Category: English

1 The day my seven-year-old sister was diagnosed autistic, Mom sat unmoving until dusk. Next morning, I stuck my foot out for her to tie my sneaker, as usual. Dad yanked me back. “Can’t you see she’s upset? Tie them yourself!” Mom watched with red eyes, then pulled my sister close, murmuring comfort. My shoelace snapped, whipping my hand raw. After that, my sister screamed nightly until her voice rasped. Mom paced the living room holding her, while I hid under my blanket, counting to four hundred with no sleep. My midterm rank crashed from first to forty-fifth. When the teacher demanded a parent meeting, my sister tumbled off the couch. Mom scooped her up, sobbing. “She’s struggling—can’t you be more understanding?” Dad twisted my ear. “Grow up! Must the world revolve around you?” At dinner, Mom peeled shrimp into my sister’s bowl. Mine stayed empty. But Mom, I’d done nothing wrong. So why did I feel invisible now? … Mom leaned down to wipe the soup from my sister’s chin. My sister hated being touched. She jerked away, letting out a sharp, high pitched shriek. Mom’s hand froze in midair. Her eyes welled with tears again. Dad slammed his chopsticks onto the table. “No one eat then.” The nanny cleared the dishes. I stared at the plate of vegetables I had not even had a chance to touch. I was starving, but I did not dare say a word. Our dinners did not use to be like this. We used to laugh and talk about our day. But after her diagnosis, all the warmth was sucked out of the room overnight. The next day, Dad took a day off to drive my sister and Mom to the therapy center for an evaluation. He said he would drop me off at school on the way. But the moment my sister got into the car, she started banging her head against the seat, crying until her face turned purple. Mom held her, her voice trembling with panic. “Luna, don’t be scared, Mommy is here.” Dad pulled over to the curb and yelled at me, “Get out! Take a cab to school yourself!” I froze. We were right next to the highway entrance. Cars were zooming past us, one after another. Mom finally looked up at me, her lips trembling. “Nicholas, just do what your sister wants for now.” I grabbed my backpack and got out. When the car door slammed shut, her crying was muffled behind the glass. I stood on the side of the road, my palms slick with sweat. My smart watch was in my backpack. I pulled it out, wanting to call a ride, but I did not know how. I had never done it before. Normally, my parents drove me, or Dad’s driver picked me up. Eventually, a female police officer saw me. “Hey there, where are your parents?” I looked down, feeling embarrassed. “They had an emergency.” She called a cab for me, and I left her my parents’ phone number. By the time I walked into my classroom, the first period was half over. The entire class stared at me. “Nicholas, why are you late? Your parents didn’t call in.” I stood at the door, my face burning hot. When I got home that evening, the living room was piled high with books and pamphlets on autism. There was also a receipt. When I walked past, I saw the numbers on it. Fifty dollars an hour. Five times a week. Before this, my basketball club only cost three hundred dollars a semester. Now, Dad stared at the receipt, silent for a long time. “Let’s pay for three months first,” he said. Mom whispered, “What about Nicholas’s basketball lessons?” Dad rubbed his temples, visibly irritated. “Cancel them for now.” I stood in the doorway, my fingers gripping the straps of my backpack. Mom turned and saw me, looking momentarily flustered. “Nicholas, let’s take a break from basketball for a little while, okay? Once Luna stabilizes, I’ll sign you back up.” I nodded. But the tournament was next month. My shoes had already been ordered. They were black with reflective stripes on the ankles. Mom used to say they made me look like a little superhero. But I did not say a word. I was afraid that if I brought it up, she would cry again. At night, I sat at my desk doing homework. Suddenly, Luna screamed from the living room. My pen slipped, drawing a long, jagged black line across my workbook. Dad shouted from outside, “Nicholas! Close your door tight! Don’t let her hear you turning pages!” I froze. I carefully pressed down on the paper, turning each page as slowly and silently as I could. The teacher called me in a second time because I fell asleep in class. My desk partner gasped and caught me before I slid off my chair. The teacher looked at the dark circles under my eyes, her voice softening. “Nicholas, if things are difficult at home, you can tell me.” My first instinct was to apologize. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Gable. It won’t happen again.” She sighed and handed me my school planner. “Have your parents sign this.” I shoved the planner deep into the bottom of my backpack. All the way home, I tried to figure out how to ask without making them angry. But there was no room for my voice at home. Luna refused to go inside when they got back from the therapy center. She wrapped herself around the hallway fire hydrant, curling up on the cold floor. Mom knelt beside her, coaxing her. Dad stood there, looking miserable, holding the therapy plan the center had given them. A neighbor opened their door to look. Dad glared at them. “What are you looking at?” I stood by the elevator, not daring to walk over. Luna was crying so hard she could barely breathe. Mom was crying too. She could not lift Luna, so she just used her own body to shield her from the wall, terrified she would bang her head. I walked over and whispered to Dad, “My teacher needs a signature…” Before I could finish, Dad snapped his head around. “Are you blind? Is this the time for that?” I stepped back in fear. The school planner slipped from my hand, landing on the floor. Luna’s foot stomped right onto it, crumpling the cover into a ball. Dad bent down to pick it up, his eyes falling on the teacher’s note: Nicholas seems exhausted in class, and his grades are dropping significantly. Please look into this. He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “I don’t even have enough hours in the day to breathe, and she wants me to look into you?” I looked down, my throat tight. Mom finally looked up. “Nicholas, have you been staying up too late?” A sudden spark of hope lit up in my chest. She noticed. She knew I wasn’t sleeping well. But in the next second, she said, “Your sister’s emotions are highly unstable at night. You have to endure it. When you get home from school, finish your homework first. Don’t drag it out so late.” My heart went completely cold. In her eyes, the problem was simply that I did not manage my time well. Dad threw the planner back at me. “If your grades are dropping, fix them yourself. We don’t have the energy for you right now.” From that day on, I made sure to finish all my homework at school. I did not even leave my desk during the short breaks. When my classmates invited me to play basketball, I shook my head. But Luna’s condition only worsened. She could not stay in a regular school. Mom took her to a special education integration class for a trial. On the first day, Mom sat in with her. The moment the bell rang, Luna shrieked and crawled under the desk, refusing to come out. The teacher spent half an hour trying to soothe her, finally advising Mom, “Don’t think about regular schools for now. She needs one on one training and basic life skills, and the family must cooperate.” When they got home, Mom sat on the couch in absolute silence. Dad smoked on the balcony all night. The next day, he sold our second car. On my twelfth birthday, Mom forgot. She had spent the day with Luna for a speech evaluation, waiting in line until late afternoon. Luna had a meltdown in the hospital lobby, thrashing on the floor and hitting her forehead against a chair leg. Mom held her and wept, while Dad screamed at the onlookers who were whispering and pointing. They did not get home until seven in the evening. I had been sitting at the dining table for an hour. There were three simple dishes and soup that the nanny had prepared before she left. No cake. No candles. Every year before this, Mom would make me a paper crown by hand. Dad would lift me onto a chair and let me make a wish. This year, I did not say anything. I wanted to wait for them to remember on their own. Mom walked in, looking so exhausted she could barely stand. Luna slumped on her shoulder, clutching the numbered hospital cards. Dad slammed the medical files onto the shoe cabinet. “Severe! It’s still severe! We’ve done so much training, why isn’t anything working?” Mom’s voice was incredibly hoarse. “It’s not useless. The teacher said she held eye contact for two seconds longer than before.” Dad snapped, “What good is two seconds? What is she going to do in the future? What happens to her when we die?” The living room fell into a suffocating silence. I sat at the table, my hands resting on my knees, not daring to move. The word die was too heavy. It crushed my birthday out of existence. Mom finally noticed me. “Nicholas, did you eat?” “Not yet.” She blinked, as if only just remembering there was another child in the house. “Then let’s eat.” She buckled Luna into her high chair and began cutting up her noodles. She cut them into tiny, minuscule pieces. Luna only ate a few specific foods, and long noodles made her anxious. As Mom snipped, she counted softly under her breath, “One, two, three…” I looked down at the rice in my bowl. It was cold. The nanny asked quietly, “Nicholas, do you want me to warm that up for you?” Dad immediately frowned. “Don’t turn on the microwave. Luna can’t stand that sound.” The cold rice was hard. Chewing it felt like eating sand. Halfway through the meal, Mom suddenly froze. She stared at the calendar on the wall. That date was circled in bright red ink. Mom’s face went completely white. “Nicholas…” Dad was silent for a few seconds, his voice strained. “Everything was too chaotic today. We will make it up to you tomorrow.” I kept my head down, swallowing the rice. “It’s fine.” Tears slipped down Mom’s cheeks. “Mommy didn’t mean to forget.” I nodded. “I know.” The next day, Dad actually bought a cake. A very small, discounted mango cake. He set it on the table and said, “Let’s celebrate.” Just as I was about to take my first bite, Luna caught a whiff of the mango. She shrieked, lunging forward to shove the cake off the table. The yellow frosting smeared across the tiles. Mom quickly pulled Luna into her arms. “Luna doesn’t like it, it’s okay, we don’t want it.” Dad stared at the ruined cake on the floor, his expression grim. Money was already tight. The therapy bills were a bottomless pit. Dad’s business was struggling, and Mom had quit her job to do full time training with Luna. They had already withdrawn the savings meant for a larger house, and now, they sold my piano. The movers arrived the day I got home from school. That piano had been with me for four years. The very first piece I learned was taught to me by Mom, sitting beside me, tapping out the beat. As the movers lifted the piano, I rushed over and pressed a single key. A soft, lonely note rang out. Luna immediately began to wail from her room. Dad grabbed my wrist, hard. “Why did you do that? You know she can’t stand the noise!” My wrist throbbed. I looked at Mom. She stood at the bedroom door, saying nothing. In that moment, I understood. In this house, if anything related to me made Luna uncomfortable, it could be thrown away. That night, I took a pair of scissors from my drawer. Standing in front of the mirror, I cut off the first lock of my hair. The scissors made a sharp snip, and a small clump of black hair fell into my palm. I stared at it for a long time before making the second cut. Mom used to say my hair was just like hers, thick and dark. She used to buy all kinds of hair gels and combs, styling it for me depending on the season. Cool gel in the spring, minty spray in the summer, anti static combs in the winter. But those styling tools had all been locked away in a drawer. Luna loved pulling on hanging things, and if she saw gel in my hair, she would suddenly charge and claw at my head. Mom had told me, “Nicholas, let’s stop styling it for now, so we don’t trigger Luna.” I had listened. But every morning, I could not get it right on my own, and Dad would scold me for taking too long. “Who are you trying to look good for, spending so much time on your hair?” So I buzzed it all off. I cut it unevenly, until the reflection in the mirror looked harsh and strange. At breakfast the next morning, Mom saw me, and her spoon clattered into her bowl. “Nicholas, what happened to your hair?” Dad looked up from his phone, his face instantly darkening. “What kind of stunt are you pulling now?” I picked up my glass of milk. “A buzz cut is easier. I don’t have to comb it.” Mom walked over, reaching out to touch my head. I flinched and stepped back. Her hand remained suspended in the air. The atmosphere felt frozen. Suddenly, Luna stared at me and let out a bizarre, high pitched laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound, just the strange noise she made whenever she noticed a change. Dad immediately pulled her away. “Don’t let him frighten Luna.” I lowered my head and drank my milk. It tasted bitter, even though it was sweet. At school, my classmates gathered around. “Nicholas, why did you cut your hair like that?” “It’s so short, you look like a thug.” Some laughed. I laughed along with them. When my teacher saw me, she called me into her office. She looked at me for a moment, then pulled a small comb and scissors from her desk drawer. “Sit down.” I did not understand. She gently pressed me into the chair and began trimming my sideburns and hairline. Her movements were incredibly soft. “I’m not great at doing buzz cuts, but at least I can make it look neat for you.” When the comb lightly brushed against my scalp, my eyes stung. It had been so long since anyone had touched my head like this. I blinked rapidly. She said softly, “Go ahead and cry. There is no one else in the office right now.” I did not make a sound, but the tears fell, hot and heavy, soaking into my school uniform pants. She handed me a tissue. “Nicholas, there are still a few openings for boarding students. Would you like to apply?” Our school had a dormitory. Though my house was only a twenty minute drive away, Mom had never let me board before. She always said boys were too young to live away from home, that no one would look after me. Well, no one was looking after me now anyway. “Am I allowed to?” She nodded. “As long as your parents sign.” That night, I brought the boarding application home. Dad was calculating the monthly expenses, receipts and loan documents scattered across the table. His face grew darker by the second. “The therapy fees are going up again next quarter. Special school fees, private lessons, sensory integration therapy… it costs more than our mortgage.” Mom sat beside him, her fingers pale. “I will look for some freelance design work online. I can take commissions at night.” Dad snapped, “You assist her at school during the day and soothe her to sleep at night. When are you going to find time for freelance work?” I placed the application form on the corner of the desk. “I want to live at school.”

