sadie gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gosh, Luke! Is she going to be okay?” Then, she looked down at me, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “I told her it was an accident, but she just wouldn’t let it go. She must be so jealous of how much you love me.” I stared up at Luke, my vision blurring from pain. I tried to push myself up using the wall, but Luke kept a heavy, crushing hand on my shoulder. “Apologize!” I opened my mouth to speak, but a nurse with a clipboard appeared at the end of the hall. She smiled warmly when she saw me and handed over a packet of papers. “Mrs. Bella, your father’s surgery is complete. It was a total success! He’s being moved to a recovery room now. Two weeks of observation and he can go home.” My heart soared. But then, the nurse turned her gaze to Luke, her expression turning into one of utter confusion. “Mr. Luke? What are you doing here?” “Your mother’s donor heart was severely compromised, and the hospital couldn’t reach you. Her surgery has been officially canceled.”

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The day we buried my mother, the sky broke open in a torrential downpour. Gideon stood beside the headstone, his coat immaculate, utterly refusing to bow his head or kneel in the mud to pay his respects. “It’s a Harrington rule,” he’d whispered, his voice cold and dry despite the dampness in the air. “We only kneel before God and our own blood. Not to anyone else.” The whispers started immediately among the gathered relatives, sharp as the rain. My father’s eyes were rimmed with red, his face flushing with embarrassment as he tried to smooth things over. “It’s fine, really,” Dad murmured, offering a tight, apologetic smile to the whispering crowd. “Gideon… well, he went to Oxford. He isn’t used to our old-school ways. A simple nod of respect is plenty.” I knelt in the freezing mud, watching him offer a perfunctory, barely-there nod. At the time, I truly believed it was just his nature. I thought Gideon Harrington was simply too proud, too unyielding, to bend for anyone. Until three days later, when I happened to drive past St. Jude’s Sanctuary on the outskirts of the city. There, on the steep stone steps leading up the hillside, I saw him. He looked like a different man. His expression was one of absolute, desperate devotion. Every three steps, he dropped to his knees. Every nine steps, he prostrated himself fully on the cold stone, his forehead pressed hard against the wet steps. His forehead was already bruised and bleeding; his expensive trousers were soaked through with mud and dirty water. I slammed on the brakes, got out of the car, and intercepted Simon, his closest friend, who was waiting at the bottom of the steps. I demanded to know what Gideon was begging for. Simon couldn’t look me in the eye. He shifted his weight, his gaze darting toward the trees. “Hazel… look, it’s…” “Daphne’s doctor found a tumor. It’s benign, but… Gideon came here to pray for her. He’s doing a penance walk to get her a blessing.” Daphne. The ex-girlfriend he had loved for years. The one who had walked away, yet somehow never truly left. At that moment, the air left my lungs. I felt a coldness so absolute it felt like physical pain. Without a word, I slipped my wedding band off my finger and tossed it into the deep, dark waters of the sanctuary’s wishing well. … When I got back to the house, the hallway was dim. My father was kneeling on the floor by the entryway, tenderly wiping a few stray drops of rainwater from my mother’s framed portrait. In the black-and-white photograph, Mom smiled her warm, familiar smile—the one that made you feel like she was about to pop her head out of the kitchen any second, asking if Gideon wanted a hot bowl of soup after his long day. Hearing the door click, Dad scrambled to his feet, his joints popping. “Hazel, is Gideon done with his meetings?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful. “If he’s exhausted, tell him he doesn’t have to stay for the vigil tonight. He should rest.” I looked at the portrait, a heavy, suffocating tightness squeezing my chest. Exhausted? It was the night before my mother’s seventh-day vigil—the traditional night to honor her spirit—and her son-in-law hadn’t even shown his face. My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Gideon. Daphne has her pre-op scans tonight. She’s terrified to be there alone. I’m going to be late. It wasn’t a life-or-death surgery. It was a routine, outpatient scan for a benign growth. Yet, her fear outweighed his respect for my dead mother. Seeing me stare at my phone in silence, Dad slowly walked over to the dining table. He lifted the ceramic bowl covering a plate of cold pasta and vegetables. “I’ll keep it warm in the oven,” Dad murmured, his voice so soft it barely carried