Category: English

When Ethan came home after his night shift, I set his favorite pasta on the table. I wanted to tell him that my mom had finally agreed to let us get married. But he tossed his car keys on the table and said wearily, “I got married.” “What?” I was confused. “I married one of the new nurses. She’s pregnant. I have to take responsibility for her.” My voice trembled. “Then what were these eight years I spent with you?” Ethan looked up at me and actually smiled. “As long as you’re willing, we can still be family.” I didn’t cry. I just picked up that bowl of pasta, walked to the kitchen, and dumped it in the trash. Ethan frowned. “Sophia, I just worked an all-night shift. I hate it when you give me the silent treatment like this.” I turned to look at him. “When did you two get the marriage license?” He rubbed his temples. “Yesterday at noon.” “Tara finished her night shift. City Hall wasn’t busy, so we just stopped by.” Just stopped by. Yesterday at noon, I was with my mom for her dialysis evaluation. She lay in the hospital bed, gripping my hand, saying, “Sophia, I’ve thought it through. If you’re really set on Ethan, then marry him.” I almost cried right then and immediately sent Ethan a message: “My mom agreed to let us get married.” He didn’t reply. Turns out he was at City Hall taking wedding photos with another woman. I asked, “Does she know about me?” Ethan was silent for two seconds. “Yes. She doesn’t mind. She’s young and insecure. She cried and said she didn’t want a wedding ceremony, just wanted to legally stand by my side.” I laughed. “Then after eight years with you, where am I supposed to stand?” Ethan looked up at me. “Sophia, you haven’t lost out these eight years. You’ve been living in my house rent-free.” I finally understood. His so-called compensation was letting me continue living here. Continue cleaning up after him, continue taking care of him. Just with my status changed from girlfriend to housekeeper. I went into the bedroom to pack my things. When I opened the closet, my hand froze. There was a row of unfamiliar women’s clothes inside. Pink sweaters, dresses, a nurse’s jacket. In the shoe cabinet was a pair of white sneakers. On the bathroom counter was a new bottle of face wash. On the nightstand was a thin hair tie. I picked it up and asked him, “She’s moving in?” Ethan stood in the doorway and said: “Tara can’t sleep alone in the dorm.” “So she’s sleeping in my bed from now on?” I took off the ring he’d given me and placed it on the table. It was a silver ring he’d bought the year he finished his hospital internship. He said once he became a doctor, he’d replace it with a diamond ring. Later, when he became a doctor, he said he’d buy me a ring after he bought a house. But now, he was married. I pulled out my suitcase. Ethan suddenly panicked. He wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Sophia, I don’t want to lose you. I’m just settling Tara in first. She can’t live without me. You’re different. You’re mature. You understand me.” Being held by him, I only felt nauseous. The doorbell rang. Tara stood at the door, her face small, her eyes red. She was wearing a men’s jacket. The one I’d waited in line for two hours to buy for Ethan last winter. “Ethan, I came to get my marriage certificate.” Then she looked at me and smiled. “Sophia, you’re here too.” I said nothing. She walked straight into the bedroom like she owned the place and opened my nightstand drawer. The marriage certificate was pressed under an old photo album. On top of the album was a letter. A letter my mom had written to Ethan. She’d just finished writing it yesterday and asked me to deliver it. The first line on the paper read: “Ethan, I’m entrusting Sophia to you from now on.” Tara picked up the letter and blinked. “Is this from your mom to you two? Sorry, should I not be reading this?” I reached out to take it. But Ethan grabbed it first. A corner of the paper tore. I watched him standing protectively in front of Tara and suddenly felt like this house was very unfamiliar. I’d lived here for five years. But now standing here, I felt like an outsider.

I forcibly snatched the letter back. Tara hid behind Ethan. Ethan’s face darkened. “Sophia, you’re emotionally unstable right now. Don’t go to the hospital tomorrow.” I looked at him. “I’m the head of the lab department. I don’t answer to emergency room doctors.” Tara’s tears fell instantly. “Sophia, I really didn’t mean to take what’s yours. I just love Ethan too much.” I laughed out loud. “Well, you sure know how to love—you loved your way right into someone else’s home.” Ethan lowered his voice. “Don’t be so harsh.” My phone rang. It was the dialysis center. “Ms. Walker, your mother is experiencing sudden chest tightness and unstable blood pressure. Please come immediately.” I grabbed my bag and left. Ethan instinctively followed. My heart actually relaxed for a moment. The next second, Tara clutched her stomach and crouched down. “Ethan, I’m dizzy…” “I didn’t eat last night. It might be low blood sugar.” Ethan stopped in his tracks. He glanced at me. “You take a cab first.” “I’ll take her to the ER. I’ll be right there.” I said nothing. As the elevator doors closed, I saw him pick Tara up in his arms. In the taxi, I called him three times. No one answered. At the hospital, my mom’s face was ashen. A nurse pushed a risk disclosure form in front of me. “Sign this. She might need emergency dialysis or even resuscitation.” My hand shook so much I couldn’t write my name. For eight years, Ethan always said, “Your mom is my mom from now on.” He said I didn’t need to be afraid. He said he’d handle everything at the hospital. But when the day finally came, I was the one signing. Outside the emergency room, I opened my phone. The first post on my feed was from Ethan. In the photo, he and Tara were holding up their marriage certificate. Caption: For the rest of our lives, please take care of me. Posted at the exact time I made my third call. A bunch of ER colleagues had liked it. Tara replied: “Thank you everyone! Ethan says he’s treating everyone to a big dinner tonight.” I stared at those words as my palms slowly went cold. When my mom woke up, her first words were, “Where’s Ethan?” I pressed my phone against my palm. “He’s treating a critical patient.” “Doctors are busy. I understand.” The family member from the next bed suddenly leaned over. “Isn’t your son-in-law Dr. Hayes? He got married, but the bride isn’t your daughter?” She shoved her phone in front of my mom’s face. I couldn’t stop her in time. My mom saw the photo and her breathing suddenly became rapid. The monitor immediately started beeping. I rushed out to call a doctor. Running to the nurses’ station, I saw Ethan. He was holding Tara’s hand, handing out wedding invitations to the ER staff. Someone teased, “Dr. Hayes, you kept this well hidden.” Tara blushed and leaned against him. Ethan saw me and frowned. His first words were: “How did you upset your mom like this?” I stood there, still clutching my mom’s critical condition notice in my hand. I threw the report in his face. “Ethan Hayes, where do you get the nerve?” The ER fell silent. Tara’s tears fell again. She said softly, “Sophia, don’t blame Ethan. It’s my fault.” Ethan pulled her behind him. “This is a hospital. Don’t make a scene.” I looked at the invitation in his hand and suddenly found it hilarious.

I didn’t make a scene. I just asked him in front of everyone: “What right do you have to blame me?” No one in the ER said a word. Tara leaned against Ethan, crying softly. Ethan lowered his voice. “Sophia, don’t interfere with work.” “You’re the one interfering with work.” “My mom is in the observation room, and you’re here celebrating your marriage.” Someone looked down, pretending to organize charts. Tara suddenly covered her mouth. “I feel sick…” The ER colleagues immediately started making noise. “Just got married and already pregnant? Dr. Hayes works fast.” Ethan’s expression changed. He immediately helped Tara up. “Let’s draw blood first and check.” My mom was still in the observation room. But he stayed by Tara’s side every step of the way for the blood draw. I stood at the lab window and watched him personally label the blood collection tubes. His movements were carefully precise and piercing to watch. She touched her belly, lowering her head with a smile. “I hope the baby grows up healthy.” Ethan said in front of his colleagues: “Once we have a child, I’ll give you a proper home.” I thought that sentence had nothing to do with me. Until that evening, when I returned to that house and saw an agreement on the table. Housing Arrangement Agreement. It stated: To facilitate Tara’s pregnancy, Sophia voluntarily moves out of the master bedroom. Holding the paper, I laughed for a long time. The down payment for that house was two hundred thousand dollars—money I paid. The renovation costs—I charged to my credit card. For years, I’d transferred three thousand dollars to Ethan every month for the mortgage. Only his name was on the deed. Because he said doctors could get loans more easily. He said, “Sophia, there’s no yours and mine between us.” Now he was making it very clear. The master bedroom for Tara. I even had to give up my bed. I asked, “What does this agreement mean?” Ethan sat on the couch. “Tara is pregnant. The master bedroom gets better sunlight. It’s better for the pregnancy.” I spread the agreement in front of him. “What about my two hundred thousand?” “What about the mortgage payments?” He frowned. “Eight years together, don’t make it sound so ugly.” Tara came out of the kitchen with a glass of water. She was wearing an apron, looking like the lady of the house. “Sophia, don’t worry. I won’t live here for free.” “I’ll give you eight hundred a month. Is that okay?” I almost laughed in disbelief. “Eight hundred?” “Are you joking?” I picked up the agreement and tore it up. Ethan suddenly grabbed my wrist. “If you keep this up, I’ll have to transfer your mom to a regular ward first.” I looked up at him. He continued: “And the dialysis scheduling doesn’t have to go through me either.” The room was very quiet. Tara stopped crying. She stood behind Ethan, looking down at me. Her expression was obedient. And also smug. I slowly pulled my hand away. “Ethan Hayes, you’re threatening me with my mom’s life?” He avoided my gaze. “I just hope you’ll calm down.” I nodded. “Fine.” “I’ll calm down enough to make you regret this.”

The next day, I went to the lab department as usual. The first thing I did when I entered the office was export all the transfer records I’d made to Ethan over the years. Including the expenses I’d covered when his father was hospitalized. And the chat records showing he’d been managing my mom’s medical files. I uploaded them all to the cloud, one by one. Ethan sent me a message. “Don’t make this bigger. Let’s talk tonight when you get home.” I didn’t reply. At ten in the morning, Tara came to the lab window. She handed me a blood test order. “Sophia, I’m pregnant. Can you expedite it for me?” The office instantly went quiet. I followed protocol and said, “Register, pay, and wait in line.” Tara’s eyes reddened. “Are you still mad at me?” I pushed the order back. “This is a hospital, not your living room.” She bit her lip and left. To avoid any conflict of interest, I personally handed the sample to a colleague for processing and recorded everything. At noon, the results came out. She wasn’t pregnant at all! Tara looked at the results and her face changed completely. Half an hour later, word came from the ER. Tara had abdominal pain and bleeding between her legs—suspected miscarriage. Tara appeared, supported by a nurse. Her face was pale, her hand covering her stomach. “Sophia, you can hate me. But the baby is innocent.” My colleagues looked at me differently. The director came over too. “Sophia, suspend your work for now and cooperate with the investigation.” I said, “Check the surveillance and the records.” Ethan interrupted me. “Tara miscarried because she was traumatized.” I looked at him: “How can someone who isn’t pregnant have a miscarriage?” Tara cried, trembling. Ethan threw a stack of documents in front of me. The papers scattered. They were notices about my mom’s dialysis deposit and bed adjustment applications. He looked at me coldly. “Kneel and apologize to Tara right now. I’ll make sure your mom can use the machine tonight.” Everyone in the department was watching me. My professional reputation. My mom’s life. My eight years of devotion. He compressed it all into one apology. I bent down to pick up the documents. At the bottom was a test order from another hospital. Tara had it done last week. It stated: No evidence of pregnancy. I looked up at him. His face finally showed panic. Tara screamed, “That’s not mine!” The next second, the director’s office door was pushed open. Someone from the hospital’s disciplinary office stood in the doorway. “Sophia Walker, regarding your suspected tampering with lab reports, please immediately accept suspension pending investigation.”

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I was at the boutique that morning, standing before the three-way mirror for the final fitting of my wedding suit. It was a piece I had spent months designing, a labor of love for the day I’d finally marry the woman who had been my entire world for a decade. The bell above the door chimed, and a young man sauntered in. One of the floor assistants leaned toward me, whispering that this customer had already rejected ninety-nine different suits in the last three months. Apparently, he was impossibly high-maintenance, backed by a wealthy, doting fiancée who didn’t mind paying for his endless revisions. As the assistant grumbled about the guy’s pickiness, the man suddenly stopped in his tracks. He pointed directly at me—or rather, at the suit I was wearing. “I want that one,” he said, his voice ringing with the casual entitlement of someone who had never been told ‘no.’ The assistant politely explained that the suit was a bespoke, one-of-a-kind piece belonging to a private client. It wasn’t for sale. Without a word, the man pulled out his phone and made a quick call. Minutes later, the store manager came rushing out, breathless and pale. He informed me that the man’s fiancée had just purchased the entire boutique. They were “insisting” that I hand over my suit to him. “Absolutely not,” I said, my voice steady despite the spike of adrenaline. “I designed this for my own wedding. It’s not a commodity.” The assistant who had been helping me earlier nudged my shoulder, whispering urgently, “Adrian, be careful. That’s the fiancé of Diana Beaumont. You don’t want to be on her bad side. Playing nice could open a lot of doors for your career.” The name Diana Beaumont hit me like a physical blow. My heart skipped a beat, then began to thud painfully against my ribs. If he was Diana Beaumont’s fiancé… then who the hell was I? … He saw the shock written across my face and mistook it for awe. A smug, practiced smile spread across his lips—the look of a man who knew he held all the cards. “You’re a designer, right?” he said, nodding toward my reflection. “Think of it this way: if I wear your work to my wedding, your name will be everywhere by Monday morning. It’s a career-maker.” I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I forced myself to swallow the bile rising in my throat and looked at the manager. “Let me see his contract,” I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. The manager hesitated, but after a sharp look from the young man, he handed over the tablet. I scrolled to the final page, my fingers trembling. There, at the bottom, was the signature I’d seen a thousand times. Diana Beaumont. Her elegant, looping script was unmistakable. It was the same handwriting that had filled the margins of my college notebooks. The same hand that had signed our engagement party invitations just months ago. Now, it was here, tethered to a man named Parker. The world turned cold, a sharp, crystalline frost settling into my bones. The reality was as absurd as it was undeniable. My fiancée, Diana, was living a double life. She wasn’t just cheating; she was planning a whole other forever. I felt my knees weaken. I reached for a glass of water on a nearby side table, forcing myself to take a slow sip. I studied Parker. He looked to be in his early twenties, radiating a restless, boyish energy. There was a haunting similarity in the set of his eyes and the curve of his jaw to my own. The realization didn’t bring comfort. It made me feel sick. He was a younger, shinier version of the man I used to be. “Fine,” I said, setting the glass down. “He can have the suit.” Parker grinned, unsurprised. He turned to head toward the dressing rooms, but I reached out and caught his sleeve. “This suit has a very specific silhouette,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Let me style your hair for you. It needs the right look to really work.” Parker’s private suite was a testament to excess—plush velvet sofas, a fully stocked bar, and rows upon rows of designer labels. He noticed my gaze lingering on the racks. “My fiancée’s doing,” Parker said with a casual shrug. “She says since I spend half my life in here picking out clothes, I might as well be comfortable.” I forced a thin smile. “She sounds very devoted.” Parker arched a brow and sighed, though his smirk betrayed his pride. “She loves throwing money at me, yeah. But she’s always ‘too busy’ to actually show up for the fittings.” The assistant, who had followed us in to help with the pins, chimed in. “Oh, don’t say that, Mr. Parker! Miss Beaumont was here for almost every other session. She must be truly swamped at the office today to miss this one.” Parker beamed at the compliment. “True. She hates being away from me. I’m sure she’s miserable in whatever board meeting she’s stuck in.” The words felt like shards of glass in my chest. I remembered how Diana had been so “checked out” during our own wedding planning. When I asked her about the venue, she’d just say, “Whatever you want, Adrian.” When I booked the photographer for our engagement shoot, she stood us up three times. I had told myself she was just stressed with the merger. I told myself she was doing it all for our future. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the time. She just didn’t have the heart for me. I picked up a curling iron and began to work on Parker’s hair. “So,” Parker asked, looking at me through the mirror. “Was that suit for a client? The staff said it was a ‘not-for-sale’ piece.” I paused, the heat of the iron radiating against my palm. “No,” I said softly. “It was meant for my own wedding.” Parker blinked, looking genuinely sheepish for a fleeting second. “Oh. Man, I’m sorry. That’s… awkward.” He said he was sorry, but there was no move to give the suit back. He tilted his head, his eyes bright and pleading like a spoiled puppy. “It’s just—I’m so incredibly picky, you know? And this is the first thing that’s felt right. You’re clearly talented, though. I’m sure you can whip up something even better for yourself. You’ve got this!” I managed a nod. “It’s fine. I’m in no rush.” As I worked, Parker’s phone buzzed on the vanity. He couldn’t reach it because of the styling, so he hit the speakerphone. “Hey, babe,” he chirped. “Parker, how’s the fitting going?” The voice was a warm honey-pour I knew by heart. It was the voice that used to whisper “Wake up, Adrian,” into my ear every morning when we first moved in together. Back then, she was like a child, full of light, tickling me until we both collapsed into breathless laughter on the floor. I turned my head away, blinking back the sudden sting in my eyes. I had almost forgotten what she sounded like when she was being gentle. She hadn’t used that tone with me in years. “I’m getting my hair done, actually,” Parker said, grinning at the phone. “This suit is perfect, Diana. It’s going to look amazing next to your dress. It’s such a shame you’re not here to see it.” “I know, honey,” Diana soothed. “I’m buried in the board meeting. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I promise.” Parker pouted. “But this might be the last time I try it on. Don’t you want to see us together before the big day?” A soft sigh came through the line—the sound of her giving in. “Alright, you win. I’ll head over as soon as we wrap up. I can never say no to you.” I let out a silent, bitter laugh. Last night, I had begged Diana to come with me to pick up the suit. I told her it was a big moment for me. She had looked at me with cold, judgmental eyes. “Adrian, stop being so needy. I have work.” Then she had walked away without a second glance. Apparently, her schedule was flexible after all. I just wasn’t the one worth bending it for. Parker hung up, looking victorious. The assistant sighed wistfully. “You two are just goals, Mr. Parker. Truly.” Parker laughed, then looked at me. “So, man, when’s your big day?” I froze, the question hanging in the air like a guillotine. Before I could answer, a rival designer from the shop—a guy who had always hated my “artistic” approach—walked in with a tray of accessories. He’d caught the tail end of the conversation. “He’s been working on that suit for months,” the guy sneered, looking at me with pure schadenfreude. “But we’ve never even seen this ‘fiancée’ of his. Honestly, we were starting to wonder if she even existed.” He turned to Parker, his face instantly transforming into a mask of sycophancy. “Now, you, Mr. Parker—you’re the lucky one. A woman like Miss Beaumont? She clearly can’t breathe without you.” I looked down, unable to find a retort. It was true. Diana hadn’t even set a date with me yet. Every time I brought it up, she found a reason to delay. I had been planning a wedding for a ghost. Parker frowned, seemingly coming to my defense, though his voice held a note of condescending pity. “Really? She hasn’t been helping? That’s a red flag, brother. You should watch out for that.” I played along, my heart a lead weight in my chest. “Maybe you’re right. I should rethink things. What about you? When are you two tying the knot?” Parker thought for a second. “The big ceremony is later this year, but we actually already made it official.” My breath hitched. “Official?” Parker nodded proudly. “Yeah, we eloped at City Hall on May 20th. I insisted on the date—5/20 sounds like ‘I love you’ in the old tradition, right? She was supposed to be on a business trip, but I talked her into it.” May 20th. My thirtieth birthday. I had waited up for her until 2:00 AM that night. She had texted me saying she was stuck at a conference three states away, exhausted and alone. I had felt guilty for even wanting her there. And all the while, she was signing a marriage license with a boy who shared my eyes. We had been together since we were eighteen. For a decade, she was the girl who couldn’t wait to turn twenty-one just so we could legally elope. Then, as her career took off, she became the woman who was “too busy for paperwork.” She had cried when I proposed. We were under a canopy of fireworks, and she had clung to me, sobbing “Yes, yes, forever.” I realized then that “forever” was just a word she recycled for whoever was currently holding her interest. Parker went into the dressing room to change into the final look. I followed him in to help with the delicate tailoring of the jacket. “Hey,” Parker whispered, leaning in close. “Could you guys let out the waist on the wedding dress a little? Just a preemptive strike?” I blinked. “The dress?” Parker smirked, a secret shining in his eyes. “She thinks she’s surprising me, but I know she’s pregnant. I don’t want to ruin her surprise, but I know she’ll be showing by the time we do the big reception. Can you make sure the designers know? Keep it on the down-low, though.” The world went silent. A cold, crushing weight settled onto my lungs. Pregnant. Diana—the woman who had told me for years that she was “strictly child-free”—was carrying a child. She had told me she was afraid of the pain, afraid of losing her career, afraid of being “trapped” by motherhood. I had respected her choice. I had defended her when her family pressured us. I had made my peace with a life that was just the two of us. And now, she was having a baby with him. I mumbled something incoherent and bolted out of the dressing room. I leaned against the door in the hallway, my chest heaving. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. Maybe she didn’t tell him because she planned on “handling” it. Or maybe, she just didn’t want a life with me. Parker’s phone rang on the sofa again. It was Diana. “Adrian!” Parker yelled from inside the room. “Can you grab that? My hands are full!” I stared at the phone. A dark, jagged urge took root in my mind. I wanted to see her world burn the way mine just had. I picked up. “Hello?” There was a pause. She didn’t recognize my voice through the digital filter of the phone. “Who is this?” “I’m an assistant at the boutique,” I said, my voice flat. “Mr. Parker is in the dressing room. Can I take a message?” She didn’t suspect a thing. “Oh, fine. Just tell him I ordered some afternoon tea to be sent over. Make sure he eats; he gets migraines if his blood sugar drops.” The tenderness in her voice was nauseating. It was a ghost of the woman I used to love. “Of course,” I said. “And one more thing,” Diana added, her voice dropping an octave. “Regarding the dress I ordered… tell the lead designer to adjust the waist. Make it larger.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Is there a specific reason for the change?” There was a long silence. Then, softly: “I’m pregnant. But please, don’t tell Parker. I want to surprise him. Just make sure the designer handles it.” I hung up and slowly sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children. She just didn’t want my children. Ten years. I had given her a decade of my life, and I was nothing more than a placeholder. Parker stepped out of the room, looking radiant in the suit I had built for myself. It fit him perfectly. We really did have the same taste—in clothes, and in women. The staff hovered around him, showering him with praise. Parker lived for it. He snapped a selfie and sent it to Diana. “Babe, look at this. I’m a masterpiece, right?” Her reply came instantly: “Stunning. You were born to wear that.” I watched him, a boy vibrating with a happiness I once owned. I remembered when I first started in design. I had no formal training, just a sketchbook and a dream. Everyone told me I’d fail. Except Diana. She was my fiercest advocate. Back then, there was a vintage gown in a window downtown that I used to stare at. I loved the craftsmanship, but I was a broke student and buying a wedding dress seemed like a jinx. I never told her. I just looked. The next day, it was sitting in my bedroom. I remembered the way she looked at me then—with a fierce, unwavering devotion. “Adrian, if you love it, it’s yours. Whatever you want to do, I’m behind you. Always.” She had loved me once. I knew she had. But time is a slow, silent thief. Parker was preening in front of the mirror when his assistant suggested a pop of color—a brooch, perhaps. “You’re right,” Parker said, snapping his fingers. “I almost forgot. I just picked up that piece from the auction house today.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He pinned a shimmering object to his lapel and turned to me. “What do you think? My fiancée won this at an estate auction for me. Goes great with the suit, right?” My heart stopped. I stared at the brooch. I moved closer, my eyes wide, my breath hitching in my throat. It couldn’t be. But it was. It was a vintage emerald and gold piece—my mother’s only heirloom. An antique that had been in my family for generations. Years ago, when the Beaumont firm was on the verge of bankruptcy, Diana had been desperate. I couldn’t stand to see her lose everything. I had sold that brooch—the only thing I had left of my mother—to inject capital into her company. It was the seed money that saved her empire. I had spent my life feeling guilty for losing it. Diana knew how much it meant to me. She had promised me, a thousand times, that she would find it and bring it home. She had found it. And she had given it to Parker. I felt the blood drain from my face, replaced by a searing, white-hot rage. My nails bit into my palms until I drew blood. How dare she? How dare she use my mother’s legacy to buy the affection of a boy she was using to replace me? The door to the lounge swung open. A familiar silhouette stepped in, bathed in the soft glow of the boutique lighting. “Parker, honey? Are you ready to go home?” I turned slowly.

