Category: English

I’ve tried to save the tortured, self-loathing male lead seven times. And seven times, he jumped off the roof. Before his death, he arranged everything perfectly. He considered everyone, including his former bullies. Lucas left a note specifically absolving them, ensuring they wouldn’t be cyberbullied after he was gone. Just like the six times before, Lucas left this world gently, trying to take care of everyone until the very end. At the funeral, everyone mourned him. They were regretful, heartbroken, devastated. Everyone except me. Because this time, I was pregnant. I had knelt on the ground, begging Lucas not to give up, begging him not to leave me and our child. But Lucas just gave me that sad, beautiful smile and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I lost my husband, and my child lost his father. I asked the System: Can I stop saving the male lead? I’m done. The System ignored me and booted up the eighth loop. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the high school classroom. Over in the corner was Lucas, the pathetic little outcast, drenched in dirty mop water thrown by the school bullies. I stood up. I saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked at me. Then, I walked right past him. I walked straight up to his stepbrother—the bully leading the pack—and looked into the boy’s malicious eyes. “Kill me.” I stared him down. “Or take me away from here.” 1 Xander’s expression froze. Then, he let out an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Lina, did you sleep your brain away during lunch? ‘Kill you’? What are you, some kind of emo drama queen?” I didn’t say anything. I just watched him quietly. Gradually, Xander stopped laughing. He looked into my eyes, then abruptly looked away, unsettled. “…Shit. You’re freaking me out.” I kept staring at him stubbornly. Because I knew Xander could do it. In the future, Lucas’s stepbrother would become a murderer. Right now, though, High School Xander just kicked over the mop bucket his friend was holding. “This vibe is cursed. Show’s over. Everyone get lost!” Before leaving, Xander glanced back at me a few times. His brows furrowed, like he wanted to say something but held back. In the corner, that figure was curled up in a ball. High school Lucas was skinny. His skeletal frame looked even more fragile wrapped in the soaked uniform. Dirty water dripped from his black hair, sliding down his sharp brow bone and crashing onto the floor, drop by drop. He just looked up at me like that, his dark, wet eyes unblinking. His pupils constricted slightly, like he’d just seen a ghost. Memories hit me like a tidal wave. Every loop started with this scene. Usually, I would rush over immediately. I’d spread my arms and shield Lucas. I’d scream at Xander and his goons to back off. “Tch—Lina, playing the saint again?” Xander would sneer. “Hey Lucas, look at you. Hiding behind a woman? Pathetic.” And when I finally chased them away and turned around… Lucas would always look up at me with those dark eyes. Like a puppy left out in the rain. It made my heart ache and swell at the same time. Then I would carefully help him up, whisper comforting words, and take him to the sink to clean up… But this time was different. My gaze lingered on Lucas’s dark eyes for half a second. I saw the expectation he hadn’t had time to hide, the confusion about why I wasn’t moving. And the lingering, shattered shimmer of tears. Then, I lifted my foot. And I stepped around him. I didn’t pause. I walked straight back to my desk and sat down. I took out the textbook for the next period and smoothed it out in front of me. I didn’t look back. Finally, the warning bell rang through the school. In the corner, the figure moved. Lucas’s upturned head slowly, inch by inch, dropped down. 2 Class started. Lucas returned to his seat in the back row. The wet uniform clung to his back, outlining his shoulder blades. From the teacher’s podium, you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. But the teacher said nothing. Because Lucas and Xander… they were technically family now. The homeroom teacher had tried calling the parents before—Lucas’s father, who was also Xander’s stepfather. The father’s attitude was to turn a blind eye, clearly favoring his stepson, Xander. The result? Xander’s bullying didn’t stop; it got worse. Since then, no teacher bothered. In the adult world, difficult problems are easily filed away as “family matters.” Right now, I was staring at my textbook, but I couldn’t read a word. Originally, I accepted the System’s contract on my hospital bed to come to this world. The System promised that if I completed the mission, my illness in the real world would be cured. I thought saving a gentle boy would be easy. For the first three loops, I stayed by Lucas’s side as a friend. I blocked the bullies, listened to his fears, and shared every bit of happiness I could find. I naively thought friendship was enough to pull Lucas out of the abyss. But at the end of every loop, all I got was a cold funeral invitation. And a handwritten letter: [Lina, you were my best friend. Thank you. Please be happy.] So clean. So gentle. He thought of everyone else, but forgot to leave a way out for himself. In the fourth loop, I realized my feelings for Lucas weren’t just pity. I fell in love with the boy who would give me his only umbrella in the rain and run home soaking wet. The boy who remembered my period, carried spare pads, and silently carried my heavy books. I loved his kindness toward a cruel world. I even loved his bone-deep insecurity and sensitivity. From then on, I gave it everything. I used all my love, my optimism, my passion. I tried to light a bonfire in his dark world that would never go out. I confessed. We dated. We moved in together. Lucas would sit by the bed watching me sleep, kissing me gently when I woke up. He loved hugging me from behind, burying his face in my neck, whispering: “Lina… meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.” I thought he was healed. I thought this time, we could grow old together. But his death always came without warning. One day, Lucas would be wearing the bunny apron I chose, face flushed from the steam in the kitchen, asking, “Lina, do you want steamed fish or braised fish tomorrow?” The next day, I’d find an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside his cold body. One night, we’d be cuddling, his warm breath on my neck. The next morning, the space beside me would be empty, and the smell of blood would drift from the bathroom. Beside his body, there was always a small wooden box. The first time I saw it, Lucas took out a yellowed piece of paper. One glance, and the color drained from his face. I asked him what it was. He immediately put the paper back, gave me a reassuring smile, and said it was nothing. The next day, he turned on the gas in a sealed room. Since then, I desperately tried to find that box. I wanted to know what was written on that paper, what words had the power to push him to death again and again. But I never found it. Until the seventh time. The last time. We had come so far. We were married. Lucas smiled genuinely more and more often. That afternoon, I came back from the hospital, hugging the ultrasound report, wanting to surprise him. And then I saw it. Lucas was standing by the window, holding that piece of paper I knew too well. The joy froze on my face. It took everything I had not to scream, rush over, snatch the paper, and tear it to shreds. “Lucas…” My voice trembled. “I’m… pregnant. Do you want to see our baby?” Lucas looked so pale by the window, like a flicker of light in the snow, ready to melt away. He turned, backlit by the sun, wearing that familiar, tragic smile. “Yeah. In a bit.” My world collapsed. “Lucas!!” I shook the report frantically, tears streaming down my face. “Isn’t this enough?! Don’t you look forward to our baby? What is on that paper? Even if it’s a curse, so what? I’m here! I’m here! We can start over!” In that moment, the fragile air around him shattered. He rushed over and hugged me, apologizing over and over. He held me so tight, as if trying to embed me into his bones. But the next day, he still jumped from the roof of that building. I loved him, saved him, pulled him out of the abyss time and time again. And every time, he chose to jump back in. My effort, my endurance… it was all for nothing. RIIING— The harsh bell snapped me out of my memories. SLAM! A hand slammed onto my desk, making my pencil case jump. A shadow fell over me. I looked up and saw Xander. One hand in his pocket, leaning forward, looking down at me. Two buttons of his uniform were undone, showing his collarbones. His hair was getting long, black strands falling into his eyes. “Hey, Lina.” His voice was lazy, carrying a rogue-ish edge. “That stuff you said before class… ‘take me away’… what did that mean?” Xander paused, then smirked, revealing sharp canine teeth. “You don’t… have a crush on me, do you?” 3 Xander burst into loud, mocking laughter. “Trying to get my attention with that? Pretty unique. I almost bought it. But your acting is seriously—” “Yeah.” I said. Xander’s laughter choked off into a cough. He straightened up immediately. “Cough! You… you said ‘yeah’?” I didn’t look away. Yeah. I give up. I don’t want to save Lucas anymore. I just want to be free from this endless loop. “If I say I like you, will you kill me later?” “…” Xander froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A few seconds later, a flush crept up his neck, burning his ears and spreading to his cheeks. The classroom went silent. Everyone was staring, eyes wide with gossip. Only from the back row came the screech of a chair being dragged. Lucas, who had been hanging his head, now buried his face completely in his arms. His uniform was half-dry, the muscles in his back tight and trembling. “You…” Xander took half a step back. He finally found his voice, but it was loud and cracked. “Are you f*cking crazy?! You’re just a kid, why—why are you always talking about death! You think it’s edgy? There’s a limit to being an emo teenager!” His friend next to him burst out laughing at Xander’s flustered state. Xander snapped like a cat whose tail got stepped on and kicked his friend in the shin. “Laugh at your mom! Shut up!” He was humiliated. I looked at this loud, blustering boy. But in my mind, I saw a different image. Years later. An afternoon. Adult Xander, being escorted out of an apartment building by two officers. Hands cuffed behind his back, stained with dark, drying blood. The onlookers whispered one word: Murderer. The last time I saw Xander, he smiled at me through the police car window. “…Hey! Why are you spacing out?” Present-day Xander poked my forehead. He looked fierce, but his touch was light. “What is your deal? Is this how people confess these days?” He pulled his hand back and ruffled his own hair aggressively, making it even messier. “Say something!” Suddenly, a harsh screech came from the back of the room. The sound of a chair hitting the floor. Everyone turned to look. Lucas was standing up, leaning forward, hand still pushing the desk. His chair was toppled over behind him. Meeting my eyes, Lucas froze, like a kicked dog. Then he panicked, bending down clumsily to pick up the chair. He kept his head down the whole time, hair hiding his face. Once the chair was upright, he didn’t look at anyone. He turned and rushed out of the classroom. “…” Seeing this, the blush on Xander’s face faded. He stared coldly at Lucas’s retreating back and spat out one word: “Freak.” 4 Lunchtime. The cafeteria was a chaotic din. Xander slammed his tray down on the table, jerking his chin at the student sitting next to me. “Move.” The student didn’t argue and scrambled away. Xander sat down heavily. “Hey, Emo Girl. You planning to keep that depressed face all day?” He stabbed at a green pepper on his tray but kept glancing at me. “I’m telling you, the gym rep from the other class? He gave one of our guys a bloody nose last week. Yesterday after school, I cornered him. Guess what? He peed his pants. Hilarious, right?” He kept talking, moving a spare rib from his tray to mine. “Eat. Lunch lady had a shaky hand today, gave me extra meat.” I didn’t touch the rib. I didn’t look at him. Xander tapped his tray with his chopsticks. “What’s with the face? Food sucks? Or do you lose your appetite looking at me?” Xander talked until his mouth was dry. My tray was empty. I wiped my mouth, stood up, and picked up my tray to leave. “Hey! You’re done already? That rib…” Xander tried to talk with his mouth full. I didn’t look back, walking toward the return window. Just as I got close, a figure stood up from a nearby table and followed me. Head down, back slightly hunched, shoulders drawn in. His uniform still had water stains. Lucas. I could feel him behind me. Not too close, not too far. Step for step. Suddenly, a sneaker shot out from the side, blocking Lucas’s path. Lucas was caught off guard. He pitched forward, about to face-plant onto the greasy floor. The students around him were already laughing. Subconsciously, I shot my arm out to catch him— It was pure muscle memory from seven lifetimes of protecting him. My hand hovered for a second. The exhaustion of futility washed over me, and I started to pull back. But a hand grabbed my wrist faster. It was cold, bony, and gripping tight. Lucas used my meager support to steady himself. The students waiting for the show booed in disappointment. I stared at the person in front of me. Lucas was still holding my wrist. He looked up. Those pitch-black eyes were terrifyingly bright. Like he was overwhelmed by an undeserved favor. Lucas’s lips moved. Very softly, very slowly, he choked out words that were almost drowned by the noise: “…Thank… you…” At that moment, Xander rushed over with his unfinished tray. “What the hell are you doing?” His eyes locked onto Lucas’s hand on my wrist. His face went black. “Let go!” Lucas didn’t let go. He stood his ground, unmoving, staring straight at me. The look in his eyes was heavy. “Lina… Lina.” He whispered my name. Raspy. Trembling. “I… I think I have… a lot of new memories.” “In the future… we have a baby, don’t we?”