across the quiet room. “Just in case he gets back late and hasn’t eaten.” The sheer vulnerability in his voice made my throat ache. All my father knew was that Gideon was a wealthy, powerful businessman from a prominent family, and that my marrying him was seen as a massive step up for the Prescotts. That was why, even when Gideon refused to show proper respect at the burial, Dad had forced himself to smile and make excuses. He was so terrified of Gideon mistreating me that he swallowed every ounce of his own dignity. I walked over and gently placed my hand over his to stop him. “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” I said quietly. “He won’t be eating here tonight.” I took the plate into the kitchen and scraped the food straight into the trash can. As I turned around, my phone lit up with a notification. It was an Instagram update from Daphne. She had posted a picture of a silver Saint Jude medallion resting in her palm. In the edge of the frame, the cuff of Gideon’s tailored coat was unmistakable. Her caption read: Someone told me that if he took every painful step for me, I’d never have to walk in fear again. Below it, mutual acquaintances had already left comments: Gideon really is one of a kind. Nothing compares to childhood sweethearts. I stared at the medallion on the screen for a long, agonizing moment before locking the phone. Gideon slipped into the house at two in the morning. The living room was dark, save for the flickering flame of the memorial candle on the altar. He brought the cold night air in with him, along with a small white bakery box. “I stopped by the bakery down the street,” he said, setting the box on the coffee table. “I know you haven’t eaten all day.” Inside were the glazed lemon tarts I used to love. I didn’t look at them. “Where were you today, Gideon?” His hand paused on his tie. “Just handling some business.” His voice was flat, perfectly controlled. I raised my eyes to meet his. “Does business usually require kneeling on ninety-nine stone steps, Gideon?” His fingers went completely still. A subtle, defensive frown creased his forehead. “Hazel, she’s sick. I only did it because she’s sick.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “My mother loved you like her own son, yet you couldn’t be bothered to show a single gesture of respect at her grave. But Daphne gets a benign tumor, and you’re willing to bloody your knees on stone steps to buy her peace of mind?” Gideon took a step toward me, reaching for my hand. “I know you’re grieving your mother, Hazel. But Daphne was terrified. The doctors said the tumor is in a delicate spot. I was just trying to give her some comfort.” I pointed to my mother’s portrait on the mantelpiece. “Don’t explain it to me. Turn around and say it to her. Tell her that ‘Harringtons only kneel to God and blood, not to strangers.’” The kitchen door creaked open slightly. My father stood in the shadow of the doorway, holding a fresh plate of food. He looked caught, frozen between stepping forward and retreating. “Hazel, please, don’t raise your voice,” Dad pleaded softly, his eyes darting toward the walls, terrified the neighbors might hear. “Gideon just got home. Let him eat something warm first.” Watching my father shrink himself to keep the peace made a hot, sharp pain flare in my chest. My nails dug into my palms. My phone buzzed again. It was a message from Simon. Hazel, I shouldn’t have kept this from you. The sanctuary keeps a donor registry for these prayer walks. If you want proof, I can get it for you. Gideon’s gaze followed mine down to my hands. His eyes locked onto my left hand. His brow furrowed deeply. “Hazel, where is your ring?” “It got dirty. I took it off.” I brushed past him, walking toward the closet to grab a change of clothes. Gideon grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening until my bones ached. “What is this supposed to mean?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down but failing to hide his irritation. “I visit a sanctuary for a sick friend, and you decide to take off your wedding ring? Aren’t you overreacting?” I looked at him, my expression dead. “Let go of me, Gideon.” He took a sharp breath and released his grip. “Hazel, be reasonable,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Your mother is gone. Nothing we do can change that. But Daphne is still here, and she’s living through a nightmare. She’s scared, she’s hurting, and she’s spiraling.” His words cut through me like a physical blade. In his mind, he was a savior to the living. And in that grand, heroic narrative, minimizing my mother’s passing was a perfectly acceptable casualty. My father, unable to rest, wrapped his cardigan tighter around his shoulders and stepped into the living room. “Gideon has a point, Hazel. We have to care for the living,” Dad