Category: English

The lab fire was sudden and violent. My boyfriend instinctively raised his hand to shield me, losing a layer of skin in the process. On the day we broke up, I deliberately aimed for his deepest wound. “Every time I look at those hands, I feel physically sick.” Years later, he became my father’s attending physician. Before discussing the prognosis, he asked with a calm expression: “Miss Miller, will my hands cause you any physiological discomfort?” 1 Yesterday, a friend called to say there might be hope for my dad’s condition. A doctor named Dr. Vance had just returned from studying abroad at their hospital, specializing in exactly this rare disease. But I never expected this “Dr. Vance” to be Julian Vance. “Dr. Vance is so handsome. If only his hands weren’t burned like that, he’d be perfect!” “I heard from Dr. Reed that his ex-girlfriend caused it. She even broke up with him because of it.” “What? That’s disgusting.” Passing the nurses’ station, I overheard their chatter while they prepped medications. My steps faltered, then I forced myself to continue down the hall. With every step closer to that door, my heart pounded faster and faster. My hand was trembling as it touched the doorknob. But the moment I saw that familiar figure, everything went quiet. The man in the white coat stopped writing and looked up at the sound. Our eyes met, and my heart seemed to stop. My whole body went rigid. To be honest, I was prepared for Julian’s mockery. Because— I was that disgusting ex-girlfriend. 2 But as long as he could give my dad a fighting chance, I would take anything. In a flash, he looked away. “You must be Mr. Miller’s family. Please, have a seat.” His voice was cold and distant. I remembered he had this unapproachable aura when I first pursued him, too. He gestured to the chair opposite him with his chin, then… Went back to writing. Was he— Pretending not to recognize me? The thought flashed through my mind but was instantly dismissed. How could he pretend in front of someone he loathed? He was proud. When he got tired of my chasing back then, he would just turn and leave without a word. But thinking about it, maybe he really didn’t recognize me. I was wearing a mask, and I had bangs now. So many years had passed. My heart, suspended in my throat, slowly settled. After sitting down, my eyes involuntarily drifted to his terrifying hands. The raised scars from the burn were stark against his pale skin. My heart clenched. The pain buried deep inside resurfaced. Back then, a girl in my lab group caused a flash fire due to improper handling. Flames erupted instantly. Julian was right next to me. His reaction was lightning fast. He shielded my face with his hands. In that instant, his skin burned away, revealing horrifying red flesh. It was terrifying. I cried and asked him why he did it. He lowered his head, wiped my tears, and looked straight into my eyes. “Because it’s you, I’d do anything.” Those scars made me certain about Julian. So much so that on the day I broke up with him, I used those very scars to end it. The vicious words still echoed in my ears. “You know, every time I see your hands, I feel sick to my stomach.” “I can’t stand it for another day.” He must hate me to death. The scars he bore for me were met with such cruelty. … “Miss Miller?” I didn’t know when Julian had looked up, but his gaze was fixed on my face. “Yes.” He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, noticing where I was staring. “My hands won’t cause you any physiological discomfort, will they?” 3 I shook my head awkwardly. “No.” How could they? He got them for me. I only felt heartache; how could I feel disgust? He curled his lip slightly and explained patiently. “That’s good.” “Everyone has different sensitivities. I have to ask beforehand.” “Have the blood count and bone marrow biopsy been done?” “Yes.” “When was the last transfusion?” “Two months ago.” “What is your relationship with Carter?” Carter was the friend who referred me to Julian. But what did that have to do with my dad’s illness? The answer stopped at my lips, suspicion creeping in. “Do… do you need to know that too?” He glanced at me calmly. “Of course. It’s protocol.” He was the doctor; I was the patient’s family. Naturally, I answered whatever he asked. “College classmates.” Those dark eyes suddenly stared straight at me, scrutinizing, as if trying to discern something. Before I could speak, he pulled out the prepared files, switched to a professional demeanor, and began outlining the treatment plan. A while later, the door opened. “Julian, what do you want for lunch?” 4 Behind the sweet, light voice was a face that was adaptable and soft-featured. I recognized her almost instantly. It was Sarah Reed! She was the girl who made the mistake in the lab. Luckily for her, her injuries back then weren’t severe. It really is a small world. She stared at me, too. Slowly, the smile on her lips began to fade. A deep, magnetic voice cut off the name Sarah was about to say. “Whatever you want.” “Or that Thai place downstairs.” “You go get a table. I’ll be done in a minute.” They spoke across me. From this angle, I could clearly see Julian’s sharp jawline, and… The gentle look in his eyes, devoid of any guard. That look used to belong to me. In high school, Sarah was in our class but wasn’t close to Julian or me. Many times during breaks, I would go to Julian. Sarah sat behind us. I always saw her sitting quietly at her desk, alone. Maybe it was awkwardness, unable to join our conversation. Sometimes when our eyes met accidentally, she would immediately look away. Now the roles were reversed. I had become the outsider. Sarah looked at me one last time before closing the door, her expression back to normal, nodding politely. Once again, it was just me and Julian in the office. He naturally exuded an oppressive aura, suffocating the space around us. I lowered my eyes, resting my elbows on the edge of the desk, heart still racing. Suddenly, the light in front of me was blocked by a shadow. His broad frame leaned forward, looming over me. Almost instinctively, I leaned back, creating distance. His hand froze in mid-air, his face turning completely cold. “What are you hiding from?”

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Chapter 1 During a reality show shoot, my sister and I both fell into the water. My husband, Julian, didn’t even hesitate. He dove in and saved my sister. He held her, looking distressed and frantic, and walked away without once looking back. He left me sinking toward the bottom of the lake. I was barely conscious when the crew finally pulled me out. The next day, when I handed Julian the divorce papers, his face darkened. “Lily can’t swim, so I saved her first. Are you seriously jealous over that?” I looked him calmly in the eye. “Yeah. Just sign it.” Julian and I finalized the divorce quietly. Julian kept frowning, his brow furrowed in that way I used to find so attractive. But now? It didn’t stir a single emotion in me. He shoved the decree into his pocket. “I’ll drive you.” I shook my head. “No need.” Julian seemed annoyed by my attitude. “Jessie, you don’t have to be like this. We were married for three years. Divorce doesn’t mean we have to be enemies.” I was genuinely shocked for a second. I couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth. Now that Lily was back, he should be thrilled I was stepping aside so easily. “Julian, to me, divorced means divorced. We aren’t family, and we certainly can’t be friends.” “You…” “Besides, we don’t have kids. There’s really no reason to stay in touch.” Julian, clearly irritated by my indifference, turned and stormed off. I watched his retreating back and let out a sigh. But then I thought about my bank account balance, and the heaviness vanished. Although I was technically the second daughter of the Sterling family, I hadn’t seen a dime of their money. This divorce, however, had made me a very wealthy woman. I knew I wouldn’t get half of the Thorne empire, so when I had my lawyer draft the agreement, I asked for twenty million dollars. Julian agreed. He also threw in a penthouse in New York, a villa in Los Angeles, and several commercial properties in prime locations. It was enough to ensure I’d never have to worry about money again. Looking at the numbers on my screen, I laughed out loud. Finally. I could start living for myself. Within twenty-four hours, I moved into a sleek apartment in Manhattan. Seeing my name on the deed gave me a sense of security I’d never felt before. I thought leaving Julian would shatter me. For three years, I had truly loved him. But surprisingly, that night, I slept better than I had in years. A wave of relief washed over me, and I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. Chapter 2 Julian and I were a business arrangement. A merger between the Thorne and Sterling families. Grandfather Thorne and my grandfather had served in the military together. That bond sealed the marriage pact years ago. But the engagement was originally meant for Lily. She was the Sterlings’ golden child, raised like a princess for eighteen years. I was the biological daughter who had been switched at birth. Julian Thorne was New York royalty. A guy like him and a girl like me were never supposed to meet, let alone fall in love. Until I was eighteen. The Sterlings found me, crying about how a nurse’s mistake had separated us. They said I was their flesh and blood. Back then, I was living in a foster home. When I saw my biological parents in their luxury sedan, I thought my life was about to get easier. I thought I wouldn’t have to collect cans to pay for school fees anymore. But I didn’t get love or compensation. I got indifference. They told me the “fake” daughter’s parents had passed away, so they couldn’t just send her away. But the way they treated us? Night and day. I didn’t feel like the second daughter. I felt like the help. I didn’t mind. I just wanted to finish college. Then came the marriage pact. I found out that Julian, the handsome boy Lily had been following around like a puppy, had been in a severe car accident. Doctors said his leg would never fully heal. He would walk with a limp forever. Lily screamed and cried, refusing to marry a “cripple.” So, the duty fell to me. I could have said no. But I remembered seeing Julian once, years ago, before I knew who he was. He was brilliant, kind, and handsome. I was twenty, a sophomore at Columbia. My parents made me take a leave of absence to get married. When I first met Julian after the accident, he was furious. He smashed a vase near my feet, screaming for Lily. But Lily? She had already taken her parents’ black card and fled to Paris for “art school.” The Sterling family business relied on the Thornes. Lily wouldn’t marry him, but they needed a body to secure the alliance. That body was me. That was the first time my mother, Mrs. Sterling, showed me any kindness. She wept about how hard it was for the family, how pitiful Lily was, how my father’s hair was turning gray from stress. I didn’t care about their tears. I wanted to marry him. Not for them, but for him. When I was a freshman, Julian was a senior. He was the campus legend—brilliant, wealthy, unattainable. And back then, Lily was always by his side. Everyone admired his looks, but I admired his mind. He published papers on advanced mathematics that blew me away. I read every single one. They helped me solve problems I was stuck on. I fell in love with his brain first. On our wedding day, Julian didn’t smile once. I was so nervous my hands were sweating. When he took my hand, I almost tripped. The guests chuckled. I felt like an embarrassment. I heard people whispering about Lily, and Julian’s face went black. He loved Lily. I knew that. That’s why he resented me. For a moment, I regretted everything. The marriage. The secret crush. That night, Julian was rough, venting his anger. But his leg was hurting him. I saw him wince. So I pushed him back gently, straddled him, and took control. Soon, the anger faded into something else. His face flushed, and we both got lost in the rhythm. Chapter 3 Life at the Thorne estate was quiet. I actually liked it better than the Sterling house. I loved to read and study. Even though I had dropped out, I never stopped learning. Julian changed, too. He went from staying out late to coming home on time every day. Even when work was crazy, he’d text me to let me know where he was. I started learning massage therapy from an old specialist. I thought maybe I could help his leg. When I first suggested it, I was shy. But six months later, I knew every pressure point on his body. Julian went from resisting it to waiting for it every night. My hands grew stronger, more confident. Life was peaceful, if a bit boring. One day, while dropping off documents for Julian at Thorne Enterprises, a producer spotted me. He asked if I wanted to audition for a small role in a web series. The character was a quiet genius. I said yes on a whim. Julian didn’t object. Unexpectedly, the show blew up. I gained a small, loyal fanbase. It was fun. I never thought I’d be part of the entertainment industry. The Thorne family owned a massive media conglomerate, Rainmaker Entertainment. Julian told me I could do whatever I wanted, as long as I didn’t use the Thorne name to get ahead. So, I got an agent, Sarah, and started booking small roles. I became a C-list actress, and honestly? I loved it. Sometimes, I’d lie in bed and read fan comments to Julian while massaging his leg. One night, my hand slipped higher than intended. Julian groaned. I tried to pull away, but he pinned me to the bed. The kiss was natural. The intimacy that followed was explosive. From that moment on, everything changed. He bought me my favorite pastries. He bought me jewelry. We went to movies and walked by the lake. We were like a normal, happy couple. And thanks to my massages, his leg improved miraculously. Unless he walked very fast, you couldn’t even tell he had been injured. Three years into our marriage, Lily came back. That day, for the first time in a long time, Julian didn’t cling to me in the morning. My parents called—the first time in three years—demanding we come for dinner. Lily hadn’t returned once in three years. My parents always made excuses for her. Julian’s face was cold. I didn’t know what he was thinking. When we arrived at the Sterling estate, a vision in white threw herself into Julian’s arms. I stood there, watching. He didn’t push her away. She was crying, ruining his custom suit with tears, calling him “Julian, Julian.” My heart felt like it was being stabbed with a thousand needles. Seeing me, Lily straightened up. “I’m so sorry, Jessie. I was just so happy. Julian… oh wait, should I call you brother-in-law now?” Julian’s jaw tightened. He took my hand and led me to the table. Lily stared at our joined hands in shock. Dinner was torture. My parents ignored me completely, spending the entire meal trying to get Julian to talk to Lily. It felt like they were trying to sell her to him. From that day on, Lily was everywhere. Julian went from annoyed to accepting in less than a month. Lily wanted to act. Julian assigned Rainmaker’s top agent to her. She strutted around Thorne Tower like she owned the place. Everyone assumed she was Mrs. Thorne because I had kept my identity a secret. Lily would call Julian on speakerphone, whining and flirting, then bring lunch to his office. I had visited his office once. He scolded me for interrupting. I never went back. People just thought I was some starlet trying to sleep her way to the top. With Julian’s backing, Lily became an overnight sensation. My agent, Sarah, asked if I knew her. I said no. Sarah vented about what a diva Lily was, stealing endorsements left and right. When I lost three contracts in a row to her, I realized she was targeting me. And Julian? He gave me nothing. If we passed in the hallway, he looked right through me. I hadn’t thought about divorce yet. I still loved him. Chapter 4 Until the accident. The moment I realized we were over. It happened on a reality survival show. Both Lily and I were cast. Lily played the delicate flower. I was the capable quiet one. Julian came to visit the set. We were filming near a lake. The old wooden dock Lily and I were standing on suddenly collapsed. We both plunged into the water. Chaos erupted. Crew members shouted. But before anyone could react, Julian—billionaire CEO Julian Thorne—dove into the water. I can’t swim. When I saw him diving, I thought he was coming for me. I was his wife. But when I saw him grab Lily and swim toward the shore, something in me broke. I realized then: He doesn’t love me. It was like he didn’t even see me. He carried Lily to his car, frantic, treating her like fine china. As I sank into the darkness, the last thing I saw was his car driving away. By the time the crew fished me out, I was unconscious. Because Julian had caused such a scene saving Lily, everyone assumed I was safe. It took the assistant director screaming to make them realize I was still under. I woke up in the hospital. Only Sarah was there. She was crying. “Sarah, I’m not dead,” I croaked. “Oh my god, Jessie! You scared me to death! You have the worst luck. Julian made such a scene saving that green tea b*tch that everyone forgot about you!” “It’s okay.” My heart was calm. Dead calm. I thought we were one. Reality slapped me awake. That afternoon, I was discharged. I saw them in the lobby. Julian was supporting Lily. My parents were trailing behind them, fussing over her, putting a coat over her shoulders. They looked like a happy family. They had completely forgotten I existed. I watched them walk away. Then I pulled out my phone and called the lawyer Sarah had recommended. “Draw up the papers,” I said.