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My husband prided himself on being a modern, enlightened man. When his mother had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital, I called him, frantic. He replied casually, “Mom’s in the hospital. It’s serious. You should come now.” In the background, I could hear him laughing with his childhood friend Michelle. “Michelle’s on her period and needs me here,” he said. “Tell you what—I’ll bite this chocolate. If the filling is yellow, I’ll come. If it’s pink, I stay with Michelle.” A pause. “Pink. Guess I’m staying. And don’t worry too much about your mom—everyone has their fate.” In my past life, I begged and borrowed to save his mother. But when I lay dying in childbirth, my husband showed me a pink-filled chocolate and shrugged. His mother turned away, silent. After I died, I watched him hold Michelle, smug. “What an idiot,” he said. “I bought that special chocolate—all pink. If not for the apartment in her name, I wouldn’t have wasted time on her. Only you, Michelle, should carry my child.” Now, staring at his box of “decision-making” chocolates, I smiled coldly. You love making choices, don’t you, dear husband? This time, I’ll make sure you have plenty to choose from. 1 “Mia, I have to run out for a bit. You’re on your own for dinner.” I sat at the table, my mind still reeling, but the words tumbled out of my mouth on instinct. “Where are you going so late? It’s my birthday.” Mark didn’t even pause as he walked to the entryway. He grabbed his coat, his voice laced with impatience. “Michelle just called. She had a nightmare. She’s over there crying her eyes out. Am I supposed to just leave her alone?” “Mia, can you be a little more understanding? She’s younger than you. What’s the big deal with cutting her some slack?” His words finally snapped me back to reality. I looked at the birthday cake on the table and knew, with a chilling certainty, that I had been reborn. Reborn to the day my tragedy began. My birthday. Last time, he’d used those exact words to shut me up, to make me question if I was being too jealous, too petty, for getting upset over a girl a few years younger than me. Back then, desperate to keep our marriage afloat, I had said nothing. I had let him go to Michelle on my birthday. And when Mark came back the next day, he brought a gift and an apology, looking so genuinely sorry. “Honey, I was just so worried yesterday. Michelle and I grew up together. She’s like my little sister. Taking care of her is just a habit. You know if I had any feelings for her beyond that, I never would have pursued you so relentlessly.” I had believed him. I’d even bought Michelle a gift to make up for my hostility. But this time, I was done being the fool. As he was about to leave, I slammed my hand on the table and stood up, my voice cold. “Michelle’s so young? She’s twenty-five, Mark. Does she not have parents to comfort her? Does it have to be someone else’s husband?” “If you’re so in love with her, let’s just get a divorce right now. Then you two won’t have to sneak around anymore.” Mark’s face went rigid. He turned, his eyes darting around nervously. “Honey, what are you talking about? You’re the only one I love. There’s nothing romantic between Michelle and me. I only see her as a sister. Please don’t be jealous. I’m just worried something might happen to her.” He walked over, put his arm around my shoulder, and picked up the box of chocolates from the table, his tone a mixture of indulgence and exasperation. “Alright, let’s let the chocolate decide. If the filling is yellow, I’ll stay and celebrate your birthday with you. If it’s pink, I’ll go check on Michelle.” He popped a chocolate into his mouth, and of course, the filling was pink. He looked at the chocolate in his hand, his face showing no surprise or disappointment. “See, honey? The chocolate has decided. There’s nothing I can do. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We’ll celebrate your birthday again.” Before the words were even fully out of his mouth, he was out the door, without a moment’s hesitation. I watched it all unfold with a blank expression. I already knew this would be the outcome. I had no intention of stopping him. Remembering what I had seen after my death, I scanned the room, my eyes landing on the numerous chocolate boxes scattered around our home. I picked up the box Mark had just put down, dumped out the contents, and bit into them, one by one. One, two, three… A laugh escaped my lips. Mark. He really had played me for a fool my entire life. We were colleagues. Shortly after I joined the company, he claimed it was love at first sight and began to pursue me relentlessly. He was thoughtful in every way, bringing me breakfast and dinner, walking me home, even helping me build relationships with my coworkers. When I collapsed at home from a stomach bug, he was the first one to find me, breaking down the door and calling an ambulance. After my parents’ divorce, I hadn’t experienced that kind of care in a long time. I was moved, and I accepted his proposal. At our wedding, he emotionally vowed to cherish me, to care for me, and to never betray me. I thought we would be happy forever, the picture-perfect couple. But after we were married, for some reason, he developed this habit of letting a chocolate make his difficult decisions. The problem was, his “difficult decisions” always involved Michelle. And the chocolate, time and time again, always chose Michelle. For the sake of our relationship, I conceded, again and again. But he only became more brazen. He even said “everyone has their own fate” about his own mother when she was critically ill, because he’d mistaken her for mine. I had planned to have a serious talk with him after his mother recovered. But then I found out I was pregnant. He was ecstatic. “Honey, we’re having a baby! I’ll be even better to you and the baby from now on. I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world!” His mother held my hand, tears in her eyes. “My dear, you saved my life, and now you’re giving our family an heir. You are our greatest treasure. From now on, you are my own daughter.” I was so happy. I thought he had truly changed, and I let the past go. But when I was on the operating table, fighting for my life, I heard his cold voice from outside the door. “The chocolate is pink. Let’s just stop the resuscitation.”

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During an argument on the bus, my “school bully” boyfriend broke up with me. I sneered, “Out of the two of you, you’re the only one with problems.” He instantly lost it, demanding to know who the “other one” was. I made up some nonsense: “Student Council President, 6’1″, handsome, long legs, better than you in every way. Hehe.” The next moment. The guy sitting next to us, wearing a grey hoodie, took off his headphones and pulled down his mask. He coughed lightly: “Correction: I’m 6’1.28″.” Help. I was caught lying by the person I was lying about. 1 It was Friday after school. Brad and I were arguing on the bus. Half the bus full of grandmas and grandpas perked up their ears, listening with relish. “Joy, can you stop overthinking? Sarah is just a really good friend,” Brad said, one hand in his pocket, face full of annoyance. There were no seats left, so we were standing in the aisle. Outside the window, green shadows flashed by rapidly. The wind blew the hair on Brad’s forehead, revealing his cold, impatient eyes. “Friend? What kind of platonic friend uses matching couple avatars in a game?” I scoffed, exposing him mercilessly. If I hadn’t just seen Sarah posting game screenshots and match records, I wouldn’t have known Brad’s cat avatar had a matching half. Good job. Texting me “goodnight” one minute. Gaming with his “female bro” until midnight the next. “You don’t play, what’s wrong with me matching with her?” “I treat Sarah like a bro.” “Why do I need to explain? What does a couple avatar prove?” “Are you delusional? Or just paranoid?” “Stop being unreasonable.” Brad frowned, looking exhausted, like I was the problem. I was stunned. How could he be so shameless? Gaslighting me? Really? 2 I was so angry I wanted to slap him. Just as I raised my hand, the bus hit a red light. The bus driver was wild. No slowing down, just a hard brake right at the line. Before my slap could land on Brad’s face, I spun 180 degrees uncontrollably, nearly flying into the lap of the guy sitting next to us. The guy had headphones on and his eyes closed, seemingly asleep. Most of his face was covered by a mask; his eyelashes were long and thick, resting quietly. Thankfully, I gripped the handrail tight, avoiding intimate contact. Just as I steadied myself, Brad spoke again. “If that’s what you think, I can’t help it.” “We should take a break and cool off.” “You choose.” At peak anger, I suddenly calmed down. Heh. Trying to use a breakup to make me compromise? Fine, let’s break up. There are plenty of fish in the sea. But I couldn’t lose face and just let him win. I laughed in anger. Curling my lip, I tsked and shook my head helplessly: “Let’s break up then. Out of the two of you, you’re the only one with problems.” “What?” Brad froze for a second. Realizing what I said, his face turned ugly. “Joy, am I not enough? You have another man on the side?!” 3 “You’ve got it wrong. He’s the main boyfriend. I just never went public with him.” “You’re the third wheel who chased me relentlessly and intruded on our relationship.” I sighed, condemning him with a heartbroken expression. The audience on the bus couldn’t sit still anymore. Pointing and whispering, lamenting how wild young people are these days. “I… I’m the side piece?” Brad looked like he’d been struck by lightning. Stunned. Then his face flushed red from his neck up. He grabbed my arm and roared furiously. “Joy, you cheater! You played me!” “Tell me who he is! Who is he? How am I worse than him? Speak! Tell me now!!!” Seeing him lose it, I felt amazing. I slapped his hand away and started spewing nonsense. “Liam from the Law School.” “Student Council President, 6’1″, handsome, long legs, better than you in every way. Hehe.” A peak existence everyone looked up to. Let’s see how you compare to him. Before the words even settled, and before Brad could react… The guy next to us who was “sleeping” suddenly took off his headphones. Slender fingers pulled down his mask, revealing superior features. He coughed lightly, his voice clear and melodious. “Um, correction: I’m 6’1.28″.” 4 Everyone at River University knew Liam. Handsome, top student, campus heartthrob, and academic god. Cold and clean temperament, basically a deity. Completely different from the wild, arrogant “school bully” type like Brad. I didn’t know him personally, but I knew his face. Help. I got caught lying by the person I was lying about. “I, uh…” My brain was a mess. I was so guilty and embarrassed I didn’t know what to say. Brad scowled and sneered: “Liam, is she really your girlfriend?” “She and I—” Liam lifted his eyelids and looked at me calmly. It’s over. I’m about to be exposed and slapped in the face by the main character. If Sarah, that little Green Tea, found out, she would spread it everywhere and laugh at me. In a critical moment, I steadied myself, brain spinning fast. “Hi, babe. What a coincidence, you’re here too.” I showed a standard eight-tooth smile, sweet as candy. I intimately grabbed Liam’s jacket, turning sideways to block Brad’s view, staring intently at Liam, begging silently. Don’t expose me. Please, God Liam. I finally stood up to Brad. Please play along. Boohoo. I will repay your great kindness. Meeting my teary-eyed, pitiful gaze, Liam’s nice eyebrows furrowed slightly. Silence for a few seconds. He paused, then said lightly. “She and I are exactly what you think.” 5 We got off at the stop. On the sidewalk, Brad stood in front of me and Liam with his hands in his pockets, gritting his teeth: “Great. I wish you the best.” I rolled my eyes at him, looking up at Liam with a smile and acting spoiled. “Babe, are you happy? Finally gave you a title.” “Everyone else is just trash.” “No one compares to you. I like you the best.” Brad’s face got even worse. “I hope you break up tonight!” He sneered, his aura dropping even lower. Unable to bear it, he dropped that line and turned to leave. “Wait, don’t go!” I called out. “Oh? Can’t bear to let me go?” Brad stopped, raising an eyebrow triumphantly at Liam. “You wish. I mean don’t walk, you’re too slow.” “Run! Get out of my sight immediately.” … After Brad stormed off with a black face, my smile vanished. I put my hands together in prayer, quickly apologizing to Liam who had been silent beside me. “Liam, I’m so sorry. I got carried away and spouted nonsense.” “Brad cares about face the most. Don’t worry, he definitely won’t tell anyone about my lies.” “I promise, it absolutely won’t affect you. And thank you for playing along. Thank you so much.” 6 “It’s okay.” Liam nodded politely. The midsummer evening breeze was gentle. Carrying the cool scent of lime and sea salt soda, blowing away the day’s humidity. He wore simple black pants and sneakers. On top was a loose grey hoodie, zipped halfway down. Revealing a bit of a white T-shirt collar and beautiful, sharp collarbones. Slender figure. Quiet yet eye-catching. I really wanted to bow down to him. Beautiful person, beautiful heart. He’s so good. Boohoo. “Liam, let me treat you to dinner.” Liam refused. I insisted. Finally, he pointed to a nearby convenience store, helpless: “Dinner isn’t necessary. Just buy me an ice cream.” … After buying ice cream, I added Liam on WeChat. One ice cream wasn’t enough. I definitely had to treat him to a meal if I got the chance. After saying goodbye, I took a taxi back to school. Originally, I planned to go see fireflies at the Forest Park with Brad tonight. He didn’t ride his flashy motorcycle, saying squeezing on the bus together was sweeter. Didn’t expect us to argue the whole way and end up breaking up. I opened WeChat, scrolling through my feed out of boredom. Sarah posted another update— “Don’t be sad~ Breaking up is no big deal, I’ll always be with you~ (Hug) (Hug)” I was disgusted. The little Green Tea finally got what she wanted. Her secret delight was leaking through the words. I couldn’t swallow this anger. My eyes turned red. I furiously typed a comment— “I’ll play the trumpet at your mom’s funeral~” 7 After being emo for two days, I was visibly withered. Monday morning classes were killing me. After class in the afternoon, I went to the playground for a walk, and coincidentally ran into Brad again. He was playing basketball with a tense face, as if venting. His jersey was soaked. He looked to be in a bad mood. Sarah sat on the bench, holding a water bottle, smiling at Brad. I kept my head down and walked. Brad had sharp eyes. He saw me, did a fadeaway jump shot, swish. He strode over to block me. “Joy, why are you alone?” “Where’s your boyfriend? Why isn’t he with you?” Me: “He’s not as idle as you.” Sarah, afraid we’d get back together, quickly trotted over. “Joy, you have a new boyfriend? That was fast.” “Then why do you look so bad? Did you break up again?” She looked me up and down, gasping softly. “Shut up! Can you have as little drama as you have hair?” Fire rose in my chest. I stared at her large forehead and sneered. Sarah was pricked, almost losing her composure. She barely maintained her expression, saying fake-ly: “Joy, no matter what you think, Brad and I are innocent. You misunderstood.” “You act more than a trash bag holds trash.” “You really misunderstood us!” “Shake your brain before speaking.” After my barrage, Sarah couldn’t speak. She turned to Brad, voice trembling: “Your ex-girlfriend is so mean.”