said, his eyes pleading with me to let it go. “Your mother… she was a kind soul. She wouldn’t want any bad blood over this. Don’t be difficult, sweetheart.” The more accommodating my father tried to be, the deeper the resentment burned in my chest. I stepped forward, gently but firmly pulling my father behind me. “Dad, Mom might have forgiven him,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet room. “But I won’t.” Gideon’s jaw tightened. Before he could reply, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. The screen lit up with FaceTime. Daphne. He answered it without hesitation. Daphne’s pale face appeared on the screen. She was sitting in a sterile hospital room, clutching the Saint Jude medallion tightly in her fingers. “Gideon,” she whispered, her voice cracking with tears. “The nurse said I can be admitted for observation tomorrow morning.” She sniffled, looking directly into the camera. “Can you come stay with me? I’m so scared to be alone in here.” Gideon shot me a defensive look, almost as if to spite me. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and grabbed his coat from the rack. As he walked past the memorial table, his eyes fell on a worn, dark sandalwood rosary resting beside the candle. My mother had worn those beads around her wrist for as long as I could remember. After the funeral, Dad couldn’t bear to let them go, keeping them on the mantel as a physical piece of her presence. Gideon reached out and picked them up. “Daphne has a rough morning ahead. I’ll take these to help calm her nerves,” he said, slipping the rosary into his pocket as if it were a common trinket. “Your mother won’t be needing them anymore anyway.” I threw myself in front of the door, blocking his exit. “Put them back,” I whispered, my entire body shaking with fury. Gideon sighed, his expression hardening into pure impatience. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow, Hazel. I’m not going to lose them. She’s falling apart right now and needs something to ground her.” “That belonged to my mother!” My voice cracked. “You are taking my dead mother’s rosary to comfort your ex-girlfriend?” Gideon’s face darkened. “Do you have to make everything sound so ugly, Hazel? It’s a piece of wood. I can buy you ten identical ones tomorrow if it matters that much.” I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Do you really think your money fixes everything, Gideon?” My father gently tugged at the hem of my shirt from behind. His hand was trembling violently. “It’s alright, Hazel,” Dad whispered, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Your mother was a generous woman. If it helps keep someone safe… she wouldn’t mind.” Taking advantage of my sudden hesitation, Gideon pushed past me and stepped out into the hallway. Before the elevator arrived, he turned to his assistant, who was waiting in the corridor. “Arrange for the most expensive floral wreaths and memorial donations to be sent here tomorrow. Make sure the vigil looks impeccable. I don’t want anyone whispering.” The heavy front door clicked shut. I stared at the empty space on the mantelpiece, and the tears finally spilled over. My phone rang. It was Simon. “Hazel, the Harrington family is planning to turn the vigil into a public relations stunt tomorrow,” his voice was quiet, filled with warning. “If you’re going to make a stand, don’t do it alone. I’ll be there.” After hanging up, I walked to my mother’s dresser and opened her jewelry box. Underneath her vintage brooches lay a small, folded piece of paper. She had written it in secret, right after receiving her terminal diagnosis. Her elegant handwriting was shaky, weakened by the illness: Hazel, my sweet girl, I know how deeply you feel things, and how often you bend to keep others happy. But if life ever becomes too heavy, remember that you have the right to choose your own path. We will always stand behind you, no matter what. I squeezed the note tightly in my fist. I understand, Mom. I’ve got it. By the next evening, my family’s old house was packed with guests. The Harringtons arrived with a massive entourage, turning a private mourning into a spectacle. My mother-in-law, Helena Harrington, sat regally in our old high-backed armchair, wearing a dark, custom-tailored charcoal silk dress. She didn’t look at my mother’s portrait once. “Hazel, we are all deeply saddened by your mother’s passing,” she began, her tone transactional as she sipped her tea. “But Gideon is facing a public relations nightmare online right now. You need to release a statement.” She set her cup down with a soft, deliberate click. “Whatever marital issues you have can be dealt with behind closed doors. We cannot have the family name dragged through the mud.” I stood by the altar, looking at her cold, manicured face. “And what exactly did he do that requires my defense, Helena?” Helena’s smile faded. “Just post a short update. Say that Gideon went to the sanctuary to pray for a dear family friend, and that your marriage is as solid as ever. Let everyone know that the rumors about his lack of respect for your mother are completely unfounded.” “Was it also an unfounded rumor when he refused to bow at her burial?