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Five years into our marriage, my husband died from a sudden asthma attack, leaving me and our son utterly alone in the world. My friends pitied me, a young widow. My parents urged me to take our son and remarry quickly. But I refused. I was determined to stay and honor my husband’s memory. Then, on the third anniversary of his death, I overheard my father-in-law in a furious argument with my brother-in-law. “David was the one with asthma, David was the one who died! But you… you faked your own death, all to take care of his widow. You threw away your own family for her. Was it worth it?” “For three years, Lena has mourned you, raising Leo all by herself. You gave your niece a home, but have you ever stopped to think? The day you decided to ‘die,’ Leo lost his father, too.” In that moment, a chill washed over me, so cold it felt like my blood was turning to ice. I finally understood. The man who died three years ago wasn’t my husband, Daniel. It was his identical twin brother, David. My three years of devoted mourning were nothing but a cruel joke. That night, I called my parents. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ll remarry.” 1 After my husband’s supposed death, his parents were consumed with guilt. They couldn’t even look me in the eye, catering to my every need, terrified that I would take their grandson and remarry, severing their last link to their son. My own parents, meanwhile, were constantly trying to set me up on dates. “You can’t be a widow for the rest of your life,” they’d say. But I was stubborn, immovable. I insisted on honoring Daniel’s memory. I even reassured my in-laws that I would never let our son call another man “Dad.” For three years, I endured the hardship and exhaustion of being a single mother, gritting my teeth through every lonely day. But then came the third anniversary of his death. And I overheard my father-in-law yelling at the man I knew as my brother-in-law, David. “Daniel Ford! It was your brother who had asthma since we were in the womb, your brother who passed away! Why did you have to stage your own death and steal his identity?” Daniel Ford? That was my husband’s name. Stage your own death? I stood frozen, unable to process it, when the other man’s voice cut through the air. “Dad, my sister-in-law was pregnant at the time. How could she have handled that kind of shock? As for Lena… I gave her a son. She won’t have to spend the rest of her life childless. That’s enough.” “From that day on,” he continued, his voice cold and resolute, “I decided to take on my brother’s responsibility of caring for his wife. As for the identity of Daniel Ford, let it be buried forever.” I couldn’t bear to listen to another word. My limbs felt like ice, and a sharp, piercing pain throbbed in my head. So, it wasn’t my husband who had died. It was his twin. And the man who should have been my partner, my love, had faked his own death to take care of another man’s wife, abandoning me and our son without a second thought. Tears finally streamed down my face, hot and furious. Daniel had been my savior. He had pulled me from the darkest time in my life. After I was kidnapped, my reputation in our small town was ruined, but he didn’t care. He got down on one knee and proposed, swearing he would love me forever. And for five years, he had. He treated me like a queen, never letting me suffer the slightest grievance. Everyone said I had married the most devoted man in the world. I was the envy of every woman in town. That was why I had chosen to remain his widow. Now, I saw how pathetic I had been. Daniel had always been perfectly healthy. He never even caught a cold. How could he have died from an asthma attack? It was all an act. He had put on a three-year performance, all to take care of the woman he truly loved. And what about me and our son? What were we to him? I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob and fled. Back in my room, the noise woke our son, Leo. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. I looked at his small face, a perfect miniature of Daniel’s, and my heart shattered. How could Daniel, his own father, be so cruel as to let his son grow up thinking his dad was dead? Seeing the grief on my face, Leo looked at me with heartbreaking sympathy. “Mommy, is Daddy pretending he doesn’t know you again?” His words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered how, after Daniel reappeared as “Uncle David,” Leo would run to him, crying “Daddy!” I had always gently corrected him, telling him it was his uncle, not his father. I thought it was just a child’s wishful thinking, his inability to distinguish between two identical faces. I never imagined that I was the one who was blind. My son’s eyes had been clear all along. He always knew his own father. What he couldn’t understand was why, overnight, his daddy refused to recognize him. No wonder “Uncle David” had been so kind to us. He bought Leo gifts, checked in on him constantly, brought us groceries, and even secretly gave us money. But the moment Leo called him “Daddy,” he would become stern, instantly correcting him. Everyone said he was the best uncle in the world, more attentive than most fathers. Before I knew the truth, I had been so grateful, promising myself I would repay his kindness one day. Now, the irony was nauseating. He was Leo’s father. Wasn’t it his duty to be good to his own son? How could he do all those things without his conscience tearing him apart? A bitter taste filled my mouth. The Daniel I knew was well and truly dead. He had buried himself. And my three years of mourning him had officially ended our relationship. After composing myself, I looked at my son. “Leo,” I said softly, “what if Mommy remarries? What if I find you a new daddy? Would you be okay with that?” “Mommy, I don’t know why Daddy keeps pretending not to know me,” he said, his little voice wise beyond his years. “But if you don’t want him anymore, then I don’t want him either. Wherever you go, I’ll go with you. If Daddy won’t protect you, I will!” Feeling my sorrow, Leo threw his arms around my neck, his small hands patting my back. At that, a fresh wave of tears escaped. “Okay,” I whispered, holding him tight. I picked up the phone and called my parents. The moment they answered, they launched into their usual speech. “Lena, honey, since Daniel passed, Jacob Vance has been to the house a dozen times to ask for your hand. You’ve known each other since you were kids, and he’s a Captain now. Why are you so stubborn? Why won’t you just…” “Mom, Dad,” I cut in. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do it. I’ll remarry.” There were five seconds of stunned silence, then an eruption of joyous disbelief. “Are you serious? Oh, that’s wonderful! We’ll call him right away and start planning! Don’t you worry, Jacob has promised us over and over that he’ll treat Leo like his own son. All you have to do is be happy.” I could feel their excitement through the phone. They had worried about me for three long years. My devotion to Daniel had disappointed them time and again. Not anymore. The next morning, I took Leo downstairs for breakfast. Daniel was fussing over his “sister-in-law” and niece, a perfect picture of a happy family. Before, I had envied her, imagining Daniel would have treated me with the same care if he were still alive. Now, the scene just made me sick. My eyes stung, but I refused to cry. There was no one left to wipe my tears. Daniel caught sight of my pale face and served me and Leo some bacon. “You should eat more, Lena,” he said, his tone casual and concerned, the perfect brother-in-law. “Daniel is gone, but you have to think of your son.” He spoke as if the dead man he mentioned wasn’t himself. “It’s okay, Uncle,” Leo piped up, using his fork to put a piece of bacon on my plate. “I can help Mommy.” The word “Uncle” struck Daniel like a bolt of lightning. He froze, knocking over his glass with a clatter. It was the first time Leo had ever called him that. For three years, no matter how much Daniel had corrected him, Leo had stubbornly called him “Daddy.” “Leo,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “You… you always thought of me as your dad before. What changed?” Leo smiled a small, sad smile. “Uncle, I was just a little kid before. I get it now. My daddy died three years ago. Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.” Daniel stared, speechless. Finally, he managed a hollow laugh. “Oh. Well, that’s good.” But his eyes darted between me and Leo, searching for a clue, his fork hovering over his plate, untouched. We ignored him, eating our breakfast in silence. His anxiety grew, his gaze constantly flicking toward us. “Even though I’m not Leo’s father,” he finally said, testing the waters, “I love him like my own son. Don’t be such a stranger. We’re family. If you ever need anything, just ask me. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.” I forced a bitter smile. Was he regretting it now that his son no longer called him “Daddy”? But he was the one who chose to fake his death, to abandon his child. I put down my fork and stood up, taking Leo’s hand. I didn’t thank him for his “care,” as I usually did. Instead, I looked him straight in his shocked eyes. “You’re right, David,” I said, using his brother’s name. “No matter how close we are, you’re not Leo’s real father. We’ll be just fine on our own.” The next day, I went to the department store. I bought Leo the milk candies and pastries he’d been craving, and then I went to the bridal section. I pointed to a stunning crimson dress and asked the clerk if I could try it on. Stepping out of the dressing room, I stared at my reflection, surprised at how much younger I looked. “Is this for your wedding?” the clerk gushed. “Red is so festive! Of all the women who have tried on this dress, you’re the first to make it look so beautiful.” But I silently took it off and pointed to a simple, elegant ivory dress instead. “I’ll take this one,” I said. A widow, I’d been told, shouldn’t wear a celebratory color for her second wedding. As I left the store, my arms full of bags, I ran right into Daniel, who was out shopping with his sister-in-law. He froze, then gave me an awkward greeting. “Lena? What are you doing out?” In the three years since his “death,” I had barely left the house. Seeing me out shopping, laden with bags, clearly surprised him. I mumbled an excuse, trying to brush past him. But as I did, he caught a glimpse of the dress bag. His expression turned grave. We had bought our wedding things in this very store. But back then, my dress had been crimson. Now, the dress in my bag was a subtle ivory. Why would a widow be buying a wedding dress? He stood there for a long time, so lost in thought that even his sister-in-law noticed something was wrong. That evening, when I brought Leo home from school, Daniel was waiting at our door, holding a brand-new backpack. The tag from the expensive international store was still attached. “Leo, your uncle got you a new backpack as a present for getting perfect scores on your test. Do you like it?” Leo looked at me, then shook his head at Daniel. “Thank you, Uncle, but I like the old one Mommy made for me.” The warm smile on Daniel’s face shattered. Panic flickered in his eyes. I sent Leo inside and blocked Daniel’s path. “We can’t keep taking things from you. You don’t need to buy him anything else.” He looked anxious, almost desperate. “Lena, I’m his uncle. It’s my duty to take care of you both. Don’t be like this.” I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. He frowned, unsettled. “I’m still your brother-in-law. Do you have to have this attitude with me?” I stared at him, my gaze boring into him, wondering how he had the audacity. “You said it yourself. You’re my brother-in-law. Not my husband. You have no right to question my attitude.” My behavior, combined with Leo’s, finally made him snap. He reached for my arm, his voice rising. “What’s going on, Lena? Why have you changed overnight?” I stepped back, out of his reach. “I’m your sister-in-law. Watch yourself.” Then I went inside and shut the door in his face. Daniel stood on the porch, silenced. For three years, even while living as David, his life hadn’t really changed. He still cared for me and Leo, our relationship still intimate and familiar. My warning was the first time he was forced to realize that we were no longer what we once were. He had to keep his distance. That night, Daniel rushed out and spent all his savings on three large tins of malted milk powder. He planned to bring them over the next morning, to apologize, to do whatever it took to fix things with us. He didn’t know it was our last night in that house. At dawn the next day, Leo and I, with all our luggage, were driven to the military base. As we entered, the young soldier at the gate smiled and called me Mrs. Vance. He said I was beautiful and my son was adorable, and that their Captain was a lucky man. I smiled back. For three years, I had worn nothing but drab colors. I barely ate meat. I lived like a nun, and my son, out of sympathy, had joined me, his face always pale. Now, that was over. Even Leo’s face was bright with anticipation for his new father. My fiancé, Captain Jacob Vance, had spared no expense for our wedding reception. He’d ordered dozens of tables of food from the best restaurant in the city and invited the entire base. He even sent men into town to announce that anyone who came to offer congratulations would receive wedding candy. Every detail was a testament to how much he valued me. Meanwhile, back at the Ford house, Daniel waited with his peace offerings. He waited and waited, but Leo and I never came down for breakfast. He looked up at our window, a sense of unease creeping over him. He went upstairs with his gifts and knocked, but there was no answer. The unease grew into dread. He threw his shoulder against the door, breaking it open. The rooms were empty. In the three years since his fake death, I had been a ghost in that house, either praying for his soul or lost in sorrow. I almost never went out. Where could we have gone so early in the morning? The memory of the ivory dress flashed in his mind. The certainty he’d felt just a day ago vanished. He rushed out, intending to find my parents, but was intercepted by one of his old army buddies, who dragged him toward the base. “It’s the Captain’s wedding day!” the man cheered. “We have to be there to celebrate!” “I heard the bride’s first husband died,” the friend chattered on. “Left her and her son in a tough spot. It’s a real blessing she found our Captain. A match made in heaven.” Daniel, his mind a chaotic mess, barely heard him. He just nodded along. It wasn’t until they entered the base and he heard the chorus of congratulations—”To Captain Vance and his bride, Lena, a hundred years of happiness!”—that the words finally registered. He stopped dead in his tracks, as if struck by lightning. He grabbed his friend’s shoulder, his eyes wide with panic. “The bride’s name is Lena? Which Lena?” Before the man could answer, I emerged from the main hall, holding hands with Jacob on one side and Leo on the other, walking straight into Daniel’s look of utter disbelief.