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Valentine’s Day. It was my son’s birthday. It was also the fifth year of my mission to conquer my husband, Harrison Sterling. That night, my son, Noah, made a wish in fluent German, looking straight at his father. “I wish Dad and Mom would get a divorce. I want Aunt Bella to be my mom.” Harrison smiled and replied in German, “Your wish will come true very soon.” Aunt Bella. That would be my biological older sister, Bella. Ten minutes later, Harrison called me into the study. He slid a divorce agreement across the mahogany desk. “Let’s divorce. I’m giving you a billion dollars as a settlement. You need to retire from acting and move abroad permanently.” I stared at the papers, my throat tight. “Harrison… did you ever love me?” He set down his pen and looked me dead in the eye. “Chloe, have you forgotten? You were just a stand-in for your sister.” “Now that Bella is back, you need to exit the stage.” His words were precise, surgical cuts to my heart. The light in my eyes finally went out. Five years ago, Harrison was in a car accident and ended up in a coma. His fiancée, Bella, refused to marry a vegetable and fled the country. The family forced me to take her place. I agreed because I had terminal cancer, and a “System” offered to cure me if I successfully made Harrison fall in love with me. For five years, I waited on him hand and foot. When he woke up, he protected me. He flew halfway across the world when I was sick. He even got jealous of our son. I thought he loved me. I was wrong. “Sorry,” I said, my voice steadying. “I lost my composure.” I picked up a pen. “I’ll sign.” Harrison looked at my red-rimmed eyes. He remembered how I’d given up my career for him, how I’d run out at 3 AM in a blizzard just because he craved dumplings. His conscience pricked him. “As long as you don’t disturb my new life, I’ll bring Noah to visit you abroad when I have time…” The room was warm, but I felt freezing cold. He left the door ajar when he walked out. through the crack, I saw Noah cheering. “Dad! My birthday isn’t over yet! Let’s go find Aunt Bella!” Noah shouted in German. “Aunt Bella plays the violin so well. She speaks different languages with me. She lets me eat ice cream. I love being with her.” “Unlike Mom. She always makes that gross sugar-free chocolate cake. I hate it. Aunt Bella brings me imported Godiva.” “Mom is so annoying. Why can’t she be like Aunt Bella?” Every word stomped my heart into the dirt. Harrison laughed. “Let’s go then. To Aunt Bella’s.” I closed the door emotionlessly. They didn’t know I spoke eight languages. I understood every word. The son I poured my life into wanted me gone. I made sugar-free cake because his teeth were rotting. He forgot who carried him to the ER when his toothache made him scream. He forgot who stayed up all night telling stories when he was scared of thunder. Five years of devotion couldn’t beat the three months Bella had been back. Ding. My phone buzzed. A special notification. It was Harrison’s Instagram post. #HarrisonSterling: The only one for me in this life. The photo showed him holding hands with Noah and Bella, standing in front of the Sterling family estate. In five years of marriage, he never took me there. He said his parents thought an actress was too low-class. Now, Bella had been back for three months, and she was the lady of the manor. The post trended immediately. And naturally, my name was dragged through the mud. #Ex-MovieQueenChloe Dream Shattered! I looked at the toxic comments. My heart finally flatlined. I logged into my account, tagged Harrison, and typed: #Congrats to the happy couple. Thanks for the billion-dollar breakup fee. I loved them with everything I had. If they didn’t want it, I’d take it back. For the first time in four years, I summoned the System. “System, I request to leave this world permanently.” Three seconds later, the mechanical voice echoed in my head. [According to mission parameters, the Host successfully completed the conquest four years ago upon the birth of the target’s son. Request approved. You will be permanently deleted from this world in 10 days.] Chapter 2 I had actually completed the mission years ago. But because Noah was small, and because I truly loved Harrison, I chose to stay. Now, neither of them wanted me. The System tried to comfort me: [Host, nobody here loves you anyway. Take the billion dollars and live it up for the last ten days. Then I’ll take you to a new world.] I teared up. It was pathetic, really. I had parents, a husband, a son. None of them loved me. They only loved Bella. When we were kids, Bella danced ballet. My parents bought her a condo as a reward. I practiced until my feet bled and won first place. I thought they’d praise me. Instead, Bella pushed me down the stairs. I broke my leg. My parents said, “You deserved it for stealing your sister’s spotlight.” That’s when I knew I was an orphan with living parents. I tried to build a new family with Harrison. It failed. Fine. I didn’t want any of them anymore. … One hour later. I walked into “The Olympus,” the most exclusive host club in the city, carrying a black card with a billion-dollar limit. On the left, rows of “puppy dog” types calling out “Big Sister.” On the right, “wolf types” smoldering. I waved the card. “Bring me your best-looking guys. I have a billion to burn!” Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm hard. I turned around. Harrison. His eyes were burning with anger. “Posting on social media wasn’t enough? You followed me here? Are you trying to ruin Bella’s welcome party on the 88th floor?” “She’s your sister. Why must you always fight her?” Noah stood beside him, looking disgusted. “Mom, stop embarrassing us. You’re so petty. Being jealous just makes Daddy hate you more.” It stung. I shook off Harrison’s hand. “I don’t have time to disturb your love nest. My schedule is open; if you find me annoying, stay out of my way.” I turned and walked deeper into the club, ignoring them. Harrison watched my back, a strange irritation rising in his chest. … I rented the VIP penthouse at The Olympus. I ordered bottles of Ace of Spades. I hired guys to sing, dance, perform magic tricks. I tipped $50,000 just for a smile. Laughter filled the room all night. But I didn’t smile once. Soon, I was trending again. #HarrisonThrowsPartyForBella #ChloeHiresMaleModels #FallenStar: Chloe Spends Billions on Men! The comments were brutal. “She’s disgusting. Look at those photos, surrounded by men. Does she have a disease?” “How can a classy artist like Bella be related to this trash?” “Die, homewrecker!” I didn’t look at my phone. I just drank, glass after glass. The next morning, a call woke me up. My head was splitting. I answered, and my mother’s screeching voice drilled into my ear. “You ungrateful wretch! You have no shame!” “I…” “Shut up! You’re ruining Bella’s reputation with the Sterling family elders! Get out of that filthy place and go back to the villa! Fix your image or I’ll freeze your accounts! You’ll sleep on the street!” She hung up. Every word was a brand on my soul. I rubbed my temples. “It’s okay, Chloe. You’re leaving soon.” I did go back to the villa, though. Not to apologize, but to get my ID and transfer the money to an account my mother couldn’t touch. I had 9 days left. I was going to enjoy them. … I arrived at the house I’d shared with Harrison for five years. It was quiet. I thought they were out. I went upstairs to the master bedroom. Through the door, I heard low, ambiguous moans. My heart felt like it had been stabbed. Shaking, I reached for the handle. Suddenly, a small body slammed into me like a cannonball. Noah blocked the door, glaring at me with hatred. “Bad Mom! You can’t go in! Daddy said he’s making me a new little sister with Aunt Bella. Do not disturb them!” Chapter 3 I stared at my son. He stood there, arms spread wide like a guardian of justice, protecting the people who were betraying me. I realized then what a failure my life was. I didn’t say a word. I turned around and walked away. When you’re sad, you have to buy happiness. I went to the bank, withdrew cash, and called The Olympus. “Send me seven of your handsomest guys. Top tier.” “Make me happy today. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, I’m paying.” And so… We drove limited-edition sports cars. We ate at Michelin 3-star restaurants. We went drag racing on the cliffside highway. We bought out luxury stores. I did everything the internet said would make a person happy. Finally, exhausted, I parked by the beach and slept in the car. I woke up at 10 AM the next day to a call from Noah’s teacher. “Hello? Is this Noah’s mom? It’s 10 o’clock, why isn’t he at school? is he taking another day off?” I said calmly, “Sorry, I divorced Noah’s dad. Please call him for anything regarding the child.” I hung up. Since Noah was born, I handled everything. School, health, playdates. Before Bella returned, he was a good kid. Three months ago, after Bella came back, Noah hit a kid at school. When I tried to discipline him, he screamed: “You just want me to apologize! Why?! Aunt Bella said kids should release their nature! People should be selfish! I hit him because I wanted to!” “You’re useless! You don’t deserve to be my mom!” He was poisoned. It didn’t matter. I was leaving. Let Harrison clean up the mess. Seconds later, Harrison called. “Chloe! What kind of mother are you? Your son has a high fever at home! Even Bella cares more than you do—she’s crying her eyes out at the hospital right now!” “Even if we’re divorced, don’t take it out on the child!” He berated me like I was garbage. Three months ago, the first time he compared me to Bella, I cried into my pillow all night. Now? I felt nothing. “Wait,” I said. “Weren’t you and Bella with him yesterday? I wasn’t even home. What were you doing?” Harrison choked. “I was busy with work! Bella has been at the hospital all morning. This is your job!” “Come to the hospital. Now.” He hung up. I didn’t rush to the hospital. I didn’t panic. My head still hurt from the hangover. I decided to go back to the VIP suite at The Olympus to sleep. But at the entrance, a swarm of reporters blocked me. “Chloe! You’re partying with male models while your son is in the hospital? Are you fit to be a mother?” “Sources say you stole your sister’s husband because you look like her. The Sterling family never accepted you. Is it because you’re cheap?” “Your sister is taking care of your son right now. Are you ashamed?” Buzzkills. I grabbed a microphone and smiled lazily at the camera. “Did Bella send you?” The reporters froze. Their questions were designed to lift Bella up and crush me. Fine. Let’s give Bella some PR work to do. “You guys are right,” I said clearly. “I can’t compare to Bella. She refused to marry her fiancé, ran abroad to study, forced her little sister to be a substitute bride, and then came back to steal her sister’s husband and child.” The crowd exploded. I ignored them and walked into the lobby, heading for the elevator to the 99th floor. The doors opened, and I ran straight into Harrison. He grabbed my wrist, furious. “Chloe! Who told you to say that nonsense? Do you know how much damage those rumors do to Bella?” I opened my mouth to speak, but a metallic taste flooded my throat. I vomited a mouthful of blood. Chapter 4 The bright red blood splashed onto the white carpet. I collapsed in my red dress, looking like a withered rose. “Chloe?” Harrison’s pupils constricted. He caught me, his voice trembling with a panic he didn’t realize he felt. “Chloe!” My vision blurred. [System, what’s happening?] [System: Host, your physical body still has terminal cancer. However, since the mission was successful, I have disabled your pain receptors.] I blinked, trying to clear my head. Harrison looked terrified. “What is this blood? Chloe, what are you playing at?” Oh. He thinks it’s a trick. I pushed him away and stood up, wiping my mouth. I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, you can’t tell?” I pointed at the floor. “It’s fake. Ketchup. You aren’t actually worried about me, are you?” If he knew I was dying, he’d probably say I deserved it. Harrison’s face went black instantly. “Stop using these stunts to get attention. No matter how jealous you are, you shouldn’t slander Bella publicly.” “Bella had her reasons for leaving back then. She’s kind enough to forgive you. For the sake of our past, if you apologize publicly, I won’t sue you.” I laughed. “Sue me. Send the lawyers. I’m waiting.” … The next day was my birthday. My last birthday in this world. I spent a fortune renting out the Skyline Ballroom at the most expensive hotel in the city. I decorated it beautifully. A farewell party for myself. Before it started, I ran into Harrison and Noah in the lobby. Harrison walked straight up to me. “Chloe, cancel your party.” I laughed. “Excuse me?” “I’m using this venue today to clarify the rumors about Bella.” “And that concerns me… how?” Noah tugged on Harrison’s hand. In German, he said, “Dad, let’s go. If Mom wants to embarrass herself, let her.” Harrison glared at me. “Don’t regret this.” I turned away. Regret? The only thing I regretted was falling in love with him during the mission. At 8 PM, my party started. The giant screen played pre-recorded birthday wishes from industry friends. I drank wine, cheeks flushed, smiling brilliantly. “Thank you, everyone. I’m so happy today.” Suddenly, the screen glitched. It cut to a livestream. My parents’ faces appeared. “Chloe maliciously slandered her own sister. She is rotten to the core. From today on, we disown her!” Then, the screen switched to Harrison and Noah. “My mother, Chloe, abandoned me when I was sick to party with male models. I want to sever the mother-son relationship!” Noah declared. Harrison looked into the camera, ice-cold. “I have divorced Chloe. She defamed my fiancée, Bella. Effective immediately, Chloe is banned from all Sterling properties. Security, please remove her from the Skyline Ballroom.”