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I was driving when the radio host casually dropped the bombshell about the rumored romance between Craig Ellsworth and Daphne. He frantically reached over to kill the volume, tripping over his own words as he rushed to explain. I just gave a careless shrug, telling him I knew it was all tabloid trash. When he kept rambling, practically begging for absolution, I laughed and teased that I’d even help him cover it up in front of his parents. The words had barely left my mouth when he slammed his foot on the brake. All the color drained from his face. It reminded me of that night not so long ago, when he had grabbed his ex-girlfriend by the arm and dragged her into a hotel room right in front of me. He had sneered at me then, his voice dripping with venom, saying that since I was so paranoid, he might as well give me a show. The breathless, muffled moans that had filtered through the phone receiver later that night shattered the very last remnant of whatever we used to be. From that moment on, I never shed another tear of jealousy. I never picked another fight. 1. The moment Craig Ellsworth took Daphne to that hotel room, our marriage effectively flatlined. So, when I heard their names strung together once again, praised by internet strangers as a match made in heaven, the breakdown I expected never came. Daphne was a prominent influencer. She had built a massive following on TikTok and Instagram by romanticizing her life as a Stanford graduate living her best life. A month ago, Craig made a cameo on her feed. It was an Instagram Story—just a two-second live photo. You could catch a fleeting blur of Craig’s distinct profile in the background. But more glaringly, sitting right there on the nightstand, was a box of Trojan condoms. The internet works fast. Within hours, sleuths had identified the mystery man as the elusive CEO of Vanguard Holdings. The screenshot went viral, climbing the trending charts on Twitter and TikTok. Her comment section was flooded: [Daphne!! Give us the tea, are you in a relationship?!] [Wait, isn’t that the CEO of Vanguard?] [Omg, the guy in the back is insanely hot. They look so good together.] Reading those comments, I had stood frozen in the middle of our living room. That unmistakable little gold-foil box practically screamed what was happening between them. A bone-deep chill washed over me. When Craig came home that night, I had waited for an explanation. He brushed it off with a handful of dismissive words. “It’s just a misunderstanding.” When I didn’t react, he added, “I’ve already had my PR team kill the story.” But after that, Daphne’s name became an inescapable phantom in my life. I heard the nurses gossiping about it during my shifts at the hospital. The algorithm, cruel and precise, constantly pushed her latest posts to my feed. The rumors of her and Craig only grew louder. The whole world, it seemed, was heavily invested in guessing the nature of their relationship. 2. The following weekend, Craig went on a “business trip.” I had made plans with a girlfriend for a spa weekend in the Hamptons. And there, lounging at the luxury resort, I saw them. Craig and Daphne. She was wearing a string bikini, her flawless figure on full display, with an oversized, expensive men’s suit jacket draped over her shoulders. Craig was right beside her. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the forearms, tailored trousers hugging his long legs. He looked utterly relaxed, completely in his element. Walking side-by-side, they were the picture-perfect couple. Craig leaned in slightly, tilting his head to catch whatever she was saying. I couldn’t hear the words, but they both broke into a synchronized, intimate smile. Later, Daphne went into the cabana to change. She emerged in a sheer white slip dress, but she kept his jacket firmly draped around her. I watched them disappear into the same private suite. Without thinking, I followed. Driven by some masochistic ghost, I pushed the heavy oak door open. My mouth moved faster than my brain. The accusation tore out of me: “Craig, you’re sleeping with Daphne, aren’t you?” Then, I froze. The suite wasn’t empty. A room full of executives and associates turned in unison to stare at me. Craig looked at me. His eyes were perfectly hollow. Glacial. He looked away, his jaw tight, and spoke barely above a whisper. “Get the door, please.” I forgot how to breathe. His utter dismissal was a public execution. The sheer humiliation radiated through my bones. The spa weekend was ruined. I made a hollow excuse to my friend and fled the resort. Craig didn’t come home until late that evening. Part of me felt awful for crashing his meeting, but beneath the guilt was a violent, uncontrollable swell of hurt. The bitterness rose in my throat, choking me. I couldn’t hold it back. “Craig, are you cheating on me?” I demanded. “What exactly is your relationship with her?” He gave me a sideways glance, his demeanor entirely detached. “Jodie. What exactly do you want our relationship to be?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Barging in like that in front of a dozen people—did you even for a second consider how you were affecting her reputation?” My mind went entirely blank. My stomach dropped through the floor. His coldness was a surgical blade, slipping perfectly between my ribs. Craig cast one last disgusted look at me, then turned his back and vanished into the darkness of the house. 3. The cold war began. Craig started taking back-to-back business trips. The final, fatal blow happened at a boutique hotel in Manhattan, a property owned by Vanguard. I saw them in the lobby. Daphne and Craig. I watched them step into the private elevator reserved for the penthouse suites. I followed them up. “Craig.” They both stopped in the dimly lit corridor and turned to face me. I looked at my husband. “Is this your ‘business trip’? Booking a suite with your ex-girlfriend?” Craig let out a dark, breathless laugh. “Fine,” he said. “You’re so convinced I’m cheating on you?” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing mine. “Do you want me to give you a show?” Before I could process the threat, his hand wrapped tightly around Daphne’s arm, pulling her toward the door of the suite. His eyes, pitch-black and fathomless, locked onto mine. “What? Aren’t you going to follow us in and see exactly what we do?” The door slammed shut in my face. The sound echoed down the empty hallway like a gunshot. My eyes burned. My throat constricted so tightly I couldn’t draw air, let alone speak. By the time I stumbled back into the elevator, my phone buzzed in my hand. An unknown number. I answered. No one spoke. There was only the quiet, rhythmic sound of a woman panting. Breathless. Ecstatic. I stood in the descending elevator for a long, long time. That unmistakable sound of intimacy confirmed everything. Craig and Daphne were crossing every line. A sharp ache pierced the bridge of my nose. Craig and I were finished. It was over. I hailed a cab outside the hotel. Sitting in the back seat, watching the city lights blur, I found myself scrolling through Daphne’s old digital footprint. The internet had dug up her old VSCO and Finsta accounts from high school and college. They had mapped out her entire romantic timeline with Craig. They were high school sweethearts. They went to Columbia University together, studying in different departments. Looking at her old posts, I saw a version of Craig I had never met. The Craig on her feed remembered her menstrual cycle and packed Advil for her. He patiently followed her to every trendy pop-up cafe in the city, holding her bags. He bought a professional camera and learned photography just so he could take the perfect candid shots of her. He took her to Disneyland. To the Hamptons. Her old feed was saturated in the blinding, sickeningly sweet pink of young love. Every word she wrote dripped with the security of a girl who knew she was adored. [He literally spent a month learning how to edit photos just for me.] [He tracks my period better than I do. I swear he loves me more than I love myself.] Under that post, an old comment read: [Omg Daphne, I’m a freshman from your high school! Everyone at Columbia still talks about you and Craig. You guys are literal goals. Forever endgame!] And Craig, using his own account, had replied to that freshman: [Thank you. I’m going to hold onto her for a long time.] Now, the old Columbia University Reddit threads were ablaze again, brought back to life by the recent rumors. [Craig and Daphne were the golden couple on campus. They only broke up because she left for Stanford, right?] [So this is the ultimate reunion? The one that got away?] [I have a wild theory. Daphne’s family isn’t exactly loaded. Stanford out-of-state tuition is insane. What if Craig footed the bill? That makes it even more romantic—the billionaire CEO grinding in NY to support his girl on the West Coast.] Craig flew out to California religiously every year. Daphne’s alma mater was in California. My hands shook violently against the illuminated screen. I didn’t dare think about it any deeper. 4. Ten minutes after I got home, the front door unlocked. Craig walked in. His suit was immaculate. Not a single hair out of place. He looked entirely undisturbed. My eyes were still red and swollen. I refused to look at him. He walked over and grabbed my wrist. “Nothing happened between us,” he said, his voice an attempt at soothing. “Earlier tonight… I was just angry. I was trying to provoke you.” He was explaining. But it was too late. The damage was in my marrow now. I gave a small, hollow nod. “Okay. I understand.” I didn’t speak another word to him for the rest of the night. The next morning, I felt entirely hollowed out, so I took a cab to the hospital. When my shift ended, the thought of going back to that house felt suffocating. Diane, an attending physician on my floor, had a night shift but desperately needed to attend her daughter’s parent-teacher conference. I offered to cover for her. The ER was a war zone that night. We had multiple trauma arrivals. By the time I finally scrubbed out of surgery, my phone screen was lit up with over a dozen missed calls. Diane rushed back into the breakroom, out of breath. “Jo, thank you so much,” she sighed, dumping her bag on the chair. “I heard you guys got slammed and you had to scrub in. I am so sorry. I brought you an iced matcha.” I didn’t bother being polite. I took the drink gratefully. “Thanks, Diane. I’m gonna head out now.” She smiled warmly. “I owe you one.” It was almost midnight when I walked out of the hospital sliding doors. Since I had cabbed to work, I ordered an Uber home. Only after I settled into the back seat did I actually check my phone. Every single missed call was from Craig. He had texted too: [Where are you?] [I’m in the hospital parking garage. I’m waiting for you.] I stared at the screen as the car merged onto the avenue. [Don’t bother.] [I’m already on my way home.] Shortly after I unlocked the front door, I heard his car pull into the driveway. Something fundamental had shifted inside me since that night at the hotel. Seeing him suddenly walk through the door left me feeling nothing but awkwardness. We stood in the foyer, staring at each other. The air was thick and strange. His dark eyes were fixed heavily on me. I looked away. Every time I looked at him now, I saw Daphne. I saw him dragging her into that room. I heard the breathless panting vibrating against my ear. I saw the ghost of their decade-long romance filling every corner of my house. I used to carry the weight of this marriage entirely on my own. I would come home and tell him about the weird patients in the ER, what I ate for lunch, desperately trying to spark a conversation. But now? Now I realized we had absolutely nothing to say to each other. The silence in the room was deafening. It reminded me of another one of Daphne’s old diary entries: [God, he talks so much. I’m literally falling asleep and he’s still dragging me into a conversation about his finance models.] My chest seized up tight. Craig’s deep voice shattered the quiet. “Weren’t you on the day shift? Why are you back so late?” I could feel the weight of his gaze tracking my every movement. I kept my back to him, walking over to the kitchen island to pour a glass of water. “Yeah.” I didn’t explain. I didn’t have the energy to. He didn’t deserve the details of my life anymore. When I turned around, he was standing right behind me. His lips parted, like he was trying to find the right words. I beat him to it, and he swallowed whatever he was about to say. “I’m going to take a shower.” When I stepped out of the bathroom, he was standing right outside the door. I jumped, startled. Catching his eye unexpectedly, I just gave a stiff nod and walked past him. Lying in the dark, my mind raced. Just sharing a mattress with him made my skin crawl. 5. Craig was an early riser. By the time I dragged myself out of bed, he had already showered and dressed in a crisp suit. Breakfast was laid out on the dining table. Craig sat there, his expression unreadable, reading the news on his tablet. Looking at the spread, my mind drifted again. I thought of Daphne’s tweet: [Told him I was craving a breakfast sandwich last night. Woke up to him in the kitchen making me the perfect BLT.] [His cooking is actually getting scary good.] A comment underneath: [You’re so lucky, girl.] Daphne’s reply: [Haha, hoping you find your own happily ever after!] “Jodie.” His voice snapped me back to the present. “Eat.” I blinked, checking the time on the microwave clock. “You go ahead. I’m running late.” A heavy hand clamped down on my forearm. Craig looked up at me through his lashes, his dark eyes intense and unyielding. “You have time. I’ll drive you.” I sat down, forcing myself to swallow a few bites of toast. “My grandmother wants us at the estate for dinner tonight,” he said smoothly. “I’ll pick you up from the hospital when you get off.” I nodded mechanically. “Fine.” When I stood up to leave, Craig rose with me. His tone left no room for argument. “I’m driving you.” I rejected him without a second thought. “No need.” I saw his brow twitch, a minute furrow of irritation, but I didn’t care. I grabbed my bag and walked out the door. 6. I grabbed lunch with Diane in the hospital cafeteria. Between bites of a terrible salad, she brought up the upcoming medical exchange program in Asheville, North Carolina. She let out a heavy sigh. “Man, my kid is applying to college this year. There is no way I can disappear for three months.” “Honestly, anyone with a family here is gonna pass on it,” she continued. “And the newlyweds? No chance they’re packing up for the South.” I looked up at her. “Diane, if you’re not taking it… I will.” She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “Jo, are you serious?” I nodded firmly. “Yeah. I really want to use this opportunity to learn.” As soon as my tray was clear, I marched straight to the department head’s office and put my name on the list. Right as my shift was ending, my phone rang. Craig. I picked up, putting it on speaker as I organized my desk. His deep, velvet voice filled the small room. Diane and a few other nurses happened to be walking by. They stopped, leaning against the doorframe with knowing, teasing smiles. “Ooh, Jo. Is that the boyfriend?” I forced a laugh and shook my head. “No.” Through the speaker, Craig said, “I’m down in your parking garage.” “Okay, I’ll be right there.” The underground garage was dimly lit. He was leaning against his black G-Wagon, a tall, imposing silhouette. I walked toward him. To my horror, Diane was also heading to her car in the same aisle. She spotted us and walked over, her eyebrows raised in absolute delight. “Jo! Is this the boyfriend?” she beamed. “Not bad to look at, I gotta say.” My brain short-circuited. I spun a lie out of thin air. “No, no. He’s my cousin.” Craig slowly turned his head to look at me. His eyes darkened dangerously. Diane bought it immediately, her scandalous interest fading into polite nods. “Ah, gotcha. See you tomorrow!” I slid into the passenger seat. The leather felt suffocating. Craig got in, his jaw clenched tight. He turned to me, the engine idling. “Why did you say that?” I looked straight ahead, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I don’t want my coworkers getting the wrong idea.” Craig flinched slightly. A deep frown etched into his forehead. “The wrong idea?” He put the car in drive and pulled out of the garage. The radio was on, tuned to a pop-culture SiriusXM channel. A bubbly host was mid-sentence. “…Vanguard CEO Craig Ellsworth and influencer Daphne were spotted at a luxury Hamptons resort recently. Daphne was wearing a tiny bikini, draped in Craig’s suit jacket. Let me tell you, the sexual tension in those photos is off the charts…” Craig slammed his hand against the console, killing the radio instantly. He exhaled sharply. “You were there that day. You know there were other investors present.” I stared out the window at the passing traffic. “I know,” I said lightly. Craig tried again. “Nothing happened between us.” A small, cynical smile touched my lips. I assumed he was just doing damage control so I wouldn’t rat him out to his family tonight. “Relax,” I said. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word to your grandmother.” Craig slammed his foot on the brake. The SUV lurched forward violently before skidding to a halt. The blood drained completely from his face. He stared at me, a violent storm of emotions swirling in his eyes.