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Helena’s expression hardened. “Gideon is a Harrington. His respect is not cheap, Hazel. Your mother was a retired high school teacher; she didn’t require that level of deference from him. Don’t let your family overreach.” In the corner of the room, my father’s shoulders flinched. He looked smaller than ever. A sudden commotion at the door interrupted us. A delivery courier walked in carrying a massive arrangement of white lilies. The card was signed by Daphne. I know Margaret would have understood Gideon’s kind heart in trying to save a life. I stared at the pristine white petals, a wave of nausea washing over me. She hadn’t even shown her face, yet she managed to twist Gideon’s performance of penance into a noble, heroic act of mercy. She was even using my dead mother to validate it. Helena nodded in approval. “You see? Even while battling an illness, Daphne knows how to show proper etiquette. Thomas, perhaps you should talk some sense into your daughter.” She turned her cold gaze directly toward my father. “Once a woman is married, she cannot keep bringing her family’s drama into her husband’s household.” My father stood up, looking utterly lost. He rubbed his worn hands together, his back hunched as he stepped toward Helena. “I… I apologize, Mrs. Harrington. Hazel is just emotional right now. We didn’t mean to cause any trouble for your family.” His voice was so low it was practically a whisper. I squeezed my hands so hard my knuckles turned white. Right then, Gideon’s phone rang again. He tapped the screen, and Daphne’s panicked voice echoed into the room. “Gideon… there are reporters and photographers outside my room. They’re shouting questions at me… I can’t leave. I’m terrified…” Gideon stood up instantly, grabbing his car keys. I took a step forward, blocking his path once more. “Today is my mother’s vigil, Gideon.” Gideon looked at me, his eyes wide with anxiety. “I know, Hazel. But Daphne is alone. She can’t handle a media frenzy by herself.” I pointed toward the corner of the room. “My father is alone, too.” Gideon’s jaw set into a cold line. And then he delivered the words that finally broke whatever was left of my heart: “Your father at least has you.” He stepped around me, his stride hurried and resolute as he headed for the door. He paused briefly at the threshold, reaching out to touch my arm, but I recoiled. “We’ll talk when I get back,” he muttered. He gestured to his assistant to handle the remaining guests and walked out without looking back. Simon entered the house just as the door closed. Ignoring the Harringtons entirely, he walked straight over to me and handed me his phone. On the screen was the official donor log of St. Jude’s Sanctuary. At the very top, under the most prominent prayer requests, was a line that stood out in bold print: Gideon Harrington offers penance and prayer for Daphne Coyle. May she find healing, safety, and a lifetime of peace. My father leaned in to read the screen. He stared at those words for a very long time. Slowly, the tension that had held his fragile shoulders upright for days simply collapsed. He didn’t make any more excuses for Gideon. He just turned around, looking at my mother’s portrait, and asked in a dry, raspy voice: “Hazel… when your mother passed, he wouldn’t kneel for her?” “But he knelt in the mud for someone else?” I looked at the tears spilling over his weathered cheeks and nodded slowly. My phone buzzed in my hand. A message from Gideon. The Harrington Group’s Anniversary Gala is tomorrow night. I need you by my side. Daphne will be there too—don’t make things difficult for her. The Harrington Group’s Gala was held in the grand ballroom of the Four Seasons. The room was a sea of silk, diamonds, and clinking champagne glasses. Shareholders, business partners, prominent media figures, and high-society regulars filled the space. Gideon, looking flawless in his custom tuxedo, stood near the entrance greeting guests. When he saw me walk in, the tension in his shoulders visibly eased. He assumed I was there to play my part, to keep up appearances. He had his assistant slide a folded piece of paper—a pre-written speech—into my hand. “Don’t be difficult tonight, Hazel,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding as he leaned in. “We have to protect the family name.” I squeezed the paper in my hand and said nothing. Midway through the evening, Daphne suddenly gasped, clutching