Category: English

In my fifth winter with Alex Pierce, I was diagnosed with cancer. That same week, he brought his first love home. I didn’t try to hide it. I handed him the oncologist’s report. Alex lit a cigarette, smoked for a moment, and then said, “I’ll give you two million dollars. That should be more than enough to treat stage-two breast cancer.” He took another drag. “Let’s not see each other again after this. My fiancée is a wonderful person. I don’t want her to be hurt.” I said nothing. I just watched as he packed his things and moved out of our apartment to start planning his wedding. And me? I shaved my head and started chemo to save my own life. A year later, in full remission, I ran into Alex by chance. He grabbed my arm, his eyes red-rimmed. “Zoe, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He said his engagement to his first love had been a mistake, a misunderstanding. He asked if we could start over. I pulled my hand from his grasp, slowly but firmly. “I’m sorry, but I’m married now. And we just found out we’re having a baby.” 1 The day Alex Pierce broke up with me, I was holding the pathology report that confirmed I had breast cancer. I didn’t play the tragic heroine from some novel and hide it. I just handed him the paper. “Are you sure about this? I have cancer. It’s… kind of serious.” Alex’s usually cool, detached eyes widened for a second. He instinctively looked down. On the single sheet of paper, the words were stark: Stage II Ductal Carcinoma. Immediate hospitalization and treatment recommended. He clearly hadn’t prepared a script for this. The air in the room grew thick and still. Then again, when the golden boy of the city’s most powerful family decides to dump a plaything with no family, no connections, and no remarkable beauty, he probably doesn’t think he needs one. But I was sick. And not just a little sick. A flicker of something—a moral burden, perhaps—crossed his face. Alex frowned, thinking for a long moment before speaking. “Alright. I’ll add another million. Three million dollars as a severance. That’s more than enough to cover your treatment.” This was the same man who, in high school, would hide in an empty classroom and cry about the mother he’d lost. Now, here he was, stone-faced, throwing money at the woman he’d spent five years with. His… what was I? His girlfriend? I wanted to laugh. After everything, all the intimacy, he couldn’t even grant me that self-deceiving title. I took a deep breath and took the card from his hand. My gaze was steady. “Do I need to sign anything?” “What?” “An NDA. Do I need to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can use this money?” A small, humorless smile touched his lips. “No. Let’s just call it a clean break.” He really was effortlessly cool. I nodded and slipped the card into my pocket, watching as he opened a drawer and removed his passport and a few expensive watches. He’d obviously been planning this for a while. His best suits were already gone. The soft lamplight caught the sharp angle of his jaw, and for a dizzying moment, he looked like the boy I’d known in high school, saying a final goodbye. But Alex hadn’t truly smiled in years. His expression was a mask of indifference. “I’m deleting your number,” he said flatly. “I don’t want my fiancée to get the wrong idea.” “If you need anything else, you can call my secretary. He’ll handle it.” He walked to the door to put on his shoes. They were the ones I’d bought him for his birthday. He used to wear them all the time. “Oh,” he added, as an afterthought. “About your illness… I’ll ask around for doctors. Clara’s friends know a lot of specialists in the field.” Clara Thorne. The one that got away. The one he’d finally won back. I heard my own voice, distant and calm. “Thank you.” 2 The door clicked shut, and the apartment was finally, utterly silent. It dawned on me then that this was a truly awful day. A day that deserved tears. But when you hit rock bottom, sometimes you don’t even have the energy to cry. I tried to summon some emotion, but my eyes remained dry. Giving up, I grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. After a long, hot shower, I stood staring at my reflection. The face looking back wasn’t a showstopper, but it wasn’t ugly. Slender eyes, the kind Alex used to love. Zoe, your eyes tell a story, he used to say. Every time you look at me, my heart aches. He wasn’t wrong. I had a story. A gambling father, a drug-addicted mother. They both died, and I clawed my way up on social assistance and scholarships until, by some bizarre twist of fate, I met Alex Pierce and got entangled in his world. To this day, I still don’t know what stroke of luck—or misfortune—led to us being together. Five years. I could barely remember how I’d survived them. Every day felt like a dream. The bookish nerd who somehow landed the one boy every other girl in school dreamed of. Now, the dream was over. The woman in the mirror had lost her borrowed glow. She was just a patient with three million dollars and a two-thousand-square-foot apartment. I couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling that washed over me. The silence in the apartment was deafening. I turned on the heat and picked up my phone. Clara had just posted a photo. The caption read: “After all this time, I found my way back to you.” It was a beautifully shot photo of a man and a woman kissing in silhouette. Even in the dim light, I recognized the man’s profile. It was Alex. The line of his jaw had once taken my breath away. The comments were a flood of old classmates losing their minds. OMG MY SHIP HAS SAILED I’M SO HAPPY I COULD DIE. Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness! You two are perfect for each other! Take care of our girl, Alex! She’s an absolute angel. Then, one dissenting voice. Didn’t Alex have a girlfriend? I think it was that girl who was always top of the class… Zoe something? I refreshed the page. The comment was gone. In its place was a new reply from Alex himself: Baby, I’m all yours. 3 I needed to buy some things before checking into the hospital. I walked into the mall and saw them. Clara had returned from abroad in a hurry and hadn’t brought enough clothes. Alex had been on his way to dinner with friends, so now a whole boisterous crew was trailing along behind them. Alex’s friends had never liked me. They thought he’d had a momentary lapse in judgment when he got with me and always treated me with a thinly veiled disdain. Now that Clara was back, they were all smiles, a loyal entourage. Alex’s childhood friend, Sean, spotted me, and his brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? You’re not here to make a scene, are you? I’m telling you, Clara doesn’t know anything, so don’t you dare start something.” Another one, Mark, chimed in. “Yeah, seriously. Alex worships the ground she walks on. If you upset her, he’ll make you regret it.” They were guarding against me like I was a thief. Alex emerged from the dressing room after helping Clara with a dress. When he saw me, his face darkened. “Zoe. You promised you wouldn’t cause trouble.” His tone gave me a headache. “I’m not.” “Then what are you doing here?” “I’m picking up some clothes.” Before I could say another word, the shop owner saw me and bustled over. “Zoe, sweetie! You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting for you.” Her eyes darted between Alex and me, but I pretended not to notice. I followed her into the stockroom to pick up the soft cotton lounge sets I had pre-ordered. The owner was a kind soul. Her eyes were red. “Zoe, what’s going on? Isn’t that man out there your boyfriend?” Alex had come with me to her shop a couple of times. She remembered. I managed a small smile. “No. We’re just friends.” “Nonsense. He was here for your birthday, helping you pick out a dress. I remember how happy you were. You threw your arms around him and were so excited.” I did do that. Once. And Alex had lectured me on the way home. He said he didn’t like it when his partners were too clingy. That I needed to have more self-control. I took a deep breath, forcing the memory down. “It’s alright, really. We’re in the past. The woman with him today is his fiancée.” “Don’t worry about any of this,” I told her. “I don’t want to mess up your business. I have to go.” The owner knew I had cancer and refused to take my money. After a bit of back and forth, I gave in, took the bag, and thanked her profusely. As I was leaving, she pulled me into a hug, patting my back. “You’re going to be okay, sweetie. You’re strong.” The unexpected kindness almost brought me to tears. Just then, the door to the adjacent dressing room opened. Clara stepped out in a slinky slip dress, looking down on us, both literally and figuratively. 4 Clara and I weren’t exactly strangers. In high school, we often shared the stage at award ceremonies. I was always first in our year; she was the ‘outstanding student’ recipient. We’d even nod and exchange polite greetings. So it felt strange, now, to have her looking down her nose at me. “Oh. Hi,” I said, forcing a laugh. “Long time no see.” “Mm,” was all she said. Her gaze was colder than I’d expected. She scanned me from head to toe with undisguised contempt before turning away. Alex immediately went to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple. His eyes held a tenderness I had never seen before. The shop owner sighed beside me. “Zoe, honey, if you need to cry, just let it out. I won’t judge.” I just scratched my head, silent. The problem was, I couldn’t cry. My life was hanging by a thread. Who had the energy for heartbreak? I left the mall and went straight to the hospital. The doctor explained they’d do surgery first, then chemo. He asked if I had any family to support me. That stung. I used to have someone who was supposed to be family. But he’d opted out. I quietly explained that I had money, that I could hire a private nurse and sign my own consent forms. Money talked. The doctor upgraded me to a private room and found me a wonderful, gentle nurse. The first day after surgery, a dull, persistent ache radiated from my chest. My heart ached even more. I scrolled through my phone and saw a post of Alex and Clara picking out wedding dresses. The pain in my surgical wound sharpened. I took a photo of my IV drip, allowing myself a rare moment of self-pity. You’re fine, Zoe. It doesn’t hurt. I refreshed the feed. Clara’s post was gone. I clicked on her profile. She’d deleted me. Fantastic. Life was just a bowl of cherries, and I was the pit. The biopsy results came back. The news wasn’t good. The doctor said we’d start the first round of chemo. He warned me it would be tough and told me to prepare myself. I thought I was prepared. I still threw up until I was empty. In just one month, I lost a staggering amount of weight, and my spirit started to fray. My nurse helped me out to the garden for a walk. I saw a boy sitting on a bench, his head wrapped in so many bandages he looked like a mummy. He was yelling into his phone. “What? You and Dad are on another date? I’m injured and you just leave me here!” “My brother? All my brother cares about is work! He doesn’t give a damn about me!” “You’re all heartless! Leaving your poor, helpless, adorable son all alone to go gallivanting around town! Is that any way for a family to act?” “I don’t care! I’m going to rebel! I’m turning to the dark side! I’m going to act out!” He slammed the phone down and angrily started ripping leaves off a bush. He threw them on the ground with a huff and then spun around. Our eyes met. A stunningly beautiful face with wide, wet eyes looked back at me. He was gorgeous. As adorable as a deer. Under my stare, the boy’s cheeks slowly turned pink. After a long moment, he shyly got up and walked away. 5 I saw the boy again the next day. It wasn’t fate. Hospital life was crushingly boring, and being alone with my thoughts was dangerous. I’d casually asked the nurses about him. They said he was an immature rich kid with powerful connections, so the staff was careful not to upset him. He was constantly causing trouble, and his family would just send a secretary to clean up his messes. It sounded like a TV drama, and I was intrigued enough to seek him out. When I got to the garden, he was, as predicted, causing trouble. He was climbing a ridiculously tall tree, trying to pick some wild berries. His caregiver was frantic. “Sir, please! Those are poisonous! You can’t eat those!” Danny—I’d learned his name was Danny—ignored him, popping a berry into his mouth. I spoke up calmly. “Those can cause kidney damage, you know.” He spat the berry out instantly, his face turning a shade of green. “Really?” “Mm-hmm.” He looked at me for a moment, then his eyes widened in recognition. “I remember you. You were walking here yesterday. What’s wrong with you?” I pointed to my chest. “Breast cancer. You?” “Slipped and fell on my way to the bathroom at night. Got a concussion.” “Oh. Well, you should probably come down then. In case you get dizzy.” To my surprise, he actually climbed down. He walked over, and I realized just how tall he was. So tall he looked like he might be lacking in the common sense department. “You have cancer, miss?” “Yeah.” “Does it hurt?” “It’s manageable.” I smiled, teasing him a little. “Compared to me, you’ve got it pretty good, don’t you think?” He pouted. “…Yeah.” “So don’t be so hard on your parents. You should try to be happy every day you’re alive.” Like me. Before the cancer, I thought being an orphan was the worst thing in the world. Then I thought unrequited love was worse. Now that I might not even survive, I finally understood: just being alive is a blessing. Danny just stared at me for a long time without saying anything. The next day, he showed up with a gift. “You need to take care of yourself, miss. And be happy every day.” I opened the small box. Inside was a delicate swan-shaped brooch. It was exquisite. I pinned it to my hospital gown and smiled at him. “You’re a sweet kid, Danny.” He scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “My grandmother died of breast cancer,” he explained. “When I saw you under the tree yesterday, I… I thought of her.” “My grandma was the best person in the world. I grew up with her. After she died, there was this… hole inside me. Nothing I did could fill it.” “When you told me to be happy every day… that’s something she used to tell me all the time.” As he spoke, his eyes welled up. He looked like he was about to cry. “Uh,” I said, a bit awkwardly. “If you want, I can give you a hug.” Danny sniffled. “…Thanks.” He was all long limbs as he leaned in and gave me a quick, gentle hug. “So, miss,” he said, pulling back. “From now on, we’re friends.” 6 It was like Danny had found a new purpose in life. For the rest of my hospital stay, he was constantly popping into my room. He really did seem to treat me as a stand-in for his grandmother, telling me everything that was on his mind. Sometimes, he’d talk until he was exhausted and then curl up on the sofa in my room for a nap. With this overgrown child to distract me, my days became surprisingly fun. I almost forgot about Alex’s engagement. But some people are determined to remind you. The day before the engagement party, I received a text message. Grand Imperial Hotel, Third Floor Ballroom. The engagement of Alex Pierce & Clara Thorne. The honor of Ms. Zoe Clark’s presence is requested. It wasn’t hard to guess who sent it. Clara still saw me as a threat. She wanted to humiliate me in public. My doctor had warned me that stress was the last thing I needed right now. By all accounts, I shouldn’t go. But I had a different interpretation of “no stress.” To me, it meant I needed to vent my anger. I had a bellyful of resentment from the whole mess with Alex, and I needed an opportunity to stir the pot. So I found Danny and asked him if he’d do me a favor: be my date to my ex-boyfriend’s engagement party so we could crash it in style. Danny’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely.” The next morning, I got ready and went to the hotel early. Alex was standing at the entrance in a sharp tuxedo, a broad smile on his face. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, his smile vanished. He strode over and grabbed my arm. “What are you doing here?” “Your fiancée invited me. It would be rude not to come.” His face was a thundercloud. “We don’t need your politeness. Get out.” “Alex, you have no heart. We were together for five years. Can’t you at least let me have a piece of cake?” Our voices weren’t loud, but we were starting to draw attention. Sean came over and put an arm around my shoulders. “It’s fine, Alex. I’ll keep an eye on her. You go greet your guests.” He steered me into the ballroom. “Zoe, I’m warning you one last time. Don’t make a scene. If you do, Alex will hate you for the rest of his life.” His face was full of disgust, as if it were a foregone conclusion that the ex would always cause trouble for the new girl. But I didn’t. I did exactly as they wanted. I found a quiet corner table and started eating. When most of the guests had arrived, the happy couple appeared on stage, looking like something out of a fairytale. Sean was still hovering nearby. “Alex and Clara are about to start the ceremony. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be watching you.” I gave him a small smile. “Loud and clear.” Honestly, I just hadn’t been to a party in a long time and thought it would be funny to crash my ex’s. Why wouldn’t anyone believe me? The romantic lighting began to swirl, music swelled, and the MC started the proceedings. “Our groom has written a letter to his beloved bride, and I’d like to read it to you all.” “I remember it was our senior year of high school. I was going through the darkest time of my life. I’d locked myself in the old gym equipment room, ready to give up.” “And then you appeared, like an angel. You sat on the other side of that wall and talked me through the night. You gave me the courage to keep going.” “From that day on, I knew I loved you. Even when you went abroad to study, I never stopped waiting for you.” “Five years. I finally have you back. Clara Thorne, I love you. Let’s spend the rest of our lives together.” The crowd erupted in applause. I joined in, even yelling “Kiss her!” for good measure. Sean looked at me, a strange expression on his face. “Zoe, I’m surprised. You’ve been… reasonable. Maybe I misjudged you all these years.” He immediately looked chagrined, as if he’d said too much. On stage, Alex kissed Clara. At the same moment, Danny finally arrived. He sat down next to me, leaned over, and planted a loud kiss on my cheek, then slipped a ring onto my finger. “Sorry I’m late, Zoe. You must be tired.” I was unfazed. “It’s fine. Why are you sweating?” I reached up to wipe his forehead, then straightened his collar. Sean was staring, utterly dumbfounded. “Who… who is this?” “Oh,” I said casually. “My boyfriend. He’s a freshman in college.” Danny turned his head. “Hello, sir.” Sean was speechless. I took Danny’s hand and stood up to leave. On stage, Alex was staring at me, his eyes wide. I didn’t look away. I turned to Sean, my voice just loud enough for him to hear. “You know, five years ago, I went to that gym room too. I actually passed Clara on my way there. She said there was some psycho in the room, rambling nonsense, and she couldn’t be bothered to listen, so she left.” “I was worried about him, so even though I had a nasty cold, I went and sat outside that room and talked to him all night. The next day, my cold had turned into pneumonia and I ended up in the hospital.” “It’s funny. Only today did I realize Alex got the story wrong. I wonder how he’d react if he knew Clara had lied to him all this time?” Sean looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He started to stand, but the mocking smile on my face stopped him. I squeezed Danny’s hand and walked away. Just before we left the ballroom, I threw one last hook over my shoulder. “Sean, you’ve always had a thing for Clara, haven’t you? Now that Alex has the wrong girl, things are bound to get messy. This could be your chance to break them up and get the girl for yourself. The choice is yours.”

