Category: English

I was walking home from school, shoulder-to-shoulder with the girl I had grown up with, the girl I had loved for as long as I could remember. Then, a voice that wasn’t mine scraped against the inside of my skull. It was her voice, but she hadn’t opened her mouth. It was her inner thoughts. Did Noah bring an umbrella today? It’s pouring. Her mind was entirely occupied by the new transfer student—Noah, the incredibly handsome guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Before I could even process the shock, a sharper, far more vicious thought pierced my brain: If my family’s company didn’t desperately need the Crawford money, I wouldn’t spend another second pretending to tolerate Tim. Following me around every single day after school… it’s suffocating. So, that was what I amounted to in her eyes. A suffocating nuisance. I am Tim Crawford. 1 Hearing those words echo in my head, my entire body went rigid. I stopped dead in my tracks. Beside me, Camilla Scott kept her eyes cast downward, her jaw set in that familiar, aloof line. Her lips were firmly pressed together. She definitely hadn’t spoken aloud. Yet, her voice continued to detonate inside my mind. I heard Noah lives all the way out in the Heights. The roads flood so badly over there. God, I’m so worried about him. I just want to drive him home. Ugh, this is so annoying. If I could just find an excuse to ditch Tim… My feet felt like they were cast in concrete. A wave of profound bewilderment washed over me. Camilla lazily lifted her eyelids, shooting me a glance so devoid of warmth it felt like a physical blow. Having known her for over a decade, I was well aware of her icy, detached demeanor. She was never one for words, and I had long ago conditioned myself to accept the emotional scraps she threw my way. But right now, looking into her eyes, I saw something I had never allowed myself to see before: clear, unadulterated disgust. Suddenly, a timid, male voice echoed from the back door of the classroom building. “Camilla… my umbrella broke.” 2 I turned around on instinct. Noah was standing right behind us. His knuckles were white as he gripped a cheap, plaid umbrella. One of the metal ribs had snapped, dangling pathetically in the wind. “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t want to bother you guys, but I can’t afford to ruin my textbooks in the rain…” He trailed off, his gaze darting up to catch Camilla’s eye. The rims of his eyes were flushed red, brimming with a perfectly calibrated mix of anxiety and helplessness. He had only transferred to our prep school last week and barely spoke to anyone. For him to suddenly approach the coldest girl in school for help was… unexpected. Camilla was infamous for despising inconvenience. She was ruthless when she wanted to be. But this time, she paused. When she finally spoke, her cool, crisp voice cut through the sound of the rain. “Tim, I can’t walk home with you today.” “Since Noah lives so far out, I’m going to drop him off.” Her face was an impenetrable mask. If I hadn’t been listening to the live broadcast of her internal monologue, I would have honestly believed this was just a pragmatic, charitable decision. “And what about me?” I asked, a bitter, mocking edge bleeding into my tone. Camilla frowned. “Your driver is literally idling at the front gates, isn’t he?” “Just use Noah’s umbrella for the walk over. It’s a short distance. You’ll survive a few raindrops.” Without waiting for an answer, she snatched the broken umbrella from Noah’s hands and shoved it against my chest. 3 Seeing my silence, Noah’s face twisted into a mask of overwhelming guilt. He twisted the hem of his uniform sweater, his voice trembling. “No, I couldn’t possibly ask Tim to use a broken umbrella… I’ve imposed on you both too much.” “Let’s just forget it. I’ll just make a run for it.” He took a step back, pretending to brace himself for the storm, but Camilla immediately reached out, her fingers wrapping tightly around his forearm. She turned to me, her brow furrowed in silent warning, her lips drawn into a tight, displeased line. Then, her mind screamed into mine. Here we go again. Tim’s throwing another one of his little tantrums. I am so sick of this. He’s spent his whole life coasting on the Crawford name, thinking the universe revolves around him. Well, I’m done catering to his fragile ego. I like Noah. Does he really need me to spell it out for him? I can’t let Noah walk home in the rain… My lungs suddenly felt too small. Something fundamental and fragile was quietly shattering against my ribs. Before she could open her mouth to scold me, I took a deliberate step backward. “Go ahead,” I said. “Both of you.” I watched Camilla exhale a quiet breath of relief. She turned her body toward Noah, her voice softening to a murmur. “Give me your backpack, Noah.” Noah shot me a look—hesitant, almost apologetic—before nodding obediently and ducking under Camilla’s wide, designer umbrella. In a matter of seconds, their silhouettes melted into the heavy gray curtain of the rain. I looked down at my hands. Then, I tossed Noah’s broken umbrella onto the wet concrete and walked out into the storm. At the school gates, the headlights of the sleek black SUV cut through the gloom. Thomas, our longtime driver, froze for a second before hastily popping open a massive umbrella and jogging toward me. “Tim? Where’s Camilla? Why are you alone?” “Just drive, Thomas,” I said, sliding into the leather backseat. I leaned my head against the cool glass, my throat burning with a sudden, agonizing tightness. 4 When I walked through the front door, my mother’s face instantly fell into a mask of panic. She rushed over with a towel, aggressively drying my hair while she scolded me. “Tim Crawford, what on earth were you thinking? You’re drenched!” “Where is Camilla? Doesn’t she ride back with you every afternoon?” “Look at you, your lips are turning blue! If your father finds out about this while he’s closing that deal in London, he’ll charter a flight back tonight…” “Mom.” I lowered my eyes, cutting off her frantic rambling. My voice sounded raw. “I just want to go up to my room and sleep.” She stopped rubbing the towel, her gaze lingering on my pale face for a long, quiet moment. “Maria,” she called out to the housekeeper, turning toward the kitchen. “Boil some ginger tea, immediately. I’ll bring it up to him myself.” She didn’t press me for answers. I changed out of my ruined uniform and walked upstairs. When my bedroom door clicked shut, the silence of the house finally swallowed me whole. But my mind refused to quiet down. The scenes from the afternoon looped endlessly behind my eyes. I thought about the faint, genuine smile that had tugged at Camilla’s lips when she looked at Noah. I thought about the sheer exhaustion and irritation in her eyes when she looked at me. Sitting there in the fading light, the truth finally sank its claws into me. I wasn’t losing my mind. The voices I heard weren’t hallucinations. Camilla didn’t just tolerate me for the perks; she actively despised me. I had spent my entire life rationalizing her behavior, telling myself she was just built differently—that her coldness was a shield she used against everyone. It took a supernatural intervention for me to finally see the pathetic reality. She wasn’t incapable of warmth. She just didn’t want to waste it on me. The heavy silence of my room was shattered by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. The caller ID flashed in the dark: Camilla. 5 The moment I answered, her voice lashed out through the speaker. “Tim, what exactly did you tell your parents?” “It was pouring rain. I simply offered Noah a ride home. Did you really have to run crying to my father about it?” I could hear her breathing over the line—shallow, erratic, panicked. It was rare to see her lose her composure like this. “Camilla,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Did you call just to interrogate me?” “Or did you genuinely believe that just because my parents didn’t make a fuss, your father wouldn’t find out what you did?” Dead silence on her end. Through the phone, my newfound ability to read her mind seemed to be offline. But I didn’t need a superpower to picture the venomous scowl twisting her perfect features. After a long agonizing minute, she spoke, her tone dripping with ice. “Could you not just cover for me this once?” “At the end of the day, you’re just throwing a tantrum. You purposely let—” I took a deep breath, letting the final thread of my childhood affection snap. “Camilla. Why the hell is it my responsibility to cover for your messes?” Whatever she was about to say died in her throat. 6 A dark, bitter laugh escaped me. “You think your dad heard it from me?” “Are you that naive? How many sets of eyes do you think your father has watching us every single day?” “He, better than anyone, knows exactly how many multi-million dollar contracts the Crawfords have handed to the Scotts to keep you afloat.” There was a muffled thud on the other end of the line, like she had slammed her fist against a desk. “Are you done?!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Why?” I countered smoothly. “If I stop saying it out loud, does it stop being the truth?” For years, there were unspoken rules between us. Things I knew but never voiced to protect her pride. But silence is not ignorance. The Scotts were a sprawling, chaotic family with too many heirs and too little liquid cash. Camilla had once been the quietest, most overlooked daughter in the bunch. But the Crawfords were old money, deeply rooted in the city’s power structures for three generations, and I was the sole heir to the entire empire. My parents adored me, and by extension, they extended their gilded umbrella over my favorite childhood companion. Because of me, the Scott Corporation—which had flirted with bankruptcy more than once—was thrown lifelines. Debt forgiveness. Premium real estate developments. Exclusive supply chain contracts. Because I stood next to her, Camilla was suddenly viewed as the golden goose by her ruthless father. She went silent again, calculating her next move. When she finally spoke, the panic was gone, replaced by a suffocating, arrogant entitlement. “I’m not going to contact you for a while, Tim.” “Take some time to reflect on how you’re acting.” Before I could even formulate a response, the line went dead. 7 The cold war began. I knew she was waiting for me to crack. She was waiting for me to show up with an apology and a peace offering, just like I had after every minor argument we’d ever had since we were kids. Day three of the silent treatment. I was walking down the main hallway toward my AP Economics class when Noah suddenly collided with me. Before my brain could even register the impact, he was already sprawled out on the polished marble floor, clutching his ankle, his face contorted in exaggerated agony. The hallway traffic came to a halt. A dozen pairs of eyes locked onto the spectacle. From the crowd, a sharp, furious voice rang out. “Tim, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I turned. Camilla was glaring at me, her eyes practically radiating disgust. On the floor, Noah bit his lower lip, forcing his voice into a trembling whisper. “It’s not Tim’s fault… I was just walking too fast.” He’s so sweet. Look at him, still trying to protect Tim even after what he did. I ignore him for three days, and his response is to physically bully Noah? He really is a spoiled, vindictive brat. Once I take over my father’s company, I am going to make Tim pay for this. The thoughts fired into my brain like a machine gun, loud and violently clear. 8 I casually scanned the circle of students watching us. My pulse was completely steady. “He walked into me,” I stated flatly. Camilla’s brow pinched in deep irritation. “Just stop. Why are you even lying?” “What, you think he threw himself on the floor and sprained his own ankle just to frame you?” She sneered the last word, dripping with condescension. I looked down at Noah, who was still wearing his mask of perfect victimhood. “Actually, yeah,” I said smoothly. “Because he knows there’s someone pathetic enough to come running like a dog off its leash to defend him, regardless of the facts.” A collective gasp sucked the air out of the hallway. Noah’s head snapped up, a single, perfectly timed tear tracking down his cheek. “Tim, I know you hate me, but how could you say something so degrading to Camilla? She was just trying to help…” Camilla’s fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned stark white. “Are you really going to push it this far, Tim?” “It’s obvious you haven’t learned a damn thing from this space I’ve given you—” “If you think I’m out of line,” I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave, “then you should probably sever ties with the Crawford family.” “I’ll make sure to let my parents know your stance when I get home. You might want to start prepping your PR team.” There it is again. Every time he throws a fit, he uses his family’s money to threaten me. Whatever. He’s bluffing. I’ll ice him out for a few more days, and he’ll come crawling back. When he finally calms down, I’m making him apologize to Noah on his knees. Her internal monologue laid out her delusional strategy bare. “Whatever. I don’t care,” she shot back, her voice dripping with ice. She leaned down, slipping an arm around Noah’s shoulders, hauling him to his feet. “Just hold onto me,” she murmured softly. “I’ll take you to the nurse.” Noah leaned heavily against her, the tear still wet on his cheek. But as they turned away, the corner of his mouth quirked up, and he shot me a look of triumphant, undisguised mockery. I didn’t even flinch. I just turned and walked into my classroom. 9 My father flew back from London that evening. Behind the heavy oak doors of his study, he loosened his silk tie and tossed a thick manila folder onto his mahogany desk. “Take a look. That’s the proposal from the Scotts.” “It’s the Eastside Development project. Robert Scott has been blowing up my phone for weeks, but I’ve been stalling.” “What do you think, Tim?” I knew exactly how my father felt about the Scott Corporation. Over the years, the Scotts had built their empire using the Crawfords’ blueprints, our capital, and our political connections. My father was a man of straightforward integrity; he had always loathed Robert Scott’s slimy, opportunistic business practices. The only reason he had tolerated them—the only reason he had poured millions into their sinking ships—was because he loved me. He saw how devoted I was to Camilla, and he had operated under the assumption that he was funding his future daughter-in-law’s inheritance. But judging by the cool detachment in his voice, he had already caught wind of the shifting tides at school. His patience with the Scotts had evaporated. I looked him dead in the eye. “Dad, I was stupid for a long time. But I’m awake now.” “Cut them off. We’re done doing business with the Scotts.” A slow, proud smile spread across his face. He pushed the heavy folder toward the edge of the desk. “Done. I’ll make the call.” “But I want you to remember something, Tim. You are a Crawford. You are the future of this empire.” “You don’t ever bow your head to anyone.” Looking at the fierce, unwavering loyalty in my father’s eyes, I gave a firm nod. 10 My dad didn’t reject their proposal outright. Instead, he employed a much crueler tactic: radio silence. He ignored every call, letting the Scotts drown in their own mounting panic. Back at school, I went to the administration and requested a seat transfer. As I was packing up my books, Camilla glanced up from her iPad. Finally moving. I can actually breathe. After what he did to Noah, I need to ice him out longer to teach him a lesson. But… what if he goes after Noah while I’m not around? Her concern was entirely misplaced. For the next few weeks, I completely erased Camilla from my orbit. I didn’t text her. I didn’t wait by her locker. I took the chauffeured car home alone. I gave her all the suffocating “space” she could ever want. She lived in blissful ignorance, genuinely convinced I was just throwing a prolonged tantrum. Meanwhile, her romance with Noah blossomed into a public spectacle. She tutored him in the library. She took detention with him when he was late. For Noah’s birthday, she gifted him a custom-engraved silver ring with their initials. At first, the whispers in the cafeteria were filled with pity and amusement directed at me. Everyone knew Camilla and I had been practically attached at the hip since childhood. The rumor of our inevitable arranged marriage was prep school lore. But when it became blatantly obvious that I was entirely unfazed—that I wasn’t plotting a comeback or brooding in the corner—the gossip died out. I was boring. I had moved on. This fragile ecosystem lasted for about half a month. Until Robert Scott finally hit a wall with his stalling investors, and turned the pressure on his daughter. 11 With the Eastside project in limbo and their invitations to Crawford galas politely declined, the Scott family’s cash flow was drying up. To make matters worse, a massive piece of commercial real estate they had mortgaged was bleeding them dry, waiting for an injection of Crawford capital that was never coming. Unable to hold out any longer, Robert Scott dragged Camilla to the Crawford estate. In our sprawling living room, Camilla sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, her head bowed, her jaw locked. Her thoughts, however, were screaming. Three investors pulling out on the same day? Bullshit. The Crawfords absolutely orchestrated this behind the scenes. There is no way Tim has the guts to pull this off. It has to be his old man pulling the strings. They’re just bitter that I’m choosing Noah, and they’re using dirty financial warfare to force me to crawl back to Tim. I don’t get it. We’re the Scotts. We’re a massive corporation. Why does my father act like we’ll die without the Crawfords? I shouldn’t have to sell myself to Tim. Seeing Camilla’s stubborn silence, Mr. Scott leaned forward, offering a pristine folder to my father with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Richard, this is the revised proposal for the Eastside deal. We’ve restructured the profit-sharing entirely in your favor. Just let me know if there’s anything else you’d like adjusted—” My dad took the folder, didn’t even open it, and dropped it onto the glass coffee table with a heavy thwack. “Robert, since you came all the way out here, I’ll spare you the corporate dance.” “We are not funding this project. Furthermore, the Crawford Group will be systematically divesting from all current joint ventures with Scott Corp.” The blood drained from Robert Scott’s face, leaving him a sickly, translucent white. He scrambled to speak. “Richard, please. We’ve known each other for decades. We’re practically family! Why take it this far?” “I know you’re upset about the friction between the kids. That’s why I dragged this ungrateful daughter of mine here today.” He whirled around, his voice vibrating with sudden, explosive rage. “Apologize to Tim! Now!”