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The company-wide raise added a cool two grand to my monthly paycheck. To celebrate, I treated myself to a Mango Paradise smoothie at lunch. My coworker, Leo, sauntered over. “Well, look at you, Sophie. Living the high life, huh?” He leaned in, squinting at the price sticker on the cup, and his voice jumped an octave. “Nine bucks for a smoothie? Man, it must be nice being single. You guys can just throw money around. Not like us poor saps with families to feed. We have to think twice before buying bottled water.” I put down my drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He threw his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “Whoa, it’s just a joke! I’m just riffing with you. Can’t you take a little banter? No sense of humor?” A hot flash of anger rose in me, but just then, his phone rang. He didn’t even look at the caller ID, just hit the speakerphone button. His wife’s voice, tinny and whining, filled the air. “…this month’s budget is a disaster.” “No money? Just ask Sophie for a loan,” Leo said into the phone. “She’s single, practically rolling in money she doesn’t know what to do with. Besides—” Heads were starting to turn in our direction. He shot me a smug wink and drawled, “Just doing a bit with the wife for you, Sophie. Don’t take it to heart, okay?” A knot of anger tightened in my chest, hot and suffocating. 1 The anger was a stone in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it, and I couldn’t spit it out. Leo, still on his live call, had the audacity to add, “See, honey? Sophie’s all flustered. I’m just riffing, she gets it.” His wife mumbled something else before he hung up, chuckling. I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on him. “Leo, I want an apology.” He wiped the grin off his face and replaced it with a look of exaggerated innocence. “An apology? For what, Sophie? It was just a little office banter, you know? Just riffing to liven things up.” He spoke loudly, making sure the entire open-plan office could hear. “If you can’t even handle a simple joke, how are you ever going to connect with the younger generation?” he said, shaking his head as if he pitied me. A few cubicles over, I heard a stifled snicker. My fingernails dug into my palms. “I didn’t find it funny,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. My mistake. You’re the bigger person, I get it.” With that, he swaggered back to his desk, leaving me stewing in a cloud of silent fury. It felt like punching a pillow—all effort, no impact. At two o’clock, our team lead called a quick huddle. We had a notoriously difficult client, one whose project plan had already been rejected six times. Nobody wanted to touch that hot potato. As our lead agonized over who to assign it to, Leo’s hand shot up. “Give it to Sophie!” he boomed. “She’s a powerhouse, and with that nice raise she just got, she should be taking on more responsibility.” He turned to me, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “The rest of us have to pick up kids and keep the home fires burning. We can’t guarantee we won’t have to clock out right at five. But Sophie? She’s single, her time is her own. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to shine.” I immediately pushed back. “Mark, I’m already juggling three projects. First drafts for all of them are due next Wednesday. My schedule is packed. And this client’s demands are… unique. I’m worried I won’t—” Leo cut me off. “High demands just prove how skilled you are! The most capable person should handle the toughest jobs. Don’t be so modest, Sophie. Everyone knows you’ve got the most potential in this department.” Sarah, sitting next to me, chimed in. “He’s right, Sophie. It’s good for young people to challenge themselves. For those of us with kids and aging parents, our hands are tied.” Another colleague, Dave, nodded in agreement. “Leo has a point.” Our lead, Mark, pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at them, then at me. “Sophie, you are very capable. This client is a headache, but it could also be a major win. How about it… can you take one for the team?” I looked at Mark’s pleading face, then at Leo’s triumphant smirk, and swallowed the rest of my protests. “Fine,” I said. Leo’s smile was painfully sincere. “That’s the spirit! We’ll all be cheering for you.” My stomach churned. Just before quitting time, the office admin came around collecting money for the last team-building event. It was eighty bucks a head. Leo followed her over, rapping his knuckles on my desk. “Sophie,” he said, his voice oozing with forced familiarity. “You just got that big raise, and you’ve got no dependents. Why don’t you cover an extra two hundred? Call it a treat for the team. Let everyone share in your good fortune.” I looked up at him, my expression flat. “We’re splitting it evenly. I’ll transfer my share.” The smile on his face flickered. “Tch. No fun at all. It was just a suggestion, you know? A joke. Don’t be so literal.” As he transferred his eighty dollars to the admin, he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “Makes all that money and she’s still so stingy. No class.” The admin shot me an awkward glance before scurrying away to the next desk. I sat there, feeling a hot flush creep up my back. It was pure rage. The second the clock hit five, I was out of my chair and bolting for the door. One more second in that room and I might have actually exploded. I was heading for the subway when I spotted Leo in the designated smoking area near the main entrance. He was with a guy from another department, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His back was to me; he hadn’t seen me leave. I heard his voice, laced with laughter and dripping with condescending pride. “…don’t worry about it. That Sophie in our office? She’s a naive little thing with deep pockets and a thin skin. Next time you have a nightmare project, just push it our way. I’ll feed her a few compliments, and I guarantee she’ll snap it right up.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring. “People like her? They’re the easiest mark in the world.” 2 A cold night breeze swept over me, and I shivered. I slipped away before he could spot me, his words echoing in my head all the way to the subway station. For the next few days, I did my best to avoid Leo. He dropped the difficult client’s file on my desk with a cheerful “The best person for the job!” and washed his hands of it completely. I spent an entire week buried in that project, working late every single night. Finally, I hammered out a proposal that I thought might actually work. On the day of the presentation, the client loved it. They approved it on the spot. A wave of relief washed over me. At least the miserable week had paid off. But less than ten minutes after the confirmation email went out, Leo tagged me in the department group chat. Leo: “Congrats, Sophie! Got it approved in one go, you’re a rock star! To be honest, I threw in a lot of suggestions for that proposal myself. Looks like the sparks from our collaboration really paid off!” I stared at the screen, my blood beginning to boil. He hadn’t offered a single concrete suggestion beyond dumping the mess on my lap. I didn’t argue in the group chat. Instead, I scrolled back through my direct messages with him, found our conversation about the project, and took a screenshot. It clearly showed me asking for background information, and him replying with a series of “Not sure” and “You figure it out.” I dropped the screenshot into the group chat without a word. The chat went dead silent. A few minutes later, a private message from Leo popped up. Leo: “Sophie, why are you being so serious? I was just riffing, trying to make it look like we have good teamwork. Dropping screenshots like that makes us look divided to the managers.” I typed back: “It is what it is.” He sent a single eye-roll emoji. “So lame.” After that incident, I started working closely with Josh from the tech department on a new project. We were constantly huddled at my desk or booking conference rooms to hash out the details. It only took a couple of days for things to feel… off. Josh started avoiding my gaze. Whenever I tried to talk work with him, he’d give me clipped answers and find an excuse to bolt. Then one day in the breakroom, I overheard Leo talking to another colleague. “…see that?” he was snickering. “Sophie won’t leave poor Josh alone. Someone’s getting desperate to get married.” It all clicked into place. That afternoon, I saw Leo holding court with a few others across the office, his eyes flicking towards me as he spoke. I walked straight over and stood in front of him. “Leo, why are you telling people I have a thing for Josh? What gives you the right to spread rumors like that?” My voice was loud enough to carry, and the chatter around us died down. Leo looked startled for a second, then plastered on a wounded expression. “Sophie, what are you talking about? I was just trying to help you out! You’re single, so I thought I’d riff a little, you know, create some buzz!” He spread his hands wide, appealing to the onlookers. “Am I wrong here, people? I was just playing matchmaker! Maybe something good could have come out of it. Why can’t you appreciate a good deed?” Someone nearby let out a low chuckle. I stared at his shameless face. “Leo, you’ve gone too far!” He took a theatrical step back, feigning fear. “Whoa, look at her go! Firing up again!” he shouted to the remaining coworkers. “It’s just friendly concern! A joke! I’m just riffing! Seriously, you need to work on that temper. Who’s going to set you up on dates if you fly off the handle like this?” The others quickly buried their heads in their work, pretending to be busy. I was shaking with rage. I grabbed my bag and stormed out. I was almost at the elevator when I remembered a document I needed for the morning. I turned back to grab it from the printer. The machine was still humming, spitting out the last few pages of a job. I walked over and saw it wasn’t a work document at all. It was a thick stack of fifth-grade math worksheets. On the top page, written in neat handwriting, was the name of Leo’s son. I glanced around. No one was watching. I picked up the stack of paper, still warm from the machine. I flipped through it. The paper was company stock. The ink was from the company’s toner cartridge. This was a hefty stack. The cost of the toner alone wouldn’t be cheap. I placed the worksheets back in the tray. An idea began to form in my mind. 3 The next morning, I made a point of getting to the office early. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Leo strolled into our section, a USB drive in his hand, making a beeline for that specific printer. He plugged it in and started clicking away. The printer whirred to life. I walked over and stood right beside him. “Morning, Leo,” I said sweetly. “Printing some personal files?” He jumped, spinning around. A flash of panic crossed his face when he saw me, but it was quickly replaced by his usual brand of arrogant nonchalance. “Oh, hey, Sophie,” he said, patting the printer. “This thing was just sitting here gathering dust. Figured I’d print out some homework for my kid. Help you guys use up the toner before it expires, you know?” I watched as another worksheet, covered in dense, black ink, slid into the output tray. “Company policy says the printers are for business use only,” I stated calmly. “Policies are made to be broken, right?” he chuckled. “It’s a small thing. Don’t be so rigid.” I didn’t waste any more words on him. I stepped over to the connected computer, opened the printer settings, and, right in front of him, set a password for all future print jobs. “What are you doing?” he sputtered. “Preventing excessive waste of company resources,” I said, then walked back to my desk. Leo stood there for a few seconds, his face darkening. Then, he suddenly raised his voice, shouting to the entire office. “Hey, everyone, come and see this! Can you believe it? Sophie just password-protected the public printer! I guess none of us get to use it anymore! So much for being a team player. How selfish can you get?” A few colleagues looked over, drawn by the commotion. Sarah, the one who always played peacemaker, spoke up. “Sophie, we’re all colleagues here. It’s just a printer. There’s no need for that, is there?” Dave chimed in, “Yeah, a password is just going to make things inconvenient for everyone.” Seeing he had allies, Leo pressed his advantage. “Exactly! And it’s not like I was printing my novel. It’s for my son’s education! I’m investing in the next generation! What’s so wrong with that?” I couldn’t stand it, but I knew explaining would be pointless. I said nothing. At the end of the month, a supervisor position opened up in our department. Myself, Leo, and one other colleague all met the basic qualifications. I threw myself into preparing my presentation for the promotion review, determined to let my work speak for itself. One afternoon, I went to our manager’s office to give him a progress report. As I approached the door, I heard Leo’s voice from inside. “…and listen, Mark, Sophie’s skills are top-notch, no question. But sometimes… she just doesn’t fit in. She takes jokes too seriously, gets defensive. If she were in a management role, leading a team… I just worry her communication style might be a little… difficult.” I heard Mark murmur something like, “I’ll take that into consideration…” I stood frozen outside the door, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the office felt strange. I asked Chloe, a newer colleague I was friendly with, what was going on. She reluctantly told me that Leo was spreading a rumor that I was so desperate for the promotion, I’d been secretly bad-mouthing the other candidates to management. I tried to explain myself to Mark, but he just gave me a placid smile. “Sophie, focus on your work. Don’t let office chatter distract you. The company values overall performance.” A crushing sense of helplessness washed over me. That night, I worked late again. Needing a break, I headed for the stairwell to get some air. I had just pushed open the heavy fire door when I heard Leo’s voice floating up from the landing below. He was on the phone, his tone thick with smug satisfaction. “…don’t worry, she’s not a threat. I’ve seen her type before. All pride and a paper-thin ego. I’ll just turn up the heat, spread the word a little more, and she’ll pack her own bags and run…” 4 I gently closed the door, shutting out the sound of Leo’s voice. For a long time, I just sat there in the vast, empty office. On Friday, the department went out for dinner. The mood was festive, with plenty of food and drink. Leo was in his element, bouncing from table to table, making toasts and cracking jokes that had the managers roaring with laughter. I had no appetite. I picked at my food, wishing the night would just end. After a few rounds of drinks, he staggered to his feet, tapping his glass for attention. “Everyone! A toast! Let’s raise our glasses to our dear Sophie!” All eyes turned to me. “Why Sophie?” he asked, pausing for dramatic effect. “Because she’s the one who handles all the impossible tasks in our department! And why is that? Because we’re all tied down with families, while she has no one and nothing to worry about! She dedicates all her time—and her raise—to the company! Isn’t that spirit worth a toast?” A few of his cronies half-heartedly raised their glasses. I set down my fork. I could feel the blood draining from my face, my hands clenched into fists under the table. Leo saw my expression and immediately shifted to his innocent-victim act. “Whoa, Sophie, don’t get mad! I’m just riffing! It’s a compliment, really! I’m saying you’re more capable, more enlightened than us common folk!” A wave of laughter rippled across the table. I sat there, feeling like an animal in a zoo, a spectacle for their amusement. Monday morning, our manager, Mark, called me over, his expression urgent. “We have an emergency project. I need a proposal by this afternoon. Leo says he has the baseline data; I need you to build out the core strategy.” Leo appeared moments later, clutching a folder. “The data’s all in here. It’s a tight deadline, so we’re counting on you!” “Is it all verified?” I asked. “Don’t worry, I double-checked everything!” Leo said, puffing out his chest. “Now get to it. The client’s waiting.” I worked through my lunch break, skipping even a sip of water, and managed to send out the proposal just before noon. That afternoon, Mark summoned me to his office. His face was thunderous. “Sophie! What is this data in your proposal? It’s completely wrong! It doesn’t match the client’s reality at all! The client just called me, absolutely furious, and said we were being grossly unprofessional! Do you not check your data before you send things out?” “The data was from Leo,” I stammered. “He said he verified it…” “Get Leo in here!” Mark roared. Leo walked in, picked up the folder he’d given me from my desk, and flipped through a few pages, his face a mask of shock. “Oh my god… this data… This was from some old scratch notes I took. It’s probably not accurate. It was just meant as a rough reference.” He turned to me, his voice dripping with reproach. “Sophie, didn’t I mention you should probably double-check it, just in case? For something this important, how could you just use unverified numbers?” “You never said that!” I trembled with fury. “What do you mean I never said that?” he shot back, his face a picture of innocence. “It was just a casual comment, a bit of a riff. How was I supposed to know you’d take raw data and send it straight to a client?” Mark rubbed his temples. “Enough! Stop arguing! Sophie, you wrote the proposal, you’re responsible! I want a formal letter of apology on my desk by the end of the day.” I felt a chill run through me as I walked out of his office. Leo trailed behind me. “Sorry about that, Sophie,” he whispered. “I really didn’t think it would blow up like this.” I ignored him. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing my apology, feeling the weight of my colleagues’ stares. Leo ambled over to my desk, a mug in his hand. He leaned in, his voice low and slick with faux concern. “Sophie, honestly, after all this, I’m starting to think… maybe you’re not the right fit for our company culture.” My fingers froze over the keyboard. “You’re just too serious,” he continued. “You can’t take a joke. Look at you, you’re making yourself miserable. Why put yourself through this? Maybe… you should consider other options?” His words hung in the quiet office, audible to the few colleagues still at their desks. Under their silent, watching eyes, I slowly lifted my head. To everyone’s surprise, I didn’t lash out in anger or crumble in defeat. Instead, I offered Leo the most genuine smile I had in months. “Leo,” I said softly, my voice shockingly calm. “You’re right.” He froze, clearly not expecting this reaction. I kept smiling, holding his confused gaze, and said, word by word, “I really should start thinking about… my next move.” You want to “riff”? Fine. I’m about to show you how it’s done.