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1 Henry had firm rules for his charity. Four years together, my independence made me his lowest priority. Maya, his recently divorced colleague, earned all his time as a struggling single mother. He fetched her medicine at 2 A.M., built furniture on weekends, and played stand-in dad at her son’s sports day. Confront him, and he’d scoff. Just helping her. Why envy a single mother? Yesterday, my father’s heart attack demanded a $5,000 deposit. Pale and trembling, I called Henry. He hesitated. Broke this month. I gripped the bill. What about Friday’s $6,000 bonus? He stammered. Maya’s son needed private preschool fees. She was distraught, so I lent it. In the sterile hallway, I watched the SURGERY IN PROGRESS sign, shaking. My father fought for life while Henry couldn’t spare $5,000. But for Maya’s son’s $5,500 tuition, he’d handed over his entire paycheck without pause. I scraped funds from relatives. At 3 A.M., his text arrived. Stop the silence. I’ll take leave to care for your dad after discharge. I stared at the screen, nausea rising. No tears, just revulsion. Calmly, I blocked him everywhere. Henry craved playing savior. Let him save someone else. I was finished. … “Claire, how old are you? Are we really still playing the blocking game?” The front door clicked open. Henry walked in, carrying two bags of takeout breakfast. His brows were furrowed in that familiar, condescending expression of exhausted patience. I sat motionless on the couch. On the coffee table in front of me sat my father’s emergency surgery receipt. The money my mother had to beg our relatives for in a freezing hospital hallway in the middle of the night. Henry kicked off his shoes and dropped the breakfast on the dining table. He walked over and stood in front of the couch, looking down at me like I was a petulant child. “I know you were stressed, but your dad’s surgery went fine, right?” “I already told you I’d take time off to help out. Why do you always have to escalate things and make this so dramatic?” I slowly raised my head. My eyes swept over the slightly wrinkled collar of his dress shirt. “You didn’t come home last night,” I stated. My voice was eerily quiet. Henry froze. He pulled out a dining chair, sat down, and took a slow sip from a glass of water. “Leo spiked a fever in the middle of the night. Maya couldn’t carry him to the car alone, so she called me in a panic.” “I drove them to the ER and stayed with them while they ran an IV. I was so exhausted I just passed out on those hard plastic waiting room chairs.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, playing the role of the weary martyr to perfection. “Claire, I was doing a good deed. Could you try being a little understanding about how exhausted I am for once?” Listening to his absolute, unshakeable self-righteousness, bile rose in the back of my throat. My father had a massive heart attack, and Henry couldn’t spare a dime for his emergency surgery. Maya’s kid gets a fever, and Henry spends the entire night glued to his hospital bed. “Where is your bonus?” I didn’t take the bait, cutting straight to the only thing that mattered. Henry blinked, clearly caught off guard. He hadn’t expected me to instantly zero in on the money. “Didn’t I just text you? I lent it to Maya so she could pay Leo’s enrollment fee.” “She’s a single woman trying to survive in this brutal city. She doesn’t have anyone else to lean on.” “If she didn’t secure that spot, Leo wouldn’t even have a place to go to school.” The more he spoke, the more justified he felt. He actually had the audacity to glare at me. “Besides, didn’t you just get your quarterly bonus? Why couldn’t you just front the cash for the surgery? Why do you have to be so incredibly petty over a few thousand dollars right now?” I stared dead into his eyes. “My CDs don’t mature until next month. And I wired my quarterly bonus to the wedding planner last week to cover our final catering deposit.” “Henry. That was our wedding money.” His face went completely rigid. But a second later, the defensive irritation of a man whose ego had just been bruised flared right back up. “We can push the wedding back. We can cancel the catering.” “But a child’s education is critical. It can’t wait!” He shot up from his chair, his voice echoing in the small living room. “Claire, when did you become so damn cold-blooded?” “That is a living, breathing human being. Did you want me to just stand by and watch Maya lose her mind over a few thousand bucks?” The doorbell suddenly chimed. It shattered the suffocating tension in the room. Henry shot me a lethal glare before turning on his heel to open the door. Standing on the welcome mat, holding a thermal soup container, was Maya. She was wearing a loose, oversized cream cardigan. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. The absolute picture of fragile vulnerability. “Henry, I’m so sorry. Did I interrupt you two last night?” Maya stood timidly in the doorway, her gaze darting past Henry’s shoulder to land on me. “Claire, please don’t be mad at Henry. It’s entirely my fault.” “Leo’s fever was so high, I was just so terrified… I didn’t know who else to call…” As she spoke, she gently pressed the soup container into Henry’s hands. “I made some chicken congee this morning. I know your stomach acts up when you don’t sleep, so this should help.” The furious irritation in Henry’s eyes melted instantly into a pool of gentle sympathy. He took the soup, his voice dropping into a soft, protective murmur. “You shouldn’t have driven all the way over here. Did Leo’s fever finally break?” “It did. He’s sleeping it off at home.” Maya managed to force a weak, brave little smile. The two of them stood in my entryway, whispering to each other with the natural, effortless intimacy of a married couple. I watched them, my fingernails biting painfully into my palms. “Maya.” My voice cut through their little bubble like a scalpel. “Since you feel so incredibly guilty, how about you wire back the six thousand dollars you ‘borrowed’?” Maya violently flinched. The blood completely drained from her face. She looked up at Henry in sheer, helpless panic. Tears instantly spilled over her lower lashes, tracing down her pale cheeks. “Claire… that money… that was for Leo’s tuition…” “I swear, the second I have the cash, I’ll pay you both back. Please don’t back me into a corner…” “Claire!” Henry whipped his head around, snapping at me. “Are you insane?! Why would you humiliate her like this in our own home?” He stepped sideways, physically shielding Maya with his body like she was a terrified rabbit facing down a predator. “I lent her my money. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. If you have a problem, take it out on me!” I stared at the man I had been engaged to for four years. Watching him bare his teeth at me to protect another woman, while my father was lying in an ICU bed. My chest went completely numb. “Fine.” I stood up and shoved the hospital receipt into my purse. “I’ll take it out on you.” “Henry, if you don’t get that money back today, we are done.” 2 “Claire, that is enough!” Henry’s face darkened with absolute fury. He stormed across the living room and clamped his hand around my wrist like a vice. “Are you seriously using a breakup to blackmail me? Do you think this is some kind of sick game?” “I already told you I would figure out a way to get the hospital money! Why are you intentionally trying to make me look like a monster?” A dull ache radiated from where his fingers dug into my bone. I violently ripped my arm out of his grip, staring at him with eyes like dead ice. “Figure out a way? What exactly is your plan, Henry?” “Are you going to spend another night camping out in the ER for someone else’s kid, or are you just going to sit here and eat the soup she made you?” Right on cue, Maya let out a muffled, agonizing sob from the entryway. She covered her mouth with both hands, her shoulders trembling violently. “Henry, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have dragged you into my mess.” “Claire is right. I need to pay that money back…” Tears streaming down her face, she frantically started digging through her purse for her phone. “I’ll just… I’ll take out a payday loan online. I don’t care how predatory the interest rates are. I won’t let my problems ruin your relationship.” “Maya, stop being ridiculous!” Henry instantly closed the distance, grabbing her hands to stop her from using her phone. He whipped his head back toward me, his eyes burning with toxic disappointment. “Look what you’ve done to her! Are you happy now? Do you only feel satisfied when you drive people to the absolute edge?!” I looked at the two of them. A tragic hero and his damsel in distress. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to argue anymore. I grabbed my purse off the couch and walked straight toward the front door. As I brushed past Maya, she practically shrank into herself, stumbling backward until her shoulder bumped into Henry’s chest. Henry instinctively wrapped his arm around her, shielding her completely. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his voice hard. “The hospital.” I didn’t even turn my head. I yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway. The heavy door slammed shut behind me. Cutting off whatever pathetic excuse Henry was about to throw at me. When I finally reached the hospital, my mother was sitting on a plastic chair in the corridor, quietly wiping her eyes with a tissue. Seeing me, she quickly stood up and grabbed my hands. “Claire, where is Henry? Didn’t he come with you?” She looked over my shoulder, searching the empty hallway with a flicker of hopeful expectation. “Your father woke up for a few minutes last night and actually asked for him.” My throat tightened painfully. I forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile. “There was an emergency project at his firm. He couldn’t get away.” “Oh.” My mother couldn’t hide her disappointment, but she nodded understandingly. “It’s good that he’s working hard. You need to be supportive, Claire. Don’t pick fights with him just because you’re stressed about your dad.” I dropped my gaze to the scuffed linoleum floor, unable to look at the exhaustion carved into my mother’s face. The money for the surgery had ultimately come from my uncle. Even though my aunt agreed to the loan, she had spent ten minutes on the phone throwing sharp, passive-aggressive jabs, loudly wondering why my fiancé—a department manager at a major tech firm—couldn’t foot the bill. My mother had to swallow her pride and cover for him, lying that his cash was tied up in investments. I sat in that hallway for almost two hours. Finally, Henry appeared. He was carrying a generic fruit basket, walking toward us with a stiff, unnatural expression. “Mrs. Solis, I’m so sorry I’m late.” He set the basket down on an empty chair, perfectly executing the role of the deeply apologetic son-in-law. “One of my major clients had a massive crisis last night. I had to go put out the fire, so I couldn’t be here with you and Claire.” My mother waved her hand dismissively, a relieved, weary smile breaking through her exhaustion. “Work always comes first. I’m just glad you could make it now.” “Sit, sit! Claire, go get Henry some water.” I watched him perform with icy detachment. A client crisis? Since when did Maya become his corporate client? Henry sat down in the plastic chair next to me. Under the guise of adjusting his coat, he reached out and secretly tugged on my sleeve. “Stop being mad,” he hissed under his breath. “I already cleared it with HR. I took the next three days off to stay here at the hospital. You go home and get some actual sleep.” If he had said that to me a year ago, I would have melted. Now, I just felt a sickening sense of irony. Three years ago, my appendix ruptured. I was rolling on our bedroom floor in agonizing pain. While he was driving me to the ER, his phone rang. It was Maya. She was sobbing hysterically because Leo had scraped his knee at the playground and was screaming for his “Uncle Henry.” Henry pulled the car over three blocks from the hospital and unlocked the doors. “The ER entrance is just down the street, you can walk from here. I need