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The emergency room door was left slightly ajar, and Ted’s voice cut through the sterile hallway, reaching me loud and clear. He was telling the doctor that Daphne was a violinist. That her hands were her livelihood, that they absolutely could not be damaged. He demanded they treat her first. At that exact moment, I had just been pulled from the twisted metal of our car by the firefighters. My left wrist was slick with my own blood, a gash on my temple was steadily weeping down the side of my face, and a massive, ugly bruise was blooming across my thigh. By the time the ambulance arrived, the pain had escalated into a dull, terrifying numbness. My knees had been pinned in the crumpled gap of the passenger seat, the seatbelt biting into my collarbone so hard I couldn’t move. Half my body had lost all sensation. I remember the torrential rain hammering against the shattered windshield, the freezing wind howling through the broken glass. And I remember watching, helpless and pinned, as Ted kicked his door open, scooped up a bleeding Daphne, and disappeared into the storm with her. He moved like a man possessed. He never once looked back. “Daphne!” In the chaotic second the car was struck and the metal buckled inward, I didn’t even hear my own scream. I only heard my husband screaming another woman’s name. Right then, in the freezing wreckage, I simply stopped struggling. I finally understood. I could live a hundred lifetimes, and I would never win against the ghost of his first love. … “How is this woman related to you, sir?” the doctor asked. Ted hesitated. The silence lasted exactly two seconds. “Just treat them both.” That sentence was the perfect summary of what he had given me for the past three years. He never rejected me. He never truly acknowledged me. He never blatantly picked a side, but he never, not once, stood firmly in my corner. Lying on the narrow hospital bed, staring at the fluorescent ceiling panels, I suddenly let out a laugh. The nurse bandaging my head paused, her voice gentle. “Does it hurt?” “I’m okay,” I whispered. The truth was, the pain was blinding. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. But compared to the physical agony, what hurt far worse was the realization that I wasn’t surprised. Not even a little. Because this wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last. When Ted finally pushed open the door to my cubicle, I had just finished getting stitches. His shoulders were still soaked from the rain. There was blood on the cuffs of his expensive dress shirt, and I didn’t know if it was Daphne’s or mine. “How bad is it?” he asked. I looked at him, my voice eerily calm. “Ted, I want a divorce.” He froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to drop that word, not here, not now. His brow furrowed, and his tone slipped into that familiar, restrained impatience. “Nancy, you’re running high on adrenaline right now. We’ll talk about this when you’ve calmed down.” “I am perfectly calm.” “Today was an accident.” “You’re right,” I nodded slowly. “The crash was an accident. But every single time you choose her over me, Ted—that is a choice.” His eyes darkened, his jaw ticking. “Do you really have to throw a tantrum right now?” I actually wanted to laugh again. A tantrum. To him, me asking for a divorce was just another hysterical female tantrum. We had been married for three years. Three years of staying up until dawn to help him draft proposals when his tech startup was bleeding money. Three years of wrangling his board of directors, drinking on his behalf at endless corporate dinners to secure funding, cleaning up his messes, and playing the perfectly poised, soft-spoken wife to the world. Everyone in our circle always said the same thing: Ted might be a little cold, but he takes good care of Nancy. He gave me black credit cards. He gave me a penthouse. He gave me a title. He gave me everything except his heart. Because every instinct, every subconscious reaction he had, belonged to someone else. Daphne. His untouchable golden girl. His first love. The dream he had never been able to wake up from. I used to be so painfully naive. I thought that if I poured enough warmth, enough devotion into him, I could eventually thaw the ice around his heart. It took me three years to realize the heart wasn’t frozen. It just didn’t belong to me. That night in the hospital, Ted didn’t argue with me anymore. He stood by the bed in silence for a long time before finally saying, “My grandmother’s birthday is next week. We’ll talk after that.” Classic Ted. Every time I backed him into a corner for an answer, he gave me a raincheck. I closed my eyes. “Fine.” Maybe it was how quickly I agreed, but he lingered, looking at me a second longer than usual. But I was already done explaining myself. The next morning, I discharged myself from the hospital. Ted had gone to check on Daphne. He sent me a brief text. Gideon is going to drive you home. Remember to take your meds. It read like instructions left for an assistant dealing with a minor inconvenience. Not a husband. Not a lover. Walking into our apartment, I really looked at the place for the first time in three years. Ted had bought this penthouse. He had chosen the interior design. Slate gray, stark white, matte black. It was beautiful, but it was as sterile as a luxury hotel lobby. The flowers on the kitchen island were white roses. Daphne’s favorite. The crystal wine glasses in the cabinet were a niche French brand. The exact ones Daphne had posted on her Instagram a year ago. The vintage record player in the study? The same brand Daphne used to obsess over in college. Even the low-fat yogurt permanently stocked in the fridge was Daphne’s preferred flavor. I am lactose intolerant. One bite gives me agonizing stomach cramps. It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed these little breadcrumbs over the past three years. I just chose to play blind. Because acknowledging them meant admitting that I was living inside someone else’s lingering love story. That I was just a squatter in my own marriage. Even though I was the one wearing the ring. As I packed my bags, I pulled open a nightstand drawer and found an old, brushed silver lighter. In the bottom corner, deeply engraved, was a tiny letter “D.” A gift from Daphne. I had asked him about it once, shortly after we got married. He had come home drunk, and as I was helping him out of his coat, it fell from his pocket. “You still have this?” I had asked. He only gave me three words. “Forgot to toss it.” And yet, here it was, years later. Some things don’t get thrown away because they are much more than objects. I put the lighter back in the drawer and slid it shut. Then I began clearing out my life. My clothes, my books, my skincare, my files. I erased every trace that I had ever breathed the air in this apartment. When Gideon, Ted’s executive assistant, showed up to help, he stood in the doorway, totally bewildered. “Mrs. Crystal… what is all this?” “I’m moving out.” He opened his mouth to argue, then wisely shut it. Anyone who worked closely with Ted knew that while I appeared soft-spoken, once I made a decision, God himself couldn’t change my mind. Gideon stood awkwardly for a long time before muttering, “Mr. Crystal didn’t mean anything by it yesterday, you know.” “Didn’t mean what?” “With the crash… Ms. Daphne’s injuries just looked more severe in the moment…” I didn’t stop folding my sweaters. “Gideon, you’ve worked for him a long time. Do you honestly believe I’m only upset about yesterday?” Gideon fell silent. Because he knew. It wasn’t just yesterday. It was never just yesterday. The first time was three months after our wedding. It was my birthday. Ted had promised to take me out to dinner. I sat in an absurdly expensive, dimly lit restaurant for two hours. I stayed until the busboys were wiping down the tables and I was the only patron left sitting by the window. When he finally called, his voice was hushed. “Daphne ran into some trouble in Paris. I’m dealing with it. I’ll make it up to you.” I had gripped the phone, my voice trembling. “What about my birthday?” Silence on the line. Then: “We’ll celebrate tomorrow.” The second time, my fever had spiked to 103 degrees. He was supposed to be in Chicago on a business trip. I didn’t want to bother him, so I drove myself to urgent care for an IV drip. Sitting alone in the clinic at 2:00 AM, I opened Instagram. Daphne had posted a story. The location tag was the exact same hotel Ted was staying at in Chicago. The photo was just two coffee cups, but in the corner of the frame was a man’s wrist. The watch on that wrist was the Patek Philippe I had bought him for our anniversary. He came home the next day, bringing me medicine and a tasteful gift, his explanation airtight. “Ran into her in the lobby. She was having a panic attack, so I sat with her for a bit to talk her down.” I didn’t call him on his lie. Because I was still lying to myself. I was still foolishly believing that one day, he would wake up and realize who was actually building a life with him. The third time was last year, when his grandmother was hospitalized. The doctors needed a family member to sign the consent forms for surgery. His phone went straight to voicemail for hours. I ran around the hospital alone, dealing with insurance, doctors, and nurses, absolutely frantic, until 2:00 AM. When he finally walked into the waiting room, I thought he had rushed back out of fear for his grandmother. Instead, his first words were: “Daphne has a big recital tomorrow. She was spiraling tonight, so I drove her up to her friend’s cabin to get away from the noise. I didn’t have service.” His grandmother had looked at me from her hospital bed and let out a long, heavy sigh. I still remember the look in her eyes. It was a mix of pity and absolute clarity. She saw the truth then. I was just the only one who refused to see it. I taped up the last box of books. My phone buzzed. It was Daphne. I stared at the name glowing on the screen, then answered. Her voice was just as soft and melodic as always, carrying a hint of a delicate, post-traumatic rasp. “Nancy? Could we meet up?” My first instinct was to hang up. But then I thought, no. Some things needed to be said out loud, once and for all. “Text me the address.” I met Daphne at an upscale cafe a few blocks from the hospital. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater dress. Her face was fashionably pale, and a tiny, pristine gauze pad was taped to her forehead. She looked like a bruised porcelain doll. As soon as I sat down, she spoke. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” “You don’t need to apologize to me.” She traced the rim of her latte, offering a small, self-deprecating smile. “I actually didn’t even want to move back to the States. Ted was the one who insisted I come back to recover.” I raised an eyebrow, staring right at her. If she noticed my frigid demeanor, she ignored it. Her tone remained impossibly gentle, almost aggressively harmless. “Please don’t misunderstand us, Nancy. There is truly nothing going on. It’s just… we’ve known each other for so long. It’s natural for him to feel a little protective of me.” It was a masterclass in manipulation. It wasn’t a direct insult, but it was far more humiliating than one. I kept my eyes locked on hers. “Did you ask me here just to tell me that?” She finally looked up, a flicker of mock-sympathy in her eyes. “Nancy, I know you hate me. But there are some things in life you just can’t change, no matter how much you dislike them.” “Such as?” “Such as the fact that he cares about me.” She let that hang in the air for a second before delivering the final blow. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” In that exact moment, the fight completely drained out of me. Because she was right. I did know. I knew better than anyone that the softest, most fiercely guarded part of Ted’s heart was never meant for me. I had just spent three years operating under the delusion that if I was just a little more perfect, a little more understanding, a little more patient, he would eventually turn around and see me. I waited three years. I waited until I was sitting in a crushed car next to his golden girl. I waited until he left me in the bleeding dark. I was finally done waiting. I picked up my black coffee, took a sip, and looked at her with total calm. “You can relax, Daphne.” She blinked, confused. “I’m done competing with you.” For a fraction of a second, her perfectly curated expression slipped into rigid shock. I smiled. “And it’s not because you won. It’s because I don’t want him anymore.” I stood up and walked out without looking back. Stepping out of the cafe, the autumn wind stung the fresh stitches on my temple. But inside, I felt unimaginably, euphorically light. Walking away didn’t mean I lost. It just meant I refused to bleed to death for a man who would only ever see me as second best. That night, I checked into a boutique hotel downtown. By the time Ted got back to the apartment, half the place was empty. My phone rang. I answered it. “Where are you?” “I moved out.” “Nancy.” His voice dropped an octave, the warning tone he used in boardrooms. “I told you, we will discuss this after my grandmother’s birthday.” “And I told you, fine.” “Then what the hell is this?” “It means that until then, we’re sleeping in separate zip codes. It saves us both a headache.” A heavy silence fell over the line. “Are you really going to push this?” I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my hotel room, watching the headlights blur into rivers of gold on the street below. “Ted, do you honestly still think I’m just throwing a tantrum?” He didn’t answer. I let out a soft breath of a laugh. “I guess I can’t blame you. You’re used to it. You’re used to me acting out and then quietly cleaning up the mess anyway.” “That’s not what I think.” “It’s exactly how you act.” I hung up before he could string together another excuse. The next morning, I went into the office. I was the Director of Corporate Communications for Crystal Technologies. I was one of the founding executives who had been with Ted since the garage days. When I handed my resignation letter to the VP of HR, he practically fell out of his Herman Miller chair. “Nancy… are you absolutely sure about this? Should we take a few days to—” “I’m sure.” “Does Mr. Crystal know?” “He’s about to.” I walked out of HR and nearly bumped into Gideon in the hallway. He looked panicked. “Mrs. Crystal, Ted is in a board meeting—” “Perfect timing. Tell him to check his email when he gets out.” When I went back to my office to pack my desk, my two junior managers were practically in tears. “Nancy, are you seriously leaving us?” “Yeah.” “What are we supposed to do?” I dropped a stack of PR strategies into my cardboard box, not missing a beat. “Keep doing your jobs. This company won’t collapse just because I’m not here.” One of the girls sniffled. “But without you, Mr. Crystal is going to lose his mind.” My hands paused over the box. A slow smile spread across my face. “Then let him.” I think that was the first time in my adult life I ever prioritized my own peace over his stability. It felt intoxicating. Less than ten minutes after the company-wide email went out, my phone rang. “Are you in the building?” Ted demanded. “Yes.” “My office. Now.” “If you have a work question, you can ask it over the phone.” “Nancy.” The suppressed fury in his voice was vibrating through the speaker. “Do not make me say it again.” The old me would have caved instantly. But today, I just adjusted my phone against my ear and said, “I’m busy packing up my desk. I don’t have the time.” Click. Three minutes later, he materialized in the doorway of my office. He was a tall, imposing figure in a bespoke suit, and the second he stepped in, the entire floor went dead silent. Every head in the bullpen swiveled toward my glass walls. I didn’t look up. I kept sorting my files. Ted stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes locked onto the printed resignation form on my desk. His jaw clenched tight enough to snap bone. “Is this a joke to you?” “Do I look like I’m joking?” He stared at me, the anger barely contained. “You are the head of PR. Do you have any idea what kind of market panic it will cause if you walk out the door right now?” I finally looked up at him. “Are we having a professional conversation right now, Ted? Or a marital one?” His lips thinned into a hard line. I stood up and handed him my signed handover checklist. “If this is about work, my contract requires a three-month transition period. You have me until then. If this is about our marriage, we can go straight to the courthouse the morning after your grandmother’s party.” You could have heard a pin drop in that office. He probably never imagined that I—the woman who spent years protecting his ego and our public image—would pull the trigger so ruthlessly in the middle of corporate headquarters. He never expected the woman who always left him a way out to barricade the door. It took him a long time to find his voice. “Are you really doing this?” “I’m just sorry it took me this long to do it.” After that day, Ted and I entered a bizarre, suffocating cold war. He didn’t bring up the divorce again, and he stopped trying to block my resignation. But suddenly, he was everywhere. When I went to drop off tea for his grandmother, he was sitting in her parlor. When I went to the hospital to get my stitches removed, the elevator doors opened, and he was standing there. When I took a client out for drinks, the waitress came over and told me the gentleman at the bar had already covered the tab. Even the concierge at my hotel whispered to me, “Ms. Crystal, a gentleman has been calling every night for three days to ask if you’ve checked out.” It was insulting. When I slept next to him every night, I was invisible. Now that I was walking out the door, he suddenly knew how to pay attention. Too little. Too late. Grandma Estelle’s birthday dinner at the estate was a massive affair. The sprawling living room was packed with aunts, uncles, and cousins. The champagne was flowing, and everyone naturally assumed Ted and I would arrive together. But I walked through the double doors alone. The collective shift in the room’s energy was immediate. The glances turned sharp and speculative. “Nancy, sweetheart, where’s Ted?” an aunt asked. “He’s on his way.” The words had barely left my mouth when the front doors opened behind me. Ted walked in. And walking right beside him, looking like a vision, was Daphne. The entire room went dead silent for two agonizing seconds. I stood holding a glass of sparkling water, and in that moment, I realized I didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. This was who he was. Just when you thought about letting your guard down, he found the perfect, surgical way to plunge the knife back in. Daphne was wearing a sweeping champagne-colored gown, her hair pinned up elegantly. She looked fragile, artistic, and completely out of place at a private family dinner—yet she stood next to my husband as if she owned him. Ted spotted me, and his footsteps faltered. Even he seemed to realize the catastrophic optics of what he had just done. But the older relatives were already sizing Daphne up. One of his uncles frowned. “Ted, who is this?” Daphne opened her mouth, her voice trembling slightly, but I cut her off with a bright, razor-sharp smile. “She’s a friend.” A friend. A friend he brought to his wife’s family dinner. A friend he chose to pull from a burning car while his wife bled in the backseat. What a lovely, versatile word. Ted’s face darkened. “Nancy.” “Did I say something wrong?” I looked right into his eyes, my smile not reaching my own. “If she’s not a friend, what is she? Family?” The air in the room practically crystalized. No one dared to breathe. The tension broke only when Grandma Estelle emerged from the hallway, leaning heavily on her silver-tipped cane. “Nancy. Come here.” I walked over and gently took her arm. She patted my hand, her sharp eyes lingering on the faint, pink scar near my temple. Then she looked at Ted, and her expression turned to absolute ice. “In my study. Now.” She was talking to Ted. Before the heavy oak doors of the study clicked shut behind them, I caught a glimpse of Daphne standing alone in the center of the lavish room, looking pale and humiliated. I just felt bored. Half an hour later, Ted walked out of the study. He looked like he had been put in front of a firing squad. The housekeeper came out and told me Estelle wanted to see me. The old woman was sitting in a velvet armchair, looking exhausted. She patted the ottoman next to her. “Sit, child.” When I sat down, she reached into her pocket and pressed a heavy, velvet box into my palm. Inside was an antique emerald ring, framed in crushed diamonds. It was the Crystal family heirloom. I stared at it, horrified. “Nana, I can’t take this.” “It’s yours.” “I can’t.” “And why not?” She looked at me, her voice quiet but carrying the weight of a judge’s gavel. “You’ve been married to that boy for three years. You’ve swallowed more poison than you’ve had champagne. If I don’t give this to you, who on earth deserves it?” My throat tightened. Estelle sighed. “I already took a strip off that idiot’s hide. Nancy, I’m not going to sit here and make excuses for my grandson. If you are too tired to carry this marriage anymore, I won’t stand in your way.” Tears prickled the back of my eyes. In three years, the only person in this family who had ever truly seen my worth, who had ever truly protected me, was his grandmother. She squeezed my hands tightly. “But I need you to remember one thing, Nancy. It is not because you weren’t good enough. It’s because he doesn’t deserve you.” I kept my head bowed. I couldn’t speak. The rest of the birthday dinner tasted like ash. Halfway through the meal, Daphne excused herself to the powder room. Ted immediately stood up and followed her. If this were last year, my stomach would have been in knots. I would have agonized over what they were whispering about in the hallway. I would have wondered if he was holding her, comforting her. But tonight, I just quietly picked up a piece of sea bass and put it on Estelle’s plate. Estelle watched me for a moment. “You’re really done, aren’t you?” I paused, then smiled softly. “Yeah. Pretty much.” Estelle let out a grim huff of laughter. “About damn time.” I almost choked on my wine. By the time I left the estate, a light drizzle had started falling. I had just reached the bottom of the front steps when Ted caught my arm. “I’ll drive you.” “I have a cab coming.” “Nancy, we need to talk.” I looked at him. “Shouldn’t you be driving Daphne home?” A muscle feathered in his jaw. “She already left.” “Got it.” I tried to step around him, but his grip tightened on my wrist. His fingers pressed directly into the deep, bruised laceration from the airbag. I hissed, sucking in a sharp breath of pain. He dropped my arm instantly as if I had burned him, staring at my wrist in horror. “God. I’m sorry.” What a novelty. Ted Crystal, apologizing to me. Unfortunately, I had outgrown the need for his apologies. “You don’t need to do this, Ted.” I took a step back, the gravel crunching under my heels. “What do you want to talk about? Do you want to explain how bringing her to Nana’s birthday was just ‘helping a friend’? Or do you want to break down the logistics of why pulling her out of the wreckage first made tactical sense?” “Does every single word out of your mouth have to be an attack?” “Is the truth attacking you?” I smiled dryly. “Because none of it is a lie.” He stared at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply, swallowing down some heavy, unnamed emotion. Finally, his voice cracked. “She came tonight because Nana used to be fond of her. She just wanted to pay her respects.” I nodded slowly. “And?” “I didn’t do it to humiliate you.” “But you did.” The silence that followed was absolute. The only sound was the rain hitting the pavement. I looked at him, feeling a sudden, bone-deep exhaustion. “Ted, stop explaining. Every time you hurt me, you tell me you didn’t mean to. But the bleeding is always the same.” “I used to think you were just emotionally stunted. That you didn’t know how to love someone. But I realize now that’s not true. You know exactly how to love. You just don’t want to put me first.” “So let’s just call it. We’re done.” I turned and climbed into the back of my waiting Uber. As we pulled away, I looked in the rearview mirror. Ted was standing alone in the rain. He didn’t chase the car. A few days later, my notice period officially ended. On my last day, my old team threw a small farewell party in the breakroom. It was just the core group, the people who had survived the startup trenches with me. One of the senior developers had a few too many IPAs. He got red in the face and pointed a plastic cup at me. “Nancy, I’m telling you, without you here, the boss is gonna lose half his soul.” I tapped my plastic cup against his and smiled. “That sounds like a ‘him’ problem.” When I walked out of the lobby with my final box of belongings, Declan was leaning against the hood of his matte-black Porsche. Declan was a partner at a massive, cutthroat PR agency in the city, and a rival I had battled in boardrooms for years. He’d been trying to poach me for eighteen months. “Finally escaped Alcatraz?” He spun his keys around his index finger. “I thought you were going to die behind a desk at Crystal Tech.” “I almost did.” “And now?” “Now, I’m going to figure out what I actually want.” Declan studied my face for two seconds before a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Welcome to the dark side.” A week later, I accepted an offer as VP of Crisis Management at Declan’s firm. The day the press release went out, the corporate grapevine caught fire. Some people gossiped that Ted and I had an explosive fallout. Some said I was smart to jump ship. And a few veterans whispered that letting me walk away was the most catastrophic miscalculation Ted Crystal had ever made in his career. When I read that last rumor, I smirked. At least someone in this city had some sense. It was two weeks after I moved out that Ted finally cracked and came to my hotel. I had been working late, drafting a campaign launch. When I stepped off the elevator at 9:00 PM, I found him standing outside my room. He was in a tailored suit, but he looked wrecked. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept in a week. I walked past him, slid my keycard into the door, and pushed it open. I didn’t invite him in. “Can I help you?” He stared at me. “You look thin.” Coming from him, the concern was so utterly absurd I almost laughed out loud. “And?” “Nancy, please. Stop this. Come home.” My hand tightened around the doorknob. “Whose home?” “Our home.” “That was never my home,” I looked him dead in the eye. “That was a museum dedicated to your memories of her.” His frown deepened. “I know I’ve been neglecting you lately. I admit that. But divorce isn’t a game. You shouldn’t throw our marriage away just because you’re angry—” “Ted.” I cut him off. “Do you really, truly believe I’m doing this out of spite?” He went quiet. I held his gaze. My voice was dangerously quiet, dropping every word like a stone into a glass lake. “The day of the crash. When I was trapped in that seat, bleeding, and I watched you carry her away… I had an epiphany.” “I spent three years bending over backwards for you. I sold my soul for your company, I drank your clients under the table, I played the perfect wife for your family. But the second it was life or death, your body moved toward her.” “In that moment, I wasn’t angry. I woke up.” “I finally realized that no matter how much I bled for you, no matter how perfect I was, I was never going to win against her.” “And since the game is rigged, I’m done playing.” I watched the words hit him. He actually flinched. It was the look of a man who suddenly realized the ground beneath him was gone. He realized I wasn’t negotiating. I wasn’t punishing him. I wasn’t waiting for flowers or an apology. I was just gone. Watching the color drain from his face, I felt a morbid sense of amusement. So, Ted Crystal knows how to panic. Too bad it didn’t move me at all. “Have a good night,” I said. “Don’t come back here.” I went to shut the door, but he slammed his hand against the wood, holding it open. “Nancy, what do you want me to do? Tell me what to do.” I looked at his hand. This was the first time in three years he had ever asked me what he should do. Usually, I was the one swallowing my pride, adjusting to his orbit, fixing the cracks. Now he wanted a map. But I had burned it. “It’s simple,” I said. “Sign the papers.” The tendons in his hand stood out in stark relief. It took him a long time to speak, his voice thick and wrecked. “Anything but that.” A tiny tremor went through my chest. Not from pity. From irony. “That’s funny,” I smiled thinly. “Because ‘anything but that’ is what you gave me for three years. You’re an expert at it.” I pushed his hand back and slammed the door. The hallway outside remained perfectly silent. It was silent for so long I thought he had left. But when I finally peeked through the peephole, he was still standing there. Standing perfectly still, staring at the closed door, like a man who had arrived years too late to realize the woman inside was never coming back out. I walked away and didn’t look again. For the next month, I didn’t ask anyone about Ted. I didn’t care. Until his company blew up in a spectacular PR disaster.