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When the fire alarm screamed through the elementary school, I was two months pregnant. Chaos erupted, a stampede of terrified children and smoke. I reached for my husband, needing his hand, needing safety. Instead, Mark shoved me hard. I lost my footing. The world tilted, and I tumbled backward down the concrete stairwell. Pain, sharp and blinding, tore through my abdomen. I felt the hot, sticky dampness spreading between my legs before I could even scream. Through the haze of smoke and agony, I looked up. I saw my husband. He was shielding his son—our son—and guiding the school’s beautiful young homeroom teacher, Paige, past my crumpled body. Then, as if I were nothing more than debris blocking their escape, he kicked me aside. “God, you’re such a nuisance,” he muttered, his voice cold steel against the heat of the fire. “Why are you always in the way?” I woke up in the hospital to a ceiling of sterile white tiles and a hollow ache where a heartbeat used to be. When I finally dragged myself home, I found a pregnancy ultrasound report on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t mine. Scrawled across the top in clumsy, joyful handwriting was a note from my son: I’m so happy! I’m going to be a big brother! I love Ms. Paige the most in the whole world. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply walked to the bedroom, packed my life into a single suitcase, and sent a text to my boss. “David, I accept the transfer. I’ll report to the London office next week.” 1 I had just hit “send” when the bedroom door flew open. I lowered the phone, unprepared for the look of utter disdain on Mark’s face. It was a look I had become intimately familiar with over the last year—a mixture of boredom and irritation. “Leo and I have things to do,” he said, not bothering to look me in the eye. “We can’t go on that trip abroad. Cancel the tickets.” The tone was a command, not a request. That was Mark. I slid my phone into my pocket, my voice steady, devoid of inflection. “I’m going with my friends instead.” Mark exhaled, his shoulders dropping as if he’d been carrying a heavy load. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a second, he played the part of the doting husband, reaching out to awkwardly pat my shoulder. “Listen, Nora. Next month, when Leo is on break, and I have some downtime… how about we do a proper family trip? Just the three of us. Maybe Europe?” He was lying. I knew it, and he knew I knew it. Vacation—that intimate, relaxed space—was reserved for them. For Mark, for Leo, and for the lovely Ms. Paige. I nodded silently, turning back to my suitcase. I folded a silk blouse with precision, smoothing out the wrinkles before tucking it away. Mark paused, unnerved by my lack of a fight. “Right. Well. That’s settled then.” Before I could respond, his phone rang. It was her ringtone. A bubbly, sickly-sweet pop song that grated on my nerves. He answered immediately. The faint, coquettish voice leaking from the receiver made the phantom burns on my skin flare up again. Let them have each other. If they wanted to be a family—the father, the son, and the mistress who wanted to be the cool stepmom—then let them. The door banged open again. Leo, my son, burst into the room. His eyes were shining with a manic excitement as he looked at his father. “Dad! Ms. Paige said she’d be my godmother! Can you believe it? I’m literally the happiest kid alive!” Then he saw me. The light in his eyes instantly curdled into annoyance. “Ms. Paige is burned and hurt, but she still promised to come to work every day,” Leo spat, his voice dripping with a learned cruelty. “Look at you, Mom. You’re fine. You just sit at home enjoying life. Besides spending Dad’s money, what are you actually good at?” Mark chuckled, ruffling Leo’s hair. “Hey, don’t talk to your mother like that,” he said, though his tone carried zero weight. Leo grabbed Mark’s sleeve, whining, “Daddy, come on, let’s go see Ms. Paige. I can’t wait for her to be my new mom.” Mark’s hand shot out, covering Leo’s mouth. His eyes darted to me, panic flashing in them. He turned, offering a tight, nervous smile. “Nora, don’t listen to him. Kids say the craziest things.” “He only has one mother,” Mark added, the lie tasting like ash in the air. I kept folding clothes. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat. “More people to love him. I’m happy for him.” Paige was Leo’s homeroom teacher. Before she arrived, our home had been peaceful. But slowly, insidiously, Mark began to praise her. Then Leo started. “Mom, you should be more like Ms. Paige,” Leo would say, pushing away his dinner. “She’s not strict like you. She lets me eat whatever I want. At her house, there are no rules!” We had fought about it, screaming matches that left my throat raw. But every time, Mark and Leo stood shoulder to shoulder, a united front against the “boring, nagging mother.” Two weeks ago, at the parent-teacher conference, the fire alarm had sounded. I had tried to reach for my son. Mark had shoved me away. I lost the baby. They saved her. And now, looking at the sonogram Leo had helped annotate, I knew the truth. The pain in my heart finally eclipsed the physical pain in my body. I turned my back to them to wipe a stray tear. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, I would be gone. I wouldn’t be an eyesore to this happy little family any longer. 2 I stayed in bed until the afternoon shadows stretched long across the floor. I drank hot water, but the cramping in my lower abdomen didn’t subside; it pulsed, a grim reminder of what I had lost. Before collapsing into sleep earlier, I had put a pot of chicken soup on the stove to simmer. My legs felt like lead as I walked to the kitchen. I just needed something warm. I reached for the ladle, but a hand slapped mine away. “Are you seriously stealing food from a patient? God, you’re greedy.” Mark stood beside me, lifting the entire pot off the stove. “Thank god Leo didn’t inherit your sticky fingers.” I looked at him, blinking slowly. “I made this soup. How is eating my own cooking stealing?” I pointed to the trash can, where a charred, black lump sat on top of the refuse. “You burned whatever you were trying to make. It’s right there.” Mark froze, holding the pot mid-air. He looked at the trash, then back at me, his face flushing an ugly shade of red. “Paige needs bland food for her recovery. I… I assumed I made this.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. My mistake.” “Go rest,” he muttered, turning his back. “I’ll make some instant noodles and bring them to you.” In all our years of marriage, this was the first time Mark had apologized to me. And it was for her. He had never stepped foot in the kitchen before. He used to joke that the kitchen was a “woman’s battlefield.” But for Paige? For Paige, he would learn to cook. Love—and the lack of it—was so painfully obvious in the details. I sat at the table and served myself a bowl of soup. As I lifted the spoon, my sleeve slid down, revealing my bare wrist. Mark frowned, staring at my arm. “Where’s your bracelet?” It was a custom piece, a gift from our early days. I never took it off. His matching one had disappeared months ago. “Lost in the fire,” I said calmly. “Did you forget?” If he had looked just an inch higher, he would have seen the fresh, angry burn scar on my forearm. “Oh,” he said, looking away. “Sorry. When work slows down, I’ll buy you a new one.” Work? Mark wasn’t busy with work. He was busy playing house with Paige. “Dad!” Leo walked in, wrinkling his nose. “Mom’s soup tastes terrible. Ms. Paige’s cooking is a hundred times better.” Leo stared at me, waiting for the reaction. Waiting for me to get defensive, to cook a five-course meal just to prove a point. Mark shot him a warning look and took the bowl from Leo. “Don’t be rude. Let me taste it.” I didn’t engage. I just pulled the pot closer to my right hand and poured myself another serving. “If you don’t like it,” I said softly, “you can go eat at Paige’s house.” Mark opened his mouth to scold me for being jealous, but his eyes drifted to the living room wall. He froze. “Where is our family portrait?” He spun around, his voice rising. “Are you done yet? Why do you have to be so dramatic to get attention?” 3 I wiped my mouth and met his gaze. “The frame fell,” I said. “Glass everywhere. I haven’t had time to clean the mess, so I put the photo away.” The tension in Mark’s shoulders eased, though suspicion still clouded his eyes. “Look, Nora,” he said, softening his tone. “I promise, once Paige is fully healed, I’ll keep my distance. We are the real family here. You know that.” He checked his watch. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. Make a reservation at that Italian place you like. We’ll have a nice dinner.” The classic cycle. A slap in the face followed by a piece of candy. To them, I wasn’t a wife or a mother. I was a utility. A servant who could be dismissed and summoned at will. My phone buzzed. Leo, sensing the shift in atmosphere, sidled up to me. “Mom, your cooking is actually okay. I was just joking.” His eyes held a glimmer of the sweet boy he used to be. I smiled, a sad, small thing. Mark took my phone from the table. “Let’s just book it now. Oh, look, the manager is calling you.” He handed me the phone, grinning. “Nora, stay home tonight. I’ll bring takeout. Wait for me.” Leo giggled, covering his mouth. For a fleeting second, we looked like a happy family. The door clicked shut behind them. The phone in my hand was vibrating so hard it hurt. I answered. It wasn’t the restaurant manager. It was my colleague, Sarah. Her voice was shrill, bordering on hysteria. “Nora! Did you start the fire at the school? It’s all over the internet. People are doxxing you. They posted your address. They’re coming for you, Nora.” I gripped the counter, forcing air into my lungs. “Sarah, listen to me. Our company handles the cybersecurity for that district. Can you pull the server logs? I need the surveillance footage from that day.” 4 Sarah didn’t get a chance to answer. Another call cut in. Then another. And another. I answered one. Screaming. Curses. “Burn in hell, you psycho!” I hung up. Another call. I dialed Mark, my fingers trembling. His voice was unrecognizable—cold, detached. “Nora,” he said, cutting me off before I could speak. “Paige is pregnant. The stress is too much for her. And she saved Leo. You need to take the fall for the fire.” I froze. “What?” “She’s fragile,” Mark continued, sounding reasonable, as if discussing dinner plans. “You’re strong. You can handle the heat. Consider it payback for us. Leo and I will make it up to you.” In the background, I heard a woman’s soft laughter. Paige. Thanking me. They were framing me for arson. And they hadn’t even asked. My phone pinged with another death threat. Why don’t you just die? Even though I was leaving, the betrayal felt like a physical blow. “How dare you?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “How dare you decide to ruin my life for something I didn’t do? This is mob justice, Mark! What about my job? My career?” “Is your career more important than your son’s life?” Mark snapped, his voice rising. “You’re being selfish. Paige saved him! Even if you lose your job, who cares? I’ll support you.” “It’s arson, Mark! That’s a felony!” He scoffed. “Nobody died, Nora. Stop being dramatic. It’s just property damage. You’ll get roasted online for a few days, and it’ll blow over. Besides, that job of yours is pointless anyway.” Nobody died? A sharp cramp seized my stomach. My baby died. But to Mark and Leo, that life didn’t exist. It didn’t matter. I remembered a memory from years ago. Leo, a toddler, squatting next to Mark, both of them looking at me with adoration. “If we have a sister, I’ll treat her like a queen!” Leo had promised. “No,” Mark had corrected gently. “Mommy is the queen. We have to protect her.” Now, my knights were the ones holding the daggers. “Fine,” I said, my voice turning to ice. “I’ll take the blame.” And with those words, the last thread binding me to them snapped. Mark hesitated, surprised by my sudden capitulation. “Okay. Good. That’s… good.”