her chest as she swayed on her feet. Gideon moved on pure instinct, rushing forward to catch her before she could fall. The host on stage, sensing the shift in the room, seamlessly adapted his script. “Tonight, our CEO also wishes to extend his deepest gratitude to a very special lifelong partner.” Gideon didn’t correct him. Instead, he guided Daphne to the head table, seating her directly in the chair that belonged to me. Meanwhile, a polite waiter escorted me to a quiet table near the back of the room. I sat in the shadows, watching the laughter and warm conversation flowing at the main table. Suddenly, my gaze locked onto Daphne’s wrist. There, wrapped around her pale arm, was the worn, dark sandalwood rosary Gideon had stolen from my mother’s altar the night before. I stood up, walked across the ballroom, and stopped directly in front of them. Gideon’s face went pale when he saw me standing there. “She was incredibly anxious tonight. I just let her wear them to ground herself,” he whispered quickly, trying to cut me off. I looked down at Daphne. “That belongs to my mother.” Daphne immediately slipped the beads off her wrist, her eyes welling with instant, delicate tears. “Hazel, I am so, so sorry,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think your mother would mind…” She let the apology hang in the air, a subtle but sharp jab, dragging my deceased mother into her performance. Gideon stood up abruptly, shielding Daphne behind him. “Hazel, don’t do this here,” he hissed in a low, dangerous whisper. “Whatever you want to settle, we will do it at home.” I looked up at the face of the man I had loved for three years. “My mother’s dignity. How much is that worth to you, Gideon?” Gideon’s jaw went rigid. “Do you have to be so incredibly dramatic?” Helena stepped forward, holding her glass of champagne, her eyes drilling into me. “Hazel, you need to remember your place. Your presence at this gala is a privilege granted by the Harrington name.” I looked at her, and a laugh bubbled up in my chest—a sound so hollow it brought tears to my eyes. “And did your family offer my mother any dignity on the day we buried her?” The immediate area fell deathly quiet. I didn’t wait for her reply. I turned on my heel and walked directly onto the stage. Before the host could react, I took the microphone from his hand. I pulled the divorce papers from my purse and slammed them onto the podium. Then, I gave a brief nod to the AV booth at the back. Simon had taken care of the rest. The massive LED screens behind me flickered to life. Three things flashed in high-definition before the entire room: First, a screenshot of the official donor log from St. Jude’s Sanctuary. Second, a grainy video captured by a bystander showing Gideon Harrington on his knees in the pouring rain, dragging himself up ninety-nine stone steps. Third, a video from my mother’s funeral, showing Gideon standing stiffly by her casket, utterly refusing to bow his head. The videos looped, side by side. A suffocating silence descended upon the grand ballroom. I gripped the microphone, my voice steady, clear, and carrying to every corner of the room. “My mother loved Gideon Harrington like her own child. When she passed, he told me his dignity was too precious to bend for a stranger. But when Daphne Coyle was diagnosed with a benign tumor, he dragged his knees through the mud up ninety-nine stone steps.” I looked down at Gideon. His face was entirely devoid of color. “Gideon, I’m done fighting for a place in your life.” The room erupted. Camera flashes began to go off like lightning. Reporters pushed forward like sharks sensing blood in the water. Gideon panicked. He shoved his way through the crowd, stumbling toward the stage. “Hazel, please—listen to me, it’s not what you think…” I stepped back, away from him. As he reached the edge of the stage, his knees seemed to buckle beneath the sheer weight of the moment, dipping toward the floor. I looked at him and smiled softly, the feeling entirely gone from my heart. “We’re done, Gideon.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “518498”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Even when my fiancé was picking out my wedding jewelry, he still bought two pieces and let my sister choose first. One was a pink diamond necklace he had tracked across three cities, paying a fortune for it at a luxury auction. The other was a cheap black onyx brooch that came as a free promotional gift. It didn’t match a wedding dress at all. For the first time in my life, I pointed to the necklace before she could. “Can I choose first this time?” Ryan ruffled my hair, his tone patronizing. “Victoria is competitive, Gina. If she isn’t the first choice, she’d rather have nothing. You’ve never been picky, and the other piece isn’t bad.” I didn’t say anything, but