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I was just settling into bed, sliding my noise-canceling headphones on to drown out the world with some lo-fi beats, when the music cut out. Instead of the soothing piano, a high, saccharine giggle bled through the speakers. “I told you she was faking that strawberry allergy,” a girl’s voice whispered, thick with a performative shyness. “Did you hear her earlier? She wasn’t exactly holding back.” “I timed you guys, by the way,” a second voice chimed in—a different girl, playful and sharp. “Two hours and twenty-three minutes. Honestly, Mr. Shaw, I’m impressed. You’ve got stamina.” The words hit me like a physical blow. My eyes snapped open, the darkness of the bedroom suddenly feeling claustrophobic. My mind flashed to the kitchen trash can. Earlier this evening, I’d seen a discarded carton of organic strawberries—a premium brand we never buy. When I’d asked Beckett about it, he’d hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling me into his arms. “One of the guys from the firm dropped it off after drinks,” he’d murmured against my neck. “You know how the junior associates are—always trying to kiss up with ‘thoughtful’ gifts they don’t realize will kill my girlfriend. I told them to take it back, but they insisted. I’ll toss it, babe. Don’t worry about it.” Then he’d kissed me. He’d kissed me until I stopped asking questions, until I felt guilty for even noticing. I’d told myself that the corporate world was just like that—boozy, boundary-crossing, and full of tasteless jokes. I didn’t want to be the “difficult” girlfriend. Now, the lie tasted like ash. The bathroom door creaked open. Beckett stepped out, steam clinging to his skin, a towel low on his hips. I watched him, my heart hammering against my ribs, and forced a jagged, cold smile. “Since you’re keeping a timer to spice things up,” I said, my voice eerily steady, “why don’t you just invite them over to ‘enjoy’ the show in person?” … The call disconnected with a sharp click. Beckett froze, seeing me staring him down. He let the towel slip slightly, a smug, practiced look in his eyes. “You want another round, Gwen?” “Doesn’t your little fan club get jealous?” I gestured toward my headphones, my smile widening into something bitter. “The Bluetooth auto-synced to your phone again. I caught the tail end of the commentary.” The blood drained from his face. He scrambled for his phone on the nightstand, his thumb swiping frantically. The silence in the room became deafening. I answered the question he was too afraid to ask. “I heard everything. I heard how she left the strawberries out on purpose to see if I’d react. And I heard her complimenting your… performance.” Beckett’s jaw tightened. The charming facade was cracking. “Making an intern buy your condoms is cheap, Beckett,” I spat. “At least have the decency to use your own credit card next time.” I turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist. “She’s just an assistant, Gwen. She’s a kid. She has a big mouth and a dark sense of humor.” He was scrambling now, his voice dropping into that soothing tone he used for clients. “It’s not what you think. We had a department dinner, played a round of Truth or Dare, and I lost. I couldn’t exactly back out without looking like a stiff…” The chill in my chest deepened. He wasn’t even trying to give me a good lie. “Whatever. There are a few boxes left in the nightstand. Don’t let them go to waste.” “Gwen!” His grip tightened. “Are you really doing this? You can check my phone. I tell you everything. I give you a play-by-play of my entire day. You really have that little trust in me?” I looked at him—really looked at him. I saw the fine lines creeping around his eyes. We’d been together for seven years. Seven years since I’d quit my stable job back home to follow him to Seattle, to live on instant noodles in a cramped studio just so he could chase this version of himself. I remembered the way he looked when he promised he’d build us a life. We’d spent five years in the trenches together, and we’d finally made it. My friends told me to be careful—that men change when they finally get a taste of power. I thought he was the exception. Looking at this bedroom now, I realized I was just the rule. “I’m tired,” I said, pulling my arm away. “I’m going to sleep.” I went to the closet to grab a spare blanket, but when I pulled the door open, I stopped. All our crisp white linens were gone. In their place was a stack of blankets in a garish, neon lime green. I hate green. I’ve always insisted on white. Beckett has mild red-green color blindness; he never buys anything in those shades. “Spring is coming,” he said from behind me, his voice thin. “I thought the place needed some color. Something… lively.” I didn’t bother responding. I walked into the living room. The minimalist sanctuary I’d spent years curating was gone. There were plush stuffed animals on the sofa. Pink adhesive stars on the walls. Even my hand-woven rug had been replaced by a cheap, trendy cartoon-character mat. No wonder he’d covered my eyes when I walked in from my business trip earlier. He’d claimed it was a “surprise.” He hated clutter. He hated “cute.” My phone buzzed. An unknown number. “Hey, sorry! It’s Lexi, Mr. Shaw’s assistant. That call was just a stupid dare, totally didn’t mean anything. If I offended you, I’m so, so sorry!” A second message followed immediately. “Mr. Shaw and I spent three whole days redecorating the place while you were gone. He said the apartment felt cold and depressing, like a museum. Doesn’t it look so much brighter now? Please take the makeover as my apology gift! I just know you’re going to love it.” Beckett stood in the doorway, watching me read. “Lexi was just trying to help, Gwen. She’s a sweet girl. She apologized. Don’t be petty.” I dug my nails into my palms. My home—the one I’d built with my own hands while he worked eighty-hour weeks—had been gutted. And now, I was being told to be “the bigger person” in the face of a blatant territorial marking. I started grabbing things. The stuffed animals, the stars, the rug. I threw them all into a pile by the door. Beckett watched me, his expression shifting from guilt to a simmering, defensive rage. Finally, he grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him. I packed my bags. I didn’t know how far they’d gone, but I knew I was done breathing this air. It tasted like rot. At 5:00 AM, Beckett returned. He was carrying a bag of fresh donuts and expensive coffee. “It’s pouring outside, Gwen. Where do you think you’re going?” He tried to take my suitcase, his voice casual, as if the last eight hours hadn’t happened. He set the donuts on the table. Back in the early days, this would have been a luxury. We used to share one cruller, laughing about how we’d eat steak every night once he made partner. Seeing him now, fumbling with the coffee cups, I felt a ghost of that old affection. But it was overshadowed by the realization that I didn’t recognize the man in front of me. “How long?” I asked, leaning against the back of a chair. He nearly choked on his coffee. “I told you, it was a dare! Lexi and I are strictly professional. How much more drama are you going to milk out of this?” “A month ago,” I said, my voice flat. “I found a pair of boxers in the laundry that aren’t yours. Then there were the DoorDash receipts for a pharmacy—ibuprofen and Midol delivered to your office, things you never take. And that air freshener in your car? Since when does a thirty-two-year-old man like the smell of ‘Sugar Sparkle’?” The room went silent. Beckett set his cup down with a deliberate thud. He stood up and stared at me for a long time. “You’re leaving because of… errands?” His voice was thick with disappointment. “The firm is full of Gen Z kids, Gwen. I felt old. I wanted to fit in. Is it a crime to want to feel relevant at my own company?” It was a pathetic excuse. “You need to stop hanging out with your sister,” he continued, his voice gaining strength as he shifted the blame. “She’s miserable in her own marriage, so she wants everyone else to be as paranoid as she is.” That did it. The heat flared up in my throat. “Leave my sister out of this! And have some goddamn dignity, Beckett!” “I am doing this for us!” he roared, finally snapping. “I work myself to the bone so I can provide for you! Do you have any idea how many women throw themselves at me? And I turn them down! Every single one! What more do you want? Do you want to drive me into their arms? Is that the goal?” A year ago, Beckett couldn’t even win an argument with me without blushing. Ever since Lexi joined the firm, he’d learned how to weaponize guilt. “Did Lexi teach you that line, too?” His flinch told me everything. “I am done talking about her! Everyone at the office loves her. She’s bright, she’s capable, and she has a hell of a lot more heart than you do right now!” He didn’t even notice the small, subconscious smirk playing on his lips. It was the same look he used to have when he introduced me to his friends. The front door opened. A shivering, soaking wet Lexi stood in the entryway. “Mr. Shaw… you forgot your jacket in my car.” So, there was a third person with the code to our apartment. My stomach turned. I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound. Beckett looked at me, ashamed for a second, but his body moved before his brain could catch up. He rushed to her, draping a towel over her head. “Why did you come out in this? I could have picked it up later.” “I was just scared…” Lexi peeked at me from under the towel, her eyes wide and watery. “I was scared Gwen would misunderstand. I wanted to apologize again.” Beckett gave me a look. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I didn’t move. Lexi twisted her fingers together. “Gwen, honestly, Beckett and I are just friends…” I looked at the faint, purple mark on her neck she was trying—and failing—to hide with the towel. “Stop. I really don’t care about the logistics of your hookups. Since you brought breakfast, consider it my housewarming gift to the new couple.” I walked out to the sound of her sobbing and his hushed comforts. But the weather was brutal, and it was too early for an Uber to accept the fare. An hour later, Beckett came down to the lobby, supporting a trembling Lexi, who was now wearing one of my sweaters. When he saw me still standing there, he actually chuckled. “I thought you were so ‘done,’ Gwen. Turns out you’re just standing in the rain.” Lexi lunged toward me, grabbing my arm. “Gwen, please! It’s all my fault. Don’t leave because of me, I’ll go, I’ll quit…” I tried to shake her off. She went down like a sack of bricks, collapsing onto the marble floor. “Gwen!” Beckett screamed, rushing to her side. Lexi moaned, shaking her head. “I can’t get up… go to her, Beckett. I’m fine, really…” “I’m taking you to the ER,” Beckett said, lifting her into his arms without a backward glance. Three hours later, my phone rang. I thought maybe he’d realized she’d faked the fall. Maybe he was calling to see if I’d finally caught a ride. “You are unbelievable,” he barked the moment I picked up. “Lexi was trying to be kind, and you pushed her? Do you have any idea how hard she’s crying right now? You’re going to come down here and apologize to her.” “Or what, Beckett?” “Or you can see how far that ‘freelance’ income gets you on your own. You’ve had it too good for too long, Gwen. You’ve forgotten who actually pays for your life.” I hung up. He was the one who had forgotten. He’d forgotten the girl who worked two jobs to pay his bar exam fees. He’d forgotten the girl who believed in him when he was nothing. A week of silence followed. Then, a text from Beckett. “My parents are in town. We’re doing dinner at the Grill. You’re not going to blow them off, are you?” He sent the location. “Everyone knows we’re supposed to get married this year. Please, Gwen. Just stop the theatrics and show up.” I thought about my own parents, how proud they were of my “successful” fiancé. I thought about the messy divorces my friends were going through. I felt trapped. I dressed up. I did my makeup in a way that made me look younger—a desperate, subconscious attempt to compete. When I arrived at the restaurant, I could hear the laughter from the private room. I pushed the door open. Lexi was sitting right between Beckett and his mother, her mouth moving a mile a minute. I froze in the doorway. Lexi scrambled to her feet. “Gwen! I was shadowing Beckett for a client meeting today, and his parents were so sweet, they insisted I join. You don’t mind, do you?” Beckett’s mother smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Gwen is always so sensible. She knows you’re Beckett’s right hand. She wouldn’t dream of being petty.” If I caused a scene now, I was the villain. “Sit,” Beckett said, pulling out a chair. “We were just waiting for you.” The waiter brought a dessert platter. Lexi expertly picked up a chocolate truffle and fed it to Beckett. He’s always hated sweets, but he ate it without a word. Seeing my expression, Lexi chirped, “Oh, don’t mind us! Beckett’s been so stressed with the merger, he keeps skipping meals. I make sure he gets some sugar for energy during the day.” Beckett’s mother nodded approvingly. “A good assistant thinks of everything. Honestly, Beckett, she’s a treasure.” She glanced at me. “Some people are about to join this family and still haven’t learned how to take care of a household. Being an ‘illustrator’ is all well and good, but you can’t eat a drawing. You should take notes from Lexi on how to actually support my son.” She conveniently forgot the five years I spent bankrolling his life with my “drawings.” I looked at Beckett. He stayed silent. Maybe he agreed. Maybe he just wanted to punish me. “It’s fine, Mrs. Shaw,” Lexi said, her voice dripping with fake humility. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling. “You don’t mind, right, Gwen?” “Of course not,” I said, my voice hollow. Lexi beamed. She grabbed a water glass to toast me. “To the happy couple!” Predictably, her hand “slipped.” Half a glass of ice water splashed directly into my face. She jumped up, dabbing at me frantically with a napkin, smearing my mascara across my cheeks. “Oh my god, Gwen! Your skin is so clear without the makeup! We should take a selfie!” Before I could react, her phone was up. The flash blinded me. I knew what the photo looked like: me, disheveled and aging, next to her, glowing and youthful. I swiped the phone out of her hand. Beckett immediately pulled her toward him, scowling at me. He noticed the water had made my blouse transparent. He started to take off his blazer, but Lexi let out a tiny, theatrical sneeze. “I’m so cold,” she whispered. The blazer that was meant for me redirected to her shoulders. “Don’t start,” Beckett warned me. “Lexi has to travel with me for a conference tomorrow. She can’t get sick.” I stared at him. “Beckett, was the point of this dinner to show me how much your parents prefer your mistress?” Beckett’s face turned purple. “Gwen, enough! My parents are right here! Why are you always attacking her? She’s done nothing but try to be your friend!” Lexi started to sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll go…” I stood up. “No. You stay. I’m done.” I looked at Beckett’s parents. “The wedding is off.”