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1 Five years after my divorce from Rovan, I saw him again. I was working at a preschool when he, the man who had fought me tooth and nail in court, walked in with a little boy who looked uncannily like me. “He missed his mom,” Rovan said, his voice calm and natural, as if no time had passed at all. “I brought him to see you.” I remembered the warning he had given me when we divorced. With the same calm I had learned to master, I replied, “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not his mother.” In the next instant, the boy hiding behind Rovan’s legs ran to me, his small voice choked with tears. “Mommy, please don’t leave me.” — “Don’t say that,” Rovan murmured, his eyes downcast. “Leo is your son, after all. You’ll break his heart.” His tone was gentle, a world away from the cold indifference he’d shown me five years ago. I can still hear his words from that day, a permanent echo in my mind: “Clara, from this day forward, the child has nothing to do with you. If you dare to even try and see him, I will call the police and get a restraining order. I’ll make sure you never see him again.” And now, here he was, telling me our son missed me. I looked down at the weeping boy clinging to my leg. “Does Victoria know you brought him here?” I asked quietly. Victoria. His former assistant. His new wife. The boy’s mother on paper. The woman for whom Rovan had destroyed our marriage, the woman he had protected while sending me to hell. Rovan’s lips parted, but no words came out. After a moment, a look of stunned surprise crossed his face. “Clara… you can… you can talk?” He quickly corrected himself. “I mean, you can speak in full sentences?” I’ve had a severe speech impediment since I was a child. Words would get stuck in my throat, and it could take me ages to form a single coherent sentence. Many people just called me ‘the stutterer.’ To communicate with me, Rovan had bought me a special journal. For the urgent things, write them down, he’d said. For everything else, I have all the patience in the world. Just take your time and tell me. But later, when he confessed that he’d fallen for another woman and wanted a divorce, I had tried to ask him why. I got one word out before he cut me off, his face a mask of irritation. “Clara, you might as well be mute. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to come home after a long day and have to summon the patience to listen to you struggle?” “You want to know why I love Victoria?” he’d continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. “Because it’s easy with her. I talk, she responds. She understands my stress, she knows how to help me. And what about you?” He’d completely forgotten his own words from years before: “Clara, no matter what, you will always be the one and only Clara to me.” He knew my speech was my deepest insecurity, the source of all my shame. And he had used it as a weapon to gut me for another woman. I didn’t answer his question now. I gently pried the little boy’s hands from my leg. “Take him home, Rovan,” I said. “And don’t come back.” Without another glance, I turned and walked toward my office. Behind me, I heard Leo’s desperate cry, tears flooding his big, watery eyes. “Mommy, don’t go! I want my mommy!” I faltered for a half-step, but I didn’t stop. When I entered my office, my best friend, Maya, looked up from the teaching materials she was organizing. “Clara, I heard someone was looking for… hey, why are you crying?” I lifted a hand to my cheek. It came away wet. Before Rovan and the boy had shown up, I thought I was over it. I thought that if I ever ran into them, I could smile like a polite stranger and say, “Do you remember me? I used to hold you when you were a baby.” But it turned out I wasn’t over it at all. I pressed my lips together, forcing down the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. “It was Rovan,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “He brought the boy.” “What?” The name, unspoken for so long, ignited a fire in Maya. “That bastard! What is he doing here? Hasn’t he hurt you enough? Where is he? I’m going to kill him!” She yanked open her desk drawer, pulled out a fruit knife, and started for the door. Then she froze, a new panic on her face. “Wait, they didn’t bring the police, did they? This doesn’t count as you seeking him out, right? It won’t cause any trouble?” The day after the divorce was finalized, our nanny had called me. She said Rovan and Victoria were out celebrating their anniversary, and our son had a high fever. The nanny had a family emergency and couldn’t stay. She asked if I could come. The moment I heard “high fever,” I panicked. I rushed over, took my son, and went straight to the hospital. As he was being examined, Rovan and Victoria arrived. With two police officers. Before I could say a word, Rovan’s voice, cold as ice, cut through the room. “Clara, you have violated the court order by taking the child without permission. I am filing for an emergency order. You will never see him again.” My son was still burning up in my arms. I tried to tell Rovan he needed to see the doctor, but he snatched the boy from me and handed him to Victoria. “Remember this,” he said, his eyes like steel. “Victoria is his mother now. He has nothing to do with you.” He had the police escort me away. He said he wanted to teach me a “profound lesson.” He had me locked up for three days. Maya was the one who picked me up, her face streaked with tears. She looked at my empty eyes and sobbed, “Clara, let’s leave this city. Let’s start over, okay?” For five years, I never set foot in Crestwood again. I thought if I stayed away, I would never have to see the man who had been my angel, only to become the demon who cast me into hell. “No, don’t worry,” I told Maya now, my voice more confident than I felt. “We won’t be seeing each other again.” I believed it. The Rovan who had patience for me was long gone. But I was wrong. The next day, after work, he was there again. With the boy. “Clara, it’s Leo’s birthday today. His only wish is for you to have dinner with him. For his sake, will you please consider it?” Rovan looked at me, his eyes full of a desperate hope, as if there was so much more he wanted to say. Little Leo stood beside him, mirroring his father’s pleading gaze. Then, out of nowhere, Maya appeared. She was holding a bucket of water, which she promptly flung at Rovan. “You bastard! How dare you show your face here? Get out! She doesn’t want to see you!” The water soaked his tall frame, but little Leo, standing right next to him, was perfectly dry. Rovan’s lips tightened, but his dark eyes remained fixed on me. He said nothing. Maya sneered. “What, are you trying to cook up another charge to use against her? Let me tell you, I did this. All me. You won’t use me to threaten her again!” When Rovan first demanded the divorce, determined to build a new life with Victoria, I had refused. I wouldn’t sign the papers, and I wouldn’t give up custody of our son. I still held on to a sliver of hope that his infatuation would fade, and he would come back to us. How naive I was. When Maya found out he was trying to take our son, she lost her mind. She stormed into his law firm, found Victoria, and screamed at her in front of everyone, calling her a homewrecker and slapping her across the face. In response, Rovan and Victoria sued Maya for assault and slander. As a top divorce lawyer, Rovan knew exactly how to operate without leaving a shred of evidence against himself. All I knew was what he wanted me to know. When my lawyer asked for proof of his affair to countersue, I had nothing. He was too smart, too careful. His phone’s screen saver was a picture of me and our son. His texts with Victoria were all about work. They were never seen alone together in public. I had no proof. I knelt on the floor and begged him, head to the ground, to drop the charges against Maya. There was no pity in his eyes, only the cold condescension of a victor. “You have one option,” he’d said. “Agree to the divorce and give up custody. Otherwise, I will make sure Maya pays.” The stress was unbearable. I couldn’t sleep. I started taking sleeping pills just to get through the night. And on the day of our divorce hearing, he used it all against me. He presented photos of me taking the pills. He showed the court a video of me on my knees, sobbing and begging him. He told the judge I was mentally unstable, a housewife with no means to support a child, and therefore unfit for custody. My speech impediment, always worse under stress, became a complete blockage. I stood in the defendant’s box, the eyes of the entire courtroom on me—pitying, confused, impatient—and I couldn’t get a single word out. I looked at him, pleading with my eyes. He looked away. Then, he delivered the final, crushing blow. He produced the journal he had given me. “Clara is functionally mute,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “This is the journal she uses to communicate. If she can’t even speak, how can she possibly be a mother?” The person who knows you best knows exactly where to stick the knife. He twisted it, again and again, in my deepest wound. And I couldn’t even say a single word to defend myself. The time allotted for my testimony ticked away. I remained silent. I lost. Completely. As we walked out of the courthouse, Rovan and Victoria approached me, holding our one-year-old son. Victoria’s face was glowing with triumph. “Don’t you worry, Clara,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’ll take good care of him. Rovan and I will raise him as our own.” Rovan looked at her with the same tenderness he once reserved for me. “I trust you,” he said. “He’ll be better off with you.” Then, he turned to me, twisting the knife one last time. “Don’t blame me for taking him, Clara. You wouldn’t want him to be asked at school why his mother is a stuttering mess, would you?” He had taken everything, and then told me not to blame him. The sun was warm that day, but I felt like I had been plunged into an icy abyss. I cried, asking him over and over why he was doing this to me. My only answer was the sight of their retreating backs as they walked away with my son. Now, standing in front of me, Rovan said nothing as Maya berated him. But little Leo, his voice small and hesitant, spoke up. He looked at me with a mixture of hope and fear. “Daddy said… that the day I was born was a really hard day for Mommy. So… today is my birthday, but it’s also Mommy’s day of suffering. I… I saved all my allowance. I wanted to buy Mommy dinner.” The day Leo was born. Rovan was out of town, handling a divorce case. We were both from the foster care system; we had no parents to help us. I was in the delivery room, waiting, my body wracked with pain. I cried his name, over and over, terrified, praying he would get back in time. He couldn’t. He called me on video instead. The Rovan from back then, the one who still loved me. I could see him pacing a hallway, his voice trembling as he tried to soothe me. “It’s okay, Clara, don’t be scared. You and the baby will be fine. I’ll be home soon. Let me tell you a story, okay? Please don’t cry.” He started telling me a fairy tale, but his own eyes filled with tears, his voice cracking. “No more,” he’d choked out. “Clara, after this one, we’re not having any more children.” Little did we know, his words would come true in the worst way possible. After Leo, there was no “us” anymore. Because what no one knew… was that the story of Rovan and Victoria also began that day. While I was in agony, giving birth to our son… he was getting drunk and falling into bed with Victoria. When I called him to tell him our son was born, safe and sound… he had just finished a night of passion. The next morning, he texted me that he had just woken up from a drunken stupor. But that text… Victoria had sent it from his phone. He was torn between guilt over his betrayal and his attraction to the vibrant, cheerful woman who was not his wife. And from that day on, his patience for me began to fray. Often, I’d start to say something, and he’d cut me off. “Just write it down. The baby’s a light sleeper, you’ll wake him.” But when Victoria called him in the middle of the night, upset about something, he could stay on the phone with her for hours. When she expressed her ambition to be more than just a legal assistant, he broke his own rule about not taking on apprentices and brought her under his wing. He let her, an unlicensed trainee, sit in on his biggest cases. He gave her all his favor. When others questioned it, he would simply say, “Because she’s worth it.” Only he knew why. But as a partner at the firm, no one dared to challenge him. Now, hearing Leo’s sweet, innocent words, a cynical smile touched Maya’s lips. “You’re right, kid. The day you were born was the day her suffering began. But do you know who caused it?”

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Ten years ago, I lost everything. I was convicted of academic fraud, served two years in a federal prison, and was summarily expelled from The National Tech Guild—the organization I had co-founded. After my release, I changed my name and retreated to my quiet hometown, Willow Creek, opening a used bookstore called ‘The Quiet Corner.’ I was a ghost. Until I saw my ex-husband, Owen Miller, again. Behind his expensive, wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were still piercing, but his profile was infinitely sharper. He was now Amesport’s youngest tenured professor, controlling the most cutting-edge tech—a man with a limitless future. His assistant—a polished twenty-something—leaned in with a sympathetic smile. “Ms. Reed,” she murmured, “Professor Miller has been single for ten years. He never forgot you.” I laughed—a dry, strangled sound that felt like sandpaper in my throat. Forgot me? Ten years ago, Owen Miller had expertly fabricated evidence, sacrificed me to cover for his girlfriend, and personally guaranteed my spot in a federal cell. He didn’t forget me; he orchestrated me. 1 Owen Miller’s arrival at The Quiet Corner was less a visit and more a full-blown spectacle. “Evie! Look, it’s Professor Miller!” Mrs. Albright, one of my regulars, gripped my arm excitedly. “Quick, get a picture with him! It’ll be great for local publicity—you’ll be swimming in business!” I put down the book I was cataloging and raised my eyes. Flashing cameras illuminated his face—that cold, handsome mask. Ten years hadn’t fundamentally changed him, only sharpened the lines of ambition around his eyes. Before I could slip into the back room, the assistant spotted me. “Ms. Reed, you’ve been hiding out here,” she said, her voice carrying a performative concern. “You know, Professor Miller has been looking for you for years.” I stared at her, saying nothing, my internal warning system flashing red. Looking for me? The man who personally shredded my life was looking for the debris? I swallowed, grabbed the keys from the counter, and forced a ruthless dismissal. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong person. The shop is closed for the day. Everyone, please exit.” I fought to control the frantic drumbeat of my pulse, trying to project a calm efficiency that my trembling hands immediately betrayed. Smack. A book slipped from my grip. As I bent to retrieve it, a manicured hand reached past me. Owen picked it up, his voice a low, familiar rumble that instantly paralyzed my spine: “Evelyn Reed.” The regulars who had been encouraging me to take a photo froze, looking at me with shock and disbelief. His eyes lingered on my faded, pilled sweater—the uniform of a woman who didn’t care about appearances anymore. He opened his mouth, then closed it, the complex mess of whatever he was about to say condensing into three empty, patronizing words: “Well. Look at you.” I took the book from him, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks for the assist.” I turned my back on him, slotting the book onto the shelf, a clear and decisive end to the interaction. His next attempt at speech was cut short by a bright, saccharine voice. “Owen, darling! There you are!” Seraphina Ross—all high-end white designer dress and perfectly coiffed blonde hair—slipped her arm possessively through his. “We were supposed to be looking at vacation villas in Iceland, not this… middle-of-nowhere town.” She paused when she saw me, her perfect smile freezing for a beat before snapping back into place. “Oh, Professor Reed! Long time, no see.” The title was a deliberate barb. “Owen always says how terrible he felt about what happened. Honestly, I should be thanking you.” This was Seraphina “Sephy” Ross, the daughter of a major figure in the Atherton Institute. She was the one. Owen had sacrificed my career and my freedom to bury Seraphina’s blatant academic plagiarism. Owen didn’t push Seraphina’s hand away, but his brow furrowed. “Don’t be dramatic, Sephy.” She turned her gaze to me, her eyes glittering with possessiveness and jealousy. “Dramatic? Then why are you here, Owen? Why did you tell me you’d never forget her?” She raised her voice, and the lingering patrons put down their books, their disbelief morphing into open curiosity. Owen let out a heavy, rehearsed sigh. He pulled out a sleek, expensive fountain pen, scribbled a number on a stray receipt from the counter, and slid it toward me. “Call me, Evie. Please. I owe you so much.” The deep, sincere tone was identical to the one he’d used a decade ago, just before the judge’s gavel struck, when he’d whispered: “Two years, Evie. That’s all I ask. Sephy’s too young to have a stain on her record.” I shoved the scrap of paper carelessly into my jeans pocket and managed a brittle, fake smile. “Professor Miller, I appreciate the thought. But my little shop here is doing just fine. I have nothing to ask of you.” I didn’t wait for a reply, ruthlessly ushering everyone out and slamming the lock home. After that day, Owen didn’t reappear for a long time. Willow Creek was far from the whirlwind of Amesport, and his fleeting visit was soon forgotten. Life settled back into its monotonous calm. I truly thought that was the last I would see of him. Then, a month later, the phone rang. It was the factory. A cargo collapse. My father, George, was seriously injured and in surgery. I raced to the hospital, only to learn that the injury had triggered a cerebral infarction. The factory’s compensation wouldn’t cover the full treatment; we needed twenty thousand dollars more for the specialized care. In ten years, my bookshop had only just kept me afloat. All my savings combined totaled less than nine thousand. Just as I was sinking into a desperate plan to sell the bookstore, the hospital delivered stunning news: the country’s top neurological team was consulting on my father’s case. Furthermore, someone had paid the entire outstanding balance. My stomach clenched. After a moment of agonizing hesitation, I pulled out the scrap of paper and called Owen Miller. Before I could even speak, he answered. “The medical bills are taken care of. Consider it my compensation.” I had a hundred questions boiling in my throat. How did he know about my father? Was he having me watched? Why do this? But my father’s health was paramount. The money was a lifeline I couldn’t reject. All the accusations and pain condensed into a single word I didn’t mean, but had to say. “Thank you.” Then, I hung up in a panic. My father was receiving the best care, and thanks to Owen, the hospital staff treated me with newfound deference. But inside, I felt a crushing weight, a suffocating dread. I knew Owen too well. His heart was a meticulously calibrated instrument; every gift was precisely calculated for its cost. He had saved my father’s life. The price, I knew, was my continued entanglement in his. The familiar sound of Seraphina Ross’s voice cut through my thoughts as her number flashed on my screen. “Professor Reed.” Seraphina let out a light, brittle laugh, failing to