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When my older sister was fourteen, she was adopted by the Sterling family, the wealthiest in New York City. The village girl transformed into a wealthy heiress overnight. In the first year after she left, she secretly sent me a letter and a box of books. In the letter, she told me to study hard and come find her outside the mountains. She said the world outside was wonderful, that she was living well with the Sterlings, and that I shouldn’t worry. After that, I lost all contact with my sister. I never received another letter. Years later, I was admitted to a university in NYC to find her, only to discover that the Sterling family had no adopted daughter. Later, I dated a boy named Julian Sterling, the beloved only son of the family. When he was drunk one night, Julian told me a secret. He actually had an older brother who died in an accident before he turned eighteen. His parents bought a girl with a compatible horoscope to keep his brother company in the afterlife. 1 When the Sterlings drove their luxury car to our shack, my sister and I were chopping wood in the mountains. Our parents hurriedly called us back. They wanted to adopt my sister, take her to the big city to live in a mansion. My sister seemed unwilling. She pulled me in front of them. “Adopt my sister instead. She’s more obedient and prettier than me.” They didn’t even glance at me. Instead, they reached out and patted my sister’s head, smiling faintly. “We want you.” Dad pushed my sister toward the house. “Jasmine, go pack your things.” I wiped away tears secretly. I saw them hand my parents a check for a hundred thousand dollars. Their only condition was that we were never to contact my sister again. My parents took the check, grinning ear to ear. “Why are you selling my sister!” To me, this wasn’t adoption; it was selling their daughter! Dad heard me and kicked me viciously. “What does a brat like you know!” “She’s lucky to be chosen by rich people. Isn’t it good to be a wealthy young lady in the city?!” I wiped the tears from the corner of my eye and thought about it seriously. It seemed Dad was right. Being a rich daughter was better than suffering in these mountains, unloved by parents. The Sterlings looked at the meager belongings my sister packed, frowning slightly in distaste. “We’ll replace everything with new things.” My sister got into their luxury car. She rolled down the window, reaching out reluctantly to hold my hand, tears in her eyes. I pulled a half-finished woven bracelet from my pocket and put it on her wrist. “Sister, this is for you. I haven’t finished it yet. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday, but I might not have the chance now.” I choked up, big tears rolling down my face. The car started. My sister stuck her head out and shouted to me, “Violet! Study hard!” After that sentence, she seemed to say something else. But the car drove too fast, kicking up a tail of dust. The noise of the engine drowned out what she said after “study hard.” I didn’t hear her last words. 2 Two months after she left, my sister sent a large cardboard box to my school. Inside were many books, several new sets of underwear and tank tops that fit me, a letter, and a jasmine-scented sachet. Violet, I am doing very well at the Sterlings’. Don’t worry. I bought you many books you’ll need for your studies. Remember to wash the clothes before wearing them. I finished the bracelet you gave me. It’s beautiful, and I like it very much. I wear it all the time. I made the jasmine sachet myself from fresh jasmine flowers here. Smell the jasmine scent and pretend I am by your side. New York is beautiful, with tall buildings and endless traffic. The world outside the mountains is even more exciting than in the books. Violet, study hard. Get into college and come find me. I miss you so much. I looked at the letter written in my sister’s handwriting, tears falling onto the paper. I brought the jasmine sachet to my nose and took a deep breath. It smelled so good. It smelled like my sister. Every year around this time, my sister would pick fresh jasmine flowers, dry them, and make sachets for me. This year, she didn’t forget. 3 After my sister left, life at home didn’t improve with that hundred thousand dollars. Dad gambled it all away. He said he could turn one hundred thousand into two hundred thousand and buy a bigger house. But the gambling addiction grew stronger. Dad was possessed. In the end, he lost every penny and owed money to loan sharks. Debt collectors came to the door, threatening to break Dad’s legs if he didn’t pay. Mom ran away that night without taking me. The next day, Dad found Mom gone and flew into a rage. Before I went to school, Dad said to me, “Come home early today.” The way he looked at me was strange. I shuddered, feeling terrified. After school that day, I didn’t listen to Dad. Instead, I hid in an internet cafe next to the school and stayed there all night. I didn’t know until the police called my teacher the next day that Dad was dead. Debt collectors had attacked him. He collapsed at home and died from blood loss. I didn’t know why Dad insisted I come home that day, but thinking back, I still felt a lingering fear. With no other relatives, I became an orphan overnight. The school learned of my situation and contacted child services. I was placed in foster care, my expenses covered by the state. That year, I was ten. 4 Since that last package, I never received any news from my sister again. I waited day and night, but there was nothing. Did she really cut all ties with me? I missed her so much. I wondered if the Sterlings treated her well, if she was happy there. 5 Time passed quickly in the system. No one wanted to adopt a ten-year-old girl. I stayed until I turned eighteen. I finished high school successfully. All the colleges I applied to were in New York City. I wanted to find my sister. After all, she was my only family now. I had searched for the Sterling family online, trying to find information about my sister, but I couldn’t find anything related to their family members. It made sense. Children of such families were kept private. My sister must be very beautiful now. She should have graduated college. I wondered if she would recognize me. When the results came out, I was admitted to NYU. I stroked my acceptance letter repeatedly, my eyes getting wet. I thought my sister would be proud of me. 6 I embarked on the journey to New York with anticipation. It was my first time leaving the small town at the foot of the mountains where I had lived for over a decade. The joy and nervousness along the way were hard to hide. But the moment I stepped onto the land of New York, I suddenly felt lost and worried. Would she welcome me if I just showed up like this? After all, she had a new family. New York was truly beautiful. The endless prosperity was all in my eyes. My sister was right. The world outside the mountains was even more wonderful than in the books. 7 Starting college was busy. Various chores took up my time, and I hadn’t had a chance to find my sister yet. Of course, the main reason was that I was avoiding it. After thinking for a long time, I decided to ask around first to understand her current situation secretly, and then reunite with her when the time was right. The Sterlings were the richest family in New York. I thought information about them should be easy to find. But to my shock, when I asked my roommate, a local New Yorker, she told me: “Daughter? The Sterling Group doesn’t have a daughter.” I didn’t believe it and continued to ask, “Not biological, maybe an adopted daughter?” My roommate, Sarah, laughed. “Oh please, they have a biological son. Why would they adopt someone else’s child?” “So the Sterlings only have one child?” Sarah nodded, then quickly shook her head. “No, more than one.” My eyes lit up hearing this. “There was another son, but rumor has it he was sent abroad ten years ago and never came back. People say he’s illegitimate.” My hopeful gaze fell instantly. Eight years ago, the couple who came to adopt my sister were indeed the Sterlings. But I asked many people indirectly later, and the answer was always the same: The Sterling family never adopted a girl. Where did my sister go? She wrote to me saying she was living well with the Sterlings. She couldn’t have been lying to me. I still didn’t believe it. Surely they just kept the adopted child out of the public eye. 8 I continued to inquire about my sister, even though I found nothing. It was Sarah’s birthday. She treated us roommates to dinner, and afterward, they wanted to go clubbing. I didn’t want to go initially, having no interest in such places, but I couldn’t resist them dragging me along. “Come on, Violet. You’re in college now; you should try new things. Once you go to a club, you’ll want to go again.” My roommates were dancing excitedly on the floor. I sat on the side drinking juice, feeling awkward. Sarah suddenly sat next to me, pointing to a booth in a corner of the club. She whispered in my ear, “See that man sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, holding a drink?” I followed her gaze. In the dim corner, the faint light couldn’t hide the man’s exquisite face and extraordinary temperament. “Yeah, I see him. He’s handsome.” I nodded. Sarah continued, “That’s Julian Sterling, the only son of the Sterling family.” The Sterlings? Hearing this, I perked up instantly. I stared at Julian for a long time. Sarah jumped back onto the dance floor, while I stood up and walked toward Julian.