my chest felt completely hollow. Growing up with Ryan for twenty years meant I was always the one picking up Victoria’s scraps. Every summer, when the watermelon was sliced, Ryan would hand the platter to Victoria first. She would take the center piece—seedless, sweet, and vibrant red. Then, Ryan would push the remaining pale, seed-filled rind toward me. “This one is ripe too, just a little less sweet. It’ll do.” When he got a new car, he let Victoria claim her spot. She picked shotgun, claiming she was prone to car sickness. Ryan pointed to the back. “The back seat is a little cramped, but either side is fine for you.” Later, it was the same with love. He had loved Victoria, but she chose to chase her PhD and her academic ambitions abroad. Left behind and heartbroken, Ryan turned around and proposed to me. To Ryan, Victoria was always the first choice. I looked at the cheap black brooch and gently pushed it back. “Give both to Victoria, Ryan. I don’t want to choose anymore.” I didn’t want to choose from the leftovers. … Ryan let out an exasperated sigh. “Gina, a cheap promotional piece like this doesn’t suit your sister.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Then why does it suit me?” Ryan froze, then laughed it off. “Come on. When you two stood together as kids, everyone said you looked like her little shadow. You can’t carry off a loud color like pink diamonds. Black is low-key. It doesn’t demand attention.” The little shadow. Victoria and I are twins, but I never measured up. In school, she was always straight-A, while I pulled all-nighters only to scrape Bs. My mother would pinch my temple and sigh, “You came out of the same womb, how are you so slow? Whatever, we only need one genius in the family.” I followed Victoria around, carrying her bag, peeling her apples. I was the shadow for ten years. I had told Ryan more than once how much I hated that label. He would always promise, “Okay, I won’t say it again.” But the second Victoria was in the room, those words slipped out of his mouth anyway. I looked at him, my voice flat. “Ryan, we’re over. Let’s call off the wedding.” Ryan stared at me, smiling like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “Alright, if you don’t like the brooch, we’ll get you something else. No need to say things like that. We’ll go to the mall right now, and you can pick whatever you want, okay?” Victoria slid the pink diamond necklace toward me. “Gina, take it. You’re getting married, don’t act like a child.” But Ryan stopped her hand. “I bought that specifically for you, Victoria. Gina can’t pull it off anyway. It’d be wasted on her.” So much for letting me “choose” first. It was always meant for her. Ryan pulled me by the shoulder toward the door. But at the mall entrance, Victoria mentioned she wanted to check out a new designer perfume. Ryan immediately nodded. “We’ll look at Victoria’s perfume first, then get your gift. No rush.” Always the same. Victoria spent forever at the counter, torn between two scents. Ryan noticed her hesitation. “Just get both. Use one now, and give the other to Gina. You two can swap whenever you want.” He paid and handed me the extra bottle. “There, gift solved. Your sister has great taste, you should be happy.” I didn’t take it. I looked at the bottle, finding it almost funny. Didn’t he say we came here to let me choose? “I’m packing my things from your apartment tonight. I’m not coming back.” Ryan’s hand froze mid-air. His face hardens. “Gina, stop playing games.” That night, he called my parents over. The moment my mother walked in, she jabbed my temple. “Have you lost your mind, calling off a wedding? Do you know how lucky you are to have Ryan? You’re average-looking and slow. If your sister wasn’t so focused on her career, do you honestly think he’d look at you?” My head throbbed. I had heard this my entire life. I was slow, I was plain, I was not Victoria. Ryan stepped in front of me, smiling to smooth things over. “Don’t say that, Mrs. Miller. Gina is sweet. She’s not unworthy of me.” My mother beamed at him. “Look how he defends you! Where else will you find a man this good? If you break up with him, don’t bother calling me your mother.” Yes, such a good man. I should be deeply grateful. I sniffled. “Okay.” Everyone sighed in relief, like a petulant child finally behaving. I went to my room, locked the door, and called Beth. The tears fell silently. “Beth, is that spot still open at your pottery studio in Asheville?” Beth’s voice was cautious. “Aren’t you getting married next week? Will your family let you go?” I looked out into the dark night. “Beth, what would you say if I left him at the altar?” She gasped. To her, I had always been the quiet, obedient, non-confrontational girl. But being good never got me loved. I spent my life on tiptoe, trying to get Ryan