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When the rest of the world woke up with memories of the apocalypse, I became the only outlier. My parents, who had always loved me more than anything in the world, didn’t hesitate to liquidate every single asset we owned, handing every last cent over to the Global Defense Coalition. Even my boss, a man so notoriously cheap he’d squeeze a dime until it bled, suddenly open-sourced all of our company’s highly classified proprietary tech. He went on national television and said we had to carry the weight of this alongside the rest of humanity. It was as if someone had pressed a massive, invisible “Unite” button on the entire planet. Everyone was violently, desperately preparing for a coming catastrophe. Everyone except me. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I was a stranger in my own reality. The exact moment my parents realized I didn’t possess these “reborn” memories, the look in their eyes completely fractured. It was a gaze so complex and utterly terrifying that it made my pulse hammer in my throat, yet I couldn’t put a name to the emotion behind it. From that day forward, my life went dead silent. They never spoke another word to me. Just like that, I was thoroughly and completely abandoned by the entire human race. 1. Brrrring. My alarm jolted me awake. April 3, 2026. The morning sun was pouring through the blinds, bright and completely ordinary. I was just reaching out to swipe off the alarm when a text popped up from my boyfriend, Gavin: “Jo, I messed up. I’m so sorry. I can’t live without you! Please, just give me one more chance? For the next three years, I swear I won’t leave your side for a single second!” I stared at the screen, entirely dumbfounded. Why on earth was Gavin sending me something like this? We were still deeply in the honeymoon phase. We hadn’t even had a fight, let alone broken up! Before my brain could even process his text, an audio message from my mom chimed in: “Joanna, your father and I are on our way to your apartment right now. We’re going to be together, sweetheart. All of us. We are never, ever being separated again!” Hearing the hysterical, sobbing crack in my mother’s voice only deepened my confusion. What the hell had happened overnight? It wasn’t just my parents and my boyfriend acting like they’d lost their minds. My company’s Slack channel was exploding. “I’m drafting an itinerary to backpack across the globe. Who’s coming with me?” “I’m in! I’ve been a corporate slave my whole life and I haven’t even seen the Pacific Ocean. I’m actually going to live this time!” “A vacation? Are you kidding me? You selfish cowards, the world is on the brink and you’re only thinking about yourselves…” Two distinct factions were ripping into each other in the general chat. I sat up in bed, eyes wide, totally paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of it. Our company policy explicitly forbade non-work-related chatter in the main channels. If anyone so much as posted a meme, our tyrannical boss, Mr. Wallace, would usually swoop in and dock their bonuses. Why were my coworkers acting so recklessly? And was Wallace just sleeping in? Why hadn’t he intervened? Through the fog of my confusion, the doorbell rang. My parents were here. I practically sprinted to the door, desperate to ask them what was going on. But before I could even get a word out, my mother lunged forward, wrapping me in a suffocating embrace, weeping so hard her whole body shook. My dad, a man who treated emotional vulnerability like a physical allergy, had eyes that were bloodshot and brimming with tears. “Joanna, listen to me. We’re selling the house. We’re giving the funds to the federal emergency mandate, and we’re moving into this apartment with you.” “This way, we can do our part for the survival effort, and we get to stay together!” I physically recoiled, the words tearing out of me: “Dad, are you insane?” “If you missed me, you could have just come to visit! Why would you sell the house? What about your retirement?” The second those words left my mouth, my mother’s sobbing stopped. Instantly. Her expression morphed with a whiplash-inducing speed. She looked at me with a bizarre, almost panicked scrutiny. The warmth drained from my father’s face, leaving behind something cold and hardened. “Joanna, what are you talking about?” “You’re the most educated person in this family. You’ve always been the rational one. You know perfectly well that right now, humanity has to stand united. We have to give everything we have to the state. Otherwise, none of us are going to live to see retirement.” “How could you say something so selfish?” I felt like the floor was tilting. None of this made any sense. “Dad, I literally don’t understand a word you’re saying!” I cried. “Are we at war? Did the country get attacked? Even if we are, the government doesn’t need the money from our suburban three-bedroom!” In the next heartbeat, the look in my parents’ eyes shifted from confusion into something else. Something resembling pure, unadulterated dread. When they spoke, their voices were hoarse, trembling with a probing terror. “Joanna…” “Do you really… not remember anything?” 2. Their deeply unsettling reaction was making my skin crawl. “What am I supposed to remember?!” I demanded, throwing my hands up. “I’m going to be late for work. Just tell me what’s going on, stop with the cryptic nonsense!” My dad stumbled backward. Two full steps. My mom desperately tried to reach out to me, to say something, but my dad grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t talk to her!” “You’re the one who’s out of your mind, she’s our daughter! She just hasn’t fully acclimated to the Return yet, her memories just haven’t—” My mom shoved him away and fiercely grabbed both of my hands. “Jo, sweetheart, did you forget? We are all Returners. Three years from now, the end of the world happens. We all died. But we’ve been given a second chance. We’ve been sent back.” “Our only chance at survival is to pool every single resource we have and face this together!” I stared at her. A beat of total silence passed before a sharp, incredulous laugh punched its way out of my chest. “Did you guys really drive all the way over here at eight in the morning to pull this ridiculous prank on me?” I glanced at my phone. 8:50 AM. If I didn’t leave right now, I was actually going to be late. And Wallace never hesitated to dock pay for tardiness. “Look, I have to go to work. Whatever this is, we can talk about it tonight.” I didn’t believe a single word of their sci-fi doomsday pitch. I sidestepped them and hurried out the door. They didn’t try to stop me. As I walked down the hall, I could faintly hear my mother’s gut-wrenching wails echoing from inside my apartment. “Why did it have to be this way? God, why did it have to be our little girl?” Her grief grated on my nerves. Part of me suspected this was some elaborate, manipulative theatrical performance to get me to agree to them selling the house. They had brought up liquidating their assets to play the stock market before. I had vehemently talked them down, terrified they would lose their entire nest egg. Were they trying this angle again? But I wasn’t a child. What was the point of using such an absurd, unbelievable lie? “Jo!” Gavin’s voice shattered my racing thoughts. He was standing by the entrance of my apartment complex, frantically waving at me from a distance. “I already quit my job, Jo! Every single second I have left is going to be devoted to you. We are never spending a minute apart!” Looking at Gavin’s red-rimmed eyes and the desperate, manic devotion swimming in them, I suddenly remembered the text he had sent me. He had said he wouldn’t leave my side for the next three years. My parents had just said the world ends in three years. Was Gavin playing along with this “Returner” prank too? No. I froze in my tracks, my eyes locking onto his. “Gavin, did my parents put you up to this? Did they tell you they want to sell the house, and you’re helping them gaslight me?” Gavin blinked, genuine bewilderment washing over his face. I knew his expressions well enough to know he wasn’t acting. Ping— His phone buzzed. From where I stood, I could see my father’s contact photo pop up on his lock screen, though I couldn’t read the text. I took a step toward him. “What did my dad just text you?” Gavin didn’t answer. A second ago, he had looked like a man violently, desperately in love with me. Now, his eyes widened in sheer, abject horror. He pointed a trembling finger at me, stumbling backward as if I were holding a loaded gun. “You… you…” “You’re not one of us!” He let out a strangled, guttural noise and turned on his heel, sprinting away without once looking back. I tried texting him. Message Not Delivered. You have been blocked. I tried calling him. Straight to voicemail. I opened my phone, intending to reach out to one of Gavin’s friends, only to be met with something far more terrifying. My social media feeds. Almost everyone I knew, as if part of some massive, synchronized cult, had posted screenshots of digital receipts. They were entirely liquidating their bank accounts, their stocks, their properties, and transferring the funds to a newly formed Global Defense Coalition. 3. I clicked on a link from one of the screenshots. It took me to an official, government-backed portal. It was real. The site was clunky, clearly rushed into existence overnight, but it had a public ledger. You could type in a donor’s name and see exactly what they had surrendered. I typed in my father’s name. They had done it. They had actually surrendered their life savings and the deed to the house. It wasn’t a scheme to play the stock market. They weren’t lying. A shard of ice slid down my spine. At that exact moment, I saw my parents rushing out of my apartment building. “Are you really from the future?!” I yelled, running toward them. But the moment they saw me, it was like they were looking at a ghost. They violently flinched, veering away to avoid coming anywhere near me. They scrambled into their car. I threw myself in front of the hood, desperate for an answer. My father didn’t even hesitate. He slammed his foot on the gas. I barely threw myself out of the way in time, scraping my knees on the asphalt. They hadn’t even tapped the brakes. They didn’t care if they killed me. I sat on the pavement, the world spinning out of focus. Why? Why had the people who loved me most—my parents, the man I was going to marry—suddenly severed all ties with me? Just because they were “Returners” and I wasn’t? Brrrring— My phone rang, pulling me out of my shock. It was my boss, Wallace. His voice was frantic, breathless. “Where the hell are you? Have you looked at the time?” “Get to the office right now. We need you to finalize the upload of all our proprietary algorithms to the Global Crisis Database…” White noise roared in my ears. Wallace worshipped money. Making him lose a dollar was like drawing blood. Our new algorithm was projected to double our quarterly revenue, and he was just giving it away to an open-source global database? There was only one logical conclusion left. The world really was ending. Half an hour later, scrolling through the news on my commute, I confirmed it. The entire globe was mobilizing to face a crisis three years away. I scoured comment sections, forums, and subreddits. Not a single person was questioning the concept of waking up with future memories. That meant it was everyone. Every single human being on Earth was a Returner. Except me. Because I wasn’t a Returner, my boyfriend and my parents were terrified of me. They cut me off to survive. But the logic didn’t track. Even if I didn’t have memories of the apocalypse, I was just one woman. How could one ordinary person possibly threaten the survival of the world? There had to be another reason they were so afraid of me. When I got to the office, I played it safe. I didn’t breathe a word about my memory gap. I pretended to be one of them. I sat down with the engineering team and seamlessly helped them upload our life’s work to the public domain. At lunch, everyone gathered in the breakroom. The air was thick with a strange, manic energy. A few people were talking about blowing their savings to live out their wildest fantasies, trying to make up for regrets they carried from their “previous” deaths. But the vast majority had already enlisted in the colossal, global engineering projects being drafted to prepare for the end. When there was a lull in the conversation, I took a calculated risk. I mimicked the exact look of visceral terror I had seen on my mother’s face that morning. “Did you guys hear?” I whispered, keeping my voice shaky. “I… I ran into someone today. A guy. He didn’t remember. He wasn’t a Returner.” The words hung in the air. Instantly, the entire breakroom went dead silent. The blood drained from my coworkers’ faces. The atmosphere became so heavy and suffocating it was hard to breathe. 4. I knew it. Their reaction confirmed my deepest suspicion: there was something monstrously wrong with not being a Returner. I kept my mouth shut, waiting for them to start whispering, waiting to glean some scrap of information. The office gossip, a guy who usually never stopped talking, broke the silence with a trembling voice. “Are… are there really people who didn’t return?” “Because if there are, that means—” “Shut up!” The tech lead, Diane, cut him off with a voice like cracked ice. She stood up slowly, her finger raising to point directly at my chest. “Did you all hear exactly what she just said?” Diane asked, her eyes boring into mine. “She said she met a Returner…” She paused, her voice dropping to a terrifying hiss. “She said she met a person who didn’t remember.” I didn’t understand why the singular phrasing was an issue, but the effect was immediate. It was as if a spell had been broken. Every single person in the room lunged out of their chairs, scrambling backward, putting as much physical distance between us as the breakroom allowed. I realized I had made a fatal error. I forced a nervous laugh, trying to do damage control. “Guys, what’s going on? Are you misunderstanding me? I’m not the one who—” “Then answer me this,” Diane interrupted, her tone lethal. “What was the specific catalyst that wiped out human civilization in our previous timeline?” I froze. My mind raced, but I had nothing. The internet forums had confirmed an impending apocalypse, but nowhere—not a single post, not a single article—had mentioned how the world ended. Were they deliberately censoring the cause of the apocalypse? Was the entire planet actively conspiring to keep this information from me? But… why? I was just an ordinary woman. What could possibly make me so dangerous? My silence was all the answer they needed. Without another word, my coworkers turned and practically fled the room. No matter what I screamed after them, not a single person looked back. Ten minutes later, the alert that I was a “Non-Returner” was pushed to every digital device on the planet. I was systematically erased from society. My landlord dragged my belongings onto the sidewalk. Every grocery store, restaurant, and hotel refused to process my cards or let me through their doors. I was banned from every public space. In fact, I was strictly forbidden from being anywhere near another human being. A squad of heavily armed, tactical military personnel was assigned to tail me. Their only job was to corral me away from population centers. I was forced to scavenge through dumpsters in the dead of night just to find scraps to eat. I was thrust into an existence of pure, unadulterated isolation, drowning in a sea of confusion and loneliness that felt worse than death. “Why?!” “I don’t have the memories, I get it! But I am willing to give everything for the future of humanity, including my life!” “If I am a threat to you, then just put a bullet in my head right now!” I stood in an empty, desolate lot, screaming at the squad of soldiers watching me through their scopes from a hundred yards away. “Why are you doing this to me? Why torture me? Why did you make my parents abandon me?!” They didn’t answer. They never did. A full year passed. I hadn’t exchanged a single word with another human being in 365 days. From my forced exile in the wilderness, I watched massive, monolithic space elevators pierce the clouds, built to harvest resources from other planets. I watched as armadas of interstellar warships blotted out the sun. And down in the dirt, there was just me. A fragile woman made of flesh and bone, someone who could be taken out by a single stray bullet. What made me worthy of this global quarantine? My sanity began to fracture. Late one night, I snuck back toward the edge of the city limits to rummage through the industrial trash bins. But this time, I wasn’t hoping to find food. And I had finally stopped harboring the delusion that my parents might sneak out to save me out of familial love. I was utterly, totally broken. I dug through the refuse until I found a jagged, heavy shard of shattered glass. Without a second thought, I drove it deep into the side of my neck. I thought I was finally buying my freedom. But the soldiers guarding me wouldn’t even let me die. They swarmed me with terrifying speed, applying advanced, futuristic trauma care. When I woke up, the wound was entirely sealed, and I had been dumped further out into an uninhabited wasteland. But something had shifted inside me. I was no longer drowning in despair. The fear was gone. I looked up at the sky, obscured by the shadows of a thousand battleships, and let out a dry, raspy laugh. “I know why you’re all so afraid of me.”