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When the top A-list star adjusted my earpiece, he subconsciously kissed my hair. We both froze. Because we were on a reality show about divorced couples. And we were from different marriages. 1 After I divorced Jax, everyone thought I would be the clingy ex-wife. He announced our marriage at the peak of his career. When he successfully transitioned from an idol to an award-winning actor, people always mentioned me. “What did she do to deserve him? She’s so lucky.” I was the one who asked for the divorce. But he was the one who had been waiting for it. When he was filming his new drama with his co-star, Sienna, she wore his clothes, used his phone case, and played house with him on set. Meanwhile, I was flipping through the calendar waiting for him to come home, only to have my calls declined because he was “busy.” It wasn’t until I ran into Sienna in first class that I knew. She greeted me with a warm, beaming smile. “Did you know?” she whispered in my ear. “I bought this ticket with his card.” She did it on purpose. She wanted to force my hand. I gave her what she wanted. It took me thirty minutes to pack my bags and leave our house. I didn’t want anything dirty that someone else had touched. Thank God we didn’t have kids. Jax leaned against the doorframe, watching me. His reaction was lukewarm. He only asked one question: “What else do you want?” “Your phone.” He paused, but handed it over. In the years he loved me most, I accompanied him from being a nobody to a superstar. I was always his only pinned contact. Now, I had been replaced. I was just on “Do Not Disturb.” It was an uncontested divorce. He gave me everything he had earned over the years, just begging me to let him go quickly. He said he truly loved Sienna. The day I signed the NDA and left, I thought I would never hear from him again. Until one month later, he called me. “Let’s meet.” “We can’t let the fans know you cheated. The show still has to air.” I arrived early. In the lounge, Jax’s agent was lecturing him. “Divorced, you’re still a top-tier actor. Her? She’s just a nobody waiting to be laughed at.” “She’s definitely not over you.” “Just trick her. Tell her you want to go on a divorce reality show with her.” “Make her think she can win you back. She’ll do anything to please you.” “We’ll edit the footage to make her look annoying, and you can secure your image as the devoted, heartbroken ex.” The agent nudged him. “Are you listening?” Jax had his legs up on the coffee table, lazily playing a mobile game. “Yeah.” “Trust me. You crook your finger, and she’ll come running like a puppy, grateful for the attention.” In the conference room. Jax played with his phone with one hand. He only said a few sentences. And I agreed. “I’ll do the show.” He stared into my eyes, pausing. “Are you really that… obsessed with me?” He was too confident. Too easy to fool. I lowered my lashes. “Yes.” “Jax, is there still a chance for us?” His gaze was cold. He looked away and muttered softly. “Depends on your performance.” “But,” he added, “the script for this show isn’t what you think.” This reality show would air while his new drama with Sienna was broadcasting. It was all to hype up the “chemistry” between him and Sienna. The show was titled The Split: A New Perspective on Marriage. Sienna would be rooming with him. And I would be rooming with Sienna’s husband. Caleb. The guy who exploded onto the scene at nineteen with one hit drama, won the Grand Slam of acting awards, and then vanished from the industry to get married. Jax was just his replacement. He got famous because he looked about 70% like Caleb. Rumor had it that after Caleb and Sienna married, they lived apart. She loved him, but he didn’t love her back. 2 A luxury hot spring resort. Two rooms, separated by a single wall. Livestreaming 24/7. There was a panel of commentators on set, and a barrage of live comments from the audience online. [Jax and Sienna are on a divorce show together? In the same room? This is wild!!!] [Their chemistry is insane. They look so good together.] [I told you Jax and his wife had no feelings left. No one likes a dead weight.] [I’ve been waiting for them to divorce for ages!] [Is he blind? He used to love her so much…] The staff put heart rate monitors on Jax and Sienna. “If your heart rate hits 70, you can leave the room.” [That’s gonna happen in a second.] But to everyone’s surprise, both their numbers hovered at 68. In private, they had done everything. They were too familiar with each other, and afraid of slipping up. So on the show, they pretended to be polite strangers. [Sienna is so respectful, she doesn’t even dare to get too close.] [Jax, stop holding back! We support you!] Sienna sat by the door. Jax stood on the balcony for fresh air. From his angle, he could see into my room. Caleb hadn’t arrived yet. I sat alone on the edge of the bed, wearing the heart rate watch. A knock on the door. It was a tall man. A baseball cap hid half his face, and the mist from the hot springs clung to the stray hairs on his forehead. It was drizzling outside. He carried the cold, crisp scent of the deep night. [My white moonlight is back!!!] [I gotta say, Jax… comparison is the thief of joy.] [Stop comparing them!] “You need to put this on.” I handed the other heart rate watch to Caleb. Jax hated it when people said he looked like Caleb. The first year of our marriage, we were walking the streets at midnight. I stared at a massive billboard featuring Caleb for a luxury brand, unable to look away. Jax jammed a hat onto my head, blocking my view, and said acidly: “I knew you liked that type of face.” Now. In the other room, Jax was on the balcony. Watching clearly. Watching Caleb walk into the room and close the door. Watching him put on the watch. Jax didn’t care. He knew since that night that Caleb—the man he couldn’t catch up to, the man he envied to death—was in a contract marriage with Sienna. Caleb didn’t even like Sienna. Of course, it was even less likely that he would like me—ordinary, divorced, someone even Jax looked down on. Jax scoffed, unbothered. Yet, he scrutinized every inch of my reaction. “Hello, Chloe.” My heart rate stayed at 50. I extended my hand. “Hello, Caleb.” He shook it. A few seconds later, the watch let out a piercing beep. Caleb’s heart rate had spiked off the charts. But the man himself was calmer than anyone. He said, “The watch is broken.” I said, “Oh.” 3 We swapped the watch, and sure enough, it was normal. Jax and Sienna played a few chemistry games, got their heart rates over 70, and left their room early. But on my side… Caleb’s heart rate stayed at a flat 25. Pathetically low. “If it never goes up,” I asked the staff, “do we have to stay in the room all night?” Caleb heard me. He stood tall, broad-shouldered in a thin black hoodie, his gaze empty and distant. The staff said, “It counts as a failed mission. You can come out in an hour.” Caleb and I were the last to emerge. [This is a disaster.] [Zero chemistry.] [Get them off screen. I only want to watch Sienna and Jax.] The comments were brutal until the livestream ended. In the post-show interview rooms. Cameras, lights, crowded with people. Jax stood in the corner, watching Sienna give her interview. His gaze swept over me unexpectedly. “Excited?” He asked me out of nowhere. “Did you have a moment where you thought Caleb might actually be interested in you?” I ignored him and tried to walk away. He blocked me. “What to do, Chloe,” he said, hands in his pockets, tilting his head. “I’m starting to think divorcing you was the best decision I ever made.” Someone walked by, and Jax straightened up. Back to that gentle, soulful, yet broken persona. As if I were the one who had hurt him deeply. When Sienna finished her interview, she walked up to me under everyone’s gaze and took my hand. “Chloe,” she said. On her wrist was an old red string bracelet. “Cherish Jax. He really loves you.” That bracelet. I recognized it. Last year on our anniversary, Jax was being followed by stalker fans and got into a minor car accident. He was fine. I dragged him up the mountain to a temple to pray for his safety. I closed my eyes, my heart full of prayers for him. When I opened them, I saw him buying a red string bracelet. I thought it was for me. But he said he bought it for himself, to give me peace of mind. Now, it was on Sienna’s wrist. “Stop being unreasonable,” Sienna said to the camera. “I want you two to be happy more than anyone.” I didn’t say a word. Jax didn’t know. Sienna didn’t know either. Actually, I agreed to this variety show for another reason—a hidden one I couldn’t tell anyone. That day at the temple, when I closed my eyes, the person in my heart wasn’t Jax. 4 The show was recorded on weekends. The concept was “Weekend Couples.” During the weekdays, I went back to my old job, trying to return to the entertainment group as an agent. “Caleb and Sienna are already divorced,” my former boss told me. “He signed a ten-year contract with Sienna’s father’s company. He’s finally free to terminate it. He’s restructuring his studio. I recommended you to him.” I followed the address he gave me and saw Caleb in a photography studio. His profile was backlit, his features sharp and rebellious. It was truly a face made for the silver screen. He was even harder to approach than I imagined. I waited outside for a long time. Until his assistant ran out and told me: “Sorry, Chloe. We probably can’t talk today.” On the way back, my car broke down. 11 PM. Middle of nowhere. Raining. I held an umbrella, waiting for the tow truck. Watching cars drive by from the distance, like passing ghosts in the night. None of them were coming for me. Then, headlights flashed. A black van window rolled down. Caleb’s assistant said: “Chloe, get in.” Caleb was in the very back, a baseball cap covering his face, asleep. His breathing was shallow, long legs cramped in the space. The car was cluttered. Two suit jackets hung by the window. The scent of cold pine. The same scent from when he shook my hand that day. “Chloe, I’m going to grab water at the gas station ahead. Do you want some?” the assistant whispered. “I’ll go with you.” “No, no,” he waved his hand and hopped out. “I’ll be quick.” The door closed. It was just me and Caleb. No one else. No cameras. The headlights flickered. The interior was dim. Even though there was a row of seats between us, his breathing sounded like it was right next to my ear. I stared at the blue neon sign of the gas station outside. The assistant was lingering in an aisle. I remembered once, shopping at a supermarket, I saw Sienna’s ad. “She’s so pretty,” I said to Jax back then. He reacted flatly. “She’s okay.” I didn’t know. That “okay” was the reason he didn’t come home time and time again. Later, I learned from others that Sienna was his first love. They broke up when he couldn’t get famous. He never got over her. But back then, in the supermarket, he just deftly changed the subject and asked me: “Babe, did you ever date anyone before me?” “No.” At least, that’s what I told everyone, including him. In the car, someone was kicking my calf. A long leg stretching from the back seat. Not accidentally. But deliberately, mischievously, childishly, rhythmically tapping me. I pulled my legs out of his reach. I didn’t speak. I didn’t turn around. I maintained my posture as if nothing had happened. “Chloe.” He spoke. Maybe because he just woke up, his voice carried a reckless, boyish tone. “Long time no see.” It had been so many years. Why did he still like calling my name like that? Just like in that cramped, humid rental apartment… Where I drowned over and over again… In his gentle, yet unrestrained, relentless hands.