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After working nonstop for the better part of a year, my wedding was supposed to be my escape—a blissful, week-long vacation. Instead, my new husband Liam’s “little sister” from his graduate program showed up unannounced at our door in the frigid north, wanting to experience life as a “delicate Southern flower who’s never seen snow.” Liam, worried about her staying in a hotel alone, insisted she stay with us. On her first day, she cranked our thermostat up to eighty-five degrees. “Jane, Vivi gets cold easily. Just keep the heat on, don’t touch it.” “Jane, Vivi needs her fruit peeled and sliced. Could you handle that for her? She’s a bit clumsy, and I’d hate for her to cut herself.” “Jane, Vivi doesn’t eat much. Can you find a child-sized bowl for her?” Just like that, Vivian’s arrival transformed me from the lady of the house into the live-in help. 1 I was melting in the living room, my pajamas sticking to my skin with sweat. I retreated to our bedroom and cracked open a window for a breath of fresh air. It hadn’t been open for a minute before Liam burst in. “What are you doing? Vivi’s face is pale from the draft!” he hissed, slamming the window shut. “I told you she can’t handle the cold. She’s our guest. Can’t you be a little more considerate?” “I’m in our bedroom. How is my open window bothering her?” Vivian appeared at the doorway, her voice a soft, fragile whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jane. I’ve just been delicate since I was a child. The slightest chill gets to me. Liam is just a little overprotective. I told him I could stay in a hotel, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She offered a polite, placid smile. “Jane, if you’re really that uncomfortable, maybe… you could get a hotel room?” The words, though spoken sweetly, were a clear provocation. “This is my home. You want me to go to a hotel?” Vivian’s lower lip trembled as she looked to Liam for support. “She has a point, Jane,” Liam said. “If you’re too hot here, a hotel might be more comfortable for you.” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Liam, how long have we been married?” “We just had the wedding, you know that.” “Exactly. We’re newlyweds. And you want your wife to sleep alone in a hotel while you and your ‘little sister’ stay in our marital home?” A flicker of unease crossed his face. He softened his tone. “Jane, come on. Vivi is only here for three days, then she has to go back to work. Just put up with it for a little while. Once she’s gone, I’ll take you to see the Northern Lights. I promise.” The Northern Lights. It was a dream I’d held onto for years, always postponed because I never had anyone to go with. “Really?” “Have I ever lied to you?” My anger subsided slightly. I went to my closet to find some lighter pajamas, but Liam’s voice stopped me. “Oh, and Jane? Could you sleep in the guest room for the next few nights? The master bedroom faces south, so it’s warmer. It’ll be better for Vivi.” “If I’m in the guest room, where are you sleeping?” “I’m scared of sleeping alone,” Vivian chimed in from the doorway. “Liam has to stay with me.” I let out a laugh that was sharp and humorless. “Does being young give you a free pass to act like a clueless child and treat everyone else like an idiot?” “Jane, what are you thinking?” Liam said quickly. “I’ll sleep on the floor!” I inhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. “In that case, why don’t I sleep on the floor in there with you, Vivi? After all, your precious Liam is a married man. It wouldn’t look good if word got back to your university, would it?” Vivian pouted. “No. I don’t know you that well.” 2 I knew there was no reasoning with someone like Vivian. She operated without a moral compass. “Fine,” I said. “But I feel I should warn you, little sister. We have security cameras in the bedroom and the living room.” Her face fell. “Liam, what is she talking about?” “Why would you tell her that?” Liam snapped at me. “I’m just being thoughtful,” I said, my voice dripping with false concern. “She’s a young woman. It would be a shame if the cameras captured her doing something… indiscreet.” Vivian’s expression was thunderous. I didn’t bother giving Liam a pleasant one either. “Here’s the plan,” he finally declared. “Vivi, you sleep in the master bedroom with the door open. Jane, you sleep in the guest room with your door open. I’ll sleep on the floor in the hallway between you. Happy now?” I smirked. “Works for me.” Vivian forced a smile. “If Jane’s okay with it, then so am I.” And so, Liam spent the night on the floor. The next morning, he woke me at the crack of dawn. “Get up. We’re taking Vivi to see the ice sculptures today. Hurry up and make some breakfast.” When I placed a traditional breakfast of millet porridge and steamed buns on the table, Vivian wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Jane, where I’m from, we have coffee and sandwiches in the morning. These buns are so greasy, and the smell is so strong. I’m not used to this kind of food.” I took a slow sip of my porridge. “Vivi, if I remember correctly, you’re from a small town in the Midwest, aren’t you?” “You work in the city for two years and suddenly you think you’re a coastal elite? Aren’t these the same buns you grew up eating? How can you not be ‘used to them’ anymore?” I added, “And just because you’re short doesn’t make you a delicate Southern flower.” Her face flushed a deep crimson. “You don’t have to be so hostile toward me, Jane!” “I’m not being hostile. I’m just stating facts.” The doorbell rang. Liam rushed to get it. “I knew you wouldn’t like the local food,” he said, returning with a takeout bag. “So I ordered something for you.” Vivian shot me a triumphant, sideways glance. “I knew you’d take care of me, Liam.” After breakfast, she pulled a wool coat from her suitcase. “Liam, what do you think of this one?” “It’s beautiful, but it’s ten below zero outside. That coat isn’t nearly warm enough.” “You’re the one who can’t handle the cold,” I muttered from the side. “You’ll freeze to death in that thing.” Vivian shot me a dirty look before turning a sweet, pleading face to Liam. “But it will look so good in pictures. I have to wear this one.” She got her way. As we headed out, she slipped into the front passenger seat before I could. “Jane,” Liam said quickly, “the vents are better in the front. Vivi gets cold, so let her sit there.” “Liam and I always ride like this when we go out,” Vivian added, a smug little smile playing on her lips. “He always said his passenger seat was reserved for me.” I let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine. You sit there.” I was morbidly curious now. I wanted to see just how far Liam and Vivian would take this charade over the next three days. 3 We’d barely entered the ice sculpture park before Vivian started shivering uncontrollably, hugging herself for warmth. Liam immediately shrugged off his own down jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I told you it was too cold for that coat.” “But you gave me this coat,” she said, her voice trembling. “It cost twelve hundred dollars. I never get a chance to wear it, and I wanted to take some nice pictures to remember the trip.” I froze. “Liam, you bought her a twelve-hundred-dollar coat?” He looked flustered. “Vivi’s just starting out, her salary isn’t high. She’d been admiring it for a long time, so I bought it for her birthday. It’s just a coat, Jane. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” “She doesn’t have a high salary? You don’t have a salary at all! You haven’t even graduated! I’m the one paying for your tuition, your life! You used my money to buy her a designer coat!” His face flushed with anger. “What’s yours and mine? We’re married, Jane. What’s yours is mine. What’s wrong with me using my own money to buy my friend a gift?” “Liam, I never realized you were so shameless!” In our ten years together, the most expensive gift he’d ever given me was a twenty-dollar necklace. He always said that once he finished his Ph.D. and got a good job, he’d buy me anything I wanted. I thought he was being frugal. Now I realized he was only frugal with me. “Oh, Jane,” Vivian said sweetly. “The style is a bit young for you anyway. Otherwise, I’d offer to give it to you.” “Who wants your second-hand trash?” I snapped. Her eyes welled up with tears. Liam’s temper flared. “That was a nasty thing to say, Jane. I was having a good day, and I don’t want to fight with you. Just drop it!” Vivian tugged on his arm. “Liam, you gave me your jacket. Your lips are turning blue.” She took his hands in hers and blew on them. “Is that warmer?” He couldn’t hide his smile. “Much warmer.” “I should give it back. I don’t want you to get sick.” She started to take the jacket off. “I’m a man, I can handle it. You’re the one who’s delicate. You wear it.” “No,” she insisted. “I’d rather get sick myself than see you suffer. If you won’t wear it, then neither will I.” They went back and forth until Liam finally gave in and put the jacket back on. Vivian stood there, shivering violently but insisting she wasn’t cold. Suddenly, Liam’s gaze fell on me. “Take off your jacket and give it to Vivi.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It took me a moment to process his words. “What? Why?” “You’re not the one who’s cold! What do you need such a thick coat for?” “I may not get cold easily, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it at all!” “Stop arguing and give her the jacket.” He reached for me. I stumbled backward. “What are you doing? I never said I would give it to her! Let go of me!” He ignored my protests, his hands grabbing at the zipper of my coat, trying to pull it off me. I fought back, clutching the fabric desperately. Vivian’s teeth were chattering. “Liam, don’t… don’t make things hard for Jane. I’m fine, really. I won’t freeze to death.” Hearing the tremor in her voice only made Liam more determined. He yanked harder. The ground was slick with ice. In the struggle, my feet went out from under me, and I fell backward, my head cracking against the frozen ground with a sickening thud. Thankfully, I was wearing a thick, padded hat, or there would have been blood. Even so, the impact left me stunned and disoriented. While I was dazed, Liam ripped the down jacket off my body. By the time my vision cleared, my coat was on Vivian. “Liam,” she said, “I think Jane is hurt. Maybe you should check on her.” “People from up here fall on the ice all the time. Besides, she’s tough as nails. A little slip won’t kill her.” He then turned his cold eyes on me. “If you’re cold, you can take a cab home. It’s not like you haven’t seen these sculptures before. I can stay here with Vivi.” 4 Liam wrapped his arm around Vivian, and they walked away without a backward glance. The other tourists stared at me. Some whispered, others pulled out their phones to record. I knew that soon, videos of me would be online, captioned with all sorts of stories. Maybe they’d even call me the mistress, caught and shamed by the wife. But none of that mattered anymore. I struggled to sit up. The ten-degree wind felt warm compared to the ice in my heart. I finally had to admit it. My ten years of devotion, all wasted on a dog. I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the park entrance. It took almost an hour to get a cab. By then, I was numb, my body a block of ice. “Miss,” the driver said with concern, “why are you out in this weather without a proper coat?” “I guess I let a fool make my decisions for me,” I said quietly. If I wasn’t a fool, why would I have supported him through seven years of graduate school? If I wasn’t a fool, why would I have been the one to buy the ring and propose to him? Back home, I buried myself under a pile of blankets, trying to stop shivering. Liam and Vivian didn’t return until after dark. She was still wearing my jacket. “Jane, I brought you some barbecue. See? I’m not so bad,” Liam said, holding out a greasy bag. “Eat it before it gets cold.” “You brought me your leftovers?” “They’re not leftovers! I saved these for you!” “You know I don’t eat lamb.” His face soured. “The vendor must have mixed up the order.” I wasn’t feeling well. A cough escaped my lips. Vivian gasped dramatically. “Oh no, Jane! You don’t think you have the flu, do you? I heard this year’s strain is really contagious and hard to get over.” Liam grew anxious. “Vivi, your immune system is weak. You can’t get sick.” “What should we do? We’re all living under the same roof.” “Let’s go to a hotel,” he decided instantly. “This whole house is probably contaminated by now.” He grabbed Vivian’s purse and started for the door. “Jane, I’m taking Vivi to a hotel. We’ll be back after you’re better.” “Vivian,” I called out, my voice flat. She turned. “It was Liam’s idea, Jane. I couldn’t stop him.” “Don’t worry, Jane,” Liam added. “We’ll get two rooms.” “Oh? Were you planning on getting one?” He scowled. “Don’t worry, Jane,” Vivian said with a smirk. “Even if we were in the same room, Liam would just be helping me with my thesis.” “I just wanted to tell you one thing, Vivian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m a soldier in the United States Army.” She scoffed. “So what? Does that make you better than the rest of us?” Destroying a military marriage, however, comes with a price. I watched them leave, then I called my best friend, Chloe. “Liam took his little protégée to a hotel. Can you find out where they went?” Chloe’s family owned a chain of luxury hotels. Liam, with his inflated ego, would never take Vivian to a cheap motel. It was almost certainly one of Chloe’s properties. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she sent me a location and two room numbers. They had indeed booked separate rooms. I texted Chloe: Keep an eye on them for me. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. “Jane,” Chloe said, her voice urgent. “That little witch just went into your husband’s room!” I was calm. “Are you free right now?” “For you? Always.” “Good. Let’s go catch a cheater.” I raced to the hotel, pulled out my phone, and started a livestream, even paying for a traffic boost. “Hi everyone! My husband is a Ph.D. candidate at the research institute. He’s so hardworking and thoughtful,” I began, my voice bright and cheerful. “We just got married two days ago, and he’s already pulling an all-nighter at a hotel with his junior colleague to work on their thesis.” A comment popped up immediately: Are you sure they’re working on a thesis and not… something else? “Of course!” I laughed. “He’s only doing it at a hotel because I have a little cold, and he didn’t want to disturb my rest. Besides, he’s about to graduate and has a prestigious position waiting for him. Any misconduct would get him expelled and ruin his career. Seven years of hard work down the drain. He would never risk that.” “Also,” I added casually, “I’m an active-duty soldier, and his colleague is actually a well-known influencer. I trust them. They know the law. They wouldn’t jeopardize their futures.” The chat exploded, asking for the influencer’s name. I gave them Vivian’s handle without hesitation. She had a few hundred thousand followers, all built on a carefully crafted persona of a smart, independent woman who didn’t need a man. “I bought them their favorite cupcakes to surprise them,” I said to my phone. “Let’s go, friends! I can’t wait to see the look on my husband’s face.” Chloe used her master keycard. The door clicked open. I burst into the room, phone held high. “Surprise, honey!” The two figures tangled on the bed froze in horror.

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When my little brother, Liam, drowned trying to save a man who’d slipped into the river, the rescue team demanded fifty thousand dollars upfront just to recover his body. It took every ounce of courage I had left to call my secret boyfriend of ten years, the man worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and ask him to lend me the money. His voice, already distant, felt glacial through the phone. “Are you under the impression that my money grows on trees, Delaney? You think you can just snap your fingers and I’ll hand over twenty grand?” He didn’t even bother to use the correct amount, dismissing the devastation that fifty thousand represented. “I have a meeting in a minute. I don’t have time to discuss your—trivial—sum.” Then he hung up. A moment later, his female assistant, Genevieve, messaged me. Attached was the electronic file I dreaded: the latest draft of the ‘Girlfriend Operations Manual.’ Staring at the PDF icon in my text thread, I let out a soundless, bitter laugh. My fingers, trembling with a cold I hadn’t felt since Liam’s body was recovered, dialed another number. “The offer you made,” I whispered to the man on the other end. “The one where you said you’d give me your entire life savings if I married you? Does it still stand?” 1 At the funeral, staring at Liam’s black-and-white portrait on the wall, I looked with deep, raw gratitude at the man who was keeping vigil beside me. “Thank you, Finn. Thank you for making sure I got Liam’s body back.” “Don’t worry. In seven days, after I finish dealing with the funeral, I’ll come home and marry you.” A flicker of genuine pain crossed Finn’s face. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to go through with it…” I quickly cut him off. “No. I want to.” What reason did I have left not to? It had been three days since the sudden, tragic death of the only family I had left. I’d been inconsolable for seventy-two hours. The whole world knew my brother was gone. The only person who didn’t was Grayson, my boyfriend of ten years. Our social media profiles didn’t overlap. He had never introduced me to his friends, and he certainly never cared to meet mine. Given that Grayson was worth a fortune, with every minute of his time calculated in thousands of dollars, he never bothered to scroll through my life. He not only didn’t know that the brother I’d raised and loved was dead, but he also didn’t know I had nearly failed to retrieve Liam’s body because I couldn’t afford the rescue and recovery fee. My chest ached with a shivering pain. But thankfully, Grayson and I were about to be strangers. The moment the funeral concluded, I sent Grayson a text message ending our relationship. The response was instantaneous. “Ms. Delaney, Mr. Grayson is traveling tomorrow. Please ensure two pairs of Oxfords, three suits, and appropriate shirts have been pressed and packed.” Staring at the utterly irrelevant reply, the acid in my throat rose. The feeling was like punching a giant cotton pillow—dull, sickeningly empty, and frustratingly ineffective. The text wasn’t from Grayson, but from Genevieve, his executive assistant. In the decade Gray and I had been together, Genevieve had been a silent, efficient partner in our relationship. In her first year as Gray’s assistant, she personally drafted the infamous ‘Girlfriend Operations Manual.’ She stated that for maximum efficiency, she needed my relationship with Gray to be as structured and professional as the rest of his work. The manual clearly stated: I didn’t need to remind Gray about our anniversary—Genevieve would personally handle the gift selection and delivery. I didn’t need to bother Gray with household items—she would manage all arrangements. Even if I wanted to see Gray, I didn’t approach him; I submitted a “Date Request Application” to her, and she would schedule me in. Beyond that, Genny handled everything from buying groceries and new clothes to ordering our brand of preferred condoms. I had fought Gray countless times over these ridiculous rules. But every time, he’d just look at me with that calm, dispassionate expression. “Delaney. Genevieve manages my entire professional and personal life. She handles half the firm’s administration. She simply doesn’t have the time for your drama or your baseless arguments.” In the past, his words would always silence me. But now, I surrendered. He was right. Genevieve was his right hand—Ivy League, sharp in negotiations, capable of managing his company, his home, and his girlfriend. And what was I? A decade-long, low-level employee in the marketing department of his company, utterly forgettable. A girlfriend for ten years that no one, outside of us, knew existed. Since Grayson admired Genevieve so much, I would just give him to her. After all, my little brother was dead, his body nearly lost, and when I, his secret, long-term partner, begged the man worth hundreds of millions for fifty thousand dollars, he suggested I file an internal loan request through Genevieve. 2 A fresh wave of shuddering pain seized my chest, but I steadied my finger and typed a reply to Genevieve. “Assistant Genevieve, I won’t be able to prepare Mr. Grayson’s clothes. If you don’t mind, you’re welcome to go to the penthouse and prepare them yourself.” “Also, per the ‘Operations Manual,’ I am formally submitting my seven-day notice of termination. Please log this and inform Mr. Grayson immediately that we are done.” We are done. The words hit the send button with a violence that felt like my teeth were cutting through my lip. Genevieve’s reply was, as always, immediate. “Duly noted, Ms. Delaney. The termination has been logged.” A cold, hollow ache spread through my heart. If my ride-share hadn’t arrived exactly on time, I would have burst into tears right there in the downpour. This feeling of hitting a cotton pillow, of generating no reaction, had become my life, and I was utterly sick of it. I spent the next two days cleaning out Liam’s apartment and taking his belongings back to our hometown. Only then did I return to the city and the penthouse I shared with Grayson. The moment I stepped inside, I saw him. He was stretched out on the sofa, looking relaxed, his hair damp, water still rolling down his chest beneath his open-V silk robe. This was the Gray I had once adored, utterly disarming in his natural state. I instinctively pressed my lips together and almost walked toward him. Then, a smooth, seductive voice drifted from the master bathroom. “Mr. Grayson, may I dry your hair for you now?” Genevieve emerged, a slim, scarlet silhouette. My eyes locked with hers, and then—horrified—with the outfit she was wearing: a flimsy, deep-red slip. It was the only piece of lingerie Gray had ever bought me, a gift I treasured and had worn only once because I found it too revealing. Now, Genevieve was wearing it. I drew a sharp, shaky breath. “My apologies. I seem to have interrupted a moment. I’ll see myself out.” I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. Suddenly, Gray was on his feet, grabbing my arm, his face twisted in anger. “Delaney, what drama are you stirring up now? Genevieve and I were doing an on-site inspection for a new project, and we were caught in the rain. She only came back here to dry off.” I truly wanted to hold my peace. After all, I was four days away from marrying another man. My only purpose in returning was to resign from the company and finalize the breakup. I didn’t care what he and Genevieve did outside of this penthouse. But I could not stomach her wearing my gift, in what was still, technically, my home. “So you’re saying the hickeys on her neck aren’t yours, then?” The red silk was designed for intimacy; it was sheer and low-cut. I couldn’t miss the angry, red marks peaking above the neckline, barely covered by the thin fabric. A flash of genuine panic crossed Gray’s face. Genevieve stepped in perfectly. “Ms. Delaney, my private affairs are not your concern. You have no right to comment.” “If my presence is upsetting you, I can certainly leave the residence. But I wish you would stop running away every time you throw a fit. Mr. Grayson is very busy. You can’t put him through this constant drama. He’s human; he gets exhausted.” Genevieve was the Ivy League graduate, alright. In three short sentences, she had perfectly framed me as the irrational, exhausting party. Fighting back the sickening pain, I was about to unleash a furious retort when Gray’s cold voice cut through. “Delaney. You will apologize to Genevieve immediately. She is my assistant, not your emotional punching bag. I won’t let you challenge my boundaries again and again.” My face went white as I stared at Gray. Just as always, no matter the circumstance, Grayson would always defend Genevieve first. My throat tightened, but I managed to speak, each word coated in venom. “Grayson, you want me to apologize to her? You can go to hell.”