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In the seventh year of my marriage to Timothy Carmichael, the mahogany-paneled waiting room of my divorce attorney became my most frequented sanctuary. Thirty times in thirty days. The final time was the day Lexi—Timothy’s adopted sister—turned up pregnant by some nameless fling, and Timothy, without missing a beat, publicly claimed the child was his. When I demanded to know why he would do something so insanely destructive, he just rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling a breath heavy with manufactured exhaustion. He told me Lexi’s biotech start-up was finally getting off the ground, and a scandal of an out-of-wedlock baby with a deadbeat would ruin her image with investors. “You’re a woman, Norma,” he had said, his eyes pleading for a grace he hadn’t earned. “Can’t you find it in you to just understand?” In that precise moment, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t threaten to call the lawyers like I had the twenty-nine times before. I simply reached into my bag, pulled out the pre-nuptial divorce agreement he had signed years ago as a grand romantic gesture of trust, and calmly, fluidly, signed my name at the bottom. Then, I walked out, dialed my former PI and current research partner, Simon, and told him my bags were packed. I was ready to join his research expedition in Iceland. Looking back, the first time I almost filed for divorce was when Lexi stole my lab data and patented my experimental results under her own name. Instead of defending me, Timothy hired a shark of a corporate lawyer to defend her. He had held me that night, kissing my hair, whispering that if Lexi got a criminal record, her life would be over, that he was just “protecting the family.” The second time was after my miscarriage. He left me bleeding and hollow in a sterile hospital bed to fly to Paris with Lexi because she was having a “severe depressive episode.” His excuse was always the same perfectly rehearsed script: she had relied on him since childhood. She was fragile. She was just a sister to him. Cancel the filing, Norma. Please. ………… 1 Simon’s voice crackled through the phone, thick with relief. “Norma, finally. A whole month of this madness, and you’ve finally woken up.” He paused, the protective edge returning to his tone. “Does Timothy know? Do you want me to handle him? This Iceland fellowship is a once-in-a-lifetime spot, it’s going to put your career back on the map—” “You don’t have to do that, Simon. I’ll handle him. Don’t worry.” I cut him off softly, my voice shockingly steady. Simon let out a heavy breath, muttered an affirmative, and hung up. A minute later, a first-class itinerary pinged into my inbox. Departure: three days from now. I stared at the boarding pass on my screen, then down at the fully executed divorce papers in my hand. A bitter, jagged laugh clawed its way up my throat. Would Timothy object? He wouldn’t even notice I was gone. People always talk about the seven-year itch, and for the longest time, I thought it was a suburban myth. Timothy and I had been the golden couple. We practically never fought. We existed in a bubble of effortless, breathless devotion. Until Lexi moved back from London a month ago. Then, the bubble violently burst. In thirty short days, I had threatened divorce thirty times. And Timothy’s reaction had morphed from desperate, patient coaxing into irritated, callous fatigue. “Lexi made a mistake. You want her to get rid of the baby and ruin her body?” “Where is your empathy, Norma? You’ve become so cold lately.” “If you’re going to keep threatening me with the lawyers, then just do it. I’m so damn tired.” Remembering the raw disdain etched into his features, a strange, weightless peace suddenly settled over my chest. The man standing before me today, bending over backward for Lexi, shared absolutely no resemblance with the man who had, without a second thought, donated his kidney to save my life. I had given him thirty chances. Thirty get-out-of-jail-free cards out of loyalty to the scar on my abdomen. He had burned through every single one. If the debt was paid, what was left to mourn? The soft click of the front door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Timothy walked into the kitchen, smelling faintly of expensive scotch and tobacco. He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, burying his face in my neck. His voice was gravelly. “I know Lexi was awful to you in the past. I know she bullied you. But she was just a dumb kid back then. It’s been years, Norma. You have to let it go.” He tightened his grip. “I sent her halfway across the world for you, against my parents’ dying wishes. Wasn’t that enough?” He turned me around to face him. “We didn’t fight for seven years. She’s been back for a month and you’ve dragged me to the brink of divorce thirty times. Aren’t you exhausted?” Exhausted. God, yes. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew those thirty threats were thirty desperate pleas for him to choose me. He could be ruthless to anyone in the world, except Lexi. But this time, the fight had bled entirely out of me. I gently placed my hands on his chest and pushed him away. My eyes dropped to his left hand. The pale indentation of his wedding band was visible, but the ring was gone. I smiled. Timothy froze, instinctively hiding his hand behind his back, panic flashing in his eyes. “Lexi’s depression is spiraling. She… she can’t process the reality that I’m married. I can’t trigger her right now.” He stammered, the words tumbling out too fast. “I usually wear it, Norma, I swear I do—” Before he could finish the lie, his phone erupted. A custom ringtone. Lexi’s. Timothy didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. He answered it, and her shrill, theatrical sobbing immediately pierced the quiet of our kitchen. “Timothy! Everyone in my circle knows I’m pregnant! My reputation in the valley is completely destroyed, what am I going to do, please—” He stepped away from me, his voice dropping into a register of sickeningly sweet patience. “Hey, hey, breathe. I’m right here. Nobody is going to say a single bad word about you.” He paced toward the window. “I promised you, didn’t I? We’ll stage a wedding. I’ll publicly claim the baby. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” The crying stopped instantly, replaced by a giddy, breathless squeal of victory. I picked up my purse to leave the kitchen, but Timothy reached out and caught my wrist. He hung up the phone, looking at me with an agonizing mix of guilt and defiance. “No one knows we’re legally married, Norma. Lexi is in a really dark place. I have to announce us as a couple to the press. My hands are tied.” Seven years of marriage. And the world thought I was just his long-term girlfriend. Why? Because his precious, fragile little sister living in London “wouldn’t be able to handle the shock.” “I exiled her for you,” he used to tell me, stroking my hair. “What if she hurts herself over there? Just give her time. I’ll announce you to the world eventually. I promise.” And I, utterly drunk on the illusion of our love, had stupidly agreed to remain a ghost in my own life. We hadn’t even had a wedding. I looked at the hand gripping my wrist, then up into his desperate eyes. I let my expression go completely slack. I nodded. “I understand. Go marry her. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.” Timothy went rigid. His hand dropped from my arm as he stared at me, thoroughly utterly bewildered. “You’re… you’re not going to fight me on this?” 2 I offered him a small, empty smile. I didn’t say a word. Timothy scowled, studying my face for a long, heavy minute. Frustration began to leak through his confusion. “Are you being sarcastic? Is this some passive-aggressive game?” he snapped. “I told you, I owe Lexi. I have to look out for her. Haven’t I treated you like a queen for the last seven years? What the hell are you still throwing a tantrum for—” His phone chimed again. A text. He glanced at the screen and immediately moved toward the door. He didn’t forget to toss a parting shot over his shoulder. “Throw whatever fit you want. Go file the damn papers if you’re so brave.” Watching his retreating back, the anger rolling off him in waves, I let out a dry chuckle. I wouldn’t be filing the papers. Because my lawyer had already finalized the paperwork and submitted it to the courts. It was done. A second later, my own phone buzzed. It was the manager of Le Bernardin. “Ms. Sullivan? You rented out the private dining room for your seventh anniversary tonight. I just wanted to confirm what time we should expect you?” I blinked. It hit me like a physical blow. Today was our anniversary. “I’m heading there now.” I drove through the neon-lit streets of Manhattan alone. For seven years, we had celebrated at this exact table. I figured I owed the ghost of our marriage a proper burial. Let it end where it began. Half an hour into my wait, a text from Timothy lit up my screen. “Just checking on Lexi’s vitals. I’ll be at the restaurant soon.” I replied with a single, simple “Okay.” I sat there, staring at the extravagant spread of food, letting my mind drift. In my memories, Timothy was a god who worshipped at my altar. He was the man who, when my kidneys failed and I tried to break up with him to spare him the burden, dragged me to the hospital and forced the doctors to test his blood. He was a match. He gave me a piece of his own body. I remember waking up from the surgery, high on painkillers, and seeing him weeping by my bedside—weeping harder than I was. “I will never let you go,” he had sworn, burying his wet face in my palm. “Even if it kills me, you are not leaving me. I gave you my kidney. We share a body now. I will love you until the day I die.” Because of that kidney, I had planned to tell him the truth tonight. To tell him I was leaving the country. To give him a proper goodbye. But the hours bled into the deep, dark quiet of midnight. My phone screen remained completely dark. After reheating the food for what felt like the thirtieth time, the waiter finally offered me a sympathetic, pitying look. “Ma’am, if I heat this again, it’s going to be completely ruined.” I snapped out of my trance. I picked up my silver fork and began putting the food into my mouth, bite by agonizing bite. It was delicious. It tasted exactly the way it did seven years ago. It was just a little salty. I wiped the tears that had leaked down to the corners of my mouth, swallowed the final bite of risotto, and set down the fork. My phone rang. Simon. His voice was tightly coiled with disbelief and rage. “What the hell is Timothy doing?!” I frowned. A news alert dropped down from the top of my screen. TECH BILLIONAIRE TIMOTHY CARMICHAEL BUYS OUT TIMES SQUARE TO PROPOSE TO PREGNANT FIANCÉE! I tapped the video. Every massive digital billboard in Times Square was glowing neon pink, spelling out Lexi’s name. Hundreds of drones swarmed the night sky, rearranging themselves into the words: SAY YES. It was a spectacle of biblical proportions. New York City was brought to a standstill. The internet was losing its collective mind, celebrating the fairytale ending of the brilliant CEO and his beloved. In the entire world, only Simon knew that the man proposing on those screens was legally my husband. I murmured a few calming words to Simon and hung up. Before I could even put the phone down, a waitress stormed into the private room and violently hurled a glass of ice water directly into my face. “You’re the bitch who framed his fiancée for stealing your research, aren’t you?!” she spat, trembling with righteous internet fury. “How dare you show your face here?!” I sat perfectly still, water dripping from my eyelashes, soaking into the silk of my dress. I looked down at my phone. The number one trending topic on Twitter was my name next to Lexi’s. The headline was painted in blinding, violent red: CARMICHAEL PUBLICLY CLEARS FIANCÉE’S NAME: REVEALS NORMA SULLIVAN WAS THE REAL THIEF BEHIND BIOTECH SCANDAL! 3 The internet had crowned Lexi the “Tragic Genius of the Biotech World.” A small crowd of waitstaff had gathered by the door, pointing at me, their faces twisted in disgust. I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend myself. I calmly took a napkin, dried my face, paid the exorbitant bill, and walked out into the biting night air. Timothy didn’t come home until the sky outside the penthouse windows was turning a bruised, pre-dawn purple. When he walked into the living room and saw me sitting rigidly on the velvet sofa, he flinched. “You… you’re still awake?” A second later, he hastily pulled a slightly crushed bouquet of red roses from behind his back. “Lexi threatened to hurt herself tonight. I couldn’t leave her. I had to break our plans, but see? I didn’t forget our anniversary.” I stared at the crumpled petals. A hollow, breathy laugh slipped out of me. “Are you giving me the leftover props from your Times Square proposal?” His expression instantly darkened. The guilt vanished, replaced by a defensive, volatile rage. He threw the flowers onto the glass coffee table, exasperated. “I brought you flowers, Norma. Can you stop being so damn cynical for one second?” He ran a hand through his messy hair. “You didn’t file the divorce papers today, which means you accepted the situation. So why are you still sulking?” He sneered. “I missed one dinner. Do you really need to give me this attitude?” Looking at this man, still desperately trying to gaslight me, I felt a bone-deep weariness. I couldn’t even summon the energy to play his games. “I saw the news.” I kept my voice flat, devoid of any emotional currency. “When you hired those corporate sharks to sue me on her behalf, you promised you would keep my name out of the press. You promised you would just win the patent for her and leave it at that.” I looked into his eyes. “I was stupid back then. I swallowed my pride. I took the hit to my career to protect your precious sister. But tonight? You doxed me to the entire world just to make her smile? You destroyed my life to crown her the rising star of the industry?” Timothy’s jaw ticked. He exhaled sharply, the fight draining out of him, and he sank into the armchair opposite me, rubbing his temples. “The press was hounding us, Norma. They were asking too many questions about the discrepancy in the patent timelines. I had to give them a name. Otherwise, they would have ripped Lexi apart. I had to protect her.” “And what about me?” The words broke past my lips, a fragile, trembling whisper. Timothy let out a heavy, suffering sigh. “Lexi’s last round of intensive therapy ends next month. Once she’s medically cleared, I’ll announce that we called off the engagement. I’ll tell the world about you. Is that what you want to hear?” The absolute condescension in his voice—the way he spoke as if he were tossing scraps to a starving dog—made me feel utterly, violently hollow. When I didn’t reply, Timothy took my silence as submission. He visibly relaxed, leaning forward to gently cover my cold hands with his warm ones. He hesitated, then spoke in a low, coaxing murmur. “The damage is already done, Norma.” He stroked my knuckles. “Listen to me. Lexi… she needs you to publicly confess to stealing her research.” I stopped breathing. “Don’t panic,” he rushed on. “I’ve already paid off the right people. You won’t see the inside of a courtroom. Lexi will sign a formal letter of forgiveness. You just need to stand in front of the cameras and admit it was you. I’ll handle the fallout.” “Just this once, Norma. Please.” The dam inside me finally shattered. I yanked my hands away from him, staring at him as if he were a monster wearing my husband’s skin. “You want me to plead guilty?!” My voice tore through the quiet room. “Timothy, you know exactly what I sacrificed for my research! You watched me bleed for those experiments for seven years! If I confess to academic theft, even if I don’t go to prison, I will be blacklisted globally! My entire life’s work… my dream… it’ll be dead! How could you even form those words in your mouth?!” The moment I raised my voice, Timothy’s face hardened into a mask of cruel, absolute authority. “Are you done?” he snapped, his eyes turning to ice. “I told you I’d keep you out of jail!” He stood up, towering over me, his chin tilted in an arrogant, mocking angle. “Don’t forget, Norma. You only have a life right now because I gave it to you.” The room fell deathly silent. Seven years. For seven years, whenever the guilt of the transplant gnawed at me, he would shush me. “I did it because I love you,” he used to whisper. “I don’t want anything in return except your heart.” And now, here he was. Cashing in his kidney. Trading an organ for a false confession to destroy my life. We stared at each other for a long, agonizing minute. The ghost of the boy who had loved me evaporated entirely. And then, I smiled. “Okay.” Timothy blinked, stunned. “After the press conference,” I said softly, “my debt to you is paid in full.” 4 The press conference was scheduled for the exact same day my flight left for Iceland. Timothy had rented out the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. Every major news outlet, biotech investor, and tech blogger in New York was practically vibrating with excitement, cameras poised like loaded weapons. “I’m getting the front page on this one,” a reporter muttered near me. “Defending the Carmichael empire’s new queen. We’ll get exclusive access for a year.” They were vampires, thrilled by the smell of blood. And I was the corpse. I sat alone in the shadows at the edge of the room, completely ignored. My phone buzzed in my lap. Simon. “Everything is in place. Trust me.” The suffocating weight on my chest suddenly vanished. I took a deep, steadying breath. The ballroom lights dimmed. Timothy walked out onto the stage, his arm wrapped protectively around a glowing, impossibly smug Lexi. He looked the picture of the triumphant, devoted hero. “Thank you all for being here today to witness justice for my beautiful fiancée,” Timothy spoke smoothly into the microphone. “I ask that the media show some restraint. Ms. Sullivan made a terrible, desperate mistake, driven by jealousy. But my fiancée is a woman of immense grace, and she has already drafted a formal letter of forgiveness.” Timothy’s gaze swept the room until it found me in the dark. A flicker of anxiety crossed his features. Was he worried I would go off script? Or was he, deep down in some buried, rotting part of his soul, actually worried about me? It didn’t matter. I truly didn’t care anymore. I stood up and walked down the center aisle. The blinding flash of a hundred cameras exploded in my face, threatening to induce a seizure. I climbed the steps to the podium. Lexi shot me a vicious, triumphant smirk, stepping aside to give me the mic. I looked out at the sea of flashing lights. I smiled. “It’s true. I did it.” The room erupted into furious typing and gasps. “I stole Ms. Carmichael’s research. I was desperate to become the rising star of the biotech world. I stand before you today to confess my crimes.” Timothy visibly exhaled, his shoulders dropping. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m sorry to put you through this, Norma. But don’t worry, you’re safe now—” The heavy oak doors of the ballroom slammed open with the force of a gunshot. A squad of uniformed NYPD officers and federal agents flooded the room. The chaotic chatter of the press died instantly. The silence was deafening. Timothy stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture, his PR smile firmly in place. “Officers, there’s been a misunderstanding. My fiancée has signed a letter of forgiveness. We aren’t pressing charges against Ms. Sullivan—” The lead detective walked right past him. He stepped onto the stage, grabbed Lexi by the arm, and slapped a pair of steel handcuffs onto her wrists. The ballroom erupted. “What is going on?!” “Why are they arresting Lexi?!” “Isn’t Norma Sullivan the thief?!” I calmly reached into my pocket, pulled out a small remote, and pressed the button. The massive projector screen behind us flickered to life. An audio file began to play. The crystal-clear recording of Timothy’s voice from our living room echoed off the crystal chandeliers. “Lexi needs you to publicly confess to stealing her research… You only have a life right now because I gave it to you.” Timothy’s face drained of all color. Lexi looked like she was going to vomit. They stared at me, absolute horror violently contorting their features. “Norma, you lied to me—” Timothy choked out, stepping toward me. “I didn’t lie,” I replied, my voice carrying clearly through the mic. “You told me to confess, and I did. It’s just that the police are actually quite good at discerning the truth.” I turned on my heel and began to walk off the stage. Timothy lunged forward, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. His eyes were bloodshot, wild with panic. “How could you do this?! What’s going to happen to Lexi?!” he hissed, his voice breaking. “Sign a recantation! Tell them you forged the tape! I’ll pretend this never happened, I’ll forgive you—” I looked at his hand on my arm, then up at his frantic eyes. “Why don’t you ask the detective if Lexi ever actually signed that letter of forgiveness?” Timothy froze. He whipped his head around to look at Lexi, who was currently hyperventilating as an officer read her her Miranda rights. The lead detective stepped between me and Timothy, his face a mask of disgust. “Mr. Carmichael,” the detective said coldly. “Lexi Carmichael never drafted a letter of forgiveness. In fact, she called our precinct an hour ago, demanding we come here to arrest Ms. Sullivan live on television.” He paused, letting the weight of the betrayal sink in. “If Ms. Sullivan hadn’t preemptively handed over irrefutable proof of the framing, she would be the one in the back of my cruiser right now.” The detective signaled to another officer. “And as for you, Mr. Carmichael. You’re coming with us for conspiracy and witness tampering.” Timothy looked like he had been shot. “That’s impossible… Lexi, you didn’t sign it?!” He stumbled back, staring at the crying woman as if he had never seen her before. “You lied to me?! You were going to send Norma to federal prison?! How could you do that?!” I didn’t stay to watch the rest of the Greek tragedy unfold. I nodded politely to the detective, slipped out the side door, and walked out into the crisp New York morning. When I reached JFK and found Simon waiting by the VIP lounge, the tension finally snapped. I let out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Simon.” He smiled, a warm, grounding expression, and gently ruffled my hair. “I told you I had you, Norma. I would never let them touch you.” The moment our plane lifted off the tarmac, the news alerts hit my phone. Denied bail. Federal indictment. Simon’s influence in the global scientific community was staggering; he had made sure the evidence was airtight and fast-tracked. This time, Timothy and I were truly, completely finished. The debt of my life, the weight of that kidney, had been brutally extracted and paid in full. From this second on, we owed each other nothing.