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It happened on the way to pick up Liam from his kindergarten. I saw the whole thing. I watched a man snatch him, watched my six-year-old’s face—terrified, tear-stained—pressed against the car window, his tiny hands clawing at the glass, screaming “Mommy.” Then the window rolled up, and his face was gone. But when the detectives pressed me, when they made me sit through hours of interviews, I told them nothing. Not a word. Even when my husband, Ethan, knelt before me on the hardwood floor, his eyes broken, begging me to recall a license plate, a jacket color, anything, I remained silent. My in-laws, their eyes raw and red-rimmed, screamed and cursed me. They called me a cold-blooded executioner, a monster. I only curled tighter into the corner of the sofa. When the reporters blocked our driveway, I grabbed the rolling pin from the kitchen and charged out like a rabid animal. Ethan never divorced me. The man who had once built a perfect world for me, who had treated me like a princess, simply put a deadbolt on the life we knew and locked the world out. He ignored the gossip, the police reports, and the public outcry, deciding I would stay in that house to pay my penance. He tortured me. Every single day. Five years of it, until the day that neural-mapping technology matured and he sent me to the Memory Retrieval Tribunal. 1 The large screen above the trial platform flickered, and Ethan’s face, cold and razor-sharp, filled the frame. He stood at the head of the auditorium, behind the judge’s bench, a sea of over three thousand people filling the seats behind him. “Audrey,” his voice boomed, echoing through the vast Metropolitan Convention Hall, “you don’t deserve the title of mother!” “Liam was so devoted to you,” he spat, “yet you stood there and watched him be taken, refusing to offer a single clue about the monster who did it!” I was strapped onto a specialized medical gurney, a plastic tube snaking down my throat, a necessary evil after years of neglect. My body was an artifact of suffering; lifting an eyelid felt like a monumental effort. “Don’t play dead!” Ethan’s voice was deafening, pumped through the hall’s massive speakers. “The police said you were the only eyewitness. Security footage showed you lingered at that intersection for ten minutes. What were you so afraid of?” “Today, this Memory Extractor will drag out everything you’ve hidden inside your head!” A storm of insults rained down from the audience, a collective, angry roar. Eggs and rotting fruit splattered against the thick, clear partition that separated me from the enraged public, leaving trails of foul, yellow-green slime. My in-laws sat in the front row. My mother-in-law was shaking, weeping uncontrollably, held upright by my father-in-law. “You murderous bitch! Liam was only six! How could you be so cruel?” “That was your own son!” I knew their hatred was boundless. Liam was the only grandchild, the light of their lives. My refusal to speak had turned the case cold, a national obsession and an unsolved mystery. Grief had aged my in-laws ten years in one. As the metallic probes of the Extractor were fixed to my temples, I forced what little strength I had left to shake my head at Ethan. A tear finally broke free, tracing a hot path down my cheek. He only sneered. He nodded to the technician. “Begin.” The instant the machine powered on, a thousand molten needles seemed to pierce my skull. My eyes flew wide. I couldn’t scream. My body spasmed violently, uncontrollably. A doctor rushed forward to administer a sedative, but Ethan waved him off. “No. I want her to be fully conscious when she watches her own memory. She will atone in excruciating clarity.” The massive screen in the center of the auditorium lit up, beginning to stream fragments of my mind. The first image was Ethan’s back. He was wearing a black suit, standing in a room overflowing with white lilies. In the center, on a small table, was a photograph of Liam. He was six, wearing blue overalls, holding up a drawing of a sunflower, his two small canine teeth showing in a gap-toothed, proud grin. Toys and coloring books lay scattered nearby. This was the memorial room. I saw myself walk forward, wanting to touch Ethan’s shoulder, but he shook me off. He turned, grabbed my throat, and dragged me right up to the photograph. “You have the audacity to come here?” His eyes were bloodshot, manic. “The police asked for the license plate, and you said you didn’t see it!” “They asked what color jacket the man wore, and you said you couldn’t remember!” “Audrey, look at Liam’s eyes,” he growled, shaking me until my teeth rattled, “and tell me again you don’t remember.” My body trembled, but even in the memory, I remained mute. The image began to warp and blur. The insults from the auditorium grew more intense. “She’s doing this on purpose! Maybe she was in on it with the kidnapper!” “This kind of woman should be flayed alive!” My physical convulsions grew more violent. The tube in my throat scraped my vocal cords with every spasm, sending searing pain through my chest. I felt a warm, sticky liquid—saliva mixed with blood—trickle from the corner of my mouth onto the pillow. The doctor’s face wavered in my blurred vision. He hesitated, looking up at Ethan. Then, with a grim determination, he plunged a syringe of adrenaline into my vein. The drug hit my bloodstream and, suddenly, the fog in my consciousness tore open. The screen went haywire. The shouts, Ethan’s face, the blur of the running child—everything imploded into a chaotic mass of color before dissolving into a single, cohesive wash of warm, saturated orange light. The doctor rushed to the microphone to explain. “The Memory Extractor detected a surge of intense emotion. The memory being displayed now is likely the patient’s deepest, most profound fragment—the most critical one.” The screen slowly stabilized. It was our sun-drenched living room. Liam was on the rug in his little dinosaur pajamas, the afternoon sunlight slicing through the French doors and spilling over him. He was coloring sunflowers, just like the one in the memorial picture. I sat beside him on the sofa, peeling a tangerine. I broke off a section and offered it to him. “Mommy, look!” Liam held up his artwork, a smear of yellow crayon on his nose. “I drew Mommy and Daddy for the sunflower so it won’t be lonely!” I wiped the crayon off his nose, squeezing his soft cheek. “My clever boy.” He giggled and launched himself into my arms, burying his little head in my neck. “Mommy smells so good,” he whispered, “like a cupcake.” Just then, the front door clicked. Ethan walked in. Before he could even put his briefcase down, Liam had slid off the sofa and toddled over on his short legs, wrapping his arms around his father’s thigh. “Daddy! You’re home!” Ethan bent down and lifted him, the exhaustion instantly melting from his face, replaced by a profound, heart-stopping tenderness. A profound silence fell over the hall. “Wait… that looks like a happy family,” someone whispered. “Why wouldn’t she give up the killer’s information if she was this close to him?” “If she was truly cold-hearted, why would this warm memory be the strongest?” “Maybe there’s another side to the story?” But the murmurs of doubt were quickly drowned out by renewed fury. “It’s a performance! She’s trying to manufacture sympathy to confuse the machine!” Ethan, standing by the platform, stared at the image of our smiling, sun-lit faces. His hands clenched into fists, his expression so dark it looked like storm clouds brewing. “Enough!” he roared suddenly. “Audrey, you have no right to remember those moments!” He vaulted off the platform, ignoring the technician’s protests, and rushed to the Memory Extractor, snatching the control lever. “Mr. Ethan, no! It’s already at eighty percent of the safety threshold! Any higher will cause irreversible brain damage!” “Irreversible?” Ethan’s voice was a chilling sneer. “She killed my son. I need the answer now.” Slam. He pushed the lever all the way to the top. Kerr-CHUNK! The Extractor emitted a high-pitched, electric scream. The metal probes on my temples felt like they’d instantly turned into branding irons. My head felt like a bell struck by a hammer, my skull cavity pressurized to the point of rupture. My eyeballs rolled upward into my head, and my body began to convulse with ten times the force, my limbs twisting at unnatural angles. “Doctor! Stop the machine! You’ll kill her!” a voice from the audience screamed. “This is barbaric! It’s not a trial—it’s murder!” The discussion erupted into full-blown panic. Security rushed to block the exits as several distraught attendees tried to rush the platform. The doctor, frantic, again tried to inject the sedative, but Ethan brutally shoved him aside, sending him tumbling to the floor. Ethan stood over the gurney, his face a mask of pure hatred. “You think you can die, Audrey? I promise you, not even the Devil himself can take you until you tell me who the kidnapper was!” He spun to the technician. “Stabilize the power! I need a clear picture! The killer’s face!” “I want everyone to see the bastard!” The technician was shaking, but fearing Ethan more than the exploding machine, he fumbled with the controls. I felt my neural pathways snapping, one by one. The darkness at the edge of my vision grew thicker. I could only see the broken fragments flickering on the screen. Liam’s crying face, the glaring sun, the flashing red light of the crosswalk. The pain was too severe to concentrate, too consuming to piece together any coherent image. I felt my breathing shallow, my consciousness sinking into a bottomless well. The shouts of the audience had quieted, replaced by looks of horror and pity. Some began to murmur that Ethan was too obsessed, that this spectacle was senseless cruelty. My in-laws’ hatred softened, replaced by a lost, vacant confusion as they looked at my near-dead body. But Ethan heard none of it. “The killer? His face? Audrey, think! Now!”

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I’ve always been a magnet for boys. Since elementary school, love letters have piled up like junk mail. Terrified I’d turn into a teenage delinquent, my parents went nuclear: they arranged my marriage when I was basically a toddler. Having an “official fiancé” actually worked. It blocked most of the unwanted attention. Then came college. My grandfather passed away, so I went back to our ancestral village for the funeral. Bad move. Someone planted a “Matchmaker’s Curse” on me. The rule? If you’re marked by the Matchmaker’s Curse, you must marry the person the mark belongs to. Problem is, I already have a fiancé. 1 Back in my family’s village, nestled deep in the Appalachian backwoods, there’s a legend. Families with sons who are… undesirable… will scout for a girl and secretly bind her to their son with a dark hex. A mark appears on the girl’s body: a pale, crescent moon. They call it the “Matchmaker’s Seal.” If the girl’s family can’t break the curse, she has no choice but to marry the son—whether he’s a fool, blind, or paralyzed. If she refuses, the seal spreads. It covers her whole body, rotting her from the inside out until she dies. My mom used to tell me this story. I treated it like a fairytale. I grew up in the city; this hillbilly voodoo had nothing to do with me. Until my grandpa died. I went back for the funeral, and guess what? I became the main character in a horror story. 2 At first, I thought it was an allergy. I kept scratching at my collarbone until I noticed it—a pale pink crescent moon mark, right above my left clavicle. I showed it to my grandma. She exploded. “Which blind bastard dares target my granddaughter?! They must be tired of living!” My mom was frantic, stomping her foot. “What do we do? Clara is already engaged!” “Engaged or not, we aren’t taking this lying down,” my dad said, his face grim. The Matchmaker’s Seal is a type of Gu poison—ancient, nasty stuff. It’s hard to cultivate and even harder to plant. And if the curse is broken, the backlash hits the caster and the intended groom hard. No normal guy would resort to this. It meant the “owner” of this mark was likely desperate. Probably disabled, disfigured, or just plain evil. Grandma sighed. “To break the seal, we need to know who planted it. If only your grandpa were still alive.” Grandpa was a master at breaking hexes. When he was around, nobody dared touch us. Now that he was gone, the wolves were circling. 3 “Clara, did you eat anything you shouldn’t have? Especially from strangers?” Grandma asked. I thought about it. “No. Mom and Dad warned me before we came. I only ate at the house during the funeral wake.” “Then it was someone close. Probably at the funeral banquet,” Dad slammed his hand on the table. There were over 150 guests. It could have been anyone. “But those were all friends and family! Who could be so vicious?” Mom started crying. “List everyone with a son,” Grandma commanded. “Especially the unmarried, disabled, or slow ones.” Dad grabbed a pen. Out of 153 guests, 13 had unmarried sons. Ten were dating or engaged. That left three. One was my second cousin, Earl, from the next holler over. He had a bad eye and was thirty, still single. Another was Old Man Miller’s grandson, crashed his truck a few years back, lost a leg. He was twenty-eight, unemployed, and just played video games in his basement. The last was a distant relative, Lenny. An orphan, nearly forty, malnourished, and honestly, kinda creepy looking. 4 “Lenny wouldn’t. I watched him grow up. He wears your dad’s old clothes. He has no money and no skills to pull off a hex like this,” Grandma dismissed him. “Clara, tomorrow you come with me. We’re visiting the Millers and Cousin Earl.” She poked my forehead. “Look at you, zoning out! Aren’t you worried?” I wasn’t zoning out. I was terrified. Not of the curse, but of my fiancé. Mom looked guilty. My engagement was a result of my parents owing a life debt. Dad, oblivious as always, brought it up. “If he finds out, it’s gonna be a disaster.” “Clara’s fiancé? When can I meet him?” Grandma asked. “It happened so fast, we didn’t have time to tell you,” Dad mumbled. “We need to find the culprit fast. Before… before he gets angry.” My fiancé, Silas Vance. Honestly? I kinda wanted to see him angry. He was so stoic it was annoying. I’d only read about guys like him in books. 5 The next day, Grandma and I visited the Millers. We beat around the bush until I just showed Old Man Miller the mark. “Good Lord, Clara! It ain’t us!” he swore. “We’ve known your grandpa for fifty years! Plus, Clara’s a college girl; my grandson ain’t in her league. Your grandpa warned everyone about this dark magic. I ain’t gonna disrespect his memory like that.” He seemed sincere. Usually, once the mark appears, the groom’s family shows up within two weeks to “claim” the bride. If it were them, they’d admit it. 6 Next stop: Cousin Earl’s place. Earl came out to greet us. He looked honest, if a bit simple. He scratched his head and told us his dad wasn’t home—he was out with a matchmaker trying to set Earl up with a girl from the next town. Grandma and I exchanged a look. We left without even going inside. If it wasn’t them, who was it? “Don’t panic, Clara,” Grandma soothed me on the walk back. “The culprit will show up eventually. We’ll handle it.” I nodded. I wasn’t panicking about the curse. I was panicking because Silas Vance was coming. Silas wasn’t just a guy. He was from a hidden clan of Daoist cultivators. Like, legitimate wizards. They fasted, meditated, and practiced abstinence. Basically, he was an immortal who didn’t eat spicy Cheetos or BBQ. We were incompatible on a cellular level. But he was gorgeous. Otherworldly handsome. Cold, distant, radiating “do not touch” energy. Since we got engaged, he’d used his status to micromanage my life. No junk food. No staying up late. No clubbing. “Three months between Spicy Sticks. Six months for BBQ. One ice cream cone a year.” That was his compromise. Beauty is great, but does it taste like fried chicken? No. 7 I was mentally cursing him when I saw a familiar figure standing in my grandma’s doorway. My brain buzzed. “Uh… Grandma… you go in first. I… I forgot something…” I turned to bolt. I knew my parents would call the “Black-Faced God,” but I didn’t think he’d teleport here instantly. “Clara Yeager. Am I that scary?” I ran smack into a chest that felt like a marble wall. I looked up. Sharp brows, eyes like deep mountain pools. Silas. “Scarier than my Calculus professor,” I blurted out. Oops. Usually, he’d cast a “Silence Spell” on me for talking back. For a chatterbox like me, that was death. I braced myself. But he didn’t get mad. He actually smiled—a faint, terrifying twitch of the lips—and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Your parents told me I was too cold. That’s why you resorted to planting a Matchmaker’s Seal on yourself. It’s my fault. From now on… I’ll buy you Spicy Sticks. Ice cream too.” Wait. What? My parents told him I planted the curse on myself? To get his attention? I almost laughed. I failed biology. How would I cultivate a magical parasite? But… he said he’d buy me Spicy Sticks. And ice cream. “Really? Buy me two packs of Spicy Sticks and a double-scoop cone. Right now.” Let’s test the waters. Silas nodded. “Let’s go. Your choice. My tab.” 8 After devouring the snacks and licking the ice cream off my fingers, I burped. “By the way, I didn’t plant the mark. Seriously. I swear on my GPA.” Silas’s face went dark instantly. “Clara!” Whoa. Now he’s mad. “Stop! No Silence Spell! Or I’ll marry the hex-caster and cuckold you!” “You dare!” His face was thunderous. “Try me.” I glared back. For the first time in years, I felt brave. His dark blue eyes churned with rage, reflecting my defiant face. “I will castrate the man who planted that mark.” “Ooh! You broke the Vance Family rule against profanity! Hahaha!” I pointed and laughed. Silas’s ears turned bright red. He literally vanished—used a speed talisman to zoom away. Embarrassed? Angry? Both? I love dragging this ascetic monk down to earth. Watching him get flustered is my favorite hobby.