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The guys who wanted her treated me like a prized stepping stone. The guys who wanted me were usually her faded leftovers. I had spent my entire life trying to escape my sister, Victoria. Until her favorite ex-boyfriend looked at me and asked, “Marry me?” Staring into the sharp, perfectly sculpted face of Rhys Thorne, I heard myself say, “Yes.” Six years into our secret marriage, Tori came home. Everyone waited for their epic reunion. I calmly booked a flight. “I have other plans. You’ll have to excuse me.” 1 I heard about Tori’s return in our old high school alumni group text. Liam Chase, the class president, posted screenshots of their chat, excitedly announcing: “Our queen, Victoria Sterling, is coming home! Who’s in for a welcome party?” Tori was always adored. Within ten minutes, the thread was at 99+ messages. I don’t know who started the frenzy, but the next message that caught fire was: “We have to get Rhys in on this!” And just like that, the entire group exploded. “Rhys and Tori were the Northwood High power couple.” “I still remember them winning the State Debate Championship—Rhys on first argument, Tori on second—they wiped the floor with the competition.” “And that campus promotional video they shot? Every frame dripped with pure gold.” “They were so perfect. How did they break up right after college?” “I heard they’re both single. The Golden Girl and the CEO, maybe they can finally pick up where they left off.” They shared memories. Someone recalled Tori playing her violin on the rooftop at sunset, claiming all the world’s beauty gathered just for her. Someone else remembered countless girls crying over Rhys, only for him to remain completely unmoved. What none of them knew was that Rhys, the untouchable golden boy, was my husband. My secret husband. My old lab partner, Mia, was the only one who remembered me. But her @ was a complaint. “Eliza, you’re awful.” “You’re the goddess’s sister! You didn’t give us any heads-up? Those of us out of state barely have time to fly back!” I stared at the screen, speechless. Was I supposed to tell her that Tori and I were practically strangers, and my relationship with our parents was colder still? My sister’s homecoming was news to me, too. My parents hadn’t bothered to call. I started to type a reply, but stopped. I hadn’t asked Rhys what he thought. This year marked Tori’s seventh year abroad, and my sixth year married to Rhys. I wanted to text him, but decided to wait until he was home. What would I even say? Your Golden Girl is back. Do you want me to gracefully exit? The silence of the house became heavy with anticipation. I started dinner. Rhys likes his rice slightly softer than average. The scallops and bamboo-pith soup needs to be just-off-the-boil. The soup wasn’t ready when my phone rang. It was Rhys. “Your mother called me,” he said. “She mentioned feeling under the weather. If you have a moment, could you check on her for me?” He used the phrase “for me,” not “you should.” A small kindness, and I was grateful. Rhys knew my relationship with my mother was fractured. In the last few years, he’d paid more attention to her than I, her own daughter, had. It made sense. He and Tori were childhood sweethearts. Our families were intrinsically linked. When they dated, everyone celebrated. When they broke up, everyone mourned. When Tori left for her advanced studies in Europe, my mother tearfully declared, “It is the great regret of my life that I won’t see Rhys as my son-in-law.” If she knew her greatest regret was that I was the one who married him—the daughter she barely tolerated—she’d probably be even more devastated. 2 I picked up a few groceries at the corner market, walking slowly toward my childhood home. As I tapped on the door, I heard a light, melodic voice from inside. “Rhys, you made it!” Tori’s radiant smile vanished the moment she saw me. My parents peeked out from the kitchen. “We called Rhys,” my mother, Anne, said, a note of disappointment sharp in her voice. “Why are you here?” I placed the bag of groceries on the floor, vaguely replying, “I just came home to check in.” I was still their daughter. No one could legally tell me I wasn’t allowed inside. My mother sighed, taking the bag from me. “All this time, and you bring these?” The hallway wall was stacked with gifts, clearly from Europe, that Tori had brought back. My humble store-bought fruit was instantly pathetic. I ignored her look of disdain. “Rhys said you weren’t feeling well, but he’s swamped, so he asked me to come instead.” My mother didn’t pause to wonder why Rhys would contact me at all. She simply turned and called out to my father, Robert. “Call Rhys again, honey.” “Tori is finally home. He simply has to see her.” That’s when I noticed the table. It was laden with all of Rhys’s favorite dishes. This wasn’t an ailing parent’s request; it was an ambush. A carefully orchestrated family meeting to reunite Rhys and Tori. My mother pulled me aside, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Eliza, when Rhys gets here, you need to behave. Don’t you dare mess this up for your sister, or I swear I’ll skin you alive.” I couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “What if Rhys isn’t single anymore?” My mother glared at me. “Don’t you speak such nonsense.” “Your sister has carried a torch for him all these years. Her returning now is her attempt to get him back.” A heavy feeling settled in my chest. Before I could speak, my father had already placed the call. Rhys’s polite refusal was audible. But then Tori snatched the phone. “It’s me. I’m back.” “Rhys, I need to see you.” Her voice was soft, yet the slight tremor in her tail end held a dramatic vulnerability that was impossible to ignore. The line was silent for a moment. Then Rhys’s simple reply: “I’m stuck at the office. I’ll be there in an hour.” Tori hung up. She ran a practiced hand through her long hair and smiled at my mother. “See? I knew he wanted to see me, too. He’s just too proud to admit it.” “We were young and stubborn back then. We let small things tear us apart.” Her eyes were bright with absolute certainty. “But I’ve learned to compromise.” Tori had always been the famously spoiled princess. But Rhys was equally sharp-edged and self-possessed. Their combined intensity had led to inevitable friction. I sat on the sofa, quietly eating a handful of strawberries, trying to disappear. The doorbell rang again. Everyone rushed to greet him. Over their heads, my eyes met Rhys’s. 3 He still wore the black suit he’d worn to the office, which only accentuated his height and his cool, reserved demeanor. Rhys was the kind of person who projected a faint, untouchable aura even in the most crowded room. Few were ever allowed into his inner circle. My sister, clearly, was an exception. We sat at the round dining table. Tori strategically placed herself closest to him. She was naturally beautiful and always the center of attention. But the three years she’d spent in Europe had polished her sharp edges. Every gesture was thoughtful, every word perfectly placed. She smoothly transitioned from discussing her European travels to his recent business dealings. When she brought up funny old memories, I saw the hard line of Rhys’s brow relax slightly. I sat in the corner, a transparent presence. But that was how it had always been for over a decade. I was accustomed to it. My mind drifted to a childhood memory: I was huddled in the hallway, twisting my dress hem, watching Rhys and Tori, constantly surrounded by well-wishers and admiration. They were born to stand in the light. A dull ache started in my stomach. My grip slipped, and my teacup crashed to the floor. Rhys was the first to snap out of his conversation with Tori. His gaze landed on my bleeding finger, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’ll take you to get that bandaged.” But my mother immediately stepped forward, pressing Rhys back into his chair. “You two stay and talk. You haven’t seen Tori in so long, you must have so much to catch up on.” She dismissed me with a wave. “Eliza is clumsy. Let her handle it herself. Don’t pay her any mind.” It wasn’t a deep cut, but the pain felt profound, cementing my silence. The dinner ended quickly and unpleasantly. Rain was falling outside. Rhys announced he had an early flight and had to leave. I vaguely recalled his business trip was scheduled for tomorrow. Had it been moved up? I stood up, too. “Rhys, I’m leaving with you.” Before I could reach him, my father grabbed my arm. “I’ll take you. Let your sister see Rhys out.” I understood. They were desperate to manufacture a moment for the two of them. I clenched my fists and slowly released them. I watched them both disappear into the entryway. “Dad,” I said, defeated, “just drop me off at the subway station.” He thrust an umbrella into my hand. “Walk yourself. It’s late; I don’t want to go out.” My throat tightened, a familiar, acrid burn. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. I had known my place in this house since I was four. When I was little, I had snuck out to play. Tori went looking for me and was tragically abducted. She was found three years later. My parents spent the next two decades compensating her for the trauma. I was the careless initiator of her suffering, and therefore deserved to be cold-shouldered. In that house, I wasn’t allowed new clothes or toys; I took Tori’s hand-me-downs. I couldn’t object to anything she told me to do. If I did, I was punished. Once, she tried to use a toilet brush to clean my teeth. I begged my parents for help. They only shook their heads. “You are the sinner in this house. Did you forget?” 4 I walked into the downpour without opening the umbrella. The night was a thick, ink-dark blur. When I got back to my apartment, my clothes were soaked through. Rhys wasn’t home. I thought about texting him, asking when he would return, but decided against it. Let it go. He was reconnecting with his past. I shouldn’t be the one to interfere. I took a long bath, then tidied the kitchen. Rhys finally returned. It was impossible to read his face; his typical aloofness made it hard to tell if his time with Tori had been enjoyable. I kept my head down, pretending to be busy. But he walked over and gently touched my wet hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I truly was busy today. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have sent you.” “And your parents… they gave you a hard time again, didn’t they?” The tears I’d held back all day finally spilled over. In that moment, I knew Rhys did care about me. But how much did he care about Tori? That thought felt like a rusted saw blade, scraping against my most fragile nerves. I was afraid to ask, but the words slipped out anyway. “Rhys, Tori is back. Are you… going to get back together with her?” When we got married, we’d agreed not to ask questions about each other’s past. But if I didn’t know the answer now, I thought I might actually lose my mind. Rhys abruptly took a lock of my hair, his voice serious, as if speaking a vow. “I would never do something that disrespectful.” “Eliza, you can trust me.” The heavy breath I’d been holding finally released. I watched silently as he used a towel to dry my hair. He gently pulled me into his arms, his fingers tracing my face. From my brow bone to my lips. Then lower. My face flushed, and I tried to pull away. He held me tighter. “Don’t move.” Rhys was rarely so forceful. It was difficult to resist. And then, as my world began to spin, I heard his low murmur. “I don’t want her anymore.” “Eliza, you are enough.” … I was still wide awake when the city finally went quiet. I was three years younger than Tori, yet I’d been forced into her class. When she was finally recovered, she was mentally fragile, sensitive to noise and bright lights. My parents, unable to constantly monitor her, ordered me to skip two grades to be her academic companion. I was too young to keep up. My grades plummeted, my physical education was the worst in class, and I made no friends. I cried myself to sleep countless times. But my parents needed me to keep tabs on Tori. In those years, my academic record was always at the bottom. Tori’s was always at the top. When people asked, my parents would beam. “Our elder daughter is exceptional.” “Our little one simply can’t compare.” My entire adolescence was spent in that kind of suffocating shadow. 5 The year I was supposed to graduate, Tori was accepted into a prestigious music conservatory in Vienna. My own grades were abysmal. I had to repeat the year before I finally got into a decent state university. I thought my mother would finally be happy for me. She merely said, “Repeating a year and still only managing that school isn’t exactly a badge of honor.” I should have known. I was not meant to be favored. I didn’t argue. I went straight to a nearby coffee shop and applied for a job. Over the next four years, I paid for my tuition and living expenses entirely on my own, never asking my family for a penny. I was too busy, and I rarely went home. I saw Rhys less often. In those days, he was a big brother figure. He helped me correct my math. He lent me inspirational books. If we took a nice photo together, he’d send me a copy. But most of the time, his attention was fixed on Tori. Once, on a rare visit home, Rhys looked at my wind-chapped hands and tired eyes. His brow furrowed. “Eliza, I never see you. What are you always doing?” I told him I was working three part-time jobs and my schedule was completely full. Rhys looked at me for a long time, his voice barely a whisper. “Aren’t you tired?” My eyes instantly welled up. No one had ever asked me that. My parents occasionally muttered, “Our younger daughter is sensible, she doesn’t cost us anything.” They never wondered how hard it was for a college student to maintain decent grades while working constantly. I was exhausted. I was holding on by sheer willpower. That’s the thing about a wound—you can bear the pain alone. But the moment someone offers a single word of genuine care, all the walls collapse. Looking back, that was probably the moment. That one sentence from Rhys. I stammered through some incoherent response. He actually smiled at my panic. “My company needs an administrative assistant. Why don’t you come help me?” Rhys had started his own company in college. It was small, but profitable. Every Friday, my job was to run out and buy the team afternoon treats. One time, I bought the pastries and went to deal with something else. When I came back, the platter was empty. I was staring at the crumbs when Rhys called my name. “I saved you the strawberry one. Your favorite.” I hid in the corner and ate that slice of cake. It tasted sweeter than anything I’d ever had. But soon after, Tori showed up at Rhys’s office. She smiled brightly. “Eliza is too clumsy to help you. Let me take over.” Just like that, I lost the job. It had always been this way. The moment Tori appeared, anything that was mine was taken. Now, she was back again. Would Rhys be taken from me too? 6 Rhys left for his business trip. I fell back into a routine of managing the apartment and my own freelance work. Something felt wrong. Before, no matter how busy he was, Rhys always found time to text me, a brief update on his status. This time, my messages vanished into a void. Days went by with no reply. The silence made me uneasy. Finally, I called his assistant, Mr. Davies. Rhys was a private, measured man. He didn’t believe his marriage was public business. Mr. Davies was the only person who knew we were secretly wed. Per Rhys’s instruction, he always referred to me as “Ms. Thorne” externally. I rarely interfered with Rhys’s affairs, but Mr. Davies was usually upfront when I asked. This time, he only said, “I need to check with the CEO and then I’ll call you back.” Moments later, his voice was apologetic. “Ms. Thorne, Mr. Thorne had a minor car accident. He didn’t want to worry you, so he kept it quiet.” “When he’s feeling better, you can come see him.” I couldn’t wait. I went to every major hospital, using the vague details I had. I finally found him at the third hospital. A group of nurses was clustered around the station, whispering excitedly. “They’re so in sync, are they really just friends?” “Their energy together is insane. The mogul and the violinist, and they were high school sweethearts…” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The answer I’d been dreading was right there. Through the slightly ajar door, I saw Tori spooning food from a thermos into a bowl. Rhys had a bandage wrapped around his forehead. His voice was flat. “Thank you for your effort, Tori, but you don’t need to do this for me.” “Besides, you just returned. You must have a lot to do.” Tori’s eyes were full of unconcealed tenderness. “I do have a lot to do. But, I can’t focus on anything until I know you’re okay.” I stood frozen in the doorway, a clumsy, abrupt intruder. Rhys finally saw me. He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?” Tori looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by a dramatic sigh. “Did Mom and Dad tell her about this, too?” I forced myself to stand still, my insides churning. “Rhys, how did you get hurt?” 7 Rhys didn’t answer. Tori answered for him. “I was meeting a friend nearby and happened to run into him.” “Then… we got into an accident.” The hospital room window showed the reflection of Tori and me. She was wearing an elegant, fitted designer sheath, poised and graceful. I was in a messy sweatshirt and jeans, my hair wild from running, my makeup smeared. The contrast was brutal. I had a ridiculous thought: I want to know if the way Rhys looks at me is different from the way he looks at her. But I couldn’t get an answer. Rhys looked down at the documents he was reviewing, not meeting either Tori’s eyes or mine. I hadn’t been in the room for long when Tori urged me to leave. “Rhys is tired and needs rest. I’ll stay. Eliza, why don’t you go?” I turned to Rhys, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you want me to stay?” Our eyes locked. Rhys’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He said, “Yes.” Tori immediately positioned herself in front of me. “Rhys, don’t. You have me. She’s too clumsy and useless to take care of anyone.” But then, Mr. Davies knocked and walked in, saying a video conference was about to start. He politely asked us both to wait outside. Tori and I stood in the small waiting room. I felt awkward. I reached for a cup of water, but Tori suddenly stepped in front of me. She tilted her head back, looking down her nose. “Eliza, you are so stupid.” “Don’t think I haven’t figured out what you’re trying to do.” “But you need to look at yourself. I may have been apart from Rhys for a few years, but all it takes is one word from me, and he’ll stop liking you.” I clenched my fists. “Would you say that in front of Rhys?” Tori let out a cold laugh. “Do you think I wouldn’t?” Rage pulsed through my chest. Then, an interruption. Mr. Davies opened the door, smiling politely. “Ms. Eliza, Mr. Thorne would like to see you.” Tori looked genuinely shocked. “Her? Not me?” Mr. Davies’s smile became even more courteous. “That is the CEO’s request. I wouldn’t presume to question it.” Rhys was alone in the room. He looked at me, his voice soft. “I had Mr. Davies send your sister home. Stay and eat something with me.” I followed his gaze. A thermos sat on the bedside table. It wasn’t the one Tori had brought. Rhys explained. “I know you don’t eat their food. I had the staff send a different one.” 8 I had no appetite. Rhys, however, was patient. He scooped up a spoonful of soup and brought it to my lips. “Just a little. Your lips are completely drained of color.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. Seeing this side of the usually distant, self-controlled man was heartbreaking. My eyes burned, and I burst out, reckless with pain, “When are you going to tell Tori, and my parents, that we’ve been married for years?” The smile vanished from Rhys’s face. He stared at me intently. “Eliza, we had an agreement.” Years of suppressed emotion came boiling up. I asked, my voice trembling, “Then why did you marry me in the first place?” Rhys didn’t speak for a long moment. He chose his words carefully. “Why did you say yes?” “Eliza, over the years, you’ve started wanting more.” He was right. I was greedy. At 19, I only wanted Rhys to notice me. Now, I was greedy enough to want to walk fully and completely into his world. Rhys must despise me for this. He had to. Something dense and painful lodged in my heart. I looked down, choked up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put you in this difficult position.” But Rhys gently stroked my hair. “I’m the one who failed to consider your feelings.” “I will choose the right time to tell your parents about us.” Rhys’s voice held a natural certainty, the kind that could instantly relax my coiled tension. I forgave him in a rush. I leaned my head against his shoulder and cautiously asked, “Can you promise me not to see Tori again?” He didn’t hesitate. He kissed the top of my head. “Yes.” Rhys kept his word. He went home to recover the next day. I don’t know what he told Tori, but after that, she was silent for a few days. The peace didn’t last. The class group chat suddenly exploded again. Tori’s welcome dinner was finalized. A dozen local classmates would attend. Even I, the perennial wallflower, received an invitation. I held my phone and asked Rhys, “Are you going? Tori will be there.” He was in a rare, good mood, and he pinched my cheek playfully. “No.” “Someone told me I’m not allowed to.” 9 I hadn’t expected the scale of the reunion. Liam Chase had rented the hotel’s largest private room and ordered a bespoke cake. The room was noisy. Everyone was gathered around Tori, showering her with praise. She wore a classic white silk blouse and a pencil skirt—elegant and poised. Someone nudged her playfully. “We heard Rhys said he’d seen you already! You’ve only been back a few days.” “Spill it. What’s the status?” Tori smiled lightly, feigning embarrassment. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that we’ve actually seen each other every year for the past seven years.” My mind went instantly blank. The words burst out before I could stop them. “You’re. Ly. Ing.” The atmosphere instantly plummeted to freezing. Mia tugged at my sleeve under the table. “What are you doing? That’s your sister!” I knew she was my sister. But why was she lying? Tears stung my eyes. My voice was stubbornly defiant. “Victoria Sterling, do you have proof?” Tori glanced at me, a mocking smile playing on her lips. She opened her phone, pulled up a picture, and handed it to me. “Does this count?” The photo showed Tori and Rhys standing side-by-side by a river. They weren’t touching, but they were both smiling at the camera. Tori spoke with a nostalgic sigh. “We’ve met up in Paris, in Switzerland.” “He even flew to Vienna to hear me play at the Golden Hall.” “This one is from the apartment I rented. He came to visit, and we took this picture.” My heart felt like it had been violently ripped apart. I couldn’t breathe. I suddenly remembered Rhys’s laptop wallpaper—a similar landscape photo. Every time he opened his computer, he was looking at a memory I’d never been part of. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing myself to find logic. Maybe the photo was taken before we got married? Maybe it was right after, when he hadn’t fully fallen for me. Maybe he never fell for me. Maybe he married me just to survive that difficult time. That year, he had broken up with Tori, endured the sudden death of his parents, and had to keep his massive company afloat alone. He was desolate. And I happened to be there. A man as reserved and controlled as him, once he’d been intimate with me, felt obligated to give me a name. … The dinner was half over, and Rhys still hadn’t shown up. The group decided they needed a plan to force him to appear. Liam called him. “Get here now! The goddess is drunk, you have to take her home.” The phone was on speaker. Rhys sounded like he was at a loud business dinner. He asked, “Is Eliza there?” 10 Liam looked momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered and played along. “Yes. She’s drunk, too.” Rhys didn’t hesitate. “Fine. I’m coming to pick her up.” The phone went silent, and the entire room erupted in excitement. “Rhys still cares about Tori!” “He’s just playing hard to get.” “I think we’ll be drinking their wedding wine this year!” But a few people still whispered, “Why did he even bring up Eliza?” A brief, heavy silence descended. All eyes slowly turned to me. Tori’s face was a mixture of triumph and confusion. Liam suddenly slapped the table and burst out laughing. “Why would he? Because Eliza is Tori’s sister!” “When you love a woman, you put her family first.” Is that what it was? I poured myself another glass of wine and took a silent, bitter drink. I overheard a couple of classmates chatting, saying Liam had really splurged on this dinner. Liam’s smile was wide and sincere. “It’s nothing. Tori’s story has always inspired me! Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am.” He was talking about Tori’s high school speech, the one that made her a campus legend. She’d detailed her abduction experience. It was rousing and tear-jerking, cementing her status as a genuine “goddess.” But soon after, someone found out that Tori had been kidnapped because she was searching for me after I’d wandered off. Furious students left a bloody knife on my desk. I was too terrified to attend school. It was Tori who publicly intervened. “My sister was only a child then,” she said. I truly believed she had forgiven me. But later, I stumbled upon her diary. It read, starkly: If only I didn’t have a sister. Those words felt like a dull blade, carving me to pieces. I hated myself for being alive.

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A small boy knocked on my front door. “Dad, I’m your son. I traveled back seven years to warn you…” My first thought was to call 911—or maybe the closest psychiatric ward. The boy’s eyes welled up, and the tears fell. He tugged at the lapel of the bespoke tuxedo I hadn’t managed to change out of yet, the one still smelling of champagne and gardenia. “Dad, you absolutely cannot marry Mom.” His voice was a desperate, urgent whisper. “Getting close to her is getting close to disaster. In two weeks, you’ll be in a car crash. You’ll lose your ability to have children.” My hand froze midway to the phone. “She’ll marry you, but she’ll be cold. Distant. It’ll drive you into a severe depression, and eventually, you’ll take a bottle of sleeping pills and kill yourself.” He choked on the words. “The man she really loves is her executive assistant, Dominic Keller.” The name landed like a punch. “The reason she left the engagement party early today? Because Dominic’s dog got sick.” Owen’s small face was earnest. “If you don’t believe me, she’s at his place right now. Come with me. You’ll see the truth.” 1 Owen picked up a loose stone and hurled it hard against Dominic Keller’s door. I was hiding behind the thick shadow of an old oak tree, my spine pressed against the rough bark. My fingernails dug into the wood, splinters embedding themselves in my skin. I felt nothing. The moment the door opened, the blood in my veins solidified into ice. Seraphina Monroe. She was there, just as he said. She wore a silk robe, and her hair was still damp from a shower. Hours ago, she had received a phone call, said one word—crisis—and abandoned me mid-reception. She left me alone to field the pitying stares and the snide gossip of hundreds of guests. Two hours later, she texted to say she was handling an urgent, company-wide emergency. The “urgent emergency” was apparently standing in her assistant’s apartment, in a bathrobe, to nurse his sick dog. My heart seized up, a painful, spasming clench. Sera looked out, saw nothing, but noticed the stone on the ground. She frowned, annoyed. “Sera? Who is it?” Dominic’s voice called from inside, warm and intimate. “No one. Probably just some kid pulling a prank.” Dominic walked out, cradling a tiny, fluffy Maltese named Truffle. He was wearing low-slung drawstring sweatpants that exposed the waistband of his… designer briefs. I crumpled against the tree trunk. The sudden, intense cold of betrayal washed over me. I recognized those briefs. I had seen an identical pair in my own laundry machine at home. Sera had told me they were a gift for me. Now, the sickening reality hit: they were Dominic’s. She and he had been together, and he had forgotten them, leaving her to pawn them off on me. The visceral wave of nausea was so strong it stole my breath. I bent over, dry-heaving, nothing coming up but bile and pain. Tears and snot streamed down my face. A cold wind cut through me, making my jaw tremble uncontrollably. Dominic shivered, drawing his shoulders inward. Seraphina immediately wrapped her arms around him, her voice melting into a tenderness she had never offered me. “The wind’s picking up. Let’s go inside.” “Mmm.” Dominic’s sound was a low, needy purr. “Truffle’s appetite is gone, but he only wants the food you make.” Sera’s mouth curved into a soft, easy smile. “Okay.” My mind shattered. She can cook. Last month, when I was suffering through a brutal case of the flu, I had begged her, pleaded with her to just make me a simple bowl of homemade chicken soup. Her face had darkened. “I’m the CEO of the Monroe Group, Eli. I don’t belong in a kitchen. For a man? It would be a professional embarrassment.” Now I understood. Her food, her care—it was good enough for a dog. It was good enough for her lover. But it was never good enough for me. The door slammed shut. Bang. The world was silent. I was a huddled, broken mess in the black shadow of the tree. Owen wrapped his small arms tightly around my waist. “Don’t cry, Dad. She’s not worth it.” Seraphina didn’t come home that night. I didn’t sleep. Owen lay beside me in the bed, his small hand gripping mine like an anchor, even as he drifted off. I looked at his face, a heartbreaking fusion of Sera’s sharp cheekbones and my own softer features. The complexity of my emotions—grief, shock, fury, and a terrifying, sudden love for this stranger—was overwhelming. I sent Sera a simple breakup text. She didn’t reply. She didn’t appear. She vanished for a week. I finally drove to the Monroe Group offices to confront her. The receptionist informed me she was out of town. “On a business trip. With Mr. Keller. They travel together often,” she stressed, deliberately. Sera was a known workaholic, and these sudden disappearances were common. “Every time she vanishes, she’s with him, isn’t she?” I asked Owen, my voice ragged. His bright eyes dimmed, and he nodded. “I saw a photo album in Mom’s study,” he whispered. “It was full of pictures of her and Dominic traveling the world together…” A bitter laugh escaped me. I fought back the stinging burn behind my eyes. Sera had always hated it when I showed up at the office or disturbed her when she was “busy.” Over the years, we’d established a silent, cold agreement: when she disappeared, I would send no texts, make no calls, and send no one to check on her. But while I was worrying if she was eating or sleeping properly—she was off chasing the Northern Lights with Dominic, staring up at the vast, white sky, pretending to be on a journey toward forever. I had given her my trust. She had used that trust to forge the weapons she repeatedly plunged into my heart. I stumbled out of the office, my steps weak and unsteady. Behind me, I heard the disdainful whispers of a few employees. “Seriously? Thinks she’s the one, coming here to check up on the boss.” “Ms. Monroe and Mr. Keller are the real couple. He’s the home-wrecker, using his parents’ death to force her hand.” “He blackmailed her into marriage? Pathetic.” I froze. Everything felt ridiculously absurd. How could her employees—my employees, since the company was technically mine—believe I was the homewrecker? Unless Sera and Dominic had acted like a couple, flaunting their closeness, her silence about the “forced marriage” story had tacitly endorsed it. I packed every single one of Seraphina’s belongings and had them delivered directly to Dominic Keller’s apartment. That night, she finally returned. With Dominic. And his dog. “I’ve already fired those gossiping employees, Eli. Dominic and I were on an emergency trip. We worked for days straight, barely stopping.” She took my hand. “It’s my bad habit. I’ll change. I promise to text you, no matter how busy I am. Okay?” Her face was etched with fatigue, her eyes bloodshot. She looked genuinely exhausted, making me feel like the irrational one. I snatched my hand away, my voice flat and cold. “Don’t bother explaining. We’re over.” Sera sighed, an expression of weary annoyance. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I know you’re just mad about the engagement party. I’ll overlook the ‘breakup’ text. I guarantee nothing like that will happen on the wedding day.” Watching her solemn promise, I felt a detached wave of disgust. Dominic chimed in, stepping closer. “Eli, Sera brought me here specifically to explain. It really was all work. She slept less than an hour a night just so she could rush back to you. Look, she’s lost weight.” As he spoke, a flash of silver around his neck caught my eye. I lunged forward, grabbed his collar, and yanked the chain out. It was a vintage silver locket. Seraphina’s mother’s last possession, meant for her future son-in-law. On the day of the engagement, I had asked her to let me wear it. She had kissed my forehead. “I want to put it on you myself, on our wedding day.” Now, it rested on Dominic Keller’s throat. Dominic went red, flustered and panicked. He dropped to his knees. “I lost my mind, Eli! I saw it on the table and just… picked it up.” A flimsy, transparent lie. Sera never took that locket off—not even to shower. Sera knew I wouldn’t believe it. The pretense dropped. The look she gave me was dangerously cold. “Eli. Why did you have to tear the curtain down?” she asked, her voice low. “Pretending not to know was easier for everyone. For you. For me. Wasn’t it?” “You don’t have to play these games of push and pull. I will marry you, regardless.” She pulled Dominic up. In front of me, she wiped the tears from his eyes, her gaze filled with heart-wrenching pity. The years of repressed pain and humiliation surged, overwhelming all reason. I stepped forward and slapped her, hard. Then I spun and hit Dominic with the back of my hand. Truffle yelped and leaped from Dominic’s arms, latching its teeth onto my calf. I sucked in a sharp breath, but the pain only fueled my rage. I kicked the dog away. Truffle let out a strangled, agonizing cry. “Truffle!” Dominic shrieked, his voice utterly broken. The next second, a hard, brutal impact struck my gut. Seraphina’s eyes were blazing with a hatred so intense I thought she might tear me apart. “Elias Maxwell, how could you be so cruel? It’s just a pet!” I stared back at her, biting down on my lip as cold sweat poured from my face. My stomach was on fire. Seraphina frowned. “Stop being dramatic. It was just a kick.” It was just a kick. But she was a national champion black belt. “Dad!” Owen burst from the bedroom, his eyes wide with fear. Seraphina’s focus snapped to him. She grabbed Owen’s collar, violently yanking him closer. “Who is this? Why is he calling you Dad?” I lunged at her, ignoring the throbbing agony in my abdomen, and sank my teeth into her arm. She cried out and released Owen. I pulled him into my arms. The sight seemed to pierce her. Her eyes turned scarlet, her teeth grinding. “Eli, you betrayed me?” Before she could press for answers, Dominic let out a piercing scream. “Sera! Truffle isn’t moving!” She spun instantly toward Dominic and the dog. Before she left, she shot me a look of pure menace. “If anything happens to Truffle, I swear, I will destroy you.” Watching her walk away—to a dog—I felt the last of my strength drain away. I collapsed onto the floor. Owen was sobbing hysterically. “Dad, don’t sleep! Don’t leave Owen again!” I tried to reach up and wipe his tears, but my arm wouldn’t move. Before I lost consciousness, I saw Owen pick up my phone, expertly dial 911, and rattle off the address. I woke up in a sterile hospital bed. After the doctor examined me, he handed me a document. It was a prenatal scan. Seraphina’s. She was pregnant. She’d been at the clinic two weeks ago and forgotten to take the results. The person who accompanied her was Dominic Keller. I, the biological father, was finding out about my child’s existence this way. I looked at the tiny shadow on the scan, an image that in a few months would become the adorable boy standing before me. Owen, however, was terrified. “Dad, you absolutely cannot marry Mom for my sake. I would rather disappear from this world than see you suffer again.” He buried his face in my chest, crying. “Please, Dad. Don’t keep me.” I held him, my own chest tight with grief and confusion. In the few days we’d been together, he had become a piece of me. I couldn’t let go. Suddenly, Seraphina’s private security detail burst into the room. They forcefully dragged Owen and me to a high-end pet clinic. Truffle lay stiffly on a metallic table. A bodyguard kicked the back of my knee, forcing me to fall to the cold floor. The sight of me sent Dominic into a frenzy. He lunged, clawing and slapping my face. “You killed Truffle!” “He was sick already, I could have had a few more days! You hastened his death! I’m going to kill you!” He yanked my hair, slapped me, and gouged my face with his nails. Seraphina watched, a flicker of pain in her eyes—for Dominic—but she did nothing to intervene. “Let Dom vent,” she said, cold and hard. “It’s your own doing.” Owen, furious, kicked his small legs. “Bad man! Don’t hurt my Dad!” “Dad?” Dominic grabbed Owen’s face, turning it from side to side. He let out a chilling, maniacal laugh. “Sera, look! He’s a spitting image of Elias. He must be that bastard child from eight years ago!” Seraphina and I both went pale. Eight years ago, on Sera’s birthday, was the darkest day of my life. I had nearly been assaulted. When I dragged my broken body home, the mansion was engulfed in flames. My parents, thinking I was trapped inside, rushed into the inferno. They saved Seraphina, but died themselves. Sera later nearly beat my attacker to death. I told her the lunatic hadn’t succeeded. She had said she believed me. But her reaction now proved she never had. My vision was red. I glared at Sera, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “He is not!” He looks exactly like you, too, Seraphina! Don’t you see it? Sera tightened her fists, taking a deep, ragged breath. “It doesn’t matter either way…” Then, she violently grabbed Owen by the collar, marched to a window, slid it open, and dangled him outside. I screamed, horrified. “Seraphina, what are you doing?” Her face was expressionless, vacant. “Truffle needs a proper burial. Your parents’ plot has the best Feng Shui. I’m going to put Truffle there.” “I’ll find a new, adequate plot for your parents. This is what you owe Truffle.” My breath hitched. I trembled with rage. “Seraphina, are you even human? My parents died because of you—!” “I know!” Sera snapped, cutting me off, her eyes hardening. “Stop reminding me. I agreed to marry you, and I haven’t celebrated a birthday in eight years. That’s enough penance!” She looked down at the boy in her grasp. “Now you choose. Him, or your parents’ peace.” She started counting down. “Three… Two…” “The child! I choose the child!” I shrieked, my heart tearing. Mom, Dad, your son is sorry! Sera pursed her lips, clearly dissatisfied with my choice. She threw Owen onto the floor like garbage. Then, she gently scooped the deceased Maltese into her arms. She cast one last cold glance at Owen and me before walking away, never looking back. Dominic stood over me, his lips curled into a smug, victorious smile. “That lunatic woman eight years ago? I set that up.” “You bastard!” I roared, struggling against the guards. Dominic leaned down, his sharp nail digging into my cheek. “And another secret… I was in the mansion the day of the fire.” My eyes were scarlet. “You caused it?” “Not me!” Dominic cackled, maniacally. “It was close. Your mother was unlucky, a cabinet fell on her. Your father could have escaped, but he insisted on going back for her.” He leaned in closer. “And Sera? She only wanted to save me. She told me, ‘Hurry, let them go, don’t worry about them…’” “The screams of your parents… So sad…” Each word was a razor-sharp blade, systematically dismantling me. I screamed, a guttural, agonizing sound of pure grief. A wrenching pain tore through my chest, and I violently spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. I woke up in the hospital again. Owen was there, his eyes swollen and red. He threw himself into my arms. “Dad, let’s not have Mom. Don’t have Mom!” I held him tight. “Okay. We won’t.” A few days later, Seraphina called. Her tone was a cold, non-negotiable notification. “Truffle is being buried tomorrow. Come and take your parents’ ashes.” My voice was ice. “Fine.” There was a silence on the line. After a long moment, her voice softened, laced with a plea. “After Truffle’s service is over, we’ll go pick out our wedding attire, okay?” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound, and hung up. The next day, at the cemetery gates, my legs felt like lead. Owen held my hand. “Dad, tomorrow is the day of the car crash. Let’s leave here. Please?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes. We’ll take Grandma and Grandpa with us and leave.” But just then, a car swerved out of nowhere, not slowing, and charged straight for us. “No! The crash isn’t supposed to be today!” Owen screamed, his eyes wide with horror. He shoved me hard. “Dad!”