to go check on Leo. The kid doesn’t have a father, he can’t handle trauma like this.” He spent the entire afternoon at the playground, hugging another woman’s child. Meanwhile, I went into septic shock in the ER waiting room. The triage nurse had to dig my phone out of my purse to call a coworker to sign my emergency consent forms. That incident became the permanent forbidden topic in our relationship. Whenever I brought it up, he accused me of holding onto petty grudges. “Don’t bother,” I said, dodging his hand. “My dad only needs me here.” Henry’s face tightened, his ego clearly bruised. He opened his mouth to argue, but his phone suddenly blared from his jacket pocket. The sharp ringtone echoed aggressively in the quiet ICU hallway. He glanced at the screen, his eyes violently flickering. He immediately stood up and walked several paces away to answer. “What’s wrong? Did Leo’s fever spike again?” The hallway was empty. Even though he lowered his voice, the words carried perfectly clearly to where I was sitting. I couldn’t hear the response on the other end. But Henry’s posture instantly went rigid with panic. “Don’t move, I’m on my way right now!” He hung up the phone and spun around to face me and my mother. He immediately deployed his signature mask of pained reluctance. “Mrs. Solis, Claire… something catastrophic just happened at the office. I have to go back immediately.” My mother blinked, surprised, but quickly nodded. “Go, go! Don’t let us hold you back from your career.” Henry gave me one long, deeply meaningful look before turning and practically sprinting toward the elevators. I watched his back disappear around the corner. I remembered the exact expression on his face when he answered that call. It was the exact same look he had the day he dumped me on the sidewalk with a ruptured appendix. “Henry is such a responsible young man,” my mother murmured beside me, completely oblivious. I didn’t say a word. The overpowering smell of hospital bleach suddenly made my eyes sting. 3 “You better hurry, don’t keep the poor single mother waiting.” Henry had barely taken three steps when he froze as if struck by lightning. He whipped his head around to look at me, a flash of humiliated panic in his eyes at being so effortlessly exposed. But he quickly plastered his corporate mask back on, gave my mother an apologetic nod, and disappeared into the elevator without looking back. For the next three days, Henry didn’t show his face once. My phone occasionally buzzed with a few dry, emotionless texts and two Zelle transfers. I didn’t accept the money. I didn’t reply to the texts. I spent those three days practically living in that hospital room. I rolled my father over to prevent bedsores. I sponge-bathed him. Even the floor nurses were impressed by how meticulous I was. My father was incredibly weak, but the color was slowly returning to his face. On the morning of his discharge, Henry finally resurfaced. He pulled his SUV up to the main entrance, aggressively playing the role of the perfect son-in-law. He loaded the bags, held the door, and gently helped my father into the backseat. “Mr. and Mrs. Solis, to celebrate a successful surgery, I booked a private dining room at The Lotus Pavilion.” Henry adjusted the rearview mirror to make eye contact with my parents as he drove. “It’s just going to be us family. A nice dinner to wash off the hospital bad luck.” The Lotus Pavilion was one of the most exclusive, impossible-to-book private kitchens in the city. My parents were deeply touched, repeatedly telling him he shouldn’t have spent so much money. When we pulled up to the restaurant, I helped my father out of the car and guided him into the private room. There were already two people sitting at the table. Maya and her son, Leo. Seeing us walk in, Maya immediately shot up from her chair. She was wearing a tasteful, soft floral dress, looking like the absolute picture of gentle modesty. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Solis. Hi, Claire.” My mother froze in the doorway, shooting Henry a look of pure confusion. “Henry, who is this?” Henry stepped smoothly past me, his expression perfectly casual. “Mrs. Solis, this is my coworker, Maya. Leo’s preschool was hosting a parent-teacher dinner right down the street, so I figured I’d invite them over since we had extra seats. The more the merrier, right?” Right down the street? This restaurant was on the exact opposite side of the city from Leo’s private preschool. How exactly was that convenient? I stared at him, my eyes like ice. He had used my father’s discharge dinner as a pathetic excuse to treat Maya and her kid to a five-star meal. Leo was currently sitting in the seat of honor—the chair at the head of the table meant for my father. He was violently slamming a toy car into the expensive mahogany wood. When he saw us, he didn’t say hello. He just deliberately shoved a crystal water glass, making it rattle dangerously against a plate. “Leo, use your words. Say hi to the grandparents,” Maya cooed softly. Leo rolled his eyes and slammed his toy car onto the table again. “I won’t! Uncle Henry promised we were getting giant lobsters! Why are there so many old people here?!” “Leo, be a good boy. Uncle Henry will order you the biggest lobster on the menu.” Instead of correcting the kid’s bratty behavior, Henry walked over and affectionately ruffled his hair. Then he turned back to my father. “Mr. Solis, why don’t you sit over there in the corner? Leo is a little shy around strangers.” He was actually asking my father—who had just survived open-heart surgery—to sit in the cramped corner seat of his own celebration dinner. My vision went red. I marched forward and ripped the chair at the head of the table out. “This dinner is for my father. He sits at the head of the table.” I glared down at the kid. “Move to the side.” Leo immediately opened his mouth and let out an ear-piercing scream. Maya scrambled out of her chair, pulling Leo into her arms, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. “Claire, please don’t take it out on a child! We’ll move, it’s fine.” She wiped a tear from her cheek, shooting Henry a look of devastating, helpless victimhood. Henry’s face instantly went dark. “Claire, did you intentionally come here today to pick a fight? Are you seriously throwing your weight around to bully a five-year-old?” Seeing the tension explode, my mother grabbed my arm, desperately trying to keep the peace. “Claire, stop it! He’s just a little boy, a chair is just a chair. Your father and I will sit over here.” The rest of the meal tasted like sawdust. Henry spent the entire two hours obsessively catering to Maya and her son. He peeled shrimp for Leo. He spooned soup into Maya’s bowl. The two of them whispered back and forth, occasionally breaking into soft, intimate laughter. It looked exactly like a happy family dinner, while my parents and I sat there like awkward strangers sharing a table at a food court. Halfway through the meal, I pulled a heavy, silk-lined wooden box out of my bag and handed it to my father. “Dad, I had a friend track down a master craftsman in Yixing to custom-make this Zisha clay teapot.” “I know how much you love your tea. Now you can use this while you rest and recover at home.” My father’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. He took the box with trembling, careful hands. When he opened the lid, a stunning, perfectly fired purple clay teapot rested inside on velvet. It was a masterpiece. I had spent two months of my salary on it and commissioned it half a year in advance. “Oh, Claire… this is absolutely beautiful. Thank you.” My father gently traced the curve of the clay spout. Suddenly, Leo slipped out of his chair. Before anyone could react, he had darted over to my father’s side and lunged for the silk box. “Let me see it! I want to play with it!” “Hey! Leo, don’t touch that!” my mother gasped. But it was too late. Leo fumbled the heavy pot. It slipped from the velvet lining and plummeted toward the floor. CRASH. The custom Zisha clay shattered into a hundred jagged pieces against the hardwood. The room went dead silent. My father’s hands hung frozen in the air. The color drained completely from his face. “What is wrong with you?!” I screamed, violently shoving the brat away from the broken shards. Leo stumbled back, shocked, before unleashing a deafening, theatrical wail. Maya threw herself in front of Leo, shielding him like I was holding a gun to his head, aggressively patting his back. “Claire, why would you put your hands on him?! He didn’t do it on purpose!” Henry slammed his hands on the table and stood up, immediately stepping in front of Maya and her son. He glanced at the shattered clay on the floor, his brow furrowing with arrogant irritation. “It’s just a damn teapot. If it’s broken, it’s broken.” “I’ll buy your dad an identical one on Amazon tomorrow. Do you really need to get physical with a toddler over a piece of clay?” 4 “Henry, that teapot was a one-of-a-kind masterwork. How exactly do you plan on replacing it?” I stared dead into his arrogant, dismissive eyes. My voice shook with an absolute, blinding rage. “I paid ten thousand dollars for that! I had to pull favors with three different collectors just to get the kiln master to make it!” “And you think you can just wave it away by buying a cheap knockoff on Amazon?!” Henry’s face froze. He clearly hadn’t expected the teapot to cost more than a hundred bucks. But before he could say anything, Maya let out a sharp, theatrical gasp behind him. “Ten thousand dollars? How could a teapot possibly cost that much…” Maya covered her mouth, massive tears rolling down her cheeks. “Claire, I know you despise me, but you can’t just slap a ridiculous price tag on a broken cup to extort a widowed mother.” “Leo is just a baby. He didn’t even know what it was…” Her pathetic, fragile act was like a match to gasoline. Henry’s protective instincts instantly flared to life. “Claire, are you completely obsessed with money?!” Henry’s voice boomed across the room, staring at me like I was a psychopath he had never met before. “Even if that piece of dirt was worth ten grand, it’s just an object!” “If you had injured Leo when you shoved him, a hundred grand wouldn’t have covered the damage!” As he spoke, he knelt down, aggressively checking Leo’s arms to make sure there wasn’t a single scratch. Once satisfied, he stood up and shot my mother a freezing glare. “Mrs. Solis, you need to control your daughter. Just because her father got out of the hospital doesn’t give her the right to physically assault a child in public.” My mother was so furious at his gaslighting that her lips turned blue. She clutched her chest, completely unable to force a word out. My father’s face was livid. With a trembling hand, he slammed his water glass onto the table. “We are leaving! I am not eating another bite of this.” I grabbed my parents’ coats and helped them out of the private room, never looking back. Henry didn’t chase after us. As I walked down the hallway, I could hear him softly cooing to the crying brat, his voice dripping with the tender patience of a loving father. After I dropped my parents off at their house and made sure they were okay, I hailed a cab back to the condo I shared with Henry. This apartment. The little home I had spent months painstakingly decorating. Now, just standing in the foyer made me feel like I was suffocating. I walked straight into the home office and booted up his desktop. Henry’s iMessage was synced to his Mac, automatically logged in. I never, ever snooped through his phone. But today, I clicked directly on his chat history with Maya. I scrolled up. It wasn’t just the $6,000 preschool transfer. Near the end of last month, there was a massive outgoing transfer of $8,000. The memo line read: [Six months rent for the luxury apartment in the school district.] Maya’s reply was right underneath it: [Henry, thank you so much. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even know where to take Leo. That sketchy neighborhood we were living in was terrifying. Last night, someone banged on my door, and I was so scared I stayed awake until dawn.] Henry’s response: [Pack your things and move in. The door code is your birthday. Don’t be scared anymore. From now on, you have me.] I stared at the glowing pixels spelling out From now on, you have me. The blood in my veins turned into glacial ice. That $8,000… Henry had promised me that exact amount last month. He had sworn that as soon as his quarterly bonus hit, he would give me that money to use as a down payment to replace my seven-year-old, beat-up Honda. My car had literally broken down on the highway twice in the last six months. I guess my physical safety meant absolutely nothing compared to Maya typing the word “scared.” Just then, the electronic deadbolt on the front door beeped. Henry was home. He threw his suit jacket onto the couch and walked to the doorway of the office, his brows heavily furrowed. “Are you done throwing your tantrum?” His tone held absolutely zero remorse. Only the deep, aggravated annoyance of a man whose pleasant evening had been ruined. “Dragging your parents out of a restaurant in the middle of dinner? Do you have any idea how classless that makes you look?” “Maya felt so incredibly guilty about your behavior that she cried the entire drive home. You terrified Leo so badly he refused to eat his dinner.” I spun my desk chair around and stared at the man I had loved for four years. “Henry,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “That $8,000 down payment. Did you use it to pay another woman’s rent?” Henry’s face went rigid. His eyes darted past me to the glowing monitor of his Mac. His skin instantly flushed with a dark, ugly red. “You’re spying on my messages?!” he demanded, his voice thick with humiliated rage. “I asked you a question. Did you take the money for my car to rent a luxury apartment for another woman?” I ignored his pathetic attempt to deflect, slowly enunciating every single word. Henry took a deep, heavy breath, acting as though he was suppressing a massive, volcanic rage. He pulled up a chair and sat down, immediately launching into his flawless, bulletproof savior logic. “Yes. I lent it to her.” “Claire, can you use some basic logic for five seconds? Your car is old, sure, but it still drives.” “Maya’s situation was a literal emergency! She’s a single woman living alone in a dangerous slum with a child. What if someone broke in and assaulted her?” “That was my money. I earned it. Am I not allowed to decide what to do with my own paycheck? I helped a woman survive a crisis. How is that a crime?” He was always like this. He always managed to scramble to the absolute peak of the moral high ground. He took all of his blatant disrespect, his boundary-crossing, and his emotional betrayal, and wrapped it up in the shiny foil of “selfless charity.” And in his narrative, I was always the petty, heartless, materialistic villain. “You didn’t commit a crime,” I nodded slowly. Henry blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected me to cave so easily. His posture relaxed instantly. He stood up and reached out to grab my hand. “I’m glad you finally understand. Tomorrow, you just need to apologize to Maya for the scene you caused, and we can put this whole thing behind us—” I smoothly dodged his hand. I opened the desk drawer, pulled out a stack of freshly printed papers, and slammed them onto the mahogany desk. “I’m setting your charity free.” Henry looked down. The bold, black letters at the top of the page burned into his retinas.

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1 We were mountain camping when Luke texted to meet him at the summit’s old stone chapel. Locals claimed its rusted bell bound couples for life. I hiked straight up without rest. Inside, the chapel stood empty. Night fell with torrential rain. Shivering in the dark, I huddled there until dawn. Battered and scraped, I limped back to camp the next evening. Through the trees, Luke sat by the fire, having lost Truth or Dare. A friend asked if he’d ever liked someone besides his girlfriend. His ears reddened; he chugged a beer instead. Across from him, Kate turned away, cheeks flaming, murmuring softly. The crowd roared, chanting for them to kiss. No one remembered I, his ten-year girlfriend, had vanished for a day and night. Standing in the shadows, I decided: this was over. Back in my tent, I pulled out the first aid kit and uncapped a bottle of antiseptic. The mountain trail had been turned into a slick, muddy slide by the storm. I had fallen more times than I could count, the jagged rocks tearing the palms of my hands into a bloody mess. At one point, I had completely missed a stone step in the dark and tumbled down a steep embankment. If my back hadn’t slammed into a thick pine tree, I would have gone straight over the cliff. Blood was still oozing from the deep scratches on my back. I hissed in pain, pressing a saturated cotton swab against the wound. That was when Luke walked in. His sharp brow bone was shadowed, his lips pressed into a tight, unforgiving line. After a decade together, I knew that look. He was angry. But my body ached too much to play his guessing games. It was undoubtedly about Kate. Ever since she entered our lives a year ago as his patient, the scales in Luke’s heart had tipped entirely in her favor. Just as I predicted, he frowned and crossed his arms. “Kate had some drinks tonight and her stomach is killing her. I told you to bring her the antacids. Why are you pretending you didn’t see my messages?” My wounds burned like fire, but a hollow laugh bubbled up from my throat. Pretending? If Luke possessed even a fraction of a second to actually look at me, he would have noticed the medical supplies scattered across the floor and the agonizing angle I had to twist into just to clean my own back. I didn’t say a word. I simply reached out and picked up his phone from where he had tossed it on my sleeping bag. Under his confused gaze, I opened our chat. The most recent message was from a week ago. It finally clicked. That text had been sent by Kate using his phone, and she had deleted it immediately after. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pulled out my own phone, opened the chat, and shoved the screen toward him. [Stella, they say the old chapel at the summit is magical. Couples who pray there stay together forever. I’ll be waiting for you up there.] Luke stared at the screen cracked like a spiderweb, then looked up to finally notice the dried blood smeared across my cheek. Realization washed over his features. His frown deepened. “You actually believed that? You know I don’t buy into that superstitious garbage.” He swallowed whatever he was about to say next. I smiled, the expression tasting bitter. He was right. Luke was always the epitome of cold rationality, a man who never let his emotions dictate his actions. Even six months ago, when a stalker broke into my apartment and I was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor, Luke had simply chased the man off and then coldly lectured me for not being more aware of my surroundings. Yet, this notorious workaholic had suddenly suggested we go on a vacation. The scenic spot on the travel brochure was the exact place I had been begging to visit for years. I foolishly thought he was finally going to fulfill a promise he made six years ago, treating this trip as my ultimate birthday gift. Back then, Luke had just secured a full ride to the best medical school in Boston. On the day of our college graduation, he grabbed my hand. A rare, clumsy blush spread across his usually stoic face. “Stella, come to Boston with me. Wait for me. Give me seven years, and on your birthday, I’ll give you the grandest proposal you’ve ever seen.” I had frozen, laughing and crying all at once, scolding him for ruining the surprise by scheduling it out loud. But I still abandoned the stable job waiting for me in my hometown. I followed him without a second thought, supporting him through his brutal residency until he became one of the most sought-after clinical psychologists in the city. Looking back now, the signs were always there. That travel brochure had first appeared in Kate’s hands. Simply because she said the pictures looked pretty, Luke canceled a week of fully booked appointments and contacted a travel agency. I was only invited because their group package needed one more person to get the discount rate. Before Kate, whenever I begged him to take a weekend off to visit this exact mountain, he always brushed me off, claiming his schedule was too packed. The fog in my mind completely evaporated, leaving behind a razor-sharp pain. The heavy silence was broken when Kate unzipped the tent flap and poked her head in. She was holding a half-eaten kebab. “Luke, this steak is so tender, you have to try…” Her eyes landed on my bruised, bloodied state. Like a startled deer, she immediately shrank behind Luke’s broad shoulders. “I am so sorry, Stella. I just wanted to play a little prank on you. The trail was taped off with warning signs at the bottom, I never thought you would actually hike all the way up.” I placed my uninjured hand on the ground and forced myself to stand. Even though my swollen ankle sent shooting pain up my leg, I forced my spine straight, holding onto the last shred of my dignity. “A prank? Do you have any idea how many wild animals roam this mountain at night? I didn’t dare close my eyes for a single second. Coming down, I slipped on the wet stones and nearly rolled straight off a cliff.” Luke impatiently cut me off. “But you are perfectly fine now. Dragging it out just makes it look like you’re desperate for pity.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Besides, Kate is right. The trail was taped off. Why on earth did you force your way up there?” The burning fire in my chest turned to absolute ice. I curled my lips into a self-deprecating smile. Why did I force my way up? Maybe because I thought I was his exception. Because I thought he genuinely wanted a future with me. So I made a complete fool of myself. Suddenly drained of any desire to argue, I sat back down and reached for a fresh bandage. “It won’t happen again.” I meant every word. Luke looked like he had just thrown a punch into empty air. I was the one backing down, yet he looked inexplicably frustrated. But when he turned his head and saw the unshed tears pooling in Kate’s wide eyes, his tone softened instinctively. “Don’t do it again. No more jokes like this, okay?” She nodded aggressively, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Luke looked entirely defeated by her crying. He took the half-eaten kebab from her hand and took a bite. “Alright, enough. Do whatever makes you happy. I spent months putting my little spoiled patient back together, I don’t want you regressing.” Kate broke into a watery smile, weakly punching his arm. “You’re the spoiled one.” “Oh really? Remind me who cried through an entire box of tissues during their first intake session?” His eyes sparkled with teasing warmth as they fell into their familiar, childish bickering. I sat there like a ghost haunting my own life, watching their effortless intimacy. My mind wandered. When exactly did this start? A year ago, Luke came home complaining about a difficult new client. She was overly sensitive, always crying. Three months later, he told me that after peeling back her layers, he realized they shared the same tragic background. Six months ago, he finally mentioned her by name. His expression had been impossibly tender. He had looked at me and said, “Stella, because I know the hell of a toxic family, I know how childhood trauma can paralyze someone.” “I want to heal the broken parts of her mind, exactly like you healed me back then.” That was the day I found out his mysterious patient was the new junior intern at my corporate firm. Because I knew how dark and miserable Luke’s childhood had been, I supported him taking on Kate’s case. His alcoholic, gambling-addicted father used to beat him mercilessly whenever he lost at the tables. When Luke was locked in a shed, starved and bruised black and blue, it was me who crawled through a gap in his backyard fence, smuggling him stolen bread and antiseptic cream. When we started school, the quiet, brooding boy had no friends. So I followed him around like a noisy shadow from elementary school all the way to high school. And now, the man I had spent over a decade warming