and my parents to look at me, but I didn’t want to be the “good girl” anymore. The next day, Ryan took me to see the house renovations. I walked toward the passenger seat, but he pulled me back. “Silly girl, that’s Victoria’s seat.” Victoria walked up, and Ryan opened the door for her. “Victoria wants to buy a house soon too, so she’s coming to take a look.” I quietly slid into the back seat. “Okay.” At the beautiful townhouse, Victoria’s eyes lit up when she saw the master suite. “The light here is perfect, and the humidity is just right for my lab samples.” Ryan stood beside her. “If you like it, this room is yours whenever you visit. I’ll get my best designer to remodel it for your equipment.” I stood in the doorway. During the entire buying process, Ryan had never cared about the house. “A house is just a place to sleep,” he’d say. But now, he and Victoria stood side-by-side by the window, discussing blueprints like newlyweds. Victoria turned to me with a playful smile. “Gina, you don’t mind if I take this room, do you?” I looked at Ryan. “You know this was supposed to be our master bedroom, right?” Ryan’s gaze was perfectly calm. “It’s just a label, Gina. You don’t need scientific humidity levels. Just pick one of the other rooms.” I loosened my clenched fists. “She’s my sister. Let her have it.” Ryan patted my head. “Good girl, Gina.” Next was the bridal salon. My three custom dresses were ready. Victoria linked her arm through mine warmly. “Let me help you check them, baby sis.” She seemed like a caring sister. But while I was trying them on, she got a phone call and looked distressed. “The gown for my award ceremony gala got ruined, and I can’t find a replacement in time…” Ryan scanned the salon, his eyes landing on my reception dress. “Victoria has pale skin, this ivory gown would look stunning on her. Let her have this one.” The stylist can’t help but speak up. “Sir, Miss Gina came here thirty times to sketch and adjust the details for this custom dress. And… who wears a secondhand dress for their own wedding?” Ryan looked at me, taking my compliance for granted. To him, if Victoria needed it, I should give it. I clutched my chest. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much anymore. I changed out of the dress and handed it to Victoria. “It’s fine. It’ll look beautiful on you, Victoria.” Ryan looked surprised for a second, then softened. “Thank you, Gina. I’ll help you pick an even better one.” But his eyes remained glued to Victoria in the gown. He knelt down, personally smoothing out the creases in her train. I used to dream of him doing that for me. Out of thirty visits, he only came once. When the stylist suggested he help adjust my train because “it’s romantic,” he hadn’t even looked up from his phone. “That’s dramatic, not romantic. We pay them to do that.” Watching him kneel at Victoria’s feet, I finally understood the price of my illusions. Everyone always preferred Victoria. My parents, Ryan. But I couldn’t help loving him because when my parents screamed at me for being stupid, Ryan was the one who slipped me a strawberry candy and said, “Being silly is cute, too.” I hid that love for years. Even when he proposed to Victoria and she rejected him for her career, and he proposed to me in a rebound haze, I said yes. I gave up my art to work as his assistant, forcing myself to read dry data sheets to be more like her. But I could never be Victoria, and he could never love me. My phone buzzed. Beth: The studio is ready. When are you coming? Victoria had changed out of the dress. Ryan handed me a simple black gown. “Just take this one, Gina. Victoria has to run, let’s not keep her. This one is simple and elegant. Fits you.” Black again. The color I hated. I looked down and replied to Beth: On the wedding day. I’m leaving. That evening, we went to my parents’ house for dinner. I realized it was my and Victoria’s joint birthday. Ryan bought the cake. “You two share a birthday, so one cake is easier.” The cake was beautiful, but it was layered with thick mango cream. Victoria loves mango; I am severely allergic. But no one seemed to notice. Ryan inserted the candles, placing the birthday crown on Victoria’s head. “Make a wish, Victoria.” I looked at the mango cake, the crown, and Ryan’s warm smile. “Ryan,” I said quietly. “You always buy two of everything, but we only have one cake. And why am I always the last one to choose?” The room went dead silent. Ryan frowned. “It’s always been this way, Gina. What is wrong with you lately?” My mother glared at me. “She’s your older sister, and she’s accomplished. Of course she goes first. If you were half as smart as her, I’d let you blow the candles first!” The words died in my throat. Victoria made her wish, and they sang to her. By the time it was my turn, the candles had melted down to the