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My boyfriend hired my husband. For a long time, I was a master of compartmentalization, a fortress of carefully constructed walls. Then came the disaster of Valentine’s Day. Two bouquets on my desk, two gifts, and two hotel key cards. When Grant found out I was married, the explosion was nuclear. He left for a month-long “business trip,” a punishment of pure, unadulterated silence. The day he came back, he refused to see me. I found him after three too many glasses of wine. He held himself rigid, reining in a rage that vibrated in the air between us. “Lena,” he said, pushing me away with a devastating gentleness. “I don’t do leftovers.” His voice was low, each word a carefully placed stone. “I want all of you. That includes your heart, your past, everything. It all has to be mine.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. “Divorce him. And I’ll still want you.” “Do you understand?” 1 I woke up in Grant’s bed to the insistent buzz of my phone. The name flashing on the screen—Husband—was a cattle prod to my system. I shot upright, the silk sheets pooling around my waist. Beside me, Grant shifted, a frown creasing his brow. His hand moved blindly, a possessive, sleepy gesture that found my hip. I lifted his arm, its dead weight a familiar anchor, and slipped out of bed as quietly as I could. I padded out to the balcony, the cool morning air a shock against my skin, and answered the call. “Hello, Arthur?” “I start at your company today,” he said. “Director of Strategic Planning.” His voice was steady, methodical. He delivered the news like a weather report—calm, factual, devoid of any emotional inflection. But the words were a grenade detonating in the quiet of my mind. “You… what?” “Who hired you?” A slight pause. “Someone in upper management,” he said, as if considering the technical accuracy of his statement. Then he added, “Your direct supervisor, I believe. Grant.” Arthur was the new head of my department. And Grant was my boss. And Arthur’s boss. The biggest boss. My boyfriend hired my husband. And parked him right under his own nose. I raked a hand through my hair, my thoughts scattering like birds. “Lena, don’t feel pressured,” Arthur continued, his tone unreadable. “I intend to keep things strictly professional.” Was that what he thought I was worried about? “You were doing just fine on the West Coast,” I said, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice. “Why did you suddenly come back?” “There were a few things I needed to handle,” he said simply. “And coincidentally, there was something I needed to discuss with you.” “What is it?” I couldn’t imagine what business he could possibly have with our company, let alone me. “We can talk about it tomorrow in person,” he said. “Do you need me to bring you breakfast?” “No,” I said, a little too quickly. “I’m fine.” The line went dead. I walked back into the bedroom and sank onto the edge of the bed. My bare feet sank into the plush gray carpet, but my insides were a tangled mess. Grant was still mostly asleep, his arm searching the empty space where I’d been. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open, locating me in the dim light. A long arm shot out, hooking around my waist and pulling me back down into the warmth of the sheets. “Heard you talking in your sleep,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly remnant of the night. His breath was warm against my ear, laced with an attachment he’d never admit to when he was fully awake. “Kept saying ‘husband’.” He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Getting sentimental on me, Lena?” I was about to fire back a retort, but he cut me off, pressing a fierce, possessive kiss to the side of my face. His hand tightened on my waist. “Say it again,” he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. “I want to hear it.” “Grant!” I yelped, squirming away. “I don’t want to go to work!” It came out as a petulant wail, a last-ditch effort to postpone the inevitable. A day at the office was not on my agenda. He laughed, a genuine, startled sound, and propped himself up on an elbow to look at me. “Lena, I asked you to be sweet,” he said, an eyebrow arching in amusement. “Not to challenge me.” 2 I hid in the bathroom for thirty minutes, hoping the world might rearrange itself while I stalled. It didn’t. When I finally emerged, Grant was leaning against the kitchen doorway, a mug of coffee in one hand. He’d made me a plate with a single fried egg and a glass of warm milk. Our eyes met in the vanity mirror. “Lena,” he said, his voice deceptively casual. “Don’t even think about telling me you’re calling in sick. You’ve already burned through your next three months of PTO this week.” I wiped my face, feeling the heat of a blush, and sat down at the small dining table. “I told you I don’t like cold milk.” “It’s warm,” he replied without missing a beat. “Well, I like my eggs fully cooked. This part right here is still runny.” “Fine,” he said, his voice flat. “Next time I’ll char it for you.” Grant’s comebacks were always swift and merciless. I took a bite of the toast. “I’ve told you a million times, I like peanut butter on my toast.” “It’s on there. You just haven’t gotten to that part yet.” I searched for another flaw, my protest growing weaker. “You didn’t put peanut butter on it last week.” He finally looked up from his phone, his gaze sharp. “Lena. Stop picking fights. Eat your breakfast. I’m driving you to work.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Of course, if you don’t want to eat, there’s a good chance breakfast will cease to be a service I provide.” The chef was threatening a strike. That was a non-starter. He could survive on black coffee and sheer willpower. I, a mere corporate drone, required actual sustenance. I would perish. “Grant,” I said, changing tactics. “I heard you hired someone new?” He was scrolling through emails. “Your sources are surprisingly quick,” he said, not looking up. “Hey, I’ve been with the company for five years. I have my ways.” “Five years and you’re still in the same position. I could have trained a monkey to do your job and it would have been promoted by now.” I bristled. He was the one who had personally mentored me for the last three years. If I hadn’t progressed, wasn’t that a reflection on him? I took another bite of toast. This time, I hit the peanut butter. My mood instantly improved. “I don’t need the money, so why kill myself climbing the corporate ladder?” To compensate for our arrangement, Arthur wired a substantial amount of money into my account every month. For the sake of appearances, he’d also send transfers on holidays and buy me things. I had more money than I knew what to do with. The burden of the secretly wealthy. I circled back to my original question. Grant still didn’t look up. “He’s the new director. Good temperament. If you screw up, he won’t yell at you. He’ll probably just lecture you like you’re one of his students.” I nodded slowly. That sounded exactly like Arthur. He was the kind of man who could watch me attempt to cook—an event not dissimilar to a controlled demolition—without so much as a frown. I should mention, my culinary skills are legendary. A former colleague of mine, Rick, once managed to set his entire apartment building on fire because he couldn’t get the gas stove to light and decided a Bic lighter was the next logical step. He ended up in a holding cell for the night. When he called Grant to explain why he needed a day off, Grant was stunned into silence before finally muttering, “You’re a special kind of talent, Rick.” Rick thought it was a compliment. He was fired a week later. … I finished my breakfast. Grant glanced at what I was wearing and, without a word, grabbed a handbag from my closet that actually matched. His aesthetic sense was one of his few undeniable virtues. He was rarely wrong. 3 When we got to the office building, I had him pull over a block away. I jumped out of the car like a fugitive. Grant leaned over the passenger seat, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why so jumpy, Lena? It’s not like I have a policy against office romance.” Please. The main issue was that I was about to be late. I hurried to the elevator bank and jabbed the ‘up’ button. Grant followed at a leisurely pace, the crisp sound of his leather-soled shoes echoing on the marble floor. He wasn’t in any rush. It was like he was deliberately trying to fray my last nerve. I breathed deeply and stepped into the elevator first. Just as Grant reached the doors, I decisively hit the ‘close’ button. “Sorry, Mr. Crawford,” I said sweetly. “You’ll have to catch the next one.” Grant’s eyebrows shot up. He watched as I, clad in low-rise jeans that revealed a sliver of my waist, gave him a cheeky wave. The smile on my face was pure sugar, but my intentions were anything but. The little rebel. She was getting more brazen by the day. He’d deal with her later. For now, he waited for the next elevator. The new guy was starting today. 4 I spent the morning at my desk feeling like a spy in my own life, jumping at every shadow. At ten o’clock, I saw him. Arthur stepped out of the elevator. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before I snapped my head down, pretending to be utterly absorbed in my monitor. From inside his glass-walled office, Grant watched the whole exchange. He saw Lena straighten up in her chair as if she’d been zapped with a taser. It was almost comical. She didn’t need eyes in the front of her head; she clearly had them in the back. He was smiling to himself when he saw an elegant, scholarly-looking man walk past her desk. Lena’s body went rigid. Grant’s smile vanished. His brow furrowed. The man was now at his office door. His voice was calm, his face handsome in a clean-cut, formal way. “Mr. Crawford? I’m Arthur Thorne, the new Director of Strategic Planning.” Grant tore his gaze away from Lena. “Come in,” he said coolly. “Have a seat.” I couldn’t sit still, my head swiveling back toward Grant’s office every few seconds. On one of these turns, my eyes locked with his. I quickly forced a smile and pretended to be fascinated by the contract in front of me. At eleven-thirty, Grant emerged with Arthur, leading him over to our department. “This is your new boss,” Grant announced to the team. “I’ve done my research for you. The workload is manageable, the pay is good, and he’s known for being generous. You work hard for him, and he’ll take care of you.” A wave of cheers went through the department. I was the only one who remained silent. I looked up, and Arthur was looking directly at me. I quickly averted my gaze. Grant stood off to the side, observing, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. But he quickly masked it, turning to leave and handing the floor over to Arthur. Just before he walked away, Grant shot one last glance at me. I was still staring at Arthur, damn it. Grant decided then and there. They needed to talk. A long, thorough talk. 5 After Grant left, Arthur held a brief introductory meeting. When it was over, just as everyone was getting up, he called out. “Lena, could you stay behind for a moment? We need to sync up.” To the others, he said, “The rest of you can head to lunch.” He didn’t specify what we needed to discuss. I stood by his new desk, clutching my laptop. “What’s up, Arthur?” His serious face betrayed no emotion. His eyes, behind their gold-rimmed glasses, studied me with a quiet intensity. “I may need you to accompany me to a gala in the near future,” he said, his tone formal. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “That’s it?” “Yes.” For a second, I thought it was going to be something much more complicated. “Oh. Okay, sure. I’ve got plenty of time.” As I turned to leave, Arthur closed his laptop and fell into step behind me. “Would you like to have lunch together? We can discuss the details.” And so, I found myself heading upstairs with him to the executive dining room. I only dared to do this because I knew for a fact that Grant never ate the company cafeteria food. He was too picky, surviving on a strict diet of kale salads and black Americanos. Which is why my heart stopped when I walked in and saw him sitting at a table by the window, deep in conversation with another executive. I immediately fell back, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and Arthur. From the moment they entered, Grant’s eyes had been fixed on me. He took in the form-fitting black top, the company ID hanging from a lanyard around my neck. The dark-wash, low-rise jeans. The sliver of pale, smooth skin at my waist. The way I trailed behind Arthur, my high heels clicking on the floor. My chestnut-brown waves bounced with every step, a sight that was starting to seriously irritate him. “The new director in Strategic Planning?” the man across from him asked with a knowing smirk. Grant just gave a cold “Mm.” “That Lena girl certainly has a way with people, doesn’t she?” The man’s laugh was laced with insinuation. Grant’s gaze turned glacial. He looked like he wanted to strangle someone. I felt the prickle of his stare from across the room and sat stiffly in my chair opposite Arthur, my appetite gone. Arthur noticed my discomfort almost immediately. He followed my gaze and saw Grant. He gave a slight, formal nod in his direction. “Does this company have a policy against office relationships?” Arthur asked me in a low voice. “Or should I inform management of our marital status?” My head snapped up. “Don’t you dare!” I whispered fiercely. I hadn’t figured out how to explain any of this to Grant. A man with his pride… if he found out I’d played him for a fool, he would destroy me. I grasped for an excuse. “Just… don’t. I don’t want people gossiping.” Arthur looked down, saying nothing. After a long moment, he pushed a small plate of sweet and sour pork ribs toward me. “Lena,” he said, his voice even. “If this marriage is making you uncomfortable, we can file for a separation.” I looked at him, really looked at him. His dark eyes were sincere, holding no trace of accusation. “But I hope you’ll give me a chance,” he continued earnestly. “I came back to make things right. A divorce isn’t the best solution for us right now. If that’s what you’re thinking, please, just give me a little more time.” A lump formed in my throat. It took me a moment to find my voice. “Okay,” I said, my voice muffled. “I understand.” Before my father passed away, his greatest wish was to see me settled. Around the same time, Arthur’s parents were pressuring him to get married. So, through a mutual acquaintance, we were introduced and bound together in a loveless arrangement. He had always been decent to me. Before we signed the papers, he gave me a prenuptial agreement. It stipulated a generous monthly allowance for me to stay in the city and take care of his parents. It also stated that if I ever started a new relationship, I could terminate the marriage at any time. I had tried. But he was always too busy, constantly traveling, unable to come back. He lived abroad for years. In five years, I could count the number of times we’d seen each other on one hand. But he had never mistreated me. In the last two years, his parents’ health had declined. Just recently, his mother was diagnosed with cancer. Filing for divorce now felt inhuman. So I agreed. “Have you been to see your mother yet?” I asked. “I just got back yesterday. I haven’t told them I’m here.” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go with you to see her tonight.” And just like that, our dinner plans were set. I finished my food as quickly as possible and left. 6 That evening, as I was packing up my desk, a text from Grant came through. Downstairs. Parking garage, B level. I looked up and saw Arthur just stepping out of his office. “Ready? My mom’s already made dinner.” “I just need to run to the restroom,” I said, making a quick escape. I ducked into the women’s room, deliberately taking my time. Finally, I sent a reply to Grant: Sorry, have plans with Olivia tonight! You don’t have to wait for me. xoxo Grant sat in the darkness of his car and read the message. He then calmly picked up his phone and sent a text to Olivia, a junior analyst on my team. Are you free right now? I need some adjustments made to this morning’s contract. Olivia replied almost instantly: Yes, Mr. Crawford! I’m home now, but I can get on it right away. Grant added two minor clauses. Thank you for your hard work. He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. He sat there in the silence, his face a thundercloud. A few minutes later, Arthur appeared at the elevator bank. The sound of high heels echoed in the empty garage. Then, Lena’s silhouette emerged. A short, black puffer jacket was draped over her arm. “It’s freezing out here,” she complained. Arthur took her bag, freeing her hands to put on the jacket. He clicked the unlock button on his key fob. “I have the heat on in the car.” Lena spotted his car and made a beeline for it, diving into the passenger seat. Grant let out a cold, humorless laugh. Looked like she was pretty used to hopping into his car. He reached over and shut off the heat he’d had running just for her. Let her freeze to death. His temples were throbbing with a rage so hot he felt like he could breathe fire. If Lena were standing in front of him right now, she’d be incinerated. Who needed a damn heater? He slammed his hand on the horn. The blare ripped through the quiet garage, startling the occupants of the car ahead. “That’s Mr. Crawford,” Arthur said, glancing in the rearview mirror. I immediately ducked my head down. “Go, go, go!” I urged. “The company doesn’t allow office romance. He’s the strictest one about it.” The car sped out of the garage, a hasty retreat that felt suspiciously like a guilty escape. Grant had seen her duck down to hide from him. A knot of fury lodged itself in his chest, a heavy, unmovable weight. He ended up at a bar on the corner. He took a seat by the window and waited. He waited until eleven-thirty. That’s when he finally saw her, the damn woman, getting out of another man’s car across the street. She was laughing, her whole body swaying with the motion. And Arthur wasn’t exactly a saint, either. He looked so prim and proper, but he was lingering, clearly reluctant to leave. What, was he hoping for an invitation to come inside? Fine. Let’s see if she had the guts to bring another man home. With that thought, Grant downed the rest of his drink, grabbed his coat, and stormed out of the bar. He stood a short distance away, watching them. His brow was knitted, his posture radiating an aggressive energy. He looked like a man on the edge, someone you didn’t want to cross. He was impossible to miss. Arthur saw him instantly. He looked at Lena. “I see Mr. Crawford again.” I quickly turned my back to the street, not daring to look. “It’s late,” I said, my voice rushed. “You should get going.” “My mom packed you some dumplings. Make sure you put them in the freezer.” I took the container from him. Arthur then pulled a case of cherries and a durian from his trunk. “Go on inside,” he said. I didn’t dare turn around yet. “You go first.” Arthur nodded. His eyes met Grant’s across the street. He could feel the murderous intent radiating from the other man, but he simply gave another polite, almost imperceptible nod. Then he got in his car and drove away. 7 Grant’s eyes were locked on me, predatory, like a hawk circling its prey. My legs were starting to go numb from standing in one spot. The moment Grant looked down to light a cigarette, I made a dash for the entrance to my apartment building. We were on the same street, just a few yards apart. “Well, well,” Grant’s voice cut through the night as he looked up and saw me. “Look who decided to bring home groceries.” I turned, feigning surprise. “Oh, you’re still here? So late.” I slowly walked over to him. A faint smell of whiskey clung to him. I leaned in closer, sniffing. Grant held his cigarette away from me, his other hand coming up to press against my shoulder, keeping me at a distance. “Do I know you?” I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘do you know me?’ Wasn’t it me who woke up in your bed this morning?” “Ha.” Grant tapped the ash from his cigarette, his expression utterly frigid. “So you do remember waking up in my bed, Lena.” He emphasized the word ‘bed’, his dark eyes glinting with a cold light. “You know what I’m like, Lena. Explain. Before I lose my temper.” “Who is he?” I bit my lip, gathering the courage to speak. “He… he is…” Just then, Grant’s phone rang. His face was a mask of thunder as he answered it. I sidled up to him, tugging gently on the sleeve of his coat. He shot me a warning glance. I took his hand. His knuckles were ice-cold, but his palm was burning hot. When he didn’t pull away, I dared to lace my fingers through his. The call ended. Grant stubbed out his cigarette. He looked down at our intertwined hands. “There’s an issue with one of the new interns. I have to go.” Which intern? Why was he so concerned? “You’ve been drinking. I’ll drive you.” I reached for the car keys in his pocket. He didn’t stop me. But as I urged him toward the car, he stood his ground. “You go home. I’ll get a cab.” Oh. I turned and walked toward my building. The moment his taxi pulled away, I found his car parked down the street, got in, and followed him. 8 The main avenue was a river of light, lined with upscale restaurants where executives entertained clients. When I arrived, I saw Grant emerging from one of them with someone. It was the new intern, a girl named Lauren. I’d heard she was a nepotism hire, someone with connections. Grant had assigned her to me for training. Lauren was wearing Grant’s suit jacket. She was trembling, clearly distraught. She buried her face in Grant’s chest, and he, with a deep frown, didn’t push her away. He even patted her shoulder comfortingly. Hugging another woman in the middle of the night. So this was his “issue.” I hit the hazard lights and leaned against the side of my car, my arms crossed. I watched them like I was watching a movie. I watched for a long time. And then, Grant saw me.

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When David and I signed the divorce papers, a strange calm settled over us. He asked, with a veneer of concern, what I wanted. My answer came without a second thought. “The cars, the house, the savings.” “And half the shares in your company.” David froze, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What about the children? You don’t want either of them?” “You love them so much. Can you really bear to leave Leo and Mia behind?” My gaze fell to the latticework of scars on my wrist, a silent testament to years of self-inflicted pain. I gave a small, slow shake of my head. Not anymore. From this day forward, the only thing I wanted from David Thorne was his money. Everything else connected to him, I was leaving behind. 1. Faced with my cold detachment, David looked like he wanted to say something more. But after a moment’s hesitation, he simply fell silent and signed his name to the agreement. As we parted, he offered a final, polite gesture. “I can’t give you the shares, but you will always be the children’s mother.” “If you ever run into trouble, you can always come to me.” I nodded. The moment I turned away, the business card he’d handed me found its home in the nearest trash can. In this lifetime, I would rather die than ever see David Thorne again. Back at the house, I told the housekeeper to pack up all of David’s belongings and throw them out. She chuckled, unconcerned. “Ma’am, did you and Mr. Thorne have another fight?” “If you ask me, you should just let it blow over,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “He does care for you, deep down. It’s not worth throwing away your position as Mrs. Thorne over a little spat.” Maria had seen everything. All the years of pain, the humiliation I’d endured. She knew the torrential force of my love for David. She had also witnessed my hysterics, the countless times I’d shattered in the face of his betrayals. Like David, she was convinced I would never leave. But this time, I didn’t break down in tears and complaints as I usually did. Instead, I took our wedding portrait down from the wall and spoke, my voice calm and empty. “My mother is dead.” The smile vanished from Maria’s face. She stood frozen, stammering an apology, her hands fluttering uselessly. I offered a faint, humorless smile and said nothing. With all my strength, I brought the heavy frame down, smashing it to pieces on the floor. Maria jumped back, startled. Then, she was crouching beside me, helping me clean up the shards of glass. She expertly bandaged the cut on my hand, a wound torn open by the impact. “Good,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “Good riddance!” “You’re an Ivy League graduate, a brilliant woman. You can live a much better life without him.” “You don’t have to take that kind of pain anymore, my dear.” “I know,” I whispered, my head bowed. I hadn’t wanted to cry. But as I looked down, the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. There was regret, and a deep, aching sadness. But beneath it all, there was something else. A glimmer of the dizzying joy of a survivor. After ten years of entanglement, the fairytale romance of the prince and the cinder-girl had finally reached its end. It wasn’t a happy ending, but it was the one I should have seen coming all along. 2. At eighteen, I was the top student in my county, accepted into one of the most prestigious Ivy League universities. That same year, I met David Thorne, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation. The beginning of our story was, like all fairytales, breathtakingly romantic. For David, it was love at first sight. After his speech, he began a relentless, whirlwind courtship. He’d wait for me after class with flowers and my favorite latte. He’d bribe my roommates with cash just to know my schedule. He memorized every trivial detail about me and declared his love in a field of a thousand roses he’d had planted just for me. Back then, everyone said we wouldn’t last. They were certain a small-town girl like me, a nobody, could never truly fit into his world. But David didn’t care. He brushed off their doubts, determined to be with me. He fought against the pressure from his family and proposed, shielding me from all the malice and judgment. Under his protection, my life, once a struggle, was suddenly switched to easy mode. Jewelry and bouquets, graduate school placements, opportunities to study abroad—everything was laid at my feet before I even had to ask. What teenage girl, inexperienced and full of dreams, could resist such an onslaught? I fell, hard and fast. I gave up my ambitions and stepped into the gilded cage of marriage. Dating, marriage, pregnancy, childbirth. It all unfolded so seamlessly. For the girl I was then, life felt impossibly easy. Everything I ever wanted was mine for the taking. I was drunk on love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag. The day our son, Leo, was born, the Thorne matriarch, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my child from my arms. Her smile was polite, perfectly composed, but her voice was a shard of ice. “Leo is the future heir to the Thorne fortune. His position is of the utmost importance.” “Your background, your… upbringing… hardly qualifies you to raise him.” I had carried him for ten months, endured a difficult birth, and I wasn’t even allowed to hold him. To even see my own son, I had to get permission first. I begged David, pleaded with him not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our baby. He just looked at me with a strange expression. “My mother’s right, you know. You’re from the countryside.” “She made it clear from the start. I can fool around all I want, but when it comes to the children, her word is law.” I was on the verge of collapsing from grief. But David simply pulled me into his arms and kissed me, completely ignoring my tears. He laughed it off. “Come on, don’t be so sad.” “If you want a baby that badly, we can just make another one.” I couldn’t push him away. But then his eyes caught the faint, silvery stretch marks on my stomach. He stopped. A flicker of… something between hesitation and disgust… crossed his face. After a long moment, he pulled away and said flatly, “You’ve had a long day. You should get some rest.” David’s indifference was like a bucket of ice water, shocking me out of my long, beautiful dream. I remembered his mother’s contempt, the snickering of those around me. And I suddenly understood. This grand, sweeping love affair of ours? It had been nothing more than the indulgent whim of a rich boy. Fate had showered me with blessings. Now, it was starting to collect the interest. And my son was just the beginning. In the weeks after giving birth, I spiraled into a severe postpartum depression. My calls to David went unanswered. My texts were left unread. Just as I started to panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to him, the news broke. Scandalous photos of him in bed with some starlet were plastered across every gossip site overnight. The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was kicked to the curb. The public mockery and vicious comments shattered the last fragments of my fairytale. I couldn’t accept it. My depression deepened. David and I had the most violent argument of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony. That finally got his attention. He rushed to grab me, his hands trembling as he apologized. He was just like every other cheating husband, crying that he was sorry, that it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me and I had to give him another chance. That night, David knelt before me, his face wet with tears. “Nina, please. Can you forgive me, just this once?” 3. I made the second worst decision of my life. I chose to forgive him. For our son. For the stubborn love I couldn’t yet sever. And because a sudden car accident had left my mother in critical condition, robbing me of my last safe harbor. So, David and I reconciled. And soon, I was pregnant with our second child, Mia. Like her brother, Mia was taken from me the moment she was born. The excuse this time was that David needed to focus on his work and couldn’t be disturbed by a crying baby. Just to see my own children, I had to go to the Thorne estate before dawn every day to perform my duties. I served tea, massaged Mrs. Thorne’s shoulders and back, and even knelt to wash her feet. I humbled myself in every way imaginable, all for the small mercy of being allowed to spend a few moments with Leo and Mia. But all my desperate efforts were rewarded with David’s flagrant betrayals and the deep-seated resentment of my own children. Leo never called me “Mom.” Whenever he saw me, he would scowl and say, “That stupid country woman is here again. I don’t want to see her.” Mia was too young to speak, but she would cry and reach for her grandmother the moment I came near. Meanwhile, my mother’s condition was steadily worsening. The coldness of my children, the crushing weight of my life… I was exhausted, hollowed out by despair. And in the moments when I needed him most, David was off building a new life with another woman. It was our wedding anniversary. Leo refused my invitation to celebrate. David didn’t answer my calls. Instead, his new lover took the initiative and sent me a video of them in bed together. Listening to their moans and whispers, I finally shattered completely. I lost control and dragged a razor across my arm. By the time Maria burst into the bathroom, I was bleeding out on the floor. She frantically called David. This time, he didn’t show up until dawn. He crouched in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looked at the gruesome wounds on my arm. “Still here? I thought you were going to die.” “It’s been a whole night. How are you still clinging to this family like a stray dog?” His words ripped open the fragile calm I’d found. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the balcony. I didn’t die. I just broke my leg. Mrs. Thorne paid off the reporters and had me dragged to my mother’s hospital. She stood over me, her voice dripping with cold fury. “The ICU costs twenty thousand dollars a day.” “If you ever dare to embarrass the Thorne family again, I will make sure your mother joins you.” For the first time, I realized that even death was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I couldn’t let go of the love that once was, couldn’t sever the ties to my children. So I remained, shrinking myself into nothingness in a marriage devoid of self. I watched my children pull away from me. I watched David move from one woman to the next. I watched them use my mother as a leash to control my life. A marriage into wealth was both a sweet paradise and a chain of torment. Cinderella had ascended to become Mrs. Thorne, but the Prince was still lost in his games of love, “rescuing” one poor, beautiful girl after another. Until one day, David went too far. He fell for a socialite in her thirties, a woman with multiple divorces under her belt, and got her pregnant. Mrs. Thorne was livid. She slapped me twice across the face, her voice shaking with rage as she berated me for failing to control my husband. “A woman who can’t even hold onto her own husband’s heart—what use are you?” “I am ordering you to clean up this mess immediately. If you don’t…” “I will cut off your mother’s medical payments and ensure you never see Leo and Mia again!” After my marriage had crumbled into ruin, the last thread of family I had left was my only reason for living. I couldn’t lose my mother. I couldn’t lose that final connection. With a heavy heart, I went to see the woman, Vivienne. Unlike David’s previous flings, she wasn’t arrogant or condescending. She was polite, almost deferential. She called me “Mrs. Thorne” with every other breath, her eyes dripping with faux admiration. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thorne. I never intended to disrupt your family.” “It’s just… I love David so much.” “But if it’s for his own good, I’m willing to terminate the pregnancy and disappear from his life forever.” Vivienne was true to her word. She took the money and vanished without a trace. That night, for the first time in a long time, David came back to our bedroom. Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed. For an entire month, he barely let me leave it. Until I was pregnant with our third child. As a reward for solving David’s “problem” and a way to keep him at home, Mrs. Thorne made an unprecedented concession: I would be allowed to raise this child myself. Around the same time, under the care of the Thorne family’s private medical team, my mother’s health began to improve. I was ecstatic. I thought the worst was finally over. I thought things were finally looking up. But when I was eight months pregnant… David pushed me down the stairs.