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My school uniform was still torn from the last day of exams when my mother, a fragile little flower who couldn’t possibly survive in the wild, announced she had found me a stepfather. “You’re not my blood,” the man told me flatly. “Don’t expect me to be a doting father.” He tossed a black card onto the table. “Here’s a million dollars as a welcome gift. From now on, your monthly allowance is only a hundred grand. Deal with it.” My mother’s eyes went red, brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. It’s all my fault. I’m useless. I let you suffer such indignity…” Indignity? I clutched the card. If this is suffering, please, let me suffer more. But that wasn’t all. I also inherited a stepbrother. A billionaire CEO. 6’2″, built like a Greek god, and rumored to be colder than a Siberian winter. Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it too? 1 My mom is the queen of gold diggers. Back when my biological dad went bankrupt, all his other mistresses fled like rats on a sinking ship. Not my mom. She truly believed he would bounce back. She emptied her savings to help him, lecturing me on “The Long Game.” “When he gets back on top,” she’d say, “I’ll be the only one left standing. The Queen Bee.” Her calculations were… off. Dad didn’t bounce back. He bounced off the pavement. Unable to handle the debt, he jumped from a building. He died, and we were left destitute. At our lowest point, my mom—who used to spend thousands on skincare—rolled up her sleeves and started collecting recyclables to pay for my tuition. She lost her glamour, waking up every day to scavenge for plastic bottles. I swore I would get into an Ivy League school and lift us out of poverty. But right after I finished my SATs, before I could even take off my worn-out uniform, she brought home a distinguished, middle-aged man. “Lola,” she said. “Meet your new dad.” Victor Sterling. The richest man in the city. I was stunned. Morning: scavenging for bottles. Evening: married to a billionaire? The plot twist was too much. My mom wept into Victor’s expensive suit. “I didn’t want you to see me like this… a bankrupt ex, a daughter in school, leeching parents… I had to pick up trash to survive. If you think I’m embarrassing, just leave me…” Victor held her tight. “You are strong and independent. How could I ever leave you?” Then he turned to me. “I love your mother,” he said seriously. “You are just part of the package. Don’t expect fatherly love.” He threw the black card at me. “A million dollars to start. One hundred thousand a month after that.” Mom cried harder. “I’m so sorry, Lola. I made you suffer.” I squeezed the card. It took me a long time to realize: I was a prop in their romance. And a very well-paid one. 2 That night, I was shipped off to one of the Sterling family’s “spare” villas. My delicate mother went off to her honeymoon nest with Victor. Her parting words: “Lola, you’re eighteen. Time to be independent.” Translation: Don’t cockblock me. I stood alone in a massive, empty villa, clutching a million dollars. It was lonely. And creepy. The place was so big my footsteps echoed. My brain immediately started replaying every horror movie I’d ever seen. Too scared to go upstairs, I curled up on the living room sofa. In the middle of the night, I heard a noise. Rustle. Click. I bolted upright in the dark, grabbing a heavy vase. Terror gripped my throat. “Who’s there?!” A shadow moved by the window. I squeezed my eyes shut and hurled the vase. CRASH! The lights blazed on. A man in a trench coat stood by the sofa, backlit like a model stepping off a runway. He looked down at the shattered porcelain at his feet, then at me. His gaze lingered on my tattered uniform. “Where did this little sparrow come from?” he drawled. “Feisty.” I jumped up, defensive. Midnight. Strange man. Villa. This was a murder setup. He ignored my panic, pouring himself a drink with infuriating calm. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, matching the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Tsk. Is the sparrow going to peck me?” “Who are you?!” I shouted, bluffing. “Don’t try anything! I’ll call the cops!” He tipped his chin toward the sofa. “Your phone is right there. Pick it up and say that again.” I froze. Then, the man started taking off his coat. Oh god. I’m just a high school graduate. Is he a pervert? My brain short-circuited. I looked for an exit. Before I could move, a heavy coat landed on my head, smelling of cedarwood and expensive cologne. “Didn’t the old man buy you clothes?” he asked, sounding disdainful. “You look like a beggar.” He walked upstairs, answering his phone on speaker. “Julian, baby~” a sultry male voice cooed from the phone. “Where did you go? Did you catch a canary?” “No canary,” Julian replied, glancing back at me. “Just a little sparrow.” I realized then. Julian Sterling. The heir. The Prince of the City. My stepbrother. This was his house. I had invaded his home and thrown a vase at him. I’m dead. 3 I was agonizing over how to apologize when Julian called from upstairs. “Sparrow! Get up here.” I ran up. He had changed into white loungewear. The dangerous edge was gone, replaced by a soft, damp look. His hair was wet, water droplets clinging to the ends. “Staring?” he asked. I blushed and grabbed a towel. He didn’t take it. He lay down on the sofa and pointed at his head. “Dry it.” Guilt made me compliant. I started toweling his hair. Up close, he was devastatingly handsome. His skin was flawless. It was unfair. “I’m… sorry…” I whispered. “For what?” he asked, eyes closed. “I thought you were a burglar.” Since Dad died, Mom and I had dealt with a lot of creeps. I was jumpy. If that vase had hit him… Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and yanked. I fell onto his chest. Before I could scramble away, his arm locked around my waist. I was trapped in his heat, staring into his unreadable eyes. “How do you know,” he murmured, “that I’m not a bad guy?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “You… you’re my stepbrother now!” “Do you think I care about labels?” His grip tightened. I started to panic. Tears welled up. Why was he so unpredictable? “Let me go!” “And if I don’t?” I pushed against his chin, desperate. My finger slipped and pressed against his lips. They were hot. Julian froze. He released me abruptly and sat up. “Keep your guard up, Sparrow,” he said, touching his lip. His eyes were dark. “Or you’ll get eaten alive.” I threw the towel at him and ran downstairs, face burning. 4 His coat was still on the sofa. Angry and humiliated, I threw it on the floor and stomped on it. Take that, Julian! “Feel better?” I jumped three feet in the air. Julian was leaning over the railing, phone in hand. “That coat cost fifty grand. How are you paying?” My heart stopped. My allowance just took a massive hit. “I… I’ll swipe my card!” “No need.” He tossed the coat at me. “Wash it. Bring it back clean.” He walked toward the door. The villa suddenly felt huge and empty again. I ran after him. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “I… I’m scared to be alone,” I mumbled. “Not scared of me anymore?” “You won’t kill me, right?” He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed into his phone. “Buy a juice. Be there in ten.” He dragged me to the city’s biggest nightclub. He shoved me into a booth and handed me a watermelon juice. “Drink this. Don’t touch anything else,” he whispered in my ear. The breath tickled. I shrank into the corner. “Yo, Julian! Changing tastes?” a guy shouted. “High school uniform? Really?” Julian shot him a cold look. The table went quiet. “Family. Watch your mouths.” The silence lasted two seconds before the whispers started. “Family? Since when is he nice to family?” “Must be the new stepsister.” Julian ignored them, leaning back in the shadows. “So she’s not blood related?” A guy with bleached hair, Fred, squeezed next to me. “If Julian isn’t playing, I’ll take a turn…” Fred grinned, reaching for my hand. “Hey sweetie. You legal?” I looked at Julian. He was watching, eyes half-closed, doing nothing. Fred’s hand touched mine. I snapped. I stood up and splashed the watermelon juice in Fred’s face. “I’m not his stepsister,” I hissed. “I’m his auntie!” I shoved past the stunned Fred and ran out. 5 I didn’t go back to the villa. I called my best friend, Chloe. “Your mom married a billionaire and you got kicked out?” Chloe gasped. “Not by the dad. By the son.” He watched me get harassed. He wanted me to know my place. He thought I was a gold digger like my mom. “I’m homeless, Chloe.” “Don’t worry!” Chloe thumped her chest. “I got you. We’ll survive on ramen until college starts!” She handed me a pair of pajamas to replace my uniform. Just then, my phone buzzed. [Deposit: $100,000. Balance: $1,100,000. Note: July Allowance. – Stepdad.] Chloe snatched the pajamas back. “You call this homeless?!” “Technically…” “This is a luxury vacation!” she screamed. I told her everything. “Your stepbrother is trash,” she concluded. “But… does he really have an eight-pack?” I facepalmed. “Priorities, Chloe?” “I’ve never seen abs in real life! Was it… hard?” I thought back to falling on him. “Yeah… hard. Like rocks.” Chloe squealed. “Details! Was there a V-line?” “I was fighting for my life, not taking notes!” But… his lips were soft. “It’s okay,” Chloe said solemnly. “If you missed Julian, there’s always Chad.” “Who?” “Chad Miller. The class president.” “Do I know him?” “He has a crush on you! Are you blind?” Chloe sighed. “Your mom has max charisma. How did you end up with zero EQ?”