with my own hands was pouring all of his patience and light into someone else. My eyes stung fiercely. I turned my head, refusing to look at them flirting right in front of me, and forced out a request. “Luke, my back is getting worse. I think it needs stitches. Can you please drive me to the hospital?” The playful laughter stopped dead. Kate pouted, murmuring under her breath, “We finally get to go on a trip and now this…” Luke’s face hardened. “The trip ends tomorrow. Do you seriously need to go right this second?” “Stella, know when to stop. This obsessive need for attention is just pushing me away.” I froze, entirely numb. Luke looked at me like I was a stranger he couldn’t wait to be rid of. “Kate is terrified of the dark, so I’m bunking in her tent tonight.” He paused at the flap, throwing one last justification over his shoulder. “Don’t overthink this. She is strictly my patient. There is nothing inappropriate going on between us.” That night, every cut and scrape on my body throbbed with a burning fever. I tossed and turned until dawn broke. The gauze on my back was soaked through with fresh blood, and my ankle had swollen to the size of a baseball, mottled purple and black. When I finally limped my way to the morning rendezvous point, Luke and Kate were nowhere to be found. Seeing me scanning the empty clearing, an older woman from a neighboring campsite walked over with a sympathetic look. “Looking for your friends, honey?” “That young couple packed up and left in the middle of the night. The girl twisted her ankle, and the boy looked like the world was ending. He insisted on driving her to the emergency room immediately. Navigating these mountain roads in the pitch dark… he must love her so much to take a risk like that.” I stopped listening after that. It made perfect sense that strangers assumed Luke and Kate were the couple. From the very first day of this trip, I was the third wheel. Whether it was the kayaks or the cable cars, anything built for two was reserved for them. Luke always looked at me and said, “Stella, wait for the next round. Kate gets severe anxiety, I need to stay close to her.” During the bonfire cookout, the first plate of food and the first poured drink were always handed to Kate. When another camper joked about how much he spoiled his girlfriend and warned him she’d get used to it, Luke just offered a polite smile. He never corrected them. By the time I reached the hospital in the city, I had to hop on one foot to the registration desk and navigate the ER completely alone. Just as the doctor finished stitching my back, my phone buzzed. It was my parents. “Stella, sweetie, Luke is such a thoughtful boy! He mailed us a whole box of expensive local gifts from your trip. Make sure you give him a big kiss to say thank you.” My parents’ voices were overflowing with pride and joy. From day one, they had treated Luke like the son they never had, entirely convinced he was the perfect man for me. The words ‘I’m leaving him’ and ‘I want to come home’ piled up in my throat, choking me. I didn’t know how to shatter their illusion. In the end, I swallowed my tears, choked out a ‘yes’, and hung up. Then, I drafted an email to my department head and submitted my formal resignation. The corporate handover process would take three days. Exactly enough time to pack up my entire life. It was late afternoon by the time I limped into the apartment. To my shock, the dining table was set with a few elegant home-cooked dishes, alongside a chilled glass of my absolute favorite sweetened almond milk. Luke rarely cooked. Even though the meal was simple, the beautiful plating screamed dedication. After practically starving at the hospital all day, my stomach cramped with hunger. I picked up the glass and took a sip, unable to stop a tiny, pathetic shred of warmth from blooming in my chest. I reached for a fork, but a shrill, whining voice pierced the quiet apartment. “That’s my almond milk!” I jumped, nearly dropping the glass. Turning around, I saw Kate standing next to Luke in the hallway. She was wearing my plush indoor slippers. She stomped over, her cheeks puffed out in anger. “Stella, Luke went to three different cafes to buy that for me! Taking things without asking is just stealing!” I looked at Luke, completely utterly baffled. “Why is she in our apartment? And since when is drinking milk from my own kitchen considered stealing?” Facing my outrage, he answered in a deadpan, clinical tone. “Kate fractured her ankle. She lives in a fourth-floor walk-up, it’s not safe for her to be alone. I’m the one who invited her to the mountains, it is my ethical responsibility to care for her.” “Just watch yourself from now on. Don’t touch her things.” Looking at the massive bags of her groceries and clothes in his hands, I knew there was no room for debate. It didn’t matter. I had three days left. He could move ten Kates into this apartment for all I cared. I didn’t argue. I turned back to the table, ready to finish eating. Luke grabbed my wrist. “Order some takeout. I calculated the macros in this meal specifically for Kate’s bone recovery.” A wave of intense nausea hit me. My appetite vanished instantly. I pulled my arm free and headed straight for the master bedroom. Once again, his hand clamped down on my arm. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek velvet box. “Stella. Happy birthday.” The logo on the ribbon screamed luxury. Luke had never been stingy when it came to spending money on me. But right now, looking at the velvet box felt like looking at a rock. I took it and mechanically untied the ribbon. Inside was a limited-edition designer bag that would make most women scream with joy. But it was the exact same model he had bought me last year. And the year before that. He hadn’t even bothered to pick a different color. A profound sense of exhaustion washed over me. Standing nearby, Kate let out a dramatically exaggerated gasp. “Wow, I am so jealous of you, Stella! You get a thousand-dollar bag for your birthday.” “When it was my birthday two days ago, Luke only gave me a silver ring he designed and forged himself in a workshop.” Luke reached out and affectionately pinched the back of her neck. “You little brat. Did you conveniently forget the burn blisters I got all over my hands making that for you?” Here we go again. Even though my heart was already dead, a fresh wave of humiliation crashed over me. I remembered watching a vlog of a couple making silver rings together. I thought it was so romantic, so I begged Luke to take a workshop with me. What had he said back then? That it was juvenile. A complete waste of his valuable time. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t a waste of time. I just wasn’t the woman worth wasting his time for. I had no desire to watch this twisted soap opera. I sped up my limp toward the master bedroom. He yanked me back a third time. “What do you want?!” My stitches were pulling, my ankle felt like it was on fire. I glared at Luke with raw irritation. Perhaps he finally noticed the genuine agony in my eyes. For a fleeting second, Luke looked uncertain. “Stella, Kate’s bones need calcium to heal. The master bedroom gets the best morning light. You let her have the bed, and I’ll sleep in the guest room with you…” I cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “No problem. But you can sleep on the couch. I don’t need your company.” The next afternoon, I hobbled into my office building on crutches. I barely made it through the glass doors before a panicked coworker sprinted up and grabbed my arm. “Stella, the final project handover is a complete disaster!” “The new tech prototype specifications from two days ago? Someone moved a decimal point. The entire manufacturing batch is ruined. The company is liable for three million dollars in damages! Upper management is out for blood, and Kate swore to the board that you built that data sheet!” I froze, the blood draining from my face. Ever since Kate joined my division, she had been notoriously careless. As her manager, I knew how brutal the corporate world was for fresh graduates, so I covered for her, giving her second and third chances. I never imagined she would use the exact day I was in the hospital getting stitches to bypass me completely and send unverified blueprints to the factory. I had personally crunched those numbers flawlessly, and explicitly told her to leave the file on my desk for final approval before clicking send. My heart hammered against my ribs as I rushed into the glass-walled conference room. Luke was there. Kate was standing right beside him, crying beautifully, looking like a fragile victim. “Stella gave me that spreadsheet. She ordered me to submit it to the factory. I’m just a junior intern, how would I ever have the authority to bypass a senior manager?” A blinding rage ignited in my chest. I opened my mouth to defend myself. Luke placed my work laptop on the mahogany table. “I am Stella’s partner. I can testify that she was the one who compiled this report.” He tapped the keyboard, projecting IT activity logs and our internal chat history onto the screen. They had come fully prepared. Against fabricated digital evidence, every defense I had was suffocated in my throat. I couldn’t prove a thing. The board decided to suspend me pending a formal investigation, but Kate had already won the narrative. Walking out of the skyscraper, Luke reached out, his voice gentle as he tried to wipe away the tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry, Stella. Kate told me this job is the only thing keeping her mental health stable. I had to intervene.” “I’ll pay the three million dollars in damages for you. With your stellar resume, you can easily land a director role at a better firm.” I slapped his hand away. “You know exactly how much blood and sweat it took for me to climb to this position! If the board officially pins this negligence on me, I will be blacklisted from the entire industry!” Luke just stared down at me, his eyes dead and resolute. “I’m sorry, Stella. You’re the only one strong enough to take this fall.” It didn’t take long for me to understand what he really meant. That evening, a video titled ‘Corporate Manager Drives Junior Intern to Depression’ rocketed to the top of every social media trending list. In the video, Kate looked pale and haunted, crying hysterically as she detailed how her ‘jealous superior’ bullied her daily and forced her to take the blame for a million-dollar blunder. Luke, leveraging his status as a respected psychologist, commented on the post, verifying his ‘girlfriend’s’ toxic behavior. The internet exploded. Furious strangers hunted down my digital footprint, exposing my full name, phone number, and address. My phone didn’t stop ringing. Death threats, insults, heavy breathing. And then, they found my parents’ landline. At one in the morning, my mother called me, her voice shrill with absolute terror. “Stella, what is happening! Your father picked up the phone and people were screaming at him for hours, calling you a criminal, saying you were going to federal prison! His heart gave out. He’s in the ICU right now, they’re trying to resuscitate him! You have to come home!” A deafening ringing filled my ears. I couldn’t pull oxygen into my lungs. In my absolute darkest moment, I saw Luke walking into the hallway, keys in hand, pulling on his coat. Despite the venomous hatred I felt for him, I couldn’t afford to waste a single second. I lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve, begging. “Luke! My dad had a heart attack because of the harassment! He’s in the ER! The flights are grounded because of the weather, please, you have to drive me to Chicago! Please, remember how he used to treat you when we were kids, I’m begging you!” I saw the conflict in his eyes. A flash of hesitation. But then his phone lit up. He glanced at the screen, and the hesitation vanished, replaced by cold panic. “Stella, Kate just texted me. She’s having a severe panic attack. She’s standing on the edge of her apartment roof!” “Be rational. I’ll go talk her off the ledge, and then I swear I’ll drive you straight to Chicago to see your dad.” Without another word, he violently ripped his sleeve from my grip and sprinted out the door.