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I had never liked my boyfriend’s older brother. From the very first moment we met, he made no effort to hide his disdain, mocking my “pedestrian” background with a razor-sharp tongue. I swallowed my pride and endured his coldness, purely for the sake of the man I loved. I never expected a freak accident to hurl me ten years into the future. When I opened my eyes, a small boy—no older than five—approached me with a shy, tentative look in his eyes. He asked if I would come to his kindergarten’s “Family Field Day” tomorrow. Looking at that tiny face, which was a spitting image of my boyfriend, my heart melted instantly. I nodded before I could even think. Excited, he grabbed my hand and led me toward the hallway to “find Daddy.” As we rounded the corner, we collided with a familiar, towering figure: Everett, my boyfriend’s brother. Before I could stammer out an apology, the boy’s voice rang out with pure joy: “Daddy! Mommy finally said yes!” I froze. My mind went completely blank. 1 Everett reached out to steady me, his hand lingering on my arm for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. He looked down at the boy with a cool, measured expression. “Charlie, it’s past your bedtime.” Charlie let go of my hand reluctantly, his eyes filled with a mix of lingering excitement and hesitation. But under Everett’s habitually commanding gaze, he had no choice but to retreat. He trudged obediently back toward his bedroom. I watched the whole scene, my brain still stuck in a massive system failure. Daddy? He called Everett Daddy? And I’m the Mommy? I was a sunny, carefree twenty-year-old college student when I went to sleep. How did I wake up as a married woman with a child? And how, in God’s name, was the husband Everett? This made zero sense. He was my boyfriend’s brother. How did the next ten years involve me ending up in some twisted, forbidden romance with my own brother-in-law? And where the hell was my actual boyfriend? Everett watched Charlie disappear into his room before turning his gaze toward me. He studied me for a few beats, his eyes unreadable. “Are you not going to sleep? It’s late.” My ability to think had flatlined. I just followed his lead, my voice cracking slightly. “Sleep. Right. Going now. Immediately.” I looked up at him, and for a moment, I felt a strange sense of vertigo. The Everett standing before me was vastly different from the man I remembered. By my count, he should only be thirty-five now. So why was his hair so heavily streaked with silver? I felt a prickle of dark humor in my chest. I guess corporate life really does a number on you. Still, my old instincts kicked in. I couldn’t stand the weight of his stare, so I turned and hurried back into the bedroom I had just come from. I could feel his eyes on my back the entire way—a heavy, intense physical presence. God help me. Someone needs to explain why ten-year-older me married Everett and produced a five-year-old son. Before I could spiral further, Everett appeared in the doorway. He held out a small white pill. “Vitamins,” he said, his voice flat and concise. Suspicion flared in my gut. Vitamins? Then why not just give me the bottle? We stood in a tense standoff for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Everett let out a sigh so faint I almost missed it. He looked down, pulling the pill back. His movements were practiced, weary—like a man who was intimately familiar with being rejected. “If you won’t take it, just leave it be.” He didn’t push. He just told me to get some rest and walked away. After he left, I felt more lost than ever. Was our marriage this strained? Did we even sleep in the same room? But then a thought hit me: if I actually had to share a bed with Everett, I’d probably have nightmares for the rest of my life. 2 That wasn’t hyperbole. Everett had genuinely traumatized me in the past. The first time we met was at Beckett’s—my boyfriend’s—birthday gala. As Beckett’s girlfriend, I was at the top of my game: charming, well-dressed, and perfectly capable of handling a room. But the moment Everett saw me, he winced as if he’d smelled something foul. “Which backwater bargain bin did you crawl out of?” he’d asked. I was stunned. Ugly? Low-class? To be fair, I was neither. I was a dean’s list student with a scholarship and a face that could stop traffic. Everett had to be legally blind to say that with a straight face. If it had been anyone else, I would have torn him apart. But Everett was the head of the family empire, the eldest son, and a man known in the business world as a “cold-blooded reaper.” I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. “Hello, Everett. I’m Beckett’s girlfriend.” His expression didn’t shift an inch. He didn’t even give me a second glance. Instead, he looked at Beckett with a mocking tilt of his head. “Beckett, since when did your standards for ‘company’ drop this low?” Beckett looked mortified, trying to smooth things over. “Everett, come on. Isla is great. Once you get to know her…” “No need,” Everett cut him off, his gaze already drifting away. “I’ve delivered the gift. Enjoy your party.” He didn’t even stay to wish his brother a happy birthday. He just walked out, treating his own brother like a piece of insignificant furniture. Later, I learned that his initial greeting was just the appetizer. Everett’s tongue was a weapon designed to make people question their entire existence. Because of that, every time I crossed paths with him back then, I’d break into a cold sweat. I spent years worrying about whether he would approve of me if Beckett and I ever got engaged. I never imagined I’d skip the engagement, skip the wedding, and wake up married to the Reaper himself. I tossed and turned, my mind a frantic loop of these memories until I finally drifted into a fitful sleep. Somewhere in the haze between dreams and reality, I felt a presence. Someone was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me for a long, long time. Then, a hand touched my hair. It was a stroke so light, so impossibly tender, it felt like a ghost. Who…? 3 I woke up to the feeling of someone staring at me. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains. Charlie was standing there, his little yellow duck backpack already on, his eyes wide and blinking. “Mommy! It’s time to go!” Go where? It took me three seconds to remember the Family Field Day. Right. I scrambled out of bed to get ready. Charlie followed me like a little shadow. Everywhere I went, he was there, his eyes glued to me as if he were terrified I might vanish if he blinked. I couldn’t help it. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Charlie froze like a tiny, confused penguin. A deep crimson flush crept up his chubby cheeks instantly. He nearly jumped. “You… you kissed me!” I frowned, a knot forming in my stomach. What did that mean? Had the “ten-year-older me” been so cold that I didn’t even kiss my own son? That seemed impossibly cruel. Before I could dwell on it, Everett walked in. He was already dressed. I stared at him for a second. Seeing him out of his tailored power suits was jarring. In his athletic gear, he looked… younger. Almost approachable. Then my eyes caught the streaks of white in his hair again, and the thought vanished. No. Still old. Still Everett. Everett glanced at us—at the way Charlie was hovering near me—and his eyes softened for a fleeting second. “The event starts at nine-thirty.” I immediately let go of Charlie and hurried to get myself together. I might not have experience being a mom, but I knew how to look the part. I wanted Charlie to be proud of me. I picked out an outfit that felt like “me”—or at least, the twenty-year-old version of me. When I stepped out of the dressing room, Charlie started cheering, turning into a one-man hype machine. Everett, however, just stood there. He looked me up and down, his body stiff. Beyond the shock in his eyes, there was something else. A flicker of… nostalgia? 4 On the drive to the school, I stared out the window. Charlie was chirping away in the back seat. Is this what ten years later looks like? Everything felt remarkably the same. Technology hadn’t made some giant leap into the future. Even the scenery felt strangely familiar. Before I could process it, we arrived. Charlie was vibrating with excitement, dragging me inside. Whenever we passed one of his little friends, he would wrap his arms around my leg. “This is my mommy! See? I told you she was the prettiest!” I laughed, but then a cold realization hit me. Was this the first time ‘I’ had ever shown up at his school? Why else would he say something like that? I looked toward Everett, who was walking on my left. Our eyes met. I wanted to ask him something—anything—but he immediately looked away. Classic. Whether it was ten years ago or ten years from now, Everett was still the most frustrating man on the planet. The kindergarten field day was packed with activities. But when I saw the equipment, my smile faltered. Crap. I was wearing a skirt. I had prioritized “looking pretty” over “being functional.” Everett spoke up, his voice level. “You stay in the stands and rest. I’ll handle the events.” Charlie was equally supportive. “Yeah, Mommy! Don’t worry, I’m gonna win a medal for you!” I gave them a weak smile and headed for the bleachers. By ten o’clock, the sun was starting to bite. I squinted, watching the father-son duo in the distance. Maybe it was the sunlight softening his harsh edges, but Everett didn’t look so terrifying anymore. He looked… human. Watching him with Charlie was actually quite beautiful. The genes were strong. They looked so much alike. And yet, there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Charlie reminded me of Beckett, too. The thought of Beckett hit me like a physical blow. Where was he? Why was he gone? And why, since I woke up, had I not been able to find my phone? Had phones evolved into some kind of brain-link tech I didn’t know about? The cloud of suspicion in my mind began to grow. Suddenly, a warm voice spoke beside me. “You must be Charlie’s mother.” 5 It was the school’s principal. She sat down in the empty seat next to me and started chatting as if we were old friends. Apparently, the Blackwood Group—Everett’s company—was the primary donor for the school. I tried to mimic the way I’d seen my own mother talk to teachers, nodding and smiling. But the more she talked, the more unsettled I became. What did she mean by, “I know your work keeps you busy”? Why was she saying I should “try to be more involved in the school community”? And why was she gently suggesting that, as a mother, I needed to “spend more quality time” with my child? I was reeling. What the hell had I been doing for the last ten years? According to the principal, I sounded like an absentee parent. I said a dazed goodbye to her and watched Everett and Charlie compete in the races. Everything about this “time travel” was wrong. Why was Charlie so surprised when I kissed him? Why did I have no phone, no social life, no job? Why weren’t there any wedding photos on the walls of our house? The points were starting to connect, forming a dark, jagged shape. The cheers of the other parents felt distant, like they were happening behind a thick pane of glass. I didn’t belong here. When Charlie eventually ran up to me, beaming, I just nodded blankly. “Mommy, was I great?” “Yes, baby. So great.” Everett ended our day early and drove us home. Charlie didn’t seem upset by the early exit; in fact, he seemed used to it. He just kept watching me with an expression that broke my heart—pure, unadulterated worry. When we got back, I went straight to the bedroom. Everett followed me, but I blocked the door. “I just need to rest. Alone.” Everett stayed silent for a moment, his eyes searching my pale face. Finally, he gave a heavy nod. “Fine.” 6 The second the door was locked, I started tearing the room apart. It was a huge suite. Searching just one corner took me thirty minutes, and I found nothing. No clues. No identity. Frustrated, I went into the walk-in closet to change. My eyes were drawn to the very bottom drawer of the jewelry cabinet. It was tucked away, almost hidden. Driven by a strange, magnetic pull, I knelt down and pulled it open. Inside was a weathered, yellowing journal. I recognized it instantly. It was the style of notebook I’d been using since I was eighteen. I felt like I was standing at the threshold of a dark secret. My hands shook as I opened it. The damage was extensive; it looked like someone had tried to rip it to shreds. Nearly every page was missing a corner or a chunk of text. I read through the entries from when I was eighteen to twenty. It was full of the typical “girl in love” musings. I winced at my own younger self—God, I was so dramatic. I flipped faster. I wanted to see when things changed. Apparently, Beckett and I had stayed together for a long time. I desperately wanted to know what caused the breakup. But suddenly, the entries stopped. The dates ended right around my twenty-first birthday. I felt a wave of disappointment. Why didn’t I keep writing? Why was I so careless with this? I prepared to close the book and give up. But then, a scrap of paper—a torn corner from a later page—slipped out from the binding. There were only a few words. But they were written in my handwriting, frantic and jagged. [RUN!] [GET AWAY FROM HIM!] [HE IS A MONSTER!] My scalp went numb. Him? Did I mean Everett? Did he force the breakup? Did he force me into this marriage? It all started to click. The isolation. The lack of a phone. The silver hair. The “vitamins.” He had done something. He had taken my life and locked me in this golden cage. But ten years ago, he hated me. Why would he…? I couldn’t breathe. My head throbbed with a blinding pain. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the notebook. I stood up, clutching my chest, tears of sheer terror pricking my eyes. I have to get out. I have to divorce him. I have to run. As I turned to the door, a shadow blocked the light. I froze. Everett’s voice drifted from the doorway, low and dangerous. “Isla. What are you doing?”

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The day the SAT scores came out, I sent a message to my online crush. “I didn’t get into Harvard. Goodbye.” Then, I turned around, enrolled at MIT, and blocked him. Fast forward to my freshman year practical lab, the substitute T.A. called me out in front of everyone. “Come up here and solve this problem. I’ve taught you this before.” Me: “…” Are you kidding me?! Why is the online crush who wanted me to go to Harvard standing in front of me at MIT?! 01 After choosing my academic track in high school, my grades plummeted drastically. I was terrified I wouldn’t get into MIT. Out of desperation, I flirted with a guy online whose username was “Harvard Reject.” I asked him to help me study. He was gentle, considerate, and understanding. “Don’t worry. With me here, I guarantee you’ll get into Harvard.” I was flattered but slightly panicked. “No, no, no, not Harvard.” Actually, I was thinking: MIT is perfectly fine. “Tsk, what kind of talk is that, little girl? You can doubt your own IQ, but you can’t despise my abilities.” Me: “…” Yes, yes, yes. I really didn’t dare despise him. Because “Harvard Bro” really knew his stuff. Under his tutoring, my grades not only shot up quickly but also stayed consistently high. On my second mock exam, I scored an incredibly high 1560 on the SATs. I excitedly shared the news with him. Harvard Bro was very calm. “Yeah, that score should be enough for Harvard.” It was definitely enough, but I didn’t want to go to Harvard. I had always wanted to go to MIT. But during the year he tutored me, I clearly felt that Harvard Bro had a special obsession with Harvard. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have kept the username “Harvard Reject” for over a year. If I didn’t go to Harvard, would he be disappointed? Looking at the message he sent, I decided to test the waters. “What if I don’t get into Harvard?” “Don’t worry, you’ll definitely get in.” Hmm… He probably thought I was just nervous before the real exam and was comforting me. Just like that, I never mentioned my MIT dream to Harvard Bro. The day before the SATs, he sent a message telling me to do my best. He said he would be busy with his senior thesis for a while and asked me to message him once I got my scores. 02 The scores came out in late June. I got a 1580. Hmm… I could go to Harvard, and I could go to MIT. While I was agonizing over which one to choose, my mom got a call from the MIT admissions office at three in the morning. So, she decisively chose MIT for me… Goodbye, Harvard. Of course, I was happy to choose the school I had always wanted to go to. But whenever I thought of Harvard Bro, who had tutored me, I felt a bit anxious. He kept telling me to aim for Harvard, and now that I had chosen MIT… It felt like I had betrayed him. Just as I was agonizing over how to reply, his message came through first. “Scores are out, right? How did you do?” Look at this gentle greeting. The guilt in my heart deepened. I hardened my heart, gritted my teeth, and sent a message back. “I didn’t do well. I can’t go to Harvard.” “…” He fell silent. Before he could send a second message, I sent another: “I’m sorry. Goodbye.” Then, I decisively blocked him and went offline. 03 After that, I lost contact with Harvard Bro. Even though it was just a fleeting online connection, when I passed by the Harvard gates at the start of my freshman year… I couldn’t help but stop. My friend, Chloe, asked me what was wrong. She saw a trace of regret and longing in my dazed eyes. I sighed: “Once, I was this close to going to Harvard.” “…” She was speechless and dragged me toward the library to grab seats. “To be honest, every MIT student who passes by here says that. Hurry up, or there won’t be any seats left.” Me: “…” What an authentically refreshing, unpretentious humblebrag… Sure enough, there were no seats left in the library. Chloe let out a wail: “Are these people demons? They got into MIT and they’re still grinding this hard?!” At a glance, every seat was taken. There were a few seats left in the discussion area. But after hearing a cacophony of different languages and voices… We decided the “silence is golden” reading area was far more precious. “Hey, I see a spot! Over there!” Chloe excitedly slapped my arm. She immediately ran over to negotiate with the people sitting there. A few seconds later, she waved at me. “Audrey, come quick! There’s a spot here.” I walked over just in time to hear their conversation: “No problem. You guys are freshmen?” “Yeah.” Chloe smiled, her voice impossibly sweet. I quietly sat down and noticed the seat opposite me was empty, but there was a book on it. “You should definitely call me a senior, but I’m quite a few years older than you. I’m a grad student now.” “Wow, awesome!” While I was wondering if someone was sitting opposite me, Chloe had already exchanged numbers with the guy. After everyone settled down, it got quiet again. I looked down at my book. A little while later, the light in front of me dimmed. A figure pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. Then came a quiet conversation: “The professor dragged you to the office again?” “Yeah, there was an error in the data, had to recalculate it.” The first voice belonged to the senior who gave us the seats. The second voice was unfamiliar, but exceptionally nice to listen to. I sneakily looked up. A young man wearing glasses was sitting across from me. He had high cheekbones, deep and intense eyes, and long, thick eyelashes. His eyes were incredibly beautiful, almost like they were drawn in a comic book. He seemed to notice my gaze. He looked up. The moment our eyes met, I saw his face clearly. He was so good-looking that my breath caught. But this comic-book-perfect guy just gave me a flat glance. Then, upon seeing the textbook in front of me, he raised an eyebrow. He sounded surprised: “Polymer Materials and Engineering? Is that your major?” Huh? He actually spoke to me. I nodded. I took AP sciences in high school, and thanks to Harvard Bro, my grades were always good. So when I got to MIT, I chose this major directly. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but the man opposite me curled the corner of his lips: “Not bad.” I was puzzled when the senior next to him friendly added: “What a coincidence, that’s our major too.” Ah, that was a coincidence. A direct senior in my program. “Hi, nice to meet you.” I greeted him politely. The man just gave an “Mhm,” his attitude seemingly turning cold again. “Don’t mind him, that’s just how he is.” I smiled and didn’t take it to heart. 04 My major is a bit complicated. The homework is plentiful and difficult. It was another weekend. Chloe and I were stuck in our dorm room, getting a headache over a physical chemistry problem. Finally, Chloe let out a wail. “I really can’t do this anymore. Just kill me! Why is it so hard?! No matter how many times I calculate it, it’s wrong.” Looking at the few hairs she had pulled out of her head, I felt a bit bad for her. But we were helpless. College coursework was more than just a little harder than high school. “Should we go ask someone else?” “Ask who?” Chloe’s question stumped me. The professor… I was a bit too intimidated to ask. Classmates? Chloe, sitting right next to me, was the state science valedictorian. While I was agonizing over this, a person popped into my head. Harvard Bro. If Harvard Bro were here, this problem would probably be a piece of cake for him. But I had deleted him! If I had known that college homework would be this torturous, I wouldn’t have acted so impulsively back then. Just then, Chloe, who was lying there like a corpse, suddenly sat bolt upright. “I thought of someone.” “Who?” “The senior we met at the library last time. Didn’t I get his number? He’s in the same major, he definitely knows.” Chloe was a woman of action. She grabbed her phone and sent a text. A minute later, she excitedly grabbed me and started heading for the door. “Let’s go, let’s go. He agreed. We’re going to find him right now.” 05 Chloe dragged me to the research lab building. “They’re doing an experiment, we have to wait a bit.” Not long after, several people trickled out of the lab. Then, the senior who gave us his number—the one who gave us his seat—also came out. His name was Ryan, and when he saw us, he invited us in. “Is it okay to go into the lab?” “The people doing the experiment are inside; out here is a meeting area, it’s fine.” Chloe nodded a few times and pulled me to sit in an empty seat. Ryan sat across from Chloe, and I listened from the side. A senior is a senior; his skills were no joke. It wasn’t long before Chloe nodded in sudden realization. I was just about to ask something when the lab door was pushed open. The person who walked in stared at the three of us. “Hey, Liam, you’re back?” The person who came in was exactly the handsome guy with glasses who sat opposite me at the library last time. So his name was Liam. Liam’s gaze swept over Chloe and me. Ryan explained: “Oh, these are the freshmen we met at the library last time. They had a few questions they couldn’t solve, so they came to ask.” “Mhm.” Still that cold, aloof attitude. Chloe and I exchanged a look. Chloe pulled me up. “Well, um, thank you so much, Ryan. We’ll get going now.” “No problem, anytime. Oh, by the way, our lab is short two assistants. Are you guys interested?” Ryan suddenly asked. Chloe and I both froze. Then I acutely sensed Liam frown. Obviously, this guy was not thrilled about the idea. I was just about to decline. But Chloe said: “Sure! Um, Audrey, go ahead, get his number, we’ll be in touch.” Wait, why did I have to get his number? Didn’t she already have Ryan’s? While I was wondering this, Chloe pushed me forward, winking furiously. I was riding a tiger and couldn’t get off. I walked over to Ryan and Liam with a dry laugh. Ryan was straightforward and cheerfully exchanged numbers. Then it was Liam’s turn. I could see he looked ready to refuse. Sure enough, when I stood in front of him, he glanced at me. The words of refusal were just about to leave his lips when he looked down at my profile QR code and froze. “This is your account?” He suddenly frowned and looked up at me. “Ah… yes. Is there a problem?” “What’s your name?” “Audrey Miller.” “…” As soon as I said it, Ryan next to him burst out laughing. Liam looked completely speechless. I felt a bit awkward: “You can just call me Audrey.” “Where are you from?” “Hey, Liam, are you doing a background check?” Before I could answer, Ryan spoke up. And received a glare from Liam. Then Liam continued to stare at me: “Answer.” “B-Boston.” I shivered; I had to answer. But answering seemed to make things worse. Because after hearing my answer, the guy doing the “background check” suddenly let out a laugh. Then he looked me up and down. That look… how should I describe it? It was like looking at a captured prey. It made my hair stand on end. I felt like Liam was hostile toward me. Even though he had a smile on his face, it didn’t reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that was purely superficial. “Did pretty well on your SATs to get into MIT, huh.” That sounded weird. I didn’t quite process it at the moment and just nodded dumbly. “I-it was okay.” Liam smiled again. As if out of anger. But this time he took out his phone and scanned my QR code. “Fine. Come to the lab tomorrow after class.” Huh? Forget me, even Ryan was stunned. “Weren’t you just… unwilling?” He was forced to swallow his words before he could finish. 06 Because we joined Liam’s lab, Chloe and I didn’t join any other clubs. Just one lab was exhausting enough. Ryan had applied to their advisor for Chloe and me to have assistant positions. Twice a week, two hours at a time. Every time it ended, Chloe would let out a groan of exhaustion. But I was even more pitiful. Before I could even agree with her, a message popped up on my phone. “Liam asked me to go back to the lab again. There’s a calculation error in some data.” I got up. Chloe looked at me with pity. “Audrey, did you do something to offend Liam?” “No, I only met him for the first time.” “Then why is he working you to the bone every day?” When I entered the lab, I was assigned to shadow Liam. Chloe shadowed Ryan. After finishing our first day of experiments, Chloe expressed her condolences for my life as an assistant. “I heard from Ryan that Liam is an academic maniac. Audrey, you’re so pitiful.” During this time, I had a deep understanding of that statement. When Liam did experiments, he truly went without sleep or food. I went back to the lab building. Liam was the only one left in the lab. He was wearing a white lab coat and safety goggles. The whiteboard next to him was densely covered with calculated experimental data. “Liam.” Liam didn’t even look at me, just pointed to the whiteboard next to it. “The stuff I just sent you. Recalculate it.” “Oh.” The experimental data calculation was massive and repetitive. Once I started calculating, I lost track of time. “Done?” “Almost.” I answered honestly. Liam glanced at the clock on the wall. “What part don’t you understand?” “Here.” I pointed to a spot. Liam walked over and took the whiteboard marker from my hand. “Watch.” This immediate, no-nonsense tutoring style inexplicably reminded me of Harvard Bro. Liam put down the whiteboard marker. “Understand?” “I… I think so.” “Okay, it’s late, go back first. We’ll continue tomorrow.” Liam turned and said to me. “I’ll recalculate it one more time before I leave.” Liam, who was taking off his lab coat, paused. “Experiments are important, but your health is the most important. Go back and rest first, you’ll have a clearer mind to learn tomorrow. We’re done for today.” He hung up his lab coat and added: “I’m the only one with a key. Are you going to make me stay here with you?” “Ah, no, it’s fine.” Only a few key personnel had keys to the lab. I didn’t dare take a key, and I certainly didn’t dare make Liam stay with me. 07 We left the lab building. He said he would walk me directly back to my dorm. Unable to refuse, I followed silently. The whole walk was incredibly awkward. I felt I should find a topic to break the silence. “Um, thank you.” “It was nothing.” “…” There was no way to continue this conversation. I tried a few other topics, but Liam shut them all down. I think Chloe was right. Liam probably only had experiments in his brain. When I got back to the dorm, I complained to Chloe. Chloe considered it for a moment and said: “Could it be that you’re just bad at finding topics to talk about?” “Really? I thought the topics I picked were pretty good.” “But your conversation was so awkward. Are you like this with other guys too?” Other guys? I thought back. Besides my high school classmates, The only other guy was Harvard Bro. Even though we only talked online and never met in person, Our conversations flowed very smoothly. Especially Harvard Bro, he never let a conversation die. Comparing them, I suddenly missed Harvard Bro even more. I sighed. I wonder how Harvard Bro is doing now? I had originally planned to meet up with him and thank him in person after the SATs. If I added him back now… Once the thought popped up, it grew wildly like weeds. I agonized over it for days. Finally, I convinced myself: Logically and emotionally, I owed him an apology and a thank you. So, I unhesitatingly clicked on that familiar profile, And sent a friend request. 