mask the raw, possessive spite in her tone. “Oh, sorry. You’re not a Professor anymore, are you? Just a woman with a criminal record. That must be so hard.” “Owen hasn’t slept in days worrying about your father,” she went on, her voice rising in a calculated whine. “He even postponed our trip to the Maldives. Do us both a favor and don’t make him feel like he needs to do more. It interferes with our relationship.” Her words were meant to be a triumphant boast, yet I knew she wasn’t as secure as she pretended. If she and Owen were truly “fine,” she wouldn’t be making this call. I stayed silent, preparing to disconnect, but she rushed on. “Also, you should stay put in that pathetic little bookstore. Be grateful. Owen is looking into overturning your conviction to ‘clear your name’ as a way to compensate you.” My heart skipped a beat. Clear my name? He had engineered my descent into hell, and now he assumed he could engineer my return? By finding some other innocent person to ruin, washing away my ten years of suffering with a simple reversal, and expecting my gratitude? While I was still reeling, Seraphina abruptly hung up. Immediately, an email landed in my inbox. It was a photo of Owen in bed, asleep, with Seraphina nestled against him. The sheen of sweat and the flush on their cheeks left no doubt as to what had just transpired. [Ms. Reed, Owen is helping you, but you need to remember your place. If you harbor any foolish ideas, I have ways of ensuring your return trip to hell.] The wave of nausea was overwhelming. I rushed to the restroom and dry-heaved. How dare they? They had destroyed my life, and now they were using their arrogant ‘compensation’ to buy their own peace of mind. The day my father’s surgery was declared a success, Owen showed up at the hospital. He looked haggard, his exhaustion visible in the dark circles under his eyes—proof, perhaps, that he had genuinely exerted himself. He naturally took up the role of a devoted son-in-law, monitoring my father’s IV bag, talking to the nurses, and anxiously checking with the medical team. Once my father was asleep, he spoke. “What happened back then, Evie… I was wrong.” He lowered his gaze, carefully peeling an orange segment and offering it to me. “At the time, I only thought about how young Seraphina was. She couldn’t have a permanent stain on her record.” He paused. “Besides,” he added, the word heavy and flat, “her father could give me everything I wanted.” I accepted the orange segment. It was bitter and rotten, just like him. The truth was laid bare: he needed to climb higher, and I, my family, had merely been sacrificial pawns, the necessary offerings in his ascension ritual. I spat the ruined orange into the trash without looking at him. “Professor Miller, it’s over. Thank you for what you did for my father.” “Now, please don’t come back.” He frowned. “Evie, don’t be so stubborn. I told you, I will compensate you.” Just then, Seraphina pushed the door open, carrying a fancy takeout container. Trailing behind her were several reporters. “Professor Reed, we meet again.” She chirped. “I heard George is out of danger, so I brought some specialized restorative food.” She turned, flashing a perfect smile at the cameras. “Thank you for being so gracious and forgiving Owen and me. I truly hope no one else ever has to suffer such an injustice.” The flashbulbs erupted, practically blinding me. That night, the news was saturated. Owen Miller: The deeply remorseful, devoted man. Me: The gracious victim, standing in the light of his redemption. No one seemed to remember that he had been the one who presented the evidence and indignantly condemned me a decade ago. The next morning, Owen called. “Evie, this is the first step,” he said. “I will help you return to your former position.” He didn’t give me a chance to argue, shifting immediately to his usual manipulative tone. “I know you’re proud, but this isn’t the time for ‘saving face.’ Your father is getting older; he can’t stay at that factory. And your bookstore money won’t cover a serious illness.” His voice was gentle, yet utterly chilling. “I know you resent Seraphina. I will try to keep her away from you.” I understood. He was issuing a threat, reminding me that the well-being of my family was in his hands. He was putting on a show, and he intended to keep me tethered and controlled. Seraphina’s taunts finally moved from the shadows to the light. She ensured that every meeting was perfectly timed and always accompanied by reporters. In the glare of the flashes, she’d clasp my hand and play the benevolent figure. When the cameras were down, she’d lean in and whisper: “Professor Reed, don’t blame Owen for your father’s business failing.” “Blame your father for being in the way. He was going to stumble upon the truth eventually, and that would have ruined Owen’s prospects.” My father had run a small, successful company. Though it wasn’t publicly traded, we lived comfortably. My scandal had caused the stock to plummet, and the company was swiftly surrounded by corporate raiders. Within a month, it had collapsed. Under pressure from creditors, my mother, Eleanor, had taken her own life, and my father had spiraled into depression, eventually having to take the factory job. I had always believed they were collateral damage. Seraphina’s words were a clear confession: Owen was directly responsible for it all. I took the first bus to Amesport, connected with a flight, and was in the city the next morning. Ten years had passed, but I had no time for nostalgia. I headed straight for Owen’s high-rise office. It was the first time I had ever sought him out. He looked up, a flicker of surprise and—was that genuine pleasure?—in his eyes. “Evie! You finally came to me!” I tightly gripped the flash drive in my hand—evidence my former university colleagues had helped me compile. I stared straight at him. “What exactly happened to my father’s company?” “Did you know,” I asked, my voice dangerously low, “that my mother died because of that storm?” His composure fractured for a second, but he quickly masked it. “I don’t know, Evie. It must have been an unfortunate accident.” I threw the evidence across his pristine glass desk. Seeing the files, his pretense evaporated. He lunged, grabbing my sleeve. “Evie, let me explain!” I was shaking with a rage that eclipsed a decade of pain. “Explain? You killed my mother, you ruined my family, and you want to explain?” “Owen Miller, what else have you done? What other secrets are buried?” I was near hysterics. He looked at my distressed face, and a flash of what might have been genuine regret crossed his eyes. He looked almost like the boy who used to shield me from bullies back in college. It was nauseating that they were the same person. Just then, his assistant burst in, frantic. “Professor Miller! I’m sorry, but Ms. Ross fell. She’s at the clinic getting bandaged up.” Owen didn’t spare me a second glance. He bolted for the door. I watched him go, the fight draining out of me. The devastation of my family and my tortured accusations meant nothing compared to Seraphina’s scraped knee. Dazed, I returned to my father’s small-town hospital. As I reached his door, I heard a terrible groan. I rushed in. Seraphina was standing over my father, holding her phone up for him to see. “George,” she was saying, her voice sickeningly sweet, “it was Owen who sabotaged your company, and yes, he arranged the debt collectors. And yes, he personally sent your daughter to prison.” “But don’t blame him. He only did it because he loves me.” She was replaying the decade-old video, over and over, for him. On the screen, Owen’s tender, cold voice mixed with my father’s pained gasps: “Sephy, as soon as I get rid of this dead weight of a family, I’ll marry you. Just wait for me.” My father saw me in the doorway, his eyes wide. He tried to speak, but the heart monitor flatlined. He never got the chance. My mind went blank. Everything was a distant, loud buzz. Seraphina straightened up, walking toward me. She laughed softly. “These bottom-feeders are so fragile. A little video is all it takes.” “I had so many more surprises for him.” She looked at me, her smile wide and unhinged. “Oh, and by the way, I never even asked him to sacrifice you. Owen did it all on his own, just to prove his loyalty.” I snapped. I lunged, grabbing her throat and slamming her back against the bedside cabinet. Before I could connect, the door burst open. Owen and two security guards rushed in. The men brutally pulled me away, throwing me against the wall. The impact knocked the bedside ashtray to the floor; shards of glass sprayed up, slicing into my hands and shins. Seraphina huddled in Owen’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Owen, Professor Reed has lost it! She tried to kill me!” The look Owen gave me was pure, murderous contempt. “Evelyn Reed, you are insane!” I looked at him, at Seraphina in his embrace, and then at my father’s cold, lifeless body on the bed. Tears streamed down my face, but I started to laugh—a high, ragged sound. “Yes, I’m insane!” “You dogs drove me mad!” Owen glanced at my father on the bed, his expression faltering for a second. He didn’t say anything else, instead rushing out with Seraphina, fleeing the scene. My phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number. [Ms. Reed, I have been looking for you for ten years.] [I believe we share a common enemy. I now have the evidence to help you. Shall we cooperate?] The second victim in the academic scandal was the man Seraphina had plagiarized: Elias Croft. He had gone abroad shortly after the incident, too preoccupied to appear in court. Everyone had assumed he was gone for good. My fingertips felt icy. I slowly typed a response: [Cooperation. I want them to pay the ultimate price.] Owen Miller, your reckoning has just begun.

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1 A sudden windfall, and I was a lottery-rich, nouveau-riche caricature overnight. Three days later, my wife was kidnapped. The kidnappers demanded a ransom of three million dollars. I refused to pay. My wife’s parents, in a fury, clawed and scratched at me, screaming that I was a heartless monster. To save a little money, I was willing to sacrifice my own wife’s life. My own parents pleaded with me to pay the ransom, to buy my wife’s safety. I refused again. A few days later, having received no money, the kidnappers released her anyway. She was covered in bruises, bleeding from between her legs, and had completely lost her mind. The moment she saw me, she launched herself at me like a rabid animal, trying to bite me. The feral look in her eyes was one of pure hatred, as if I were the man who had murdered her entire family. Looking down at my torn and bloodied shoulder, I stated with cold indifference, “This marriage is over. I’m divorcing you.” CRACK! My father-in-law’s hand cracked across my face. His eyes were bloodshot as he roared, “You bastard! Are you even human?” … In the living room, a crowd of relatives from both sides of the family stared at me in disbelief. Sarah had been tortured into this state. Not only did I show no sign of sympathy, but I was also demanding a divorce. In their eyes, I wasn’t just inhuman. I was worse than an animal. Ignoring the furious glares from the Hall family, I continued to speak to Sarah in that same cold tone. “My lawyer will handle all the details of the divorce.” “Aaargh!” A shrill, piercing scream ripped from Sarah’s throat. She swept everything off the coffee table in a frenzy, then stormed into our bedroom. Our wedding photos, the makeup I’d bought her—all of it was smashed to pieces. I watched her rampage with unnerving calm. “My poor, sweet daughter,” her mother, Mrs. Hall, cried, rushing to wrap her arms around Sarah. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of grief. “Agh… ahhh…” Sarah struggled violently, her features twisting into a grotesque mask of madness. Mrs. Hall tried to restrain her, but Sarah’s strength was manic. She shoved her mother to the floor and then, unbelievably, grabbed a heavy wooden chair to bring down on her. The room erupted in shocked cries as people scrambled to intervene. Mr. Hall bellowed, “Sarah, that’s your mother!” For a split second, her movement paused. The next moment— THUD! The chair crashed down onto Mrs. Hall, who writhed on the floor, howling in agony. But Sarah, seemingly lost to all reason, began kicking her mother’s writhing body. She only stopped when Mr. Hall finally managed to tackle her, pinning her arms. “Mom!” Sarah’s younger brother, Leo, rushed to help his mother up. “Sarah, are you insane? Why would you attack Mom?” Sarah didn’t answer, just thrashed wildly in her father’s grip, too weak to break free. The onlookers could only shake their heads in dismay. She was perfectly fine before the kidnapping, and now she was a raving lunatic. Inevitably, all eyes turned to me. They had found their monster. “Do you see this, Alex?” one of them spat. “Because you wouldn’t pay the ransom, the kidnappers tortured her until she broke! She’s your wife, and you cared more about money than her life. You’re not a man.” “Even an animal isn’t as cold-blooded as you!” “Marrying you was the biggest mistake of her life.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend myself. My own mother begged me to take back my words. She believed I was in the wrong for not paying the ransom. And now, with Sarah in this state, to demand a divorce? It was like pushing her off a cliff. I just shook my head. “The divorce is final.” “You monster!” Mrs. Hall’s grief and rage exploded. She lunged at me, nails bared like claws. I sidestepped her, and she stumbled, falling flat on her face and knocking out a front tooth. “My tooth…” “Mom!” “Alex, this is all your fault! I’m going to kill you!” Leo charged at me, his face contorted with rage. I simply lifted my leg and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling. That was the spark that ignited the powder keg. In an instant, a dozen of Sarah’s relatives swarmed me. I was hopelessly outnumbered. Within seconds, I was on the floor, curled up, trying to protect my head as fists and feet rained down on me. A few moments later, I staggered to my feet, blood streaming from a cut on my forehead. I pulled out my phone to call the police, but my father snatched it from my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Calling the cops.” The Halls froze. They had all taken a piece of me. If I called the police, none of them would walk away clean. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Suddenly, Sarah collapsed, unconscious. Mr. Hall frantically called for an ambulance. At the hospital, after a series of tests, the doctor delivered another shock: Sarah was pregnant. “Doctor, terminate the pregnancy,” I said immediately. “What did you just say?” my father stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. The Hall family was equally stunned. They thought they had seen the depths of my cruelty. Now, my decision had shattered their understanding of how heartless a person could be. Refuse to save his wife, and now refuse to save his child. “Alex, have you lost your mind?” Leo screamed, grabbing my collar. “That’s your baby in my sister’s womb, and you’re telling the doctor to get rid of it?” He looked like he wanted to tear me limb from limb. “Sarah is insane,” I explained calmly. “What right does she have to be a mother? It’s better to end it now than to bring a child into a world of suffering.” “You son of a bitch!” Leo’s fist connected with my jaw. “You animal!” Mr. Hall lunged as well, his reason gone. Doctors and nurses rushed in to separate us. “This is a hospital! Please control yourselves! Who is the child’s father?” “I am,” I said. “Sir, could you please come with me?” “Alex, don’t you dare make a decision you’ll regret for the rest of your life,” my mother pleaded, terrified I was serious. “You’re a man,” my father said, his voice low and dangerous. “You have a responsibility as a husband and a father. Sarah might not be like this forever. What if she gets better? You’d better think very carefully about what you do next.” A few minutes later, I returned. They all stared at me, their faces tense. My mother asked me what I had decided. I told them I had signed the papers, authorizing the doctor to terminate the pregnancy. The words hit them like a lightning strike. For a few seconds, they were frozen. Then, Mr. and Mrs. Hall charged at me like wild animals. This time, I didn’t let them touch me. I took two steps back. “If any of you lay a hand on me,” I warned, my voice like ice, “I will call the police immediately. If you’re not afraid of going to jail, go ahead.” “You bastard!” my father snarled, then turned and stormed out. “Alex… you… you foolish boy,” my mother sobbed, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe her own son could become so depraved over money. “I hope you don’t regret this.” Then she, too, was gone. The Halls were seething but didn’t dare touch me. “You murderer!” Mrs. Hall shrieked. “You killed her baby without her consent! We’ll sue you for murder!” “Be my guest,” I said with a careless shrug, and walked out of the hospital. On the way home, I called an old friend, Marco, a former MMA champion who now owned a gym. “Hey, kid,” he said. “My guys looked into it for you. The kidnappers are all local crew. And they’re tight with your brother-in-law, Leo. Same gang.” “They got spooked after they messed with your wife, so they went to ground. My boys are looking for them. I’ll call you when they’re found.” “Thanks, Marco.” I hung up, my eyes narrowing. Leo was a hothead and an idiot. All brawn, no brains. He wasn’t smart enough to orchestrate this kidnapping on his own. He was probably just the contact. The real mastermind was someone else. Could it be… Sarah herself? To find out, I needed to talk to those kidnappers. Next, a childhood friend in the… collections business called me. He told me he’d checked with a few other loan sharks. Leo was keeping two live-streamers as mistresses. To maintain his big-spender image, he’d borrowed half a million dollars. “Leo’s unemployed. Who would lend him that kind of money?” “He put up his family’s house as collateral.” “No wonder he’s been dripping in gold lately. Do me a favor, check if anyone else in his family is in deep with loan sharks.” “On it.” At first, I thought Leo was just a pawn in this scheme. But now… maybe I had underestimated him. The next morning, Mr. Hall called, his voice a furious roar. He told me to get to the hospital. Sarah had woken up, found out the baby was gone, and was now on the roof, threatening to jump. “Okay, got it,” I said, and hung up. I closed my eyes and dozed for another few minutes until my father kicked my door open and hauled me out of bed. “Your wife is about to jump off a roof, and you’re sleeping?” “She’s not going to jump. It’s an act.” “You monster,” my father hissed through gritted teeth. When I got to the hospital, it was just as I’d expected. Sarah was standing near the edge of the roof. But she wasn’t jumping. “Sarah, honey, Alex is here! Whatever you have to say, say it to him! Just don’t do anything stupid!” Mrs. Hall was a mess, her eyes swollen from crying. “Don’t you dare provoke her,” Mr. Hall whispered menacingly in my ear. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.” I walked over. Sarah seemed to have regained some of her sanity. She stared at me with pure despair. “Alex, why did you let the doctor kill our baby?” she wailed. “Everyone saw you. You’re insane. You’re not fit to be a mother.” “I’m not insane! It was because you wouldn’t pay the ransom! They kept torturing me! I can forgive you for what you did to me, but how could you be so cruel as to murder your own child?” “The kidnappers wanted too much. If I paid, I’d be broke.” My words enraged her family, but they kept their distance. “You’re not human! You’re worse than a monster! You’re a cold, heartless demon!” “Are you going to jump, or what?”