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1 A business associate arranged a blind date. Entering the private room, I found Serena and three other men seated at the table. She sipped her matcha, pointing at them with open arrogance. A blind date demands a thorough background check. These are my ex-boyfriends. They know my standards best. Scanning my profile, she curled her lip. Alexander Kensington. Unemployed? A grown man leaching off society in this economy? My first love is a Wall Street banker. My second, a top-tier surgeon. Even my last ex is a tenured city official. You are not fit to compare to a finger on any of them. Who gave you the nerve to sit across from me? The banker sneered. Buddy, you cannot even draw a minimum wage. How will you provide? The doctor looked down his nose. Look at those cheap clothes. Probably rotting on your parents’ couch. The official folded his arms. No job, no ambition. Worthless mud. Listening to their coordinated mockery, I nearly laughed. Serena was right about one thing. I had no job. As the billionaire chairman of Astra Holdings, I did not need to clock in. Surveying this ridiculous quartet, I decided their ego trip was too petty to warrant crushing them with my wealth. I just smiled, stood up, and prepared to leave. “Since you clearly think I’m beneath you, I won’t interrupt your lovely reunion any further.” I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair and headed for the door. Serena slammed her teacup onto the table. “Hold it right there. Who said you could leave?” She clicked her heels across the floor and blocked my path. “Do you not know the rules of a blind date? The man pays. This Omakase restaurant is three hundred a head. For the four of us plus you, the bill is fifteen hundred dollars.” She crossed her arms, tilting her chin up at me. “Don’t even think about dining and dashing. Settle the bill.” I stopped in my tracks. This was getting ridiculous. “The four of you ordered a table full of premium sashimi. I didn’t take a single bite. Why exactly should I pay?” Marcus, the banker, spun his BMW keys around his finger. “Pal, you come out on a date and can’t even cough up fifteen hundred bucks? Looking this broke, you still expect to find a girlfriend?” He pulled a gold platinum card from his wallet and slapped it onto the table. “Alright, Serena, stop making things hard for him. A deadbeat like him probably doesn’t even have fifty bucks to his name.” “I’ll cover the bill. Consider it charity for the homeless.” Lucas pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with fake pity. “Very generous of you, Marcus. But people like him are parasites. Even if you help him, he won’t be grateful.” Derek took a slow sip of his tea, putting on a bureaucratic air. “Young man, being poor isn’t a crime. What’s terrifying is your complete lack of accountability. If you run away from a simple dinner bill, how will you ever survive in the real world?” Serena looked at me like I was garbage on her shoe. “Did you hear that? That is the difference between you and real men. How can you even compare?” “You don’t even have the spine to pay a bill, and you have the audacity to go on blind dates?” As soon as Marcus dropped his gold card, Serena instantly glued herself to his side, linking her arm through his. “Marcus is so successful. When you took me to that yacht party last month, my girlfriends were absolutely dying of jealousy.” Marcus smoothly wrapped his arm around her waist. “That was nothing. I’m taking you to the Maldives next week.” Lucas refused to be outdone. “Serena, how is your mother’s back pain? I already booked her an appointment with our hospital’s top orthopedic specialist. She can go straight to the VIP wing tomorrow.” Serena’s eyes lit up. “Really? Lucas, you are so sweet! The scalpers charge thousands just to get a spot with that specialist.” Derek cleared his throat loudly. “Serena, about your younger brother’s civil service exam. I checked with my contacts, and his written score is solid. When it’s time for the interview, I’ll pull some strings with the panel to make sure he gets through.” Serena practically jumped for joy. “Derek, you are an absolute lifesaver for my family!” These three men. One had money, one had resources, and one had power. Serena swam between them effortlessly, soaking up the intoxicating thrill of being worshiped by all of them. Then she turned her head, looking at me with pure disgust. “Do you see this, Alexander? This is what high-value networking looks like.” “What could you possibly offer me? Aside from a decent face, you are completely useless.” “Even sitting at the same table as you is dragging down my net worth.” Watching her smug performance, I found the whole situation hilarious. “If your three ex-boyfriends are so exceptional, why exactly are they your exes?” Serena’s face froze. Marcus and the others suddenly looked incredibly awkward. I twisted the knife. “Is it because it takes all three of them combined to satisfy your massive ego?” “You are talking absolute garbage!” Serena shrieked, her face flushing with rage. “What would a broke loser like you understand? This is called consolidating resources!” “I am simply evaluating my options to select the most optimal partner.” I let out a dry laugh. “Calling two-timing and stringing men along ‘consolidating resources’ is certainly a creative spin. You’re quite the talent.” Marcus slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Watch your mouth, kid. Do you want me to make sure you never find a job in this city again?” I looked right at him. “Wall Street hotshot, right? Which firm?” Marcus puffed out his chest. “Apex Capital. Ever heard of it? It’s a tier of high finance a bottom-feeder like you could never even dream of.” Apex Capital? What a coincidence. That was a wholly-owned subsidiary under my conglomerate. I nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of it. Nothing special.” Marcus laughed, his face twisting with anger. “Big words for a nobody! One phone call from me, and you’ll be blacklisted from every corporate building in the state.” I shrugged casually. “Be my guest.” This Mizumi sushi restaurant actually belonged to a minor hospitality group I acquired last year. I pulled out my phone and scanned the QR code on the table. A soft chime signaled a successful transaction. I held my screen up so Serena could see the payment confirmation. “Fifteen hundred. Paid. Consider this dinner my gift to help you three fund your little shared girlfriend project.” Serena blinked, clearly shocked that I actually had the money. But she recovered quickly and sneered. “Oh, you actually paid? Maxed out your credit card, I bet?” “All this just to save face. You’ll be eating instant noodles for the next month to pay off the interest. Pathetic.” Marcus snatched his gold card back and scoffed. “Trying to act like a big shot. I see guys like him all the time. The poorer they are, the more desperately they cling to their fragile pride.” I didn’t bother wasting another breath on them. I pushed the door open and walked out. The general manager saw me step into the hallway and immediately rushed over, bowing respectfully. “Mr…” I raised a hand to cut him off. “Don’t announce me. Those four guests in that room are permanently blacklisted. Never let them step foot in here again.” The manager understood instantly and bowed lower. “Right away, sir.” I walked out of the restaurant, grateful for the fresh air. The world really was full of bizarre people. But it was just a minor annoyance, and I wiped it from my mind immediately. Astra Holdings had just acquired a massive plot of commercial land, and the development blueprints required my personal approval. As I was walking to the valet to get my car, my phone rang. It was Henderson, the building materials tycoon who had set up the date. “Alexander! How did the date go? Serena is a great girl with high standards. I hope you didn’t mind her being a little particular.” I told him the blunt truth. “She brought three of her ex-boyfriends to the date to interrogate me, then demanded I pay their dinner bill. That kind of ‘great girl’ is a bit too much for me to handle.” Henderson went dead silent on the other end of the line. After a long pause, he let out a painfully awkward laugh. “Oh… I had no idea she was like that. Alexander, please don’t take it to heart. I will definitely introduce you to someone much better next time.” I politely declined his offer and hung up. I was done with these pointless blind dates. The next morning, I headed to the corporate headquarters for a board meeting. The Astra Holdings skyscraper dominated the most expensive block in the financial district. I wore a simple, comfortable gray tracksuit, planning to hit the golf course immediately after the morning briefings. The moment I stepped into the grand marble lobby, a horribly familiar voice echoed behind me. “Alexander? What are you doing here?” I turned my head and saw Serena. She was wearing a sharp, tailored business suit, her makeup applied to absolute perfection, clutching a leather portfolio. Derek stood right beside her. He was dressed in a stiff gray suit, his hair slicked back with an aggressive amount of gel. Serena clicked her heels as she strutted over to me, looking me up and down. “That outfit… don’t tell me you’re here applying for a janitorial position?” She covered her mouth and laughed loudly. “Makes sense. Physical labor is about the only thing a deadbeat like you is qualified for.” I frowned. “Why I’m here is absolutely none of your business.” Serena rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Of course it isn’t. I just think a rat like you showing up at Astra Holdings severely drags down the prestige of this building.” She waved her leather portfolio in my face. “Do you have any idea why I’m here? I am interviewing for the position of Public Relations Director.” “Astra Holdings is the top conglomerate in the country. Only the absolute elite are allowed to work here.” “Trash like you couldn’t even afford to breathe the air in this lobby.” Derek