08 But after waiting for half the day, there was no acceptance. I felt deflated. He was probably still angry and didn’t want to accept my friend request. In a bad mood, I slouched through the entire morning. But just after classes ended in the afternoon, I actually had a new message in my notifications. “The other party has accepted your friend request.” Harvard Bro! I sat up straight in excitement and couldn’t wait to send the first message. “Harvard Bro! Long time no see!” “…” Looking at those ellipses, it felt so familiar. I was just about to type a long paragraph expressing my gratitude and how much I missed him, When a message from him popped up. “Why did you delete me?” “…” Oh man, I was planning to gradually lead into this topic, I didn’t expect him to cut straight to the chase. Fortunately, there was a screen between us, so he couldn’t see my embarrassment. I guiltily typed out a few words: “I was too embarrassed to face you.” “You got into MIT and you’re too embarrassed to face me?” “You knew about that?” “…” He fell silent again. I remembered I had posted a picture of my MIT freshman orientation on Instagram. He probably saw it. At this point, I could only apologize with the utmost sincerity. I explained my guilt and regret over the past few months. And casually mentioned that I had always wanted to go to MIT. It’s just that he kept motivating me with “Harvard, Harvard.” I was afraid of disappointing him, which was why I lied about not doing well on the test at the very beginning. I sent a flurry of messages. He didn’t reply again. I thought he was angry again. Ten minutes later, his message came through. “I was doing an experiment.” “Yeah, MIT is pretty good too.” Oh, so Harvard Bro wasn’t angry. The tension in my heart instantly lifted. It seemed I had found the relaxed feeling of chatting with him again. “Doing an experiment? Harvard Bro, are you still in school?” “Yeah, doing a joint Master’s/Ph.D. program.” “Wow! That’s awesome, what’s your major?” “Materials Engineering.” Huh?! Isn’t that the same major as me?! I was instantly thrilled. My eyes lit up: “That’s my major too! Harvard Bro, we really have a connection.” “…” He stopped talking again. But it didn’t matter. The rock that had been weighing on my heart was finally lifted. 09 After making up with Harvard Bro, my mood improved significantly. Even when Liam dragged me to do experiments until nine at night, I didn’t complain. Chloe was shocked and wondered if I had been assimilated by Liam. And ever since I found out Harvard Bro and I were in the same major, I asked him immediately whenever I didn’t understand something. It felt like being back to when he was tutoring me for my senior year. That night, I was chatting with Harvard Bro as usual. There was a step in today’s experimental data that I didn’t understand. I could only write it down and ask Harvard Bro when I got back. After Harvard Bro answered my questions, he asked me, puzzled: “Why didn’t you say something while you were doing the experiment earlier?” Me: “I was afraid the senior mentoring me would think I’m stupid.” “…” Once I started, I couldn’t help but complain. Being Liam’s assistant wasn’t bad, per se. After all, I was indeed learning a lot. But one thing was… his brain just worked too fast. Before I could even figure out how the previous step formed, he had already jumped to the conclusion. Maybe to him, those steps were simple and could be skipped. But to me… I honestly couldn’t keep up. “I suspect his brain is a computer. He doesn’t even have to think; his head is just full of programming.” I sent the message. Harvard Bro didn’t reply again. He was probably doing an experiment again. The next day I went to the lab. I arrived early; the lab wasn’t open yet. I waited for a bit and saw Liam arriving late. “Hi, Liam.” I greeted him. He glanced at me and gave an “Mhm.” When the experiment was over and I was packing my things, Liam suddenly called out to me: “Audrey.” “What?” “Is there anything you didn’t understand about today’s experiment?” Huh? I looked at Liam in surprise. He was wearing a white lab coat, his safety goggles resting over his own glasses. Seeing me look at him, Liam actually coughed. His expression seemed a bit unnatural. “I said, is there anything you didn’t understand about today’s experiment?” “Oh, yeah, yeah, I do.” I immediately pulled out my little notebook, ready to be a diligent student. Liam answered my questions one by one. In the end, he actually said: “If you don’t understand anything in the future, just come directly to me.” “Okay, sure. Thank you.” Liam gave an “Mhm” and left the lab. When I got back to the dorm, I couldn’t wait to message Harvard Bro. “Harvard Bro, the sun must have risen in the west today! The senior I shadow for experiments actually asked me if there was anything I didn’t understand after we finished.” “And?” “Harvard Bro, you are truly my lucky star.” I sent several emojis in a row. No reply from his end. But I was used to it. 10 The following days were busy and fulfilling. As Chloe and I spent more time as assistants, we got familiar with the seniors in the lab. Occasionally, we would all go out for meals together. “Audrey, Chloe, are you free tonight? Everyone’s getting together for dinner.” “Sure!” “Okay.” I only realized after I agreed that Liam was still beside me calculating data. Come to think of it, In the two months I’ve been his assistant, I rarely see Liam eat with everyone else. “Liam, are you going to the dinner tonight?” Liam looked up at me. His eyes were truly beautiful. It’s a pity they were too cold when he looked at people. I never really dared to talk to him. If his attitude hadn’t changed recently, I really wouldn’t have dared to ask that. Just when I thought Liam wouldn’t agree, He actually took off his safety goggles. “Sure.” He agreed?! I was surprised and shocked. Everyone chatted happily at the dinner that night. I took out my phone and habitually sent a message to Harvard Bro. “Harvard Bro, I’m out at a dinner with the seniors from the lab today.” After sending the message, I waited for his reply. I looked up and saw Liam sitting across from me. Even though we were all here for dinner, he was quietly sitting there like an outsider. Liam had his head down, seemingly playing with his phone. I don’t know why, but he actually looked up at me. That sudden glance… Made my heart race in panic. Fortunately, my phone chimed. Harvard Bro replied. He asked: “And then?” “No ‘and then,’ just letting you know.” “…” Hmm… This conversation topic was a bit boring. I was just preparing to find a new topic. When someone at the table called my name. “Audrey, don’t just play on your phone, join the conversation.” “Huh? Oh, okay.” I looked up blankly. Liam had also put down his phone when I was called out. But he looked like he was in a better mood than before. There was actually a faint smile on his face. I was puzzled. Playing on his phone made him that happy? I was forced to join the conversation. Someone asked me: “Hey, Audrey, do you have a boyfriend?” Huh? As soon as those words were spoken, the whole table looked at me. Being suddenly stared at, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. How should I answer? Was someone trying to set me up? My heart only had room for studying, not love! Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit me, And I blurted out: “I do.” As soon as the words fell, the table went quiet. Chloe stared at me wide-eyed. “When did you get a boyfriend? How did I not know?” I gave a dry laugh: “Hahaha, I like to keep a low profile.” I suddenly felt a sharp gaze land on me. I looked up, And it was actually Liam. Why was he glaring at me?

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Three months ago, the day I discovered Pierce’s infidelity, I quietly packed my things and moved into the guest room. I didn’t confront him. I didn’t scream. I waited until the System notified me that all evidence of his betrayal had been collected. Only then did I step back into our master suite. The door was ajar. Inside, Pierce was on speakerphone, his voice filled with a warmth he hadn’t shown me in years. On the other end, three voices—voices I knew intimately—were joking around. My three ex-husbands. “So, Pierce,” one of them teased with a familiar lilt, “did you give her the divorce papers yet? Lacy made it clear—no tag-alongs allowed at her bachelorette party. If you want an invite, you come alone.” Pierce chuckled, a cold, sharp sound. “Don’t worry. I’m about to force her to sign.” He looked up then, spotting me in the doorway. His expression shifted instantly from amusement to a mask of icy indifference as he hung up. “Since you heard everything,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “let’s just end it. You were always just damaged goods, Jacqueline. A relic tossed aside by your exes. You should be grateful I let you play the part of my wife for as long as I did.” I looked at him, feeling the hollow ache in my chest settle into something hard and crystalline. In the quiet theater of my mind, I reached out and pressed the System’s ‘Punishment’ key. I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I simply smiled. … 1 Pierce’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He stood up, jabbed a finger toward my face, and snarled. “Jacqueline, have you finally lost your mind? Are you going insane?” “Those three men kicked you to the curb years ago. Do you honestly think they’d ever want you back? If I hadn’t been charitable enough to marry you, you’d be nothing but a used-up socialite nobody would touch with a ten-foot pole!” I watched his desperate bravado, the way his veins thrummed with malice. In my mind, the System issued a crisp, mechanical ding. [Punishment Protocol Initiated. Pain Sensitivity increased by 10%. Luck Depletion: 10%.] Suddenly, Pierce went pale. He gasped, clutching his chest as he stumbled back against the vanity. His breath came in ragged hitches. “Did you… did you poison me?” he wheezed, his eyes darting around in a panic. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. I turned on my heel and went to the guest room to grab my suitcase. As I reached the foyer, the electronic lock chimed. The door swung open, and a wave of cloying, sugary perfume flooded the hallway. “Pierce, honey? I brought those artisanal honey-glazed chestnuts you love from the Upper East Side.” Lacy walked in, looking like a portrait of innocence in a white eyelet lace dress. She froze when she saw me with my luggage, her hand flying to her mouth in a choreographed gesture of shock. “Jacqueline? Are you… leaving?” Her eyes pooled with sudden, practiced tears. “Is this because I called Pierce yesterday? Please, don’t be mad at him. I was just so scared staying at the hotel by myself. I needed someone to talk to.” She trembled, ducking behind Pierce as if I were a physical threat. Despite the pain in his chest, Pierce pulled her into his arms, shielding her with a protective glare. “Jacqueline, enough! Lacy is fragile. Stop trying to intimidate her.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. It felt like glass breaking. “Fragile? It takes a lot of nerve to sleep with another woman’s husband. Doesn’t seem very ‘fragile’ to me.” Lacy’s tears began to spill over. “Jacqueline, how can you be so cruel? Pierce and I… it’s pure. We’re soulmates. You can’t let your three failed marriages turn you into someone this bitter.” A ripple of mocking laughter came from the hallway. “Lacy’s right, Jacqueline. You really need to work on that temper.” Three tall, well-dressed men filed into the penthouse: Beckett, Colton, and Jude. My past, standing in my present. Beckett tossed his Ferrari keys onto the marble console, his eyes sweeping over my suitcase with disdain. “What, the runaway bride act again? You did this when you divorced me, too. It’s getting a bit cliché, don’t you think?” Colton walked over to Lacy, patting her head before turning to me with a sigh. “Jacqueline, be an adult for once. Pierce works his tail off to provide this lifestyle for you. So what if he has a muse on the side?” Jude leaned against the doorframe, flicking a designer lighter open and shut. “You think you’re still the untouchable heiress of the Mercer estate? You’re a three-time divorcée. You should be thanking God anyone was willing to take the hand-me-downs.” Seeing the four of them standing together, a united front to protect their ‘golden girl,’ I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated nausea. Years ago, Beckett had begged me for a tactical marriage to secure his family’s inheritance. Colton had knelt in the pouring rain, pleading for my help to dodge a disastrous merger. Jude had been at death’s door, needing my signature and my resources to survive a medical scandal. Every single time, I had helped them. Every single time, when the crisis passed, I had walked away with nothing, leaving them the space to thrive. And now, they stood here, using the very status I helped them build to grind me into the dirt for a girl like Lacy. I looked at Pierce. “You called them here?” Pierce held Lacy tighter, his chin lifted. “Lacy said today was a day for celebration, a fresh start for all of us. She wanted you to see the reality of things so you’d stop using the threat of divorce as a weapon. You walk out that door today, Jacqueline, and you are dead to this circle. Don’t think for a second you’ll be allowed back in.” I gripped the handle of my suitcase, my spine as straight as a blade. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “This place is so filthy I wouldn’t stay if you paid me.” I shouldered past Jude, walking out into the hallway without a backward glance. Behind me, I heard Lacy’s voice, sweet and venomous. “Oh dear, Jacqueline is so sensitive. She didn’t even say goodbye to the boys.” “Let her go,” Beckett scoffed. “She’ll be back in three days, crawling and crying for Pierce to take her back.” “Exactly,” Colton chimed in. “A woman like her can’t survive five minutes without a man’s bank account.” I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. In the silence of the car, the System’s voice echoed in my mind. [Host, revenge sequence initiated. Shall we proceed with full-scale Luck Depletion?] “Full power,” I whispered. If these four wolves wanted to hunt in a pack, they could starve in one, too. 2 Leaving that penthouse was like finally exhaling after holding my breath for three years. I didn’t go to a hotel. I drove straight to the glass-walled triplex overlooking Central Park. It was my grandfather’s private legacy, a property Pierce didn’t even know existed. He’d spent our entire marriage convinced I’d poured my last cent into his startup, believing I was nothing more than a dependent trophy wife. I’d just stepped out of the shower when my phone buzzed on the vanity. A message from Colton. A photo. In the picture, Lacy was perched on the velvet sofa in the penthouse, wearing a birthday tiara. Pierce, Beckett, Colton, and Jude were gathered around her, their faces soft with adoration. On the table sat the custom-ordered fondant cake I had designed months ago. The caption read: [Be smart. Come back and apologize to Lacy. It’s her birthday—don’t be the one to ruin it.] I stared at the screen for a second, then blocked his number. I followed suit with the other three, purging them from my digital life with a few taps. The next morning, I arrived at Pierce’s corporate headquarters with my lead attorney in tow. This company wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t leveraged my family’s old connections to secure its first round of Series A funding. I pushed open the door to the executive suite. Pierce was hunched over his desk, his hair a mess as he glared at a series of red spreadsheets on his monitor. He looked up, stunned to see me, before a smirk touched his lips. “So, one night in a cheap hotel was enough to bring you to your senses?” “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he continued, leaning back. “Tell you what. Go buy Lacy that Hermès bag she wanted as a peace offering, and I’ll pretend yesterday never happened.” I dropped the divorce decree onto his mahogany desk with a dull thud. “Sign it.” Pierce glanced at the header, his face darkening. “Jacqueline, drop the act. You’re not scaring me with this. I pay for your clothes, your food, your soul. Without me, you’re a literal vagrant.” I sat down in the chair opposite him, tapping the desk. “Pierce, did you really forget whose money started this ’empire’? Or whose name opened the doors for those ‘exclusive’ contracts you’re currently losing?” His expression faltered, but he blustered through it. “So what? The company is in my name. The accounts are mine. You want a divorce? Fine. You leave with nothing. Not a single cent.” I nodded to my lawyer. Mr. Simon stepped forward, sliding a leather-bound folder onto the desk. “Actually, Mr. Prescott, per the initial investment covenant, Mrs. Blackwood—soon to be Ms. Mercer—retains a sixty percent equity stake held in a private trust. In the event of a legal separation involving infidelity, she has the right to call in all debts and liquidate her shares immediately.” Pierce lunged for the papers, his eyes scanning the clauses. The veins in his neck bulged. “Jacqueline, you… you set me up?” “It’s called an exit strategy, Pierce,” I said coldly. “You have three days to secure the buy-out funds, or I’ll see you in court for a forced liquidation.” I stood up to leave, but the door swung open. Lacy walked in carrying a boutique lunch bag. Seeing me, she immediately switched into her ‘victim’ persona. “Jacqueline! Are you here to see Pierce? Please, don’t pressure him. He’s been so stressed about the firm lately.” She touched her eyes, which were conveniently brimming with tears. “If it’s about money… I can give you my savings. I don’t want to be the reason you’re struggling.” Pierce pulled her behind him, roaring at me. “Do you see this, Jacqueline? Lacy is thinking about you while you’re trying to bleed me dry! You’re nothing but a vampire!” I couldn’t help it. I laughed—a genuine, amused sound. “Lacy, keep your little ‘savings.’ You’ll need them to buy your own coffee once Pierce is back in a cubicle.” Lacy’s face went white. Pierce raised his hand, his face contorted with rage, ready to strike. His wrist was caught mid-air by a hand with long, elegant fingers. Beckett stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed. He shoved Pierce’s hand down and looked at me with a mix of disappointment and irritation. “Jacqueline, that’s enough. Lacy was trying to be kind. Why must you be so incredibly toxic?” I shook out my own wrist, though he hadn’t touched me. “Mr. CEO is quite the regular here lately. Don’t you have a company of your own to run, Beckett? Or are you hoping to pick up the scraps of this one when it crashes?” Beckett stiffened. “I’m here to discuss a partnership. And to check on Lacy.” I didn’t bother responding. I walked past them, my lawyer following close behind. As I hit the elevator bank, the System chimed again. [Luck Depletion Active: Pierce’s Midtown Development Project just hit a massive safety violation. Stop-work order issued.] I felt a ghost of a smile pull at my lips. 3 Over the next seventy-two hours, Pierce’s world didn’t just crumble—it imploded. The Midtown project was a disaster. The bank froze his lines of credit. His partners, smelling blood in the water, began pulling out one by one. Meanwhile, I sat in my floor-to-ceiling windowed living room, sipping a vintage Bordeaux and watching the ticker on my tablet. Prescott Holdings was bleeding out in real-time. My phone rang. An unknown number. I’d changed my SIM, but somehow Jude had found it. “Jacqueline, what the hell are you doing?” Jude’s voice was thick with suppressed fury. “Are you behind the short-selling of Pierce’s stock? Stop this childish vendetta.” I took a slow sip of my wine. “If he can’t manage his own risk, Jude, that’s hardly my problem.” Jude scoffed. “Don’t play coy. Nobody else would be this ruthless. Drop the lawsuits, Jacqueline. Don’t force our hand. You think you’re still the Mercer girl? The three of us can make sure you never work in this city again.” “And how would you do that, Jude?” I asked. “The last time I checked, you were the one begging for my signature on your medical release forms so you wouldn’t die a ward of the state. Have you forgotten how to be humble?” There was a sharp silence on the other end, followed by a snarl. “That was years ago! Don’t you dare throw the past in my face! Lacy is devastated by all this stress. You will stop this, and you will publicly apologize to her for the slander.” I hung up. The delusion was almost fascinating. Did they really think they were the protagonists of this story? That evening, a courier delivered a heavy, gold-embossed envelope. An invitation to an exclusive solo art exhibition for Lacy. It was being held at the Starry Night Gallery—the most prestigious venue in the city. Inside was a handwritten note: [Jacqueline, tomorrow is my big night. Pierce and the guys will all be there. I hope you can come so we can finally put this misunderstanding behind us. Love, Lacy.] I looked at the note and laughed. Put the ‘misunderstanding’ behind us? More like ‘publicly humiliate me with a show of force.’ The System spoke up. [Host, malice levels detected from the target are peaking. Suggest attending the event for a ‘Face-Slap’ bonus. Rewards: Double Revenge Points.] “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I tossed the invitation into the fireplace. The next night, I stepped out of a black town car in front of the gallery. I was wearing a vintage black velvet gown that hugged every curve, my hair swept up to reveal a throat that felt far too bare. My makeup was lethal—sharp wings and a blood-red lip. The gallery was packed with the city’s elite. Lacy, in a custom blush silk gown, stood in the center of the room like a princess, flanked by her four knights. The room went silent as I walked in. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the air like a cold wind. Lacy’s eyes lit up. She hurried toward me, her skirt swishing. “Jacqueline! You actually came!” She reached out to grab my hand in a display of faux-sisterhood. I pivoted slightly, letting her hand grasp empty air. Her smile faltered, her eyes immediately welling up. Pierce was there in a heartbeat, stepping between us. “Jacqueline, what is wrong with you? Lacy went out of her way to invite you, and you can’t even be civil?” Beckett walked over, swirling a glass of scotch, his eyes raking over my dress. “Dressed like that… are you here to sabotage her, or are you just desperate for our attention again?” Colton chuckled darkly. “She’s run out of moves, Beckett. This is a cry for help.” A few people in the crowd tittered. I ignored them, looking instead at the ‘art’ on the walls. “This is the exhibition?” I asked, loud enough for the nearby guests to hear. “The colors are muddy, the composition is amateur, and the technique is… well, I’ve seen better work in a middle school hallway. Your taste, gentlemen, has plummeted.” Lacy’s face turned a blotchy red. “Jacqueline! You can hate me, but don’t insult my art!” Jude slammed his drink down on a nearby pedestal. The glass shattered, sent shards flying. “Jacqueline, you’re here to cause trouble. Apologize to Lacy. Now.” 4 The atmosphere was suffocating. Every eye in the room was on me, waiting for the fall. Pierce stepped closer, looming over me with a dark, triumphant look. “I’m giving you one last chance, Jacqueline. Get on your knees and apologize to Lacy. Right here, in front of everyone.” I looked at him, truly looked at him, and realized I felt nothing but a mild sense of pity. “Pierce, you’ve lost your mind. Me? Kneel for her? She couldn’t handle the weight of my shadow, let alone my respect.” Lacy retreated into Colton’s arms, sobbing. “Pierce, please, just let it go. Jacqueline has always looked down on me. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage is ruined…” Colton glared at me. “Look at how kind she is! And look at you—you’ve turned into a bitter, vengeful hag!” Beckett stepped forward then, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. He flipped it open. Inside was a glowing emerald necklace. My breath hitched. It was my grandfather’s—the only thing I had left of him. I’d left it in the wall safe at the penthouse in my haste to leave. Beckett saw my reaction and smirked. “Want it back? I had a locksmith open that pathetic little safe of yours.” “Give it to me, Beckett,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Sure,” he said, holding the necklace over a trash bin. “As soon as you give Lacy the three head-bows she deserves for your bullying. Otherwise, I’ll drop this into the disposal and watch it get ground into dust.” I stared at the emerald, my nails digging into my palms. “Beckett, don’t you dare.” Jude sneered. “Who’s going to stop us? You have nothing left. No status, no husband, no friends. Get on your knees.” The crowd began to whisper. “Poor Jacqueline… she’s really fallen.” “She probably deserved it. You don’t get four men to hate you that much for no reason.” “Just apologize and get it over with, honey. Why keep up the act?” Pierce reached out, his hand moving to shove my shoulder downward. “I said, kneel!” His hand never reached me. The gallery doors were kicked open with a thunderous bang that made everyone jump. Two rows of men in black suits flooded the room, creating a human corridor. Then, a man walked in—tall, commanding, with a presence that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. He was in a charcoal-grey bespoke suit, his eyes like flint. Callum Blackwood. The King of the Manhattan elite. A man who didn’t just own companies; he owned the people who ran them. The room fell into a deathly silence. Callum walked straight to me. He saw Pierce’s hand hovering near my shoulder. Without a word, he delivered a backhand so sharp and powerful it sent Pierce sprawling across the floor. The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot. Callum took a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his hand with clinical precision, and dropped the cloth onto Pierce’s bleeding face. He then turned, pulled me firmly into his side, and let his voice ring out through the gallery. “Who gave you trash the right to lay a finger on my fiancée?”