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At the family dinner, my stepsister Lexi couldn’t stop glowing. She had just announced her biggest “get” yet: she’d managed to hire Dante, the internet’s most coveted livestreamer, for her personal brand launch. I sat across from them, nursing a glass of Pinot Noir, watching the man I had spent nearly a million dollars supporting over the last three years. To his millions of fans, he was a god. To me, he was supposed to be a partner. But tonight, I was invisible. Dante was busy peeling shrimp for Lexi, his movements practiced and tender. He laughed as he shared “insider” tips on product selection, and even made a show of pouring a special artisanal herbal blend for my father, playing the part of the perfect, dutiful guest. He even went as far as adding our housekeeper on Snapchat, charming everyone in the room. Everyone except me. When I finally raised my glass, intending to offer a professional greeting, the warmth vanished from his face. He leaned in, turning his head so only I could hear his venom. “No amount of money can buy back your youth, Jade,” he whispered. “Stop trying.” Lexi smirked, pulling out her phone to show off her chat logs with him. There were photos of Dante—shirtless, wearing nothing but an apron—cooking dinner for her. She bragged that he had driven across the entire tri-state area just to deliver a home-cooked meal to her doorstep. “Jade, did you know?” Lexi asked, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Dante told me his top donor is some pathetic, middle-aged woman going through a mid-life crisis. He says she uses every order as an excuse to harass him. Just because she has a little cash, she thinks she owns him.” I felt a coldness settle in my chest. For three years, I had been his silent engine. I bought every product he endorsed, cleared his inventory, and pushed his metrics to the moon. Yet, he never once accepted my friend requests. His only communication was through the platform’s cold, automated system: “New drop live. Go buy.” Even at industry events, he looked through me like I was made of glass. I realized then that he wasn’t a cold person. He was just cold to me. I offered a thin, effortless smile and looked down at my phone. With a few taps, I pulled up the dashboard for the man who had been stuck in second place behind Dante for three years—a creator named Kit. I pushed him to the top of the featured homepage. Then, I sent a single message to a private group chat. Within seconds, three hundred major brand reps responded. The pivot was instantaneous. If Dante found me so embarrassing, I saw no reason to keep his throne warm. … After Lexi finished her little taunt, I didn’t bother replying. I kept my head down, typing into the group chat: Cancel Dante’s ten-million-dollar contract. Reallocate the budget. The chat went silent for three seconds. Then: Who’s the replacement? I scrolled through the platform until I found a familiar face. Kit. He’d been in the industry for a decade. For the first seven years, he and Dante had been neck-and-neck. Then, three years ago, Dante met me. Kit had spent the last three years being suffocated by Dante’s shadow—a shadow I had cast. I had met Kit once. It was at a gala where someone had accidentally spilled red wine down my dress. I had instinctively looked to Dante for help, but he had jerked his head away, pretending to be deep in conversation with a CEO. It was Kit who had stepped in. He politely asked if I needed assistance, led me to a private suite to change, and then stood guard outside the door for twenty minutes to ensure my privacy. That night, I rewarded him by fast-tracking a contract for him. When Dante found out, he blocked my number for two weeks. Thinking of that now, I typed: Give it to Kit. The chat exploded. Notifications blurred past, but I put the phone away. The dinner continued. Dante, who was always stoic and unreadable with me, was currently making my father roar with laughter. Lexi playfully tugged at his sleeve, and he caught her hand, giving her a look so full of adoration it turned my stomach. Lexi shot me a triumphant look. “I heard you and Dante were acquainted, Jade. Why are you so quiet?” Dante’s expression turned to stone. He didn’t even glance my way. “I don’t know her,” he said flatly. Three years. A million dollars. And I didn’t even warrant a “hello.” I said nothing, stood up, and walked to the restroom. When I came out, Dante was waiting in the hallway. His brow was furrowed in disgust. “If you continue to stalk me like this, I’m calling the police,” he snapped. I almost laughed. “This is my house, Dante.” “It’s Lexi’s house,” he countered, cutting me off. “She told me everything. How your mother stole another woman’s husband and occupied the position of ‘Mrs. Summer’ for twenty years. If she hadn’t died early, Lexi wouldn’t have even been allowed to reclaim her rightful name.” He stepped closer, his eyes threatening. “I’ll let it slide this time. But if there’s a next time…” He brushed past me, his pace quick, as if he were afraid my “desperation” might be contagious. I watched him go, offering no explanation. That evening, Dante posted a status: Saw someone I love today. Feeling great. Going live at 7 PM. I checked the time. It was 6:30. Usually, I’d be in the digital waiting room by now, ready to drop ninety-nine “Grand Finale” gifts to prime the algorithm for him. Dante would always act like he didn’t see the screen-filling effects, never saying a word of thanks. If I commented, he would intentionally reply to the person right above or below me, never me. My assistant sent a text: The deal with Kit is inked. He wants to add you to say thank you personally. I replied ‘Sure’ and went to sleep. A while later, someone started pounding on my bedroom door. Lexi’s voice was shrill. “Jade! What are you doing? Dante is live! Why aren’t you in there supporting him? If he gets angry, don’t come crying to me!” I pulled the door open. “Why should I support him? I don’t even know the man.” She choked on her next word, then sneered. “Fine. Be petty. But don’t regret it later. Dante has a high pride. If you offend him now, it’ll be more than a two-week block.” My heart sank—not for Dante, but at the realization. My history with Dante… she knew everything. When did they start conspiring together? Lexi isn’t blood-related to me or my father. Five years ago, after my mother passed, my father remarried. Lydia brought Lexi into our lives, changed her last name to Summer, and Lexi started playing the part of the “perfect, helpful daughter.” They had tried to wiggle into the family company multiple times, but my father never relented. They thought it was my father holding them back. They didn’t realize the company was founded by my mother, and her shares passed entirely to me. My father didn’t refuse them; he simply didn’t have the authority to say yes. Lexi must have been feeding Dante lies, making him believe the Summer empire belonged to her. I closed the door and checked my phone. I tried to enter Dante’s stream just to see the wreckage, only to find I was blocked again. This time, I didn’t send an apology. I blocked him back. Dante’s fan forums were already tagging me. “Where is the Queen Patron today? Is something wrong?” A familiar avatar popped up in the comments. It was Lexi. “We don’t need her. Let’s show him we can carry the room ourselves!” The fans tried to rally, but the energy was limp. When Dante finally ended his stream, the hashtag #DantesBust started trending. Without my massive opening donations, the major brands hadn’t bothered to show up. He was used to being the king, but he had neglected his community management. Now that I was gone, the house of cards was folding. His peak viewership wasn’t even hitting the numbers of a C-list influencer. While Dante’s fans were begging for my return, I was looking at a message from Kit. He had sent over an exhaustive list of brand partners. His 8 PM “Mega-Drop” was going live with discounts even lower than Dante’s best days. The internet caught fire. Everyone was speculating on who Kit’s new “Angel Investor” was. Meanwhile, Dante’s camp was silent. His team hadn’t even announced a lineup for the night. At 8:00 sharp, I entered Kit’s room and dropped gifts for ten minutes straight. Dante’s team officially canceled his broadcast for the night. I didn’t look back. I watched Kit’s numbers climb to an eye-watering 500,000 concurrent viewers. Kit was different from Dante. Dante used to sit there, bored, letting his assistants do the talking. If he got annoyed, he’d just walk off-camera, and his fans would call it “authentic.” Kit, however, was in the trenches. Before the stream, he had sent me a twenty-seven-thousand-word strategy brief, timed to the minute. The sales ticker started rolling. Thirty million. Fifty million. Eighty million. The moment it crossed a hundred million, the chat went feral. Kit’s eyes turned red. His voice trembled. “Thank you, Jade. Thank you so much…” Three hours later, the stream ended. He was the number one trending topic in the country. I exited the app only to find my DMs exploding. Dante’s fans had invaded. “You shameless bitch. You leave Dante to go hook up with another guy? Where’s your loyalty?” “You were Dante’s top fan. You owe him a handwritten apology on video, or we’re coming for you.” “Disgusting. How many times did you have to sleep with Kit for this?” Someone asked Dante for his take. He posted a brief, chilly response: “Some fans spend a little money and think they own the creator. Honestly, it’s terrifying.” That was the spark. The fans went rabid. “So that woman, Jade Summer, tried to force Dante into a relationship just because she bought some stuff?!” “Gross. She’s giving all women a bad name.” Within an hour, my photos were leaked. They were edited to look like funeral portraits, captioned with slurs like “Old Whore” and “Sugar Mommy.” My phone started ringing incessantly. “I heard your mom is dead. Good. She deserved to die for raising a snake like you!” I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. Despite the harassment, Dante said nothing. He watched the world burn my reputation and didn’t lift a finger. The last flicker of warmth I felt for him died right then. I wasn’t going to play nice anymore. Suddenly, Kit posted to his Twitter and Instagram. “Jade is my most important partner. Anyone who insults her insults me. My success belongs to her, and I won’t tolerate this harassment. If you want to talk shit, come for me.” His fanbase immediately clashed with Dante’s. My legal team already had the cease-and-desist orders ready. I retweeted them and shut off my phone. The moment I walked into the house, Lexi’s voice cut through the air. “Jade! Are you insane? You’re trying to make Dante jealous by doing this? You’ve lost it!” She practically shoved her phone into my face. “Who gave you permission to send Dante a legal threat? Do you have any idea what this does to his reputation?” “Withdraw it now. Publicly apologize to him. Say you were out of your mind and promise to triple your donations next time he goes live!” I didn’t hesitate. I slapped her hand away from my face. “Are you done telling me how to run my business?” A flash of pure hatred crossed Lexi’s face, but she shrank back. I went upstairs and checked the metrics. It had been a good night. Kit had gained 400,000 followers, and the engagement was off the charts. A Tier-1 luxury brand had already reached out—they wanted to host their new product launch exclusively in Kit’s studio. As the owner of the media firm, I scheduled a meeting for both parties to sign the contracts at my office the next morning. The next day, I arrived to find two uninvited guests in my lobby. Lexi smirked at me. “Jade, I brought Dante here. Just apologize to him. For my sake, he’ll forgive you, and we can put this ugly mess behind us.” Dante didn’t look at me. He was sipping a coffee, chin tilted up, waiting for me to come crawling over. I was exhausted by the delusion. Before I could speak, Lexi’s eyes snagged the folder in my hand. She snatched it. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I see! You were playing the long game. Using Kit to create a buzz, just so you could hand this luxury contract to Dante as a ‘peace offering.’ Clever.” Dante’s expression softened. He took the contract and signed his name in a sweeping, arrogant scrawl before I could even process the theft. Then, he tossed the folder at my chest. He chuckled darkly. “I’m taking this contract because I’m the best, not because you gave it to me,” he said. “Don’t get it twisted. And don’t try this pathetic ‘jealousy’ stunt again. It’s beneath you.” I frowned. “That contract wasn’t for you.” Dante looked at me with pure condescension. “Jade, you got my attention. You won. But don’t push your luck.” Lexi chimed in, “Seriously, Jade, stop the act. You’re obsessed with him. You can’t breathe without Dante. If he actually walked away, you’d crumble. Just be grateful he’s giving you another chance.” I had once liked Dante. I had built him up because I admired his talent, and yes, his market value was high. But “couldn’t breathe”? Please. Dante stood up to leave. “I don’t need an apology from someone who doesn’t matter,” he said over his shoulder. Lexi shot me a smug look. “I’ll talk him down for you, Jade. He listens to me.” After they left, I called my legal team to void the signature and draft a fresh copy. As the broadcast time approached, Kit messaged me, sounding panicked. “Jade, I… am I supposed to be co-hosting the launch with Dante?” I went to Dante’s page. He had posted a promotional poster: Exclusive Luxury Launch. Tonight at 8 PM. I sighed and sent him a private message: That contract wasn’t for you. It’s a legal violation. Take the post down now. He didn’t reply privately. He screenshotted my message and posted it to his millions of followers, tagging me. “Just because I chose your sister over you, you’re trying to sabotage my career? You’re the daughter of a mistress, Jade. You owe Lexi everything. Have some dignity.” The internet exploded. “A mistress’s daughter? That explains everything.” “Spending the family’s money on a man who hates her. Pathetic.” Lexi followed up with a post of her own: “The past is the past. My mother and I just want peace. Please don’t dig into the family drama. Thank you for the love.” She attached a “family” photo: her, my father, and her mother. I was nowhere to be seen. The comments hailed her as a saint. Lexi called me, gloating. “Jade, you should probably go into hiding for a few days. People are looking for you. Dante is going to address everything tonight on his stream. Don’t watch—it’ll only hurt your feelings.” I hung up without a word. Shortly after, Kit’s official account announced the luxury pre-sale. The public was confused. “Who’s doing the drop? Kit or Dante?” “Are they co-streaming? No way, they’re rivals.” “Who actually signed the deal?” The brand’s official account settled it. They tagged Kit: “Thrilled to announce our exclusive partner for the new collection, @Kit. See you at 8 PM.” Then, a second post, tagging Dante: “Regarding the unauthorized use of our brand name for promotion: this is a formal notice of trademark infringement. Remove all related materials immediately or face legal action.” My phone began to vibrate violently. It was Dante. When I picked up, his voice was a low, vibrating growl of suppressed rage. “Jade Summer. Have you had enough yet?”