stood beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down his nose at me. “Serena, stop wasting your breath on him. It lowers your status.” He glared at me, his eyes filled with contempt. “Kid, you don’t belong here. Leave immediately before you embarrass yourself further.” I looked at the two of them, genuinely amused by their arrogance. “Do you own Astra Holdings? Who gave you the authority to tell me where I belong?” Derek’s face darkened. “Do you understand how things work in this city? I am Derek from the City Planning Board. I am here today as an official guest to negotiate a massive government contract.” “I personally know the executives in this building. If you don’t turn around and walk out that door right now, one word from me will have the security team drag you out by your hair!” Serena immediately chimed in. “Did you hear that? Derek is close personal friends with the billionaires who run this place.” “You offend Derek, and you won’t be able to find a single toilet to scrub in this entire city.” I kept my hands in my pockets, staring blankly at Derek. “Oh? Which executive exactly do you know?” Derek puffed out his chest, radiating smugness. “The Vice President of Astra Holdings. Robert Vance. We go way back.” Robert? The guy I just promoted last month to handle external government relations? I nodded slowly. “Alright. Call him down here. Let’s see if he has the guts to kick me out.” Derek looked at me like I had just escaped from a psychiatric ward. “Who the hell do you think you are? Robert is a multi-millionaire executive. You think he has time to deal with street trash like you?” Serena laughed mockingly. “Alexander, you are seriously delusional. There’s a limit to pretending you’re a big shot.” “Did you swipe a credit card last night and suddenly convince yourself you’re a CEO?” “I am telling you, with Derek here, you won’t even get a job plunging the toilets at Astra!” Just then, a young receptionist hurried over to them. “Mr. Derek, correct? Vice President Robert is waiting for you in the conference room on the eighteenth floor. Please follow me.” Derek adjusted his tie, shooting me a triumphant sneer. “See that? That is what real power looks like.” He turned to Serena, his voice softening. “Go crush your interview. Once my meeting is done, I’ll take you out for a Michelin-star lunch to celebrate.” Serena batted her eyelashes and nodded sweetly. “Thank you, Derek.” Derek followed the receptionist toward the VIP elevators. Serena turned back to me, her expression instantly twisting into a vicious glare. “I am warning you, Alexander. Stay far away from me. Don’t think for a second that stalking me to my job interview will make me look at you.” “A toad like you will never get a taste of swan meat.” Her delusion was honestly staggering. “Serena, do you suffer from clinical paranoia?” “I am here because this is my territory.” Serena rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might pass out. “Your territory? You really think you’re the Chairman of Astra Holdings?” “If you’re the Chairman, then I’m the Queen of England!” She intentionally bumped her shoulder hard against mine as she walked past, strutting toward the interview floor. I watched her walk away, pulled out my phone, and dialed the Director of Human Resources. “Check the candidate list for the PR Director interviews today. Look for a woman named Serena.” “Fail her immediately. Put her on the permanent blacklist.” I hung up the phone and walked toward the Chairman’s private elevator. If they insisted on throwing themselves into the fire, I would gladly hand them the matches. That afternoon, the front desk called my private line. They told me an elderly woman holding a basket of vegetables was asking for me. My heart warmed instantly. It had to be my grandmother visiting from the countryside. A few days ago on the phone, I casually mentioned how much I missed the organic greens she grew in her garden. I never expected she would travel all the way to the city just to bring them to me. I dropped my paperwork and hurried down to the lobby to greet her. The moment the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, I heard a shrill, venomous voice echoing across the marble. “You senile old bat! Are you blind? How dare you rub your filthy clothes on my designer suit!” My chest tightened. I sprinted toward the center of the lobby. Serena was standing there, pointing a manicured finger right in my grandmother’s face, screaming at the top of her lungs. Scattered across the polished floor at Serena’s feet were fresh green vegetables and several crushed farm eggs. My grandmother was crouched on the ground, frantically trying to salvage the broken eggs, her face full of distress. Standing right behind Serena were her three ex-boyfriends. Because I had ordered HR to instantly fail her, Serena had been kicked out before the interview even started. She was completely humiliated and furious. Marcus and Lucas must have heard the news and rushed over to comfort her. Along with Derek, who had just finished his meeting, the ridiculous quartet had somehow reassembled in my lobby. Grandma’s eyes were red. She looked up nervously and tried to explain. “Miss, I didn’t mean to bump into you. I was just trying to ask for directions… Could you tell me which floor my grandson, Alexander, works on?” Hearing the name “Alexander,” Serena’s face contorted into pure hatred. The absolute humiliation of her failed interview finally found a target. “Alexander? You’re that useless loser’s grandmother?!” Serena viciously kicked the fresh vegetables across the floor, her face twisting with disgust. Marcus quickly stepped forward, wrapping a protective arm around Serena. “Babe, don’t lower yourself by arguing with country trash. It’s not worth raising your blood pressure.” “Take your hands off her!” I roared, sprinting forward. I violently shoved Serena out of the way and carefully knelt down to pull my grandmother up from the floor. “Grandma, are you hurt?” Seeing the sticky, shattered egg yolks coating my grandmother’s rough, calloused hands, my blood boiled with a murderous rage. Grandma shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m fine, Alex. It’s just a shame about all these vegetables. I picked them fresh this morning…” Serena, having stumbled backward from my shove, immediately shrieked like a banshee. “Alexander! You dare put your hands on me?!” “You unemployed parasite! Did you drag your filthy grandmother into Astra Holdings just to run a scam and extort us for money?!” Seeing me shove Serena, Marcus, Lucas, and Derek instantly rushed forward as a pack. Marcus grabbed me violently by the collar of my tracksuit. Lucas slammed his hands into my shoulder from the side, and Derek took a cheap shot, kicking me hard in the shin. Outnumbered and desperate to shield my grandmother behind me, I took the blows, stumbling backward until my spine slammed hard against a marble pillar. Seeing me cornered, Serena became utterly unhinged. “Security! Are you all dead? Can’t you see this maniac attacking us?” Heavy footsteps echoed across the lobby. Several security guards in tactical uniforms came sprinting over, holding heavy riot control forks. I wiped a thin trace of blood from the corner of my mouth. I pointed a finger dead at the four of them and roared at the guards. “I am Alexander Kensington! Throw these four pieces of trash out of my building immediately!” The lead security guard froze. He was a new hire, completely unfamiliar with my face. He looked at my plain gray tracksuit, then looked at the four people dripping in designer suits, Rolexes, and diamond jewelry. He hesitated, completely unsure of who to obey. Seeing the guard freeze, Serena burst into hysterical, mocking laughter. “Alexander, are you having a psychotic break? You swiped a credit card yesterday to play rich, and now you genuinely believe you’re the Chairman of Astra Holdings?” Derek pulled his government badge from his tailored jacket, holding it up with maximum arrogance. “I am an official guest of Vice President Robert! This lunatic and his peasant grandmother are physically assaulting people in your lobby! They are completely destroying Astra’s corporate image! Arrest them and throw them onto the street immediately!” Faced with a government official, the rookie guards instantly made their choice. “Sir, you need to leave the premises right now, or we will use force!” Two massive guards lunged forward, grabbing my arms and twisting them violently behind my back, forcing me to bend over in pain. Another guard looked at my grandmother with disgust. He shoved her hard with the metal shaft of his riot fork. “Grab your rotten garbage and get out, old lady!” The shove sent my grandmother crashing to the hard marble floor. But she ignored the pain, scrambling on her hands and knees to pry the guards’ fingers off my arms. “Don’t hurt my grandson! We’ll leave! We’ll leave right now, please just let him go…” Just as I was about to be dragged out of my own building like a stray dog, the VIP elevator doors pinged open. Robert, flanked by several senior executives, stepped out into the lobby. Seeing him, Derek instantly plastered on a sickeningly sweet smile and hurried over. “Robert! Perfect timing! This lunatic and his country grandmother are throwing a violent tantrum in your lobby! I told your guards to handle this trash to protect your company’s image!” Serena also rushed forward, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “Mr. Robert, look at the disgusting mess they made on your beautiful floors. It’s ruining Astra’s reputation.” Robert’s eyes followed their pointing fingers and landed squarely on me. His entire body went rigid. Then, in front of the horrified eyes of everyone in the lobby, Robert violently shoved Derek and Serena out of his way. He practically sprinted across the floor, closing the distance in three massive strides. His face was ashen, and cold sweat was pouring down his forehead. His voice violently shook with absolute, unadulterated terror. “Mr. Kensington! I am so sorry I’m late!”