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I used to be a bad girl. I spent five years chasing the guy everyone called the golden boy, Liam. He was aloof and arrogant, and he was always disgusted by me. “You smell like smoke. It stinks.” But I would shamelessly hug him, bite his lip, and pass him a mint to cover the smell. We dated for a year, and I custom-made a pair of rings for us. I went to see him, thrilled, only to hear someone ask him what he thought of the heiress, Chloe. His eyes were indifferent: “Not bad. She’s pretty good.” My breath caught, and then I heard them ask what he thought of me. “Too wild. Not marriage material. I like good girls.” I was wild. She was good. I guess I had my answer. It was time to let go. 01 When Liam got home, he saw me chewing on a mint. He frowned: “Smoking again?” Usually, when I saw that look on his face, I would have already pounced on him, hanging off him coquettishly, kissing him over and over, trying to make the icy man melt with desire. Then, I’d smile and ask: “Can you taste the smoke?” His eyes would darken, his fingers subconsciously rubbing my waist, but his face would remain stern. “It’s broad daylight, stop messing around!” “Can’t you be a little more modest as a woman?” Facing the person I’d loved for seven years, what did I know about modesty? So, I wrapped my fingers around his tie and pulled gently. “Babe, how about we go to the bedroom and you teach me?” A faint blush would quietly creep up Liam’s ears, brighter than the lipstick smeared on the corner of his mouth. His voice would turn husky, but he’d still act serious: “Teach you what?” I’d give him a sultry smile and lead him step-by-step into the bedroom. But this time, I didn’t have the energy. I swallowed the crushed mint and walked up to him. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his gaze unreadable, as if he was expecting something. I chased him for five years and we were together for one. I’ve seen disappointment, disgust, and impatience in his eyes. The only things missing were love and expectation. He agreed to be my boyfriend only because when he first started his company and was cornered by debt collectors, I called some guys from the bar to help him out. I used both soft and hard tactics, paying off a hundred thousand dollars of his debt. At that time, he looked at me with distant eyes. “What do you want?” I rested my chin on my hand, my eyes tracing his features. He had lost some of the boyishness from seven years ago. I smiled, looking alluring. “I like you. Be my boyfriend.” That was my twentieth confession. He was silent for a long time, so long that I thought he was going to reject me again, until a soft “Yeah” sounded. I was instantly shocked and thrilled, excitedly kissing him on the cheek. The guys from the bar cheered, urging us to kiss on the lips. My face felt a little hot. I looked at Liam. But his icy expression was like a bucket of cold water. He didn’t like me. He looked down on me. But it didn’t matter, time changes everything. How stupid. I suddenly laughed. Liam’s slender fingers tugged at his collar, looking impatient. “What are you acting crazy for?” “I don’t have any contact with Chloe anymore. If you keep throwing these baseless tantrums, then let’s break up.” In the past year, he had said “let’s break up” countless times. If you smoke again, we break up. Drink, we break up. Dye your hair, we break up. To keep him, I willingly closed my bar, gave up the bad habits he disapproved of, and learned to act like a proper lady. After all, my wildness was for him in the first place. But this time, I was tired. “Okay, Liam. Let’s break up.” 02 A flicker of emotion flashed in Liam’s indifferent eyes, and then he lazily pulled out his phone and threw it on the table. “Spit it out, who do you want me to block? Who do you want me to fire?” Once, I made him fire an assistant who deliberately spilled coffee on him, and made him delete the heiress Chloe, who had been making eyes at him. At that time, his eyes were full of exhaustion: “You just don’t understand anything, do you?” I panicked. Liam wasn’t born with a silver spoon, but he became a rising star in the business world through his high IQ and Ivy League education. And I went to a community college. We were worlds apart. People around us constantly hinted that I should let Liam go, let him step into a broader world. And that so-called world was the heiress, Chloe. Liam and I hadn’t been together for long, and I didn’t want to break up. So, when I caught them on a date. Sitting in a high-end restaurant I had wanted to go to for a long time but didn’t have the status to book. I didn’t even dare to go up and confront them, didn’t dare to question him. Late that night, Liam came back. I feigned a casual tone. “What were you doing? Coming back so late.” Liam unbuttoned his shirt, responding nonchalantly. “Having dinner with an important client.” My heart trembled, my eyes instantly welled up, and I turned my back to him, not saying another word. He quietly came up behind me and suddenly wrapped his arms around me. “It’s just that the person I was dealing with was a woman, the heiress to the Vance family. Out of politeness, I dropped her home, so it got a bit late.” His tone was deep and gentle. Liam’s chin rested on my shoulder, his warm breath hitting my skin. Even though there wasn’t any overtly romantic gesture. I still couldn’t control my blushing. “Oh? So is Miss Vance prettier, or am I?” It was a flirtatious question, but it made Liam think for a long time before answering. “Your styles are different. You can’t just say who is prettier.” His attitude returned to its usual seriousness, his tone cold. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that. Saying someone isn’t pretty is a very awkward thing to do.” I was stunned by his words and broke free from his embrace. “But you saying I’m pretty doesn’t mean Miss Vance isn’t. Why would it be awkward? Is Miss Vance going to hear our conversation?” He pursed his lips and looked at me, his gaze deep. I felt wronged. Since we got together, he had never complimented me, nor shown any affection. I just wanted a little bit of preference, a little bit of proof. But he silently stood up and went upstairs without hesitation. I was angry too. I wrapped myself in a blanket and slept on the living room sofa all night. For the whole night, I didn’t sleep, and Liam never came downstairs. He just let me stay there, all alone. 03 The reason I stopped being mad at Liam was that he bought an SUV. He knew I loved driving heavy-duty vehicles, but after we got together, I never went off-roading anymore, so I sold my old one. My bad mood vanished into thin air. I made some soup and walked into his office, saying excitedly: “Babe, I made chicken soup. Let’s drink it together.” Liam flatly refused: “I can’t. I have a lunch meeting.” I frowned: “Okay, then drink it when you come back tonight.” “Liam, that Thai place on the West Side is pretty good,” a woman suddenly pushed the door open and walked in. Seeing me, her expression showed a hint of surprise: “And this is?” “My girlfriend.” Liam stood up and turned to me, “This is Miss Vance.” Chloe generously and naturally came over to shake my hand: “I’ve always wondered what kind of amazing woman could win Liam over. Today I finally get to meet you.” I smiled without speaking. Liam put his hands in his pockets: “Audrey, you go back first. Miss Vance and I have business at noon.” But Chloe took the initiative to invite me: “Don’t do that. It’s nothing serious, just lunch. Let Audrey join us.” “Alright then,” Liam agreed. So the lunch meeting was just the two of them. Liam’s tone when he agreed made me feel a distinctly different attitude. He was never compliant with me. On the way to the restaurant, they walked side-by-side, talking Animatedly. Whenever I tried to interject. Chloe always managed to find a topic Liam was interested in to talk over me. Gradually, I fell behind them. At the restaurant, Liam pulled out a chair for Chloe first, paused, and then pulled one out for me. I could tell I was only enjoying Liam’s chivalry because of Chloe. The waiter handed the menu to Liam. Liam raised his hand to stop him: “Let the ladies look.” The waiter realized his mistake and handed it to Chloe: “Sorry about that. The girlfriend should order.” When he said this, everyone froze for a moment. Anyone with eyes could see they were the matching pair. No one was going to explain a misunderstanding to a waiter. In the end, the atmosphere during the meal was stifling. As we were leaving, Chloe grabbed my hand: “Audrey, please don’t mind that. You’re Liam’s real girlfriend.” I pulled my hand away: “I know.” Liam frowned. Chloe playfully stuck out her tongue, turning to look at Liam: “Liam, I hope your wife doesn’t punish you tonight.” Liam’s brow relaxed: “Don’t joke around. Audrey isn’t petty.” I finally got a compliment, so why did hearing it still make me unhappy? Watching the two of them get along so harmoniously. I felt like a third wheel. 04 After that meeting with Chloe. The well-behaved, proper Chloe he talked about frequently appeared between us. After that, my alone time with Liam gradually decreased. Because of this, we often fought. We had another unpleasant argument because I wanted him to fire his assistant, and we barely saw each other for almost a month. Liam took the initiative to suggest taking me on a vacation. I also wanted to make up, so I naturally agreed. But it was ruined by a phone call. Under the dim light, Liam’s profile looked exceptionally handsome. After hanging up, he kissed my lips, sweeping away the mint I was addicted to. I was just about to respond when he pushed me away. “Chloe says she’s also coming to Miami. We’ll hang out together then.” When did Miss Vance become Chloe? My face fell: “Again? You’re doing business with them, not selling your soul.” Liam withdrew the arm holding me, his tone cold and hard. “Don’t talk like that.” “If there was really something going on between us, would I contact her openly in front of you?” They seemed very transparent. Liam reported to me every time he was alone with Chloe. But can the things you see and don’t see really be explained away? I rolled over and turned my back to him. Liam sighed, turned off the lamp, and hugged me from behind. “The Vance Group is currently evaluating whether our company is worth investing in. Chloe just got back from abroad and doesn’t have any friends, so she treats me like an older brother.” “I just treat her as an investor, with a little respect. I don’t have any other thoughts.” “I don’t want to fight anymore. Can we just get along?” His body temperature was high, and leaning against him made my whole body feel warm, just like the warmth from his palm when he saved me seven years ago. I understood that starting a business wasn’t easy for him, so his attitude towards Chloe would be different. After all, the backing of the Vance family was a huge temptation for an ordinary company. I temporarily suppressed my anger, but the next day, it flared up again. Chloe took over my role completely. One minute she wanted water, the next she couldn’t open the bottle cap, the next she needed a towel. I couldn’t stand lying on the beach chair anymore and said I was going in the water. Liam said he’d come with me. Chloe, who had been lying perfectly fine, immediately stood up and said she wanted to join. I ignored her and went straight to the changing room to put on my swimsuit. Chloe and I changed and walked out of the changing room at the same time. Liam’s eyes fell on me first, then shifted to her. She excitedly twirled her skirt: “Liam, does it look good?” But before she could spin many times, Liam stopped her. Chloe instantly put on a pitiful expression. Liam sighed helplessly, his explanation mixed with comfort. “Spinning around is dangerous, protect yourself.” His tone was gentle and doting. Under the blazing sun, I felt a bit cold. I prepared to leave. Chloe obediently said “Oh,” then adjusted her knee-length skirt, and casually looked at me. “Ah, Audrey, wearing that… isn’t it too dangerous?” I stopped, just about to snap back. Liam beat me to it, his tone indifferent and lazy. “She’s just like that.” “You’re not like her.” I froze. I didn’t understand what he meant by that. By the time I recovered, the two of them had already jumped into the ocean. The sun hung high in the sky, every ray of light like a red-hot steel needle, piercing the eyes. I walked sullenly towards the beach. I saw Liam abruptly let go of the hand gripping Chloe’s arm. He turned and waved at me: “Audrey, come teach Chloe how to swim.” It seemed like he was forcing an explanation. But why be nervous? I watched for a few seconds, calmed myself down, and slowly walked over. Seeing me coming, the distance between Liam and Chloe increased a bit. “It’s better for Audrey to teach me, Liam is too clumsy.” Chloe smiled sweetly, affectionately grabbing my hand. I kept a straight face and directly started guiding her on how to float, telling her to relax her whole body. After trying to take her feet off the ground a few times without success, Liam hesitated before leaving the water and walking to the beach. Miraculously, as soon as Liam left, Chloe succeeded. Chloe’s expression turned cold, and she withdrew her arm without warning. “Thanks, Audrey.” My hands stiffened on the water’s surface. “You’re still not used to it, I’ll hold you.” Chloe looked at me sideways, a sneer curling the corner of her mouth. “Stop pretending. A bad girl who’s been mixing in society early on, how could you not know this?” “Isn’t it tiring clinging to someone from a different world?” “Audrey, you sure can endure.” I frowned tightly, the hands hidden in the water clenched until they hurt. Suddenly, a wave crashed over us without warning. Both Chloe and I were caught off guard and fell into the water. I quickly steadied myself and started treading water. “Chloe!” A roar came from the shore. I turned my head and saw that Chloe had been carried out by the wave. I was startled. I immediately adjusted my direction and swam towards her. But I was pulled away by a fierce force. “Don’t go!” Liam’s eyes were wide with panic. It was a warning tone. Because of his sudden action, I was caught off guard and choked on a few mouthfuls of water. The bitter seawater was like sharp little knives. Bringing a burning pain to my throat. More than the physical pain, a coldness spreading from my heart made me clench my teeth. This time, I saw it very clearly. Liam’s concern for Chloe had always been different. 05 Back on the shore. Liam was performing CPR on Chloe. He was kneeling on the ground, having lost his composure, his face full of regret and anxiety. What he was regretting, I didn’t know. The next second, Liam pinched Chloe’s mouth and lowered his head. Just as they were about to touch, I grabbed Liam’s shoulder, my tone stiff. “Let me do it. You’re a man after all…” Liam seemed to be going crazy, slapping my hand away hard. “Audrey, I didn’t think you were this kind of person.” “Is your mind only filled with that kind of stuff between men and women? Do you understand that saving a life is the priority!” Liam’s fury caught me off guard. Under the gaze of the crowd, I embarrassedly withdrew my hand. Logically, I knew Liam was anxious to save her, but emotionally, I knew artificial respiration didn’t have to be done by a man with a girlfriend. Then, Liam covered Chloe’s lips right in front of me. I ran away. I found an empty, secluded spot. Tears fell to the ground in streams. Except for high school, when my family went bankrupt and I was almost forced to drop out because we had no money, I hadn’t cried. This was the first time I cried in seven years. It wasn’t out of grievance, nor was it because I was provoked. It was because I knew I had to face reality. He didn’t like me. From a high school crush to college, confessing and being rejected every time, his coldness and impatience were like an insurmountable peak. I finally succeeded, but it was just an illusion. A small pebble could easily make it disappear. “Little wildcat?” “It’s been so long, and you’re still crying.” A relaxed and slightly teasing male voice sounded. I looked up at the sound and met a pair of deep eyes. I was stunned. After a long while, the face merged with someone from seven years ago. Carter. 06 The memory broke, and my gaze focused on the phone on the table. Exhaustion followed, and I twitched the corner of my mouth. “Not interested.” “You’ve brought up breaking up so many times. Let me be the one to bring it up the last time.” “Liam, we’re done.” Liam’s impatient gaze turned dark, his face sinking. “What do you mean?” Sometimes you have to doubt a man’s comprehension skills. I said it twice, and he acted like he was deaf. This time it was my turn to be impatient. I walked past him in silence. “Is it Carter? He came looking for you again?” Liam firmly grabbed my wrist. His eyes suppressed something, as if the moment I answered yes, the things inside would instantly erupt. At the end of that trip, Carter and I exchanged contact info. Liam and I took separate flights back. We didn’t speak to each other when we got home. Until I saw Carter post on Instagram that his new bar was opening and everyone was welcome. I drove over as if possessed. I plunged into the dazzling dance floor. The deafening drumbeats crashed like raging waves, constantly assaulting my senses. When I got tired of dancing, a glass of water was handed to me. “Nice dancing, very captivating.” I raised my hand to take it, said thanks, but didn’t drink. Carter’s appearance was flamboyant and eye-catching. The clothes he wore were brightly colored and uniquely styled, showing off his rebellious personality. His vibe was exactly the same as seven years ago. But he was no good guy. He shrugged and smiled: “Still holding a grudge? Wasn’t it you who dressed up as a guy and walked down that alley?” “I ended up getting arrested by the cops and had a leg broken by my dad.” His voice was light and bouncy, making people drop their guard inadvertently. I took a sip of water, trying not to think about those memories. “You deserved it.” “Yeah, yeah, I deserved it.” He exaggeratedly leaned on the bar, his body suddenly getting close. His gorgeous features were suddenly magnified, and my heart clenched tightly. He smirked slightly, looking like a total bad boy: “Then what you owe me…” “Audrey!” A furious roar exploded behind me. Liam’s face was very dark. He stared gloomily at Carter. But Carter didn’t change his expression. He slightly raised his chin, exuding a lawless aura. Liam gritted his teeth and said to me: “Stay away from people like this.” After saying that, he dragged me out of the bar. I shook off his hand. He stopped and hugged me tightly. “The artificial respiration was poorly thought out on my part, but she was traveling with us. If something happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to explain it.” “I’m sorry, Audrey.” Strange, this apology didn’t stir any ripples in my heart. I was very calm. I even had the mood to wonder what people around us would think of us hugging on the street. They probably thought we looked stupid. The issue was temporarily turned over because of his apology, but our official reconciliation actually stemmed from another explosion. After that, he and Chloe kept in constant contact using work as an excuse. He had all sorts of reasonable explanations. And I went from calm to completely apathetic, even responding to Carter, who contacted me one after another. We were communicating legitimately, because we were going to partner up to open a bar. Liam and Chloe had meetings at night, and Carter and I had site visits at night. He was very angry, but I would hit back using his own excuses. His face looked worse day by day. He would always say things out of nowhere. “Why haven’t you been eating mints lately?” “Did you smoke with Carter?” He sat on the sofa, unmoving. His eyelashes covered his eyelids, making it impossible to read his expression. I ignored him. “Didn’t you say you’d quit smoking for me? Audrey, how can you break your promise!” His voice suddenly rose, the last few words almost bursting from his chest. My heart trembled, and I left. One day when I was about to go out, he blocked the door. “Please don’t go.” “I’ve been feeling so miserable lately, so miserable.” His tone was very clingy, as if he had been greatly wronged. I remained silent and shifted my body. Liam blocked me even tighter, his whole body almost pressing against me. His scorching body temperature made me instantly recall the palm that pulled me out of the abyss. I couldn’t breathe properly: “Fine, one condition. Delete Chloe.” He froze for a moment, then said: “Okay, but you have to delete Carter too.” I was a bit surprised. He agreed so quickly; I didn’t expect Carter to be such a big threat to him. Afterward, I asked him why he hated Carter. He looked cold and arrogant, unable to hide the disgust in his eyes. “We were in the same class in high school. He slacked off all day and messed around.” “Arrogant, loved to fight, and dragged the class down. Like an unevolved savage, really annoying.” “How do you know him?” I thought about this question: “I saw him once or twice in high school.” He didn’t ask more, and I didn’t say more. We seemed to have made up, but I knew some things had already changed. For example, my emotions. They no longer fluctuated because of him. 07 Pulling my thoughts back. In the end, it just meant he could act unpredictable because of Chloe, but I couldn’t have any connection with Carter. I couldn’t help but laugh, my chest vibrating constantly, then stopping abruptly as I met his gaze. “Yeah, he’s wild enough.” “And you’re too good, not suited for dating.” Liam was stunned for a moment, then his face turned slightly pale. “You heard?” “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that he suddenly asked… I…” I looked up, my tone mocking: “Did you need time to prepare?” “Was it a diplomat asking or the UN asking, that you needed a pre-written script to answer?” Liam pressed his lips tightly together and fell silent. After a long time, he pulled me closer into his arms. “I’m sorry, I spoke without thinking. I do like good, obedient girls, but we’ve been together for so long.” “You chased me for so long, my heart isn’t made of stone…” Liam’s tone was very soft. But I couldn’t listen to it at all and interrupted him. “Do you think the straw that broke the camel’s back was really just the last straw?” “Or do you think I, Audrey, need a man’s charity?” Taking off the ring wasn’t to secure Liam, but to remind myself. Was I really going to give up on someone I’d hoped for for seven years? His face looked bad. This time he stayed silent longer, his fingers tightening their grip on my wrist. “Are you sure?” I let out a pained “Mm,” but he didn’t loosen his grip. He was used to being high and mighty in front of me, used to maintaining a cold and arrogant posture, never spending more than two sentences to coax me. And my decisiveness also angered him. I had had enough of the low posture, had enough of walking on eggshells. I struggled hard, ignoring the pain in my wrist. “I’m sure.” “Actually, you did consider Chloe, or maybe even liked her.” “But you couldn’t take the next step because of some unknown problem, and the reason wasn’t me, right?” Liam’s pupils contracted, and he continued to remain silent. I took his silence as agreement and looked seriously into his eyes. “Actually, you could have just rejected me. I liked you for so many years, confessed so many times, one more rejection wouldn’t have mattered.” “You repeatedly ignoring my feelings means you never respected me.” “Bad girl, delinquent—is that what you told Chloe?” These words crushed Liam. He panicked and raised his hand to grab me. “No, I…” I turned sideways, his hand caught empty air and hung suspended. “Stop talking.” “Seven years ago, you saved me.” “I was being bullied, you took me to the clinic. The medical bill was 20 bucks, and later you lent me 300 for tuition. Now, I’m returning it all to you.