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Five years after I married Grant Ashworth in my sister’s place, Bianca finally decided to come home and claim what she felt was hers. “I’m back now, Gen,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “The Ashworth Group CEO’s wife title? You can hand it over.” My parents, the Fosters, were quick to chime in. “If your sister hadn’t been so kind, how would you ever have gotten to live this good life?” My husband, the man I’d built a life with, frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “To be fair, Gen,” Grant said, “you have been occupying Bianca’s place all along.” I simply nodded, picking up the pen to sign the divorce papers that lay on the mahogany coffee table. Day One: I deactivated the Amex Black Card I’d given my parents, shutting down their fifty-thousand-dollar daily spending limit. Day Two: I announced my immediate withdrawal from the corporate project team, bringing multiple multi-billion-dollar deals to a screeching halt. Day Three: I blocked all their numbers, packed a single carry-on, and boarded a flight bound for Palm Beach. Five years. I played the dutiful daughter and the faultless corporate wife, but I was never enough to overcome their preference for her. Let them see how long that preferential treatment could sustain them without me. 1 I walked back into the house and found Bianca in the great room, personally hanging the framed wedding portrait she and Grant had taken years ago. My parents and Grant were sitting nearby, and not a single person had offered a word of protest. In the photo, Grant and Bianca were pressed close, radiating a blinding, genuine joy. Seeing it made my eyes sting, a visceral, burning pain. I suddenly realized—in five years of marriage, aside from the stiff, formal picture on our marriage certificate, Grant and I didn’t have a single photograph together. “Well, hello, little sister.” Bianca raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her eyes alight with smug triumph. “Stolen things always have to be returned.” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her expensive champagne. “Do yourself a favor and stop clinging to your sister’s man. It’s tacky.” “My sister’s man?” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. I looked pointedly at Grant, who had been staring at Bianca in silence since I walked in. “Don’t you have anything to say? Or does this proposition sound appealing to you?” I pressed. “Don’t forget, when your company was on the verge of bankruptcy, she decided she didn’t want to be poor with you. How quickly she fled the country to escape the wedding.” My mother’s face instantly twisted in anger. “What nonsense are you spouting?” My father slammed his hand on the armrest of the sofa, trying to assert his authority. “We are not dredging up the past, Gen!” I ignored them both, my gaze locked on Grant, desperate for him to give me an answer, a shred of defense. Grant’s throat worked, and when he finally looked at me, his eyes were full of a weary, profound impatience. “Genevieve Foster,” he said, his voice low but weighted with an undeniable bias. “What’s the point in dragging up old scores?” “Bianca was… young. She made a mistake.” He took his sister-in-law’s side without hesitation. “Now she’s back. Our family is finally together. Just stop causing drama, alright?” My heart felt instantly seized by a cold, invisible hand. The pain was so intense it stole the air from my lungs. “You forced me to marry you in her place, and now you’re helping her steal my husband. How can you call yourselves family?” I choked out. “What was I for these past five years? Was I just a tool to save your reputation? A temp to fill the void until the real bride decided to return?” Grant flinched, avoiding my stare. He exploded with a sudden roar. “Enough! Can you just stop being so dramatic?” Bianca smirked, a cruel, mocking curve to her lips. “Tell me, Gen. Sleeping in my marital bed, wearing my ring, with my man… didn’t it make you feel a little dirty?” “You’re so wicked. You just love stealing your sister’s things, don’t you?” she purred. Her words were poison, delivered with the arrogant confidence of the favored child, twisting the narrative with effortless ease. I was shaking with pure rage. “Bianca Foster, you have no shame!” “Genevieve!” Grant immediately pulled Bianca behind him, his voice a sharp, cutting reprimand. “She is your sister! You can’t speak to her like that.” Bianca nestled into Grant’s embrace, whispering, “Grant, I’m sorry. This is my fault.” “I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. Gen took care of you for five years. She deserves a thank you, even if it was just out of pity…” She finished, her gaze flicking up to mine with a triumphant challenge. Grant only grew angrier. “Genevieve, look at you! Sharp-tongued and petty. You have zero class. You’re no wife for the CEO of the Ashworth Group.” He grabbed Bianca’s hand. “Let’s go. I’m taking you to the charity auction tonight. We’ll buy something you love. Consider it my apology.” He pulled her out the door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind them. My parents immediately produced a crisply folded divorce agreement from a handbag. “You were reluctant before, but signing this now is best for everyone,” my mother insisted. “Grant’s assets have grown substantially, and Bianca is willing to split the equity evenly. She’s being remarkably generous, considering you’re sisters.” Bianca was never “generous.” My parents’ nervous expressions told the real story: Grant knew nothing about this monetary compensation. They were offering me hush money, terrified I would disrupt their precious reunion. I didn’t let them persuade me further. I signed with one swift, decisive motion. “Fine. I agree to the divorce.” The instant the final stroke was complete, their faces relaxed into wide, eager smiles. I couldn’t help the cold, derisive sneer that escaped me. “Forcing your own daughter to sign divorce papers. Does that make you that happy?” My mother’s smile froze. “We thought you were finally showing some maturity, but then you say something like that?” My father frowned, jumping to her defense. “See? This is why you’re not as pleasing as your sister. We can’t be blamed for preferring her.” They snatched the papers from the table, not even sparing a single word of comfort. They turned and hurried out, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence. The front door clicked shut. I sat there, the quiet pressing down on me, completely abandoned. A moment later, my phone vibrated. Amex Notification: Charge of $30,000.00 to Saks Fifth Avenue. Simultaneously, Bianca’s feed updated: a new, limited-edition designer clutch, with the caption: “Thank you, Mom, for the welcome home gift. Heart.” A glacial coldness spread from my chest, freezing me solid. All these years, anything they offered me was either Bianca’s leftovers or what she couldn’t be bothered to want. Any time I showed a hint of unhappiness, they’d immediately snap: “Who are you making faces at? Do we owe you something?” “You are so immature. You’re nothing like your sister!” I spent five years desperately trying to disprove that verdict, exhausting myself to win their affection. But at that moment, I finally understood—some favor, I was never going to be part of. Face expressionless, I picked up my phone. “I need to shut down the two authorized user cards on my family account. Immediately.” That evening, my mother burst through the door, throwing the credit card onto the floor in front of me. “We say two things you don’t like, and you cut off our money? Did we raise you for nothing all these years?” My father followed, pointing a finger at my face, his voice booming with fury. “You knew we were at the counter paying! You did that to deliberately embarrass us!” Then, Bianca strolled in, casually linked arm-in-arm with Grant. “Sister, you are truly going too far. Why couldn’t you wait until you got home? Why did you make Mom and Dad suffer that humiliation in public?” This scenario had played out countless times in my memory. Now, Grant was a part of it. His face was a mask of thunderous anger. He grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet. “Genevieve Foster! Are you ever going to let this go? Apologize to your parents, now!” He leaned closer, his voice a low, hard warning in my ear. “Stop pushing it. Are you trying to tear this family apart?” When I stayed silent, he made the decision for me. “Mom, Dad, Gen was just upset. I’ll make sure her spending limit is raised to one hundred thousand. Just charge whatever you want.” “If you said it,” I interrupted him calmly, “you’ll be the one footing the bill.” “Genevieve Foster!” Grant’s patience snapped. He roared my name. “I’m asking you one last time—apologize or not?” He gripped my wrist, his strength so great I thought my bones would shatter. “Do you even want to be in this family?” “No.” I snatched my hand back. Inside, I was calmer than I had ever been. Grant’s angry expression went blank for a split second, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “What did you say?” I didn’t bother to repeat myself. I turned to walk away. My five years of obedience and devotion had only served as a reason for them to exploit me. As I brushed past Bianca, she suddenly dropped to the floor. “Sister… I know you’re angry, but why would you push me?” she whimpered, clutching her ankle. “What if I broke something? Is that what you want?” Before I could react, a massive force hit me from behind. Grant shoved me out the front door, slamming me hard onto the cold flagstones. A blinding sting of pain shot through my palms and knees. “Get out!” His eyes were icy. “You get out of here right now!” “This house has no room for your drama queen routine!” Through the glass door, I saw Grant spin around and scoop up Bianca, who was still cradling her ankle. His tender, careful movement was in stark contrast to the brutal shove he’d just given me. Bianca settled into his arms, and over his shoulder, she flashed me a look of pure, victorious satisfaction. I smiled back, a small, genuine curve of my mouth. I mouthed two silent words: “You win.” Grant Ashworth, I didn’t want him anymore. My parents—I didn’t want them either. The next morning, I called a project team meeting. Since I’d decided to leave, I owed them a professional transition. Before I could even speak, Grant burst in, Bianca trailing behind him. “Effective immediately, all projects currently managed by Genevieve Foster will be transferred to Bianca,” he announced to the stunned room. He turned to me, his gaze cold. “You injured Bianca yesterday and caused her distress. Letting her take over your projects will be your compensation to her.” I shot to my feet. “I won’t allow this!” “Bianca studied art history. She can’t read a single line of project code, and she has zero experience in finance! You can’t just parachute her in and hand her hundreds of millions in core projects! You’re treating the company like a playground!” I had planned for an amicable departure, ensuring the projects were handed over responsibly. Not for Grant, but for the team members who had poured their blood and sweat into the Ashworth Group alongside me. “Is this just because you’re jealous?” Grant raged. “You’re trying to humiliate Bianca in front of everyone!” “Genevieve,” he hissed, “when did you become so malicious?” He raised his voice for the room to hear. “I run the Ashworth Group now. Accept the new structure, or you can walk out of this project team.” He accused me of tarnishing Bianca’s reputation, yet he was systematically stomping my dignity into the dirt. “Fine,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’m out.” I swept my gaze across the faces of my colleagues—some shocked, some pitying. “Take care, everyone.” I didn’t need to say another word. They knew what a manager relying solely on family connection, and a decision-maker confusing business with personal life, meant for their careers. The news of my departure from Ashworth spread like wildfire. Less than two hours later, my phone rang. “Ms. Foster, if you are confirmed to be resigning, we will have to terminate our corporate partnership with Ashworth as per our contract.” Moments after that, the head of my core technology team texted me: “All key members have collectively tendered their resignation. We’re waiting for your next move.” Near noon, Grant stormed into the luxury boutique hotel suite where I was temporarily staying. “Genevieve Foster!” He ground out my name. “Where have you been? Are you doing this on purpose?” “The entire financial district is talking about Bianca and me! They’re saying you left because of her!” He grabbed my wrist again. “You have to go back and clear her name. Now!” I sharply pulled my hand free. “Even now, all you care about is her reputation?” Grant sneered. “You think losing a few contracts and some employees resigning is going to hurt me? You just want to prove how important you are.” “The important thing right now is Bianca! She’s an unmarried woman with a clean slate. Her reputation matters more than anything, and you are trying to ruin her with these false rumors.” “Are any of those rumors untrue?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Smack! The sharp, fiery sting of a slap erupted across my cheek. My ears were ringing. In five years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. “Bianca is your sister!” Grant gasped, his chest heaving with fury. “How could you say that?” I slowly lifted my hand to my stinging cheek, my eyes holding only a dead calm. Grant looked momentarily unsettled, but he quickly reasserted himself. “Go apologize to Bianca. We can forget this ever happened.” “And if I refuse?” I suddenly remembered Bianca’s first visit, demanding I “give Grant back.” I had thought she was comically naive. Now, I saw that the person who was naive was me—the one who thought Grant would never leave. “Then I’ll divorce you!” Grant roared. “Genevieve Foster! You’re just not as likeable as your sister! You’re cold and stiff. What other man would want a woman like you besides me?” His phone chimed. Caller ID: Bianca. He quickly hit the power button, the screen going dark. “I’m holding a press conference tomorrow morning. You will be there to support Bianca and clarify everything. If you don’t, our marriage is over.” He left with the threat hanging in the air. The hurried way he spun around to return Bianca’s call spoke volumes about his priorities. Standing there, I slowly raised my phone to my ear. “Mr. Devlin, I have an 18% stake in the Ashworth Group. Are you interested?” I met Rhys Devlin in a private booth that evening. “Eighteen percent, added to my current holdings, is enough for a hostile takeover of Ashworth,” he said, tapping a manicured finger on the table. He looked at me with sharp, dissecting eyes. “Are you sure you want to go this far?” After five years of marriage, Grant and I had shared tender moments. I remembered the night I got rushed to the ER for a bleeding ulcer from endless company dinners. Grant had pulled this same stock transfer agreement from his safe, his hands trembling. “This is the only assurance I can give you,” he’d promised. “Everything I have is yours. I will never fail you.” Now, the promise was hollow, and the man was unrecognizable. I still hesitated. Pathetic, I know. I took a deep breath and stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” On the way, I heard a familiar voice. “Mr. Ashworth, are you sure you want us to run the press release this way?” A strange man asked. “It says your wife, Genevieve, has always been jealous of her sister, Bianca, and that she orchestrated a plot to force her sister out of the country because Bianca was your original fiancée. And now she’s spreading false rumors because she’s afraid of losing you…” The man paused, a hint of doubt in his voice. “That will completely destroy your wife’s reputation.” After a brief, horrifying silence, I heard the voice I knew better than my own, cold and utterly devoid of compassion. “Her reputation doesn’t matter. Bianca’s does.” “But sir, won’t this make her divorce you?” “Divorce? Impossible.” Grant’s tone was full of chilling certainty, a cruel psychological dissection. “Her parents always favored her sister, so she’s desperately needy for affection. If I occasionally toss her a little warmth, she’ll cling to it like a life raft. She’d never dare let go.” The wound that had finally begun to scab over was ripped wide open. I squeezed my fists until my nails dug into my palms. I turned and walked back into the booth. The last vestige of my hesitation evaporated. “Mr. Devlin,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll sell you the shares. We can sign now.” “Congratulations on your upcoming acquisition of the Ashworth Group.” The next morning, I stood alone at the airport in Palm Beach. I was ready to replace everything. At 9:58 AM, I received Grant’s first call. “Genevieve Foster! Where are you?” His voice was a choke of suppressed rage. “Don’t play games with me. The press conference is about to start. Get over here and clarify things for Bianca!” I hung up without a word. Less than three minutes later, the second call. “Why is Rhys Devlin calling a shareholder meeting? What have you been doing behind my back? Did you think you could flirt your way into his favor to pull this stunt?” “I am warning you, if you don’t fix this immediately, I will divorce you!” I heard his self-serving threat and finally spoke, my tone distant and cool. “Grant Ashworth, if you go home right now, you should find the signed divorce agreement I left for you.”