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When I opened my eyes again, the world was swimming in the harsh, fluorescent light of my high school hallway. My sister was laughing, her hand wrapped tightly around a boy’s wrist as she dragged him toward me to make the introduction. “This is the guy I picked out for you,” she said, her eyes glittering with a manic, almost eerie enthusiasm. Gia and I had always viewed love from opposite sides of a fault line. She believed romance was supposed to be a wildfire. To her, a relationship wasn’t real unless it was loud and destructive. In our previous life, for the sake of that blazing, chaotic love, she had endured abortions, threatened to throw herself off balconies, and watched her lovers take literal punches and hospital stints for her. Yet, when the smoke finally cleared, she was always left standing entirely alone. I, on the other hand, had always craved the quiet, steady hum of a slow-burning companionship. I had chosen a man who looked like solid ground. We built a life together, had children, and lived what the rest of the world saw as a picture-perfect, suburban dream. That is, until my deathbed. It was there, in the quiet sterile hum of the hospice room, that my husband shattered the illusion of my entire existence with a voice as cold as winter rain. He told me our life together had been suffocating. He told me he only married me to fulfill a promise he’d made to Gia. Every milestone, every quiet evening, every vow—it had all been orchestrated by my sister. He begged me to let him go in the next life. He begged for the chance to finally live for himself, to chase the intoxicating, reckless love he had actually wanted all along. The decades of mutual support, the quiet devotion I thought we shared—it was nothing but a calculated compromise. It was a lie, spun from Gia’s fingertips. 1. Gia and I were only a year apart in age. Because it was easier for my parents, they started me in kindergarten a year early so we could be in the same grade. Though we shared the same blood, Gia got all the light. She was a striking mosaic of our parents’ best features. I was just plain. My only redeeming quality was the quiet, sharp machinery of my brain. Gia pulled boys into her orbit like gravity. In elementary school, boys shoved each other into the dirt just to sit next to her at lunch. In middle school, I was practically a courier service for the love notes and pastries left at her locker. By high school, boys were literally doing her homework just for the chance to breathe the same air. I was just the unremarkable bookworm standing in her shadow, flanked by a small circle of equally invisible friends. Perhaps that was why our views on love fractured so violently. She needed the drama. She thrived on it. In the life before this one, Gia’s pursuit of that epic romance destroyed her. She ran through toxic boyfriends, terminated pregnancies, and let the stress and heartbreak physically hollow her out. By the time she was diagnosed with cancer in her early forties, she was a ghost of her former self. I remember visiting her in the oncology ward. The room smelled of bleach and wilting flowers. I asked her if she regretted it. Her face was gaunt, but she managed a weak, beautiful smile. “No regrets. I’d do it all exactly the same. My only heartbreak is that I didn’t leave him a child to remember me by. He sacrificed so much for me.” At the time, I had just shaken my head, unable to comprehend that level of romantic delusion. In that same past life, I had chosen the safe harbor. I chose Simon, a friend Gia had introduced me to when we were young. Simon was respectful. He was family-oriented. We raised two children and lived a life wrapped in beige, comfortable predictability. Until the very end. As I lay dying, my husband held my frail hand, and I leaned in to catch his final words to me. “Jo, my life has been so incredibly dull,” he whispered, his grip entirely devoid of warmth. “I did it all to keep my promise to your sister. I followed every script she wrote for me. Including you.” “In the next life, I want to chase real love. Even if it ruins me, at least I’ll know I’m alive. Jo… please, just let me go.” My dying body went rigid. I stared at the man sitting by my bed, the man I had shared a home, a bed, and a lifetime with, realizing I had never known him at all. What I thought was a quiet, happy life had been his prison sentence. It suddenly made agonizing sense. The lack of physical touch. The way conception felt like a clinical appointment rather than making love. The way he eventually moved into the guest room, citing my “light sleeping habits” as an excuse. We had no inside jokes, no sweeping romantic anniversaries, no late-night whispered confessions. We just had the grocery list and the mortgage. I had convinced myself that true marital happiness was found in that calm. I didn’t realize it was just the silence of a man who had never loved me. With a few whispered words, Simon erased my entire existence. And now, I was blinking against the harsh school lights, staring at Gia’s glowing face as she pulled a teenage Simon toward me. “Jo, this is Simon,” she said, practically vibrating with excitement. “He’s one of my best guys. Totally loyal.” She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear, and whispered, “He literally wrote all my AP English essays last semester. If it weren’t for him, that psycho teacher would have flunked me.” 2. The air trapped itself in my throat. I slowly lifted my gaze to meet Simon’s. Gia had literally told me from day one. She had handed me the truth on a silver platter: Simon was the obsessed boy who did her homework. In my past life, I had been naive enough to believe they were just “best guys.” Gia had always kept a strict, invisible boundary between her platonic male friends and her romantic targets, so I never questioned it. But watching him now, the truth was blinding. The way Simon looked at Gia—it was a burning, suffocating heat. It had always been there. I had been so terribly blind. I had wasted his life, and I had condemned myself to decades of a loveless marriage. When I didn’t say anything, Gia nudged me and looked at Simon. “Simon, this is Jo. My little sister. She’s a bit of an introvert, but she’s a total genius, just like you. Keep an eye out for her, yeah?” Simon gave me a polite, incredibly stiff nod. “Nice to meet you.” He was wearing thick, dark-rimmed glasses, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyebrows. He rarely smiled. Gia used to joke that he was just the male version of me. Now, I understood the brutal reality of the world. Like repels like; opposites attract. A man as quiet and brooding as Simon would only ever be drawn to a girl as blinding and chaotic as my sister. This time, I didn’t extend my hand. I just gave him a cool, detached look. “Hey.” He flinched slightly and immediately averted his eyes. In that microsecond, I knew. He remembered too. He had been reborn. Over the next few days, Gia constantly tried to push us together. At lunch, she dragged me into the cafeteria with her arm slung over my shoulder. Simon was already sitting at a table, three bowls of soup waiting. As I sat down, he and I simultaneously looked away from each other. Right there, over the plastic cafeteria table, I drew the line. “Gia,” I said, my voice steady. “I need to focus entirely on college apps. I don’t have time for dating or any of this setup nonsense.” Gia rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “Oh, come on. You’re really turning down Simon? If you keep your standards this high, you’re gonna end up a crazy cat lady.” “If romance is off the table, you guys can still be friends,” she pushed. I didn’t answer. I reached for my spoon, intent on just eating and getting out of there. But as I glanced down, I froze. Simon was meticulously using his chopsticks to pick every single piece of cilantro out of Gia’s bowl. He remembered that Gia hated the taste of cilantro. But he had completely forgotten that I was deathly allergic to it. My own bowl was full of it. Suddenly, the whole situation just felt deeply, profoundly pathetic. I set my spoon down. “Sorry. I have a quiz to study for. I’m going to the library.” As I stood up to leave, I caught sight of Gia throwing her arm around Simon’s neck, pulling him laughing against her shoulder. “Don’t mind Jo! She’s always like that. More food for us!” A week later, the school handed out the schedule request forms for our junior year. We had to declare our primary tracks—whether we were pushing toward STEM or Humanities. In my past life, Simon and Gia both chose the AP Humanities track. Gia chose it because she was terrible at math; Simon chose it just to stay close to Gia. Back then, I had desperately wanted to stay with them. I abandoned my top-tier rankings in physics and calculus and forced myself into AP Literature and History. At first, Simon would tutor both of us. But then Gia got caught up in a massive, school-wide scandal over a reckless romance, got suspended, and dropped out of the study group entirely. Immediately after, Simon told me he was “too busy” to tutor me anymore. Looking back, he was just mourning the loss of the girl he actually wanted. He had no reason to spend time with me without her there. I had spent my high school years destroying my sleep schedule, studying until 2 AM every night, just trying to keep up with him in classes I hated. Gia’s grades had tanked, and our parents eventually panicked and enrolled her in a private performing arts conservatory just to make sure she got into some kind of college. When the college acceptance letters arrived in that past life, Simon had finally asked me out. I was thrilled. When he found out Gia and I were moving to the same city for college, he immediately committed to my university, taking a different major just to be near us. This time, history was trying to repeat itself. Gia dragged Simon to my locker during passing period. “Jo! What track are you picking?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the white-out on Simon’s form. He had originally checked the STEM boxes, but he had erased them to check Humanities. This time, I didn’t even blink. “STEM,” I said. “All AP Sciences.” 3. A memory surfaced from my past life. I was sitting in my mother-in-law’s kitchen. She was laughing, telling me how shocked they were when Simon chose the Humanities track in high school. He had always been brilliant at math, and they wanted him to go into engineering or finance. He wasn’t naturally gifted at writing or history. He had to bleed over his textbooks to get the grades needed for a good university. His parents only gave in when he promised he would go to law school and pass the bar. His mother had smiled at me over her teacup, her tone teasing. “You know, looking back, I bet the only reason that stubborn boy forced himself through those writing classes was because of you, Jo.” Gia had been sitting at the table with us, immediately chiming in. “Right? Simon was playing the long game! He’s been in love with our Jo since we were kids. What a romantic.” Simon had turned crimson and snapped at his mother to drop it. I had blushed furiously, staring down at my lap, assuming he was just shy. Now, the memory made me sick to my stomach. He wasn’t blushing out of shyness. He was terrified Gia would realize the truth. He snapped at his mother to protect his secret obsession. The signs had been there, painted on the walls of my entire life, and I had simply chosen to paint over them. “Aw, that sucks!” Gia whined, pulling me out of the memory. “Simon and I are doing the Humanities track. We won’t have any classes together.” I glanced at Simon, keeping my tone entirely conversational. “It’s fine. We weren’t in the same classes before anyway. I’m not going to sabotage my college prospects just to hang out with you guys.” Gia opened her mouth to argue, but a voice called out from down the hall. It was a senior boy. Damon. The man who, in my past life, would become Gia’s deeply toxic, on-again-off-again obsession for the next twenty years. As Gia ran off toward Damon, I watched Simon’s eyes darken. The mask slipped for a second, revealing a raw, ugly jealousy before he turned and walked away. That afternoon, I went to fill my water bottle at the fountains near the gym. Simon was waiting for me. He stepped into my path, effectively cornering me. “Jo, we need to talk. Come here.” I raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me into an empty classroom, and shut the door. He didn’t waste time. “I know you remember too,” he said, his voice low. “But you don’t need to push me away like this.” I stared at him, genuinely baffled by his audacity. “What do you expect me to do? If you’re in love with my sister, then grow a spine and pursue her. Stay away from me.” I turned for the door, but he lunged, slamming his hand against the wood by my head, trapping me. “Yes, the woman I love is Gia,” he said, his breathing shallow. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. We lived together for decades. We had children together, Jo. We’re family.” “Just take the Humanities track. We can all be in the same classes. I can look out for both of you. If you go into the upper-level math and physics classes, you’re going to be surrounded by guys, and I won’t be able to keep an eye on you.”

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As a single mother, to scrape together tuition for my daughter to study for her master’s degree in the UK, I worked three jobs a day. I even had an accident while working the night shift at a factory—the machine severed two of my right fingers. But the day she got her UK visa, she was at the airport clinging to a wealthy businessman twenty years her senior, crying and laughing. “Daddy, if you hadn’t sponsored me to go abroad, my trash-collecting mom would have ruined my whole life.” I stood behind a pillar in the departure hall, holding up my freshly bandaged hand that was still bleeding through the gauze, frozen in place. I stepped forward to call out to her, but her friend Isabella wrinkled her nose in disgust and shoved me away. “Where’d this old hag come from? Get lost before you dirty Laura’s designer clothes!” I looked at my daughter. She wore exquisite makeup, and her eyes held no trace of guilt—only an icy warning. In front of the rich man, she pulled out two hundred-pound notes from her purse and threw them in my face like she was dismissing a beggar. “Take the money and get lost. I only have a sugar daddy—I don’t have some bottom-feeder poor mom!” People around us pointed and whispered. The wealthy man patted her shoulder approvingly, praising how sensible she was. I didn’t pick up the money. I just calmly watched her go through security and board her flight. Then I turned around and dialed the embassy. “Hello, I’d like to file a formal report. Someone has falsified academic credentials and may be involved in illegal immigration.”

After hanging up with the embassy, I didn’t look back at the security checkpoint. I walked straight out of the departure hall. When the spring breeze hit me, I realized I was soaked through with sweat. The gauze on my right hand was saturated with blood, and fresh pain shot through the wound. In the emergency room, the doctor unwrapped the bandage, his brow furrowing tightly. “What happened? The fingers we just reattached have torn open again!” “Did you get into a struggle with someone? If you keep this up, this hand will be permanently damaged!” I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain, but I just shook my head. “Please, just wrap it tighter for me.” After getting my wound treated, I returned home and pushed open the rusted iron gate. The musty smell of the basement hit me in the face. The room was a complete mess. Before leaving, Laura had used scissors to shred all the old clothes she didn’t want, and thrown them everywhere along with old shoes. Looking at the chaos on the floor, waves of bitterness washed over me. To let her wear decent clothes like other children. I worked three jobs a day to earn living expenses, and even took night shifts at an unlicensed factory to pay for her tutoring. But she broke my heart and trampled my dignity. My eyes grew moist, but in the end, no tears fell. I pulled out a black garbage bag and swept the shredded fabric into it. I stuffed this garbage along with the designer bag I’d bought with money from my first blood donation into the bag. Then I carried these two black bags and mercilessly threw them into the dumpster outside the complex. Just as I finished throwing away the trash, my phone vibrated. It was a reply from the embassy: [Hello. Regarding your report about Ms. Laura’s suspected academic fraud and unclear visa funding sources, we have initiated a joint investigation with customs. Thank you for your cooperation.] Looking at the words on the screen, my lips gradually curved upward. Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. It was Laura. The moment I answered, Laura’s shriek came through: “You old bitch! Did you report me?! Why did customs detain me?! They said my visa has been frozen and they’re going to investigate Daddy’s financial records!” Hearing her voice crack as she screamed, I felt nothing but satisfaction. “Yes. You’re my daughter. I won’t let you sell your body!” “Are you insane?! I’m your daughter! You’re ruining my future! I’ll kill you—” Before she could finish cursing, I hung up and blocked her number. Back in the basement, I looked at the passbook on the table containing my work injury compensation and took a deep breath. This money was originally meant to be her living expenses abroad. Now, I would use it to move out of this basement and start my real life.

The next afternoon, the basement’s iron door was kicked open with a bang. Laura burst in with her suited sugar daddy. Her friend Isabella followed aggressively behind them. “Smack!” A visa rejection letter was thrown in my face by Laura. “You poisonous old witch! Are you satisfied now?! My visa’s been revoked! I’m banned from entering the UK for three years!” Laura pointed at my nose, her eyes bloodshot. “You’re bottom-feeding trash rotting in the mud—fine! But why do you have to drag me down with you!” Isabella beside her covered her nose, her face full of disgust as she fanned the flames. “Exactly! Laura accepted Mr. Osman as her daddy. She was going to become a real lady of status.” “You’re just jealous that Mr. Osman has more money than you, so you sabotaged her, didn’t you? You poverty-stricken lunatic!” Mr. Osman stood with his belly protruding, looking down at my room condescendingly. He pulled a stack of cash from his briefcase and threw it on the table. “Ten thousand pounds. Go to the UK embassy and withdraw your report. Tell them you were having a psychotic episode and talking nonsense.” Mr. Osman flicked ash from his cigar, his tone arrogant. “Women are so short-sighted. Your daughter will live the high life with me. You should be grateful.” I looked at the ten thousand pounds on the table and laughed coldly. “Mr. Osman is so generous.” Then I raised my head and stared at Laura. “She paid someone to take her exams for her.” “Mr. Osman, you don’t really think Laura’s a genius, do you?” “Are you sure she can bring you any value if she goes abroad?” Laura’s expression changed drastically. She screamed in humiliation and rage: “Shut up! Daddy, don’t listen to this crazy woman’s nonsense!” She looked around frantically, then suddenly spotted the passbook I’d placed under my pillow. It was my severed finger injury compensation! “What’s this?!” Laura’s eyes lit up. She pounced over and snatched the passbook. Opening it, her eyes went wide. “Three hundred thousand?! You’ve been hiding three hundred thousand from me!” She reached under the pillow and pulled out my ID card, viciously stuffing it into her own pocket. “Is the password my birthday? Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out!” My expression changed. I rushed forward to grab it back. “Give it back! That’s my severed finger compensation! That’s my lifeline!” “What do you mean YOUR money? You ruined my dream of going abroad—consider this compensation for my emotional distress!” Laura clutched the passbook and ID card, backing away self-righteously. I lunged and grabbed her wrist, but she yanked hard. My freshly bandaged right hand slammed heavily into the iron bed frame. The wound hadn’t healed at all yet. “Rip—” Sharp pain instantly spread from my fingertips. The gauze was stained red with blood, dripping onto the cement floor. I collapsed to my knees in pain, my whole body convulsing uncontrollably. “Oh please, are you trying to scam us?” Isabella rolled her eyes from the side. Osman snorted coldly and gave a look. His two bodyguards immediately stepped forward and roughly shoved me against the wall, escorting Laura out. “Mom, I’m taking this three hundred thousand.” “You can just rot in this moldy basement and fend for yourself!” Laura waved the passbook and ID card, linked arms with Osman, and strutted away in her high heels. I lay in my own blood, watching their retreating figures, biting my lip until I tasted blood. Laura, since you’re going to be so ruthless, don’t blame me for being merciless.

I endured the severe pain and shakily dialed the police with my left hand. The police arrived quickly, but when they learned that the person who’d stolen my belongings was my own biological daughter whom I’d carried for ten months, they showed helpless expressions. According to regulations, the police could only temporarily classify it as a domestic property dispute and needed further investigation before filing a case. The officer in charge saw me lying in a pool of blood looking pitiful. After taking my statement, he immediately took me to the relevant department. He helped me file emergency reports for a lost ID card and freeze the passbook. The three hundred thousand couldn’t be recovered immediately, but at least I’d secured the money in the account so Laura couldn’t squander it. By the time I returned to the basement after getting my wound re-stitched at the hospital, it was late at night. My right hand was wrapped in gauze, each throb accompanied by stabbing pain. Just then, my phone started vibrating crazily. Hundreds of abusive text messages from unknown numbers flooded my inbox. I opened a short video platform and found that on the homepage feed, Laura had posted a five-minute accusatory video. In the video, she wore fake no-makeup makeup, tears streaming down her face as she tearfully accused me of being an evil mother. She lied to the camera, claiming I’d tried to sell her for bride price money to pay gambling debts, even slandering that I’d deliberately self-harmed my severed fingers to extort money from her. She also played the victim, saying I was jealous she’d received sponsorship to study abroad, so I maliciously spread rumors to ruin her future. Oh my god, how can such an evil mother exist? Unfit to be human! Poor girl, what bad luck to have a mother like that. Support the daughter cutting ties! People like this should just die! The comment section was outraged. Even my former coworkers at the factory believed the lies and sent me messages cursing me out. You always seemed honest, but I never knew you were so vicious, harming your own daughter. Disgusting! Facing the online mob, I didn’t cry. I looked coldly at Laura’s face on the screen, methodically saving her defamatory video with my left hand. Then I took screenshots and screen recordings of all the vicious comments and personal attacks the video had attracted. Next, my gaze fell on the laptop in the corner. It was an old computer Laura had disdained as too outdated to take with her. Laura was careless. She thought emptying the recycle bin solved everything. But she didn’t know that as long as the hard drive wasn’t destroyed, data could be recovered. I spent the whole night using my left hand to control the mouse, using recovery software I’d found online to gradually excavate the secrets buried deep in this computer. When the progress bar reached one hundred percent and I opened the hidden billing statements and chat records that had been recovered, I broke out in a cold sweat, then laughed out loud in the basement. Mr. Osman’s several trading companies were all shells used as fronts for overseas fraud syndicates to launder money! The funds Laura had been dreaming about for going abroad all came from dirty accounts. Not only that, I also recovered several eye-burning videos. The protagonists of the videos were actually Osman and Laura’s friend Isabella, who kept calling him sugar daddy! This seemingly innocent Isabella wasn’t just a business partner—she’d been sleeping with Osman all along. Laura had become a tool Isabella used to please her benefactor. I extracted those money laundering flow statements, along with the exam proxy transfer records and pornographic videos, and organized them into categories. As morning sunlight filtered into the basement, I pressed send. I sent them in encrypted compressed file format to the Economic Investigation Division’s verified report email, copying the tax bureau. Laura, it’s time to wake up from your dream of marrying into wealth.