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. Opened my eyes, typed the numbers. His phone dinged with a notification. Clearing a 320-dollar debt of gratitude after seven years. He didn’t lose out. Liam’s emotions completely broke down, his cold eyes turning bloodshot. “Audrey, don’t regret this!” 08 Everyone thought I was desperately in love with Liam. That I could never be the one to initiate a breakup. They teased me: “Did your god-tier boyfriend dump you?” Looking at my former employees, I downed the liquor in my glass. Smiling lightly: “Do I look like someone who isn’t chill?” My bartender, Lily, clicked her tongue twice and poured some more liquor. “Not ‘look like,’ you are. Even cool, badass women have to bow down to the god’s suit pants.” Faced with such an evaluation, I remained noncommittal. My phone suddenly rang, and I answered it naturally. “Audrey, come get your things.” Liam’s cold, hard voice came through clearly. I paused: “Throw them away.” He didn’t speak, but rapid breathing came through the receiver. I have always been decisive about things I’ve made up my mind about. Just as I was about to hang up, the other party gritted his teeth. “I don’t deal with trash, come back and throw it away yourself!” After saying that, he hung up. Even though he was the one who called, he was still acting high and mighty. I looked down at the dark screen, lit it up, and decisively added him to the blocklist. When I don’t like you, who do you think you are? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Liam was perhaps just an obsession of mine. That year, I was a freshman and he was a sophomore. I was dragged into an alley and beaten by a group of girls. His accidental intrusion scared those girls away. I was covered in mud, lying pathetically on the ground. The hand he reached out exuded warmth in the sunlight. He took me to the clinic, paid for me, and left a sentence. “People who don’t know how to fight back can only endure bullying.” After that day, my personality changed drastically. Anyone who provoked me, I fought back with a fearless attitude. The title of “bad girl” began to emerge from then on. I thought about it carefully. I had the thought of fighting back long ago; Liam’s appearance was a catalyst, and also a mental pillar. Especially when I fell into the despair of being forced to drop out because I had no money. It was salvation. So during my one year of dating Liam, it was almost entirely me yielding and compromising. This is not a normal concept of love. What made me indulge him without limits? Was it love? Maybe a little, but it had already vanished when he favored Chloe.

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When I pushed open the door to my bedroom, Toby was balanced precariously on a chair, his fingers straining toward the heavy metal lockbox perched on the very top shelf of my wardrobe. He didn’t expect me back so early. The sudden creak of the hinges sent a jolt through him; his grip slipped, and my $45,000 Patek Philippe hit the mattress with a sickening, muffled thud. His eyes darted everywhere but at me, his face flushing a guilty, blotchy red. “Gavin… I was… I just wanted to look at it…” I didn’t move. I just watched him. “My roommate was right,” Toby blurted out, his voice rising in a defensive whine. “You wouldn’t even let me borrow a watch for one night. You’ve always been looking for reasons to lock me out!” I didn’t waste breath on an argument. I walked straight over, grabbed a handful of his hair to steady him, and delivered a sharp, stinging backhand across his face. The sound of the slap cracked through the silence of the room like a gunshot. The commotion brought my parents running. They burst in from the living room, faces tight with alarm. Toby immediately collapsed onto the bed, clutching his cheek and wailing. “Dad! Mom! He hit me! Gavin’s trying to kill me!” My mother’s eyes didn’t go to Toby first. They landed on the Patek Philippe lying on the duvet. Her expression went from shock to a cold, stony gray. She turned on her heel, marched to the mudroom, and returned a second later with a heavy, thick-soled leather clog in her hand. She didn’t hand it to Toby to comfort him. She shoved it into my palm. “Your hand will get sore if you keep using your palm,” she said, her voice trembling with a terrifying, quiet rage. “Use this. And don’t you dare stop until I say so.” “We’ve given you everything, Toby,” she hissed, turning her gaze to my brother. “And you repay us by becoming a common thief in your own home? Gavin, hit him. Hard.” I gripped the shoe, the weight of it familiar and solid, and brought it down across Toby’s back. The dull whack echoed against the walls. 1 The sound of the impact was heavy, followed by Toby’s shrill cry as he scrambled across the floor. “Mom! Dad! Help me! He’s actually going to kill me!” My father stood in the doorway, his face a mask of granite. He reached back, gripped the handle, and shut the bedroom door firmly. He didn’t leave even a crack for the light to escape. “Do it,” Dad said, his voice dropping an octave. “If he’s stealing from his own blood today, he’ll be robbing strangers at knifepoint tomorrow. Better he learns the cost of it here than in a cell.” I swung again. Toby had been the baby of the family, coddled and cushioned from every sharp edge the world had to offer. These hits were the first real consequences he’d ever felt, and he was falling apart, sobbing and crawling toward the corner. I planted a boot firmly in the center of his back, pinning him to the carpet. “What did you do wrong?” I asked, looking down at him. Toby was a mess of tears and snot, shielding his head with his arms. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have touched your stuff! Gavin, please, just stop!” WHACK. I hit him again. “Liar,” I said coldly. “You said your roommate told you I was ‘locking you out.’ Give me the details. Who is he, what exactly did he say, and what were you going to do with my watch?” Toby flinched, refusing to look up. I increased the pressure of my boot on his spine until he let out a strangled yelp. He broke. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! It’s Dexter! Dexter said he was going to a birthday party for some billionaire’s kid this weekend, and he’d look like a loser if he didn’t have the right accessories.” “He knew you had the Patek. He told me to ‘borrow’ it so he could make an impression!” My mother let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “He asked to borrow it, so you decided to steal it?” Toby looked up, his face swollen and tear-streaked, radiating a pathetic sense of martyrdom. “I wanted to ask Gavin… I did! But Dexter said Gavin is too arrogant and selfish, that he’d never say yes…” “He said we’re brothers. That what’s yours is mine. He said taking it for a few days isn’t ‘stealing’—it’s just sharing. He said if I didn’t help him, it was because I looked down on him for being a ‘scholarship kid.’ That I was just another elitist jerk…” I felt a wave of genuine nausea. A forty-five-thousand-dollar piece of horology, and this kid wanted to ‘borrow’ it to play dress-up. And if I said no, I was the villain. It was the kind of toxic, bottom-feeding logic that made my skin crawl, and Toby had swallowed it whole. 2 “So, because he’s poor, he’s entitled to my life’s work?” I asked. Toby sniffled, trying to find his footing. “Gavin, you don’t understand. Dexter’s had it rough. He scrapes by on nothing… he just has a lot of pride. He needs to make connections at that party. It could change his life.” “A watch is nothing to you,” Toby added, his voice regaining a sliver of that borrowed self-righteousness. “But for him, it’s a gateway to a future.” I kicked him square in the shoulder, flipping him onto his back. “Nothing to me?” I leaned down, grabbed his collar, and hauled him up until we were eye-to-eye. “I bought that watch with the first real profit from my startup. I worked twenty-hour days for three years to earn that ‘nothing.’ And you’re going to give away my blood and sweat so some parasite can ‘change his life’? You’re playing Robin Hood with your own brother’s heart?” My father stepped forward, pulling a chair from the desk and sitting down. When he spoke, the room felt smaller. “Toby,” Dad said. “This Dexter… does he make a habit of ‘borrowing’ from you?” Toby shook his head violently. “No! He’s a great guy! He… he gets me coffee when I’m pulling an all-night study session!” Mom walked over to Toby’s closet and yanked the door open. It was half-empty. His North Face parkas, his designer hoodies—all gone. She turned to his desk. The $3,000 MacBook Pro we’d bought him for his birthday two weeks ago was nowhere to be seen. “Where are your coats, Toby? Where is your laptop?” Mom’s voice was like a whip. Toby’s eyes went shifty. He stammered for a moment before whispering, “Dexter had an interview. He needed to look the part… and the laptop… we just share it in the dorm. He couldn’t afford a good one, and I didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to be ‘the rich kid’.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. I dropped the shoe. “Fine,” I said, dusting off my hands. I turned toward the door. “Gavin, where are you going?” Toby asked, panic lacing his voice. “To help your ‘best friend’ find his destiny.” I drove to Toby’s university dorm with a cold, vibrating clarity. It was 9:00 PM. The hallways of the sophomore wing were buzzing with the usual Friday night energy. I walked straight to Room 304 and didn’t bother knocking. I kicked the door so hard the frame groaned. BOOM. The door flew open. Three guys were inside. Two were sprawled on their bunks, staring at their phones; they nearly jumped out of their skins. The third guy was standing in front of a full-length mirror, admiring his reflection. He was wearing a limited-edition varsity jacket I’d bought Toby for his birthday. He was decked out in name brands from head to toe. On his desk sat Toby’s MacBook. This was Dexter. He froze, his brow furrowing as he processed my intrusion. “Who the hell are you? You ever hear of knocking?” I didn’t say a word. I crossed the room in three strides, grabbed a handful of his carefully styled hair, and slammed him down to the floor. Dexter let out a sharp, pathetic shriek as he hit the linoleum. The two roommates scrambled into the corners of their beds, eyes wide, terrified. I put my weight onto my boot, pinning Dexter’s shoulder to the ground, and gripped his chin, forcing him to look at me. “I’m Toby’s brother.” I stared into his eyes, my voice a low, lethal hum. “A forty-five-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe. You really had the balls to ask for that?” 3 Dexter’s face went ghost-white. He struggled under my boot, but I didn’t budge. “What are you doing? Get off me! Toby said I could have it! You can’t just break in here and assault me!” Dexter screamed. “Borrow it?” I leaned down and delivered a sharp slap to his face. The sound echoed in the cramped room. His lip split instantly, a bead of dark blood blooming on the corner of his mouth. “I paid for that watch. Toby doesn’t have the authority to lend out my property,” I said. Dexter’s eyes welled with tears. He realized he couldn’t overpower me, so he pivoted. He looked toward his roommates, his face contorting into a mask of fragile, victimized innocence. “Caleb, Sam! Call campus security! He’s crazy! Just because he has money doesn’t mean he can hunt us down! He’s bullying us because we’re not like him!” The roommate named Caleb looked conflicted. “Hey, man… maybe just let him up? Dexter said Toby was cool with it. Toby’s always giving him stuff. Can’t we just talk about this?” “Talk?” I looked at Caleb. “He manipulated a nineteen-year-old kid into committing grand larceny. That’s a felony. Are you sure you want to be the character witness for a felon?” Caleb shut his mouth and backed away, his face pale. Dexter was still squirming, clutching the varsity jacket like it was his own skin. “I didn’t steal anything! Toby wanted to help me! You’re just a psycho who’s jealous because Toby actually likes me!” I knelt down, my face inches from his. “Take it off.” Dexter blinked. “What?” “The jacket. I paid for it. Take it off. Now.” Dexter clutched the lapels, sobbing. “You’re a monster! Toby gave this to me! You can’t just strip me in front of everyone!” I didn’t argue. I just grabbed the collar and yanked. The expensive silk lining tore with a jagged, ugly sound, exposing his t-shirt underneath. Dexter screamed and curled into a ball, weeping as if I were the villain in a Dickens novel. “Help! He’s killing me! The rich guy is trying to kill me!” A crowd was already gathering in the hallway, students peeking in, the murmur of voices growing louder. Someone started recording on their phone. Seeing his audience, Dexter’s performance went into overdrive. He crawled toward the doorway, reaching out to the onlookers. “Please! Someone help! I just borrowed a jacket, and his brother broke in to beat me up! Do we even matter to people like him? Are we just trash to be stepped on?” The whispers from the hallway turned sharp. “That’s messed up.” “You can’t treat people like that, no matter how much money you have.” “Call the cops. This is assault.” I stood in the center of the room, cold and detached. I pulled a wet wipe from my pocket and slowly cleaned the blood from my knuckles. It was a classic move. The weaponized victimhood of the “underdog.” 4 He’d wrapped himself in the armor of poverty, using it as a get-out-of-jail-free card, banking on the collective empathy of the crowd. Just then, the dorm supervisor and the faculty advisor, Mr. Henderson, pushed through the throng. Henderson took one look at Dexter—bloody, disheveled, and weeping—and his face turned a bright, indignant red. “What is going on here? Who is responsible for this?” Dexter lunged for Henderson’s legs, sobbing into his slacks. “Save me! Toby’s brother… he just started hitting me! He tore my clothes! He’s trying to humiliate me in front of everyone!” Henderson glared at me. “You’re Toby’s family? How dare you bring this kind of violence onto this campus! Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve just broken?” I tossed the used wet wipe into the trash can. “Mr. Henderson, right? This boy spent the last four hours convincing my brother to steal a forty-five-thousand-dollar luxury watch from my home. As the owner of the property and the victim of an attempted theft, I’m here to recover my stolen goods and address a criminal. You have a problem with that?” Henderson blinked. The crowd went silent. “Forty-five thousand? Theft?” Henderson stammered, looking down at Dexter. Dexter shook his head frantically. “I didn’t! He’s making it up! I just asked Toby if I could wear it for a night! I didn’t know he was going to ‘steal’ it! I’m innocent!” Henderson looked relieved, shifting back into his “peacekeeper” role. “Look, Mr. …?” “Gavin.” “Mr. Gavin. This is clearly a misunderstanding. Dexter is one of our top scholarship students. He’s had a very difficult life, but he’s a hard worker. He wouldn’t do something like this.” “Since nothing was actually stolen, let’s keep this in the family. Bringing this kind of drama to the school is bad for everyone. Apologize to Dexter, cover his medical bills, and we can forget this ever happened.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Apologize? Pay him?” I walked over to Dexter’s desk. “Where’s the rest of the stuff Toby ‘gave’ you?” Dexter cowered behind Henderson, silent. I brushed past Henderson and looked at the desk. It wasn’t just the laptop. There were limited-edition collectible figures, high-end headphones, all things I’d bought for Toby over the years. I picked up a rare, $500 glass-sculpted figurine. CRASH. I dropped it. It shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. “What are you doing!” Henderson shouted. I didn’t answer. I picked up a pair of $600 Sennheiser headphones and snapped the headband like a twig. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of destruction. Dexter watched the wreckage of his “gifts” with a look of pure agony. “You’re insane! Those are mine!” “Yours?” I stopped and looked him in the eye. “You’re a ‘scholarship student’ who qualified for the Pell Grant, yet you have over ten thousand dollars worth of luxury tech and collectibles on your desk. And you’re telling me they’re yours?” The students in the hall started murmuring again, but the tone had changed. They were looking at Dexter’s desk with new eyes. Dexter’s face went through a kaleidoscope of colors—red, white, then a sickly gray. “Toby didn’t want them! He gave them to me! Is it a crime for a poor person to have nice things?” 5 I was done listening to his lies. I walked to his wardrobe and ripped it open. A dozen designer shirts. Three pairs of Balenciaga sneakers. Every single one was a piece I had helped Toby pick out at the boutique. I tore them off the hangers and threw them into the pile of broken glass on the floor, stepping on them for good measure. “Toby ‘gave’ you these too?” I asked. Dexter grit his teeth, tears streaming down his face. “Yes! He has so much, he can’t even wear it all! Why shouldn’t I have a turn?” “Is it a ‘turn,’ Dexter? Or is it a shakedown?” I pulled out my phone and pulled up Toby’s Venmo history. I held it up to Henderson’s face. “Look at this, Mr. Henderson. In the last month alone, Dexter has had Toby pay for over fifteen DoorDash orders—all of them expensive steakhouse or sushi dinners. Dexter’s phone bill? Toby paid it. That brand-new iPhone in his pocket? Toby bought it on a monthly installment plan.” I turned back to Dexter. “You didn’t find a friend in Toby. You found a vein, and you’ve been draining him dry while telling him it’s ‘sharing.’ You aren’t just poor, Dexter. You’re a parasite.” Dexter snapped. He stood up, pointing a finger at me, his voice shaking with rage. “Shut up! Toby wanted to spend that money! What do you know about friendship? You’re just a cold-blooded shark who thinks everything has a price tag!” I took a step toward him. He flinched so hard he hit the wardrobe door. That’s when I saw it. A secondary phone, half-hidden in the top drawer of his nightstand. I reached for it. Dexter turned into a wild animal, lunging for my arm. “Don’t touch that! That’s my private property! You’re a thief!” I swept his leg, and he hit the floor with a heavy thud, kneeling before me. I picked up the phone. It wasn’t locked. I tapped the photo gallery. My stomach did a slow, sickening roll.

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