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In our circle, Bob Bright and I were the golden couple, the one everyone knew was meant to be. But one month before our wedding, he called it off. He was going to marry Amy Reed, a scholarship student my parents had sponsored. When I confronted him, his excuse was pathetic. “If I don’t marry her, she’ll be forced to marry that paraplegic her family arranged for her.” He had the audacity to look at me with pleading eyes. “Sienna, you’ve always been the kindest person I know. You understand, don’t you?” “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I agree.” Relief washed over his face. Bob leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek, then pulled me into a hug. “I knew you would. Don’t worry, Sienna. As soon as this is all over, I’ll divorce her and come back to you.” I gently pushed him away, wiping the lingering dampness from my skin, and pulled an invitation from my pocket. He took it, his smile bright until he read the names engraved on the card. Then, his face froze. 1. “Sienna Williams… what… what is this?” “It’s written right there,” I said, my expression unreadable. I offered no explanation. He flipped the invitation over and over, his confusion turning to a cold sneer. “Is this a joke, Sienna? It’s not funny.” “Very convincing performance,” he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Scheduling your fake wedding for the same day as mine. And to Damian Thorne, of all people.” “I know you’re still angry with me, but I’ve been perfectly clear. I’m just helping Amy out of a jam, and then it’s over. Is it really so hard for you to show a little understanding?” Just as he finished his rant, a soft knock came at the door. Amy entered, her eyes red and puffy from crying. “Bob,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Maybe… maybe we should just forget it. It’s okay if I have to marry him… It’s just that… I…” A wave of pity crossed Bob’s face. He moved to her side, patting her back gently. “Don’t even think that,” he soothed, his voice impossibly tender. “I promised I would help you, and I will.” I had no interest in watching this melodrama unfold. I had delivered the invitation, but I had one last piece of business at his company. I walked around them and out of the office. “Sienna, where are you going?” Bob called after me. I didn’t answer. I could hear Amy’s soft, wounded voice behind me, followed by Bob’s hushed murmurs of comfort. He wasn’t coming after me. Even though I had already made my decision to let him go, the reality of it still stung. Bob and I had grown up together, our friendship seamlessly blossoming into love. Our families were close, and they had started planning our wedding the moment we were old enough. But Bob was fiercely ambitious. For years, he’d used his company’s growth as an excuse to postpone our marriage. At first, I was his biggest supporter. I even put my own family’s business on the back burner to come and help him build his empire. Everyone in our circle envied us. We were the couple they all wanted to be. Until Amy showed up. My parents had sponsored her after a near-accident on the way to the airport. They saw how hardworking and honest she seemed, and her family was genuinely struggling. They never imagined they were funding a viper. After graduating, she got a job at Bob’s company. They didn’t interact much at first, not until she came to our house one evening to borrow money from my parents. Her father, she claimed, had a medical emergency. Bob overheard and, without a second thought, gave her the cash. Soon after, he promoted her to be his personal secretary. As they spent more time together, I noticed their relationship growing closer, more intimate. They started spending time alone, without me. I remember at the company’s annual gala not long ago, Amy was plastered to Bob’s side, laughing at something he’d said. I stepped in. “We’re engaged, Bob,” I reminded him quietly. “If people see you this close to Amy, the gossip will make it impossible for her to find a boyfriend later on.” Amy looked up at me, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Sienna, I know you’re Bob’s fiancée. But I’m his secretary. We have a purely professional, friendly relationship. How could you think something so… sordid?” Purely friendly? Anyone with eyes could see she was playing a game. But Bob, instead of creating distance, turned on me. “Sienna, why do you always have to make things so ugly?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how hard Amy has been working? She just got this promotion, and people are already trying to sabotage her. I was just offering some support. Is that a problem?” He shot me a look of pure annoyance. “If our families hadn’t arranged our engagement, did you really think I would have chosen to marry you?” I froze, watching them walk away together. In that moment, I knew it was over. The sweet nothings he used to whisper in my ear were just echoes now. The adoration that once filled his eyes was now reserved for someone else. I could hear the whispers of the other guests. “What’s Bob Bright doing with that little secretary? Isn’t he about to marry Sienna Williams?” “Are you blind? Who could put up with Sienna’s temper? The secretary is so sweet and gentle.” “But their engagement is public knowledge. The Williams family promised an entire subsidiary company as a dowry.” “If he calls it off, the Williams will be completely humiliated.” Even strangers could see the writing on the wall. I’m sure Bob could too. The simple truth was, he didn’t love me anymore. And now, I was fine with that. I dropped off my resignation letter with HR and headed for the elevator. As I passed the emergency exit, I heard voices from behind the door. Through the small glass window, I saw them. Amy was nestled in Bob’s arms, gazing at him with pure adoration. The look he gave her back was anything but innocent. She tilted her head up, offering her lips. Bob’s eyes glazed over. For a second, a flicker of reason seemed to hold him back, and he pushed her away slightly. “Amy, we can’t… we…” But before he could finish, her mouth was on his. He resisted for a moment, then melted into the kiss, pulling her closer. They clung to each other like two parched travelers finding an oasis. “Oh, Bob,” she breathed, “I’m sorry, I just can’t control myself. I love you so much. I only wish I’d met you sooner.” “Amy, I…” I didn’t need to hear the rest. I glanced down at the ring on my finger, the one Bob had made himself when he proposed on my eighteenth birthday. It meant nothing now. I slipped it off and dropped it into the trash can by the elevator. The doors opened, and I turned to find Bob standing there, his eyes blazing with anger. “Sienna, did you just quit?” I shot him a sidelong glance and jabbed the ‘close door’ button. He lunged forward, squeezing in just before the doors shut. “The company is in a critical growth phase! It’s almost the end of the year, where am I supposed to find a replacement on such short notice?” “You have Amy, don’t you?” I said coolly. He had praised her work ethic to me more than once. Now was her chance to shine. An uncomfortable look flashed across his face. “Amy’s capable, yes, but the company still needs you,” he said after a pause. “Are you still mad? Sienna, I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m only marrying her to fool her parents. I swear, the moment it’s resolved, I’ll divorce her.” I was tired of hearing it. Ding. The elevator arrived at the underground parking garage. I strode out, quickening my pace. Bob hurried after me, but I was faster. I reached my car, unlocked it, and slid inside, pulling away just as he reached for the handle. “Sienna Williams, you’ll regret this!” he shouted after me. “Do you think the Williams family can maintain its standing without me?” My parents had worked themselves to the bone for years, but now they were older, and the company was struggling. Bob had been using that as leverage, holding it over my head again and again. He seemed to forget that if I hadn’t joined his company to save it from the brink of collapse, I would have taken over my own family’s business years ago. It was the Bright Corporation that had been failing before I stepped in. After I officially took over Williams Industries, I was busier than ever, with no time to even think about Bob. Until a party brought us all back into the same room. I rarely attended such events, but as the new CEO, I needed to network. Unsurprisingly, Bob and Amy were there. While Bob was busy charming some heiresses, Amy sidled up to me. “So what if you grew up with him, Sienna?” she sneered. “In the end, he’s marrying me.” With that, she “tripped,” sending her glass of red wine splashing all over her own dress. The glass shattered on the floor. Right on cue, Bob appeared, gently brushing shards of glass from her clothes. Amy shot me a triumphant look before turning her tear-filled eyes to Bob. “Bob, don’t blame Sienna. I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it.” Bob glared at me, his face a mask of fury. “Haven’t you had enough, Sienna? Are you still playing these childish games? Do you think this is going to win me back? I’m warning you, if you ever lay a hand on Amy again, I won’t care about the history between our families.” I laughed. I walked toward them, my eyes locked on his. “Lay a hand on her?” I said, my voice dangerously low as I stopped in front of Amy. “Watch closely. This is laying a hand on her.” I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. “Do you see the difference now?” I asked, my voice ringing with cold finality. “Consider that my wedding gift. A long and happy life to you both.” Bob stood there, stunned into silence, long after I had walked away. The next day, I went directly to the city’s most exclusive bridal couture and jewelry designer. Because Bob had always been “too busy,” I had handled all the wedding preparations myself. To protect his fragile ego, I had even commissioned a magnificent heirloom-style tiara. And because I had a fondness for historical fashion, I had a custom, hand-embroidered gown made. Now that the wedding was off, I was here to reclaim my things. The boutique owner looked deeply uncomfortable. “Mr. Bright already picked up the gown and the tiara,” she stammered. “He had the order form… we assumed you were too busy and had sent him…” Of course. He chose this exact moment to collect them. His intentions were obvious. I could write off the gown as a loss, but the tiara was non-negotiable. It was set with a priceless, heirloom Williams family sapphire, a stone that was literally irreplaceable. I called him. His response was a thinly veiled threat. “You want the tiara back? Fine. But you know that project your parents just partnered with us on? There seem to be some… complications.” He was threatening me. I let out a cold laugh. His tone softened. “Sienna, it’s not like you need this one tiara. When we get married, I’ll have a new one made for you. Just let Amy have this one. I just want her to have a respectable wedding.” This time, his sheer nerve actually made me laugh out loud. Hearing my silence, he pressed on. “Sienna, our wedding is just around the corner. If you’d like to come…” “No, thank you,” I cut in. “I don’t think I’ll have the time.” “Busy with what?” he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. “My parents are planning my wedding,” I said calmly. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s for the best,” he said, misinterpreting completely. “You always were the thoughtful one. Okay, I’ll adjust the wedding schedule accordingly.” Before I could correct him, he hung up. It didn’t matter. There was only one thing on my mind: getting that sapphire back. And I knew just the people to handle it. Our weddings were set for the same day. Early that morning, a procession of hundreds of luxury cars snaked through the city streets, heading for my family’s estate. The route took us directly past the hotel where Bob and Amy were getting married. As our fleet of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys glided by, I saw her. Amy, stepping out of her wedding car, wearing my custom gown and… my family’s sapphire tiara. She was nestled against Bob’s side, beaming, soaking in the envy of the crowd. But in the next second, the triumphant smiles on both their faces froze.

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