Three days later, to whitewash her reputation, Laura held a high-profile banquet at a luxury hotel in the city center. She announced publicly that although her mother’s interference had temporarily prevented her from going to the UK, Mr. Osman had already arranged for her to enter a prestigious domestic academy. The banquet hall was brightly lit. Many of Osman’s business associates attended, along with Laura’s classmates. Social media influencers she’d invited for publicity filled the hall. I pushed open the banquet hall doors wearing old clothes, my right hand wrapped in thick bandages. The entire venue instantly fell silent. “Oh my god, that’s the evil mother from online, right?” “How does she have the nerve to show up? Dressed so shabby.” “Probably saw her daughter made it big and came to extort more money. So disgusting.” The guests pointed and whispered, their contempt undisguised. Laura stood on stage in a gown. Seeing me, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes, then she put on a wronged expression. “Mom, what are you doing here? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” She held the microphone, her voice choking. “But no matter how evil you are, you’re still my mom.” “As long as you admit your mistake in front of everyone today, I’m willing to forgive you.” Isabella sneered from the side, stirring things up: “Who apologizes standing up? If you’re truly repentant, you should kneel and apologize to Laura!” “Right! Kneel and apologize!” Several people who’d been bribed started jeering from below the stage. Just then, Osman stood up from the main table, holding documents, looking down at me condescendingly. “Since you’re here, just sign it.” Mr. Osman threw the documents on the floor in front of me. He used a threatening tone to make me sign that notarized statement admitting to slander and severing the mother-daughter relationship. Laura walked to the edge of the stage and threatened me in a voice only we could hear: “If you don’t sign today, I’ll have my online team destroy your reputation so you can’t survive in this city!” “Sign it, and I’ll give you back half the money from the passbook.” Give me back half? Using my lifeline money to threaten me? I looked at the humiliating document on the floor, then at that face on stage that resembled mine yet looked so hateful. I calmly bent down and picked up the pen with my left hand. “Fine, I’ll sign,” I said flatly. Laura and Isabella exchanged glances, smiles of triumph on their faces. Mr. Osman also exhaled a satisfied puff of smoke, watching me submit. I held the pen and walked up to the stage step by step, standing before Laura and Mr. Osman. Then, under everyone’s expectant gaze waiting for my submission, I used both hands and tore the document in half. Then I continued tearing, shredding the document to pieces. With a swoosh, I violently threw the handful of confetti into the shocked faces of Laura and Mr. Osman! Paper scraps fluttered to the floor. Laura screamed: “You crazy old woman, what are you doing?!” “What am I doing?” I looked at them, a cold smile curving my lips. My voice carried through the microphone across the banquet hall: “Laura, Osman. Did you really think that during these past few days when I didn’t fight back, all I did was make one phone call to the embassy?” As soon as I finished speaking, the guests in the hall who’d been ready to watch me humiliated looked at each other. Everyone fell silent. Laura paused, then covered her mouth and sneered: “Phone calls? Who else could you call? The psychiatric hospital?!” “You old hag, are you so traumatized you’re having delusions? Everyone look, this woman’s gone insane! Quick, get security to drag her out!” Isabella beside her joined in the mockery: “Exactly! Wearing rags to a five-star hotel pretending to be rich.” “Mr. Osman, look how pathetic she is. She’s probably money-crazy and daydreaming!” Osman crushed out his cigar, his expression dark, and barked: “A toast refused means a forfeit drunk! Someone, hold this crazy woman down!” “This agreement—she’ll sign it whether she wants to or not!” Two bodyguards immediately lunged toward me. Just as Laura and the others looked triumphant, BANG! The banquet hall doors were pushed open from outside!

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When I was eighteen, after Brooks and I had sex for the first time in our rental apartment, he proposed to me with a cheap ring. At twenty-four, he was found by the Davis family and became the heir to a prestigious and powerful household, but he secretly got engaged to someone else behind my back. On the day of our sixth anniversary, I wanted to surprise him and came home early. I happened to overhear his friend mocking him: “Why are you still living in this dump? Are you really going to refuse the marriage alliance with the Tony family for your first love?” Brooks laughed while biting his cigarette. “How is that possible? I’m just playing around. Alexis doesn’t have the status to be worthy of me now.” The door was slightly ajar, and the words hit me without warning. I froze at the entrance, looking up at the people inside the rental apartment. Aside from Brooks, they were all playboys whose shoes alone cost more than my annual internship salary. Hearing Brooks’s words, they laughed even more mockingly: “Those worthless trinkets she gives you—I’d be embarrassed to carry them in my pocket.” “Yeah, it sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.” My eyelashes trembled as I clutched the gift I’d prepared, having saved up for three months, feeling utterly humiliated. It was already the best thing I could offer Brooks. “When are you planning to break up with her?” Cigarette smoke blurred Brooks’s expression. I couldn’t see clearly, only hearing his indifferent voice: “It’s just an engagement, no need to break up. She’s really stupid—she won’t find out.” The room erupted in derisive laughter again: “She really is stupid, completely played by you.” “But what about Laurient? Can you hide it from her too?” Laurient—I’d heard that name from my colleagues. A genuine heiress. Playful and manipulative, she’d boasted that there wasn’t a man in all of Los Angeles she couldn’t catch. But I’d heard that this time, the man she was pursuing was her social equal, and she was serious about marriage. Brooks showed no emotional reaction to hearing that name. He stubbed out his cigarette and started ushering them out. “Are you done? Alexis is coming home early today.” The group left. I hid around the corner, listening to them complain about how remote and shabby this place was as they walked. Then I heard them say that the engagement between the two families was set for next month. Next month… In the stuffy corridor, I suddenly felt cold enough to shiver. I slowly pieced it together. So the person the Davis family found a year ago—the one whose return was celebrated throughout the city—really was Brooks. I remember looking at Brooks in the kitchen back then and asking regretfully, “You’re both named Davis, why couldn’t it be you?” Brooks asked back with amusement, “Why would it be me?” I looked at him without blinking. “Because… you’re really different.” Brooks didn’t know. When my mom married into that town and brought me along, the first time I saw Brooks, I felt he didn’t belong there. He was smart, aloof, yet strikingly handsome—nothing like that alcoholic, abusive stepfather. Brooks didn’t say anything more at the time. But that very night, the online post was deleted completely. After that, nothing related to the Davis family appeared in my life again. From that moment on, the person I’d loved for eight whole years had already been lying to me. The corridor gradually darkened, the endless darkness seeming ready to swallow me whole. I suddenly felt an urgent need to escape this place. Anywhere would do—I didn’t want to face Brooks. But the moment I stepped around the corner, I locked eyes with Brooks, who was standing at the door. In just a few seconds, Brooks had already guessed what happened. The guilt and regret I’d imagined never appeared on his face. He laughed once, showing that familiar expression somewhere between troubled and annoyed. I knew that look too well. It was exactly like the expression Brooks wore when he used to witness my stepfather about to hit me—troubled, impatient, yet forced to deal with it. Back then, he’d glanced at me coldly, showing no intention of coming over. But in the end, he still pulled me behind him. Later, he protected me with a cold face, time and time again. He was very young then too, no match for an adult’s strength. So he always ended up covered in blood. I’d cry while holding Brooks, soaking half his shoulder with tears. After my mom died, he was the only one who protected me. Brooks always said I was useless, asked how I’d survive without him, but never said he’d abandon me. Memory and reality overlapped as I watched Brooks sigh and walk toward me like he used to. Actually, I was terrified. In that moment, I even blamed myself for not hiding well enough. I wanted to completely disappear and avoid this confrontation. But in the end, under Brooks’s gaze, I asked him numbly, “You’re getting engaged?”

Along with the thunder came Brooks’s voice. He looked down at me and admitted it frankly. “It’s a marriage alliance arranged by the family. I can’t refuse.” “They would never accept someone as worthless as you into the Davis family. You understand that, don’t you?” “But Alexis, I won’t leave you,” his fingers slowly wiped away my tears. “I’ll still protect you, just like before—” I sensed something was wrong. “What do you mean?” What did he mean by “won’t leave me”? What did he mean by “just like before”? Brooks’s eyes were pitch black. Through those eyes, I saw my own wretched, pitiful reflection. I actually had so many questions I wanted to ask. But now I couldn’t get a single word out. I looked at Brooks and asked him slowly, word by word: “Brooks, you want me to be your mistress?” Brooks didn’t deny it. From the moment the Davis family found him, he knew they would never accept me. He agreed to the marriage alliance while continuing to act out this charade with me here. Just like he said, I was so stupid I’d believe anything he told me. I tried hard to keep my eyes open to stop the tears from falling, but I just couldn’t control them. The corridor window was half-open, rain pouring down wildly. Years ago, I’d confessed to Brooks in the pouring rain, and now I had to end it in the rain too. But Brooks didn’t take my words about breaking up seriously. He calmly watched me finish my tantrum, then brought me back to the living room and casually asked what I wanted to eat. He seemed certain I wouldn’t refuse him, much less leave him. Not until I shook off his hand and started packing did his eyes finally show some emotion. “Alexis, does it have to be this way?” I didn’t answer. Brooks’s grip on my wrist only tightened. He looked at me quietly, as if genuinely not understanding: “I said we can still be like before. I can give you anything you want now. Do you really want to go back to those hard times?” I looked at him numbly. “Brooks, I won’t be a mistress.” “I can survive without depending on you.” “Without depending on me?” Brooks laughed. “Alexis, why are you still so naive?” “Without me, could you have graduated safely from under that perverted school administrator’s hands?” “Without me, could you have so coincidentally met that specialist during your surgery?” “And,” Brooks leaned closer to me, his tone mocking, “If you really care so much about what others think, why did you fall for me back then, confess to me, even kiss me—your nominal brother?” My whole body went cold as I slowly raised my head to meet Brooks’s gaze. So mocking and sharp, landing on me like a knife that cut to the bone. “Alexis,” Brooks looked at me with a smile, “stop pretending.” “You’re not as pure and noble as you claim to be.” Brooks said I was really stupid, that every choice I’d made since childhood was foolish. From enduring my stepfather’s beatings without resistance before, to leaving him now—it was all the same. He swore that within a week, I’d definitely come back to him. This week was probably the hardest week of my life. I hit walls everywhere, work went poorly, I couldn’t even find a place to rent. At critical moments, someone would always show up with more money to outbid me. I had no choice but to temporarily stay at my college friend’s place, but this morning, she told me she couldn’t let me stay anymore. My eyes fell on the phone clutched in her hand. I said softly, “Brooks contacted you, didn’t he?” She sighed. “Even if you broke up, he shouldn’t go this far, right?” She didn’t know much about what happened between Brooks and me. I didn’t want to drag her into this any further. I had to move to a hotel. Before I left, Sophia insisted on transferring me some money. “I know your internship salary isn’t much. Use this for now, pay me back when you get your full-time position.” I didn’t accept it. But the news about my full-time position was indeed supposed to come today. When I arrived at the company, though, the atmosphere was strangely off. Many people looked at me with complex expressions. My heart raced as an ominous premonition arose. Before I could think it through, my boss called me over. The office was silent. My boss took a sip of tea and told me straight out. Among this batch of interns, I was the most qualified for the full-time position, but not anymore. “The company landed a once-in-a-lifetime deal, but that company has one requirement.” I met my boss’s gaze, my heart sinking. “…What requirement?” My boss took another sip of hot tea and spoke slowly: “They require that we fire you.”

On the way back to the hotel, it started raining. The rain felt so cold it seemed to pierce into my heart. Brooks was already waiting at the hotel entrance. When he saw me, he got out of the car with an umbrella, his face wearing its usual smile. “Alexis, when will you break the habit of forgetting your umbrella in the rain?” I stared at the hand holding the umbrella. Brooks was still wearing the ring from when he proposed to me. I found it laughable, but I was too exhausted to laugh. The wet, sticky coat clung to my body, making my voice tremble when I spoke: “Brooks, how far do you have to go before you’ll stop?” “I used to like you, depend on you, but I never did anything to hurt you, did I?” “On our anniversary, I’d been preparing for quite a while.” “The gift I got you—I saved up half a year’s salary for it.” “Back then I even thought, I’m about to get my full-time position, and once things stabilize, we can move to a slightly bigger place.” “Why,” I looked up at him, “why do you have to treat me this way? Why does it have to be me?!” Brooks didn’t respond. His eyes fell on my hand instead. “Where’s the ring?” The ring he’d proposed with in the rental apartment. I’d worn it for six whole years. It wasn’t that he’d never bought me new rings, but I just loved that one. “I lost it.” I turned to walk back inside. “Do whatever else you want, Brooks. My answer won’t change.” Unexpectedly, Brooks backed down. He said he could stay out of my employment situation, but he had one condition. “What?” He gestured at the increasingly heavy rain. “It’s cold. Can we go inside to talk?” The hotel I’d found on short notice was very basic. Brooks waited until I changed out of my soaked coat before speaking. He sent me an address, saying there was a reception tomorrow night and asking me to come for a final goodbye. But on the way there the next day, for some reason, my heart suddenly started pounding violently. It was a high-end club, the kind of place I wouldn’t normally even glance at. Brooks’s private room was on the top floor. I saw many people inside. I saw that the bottles of alcohol they casually opened could buy my cheap rental apartment. In that moment, I finally had a concrete sense of Brooks’s current status and the gap between us. There, I also saw Laurient from the Tony family. She sat beside Brooks, beautiful and radiant. Before I could figure out why Laurient was there, I suddenly heard her say she had a surprise for Brooks. Vaguely, I seemed to hear my name. I suddenly tensed up. Laurient knew about my existence. I watched her casually make a phone call to someone. After a few brief sentences, the smile on her face grew even brighter, carrying the satisfaction of a successful prank. She tilted her head, studying his expression as she asked, “I accidentally got Alexis fired. You won’t blame me, will you, Brooks?” I stood there numbly, feeling coldness slowly penetrate my limbs. Until it climbed to my heart, bringing sharp, tingling pain. So Laurient’s “surprise” was destroying the job I’d just gotten today. Brooks sat beside her, watching her calmly. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t blame Laurient, didn’t even change his expression. I’d never found that indifferent face of his so disgusting. He’d clearly promised me he wouldn’t interfere with my work. I suddenly remembered what I’d said yesterday. I remembered that inscrutable smile on Brooks’s face before he left yesterday. I’d thought that because of what I said, he was slightly moved, had the tiniest bit of pity for me. But there was nothing. When Brooks smiled then, was he laughing at me like I was a pathetic, ridiculous clown? A clown who used to be played by him, yet was busy planning an impossible future with him. But now this clown still had to go find him. Because I saw Laurient reach out and pull a jade pendant on a black woven cord from around Brooks’s neck. I slowly blinked. Finally seeing clearly what was in her hand—it was the pendant my mom left me, my only keepsake of her. So when Brooks suggested going to my hotel room yesterday, it wasn’t because he was cold, and it wasn’t because he was actually willing to back down. It was to find this.

Brooks was as accommodating to Laurient as he once was to me. He casually removed the pendant and tossed it to Laurient. The last tightly wound string in my mind suddenly snapped. I had nothing left now. I’d even lost my job. I couldn’t lose this last memento of my mom too. I pushed hard on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Brooks—” I saw Brooks look up. Under the brilliant lights, through the glass, he just looked at me quietly with his usual smile, showing no intention of opening the door. I immediately understood—everything he said yesterday was a lie. He was angry I’d talked back to him, angry I’d thrown away the ring. He was warning me, punishing me, using the jade pendant to force me to compromise. Separated by a door, the hallway was quiet, but the music blasting inside the room was deafening, drowning out my voice. I was nearly breaking down as I spoke: “Brooks, I… I don’t want the job anymore!” “I’ll find the ring and return it to you today!” “Please, please give me back mom’s jade pendant!!” A week’s worth of pent-up emotions exploded. I shouted like a madwoman, drawing the attention of many people in the hallway. But Brooks still didn’t move. The music happened to reach its final few seconds of quiet outro, and everything fell silent. Through the glass, I watched helplessly as Laurient took the jade pendant and tossed it up and down with distaste. Then she accidentally fumbled it, and the pendant fell from her hand. After a crisp, cheap-sounding crack, Brooks suddenly stood up. He stared at the cracked jade pendant, his expression changing beyond his control. The scene suddenly descended into chaos. They seemed to be saying something, but my head was buzzing and I couldn’t hear anything clearly. I don’t know how I got back to the hotel. I only came to my senses when I realized I was completely soaked by the rain. Someone equally drenched stood at my door. That face was familiar—one of Brooks’s friends. “Brooks was taken back by the Davis family. He told me to make sure to tell you that things aren’t what you think. He didn’t mean to destroy the jade pendant.” “About your job, Brooks will handle it. Something came up with the Davis family, but as soon as he can get out, he’ll come find you right away. Don’t…” Before he could finish, I slammed the door shut with a bang. Silence returned to my ears. Water dripped from my sleeves, tap tap tap. I stared silently at the broken jade pendant in my hand for who knows how long before my phone suddenly vibrated. A notification popped up—I’d been fired, along with a transfer for severance pay. The full-time position really was Brooks playing me. Laurient couldn’t tolerate my existence, and Brooks condoned her tantrum. It was all lies. I’d never believe Brooks’s fake sympathy again. After blocking Brooks on all platforms, I bought the earliest ticket out of Los Angeles. I never wanted to come back.