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I must have told my best friend to dump him a thousand times. In the end, I was the one drinking champagne at their wedding. On the day of the wedding, I sat at the head table with the groom’s chief strategist, auditing the damages on our phones. Turns out, every time those two had a meltdown, we were the collateral damage. Our chat histories were eerily identical. [It’s over. For real this time.] [But what am I supposed to do? I can’t stop thinking about him/her.] The Groom’s Strategist: [Get a new job. The circus is hiring clowns.] Me: [You owe me emotional damages.] 1 I must have told my best friend to break up with him a thousand times. In the end, I was the one drinking champagne at their wedding. The day the news dropped, my heart was a placid lake as I let out a hollow laugh—the kind you’d expect from a jaded queen in an old tragedy. But as Grace Evans’ ride-or-die since we were kids, I showed up. I was her maid of honor, after all. I even came bearing a hefty check and a lavish wedding gift. It was a joyous occasion, but I couldn’t crack a smile. Finally, Grace looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Tracy, if you can’t smile, don’t. You look cool and mysterious with a straight face anyway.” “…” Fine. My best friend might be a hopeless romantic, but she was marrying into a family whose net worth had more commas than a grammar textbook. Plus, she still loved me. I could tolerate it. When the groom’s party arrived, I noticed one of the groomsmen looked even more miserable than I did. He seemed to fundamentally disapprove of this marriage. He was handsome, though, in a completely different way from the groom. A single black stud gleamed in his left earlobe, accentuating his sharp, sculpted features. He had a roguish charm, and the tailored suit added a layer of dangerous sophistication. One of the other bridesmaids noticed him and whispered to Grace, asking who he was. And then I heard the name that had been a curse word in my vocabulary for years: Caleb Vance. Just as I was Grace’s best friend, this Caleb Vance was apparently the groom, Liam Foster’s, childhood confidant. For the longest time, I had harbored a bone-deep hatred for this man I’d never met, a hatred second only to my feelings for Liam himself. Because every time I thought those two were finally done for good, this damned Caleb would whisper some brilliant strategy into his friend’s ear, and that dog Liam would somehow win my best friend back. He was the master strategist behind their reunion. This wedding should have been his ultimate victory. So why the long face? Was he trying to provoke me? 2 While the bride and groom were grinning like absolute fools, Caleb and I stood there, our faces frozen masks of indifference. After what felt like an eternity of ceremonies, I finally found my seat at the main table. I don’t know if the seating planner was a chaos agent, but Caleb was seated right next to me. The air buzzed with cheerful chatter, but a bubble of silence surrounded the two of us. We could have been mutes. I watched him idly swipe through his phone before he turned his head, his gaze locking directly onto mine. Normally, when strangers make eye contact, one of them looks away after a second or two. This man did not look away. Okay? I was now certain he was challenging me. So I held his gaze, refusing to back down. After a long moment, amidst the lively din of the reception, I heard his low voice. “Ms. Shaw. I’ve heard a lot about you.” So, he knew who I was. I offered a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Mr. Vance. A pleasure.” But that wasn’t enough to convey years of pent-up frustration. I added, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “This day wouldn’t have been possible without you. Your contribution has been… invaluable.” A slight frown creased his brow. “Thank you. The same could be said for you.” I scoffed. “Oh, I don’t think we’re quite the same. If Grace and Liam’s relationship was a road full of bumps, I was the pothole.” God knows when I started trying to break them up. From the moment they were just flirting, I knew Liam was wrong for her. And sure enough, their five years together were a dizzying rollercoaster of breakups and makeups. I don’t know if they were exhausted, but the drama was enough to make me swear off men for life. Dating? I’d rather adopt a dog. A few seconds later, Caleb replied, “Then I must have been the roadblock.” “Huh?” I turned to face him again. “Weren’t you the one always pushing for them to get back together?” “Who told you that?” Something wasn’t adding up. I narrowed my eyes. “If you weren’t his master strategist, then why did Liam always come crawling back right when they were on the verge of a real breakup?” 3 Caleb looked genuinely offended. He unlocked his phone, scrolled back about three months, and angled the screen toward me. Liam: [Bro, this might be it for real. I’m done with that heartless woman!] Caleb hadn’t replied. Two hours later— Liam: [Bro, she said yes! (Grinning emoji)] Liam: [Congratulate me, I’m getting married!] Caleb: [?] Caleb: [Have fun being her lapdog for the rest of your life. She tugs the leash, you bark.] Caleb: [You were born a man, but you’re choosing to live like a poodle. Stay close to your master.] Liam: [Are you just jealous I’m getting a wife?] … Caleb looked at me, his expression deadpan. “Do you have any idea how close I was to having an aneurysm? They cry breakup at every little thing. Who knows if they won’t cry divorce next? I’m doomed to be tortured by these two for the rest of my life. Do you understand my despair?” Silently, I opened my own phone and found my chat with Grace from that same day. Grace: [Tracy, I broke up with him.] Me: [For how many days this time?] Grace: [No, this time it’s for real! I’m completely over him!] I replied with a single, skeptical emoji. Two hours later— Grace: [Tracy, I have to tell you something. Please don’t be mad.] Me: [You got back together?] Grace: [He proposed! (Shy emoji)] Grace: [I said yes.] I said quietly, “I felt my world collapse.” Caleb stared at me. “…So you were trying to break them up?” “You were too?” Our eyes met, and a silent, horrified understanding passed between us. We started comparing notes, scrolling through our phones like two auditors examining a fraudulent account. And we discovered that history was alarmingly consistent. 4 Liam: [We broke up. For real this time.] Liam: [But what do I do? I can’t get her out of my head.] Caleb: [Listen to me. Get a new job. The circus is hiring clowns.] Grace: [Tracy, I’m really done with him this time.] Grace: [But I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking about him.] Me: [You owe me emotional damages.] Grace: Wire Transfer – $520.00 I tolerated it. Caleb’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Why does your best friend compensate you for her breakup drama?” “Your buddy doesn’t?” Caleb fell into a profound silence. As I scrolled further, I realized just how vicious Caleb’s texts could be. Liam: [Thinking about my ex. What should I do?] Caleb: [Go stand on your balcony.] Liam: [What? Did you tell Grace to come see me?] Caleb: [Let the cold wind clear your head. If an hour doesn’t work, try all night. If that doesn’t work, just jump.] Liam: [I looked it up. Capricorns are just slow to warm up.] Liam: [That’s why it’s taking so long to win her over.] Caleb: [What celestial sin did we Capricorns commit to be slandered by you like this?] Liam: [I sent her this huge paragraph. Why isn’t she replying?] Liam: [screenshot.jpg] Caleb: [All I see is a wall of text memorializing your dead dignity.] … Then, a look at my own chats— Grace: [I broke up with him. His parents are setting him up with someone from a ‘good family.’] Grace: [I’m done with love forever.] Me: [Okay.] Grace: [I’m in love again!] Me: [New guy?] Grace: [It’s still him.] Me: [Respect. Blessings. May you be locked together for eternity.] Grace: [He forgot our anniversary. He obviously doesn’t love me anymore.] Me: [People get forgetful when they get older. It’s normal.] Grace: [He’s not old! He’s my age!] Me: [A man is basically 60 after he turns 25. Trust me, find someone younger.] Grace: [But he’s… he’s still so good to me. (Shy emoji)] … Looking back, it seemed Caleb had actually tried to be supportive at first. It was only after years of this torture that he turned into this venomous, cynical wreck. There were countless chats just like these. But through the years, neither my efforts nor Caleb’s acid tongue could permanently sever the bond between those two. The power of a love-addled brain was truly terrifying. One was bad enough, but this was a case of two. Caleb and I locked eyes again. This time, we saw the same shared misery reflected in each other’s souls. “Bro,” I said. “Sis,” he replied. It was time to formalize our alliance. 5 Two souls, united by shared suffering, exchanged contact information. Caleb’s voice was weary, aged beyond his years. “How long do you give them?” My face was numb. “I’m hoping for a month.” We talked for a long time, our conversation drifting from the newlyweds to our own lives and work. “You work at the Innovatech Campus too?” he asked, surprised. I blinked. “Too?” “I just got transferred back there. I’ll take you out for dinner sometime, sis.” 6 On the first workday after the wedding, Caleb made good on his promise. Caleb: [Sis, your bro is here to deliver. Dinner tonight?] I felt a slight twitch at the word “sis.” Me: [Bro, you promised. Your treat.] Caleb: [Don’t worry, your bro’s got money.] Satisfied, I put my phone away. After work, I waited for him downstairs. A sleek black Mercedes G-Wagon pulled up to the curb, and the window rolled down to reveal Caleb’s aggressively handsome face. He wasn’t in a suit today, but a black technical jacket. The stud in his ear caught the last rays of the setting sun, glinting softly. He looked even more roguish. “Get in. I know a great spot.” I slid into the passenger seat. He took me to a hidden gem of a restaurant, tucked away on a quiet side street. The ambiance was serene, the food was divine. I dug in, and Caleb poured me a cup of tea from across the table. “Slow down. No one’s going to steal it from you.” I mumbled an affirmative through a mouthful of food. Halfway through the meal, my phone rang. It was Grace. My heart skipped a beat, a familiar sense of dread washing over me. Sure enough, the moment I answered, her tearful voice came through the line. “Tracy, I don’t think Liam loves me anymore!” “…” I shot a look at Caleb, who returned it with an expression that said, I know that tone. “It’s been, what, three days, my dear sister?” I hissed into the phone. “Did you have a fight on your honeymoon?” “No, we haven’t even gone on our honeymoon yet.” “Then what is it now?” “He said he was working late tonight on a huge project. But I was just scrolling through my feed and saw a picture his coworker posted. They’re out for a team-building event! They’re at a karaoke bar!” “He lied to me! He doesn’t care about me at all!” I took a deep breath, feeling my blood pressure spike. “Is it possible that they finished the project and are celebrating?” “No way! He just doesn’t love me anymore!” As I was racking my brain for a way to calm her down, Caleb suddenly held his hand out to me. I paused, then handed him my phone. Caleb cleared his throat and spoke into the phone in a calm, authoritative voice. “Grace, hello. This is Caleb Vance.” The other end of the line went dead silent. “Liam’s project tonight? I was in charge of it. We just wrapped up,” he continued smoothly. “My team has been killing themselves over this for the past two weeks. I’m treating them tonight, on my dime. I picked the place. Liam didn’t even want to come, I had to drag him here.” “He didn’t give you the details because he didn’t want you to worry. That was his mistake. But I can personally guarantee you, he is absolutely devoted to you.” “If you don’t believe me, I can put him on the phone right now.” After a few seconds of silence, Grace’s small voice came through. “N-no, that’s okay, Caleb. I’m sorry, I misunderstood. I hope you guys have fun.” The call ended. I stared at Caleb, dumbfounded. “Bro, with skills like that… you’re wasted in tech. You should be in PR.” Caleb handed my phone back, his expression unreadable. “You get used to it.” “I did this all the time when they were dating. Standard procedure.” “Calm one party down, then give the other an easy way out.” “What else are we supposed to do? Let them actually tear their lives apart?” I suddenly realized he was even more of a long-suffering parent than I was. Just then, Caleb’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, answered it on speaker with a deadpan look. It was Liam. “Bro! Help me!” Liam’s panicked voice yelled. “I think my wife is mad at me! She’s not answering my texts!” “I think she’s going to ask for a divorce!” Caleb said, “Leave the karaoke bar right now. Go to the nearest flower shop and buy a bouquet of roses. Then go to a bakery and get her favorite strawberry shortcake. Then go home and get on your knees.” Liam was confused. “Huh? Why?” Caleb’s voice was dangerously calm. “Because when your wife called in a panic, I, in an effort to cover for your sorry ass, told her that I was in charge of your project tonight.” “And I,” he paused for effect, “am currently having dinner with your wife’s best friend, Ms. Tracy Shaw.” Silence from Liam’s end. A full thirty seconds of it. Then, his voice, now filled with a strange mix of terror and gossip-fueled excitement, whispered, “Whoa. Bro, are you… hooking up with my wife’s maid of honor?” A vein pulsed in Caleb’s temple. “Get lost.” He hung up and looked at me, exhaustion etched into his features. “See? This is our life.” I nodded in solemn solidarity. “You’ve worked hard, bro.” This meal felt less like a date and more like a strategy session between two war-weary veterans. 7 After that night, Caleb and I started talking a lot more. Since we worked in the same tech park, we often met up for lunch. His company’s cafeteria was amazing, and I shamelessly mooched off him several times. Before long, it seemed like everyone in his office knew who I was. One time, when I went to find him, the receptionist greeted me with a knowing, teasing smile. “Ms. Shaw! Here to see Director Vance again?” “He’s in a meeting, but you can wait in his office.” The title “Director Vance” threw me. I always assumed he was just another programmer from a wealthy family, like Liam. I had no idea he was an executive. I sat in his spacious office, looking around. The decor matched his personality—a cool, minimalist palette of black, white, and grey. But there were touches of something else. A complex LEGO spaceship sat on his desk. A row of anime figurines lined a shelf. It was a fascinating contrast to his roguish, handsome face. Just as I was admiring the collection, Caleb walked in. He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it casually over the back of his chair, and loosened his tie. “Been waiting long?” “Nope, just got here.” I put my hands together in a mock martial arts bow. “Director Vance. I am not worthy.” He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Stop messing around.” “Got plans tonight? If not, dinner’s on me.” “Sure. It’s my turn to pay. Can’t have you going broke on my account.” “Deal.” He walked over and, in a gesture that felt surprisingly natural, ruffled my hair. “What are you in the mood for?” My heart skipped a beat. The gesture was so intimate. I could smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. I turned my head away, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “Anything… anything’s fine.” Caleb seemed to realize it too. He retracted his hand, clearing his throat. “How about that hidden spot from last time?” “Sounds good.” The atmosphere had suddenly become charged, a delicate tension hanging in the air. Neither of us spoke. The spell was broken by Grace’s frantic phone call. “Tracy! I’m pregnant!” “…?!” I glanced at Caleb. He’d clearly heard. The look of sheer panic on his face mirrored my own. I shakily put the call on speaker. “Grace, are you serious?” “Of course! Two lines on the pregnancy test! I just took it!” “I haven’t even told Liam yet! You’re the first person I called!” “What do I do now, Tracy?! I’m so nervous! I’m not ready to be a mom!” Before I could even process the information, Caleb spoke, his voice a beacon of calm in the storm. “First, go to a doctor and get a proper confirmation.” “Second, tell Liam.” “Third, take a deep breath and try not to spiral.” Grace’s voice was timid on the other end. “C-Caleb? Why are you there?” “I’m with Tracy,” he said simply. “…Oh.” That single “oh” was loaded with a universe of meaning. I could practically feel her gossip-loving heart combusting with curiosity. After the call, Caleb and I just stared at each other. “Those two,” I sighed. “As long as they’re breathing, they’ll find a way to create chaos.” Caleb rubbed his temples. “Come on, let’s get dinner.” “After that, I’ll take you to the hospital.” I blinked. “Why am I going to the hospital?” “Your best friend is pregnant. Aren’t you going to be there for her?” he asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s probably a nervous wreck, and we both know Liam is useless in a crisis.” “You go keep an eye on things. It’ll put my mind at ease.” A warmth spread through my chest. This guy, for all his cold and cynical posturing, was incredibly thoughtful. 8 I went with Grace to her appointment, and the pregnancy was confirmed. When Liam heard the news, he hugged Grace, laughing and crying like a fool. Infected by his emotions, she started crying too. I watched them from the side, a mix of amusement and genuine affection swelling inside me. These two lovebirds, as exhausting as they were, truly loved each other. It was late by the time we left the hospital. Caleb had been waiting for me by the entrance the whole time. When he saw me, he handed me a warm cup of hot chocolate. “You’ve had a long night.” “It was fine. I’m just a little hungry.” “Get in. Let’s get you some food.” Soft music played in the car. I held the warm drink in my hands, watching the city lights blur past the window, and a sudden sense of peace washed over me. “Caleb.” “Hmm?” “What are we?” I don’t know why I asked. Maybe it was the gentle mood of the night, or maybe being around the happy, chaotic couple had stirred something in me. Caleb’s hands tightened on the steering wheel for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at me, the glow of the streetlights softening the sharp lines of his face. “What do you think we are?” he asked back. “Siblings from another mother?” I ventured. He laughed. “Tracy, are you an idiot?” “We’re two single adults who met through mutual friends, who seem to get along pretty well, and who enjoy spending time together.” “You call that being siblings?” My face grew hot. “Then what do you call it?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386486”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The Comments know I can see them. So, to help their precious heroine escape the story’s villainous male lead, they flood my vision with messages trying to mislead me: 【The First Love has no idea, does she? If she says yes to him now, he’ll never have room in his heart for the heroine again.】 【Listen, First Love, don’t be fooled because he’s broke right now. He’s going to be a powerhouse later. You’ll be getting at least a ten-thousand-dollar allowance every month.】 【And that’s not all! He’s actually the long-lost son of the country’s richest tycoon. He gets discovered tonight! The First Love is going to regret this for the rest of her life.】 When I remain unmoved, the Comments grow frantic: 【Why isn’t this woman taking the bait?!】 I look at the man kneeling before me, proposing with all his heart, and then at the stream of nonsense scrolling above his head. A smile touches my lips. Sorry, folks. Because the only person this girl has ever trusted is herself. So, as the story’s designated villainess, a little bit of money and a serious need for control should be perfectly in character, right? 1 As the only girl born into the Thorne family in eighteen generations, my grandparents, my parents, and my eight older brothers and cousins have drilled one thing into my head since birth: You can’t trust anyone in this world. Not even us. When I was little, someone tried to kidnap me from school by impersonating my father. It was a masterful disguise. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t accounted for the fact that my father is utterly, pathologically devoted to his daughter. Dad had already bought the school and the entire surrounding district, moving his main office onto the campus just so he could walk me to and from class every single day. The moment the imposter showed up, everyone from my teachers to the hot dog vendor on the corner swarmed and cornered him. After that, the Thorne family hid me completely, officially listing me as the daughter of our head housekeeper, Mrs. Jones. To the outside world, my name was Sarah Jones. From then on, if anyone so much as breathed in my direction, their entire life story would land on a Thorne family desk within the hour. So, as Liam Evans knelt to confess his feelings for me, I held up my phone. I wasn’t taking a picture or recording a video. I was scrolling through his complete file. As far as I was concerned, he had no secrets left. 2 “Sarah, will you be my girlfriend?” Liam held out a single wildflower he’d plucked from the roadside. He was on one knee, his eyes gleaming with what looked like pure sincerity. I’ll give him this: Liam was gorgeous, more handsome than anyone I’d ever met. And on the principle of never turning away a beautiful man who offers himself up on a silver platter, I was actually considering it. That’s when the Comments flared to life above me. 