wax. Ryan shrugged. “No more candles left. A wish is just a wish anyway. You can make one next year, Gina.” Twenty years. Every year is “next year,” but next year never comes. Does an ordinary child not deserve to be loved? I watched them eat the cake, my mind drifting far away. The conversation shifted to the wedding. Mom asked me, “How are the banquet preparations?” Before I could speak, she turned to Ryan. “Oh, Ryan, since your business partners are coming, Victoria can present her new research product at the reception as a promotion!” Ryan nodded instantly. “Great idea. We can cancel the slide show of our memories and let Victoria take that slot.” Victoria smiled. “We don’t have to cancel it, I’ll just speak briefly. I don’t want to ruin Gina’s wedding.” Ryan looked at her earnestly. “Nonsense, if you do it, do it right. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the schedule.” The three of them excitedly planned the display stands, the stage timing, the banners. My wedding was being turned into a corporate product launch, and not one person asked for my opinion. But it didn’t matter. There wouldn’t be a wedding anyway. Feeling suffocated, I retreated to my room. Outside, they were waiting for the live broadcast of Victoria’s national science competition results. I packed my things in my old bedroom. There wasn’t much—just an old sketchbook of my childhood drawings hidden at the bottom of a drawer. Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the living room. Victoria had won first place. Laughter, applause, and excitement filled the house. Then I heard Victoria’s sweet, whining voice: “But the award ceremony is the same day as Gina’s wedding. None of you can come with me. It’s such an important moment, and I’ll be all alone.” Silence fell over the living room. Then I heard Ryan’s voice: “You won’t be alone.” A knock on my door. Ryan stood there, his tone pleading. “Gina, Victoria’s award is a once-in-a-lifetime achievement. Can we move our wedding to the evening?” I wanted to laugh. Is a wedding not a once-in-a-lifetime event? The housekeeper muttered, “An evening wedding? People only do that for rushed shotgun weddings or quick elopements.” My mother snapped at her. “Nonsense! Don’t fill her head with superstitious garbage!” Ryan looked at me with soft, pleading eyes. “Please, Gina? You’re always the understanding one.” I looked at him, remembering when I won a minor art contest as a kid. I begged my parents to come, but they said Victoria’s debate tournament was more important. Ryan saw me crying and promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to watch you get your trophy.” But he ended up at Victoria’s debate tournament too. I stood on that stage alone, watching other parents hug their children. And now, I was still alone. “Sure. Move it to the evening.” A wedding without a bride could be held whenever they wanted. They celebrated, and Ryan got drunk. Looking at his hazy eyes, I asked, “Ryan, are you looking forward to our wedding?” He didn’t answer. The cold wind drafted between us. “Then why did you propose to me in the first place?” I knew it was a rebound, but I wanted to hear him say it. He muttered, slurring his words. “In life… you settle. Finding someone fifty percent similar to her… is the best I could do. And you’re her sister. Being with you… means I still get to see her…” The wind stung my eyes, but the tears had dried up. The truth was cruder than I had ever imagined. On the wedding day, before dawn, the house was bustling—not for my wedding, but for Victoria’s ceremony. Everyone was picking outfits, doing makeup, and coordinating routes for her big day. I walked out of my room, fully dressed. “I’ll head out first. There are things to prep at the venue.” Ryan didn’t even look up as he helped Victoria double-check her luggage. “Alright, go ahead. Don’t keep the guests waiting later.” I grabbed my small purse and walked out. I headed straight to the airport. As the Uber pulled away, I saw Ryan’s car in the rearview mirror. My family happily piled into it, driving toward Victoria’s triumph. The ceremony lasted four hours. By the time it ended, I had landed in Asheville. My phone buzzed. Ryan: Gina, since the wedding is in the evening, let’s skip the family tea ceremony and photos. I’ll be late. Victoria gets overwhelmed by these crowds, you go to the venue first. Be a good girl. I stared at the text, blocked his number, and turned off the phone. Beth hugged me at the terminal. “Let’s go.” Meanwhile, Ryan and my family finally arrived at the wedding venue, only to find chaos. A friend grabbed him. “I thought the bride was arriving early? Where is she?” Ryan froze. The wedding planner ran over, sweating. “Mr. Miller, we can’t reach the bride. Her phone is off.”

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