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Right after giving birth, I stumbled upon a post: “My wife just had a baby, but I don’t want to help take care of the kid. What should I do?” Someone replied with advice: “Hurry up and apply for an overseas assignment with your company. Best if it’s for about three years.” The poster was puzzled: “Why?” The advisor explained: “Are you stupid? These three years are when kids are the hardest to take care of. Find a legitimate excuse to get out and you can avoid all the hassle, right?” “Plus, kids have no memories of their first three years. By the time you come back from your assignment, it won’t affect you being a good father later.” “If your wife ever fights with you about it, just tell her how hard you worked making money those three years abroad.” “It’s a win-win situation!” The poster immediately responded gratefully: “Thanks, man.” I stared in disbelief, thinking what awful people these two were. The next second, a message from my husband popped up: “Cedric, the company is assigning me overseas for three years.”

I stared at those words, somewhat confused. Why did Morant’s message sound exactly like what that post had suggested? After a moment of shock, I replied: “Overseas assignment? Why so sudden? Where are you going?” The typing indicator above the chat box appeared and disappeared intermittently. Morant’s message finally came through: “It’s a new project in the Southwest.” “Cedric, this is a rare opportunity. The company values this project highly and specifically requested me to lead the team. Once this is done, I’ll definitely get promoted and get a raise when I come back. Our lives will be so much better.” Morant sounded earnest and sincere. In the past, I probably would have supported his career. But I’d just finished my postpartum recovery period. My parents had died in an accident two years ago, and Morant’s parents were unreliable. If he left now, I’d be the only one managing everything at home, inside and out. I told him what I was thinking: “I don’t want you to go.” “The baby is still so small, I really can’t handle it alone.” “And when my maternity leave ends, I have to go back to work too. Who will watch the baby then?” “If you leave now, you’re dumping all the burden on me.” Morant replied almost instantly: “Cedric, I know how hard this is on you. I don’t want to leave you and the baby either.” “But we need to think long-term. This separation now is for a better future.” “As for taking care of the baby, there’s always a way.” “You can take the baby to work with you. Lots of moms do that, don’t they?” “Just tough it out for a few years. Once I’m back, everything will be fine. You’ll just have to work hard these few years, and when I return, everything will be better.” I frowned, laughing bitterly. How dare he say such things, casually telling me to sacrifice while he wanted to be a deserter? I couldn’t hold back and confronted him: “Easy for you to say. How am I supposed to work and take care of a baby at the same time? Carry the baby to the office? Or should I split myself in half?” He paused for a moment this time, then dropped a bombshell: “If it doesn’t work out, just quit your job.” “I can definitely support you and our daughter, no problem.” “You can focus on taking care of the baby at home. Isn’t that great? Many families arrange things this way.” I stared at those lines, instantly furious, my chest tightening with frustration. I didn’t even want to type anymore. I sent angry voice messages instead. “I’m not willing to do that.” “Before we got married, I made it clear to you that I wouldn’t be a housewife. It hasn’t been that long, and you’re already going back on your word.” “You leaving for three years isn’t fair to me, and it’s not fair to Ellis either.” “The child needs a father. You have parenting responsibilities too.” He defended himself pitifully: “Then what do you want me to do?!” “I’m doing all this for—” “Enough!” I cut him off. “We can’t talk clearly on the phone. Come home early tonight. We need to discuss this face to face.” This time, a full two or three minutes passed before his message finally appeared: “I can’t tonight. There’s a project kickoff meeting. I have to have dinner with the leadership. It’ll definitely be late. Don’t wait up, get some rest.” “I’ll come home early tomorrow and we’ll talk properly, okay?” I was exasperated. Ever since the baby was born, he’d been leaving early and coming home late, suddenly becoming a workaholic. I didn’t think much of it before, but after seeing that post, something felt off. I didn’t give him room to negotiate. “Tonight. I’ll wait for you. We must talk this through.” After a long while, he finally replied with a simple “okay.” I let out a deep sigh. On impulse, I clicked back into that post. Surprisingly, it had been updated.

Just over ten minutes ago, the poster had a new problem: “My wife won’t agree to my overseas assignment. She says there’s no one to help take care of the baby. So annoying. Women are so short-sighted.” The advisor quickly replied: “That’s easy. First, work it out with your mom. Have your mom come help out.” “Once you leave, then have your mom find some excuse to bail.” “By then you’ll already be overseas. What can your wife do about it?” “The kid will be tied to her. She can’t just abandon the baby, can she? In the end, she’ll have to deal with it herself.” The poster was ecstatic, sending a string of praise emojis: “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! You really get it! I’ll do exactly that!” I felt my hands and feet go cold. This was a coordinated attack against women. Some netizens who couldn’t stand it started cursing: “Have some humanity!” “Your wife just gave birth to your child and you’re scheming against her like this? Did a dog eat your conscience?” “What a time to be alive, even animals can pretend to be human now.” “Red flag! Stay away from this scumbag!” Facing the criticism from netizens, the poster didn’t immediately respond. I thought maybe he felt guilty and didn’t have the nerve to show his face. But after a while, he replied. He shot back at those criticizing him: “What do you know?! Easy for you to talk when it’s not your problem!” “Do you know how much pressure there is in the workplace these days? I’m going out there to advance my career for this family!” “Isn’t it a woman’s natural duty to take care of children? Isn’t it tiring for me to earn money to support the family?” “My mom worked hard her whole life. Helping out is a favor, not an obligation. What’s wrong with that?” “You say I’m scheming? I’m rationally allocating family resources. You’re just jealous!” His comments became more and more extreme and absurd, drawing even more angry criticism from netizens. The thread grew rapidly, quickly turning into a fierce flame war. Until one reply appeared: “Screenshot taken. Everyone, stop arguing. The most important thing now is to make sure his wife knows about this.” “You’d better pray your wife never sees this post.” After this reply, the previously arrogant poster suddenly went silent. A few seconds later, I refreshed the page. The screen displayed: “Sorry, the post you’re trying to access has been hidden or deleted.” He panicked. I clicked into his profile page. It was completely blank, with default avatar and username. There was no useful information to be found. But I wasn’t worried. Those who should slip up will slip up eventually.

At seven in the evening, Ellis started fussing before bed. I held her and paced back and forth in the living room, humming an off-key lullaby. At eight, Morant sent a message: “Meeting’s running long, will be a while longer. You eat first, don’t go hungry.” I didn’t reply, just kept pacing. Ellis’s crying quieted down, turning into pitiful whimpers. At nine-thirty, he sent another message: “Had a few drinks with clients, won’t be back that soon. Just go to sleep.” At eleven, I finally heard keys turning in the lock. He pushed the door open and saw me sitting on the sofa. He froze for a moment: “You’re still up? Didn’t I tell you to sleep?” He walked toward me, trying to hug me. A faint, unfamiliar perfume scent wafted over. I moved aside to avoid him. He looked awkward. I got straight to the point: “Let’s talk about the overseas assignment.” He sat down and began explaining: “Cedric, I know you were upset today.” “This assignment really was too sudden. I had no idea the company would arrange things this way.” I didn’t respond, just looked at him. Seeing my silence, he continued: “Look, raising a kid is so expensive now. Education costs will be even more astronomical later.” “My current position isn’t great—stuck in the middle, and the pay is just so-so. When I come back…” He went on and on, painting a picture of his promotion and raise. But I was too lazy to listen anymore. I asked him: “Did you actively apply for this assignment?” He froze for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly before returning to normal: “How could that be? Of course the company arranged it. If I refused, wouldn’t that make me ungrateful?” “Is that so?” I stared at him, my gaze sweeping across his slightly open collar, where there seemed to be some inconspicuous glitter. “Are you going alone or with someone else?” He turned his head, avoiding my gaze: “My secretary is going too.” His secretary was named Ilysis, a pretty young woman. I understood, and smiled. He was baffled by my smile and quickly changed the subject: “Cedric, I know it’ll be hard for you to take care of the baby alone. I’ve already thought it through—we can have my mom come help.” Hearing this, my heart sank. This line… Morant thought his idea was great, his voice brightening: “My mom’s still in decent health. She can definitely handle taking care of the baby.” “With her helping out, won’t that make things easier for you?” As he said this, his expression was frank and his tone sincere. If I hadn’t seen that post, I might have been fooled by his act. The last bit of hope in my heart disappeared. It really was him scheming against me. I didn’t rush to expose him. Under his gaze, I gently nodded. “Fine, then go.” Since he dared to scheme against me, he couldn’t blame me for what came next. Morant’s face instantly lit up. “Cedric, you really agree?” He seemed to want confirmation, his voice barely containing his joy. “Yeah.” I lowered my head, looking at my fingers twisted together, not wanting to see his nauseating expression. “When are you leaving?” “Next week! Next Wednesday’s flight!” He blurted it out, then seemed to realize he sounded too eager and softened his tone: “The project timeline is tight, they’re pushing hard over there. I wanted to spend more time with you and Ellis, but I really have no choice.” I smiled bitterly. He really didn’t want to stay a moment longer. “But,” he leaned in closer, trying to hold my hand. I shifted slightly, avoiding him. He didn’t seem to mind and continued: “I’ve arranged everything. I’ll call my mom in a bit and have her pack up and come as soon as possible.” “Also, I told Torres that while I’m gone these three years, he should look after you two.” “If there’s any heavy work, hard labor, or anything that needs a man’s help, just ask him. He’s my best friend, totally trustworthy.” I knew Torres—Morant’s childhood friend who grew up with him. They both joined the same company. Morant became a minor manager while Torres remained an ordinary employee. He was pretty helpful. Morant mentioned him often. I didn’t know if this was part of his scheme. But since he’d already made all these arrangements, how could I not go along with his wishes? I said okay. Morant breathed a sigh of relief, hugging me tightly and thanking me for understanding him. This time I didn’t avoid him. I rested my chin on his shoulder and sneered. Morant, it was too early to thank me.

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The day my SAT scores came out, several Ivy League admissions officers showed up at my house, all competing to recruit me. My high school teacher, Ms. Peyton — a woman who worshiped male students — deliberately said when she learned I’d gotten a perfect SAT score: “Jenna, I’m so happy for you! I can’t believe you actually slept your way to getting the test answers and still managed a perfect score! Oh my, I’m just joking. It slipped out. Don’t mind me. Just tell me quietly — how many test writers did you sleep with this time?” In my past life, I cried and explained that I’d studied hard for the exam myself. She sneered: “Right, right, you studied for it yourself. If you didn’t seduce male teachers and get the answers ahead of time, then why are you so upset right now?” That statement made the Harvard and Stanford admissions officers suspicious, and they rejected my application on the spot. In the end, I wasn’t accepted by any university. Three years of hard work went down the drain, and I eventually died from depression. Meanwhile, the male student Ms. Peyton favored most stole my admission spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the Ivy League admissions officers came to school. Without hesitation, I chose to call the police: “Officer, I’ve been assaulted, and the witness is my high school teacher.”

The moment those words left my mouth, Ms. Peyton’s expression changed instantly. She never expected that I — usually introverted and timid — would actually call the police in front of so many people. She lunged at me, reaching for my phone. I stepped back, and she nearly fell to the ground. “Jenna, what are you doing? It’s such a small matter. Is it really worth calling the police?” “What witness? I just heard it from someone else. I can’t testify for you!” I froze, staring at her intently. “A small matter? Spreading sexual rumors about me and accusing me of cheating — that’s a small matter?” “You knew the Ivy League admissions officers were coming to my house today. Why would you say something like that?” Ms. Peyton looked as if I’d exposed her, her face turning ugly. But the next second, she laughed dramatically, accusing me of being too sensitive. “I didn’t know the Ivy League admissions team was coming to your house today. I didn’t mean to bring up your… impropriety.” “I’m just worried that if you got into an Ivy League school through these means, you won’t be able to handle the academics there. Your teacher is just looking out for you!” “After all, you’re a girl who became the top science student in the state. Who knows what underhanded methods you used?” She cleared her throat and suddenly raised her voice. Everyone’s attention was drawn back to her, even my mom looked at me with suspicion. “Dear admissions officers, I know this child, Jenna. When she first enrolled, she was at the bottom of the class. Then she transferred to the science class — which was full of male teachers — and suddenly her grades shot up.” “Don’t you think that’s strange? And I’ve caught her going in and out of hotels with male teachers multiple times. As her teacher, it’s hard for me not to think in that direction!” In my past life, Ms. Peyton said exactly this, making the admissions officers deeply disappointed in me. She relied on her position as my high school teacher, knowing no one would question a teacher’s character. She made everyone believe her lies, and no one wanted to hear my explanation. Not only did the Ivy League schools reject my file, preventing me from attending any college. Even my parents were implicated and ridiculed by relatives and friends. Three years of hard work were destroyed. They disowned me. I couldn’t defend myself. In the end, I died from depression. When I opened my eyes again and returned to this day, there was no way I’d let her play her tricks and ruin my college dreams again! “A hotel?” My mom looked at me in disbelief, her lips trembling slightly. “That’s right, Jenna’s mom. You didn’t know, did you? Jenna is a regular at the hotel by the school gate. The first time I saw it, I couldn’t believe she was that kind of person!” After saying this, Ms. Peyton quickly covered her mouth, pretending it was an accidental slip. “Wait, no, no. Oh my! Why did I say that out loud? Just pretend I was talking nonsense. Don’t overthink it!” “I came here today to celebrate Jenna getting a perfect SAT score and bringing honor to our school, even though her methods were a bit… unclean…” All the admissions officers exchanged glances and began discussing among themselves. “I can’t believe she’s that kind of person. Our school can’t admit someone like this…” Even my mom didn’t trust me, frowning as she questioned me: “Jenna, is what Ms. Peyton said true?” “Did you really go to that kind of place? Tell me. How many times did you go?” A trace of delight flashed in Ms. Peyton’s eyes, but I showed no sign of panic. “Ms. Peyton, are you sure you saw me? Then I must have been drugged unconscious, because I don’t remember it at all!” “When the police arrive, you must clearly state the time and location so they can catch the person who assaulted me as soon as possible!”