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My phone buzzed during a board meeting with a notification from the kindergarten parents’ group. The teacher had tagged me: “Mrs. Daniels, your daughter is expelled. Pick her up now.” I typed, “Why?” “Leo’s Mom” replied arrogantly, “Your daughter didn’t call my son ‘young master.’ Isn’t that reason enough? My husband is Liam Gomez, brother of the richest man, Miles Gomez. Got a problem?” Before I could respond, the teacher apologized to her: “Mrs. Gomez, I’m sorry I scolded Leo when he hit your daughter. My mistake! I’ll award him in class tomorrow.” The chat flooded with fawning praise. Someone posted a photo of my bruised, tearful daughter, tagging me: “Being beaten by the wealthiest man’s nephew is a blessing. Don’t be ungrateful.” My blood ran cold. Liam Gomez was my brother—but he died ten years ago. I ended the meeting and raced to the kindergarten, messaging my legal team: “Find who’s impersonating my dead brother. My daughter was assaulted there. Bring a team—make them pay.” 1 When I pulled up to the kindergarten, I saw her immediately—Leo’s Mom, holding court by the school gate, surrounded by a gaggle of other parents. “Mrs. Gomez, you’re so modest! If it weren’t for this, we would have never known your husband was Miles Gomez’s brother.” “Exactly! The moment I saw you, I knew you had an air of nobility about you. It’s that Gomez family aura!” “We’re here to support you today. Your Leo is the little prince of our class. We can’t have him being bullied by just any riffraff!” “That’s right! Any child who makes the young master resort to violence must be trash. I’ve already told my son to be Leo’s loyal follower and protect him at all costs!” Even my daughter’s teacher was there, bowing and scraping before this woman. “Mrs. Gomez, the Daniels girl was insolent. She deserved to be beaten and expelled. Your Leo is a brave and powerful boy, unafraid to express his emotions. I will hold him up as a model for all the other students!” “Also,” the teacher added, her voice dripping with sycophancy, “if you could send me a list of Leo’s favorite foods, we will adjust the entire kindergarten’s menu to his tastes.” Leo’s Mom preened under the flattery, a proud peacock puffing out its chest. My brother, Liam, had been a humble, kind, and decent man. We were inseparable, working side-by-side to build the Gomez Group into the empire it was today. But the work took its toll. He fell ill and passed away far too young. I honored his wish for a quiet, private funeral, then channeled my grief into my work, determined to fulfill his dream of making our company number one. Now, after ten years of my relentless effort, my success had become this woman’s social capital. I was furious, and utterly bewildered. Who was this man, this impostor, who had given her the audacity to act with such impunity and to allow my daughter to be so brutally bullied? When the group of parents saw me approaching, their fawning smiles vanished, replaced by scowls of disgust, as if I were something vile they’d scraped off their shoes. The teacher marched up to me, her face a mask of contempt. “The director himself ordered your daughter’s expulsion. I suggest you learn to control her, and teach her to know her place.” I stared at her, my voice dangerously low. “My daughter was assaulted in your school. Instead of seeking justice for her, you expel the victim to curry favor with the powerful?” The teacher scoffed. “This is an elite kindergarten. We prioritize the status of our students. The Gomez family is not someone a low-life like you can afford to offend.” My expression hardened. “I suggest you do your research and find out exactly who I am.” Before I could say more, Leo’s Mom stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. “Who the hell do you think you are,” she sneered, “to talk about status here? No matter who you are, you’ll never be more important than my husband.” 2 The slap stunned me. The other parents erupted in jeers. “Hilarious! A member of the Gomez family is right here, and this nobody dares to talk about status?” “She’s probably so low-class she doesn’t even know what the Gomez name means.” “Being beaten by Miles Gomez’s nephew is an honor for trash like her. I don’t know what she’s complaining about.” They spat insults, some literally spitting in my direction, telling me I was worse than garbage. I took off my jacket—a custom piece worth a small fortune—and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then I faced Leo’s Mom. “First, your son assaults my daughter, and now you assault me. Are you not afraid of the law?” She laughed as if I’d told the world’s funniest joke. “You really have no idea how powerful the Gomez family is, do you? My husband is Miles Gomez’s brother. Do you think the law can touch me?” She held up her designer handbag. “See this? A gift from my husband. The silk scarf tied to the handle is worth more than you and your daughter’s lives combined.” I looked at the bag. It was indeed priceless, but for some reason, it looked familiar. “That’s strange,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. “I had no idea Liam Gomez was married, let alone had a child. Why don’t you call your husband over? I’d like to meet him.” My brother had been dead for a decade. How could he have a five-year-old son? I was going to find out who dared to impersonate him and unleash this monstrous woman and her child on the world. Leo’s Mom threw her head back and laughed. “My husband’s marriage is not something a bottom-feeder like you needs to be informed of. And you want to meet him? On what grounds?” “On the grounds,” I said, my voice ringing with cold authority, “that I am Liam Gomez’s sister. My name is Amelia Gomez.” 3 The crowd erupted in derisive laughter. Leo’s Mom glanced at the car I had arrived in and sneered. “You drive that piece of junk and dare to call yourself a Gomez? Are you delusional from poverty?” She laughed again. “I’m Miles Gomez’s sister-in-law. You think I wouldn’t recognize his own sister?” The other parents followed her gaze to my car, their mockery growing louder. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a trash heap like that!” “Look at her, poor and pathetic. No wonder her daughter is such a brat. They both deserve a good beating!” “Why do poor people like her even try to get into a school like this? It’s disgusting.” My car was, indeed, a ten-year-old domestic model. But it was a rare, custom-built vehicle, far from cheap. Its understated design meant few recognized its value. And now, it was the reason they refused to believe me. “Today, I’ll teach you the price of impersonating a Gomez!” Before I could say another word, Leo’s Mom picked up a brick from the side of the road and began smashing my car with a vengeance. Windows, headlights, hood—she didn’t spare a single inch. The other parents, caught up in the frenzy, joined in, grabbing whatever they could find and laying into the vehicle. They shattered the windows, then reached inside to slash the leather seats and destroy the interior. In moments, my pristine car was a wreck. “Look! She’s got stuff in the trunk!” one of them yelled after prying it open. Leo’s Mom sauntered over, pulled out a scroll painting, and scoffed, “A piece of trash driving a trashy car, pretending to be a collector. How sophisticated.” With that, she tore the ancient painting to shreds. Everything in the trunk was from a recent auction, priceless antiques I hadn’t had time to move to storage. “I hope you’ll be as enthusiastic when it’s time to pay for that,” I warned, my voice dangerously quiet. She just laughed in my face. “What could a low-life like you possibly own that’s of any value? A pile of fakes, not even worth the price of my lunch! Besides, with the Gomez family’s connections, no court in this city would dare make me pay.” She then proceeded to destroy the rest of the antiques. The other parents, emboldened by her, joined in the rampage. I watched the lawless mob and calmly took out my phone. “Where are you? I want you here in three minutes.” Before the person on the other end could reply, one of the parents snatched my phone and smashed it on the ground. “Still trying to call for backup? You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you? Think you’re some big shot? You’re probably just calling a bunch of beggars to come and play along!” The laughter and insults started again. There’s no reasoning with fools on a path to self-destruction. All I wanted was to see my daughter. I ignored them and walked toward the school entrance. The director came out to block my path. “A low-life like you is not welcome here.” My eyes were like chips of ice. “I want my daughter.” “She’s been expelled,” he sneered. “A teacher will bring her out.” Just then, the front door opened, and my daughter was thrown out, her little backpack flying after her. She landed hard on the pavement and burst into tears. I rushed to her, scooping her into my arms. I turned to the director, my voice shaking with rage. “Is this how you treat your students?” He looked at me with utter contempt. “A piece of trash born from a poor bitch. Does she deserve to be a student here? We’re just throwing out the garbage. What’s the problem?” 4 The other parents applauded. “Well said, Director! Fair and just!” “This is an elite school, not a place for stray dogs.” “Why does trash need an education anyway? She’ll just end up selling her body or picking through garbage. You should teach her how to scavenge. Maybe she’ll find something more valuable than that wreck of a car!” Leo’s Mom grew even more arrogant. “People of your class should know their place. You are destined to live at the bottom, despised by all.” The insults washed over me. The more they screamed, the wider Leo’s Mom smiled. The director took the opportunity to grovel. “Mrs. Gomez, if you are satisfied with how this was handled, perhaps you could do us a small favor. As you know, we are planning to expand, but the surrounding land is all owned by the Gomez Group…” Leo’s Mom crossed her arms, looking down her nose at him. “Don’t worry. I was very pleased with your performance today. I’ll have a word with my husband. He’ll gift the land to you.” The director beamed. “Thank you, Mrs. Gomez, thank you!” The other parents swarmed her, offering gifts and begging for favors. Business deals, partnerships, unlimited gift cards for luxury stores—they showered her with offerings, some even stuffing bank cards into her purse. She reveled in it, basking in their adoration. She walked over to me, her voice dripping with condescension. “Do you feel it? The gap between people in this world is greater than the gap between a person and a dog. Trash like you will never experience what it’s like to be worshiped. But I, as a Gomez, can enjoy a glory you can only dream of.” She leaned in, her voice a venomous hiss. “I’ll give you one day. Take your little garbage daughter and get out of this city. If I ever see her polluting my son’s sight again, I’ll bury the little mutt alive.” My daughter trembled in my arms. “Mommy, I’m scared,” she whimpered. “It hurts…” Her voice was filled with a terror that tore at my heart. I looked closer and saw them—thin, red lines crisscrossing the skin beneath her torn clothes. Knife cuts. My vision went red. “Did your son do this?” I demanded. Leo’s Mom glanced at the cuts and shrugged. “What’s the big deal? She was lucky he didn’t kill her for upsetting him.” The moment the words left her mouth, I slapped her. Hard. It was a blow fueled by all my pent-up rage. She staggered back, stunned. Before I could strike again, one of the other parents grabbed my hair and threw me to the ground. They descended on me like a pack of wolves, kicking and punching. “How dare you touch Mrs. Gomez, you worthless bitch!” “Your little mutt isn’t dead yet! Are you in a hurry to join her?” “Being disciplined by the young master is an honor for that trash! What good could come from a low-life like you? She deserves to be beaten to death!” Even the director kicked me. “Don’t hit my mommy!” my daughter cried, trying to intervene. A fat boy—Leo—shoved her to the ground. The director patted Leo’s head. “What a good boy, punishing the wicked. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a special award in front of the whole school!” Leo grinned. “I’ll beat that little piece of trash every time I see her!” I lay on the ground, bruised and bleeding. I looked up, my eyes burning. “You will all regret this.” They howled with laughter. “Did you hear that? The low-life is making threats!” “She really thinks she’s someone, doesn’t she? With Miles Gomez backing her, Mrs. Gomez could crush this bitch like an ant!” “All she has left is empty rage! Pathetic!” They held me down, showering me with insults. The crowd of onlookers jeered, calling me a fool. Leo’s Mom, triumphant, ground the heel of her stiletto into my cheek. “Regret?” she crowed. “I’ve never regretted a thing in my life. I can’t wait to see how a piece of trash like you is going to make me regret this!” Just then, a roar of engines filled the air. A convoy of over a hundred black luxury cars, each bearing the Gomez family crest, sped down the street and screeched to a halt in front of the kindergarten. The doors flew open, and an army of men in sharp, tailored suits poured out.

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