【Here we go, the classic scene where the male lead confesses to his First Love.】 【She’s about to reject him. Then he’ll find the heroine, who looks just like her, and they’ll end up in bed together tonight. The start of their whirlwind romance.】 【Honestly, the First Love is going to kick herself when she sees how successful he becomes. I kind of shipped them, though. It would be nice if they got together.】 I almost rolled my eyes. So, the second I say no, he’s off to sleep with someone else? What exactly is there to regret about dodging that bullet? I quickly scanned his file for the girl the Comments were talking about. There she was. Chloe Miller, nineteen, a freshman in college. According to the file, they’d met a month ago at a bar where Chloe was working to pay for her mother’s steep medical bills. Liam had stepped in when she was being harassed. Since then, they’d been meeting up for meals. Chloe had even started an anonymous blog detailing their encounters, filled with lovelorn posts. And Liam had “liked” it. He knew it was her. Hmm? Weren’t they supposed to meet after I rejected him? Or am I just a stepping stone in their twisted little game of foreplay? My initial attraction to Liam plummeted into the negatives. As if sensing my change of heart, the Comments doubled down: 【Even though he knows the heroine, his heart belongs completely to the First Love right now! He only sees the heroine as a little sister. He’s so devoted!】 Give me a break. He’s known Chloe for a month. He’s known me for two. What “little sister”? What “devotion”? It’s nothing but a man’s self-serving fantasy. Liam, oblivious, continued his heartfelt performance. “Sarah, I know your mom works as a housekeeper for a wealthy family, and she makes good money. But I promise, one day I’ll make even more. I’ll give you everything you could ever want.” The Comments chimed in to help him: 【Listen, First Love, don’t be fooled because he’s broke right now. He’s going to be a powerhouse later. You’ll be getting at least a ten-thousand-dollar allowance every month.】 I absently picked at the thousand-dollar manicure I’d gotten yesterday. Somehow, I doubted a deeply disturbed individual was destined for greatness. The file was… illuminating. Liam once had a cat. One evening, a guest came over, and the cat innocently rubbed against their leg. That night, Liam tortured and caged the animal. The man had a possessive streak that bordered on psychopathic. 【And he’s actually the long-lost son of a billionaire tycoon! Grab onto this golden ticket, First Love!】 【Imagine having a billionaire for a husband! You’d be set for life!】 No, thanks. You can have him. Finally, one of the Comments lost its patience: 【Why isn’t this woman taking the bait?!】 And there it was. Confirmation. They knew I could see them. From the very beginning, their words had been too targeted, too manipulative, all painting Liam as the perfect man. As a connoisseur of stories, I know that every narrative has its critics and its fans. If this guy was such a catch, why were they so desperate for me to have him instead of their precious heroine? Combined with what I knew from his file, the answer was obvious. This was a dark romance, a story of abuse and obsession. Liam was an arrogant, controlling monster. And they wanted me, the “wicked villainess,” to tie him down so he wouldn’t destroy their heroine. Nice try. Did you really think I’d fall for a bunch of ghostly text messages that appeared out of nowhere? 3 “Liam, you’re handsome and you’re brilliant. I know you have plenty of women around you, and that makes me feel insecure.” My voice was soft, laced with vulnerability. “I’m a one-man woman. I can’t tolerate anyone else in my partner’s life, or even in his heart.” I let my eyes bore into his. “If there’s even a tiny space in your heart for someone else right now, you can tell me. I’ll step aside and wish you both well.” My words weren’t just for Liam. They were for Chloe, who was hiding behind a pillar just out of sight. My family’s bodyguards had spotted her the moment Liam started his little speech. Since I’d already determined Liam was bad news, I figured I’d give Chloe a chance. A chance to step out and expose him. I refused to believe, after all those blog posts, that she didn’t know he had feelings for her. If she came forward now, I’d make sure she could live a normal life, free from all this drama. But she didn’t move. Liam just shook his head vehemently, his eyes full of unwavering devotion. And Chloe remained hidden in the shadows. Fine. If you two are so determined to star in your own twisted tragedy, I’ll be happy to direct. “Okay,” I said, my voice bright and clear. “I’ll be your girlfriend.” He’s clean, for now. Might as well enjoy the view while it lasts. 【YES! I always thought he had better chemistry with the First Love! My OTP is finally sailing!】 【I feel a little bad for the heroine, but oh well. The real deal is the real deal.】 As the Comments cheered and Liam’s face lit up with joy, a sharp clatter cut through the air. Clack! The sound of Chloe’s phone hitting the pavement startled us both. We turned to see her running away, her shoulders shaking with grief. I feigned a look of curiosity at Liam. A flicker of shock crossed his face before he quickly pulled me into an embrace. “Probably just a bystander,” he murmured into my hair. “Don’t worry. From now on, you’re the only woman in my life. If I ever look at another, may I live out the rest of my days in misery.” He pressed his phone into my hand, his gaze earnest. “You can check my phone whenever you want.” I looked at the deeply emotional man before me, and at the stream of lies still scrolling above his head. I smiled. Then, in a single, fluid motion, I discreetly attached a micro-sized listening device to the inside of his phone case. Who said Liam was the only one with control issues? You two had better hide well. This is going to be fun. 4 I have to admit, as the male lead, Liam’s looks were top-tier. And his performance in other areas… was also top-tier. The novels didn’t lie! Waking up to a face like that every morning certainly put me in a good mood. I knew these heroine-obsessed fans would never tolerate an “unclean” male lead. So, the thought of the hero and heroine eventually getting together, only for her to be haunted by the memory of his first time with me… Well, that was enough to equally traumatize the hero, the heroine, and the Comments. A win-win-win. I began to subtly keep Liam confined to the house. We were in the honeymoon phase, so he was too infatuated to notice anything was wrong. For a while, he was the perfect 24/7 boyfriend, and the Comments were busy shipping us. Their praise was fake, but who doesn’t like a little flattery? Eventually, someone couldn’t stand it anymore. It was midnight. Liam was in the shower when his phone screen lit up. A message from Chloe. “Mr. Evans, I think we need to talk.” The Comments exploded. 【This heroine is so shameless! He has a girlfriend and she’s still harassing him!】 【Exactly! His heart is completely with the First Love now. The heroine should just give up.】 【Nobody is allowed to interfere with my ship! Not even the main character!】 And yet, not a single one of them told me to delete the message. They all knew what this was about. Chloe was messaging him to borrow money. Her mother was in critical condition and needed emergency surgery. In the original story, Liam sees the message and immediately transfers the funds. The surgery fails, but Chloe uses the leftover money to start a business, beginning her “strong female lead” comeback arc. These Comments wanted her to get that money and start her new life. I toyed with Liam’s phone, a smirk playing on my lips, before popping out his SIM card. Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Without a word, I hurled his phone at his chest. “You’ve got some nerve, Liam Evans,” I spat, my voice dripping with manufactured rage. Before he could react, I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. Standing outside, I barked orders at the household staff. “Lock him in there until he’s had time to reflect on what he’s done. Don’t let him out until he understands his mistake.” “And cut the internet. No one is to go near him without my permission.” No wonder villains in novels love staging these “misunderstandings.” This was exhilarating. The Comments, realizing Liam couldn’t get any messages out, began to panic. 【It was a one-sided message! Why is the First Love getting mad at him?】 【You can’t keep him locked up like this! You’re just a housekeeper’s daughter, you have no authority over the staff in this mansion!】 【She’s pushing her luck. According to the plot, he’s supposed to be discovered by the tycoon in the next few days. What if this makes him hate her and he falls for the heroine instead?】 Oh. But I don’t like him. Three days later, both Liam and the Comments finally made a startling discovery: I really had imprisoned him. 5 “Miss, Mr. Evans escaped through a window. Should we send a team to retrieve him?” “No need.” I wasn’t surprised. After all, I was the one who had the window unlocked. I even cleared out the guards from that section of the estate so he wouldn’t accidentally run into them. And it still took him three days. So much for the capable male lead. I frowned at the video feed on my tablet. It showed Liam finding a distraught Chloe. After a few minutes of arguing, they were clinging to each other in a tight embrace. Tsk. In my eyes, he was now tainted. The Comments were practically dripping with schadenfreude. 【See? You overplayed your hand. Now you’ve lost him.】 【Good thing it was just a hug. Go and apologize to him. He’s a romantic; a few sweet words and he’ll come running back.】 【Right! He only feels guilt for the heroine right now, no other emotions.】 I scoffed. Guilt? Was he feeling guilty for taking a shower that night? As if I didn’t know they’d been secretly texting “goodnight” to each other every evening while I was asleep. 【Text him now! Act worried! Otherwise, he’s going to get angry and send you a breakup message!】 As if on cue, a message from an unknown number popped up: “Sarah, let’s take some time apart. We both need to cool off.” I ignored it, leaning back on the sofa. “Bring them both back,” I said calmly to the empty room. Time apart? We’ll be done when I say we’re done.

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On my eighteenth birthday, I climbed to the roof of a skyscraper. But when I got there, I found another girl already preparing to jump. Floating above her head was a stream of glowing text, like a live chat feed. [Another jumper? Is she backup sent by the villainess?] [The villainess is so dramatic. The heroine’s family raised her in luxury for ten years, and now all they ask is for her to donate her heart to save the heroine. Why is she acting like it’s the end of the world?] [Wait, why is the jumper girl walking towards her? What is she doing?] I grabbed the girl around the waist and tackled her onto the safe side of the roof. “Let me go first,” I said. “I’m in a hurry.” 1 “Let me go! Just let me die!” The wind at the edge of the roof whipped her hair across her face. Tears the size of beans rolled down her cheeks. “I found out today… in my family’s eyes, I’m just an organ bank for my sister.” The girl, Chloe, cried until her face was a mess. “The only reason I exist is to be sacrificed for her.” “Don’t try to talk me out of it. even if I destroy this body, I won’t let them have what they want!” “I wasn’t planning on talking you out of it,” I said, watching her stunned expression. “I just saw you were hogging the spot, hesitating. That’s why I pulled you down.” “Why don’t you take a minute to mentally prepare yourself? Let me jump first. I’m on a tight schedule.” Chloe opened her mouth but couldn’t say a word. Instead, the text above her head went wild. [Are people cutting in line for suicide now?] [This jumper girl seems mentally unstable. Don’t let her corrupt the villainess! We need that heart healthy for our heroine!] [The villainess is just being dramatic. I knew she wouldn’t jump. Who is she trying to scare with those tears?] Chloe stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief. “Why do you want to die so badly?” I sat on the ledge, swinging my legs carelessly over the abyss. “Because my parents want me dead sooner rather than later.” 2 I was born a monster. I can’t feel emotions. I only know how to mimic others—happiness, anger, sadness. Because of this, everyone around me hates me to the bone. Even my parents have said more than once: “I regret giving birth to you. Why don’t you just die?” They’re right. I am a monster who deserves to die. But I wanted to struggle a little first. I practiced smiling and crying in the mirror, trying to blend into the crowd like a normal person. But I kept failing. Like watching a comedy movie—I was the only one laughing out loud while everyone else was wiping tears, looking at me in shock. I didn’t get it. Shouldn’t you laugh at a comedy? Why were they crying? Or at a wedding, when the father hands the bride to the groom. Everyone was cheering and smiling, but I stood there with a mourning face. My mom saw me, dragged me out, and cursed me for being bad luck. I didn’t understand that either. A daughter leaving her childhood home should be sad, right? Why was everyone smiling? After that, I became more careful. When a relative dies: head down, eyes lowered, corners of the mouth down thirty degrees. When receiving a gift: eyes wide, corners of the mouth up forty-five degrees. When seeing someone cry: knit eyebrows into a frown, let out a couple of dry sobs. “Today is my eighteenth birthday. Starting today, my parents don’t have to support me anymore.” “They gave me some money and told me never to come back. They’re planning to adopt a new kid.” I swung my legs, the wind blowing hair into my face. “See? I tried. But it seems I’m really not suited for living in this world.” The text above Chloe’s head went quiet for a few seconds, then popped up again: [Wait, her symptoms sound like Alexithymia or emotional detachment disorder?] [Who cares what disorder she has? If she’s gonna jump, jump! Don’t delay our heroine’s life-saving surgery!] [Damn, this jumper girl really isn’t normal. A monster, right?] Suddenly, Chloe grabbed my swinging hand and dragged me back from the edge with surprising strength. “No… you’re not a monster.” Her voice was still trembling, but incredibly firm. “My foster mom always called me an ungrateful wolf, said I didn’t know how good I had it. But I know I’m not.” “You’re the same. I can tell you’re just sick.” I froze. This was the first time anyone had ever said something like that to me. Before, people either cursed me, feared me, or looked at me like a sideshow freak. Inside my chest, the heart they said was “empty” suddenly gave a light thump. Like a pebble thrown into a frozen lake, cracking the surface. I twitched the corner of my mouth, trying to mimic a sarcastic expression. “What’s the use of saying that? It won’t comfort me, and it won’t save you.” “At least we don’t have to wait in line to jump.” Chloe sniffled. Tears were still falling, but she wore a clumsy smile. “I thought about it just now. I’m not jumping either. They want to steal my heart? I won’t give it to them. I’m going to live. I’ll live until they’re too old to move, watching me be healthy and happy, just to spite them!” The text above her head exploded. [The villainess is crazy?! She refuses to donate her heart?] [When is the heroine’s family getting here? Hurry up and catch her!] [Where did this jumper girl come from? She’s made the villainess lose her mind too!] Chloe didn’t see the words. She just stared at me. “Don’t jump either, okay? Even though I don’t know how to cure your illness, living one more day is always good, right? What if something good happens tomorrow?” I looked into her shining eyes. I suddenly remembered seeing a mother teaching her child about fruits in the supermarket yesterday. The kid pointed at a durian and said, “It smells bad.” The mother smiled and said, “Wait until you taste it. It just looks ugly on the outside.” Maybe I was like that too? Just a hard shell, a strange smell, waiting for someone willing to open me up and taste. 3 The door to the roof burst open. A woman dressed in expensive clothes stormed in with several men in suits. She stared unkindly at Chloe’s bleeding knee, her voice devoid of emotion. “Chloe, didn’t Mom tell you your body doesn’t belong to you? You’re not allowed to get hurt.” Beside her, a man with sharp features strode towards us. “Chloe, be a good girl and come back with your brother. Lily is still waiting for your heart.” The floating text got excited. [Ooh, the male lead is here! The villainess can’t escape now!] [Even though the male lead is the villainess’s biological brother, the family only adopted him because of her. But in his heart, only the heroine, his adopted sister, matters. The biological sister has to step aside.] [Although after the villainess dies giving her heart, the male lead will suddenly remember her goodness and go dark, tormenting the heroine… don’t worry everyone, it’s just their little lovers’ game. They get married and live happily ever after in the end.] “Come with me.” The man, Ethan, reached out to grab Chloe’s arm, his movement domineering and unquestionable. Chloe instinctively hid behind me. “Why should I give my heart to Lily?” “Why?” Ethan stared at her, his tone turning cold. “Because she is the only bloodline of the Stone family. If the Stones hadn’t adopted us siblings back then, who knows where we’d be?” “Your very life belongs to the Stone family. What’s donating a heart?” I grabbed Ethan’s wrist. The wind snapped his sleeves. For the first time, I didn’t mimic any expression. I just looked at him. “Don’t force her.” Ethan frowned. “Who are you? Get lost!” “Who I am doesn’t matter.” I released his wrist and pointed to my own chest. “A live heart donation means a life for a life. You want her life. Did you ask if she’s willing?” “I’m not willing!” Chloe screamed, her voice hoarse. She clutched the hem of my shirt, her knuckles white. Ethan’s face darkened like a storm cloud. “Chloe, stop making a scene. Lily is waiting in the operating room. Do you want her to die?” “What about me?” Chloe suddenly looked up, tearfully questioning him. “Brother, do you want me to die?” 4 [Isn’t the villainess just a plot device? How dare she talk back!] [Why is the male lead hesitating? Just knock her out and carry her away! The heroine is waiting in the hospital!] [This jumper girl is so nosy. Just jump off your building! Stop playing hero!] “She said she’s not willing. Didn’t you hear?” I stepped forward, blocking Chloe. “Medically speaking, live heart donation is prohibited except in extreme cases. What you’re doing is murder.” Hearing this, even the wealthy-looking woman froze. Ethan was clearly enraged. He shoved me. “Who do you think you are, meddling in the Stone family’s business?” I didn’t dodge. I let his hand slam into my shoulder. “I’m nobody.” I stared into his eyes and slowly raised my phone. A voice recording app was running, the sound wave moving across the screen. “But I know no one has the right to take another’s life, even in the name of repaying a debt.” “I’ve been recording since you burst in. If you dare touch her today, I’ll call the police immediately.” “Then let me go to jail,” he gritted his teeth. “Lily is the Stone family’s treasure. I will save her even if it costs me everything.” “But I am my own treasure too.” Chloe stood up straight. The pain in her knee made her tremble, but she didn’t take a step back. “Ethan, you’re my biological brother, but you never treated me like a sister. From today on, we’re done.” Complex emotions swirled in Ethan’s eyes. Shock, anger, and a trace of panic he tried to hide. He took a deep breath and made his biggest concession. “One day. I can only give you one last day.” “If you still refuse the surgery, don’t blame your brother for being ruthless.” Chloe grabbed my hand and walked towards the stairwell, step by step. I looked back. The Stone family didn’t follow. I asked, “Where are we going now? On the run? or finding a different building to jump off?” The floating text said that in this novel world, the male and female leads are absolute gods. Police wouldn’t help. So I was just bluffing earlier. I didn’t plan to actually go to the police station. I thought Chloe would have a plan. But I never expected what she said next. “Let’s find a place to buy a birthday cake first.” I froze. The heart in my chest suddenly started beating like a drum. The feeling was so foreign. I looked down at my chest. So this heart could have such vivid moments. It wasn’t beating to mimic someone else’s emotion. It was beating because this girl, just pulled back from the edge of death, said she wanted to buy me a birthday cake. “Why are you standing there? Let’s go…” Chloe stopped. She stared at the corner of my mouth. “You… you seem to be smiling.”

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