Ms. Peyton was stunned. The current me was completely different from the me she knew. She never expected I’d be so serious about this — not only showing no shame but practically wanting the whole world to know. “Dear Ivy League admissions officers, I believe Ms. Peyton’s words. She must not be joking!” “But I truly don’t remember any of this. I definitely wasn’t there willingly. With Ms. Peyton here, she can definitely find the culprit and clear my name!” I gripped Ms. Peyton’s hand tightly, speaking earnestly. She recoiled in disgust and immediately shook me off. “You — what nonsense are you spouting, child?” “How shameless can you be? Tell the truth. A month ago, did you or did you not check into the hotel by the school gate?” “And you weren’t the only one who checked in! Admissions officers, if you don’t believe me, you can check the registration records. I swear on my twenty years as a teacher!” At those words, all the admissions officers’ gazes fell on me like countless knives. “Miss Lynn, did you really use despicable means to get the SAT answers and score so high?” “No wonder she scored more than ten points higher than second place. In twenty years, no one has scored this high. So that’s how…” The fruit platter in my mom’s hands fell to the floor, fruit scattering everywhere. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, her voice filled with anger and shock. “Jenna, tell your mother. Is what Ms. Peyton said true? Did you go to a hotel?” “Did you — did you really use those methods to get your grades today? Say something! Are you trying to kill your mother?” “Your father and I poured everything into raising you. How could we have raised a daughter like you?” Ms. Peyton looked at me triumphantly, a smug smile on her lips. I suddenly remembered that before the SAT, I did go to the school hotel. Dylan Cooper had asked me to meet him there. But as soon as I entered and went upstairs, I sensed something was wrong and left through the back door. Only now did I understand — this was a trap set by Ms. Peyton and my classmate, Dylan Cooper. She was determined to have Dylan Cooper take my perfect SAT score. After all, the school’s reward for the top student was a full hundred thousand dollars! To achieve her goal, she was willing to stake her twenty years of teaching reputation. Ms. Peyton knew exactly how to manipulate teachers and parents. She understood that the truth didn’t matter — public opinion was enough to crush a person. Once the admissions officers left, they would spread the news. And then what awaited me would be slut-shaming. In this life, not only would I be unable to attend college, I’d even repeat the tragic fate of my past life. “I did go.” Three words slowly left my mouth. My mom nearly fainted from anger on the spot, and the admissions officers clamored to leave. “However, I didn’t enter any room. I left through the back of the hotel.” Ms. Peyton burst out laughing: “Ha ha ha, who would believe that? Jenna, you usually look so pure and honest, but only I, as your teacher, truly understand what kind of person you are!” “I didn’t deliberately smear you in front of the admissions officers. I just don’t want to see you go down the wrong path and make mistake after mistake!” “As long as you admit your error, we’ll void this year’s results, and you can prepare properly for the SAT next year. I’m willing to tutor you for free!” She spoke with such sincerity, like a good teacher. Only I knew how much she worshiped men and loved spreading sexual rumors about female students. In high school, Ms. Peyton treated male and female students completely differently. When male students asked for leave, she’d approve without checking the reason. But when female students were in so much pain they fainted, she’d just think they were faking. When male students didn’t wear their uniforms properly, it showed boldness and masculinity. But if a female student dared take off her jacket, she was a shameless slut trying to seduce men. She would spend an entire class period scolding female students, treating all the girls in class like enemies. I took out my phone and called the hotel by the school gate: “Could you please check the back door surveillance footage from around 8 PM a month ago?” The front desk quickly sent me the surveillance from that time. It clearly showed me entering through the front door and leaving through the back door less than a minute later.

Everyone watched the surveillance footage. Ms. Peyton’s face showed a moment of surprise, then she also called the hotel front desk. A few minutes later, a year’s worth of check-in records was displayed for everyone to see. “Jenna, the surveillance video only proves you didn’t go this time. It doesn’t mean you never went before!” “This is the check-in record from the past year that I just had the front desk send me. Look for yourself — how many times have you checked in this year?” “Tsk tsk tsk, so shameless at such a young age. I’m truly ashamed for you as your teacher!” “Dear admissions officers, look at what kind of person she really is! Tell me, how could a student like this possibly get a perfect SAT score through her own efforts?” Suddenly, my dad, who had just returned home, saw all of this. He raised his hand and slapped me: “You — how could you do something so disgraceful!” “Go turn yourself in right now, or I don’t have a daughter like you!” My face immediately burned with pain, half of it swelling up. My parents were both furious and shocked. The way they looked at me was complicated. I covered my face, holding back tears. Ms. Peyton’s smile grew even more triumphant. I’d studied hard for three years, finally going from the worst student to the top student, and even my parents didn’t believe me. “Don’t — don’t hit the child! I’m sure Jenna just had a moment of confusion. Otherwise she wouldn’t have done such things for six years!” “I only found out about this from her middle school teacher. Otherwise I wouldn’t dare believe I’d have such a student!” My dad clutched his chest in anger, his face flushed red, pulling out his belt and pointing it at me. “Jenna Lynn! You — you did this disgraceful thing for six whole years! Let’s see if I don’t beat you to death today!” He charged at me with the belt. I ran everywhere to escape. My mom’s tears wouldn’t stop flowing, her eyes red from crying: “Jenna, you’ve disappointed your mother so much!” Seeing me getting beaten, Ms. Peyton almost laughed out loud but forcibly suppressed it, pretending to stop my dad. “Jenna’s dad, don’t get so worked up! No matter what, you can’t hit your child!” The admissions officers also shook their heads in disappointment at the scene. “Miss Lynn, we have doubts about your SAT results and cannot approve your application.” I froze and immediately explained: “Do you believe what she’s saying too? The SAT is fair and secure. How could the answers possibly be leaked?” “Mom, Dad, calm down! Think carefully — I’m just an ordinary student. How could I possibly know the test writers?” “And leaking SAT answers is a criminal offense with a ten-year prison sentence. Who would dare leak them?” My dad lowered the belt in his hand. My mom stopped crying too. Everyone realized this wasn’t realistic. The SAT had military-level security. Even the most powerful person couldn’t get the answers. Suddenly, Dylan Cooper walked in: “Then how do you explain this?” He pulled out a report. My parents were shocked when they saw it. “Jenna, you — you’re pregnant? Early intrauterine pregnancy, six weeks! What do you have to say for yourself?” Ms. Peyton quickly snatched the report and hid it, scolding Dylan Cooper: “Why did you come here? I wasn’t planning to tell them about this. After all, it’s not honorable for a girl…” “Everyone, just treat this as fake, as a joke. Don’t believe it!” Dylan refused to back down: “Why not? Why should someone like her be the top student!” “Jenna Lynn is a shameless slut. She’s always taking birth control pills at school. The whole class has seen it!” With those words, the whole room exploded. My dad wanted to kill me. My mom had a heart attack and fainted on the spot. The admissions officers turned to leave. “How did I give birth to a slut like you! You’re even — even pregnant with some bastard’s child!” My dad grabbed a kitchen knife and came at me like a madman. The scene descended into chaos. Ms. Peyton and Dylan calmly watched the show from the side. “I’m not pregnant! They forged that report! They’re deliberately trying to harm me. Dad, please calm down! Admissions officers, don’t leave!” I desperately explained, completely despairing, but now no one was willing to believe me. My dad couldn’t hear anything. The knife came straight at my neck. The next second, a large number of police officers burst through the door. “We heard a report about SAT answer leaks? I’m the SAT inspection team leader. This matter is serious. We immediately launched an investigation upon receiving the report.” “After examination, student Jenna Lynn’s results are legal and compliant. The test writers and papers were all under strict monitoring, with no leaks whatsoever.” “We are now lawfully arresting Peyton and Dylan Cooper for spreading rumors. Please come with the police.”

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The day before my wedding, I went to get my nails done. My fiancé came back with coffee and casually handed a cup to the nail tech. “Hey, add me on Ins. My wife can book you for her nails from now on.” I stared at him coldly. Sensing my gaze, he smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous again? I’m just making a friend. Maybe she’ll give you a discount next time.” I glanced at his phone screen. The note read: Amy, curvy, blonde, single. I smiled. A dog really can’t stop eating shit. Since he loved making friends so much, I’d help him invite all his female “friends.” Using his phone, I messaged his ex-girlfriends, his flings, the ones he’d met for dinner, the ones he’d sexted late at night, one by one: “My wedding’s tomorrow. I saved you a seat. Please come.” “Hello, is this the Grand Hotel? I need to add three more tables for tomorrow’s reception.” The manager paused. “That’ll cost extra.” Money wasn’t an issue. Less than five minutes after I hung up, Ethan’s call came through. “Why are you adding tables without discussing it with me first?” His voice was sharp and urgent, like I’d committed some unforgivable crime. I leaned back on the sofa, suddenly finding it almost funny. “I just want to invite a few more friends. What’s the problem?” I said. “What friends need three whole tables?” He pressed on relentlessly. “My parents said they can’t pay for the extra three tables.” I said mockingly, “It’s just adding some tables. Do you really need to blow up like this?” He continued angrily: “Sophia, you’re doing this because I added that nail tech on Ins, aren’t you? It’s normal socializing and you have to make a big deal out of it!” Normal socializing. He made it sound so simple. I gripped my phone tighter. “So sleeping with Christine at that hotel was also normal socializing?” Silence on the other end. “That was before we registered our marriage. Are you ever going to let it go?” It was indeed before the marriage registration, but we were still dating then. Last March, he said his company was having a team retreat and stayed at a hotel overnight. I only found out later that his “team retreat” companion was his ex-girlfriend Christine. “And staying at Wendy’s place for three days, that was also before registration?” “Will you ever stop?” Last month, he said he was on a business trip for three days. Turns out he was with Wendy. Right here in the city, less than ten kilometers from my home. Wendy posted a breakfast photo on her feed. The hands visible across the table wore a watch I’d given him. “Transferring twenty thousand dollars to Rachel and saying you’d take care of her, that was also before marriage?” “Sophia!” “You told everyone you were single, said I was just someone your family set you up with, said you didn’t love me at all…” “Enough!” He suddenly roared: “That’s all in the past! What’s the point of bringing it up over and over? What man doesn’t have a past? You’re just petty, just looking for trouble!” He took a breath, his voice turning cold. “Anyway, my parents won’t pay for those three tables. You invited them, you figure it out yourself.”

I leaned back on the sofa, suddenly feeling exhausted. Three years. Every time it was like this. I thought marriage would change him, thought he’d settle down. I really overestimated myself. “Twelve hundred for three tables, right?” I didn’t waste any more words and transferred the money directly. He paused for two seconds, saying “what are you doing,” but the next second I saw: Payment received. Immediately followed by a message: “You’re the best, babe. Let’s not talk about the past anymore. You’re the only one I love! Can’t wait for tomorrow’s wedding.” Looking at those words, I felt sick to my stomach. I typed back: “You better look forward to it. I’ve prepared a big surprise for you.” He asked what surprise. I didn’t reply. After hanging up, I picked up the phone and called my lawyer. “Mr. Wilson, draft me a divorce agreement. I need it after the wedding tomorrow.” The lawyer was clearly stunned. “But isn’t your wedding tomorrow?” “Yes. The wedding will happen, and I’m getting divorced too.” He didn’t ask further, just told me to send over the marriage certificate for filing. I pulled out that little red booklet from my bag, took a photo, and sent it over. About five minutes later, Mr. Wilson called back. His voice sounded off. “Miss Sophia, something’s wrong with this marriage certificate.” My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” “I checked the registration number. It doesn’t exist in the system. Miss Sophia, this marriage certificate is fake. You two have no legal marriage relationship.” I stood there holding the phone. Originally, I only planned to invite those women to give him a little surprise. Now it seemed the surprise wasn’t big enough. I opened my phone and started going through Ethan’s flirty chat logs, transaction screenshots, intimate photos, saving them all into a folder. Three years’ worth of evidence was all here—so much the folder could barely hold it all. I compiled all the material into a slideshow, set it to the background music of “Love For Sale,” and sent it to the MC: “For tomorrow’s wedding, replace the video with this one.” The MC was silent for a full ten seconds before replying with one word: “Okay.” I closed my phone and lay in bed. I didn’t sleep all night. The next morning, while I was getting my makeup done, Ethan sent a message: “Babe, I’m so excited. Finally getting to marry you.” I stared at the screen for two seconds before replying: “You’ll be even more excited soon.” Then my mom called: “Sophia, who exactly did you invite for those three tables? Why didn’t you tell us?” I said, “Mom, just watch the show today. Don’t ask so many questions.” She sighed. “Don’t do anything crazy.” I didn’t answer. After hanging up, I deleted all the photos with Ethan from my phone. Not a single one left. I called the hotel manager: “Those three tables of mine, arrange them directly facing the stage.” After hanging up, I took a deep breath, lifted my wedding dress hem, and walked out of the dressing room. Guests gradually arrived. I stood at the entrance greeting them, counting down in my mind. Ethan came over, glanced at the three empty tables, and asked, “Who did you invite? Why aren’t they here yet?”

I smiled and said, “Just invited a few of your ex-girlfriends.” His face instantly went pale. “What did you say? Are you crazy?” He lowered his voice, angry. “I just added that nail tech on Ins and you’re doing this? You have to cause a scene on our wedding day?!” I picked up a glass of champagne and took a sip without responding. Ethan stared at me for a while, then turned and left, his face dark as thunder. After a while, he came back with his parents and mine following behind. He said coldly, “Sophia, come to the dressing room. We need to talk.” My mom asked quietly, “Sophia, what’s wrong?” I didn’t answer. The group entered the dressing room and the door closed. As soon as the door shut, his mother spoke first: “Sophia, what’s the meaning of this? Inviting my son’s ex-girlfriends on his wedding day? Have you no sense of occasion?” I said calmly, “Mrs. Carter, I just invited a few friends to the wedding.” “Friends?” Ethan’s father slammed his hand on the table. “My son said you invited his ex-girlfriends! Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re deliberately trying to embarrass our family!” Ethan pointed his finger at my nose, nearly poking my face. “Sophia, isn’t this all because I added someone on Ins? Is this necessary? Inviting ex-girlfriends? Are you out of your mind?” I looked at him and laughed. “Added someone on Ins? You noted her as hot body, fair skin, single, you flirted with another woman right in front of me, and you ask if this is necessary?” Ethan’s mother interrupted: “Men make small mistakes sometimes. Making such a scene, how will you live together after this? I’m telling you, we’re cutting the wedding money to eight thousand. Let this be a lesson!” My mom exploded: “What do you mean small mistakes? He flirted with another woman right in front of Sophia! How shameless can your family be!” “What’s wrong with our family?” Ethan’s mother’s voice was even louder. “Your daughter invited ex-girlfriends to the wedding! What kind of behavior is that? I’m telling you, if you want this wedding to happen, behave yourselves. If not, forget it!” “You—” My dad’s face turned red with anger. “Eight thousand if you want the wedding, not a penny if you don’t!” Ethan’s mother turned her face away, crossing her arms. My mom’s hands were shaking with rage. “What kind of family are you? Don’t you know what your own son is like? This wedding is off!” “Fine, call it off! Who cares!” Ethan’s mother sneered. “With your daughter’s attitude, who’d want her after my son?” “What did you say?!” My dad rushed forward to argue, but my mom held him back tightly. The dressing room erupted into chaos. Ethan stood in the middle, not saying a word, his face even showing a hint of smugness. I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Of course we’re having the wedding.” Everyone fell silent, all eyes turning to me.

My mom froze. “Sophia, what are you saying?” I didn’t look at her. Staring at Ethan’s mother, I said slowly and clearly: “Forget the eight thousand. I don’t want a single penny.” Ethan’s mother’s expression changed instantly—from scowling to smiling, faster than flipping a page. “That’s more like it. Wouldn’t it have been easier to do this from the start?” Ethan also relaxed, a smile appearing on his face as he walked over to put his arm around me. “I knew you couldn’t let me go.” I stepped aside, dodging his hand. My mom stood frozen, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes full of disappointment. My dad turned his face away, his shoulders shaking. I couldn’t bear to look at them. I turned and opened the dressing room door, walking out. As I left the dressing room, Ethan followed behind me. “Sophia, wait for me.” I didn’t stop. “By the way, I didn’t just invite ex-girlfriends,” I said. He froze, catching up to grab my arm. “What do you mean? Who else?” I didn’t answer. “Say something! Sophia! Who else did you invite?” I shook off his hand and kept walking. The MC approached. “Bride, can we start?” I nodded. “Let’s begin.” The music started. I walked onto the stage. Ethan stood opposite me, smiling stiffly, his eyes constantly glancing at those three empty tables. The MC announced loudly: “Does anyone here object to this union?” As soon as he finished speaking, the banquet hall doors burst open. A woman walked in. She wore a loose dress, one hand supporting her slightly swollen belly, walking step by step to the front of the stage. When Ethan saw her face, he froze completely. “Why are you here?” She didn’t look at him. She raised her head to address everyone, her voice not loud but every word clear: “I object. And so does the baby in my belly.” The entire hall erupted. I looked at her belly, then at Ethan’s face, which had turned deathly pale in an instant. In that moment, I understood everything. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed through the silent hall. Ethan covered his face, eyes wide, staring at me. Before he could speak, the doors moved again. A second woman walked in. “I object too.” A third. “I also object.” Fourth, fifth, sixth… Over thirty women walked in one after another. Five of them were visibly pregnant. They lined up in three rows in front of the stage, all staring at Ethan. The entire venue exploded. People stood up, some screamed, some held up their phones to record. Ethan’s face was deathly pale, his whole body trembling on stage. He shouted at security: “Get them out! All of them out! Security!” Security rushed up to remove the women. The women struggled, screaming “scumbag” and “liar,” their voices sharp and piercing. Ethan grabbed the microphone, his voice shrill and panicked: “Continue the ceremony! Ignore them! Continue!” I smiled. I took off my ring and threw it hard at his face. “No need to continue. I object too.” I turned to face everyone below the stage, saying slowly and clearly: “I organized this wedding to expose this scumbag.” The big screen lit up. Ethan’s expression changed instantly. He rushed over frantically: “Turn it off! Turn it off now!”

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