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1 On my wedding day, Johnathan vowed Vivian, his ex-wife, was out of his life for good. Still, her mail kept arriving. Each time, he’d grumble about her failure to update her address, then haul the boxes to her place himself. Their constant fighting had convinced me he loathed her. On my birthday, Vivian called needing moving help. He grabbed his coat and left. Staring at our untouched cake, I followed in a cab. At her apartment, Vivian kicked a box. “Take your trash!” she shouted. The floor was strewn with jewelry Johnathan had given her. Red-eyed, he knelt, polishing each piece with his sleeve. When I tried pulling him up, my shoe brushed an old love letter. He shoved me back. “What are you doing here? Can’t you see we’re busy?” Watching this man who’d been screaming moments ago now groveling in dust, I unclasped my matching watch and tossed it into the box. “Find time,” I said. “Let’s sign the divorce papers.” … “Wendy, stop making a scene.” Johnathan caught up to me in the stairwell, grabbing my wrist. “What was the point of throwing the watch?” “Just keeping things tidy,” I said, looking him in the eye. “If it is all trash anyway, it might as well go in the same pile.” Johnathan sighed. “You know she is in a bad place right now. Throwing that in front of her is like twisting the knife in her chest.” I let out a soft laugh, my gaze drifting down to my wrist, which was turning red under his grip. “Johnathan, today is my birthday. You left me alone at home to go clean up your former wife’s clutter. Who is twisting the knife in whom?” His eyes flickered with a brief flash of guilt. “She is moving all by herself. She could not find a single soul to help her. I promise this is the absolute last time. Give me ten minutes. I will finish up here and take you home to cut the cake, okay?” Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from inside the apartment, followed by Vivian’s sharp cry. “Ah! It hurts!” Johnathan let go of me instantly and bolted back inside. “Vivian! What happened? Did something hit your foot?” I watched Johnathan drop to his knees in front of her, gently cradling her ankle. His voice shook. “Don’t move. Let me see.” Vivian pushed at him, tears streaming down her face. “Aren’t you supposed to go home and cut cake with your wife? Why do you care about me?” Johnathan’s voice was raw. “How can you say that at a time like this?” Suddenly, I remembered an incident from six months ago. I had cut my finger, and the blood would not stop flowing. Johnathan had bandaged it calmly, his movements steady and precise. “Be more careful next time,” he had said. “Don’t be so clumsy.” He was always composed, always rational and controlled. I used to think it was just his personality. Now I realized he was simply capable of remaining calm because it was me, not her. I turned and walked down the stairs. By the time I got back to our apartment, the candles on the cake had already burned down to nothing. At one in the morning, Johnathan finally came home. He saw me sitting in the dark, and his footsteps faltered. Then he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “It’s so good to be home. Today absolutely drained me. Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I said, “Waiting for you to eat cake.” He was quiet for a long moment, then murmured, “I’m sorry. Vivian’s ankle injury was pretty bad, so I had to take her to the emergency room. Happy birthday, sweetheart. This is for you.” He pulled a velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a diamond necklace. Johnathan clasped it around my neck. “Do you like it? I will take you to the mall tomorrow, and you can pick out a bag too. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?” I touched the cold metal of the necklace. “Johnathan, do you honestly think that as long as you come back to this bed, everything is just swept under the rug?” His brow furrowed. “I sleep next to you every night, I hand over my paycheck, what more do you want from me? She is in my past. She is going through a rough patch, and as a friend, I lent a hand. Is that so wrong?” I nodded. “You are right. You are a saint.” I stood up, unclasped the necklace, and let it drop. It landed in the trash can with a sharp clink. Johnathan’s face went pale. “Wendy, don’t push it.” I ignored him and walked straight into the bedroom. That night, he slept in the guest room. He did not come in to comfort me. The next morning, Johnathan, who rarely ever cooked, made breakfast. He even spread my favorite blueberry jam on the toast. His voice was gentle when he knocked on the door. “Sweetheart, breakfast is ready.” I washed up and walked out. He slid the plate toward me. “I was out of line last night. Don’t take it to heart.” I took a bite of the toast. “Okay.” Johnathan looked at me, seemingly satisfied. He assumed the storm had passed. For the past three years, it had always been this way. He would humiliate me, offer a shred of tenderness, and I would patch up my own wounds. Before leaving, he kissed my forehead. “I have an early meeting. I’m heading out.” That evening, I came home late after overtime. Johnathan was not back yet. I went into the study to charge my laptop. Passing his desk, I noticed the key was still in the bottom drawer. He never let me touch that drawer, claiming it held confidential company documents. I stared at the key for a few seconds, then turned it. There were no corporate files inside. Just a black leather journal. The very first page was dated three months after our wedding. “Wendy made sweet and sour ribs today. They were very sweet. But I remember how much you hated sugar.” My fingers froze. I kept reading. “Huge thunderstorm last night. Wendy slept right through it. I wonder if you, who are terrified of thunder, were hiding under the blankets, too scared to turn off the lights.” “Wendy said she wants to see the northern lights in Iceland. I agreed. But I wanted to take you there. That was our unfulfilled promise.” “Saw someone from behind today who looked just like you. I followed her for three blocks. When she turned around, it wasn’t you. I stood on the sidewalk, suddenly missing you so much.” Page after page. I was on every page, yet none of it was meant for me. Our three years of supposedly happy marriage had been nothing but a beautifully crafted lie. At ten-thirty, Johnathan returned. He opened the study door and saw the journal in my hands. His footsteps halted. His briefcase slipped from his hand, hitting the floor. “Why are you digging up old history?” He closed the journal and tossed it back into the drawer. “I stopped writing in that years ago. Are you really going to torture yourself over a few lines written ages ago?” He kissed my hair. “Don’t let someone from the past come between us, okay?” Looking at his devoted, self-righteous act, I found it incredibly laughable. I did not even have the energy to call him out. I gave a faint smile. “Okay.” “That’s my girl. Get some rest.” He took my hand to lead me to the bedroom. I followed him passively, but my eyes remained fixed on that locked drawer. Years ago? The last entry I had just read was dated only last month. Over the weekend, I was home alone when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was the building manager, I opened the door. Standing there was Vivian, dressed in a striking red dress. She held a luxury shopping bag, her chin tilted up proudly. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I did not say a word, simply stepping aside to let her pass. Vivian walked into the living room on her high heels, her eyes critically scanning the space. When she saw the painting of the aurora on the wall, she let out a soft laugh. “I can’t believe that painting is still here. I mentioned in passing once that I wanted to see the northern lights, and he kept it in mind all these years.” She sat on the sofa as if she owned the place, setting the shopping bag on the coffee table. “I’m just here to return some things Johnathan left at my place.” She pulled out a man’s dress shirt and a dark blue silk tie. It was what Johnathan had worn when he left the house yesterday. “He bought me dessert yesterday and accidentally spilled something on his shirt. He took a quick shower at my place to change.” Vivian leaned back, her eyes gleaming with triumphant arrogance. “Wendy, do you honestly think you’ve won just because you hold the title of his wife?” I walked over to the water dispenser and poured myself a glass of warm water. Seeing that I was not losing my temper, Vivian’s grin widened. “Do you know why we got divorced in the first place?” She leaned forward, locking her eyes onto mine. “It was only because I accepted a job offer abroad without telling him. He was furious and did it out of spite. He is incredibly proud. He married you just to prove he could survive without me.” She pulled a velvet jewelry box from her purse and popped it open. Inside was a brilliant diamond necklace. The diamond was far larger than the one Johnathan had given me. She pushed the box to the edge of the table, closer to me. “The one he bought you was probably just an afterthought, a quick add-on to his order. Wendy, doesn’t it feel pathetic to guard a man whose heart belongs to someone else?” Looking at the hostile woman before me, I expected to feel the old rage and jealousy. I expected to scream and tear into her. Yet, my heart was remarkably quiet. “Are you finished?” I took a sip of water. “If you are, take your things and get out of my sight.” I pointed toward the door. “Stop acting so high and mighty!” Vivian stood up abruptly, her face turning pale. “Johnathan is going to divorce you sooner or later!” “Great,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “I’ll be waiting.” Vivian gritted her teeth, grabbed her purse, and slammed the door on her way out. I tossed the shirt and tie straight into the trash can. Then I picked up my phone, opened my chat with Johnathan, and typed a quick message. “Find some time. Let us sign the divorce papers.” It did not take long for my phone to start ringing. I muted it, placing it face down on the sofa. The screen lit up repeatedly, but I never answered. Eventually, I blocked his number. That night, Johnathan did not come home. Maybe he was throwing a tantrum because my blunt attitude had wounded his pride, or maybe he went to Vivian’s for comfort. I did not care anymore. Monday evening, at five-thirty, I walked out of my office building. Johnathan’s car was parked right by the entrance. He was leaning against the door, holding a half-burnt cigarette. Seeing me, he came over and grabbed my wrist. “Get in the car.” His voice carried a rare trace of panic. Once inside, he did not start the engine immediately. “Wendy, stop joking about divorce. Did Vivian come to see you yesterday? What did she say? Why are you taking a crazy woman seriously?” I stared out the window, my voice barely a whisper. “What she said doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m tired.” Johnathan’s face darkened as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll call her right now and clear this up in front of you.” The call connected quickly, and Vivian’s lazy voice came through. “Johnathan? Why are you calling at this hour? Aren’t you worried your wife will get jealous?” “Vivian, who gave you permission to bother Wendy? You begged me to buy you that necklace, so what right do you have to brag to her? If you ever harass my wife again, don’t blame me for getting ugly.” There was a brief silence on the line, followed by a sharp, mocking laugh. “Johnathan, cut the devoted husband act. Who was the one showering and changing clothes at my apartment?” Johnathan slammed the end call button and threw the phone onto the console. He turned to grab my shoulders. “Wendy, you heard her, right? She did it on purpose. She just wants to ruin my life.” I turned to look at him. “You’re angry at her because her cheap tricks exposed you and brought you trouble, not because you actually feel guilty for what you did to me. Johnathan, you are incredibly selfish.” He was left speechless, his grip on my shoulders slowly loosening. It took him a long moment to regain his composure. “My father’s sixtieth birthday gala is next week. All our relatives and business partners will be there. As his eldest son’s wife, you cannot be absent. Let us get through the banquet first, and then we can talk, okay?” I laughed. “So you want me to keep playing the happy wife in front of everyone?” Johnathan frowned. “You are my wife.” He reached into the backseat and pulled out a large dress box. “I had this gown delivered for you. It’s in your favorite color.” Right then, my phone rang. It was his mother. “Wendy, dear, you need to come early to help oversee things for your father’s banquet. Johnathan’s company is in the middle of negotiating a major contract, and it’s a critical time. As his wife, you need to be supportive.” She paused, her tone turning pointed. “Don’t let minor, unverified gossip get between you two. Making a scene in public only makes us a laughingstock, and it is simply not worth it.” I looked at Johnathan. He sat in the driver’s seat, avoiding my gaze. He had actually run to his mother to handle me. I lowered my eyes and spoke softly into the phone. “Alright, I will be there on time.” Johnathan let out a massive sigh of relief and started the car. “I knew I could count on you to be reasonable.” Yes, I was always the reasonable one. That was why I was going to give him a public exit he would never forget. The next day, I placed the signed divorce papers inside the gift box intended for his father’s birthday. Beneath the papers lay the torn-out pages of his secret journal.

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1 The Porters took me away from St. Jude’s Foster Home. During the adoption process, Mrs. Porter made it brutally clear that she actually preferred the other boy. His name was Oliver. He was outgoing, bubbly, and full of natural talent. “Arthur, I just can’t get that little boy’s smile out of my head. Maybe we should go with Oliver instead.” Mrs. Porter bit her lip, completely torn, and looked to her husband for guidance. Mr. Porter patted her hand with an indulgent smile. “A loud, energetic kid like that will never have trouble finding a home. Besides, a noisy boy will just exhaust you. This one is much quieter.” “I suppose you’re right.” And so, accompanied by Mrs. Porter’s conflicted sighs, I was brought to their estate. I stayed with the Porter family for six months. But Mrs. Porter couldn’t let go of her obsession with Oliver. Eventually, she and her husband agreed to swap me out. “Hugo, sweetheart, Mommy just can’t forget the disappointed look in Oliver’s eyes when we left him behind. You’re such a mature, understanding boy. You can forgive me, right?” She was right. I had always been understanding. So, I was boxed up and shipped right back to the foster home. The day they made the exchange, Oliver practically threw himself into Mrs. Porter’s arms, refusing to let go. His bright, infectious laugh seemed to melt all her guilt away. Then, he looked over her shoulder at me. When none of the adults were watching, he smirked and mouthed the words. “Nobody wants a reject. You lose again.” Before she drove away, Mrs. Porter promised she would find time to visit me. I waited like a good boy. I sat by the window at the foster home for three whole months. She never came once. But three months later, Mr. Porter did come. He asked if I would be willing to go live with a friend of his. His friend’s last name was Stone. The Stones had a flawless marriage, but Mrs. Stone was unable to have children. They had always desperately wanted a son. Mr. Stone had seen me once at the Porter estate. When he went home, he showed my photo to his wife. He told her that my eyes looked exactly like hers. The foster home had strict regulations. If a child was returned within a year of adoption, they couldn’t be placed with a new family for a mandatory three-month cooling-off period. The Stones counted down the days. The very morning the restriction lifted, they dragged Mr. Porter along to officially ask for my consent. “Your name is Hugo, isn’t it?” Mrs. Stone’s voice was soft, like velvet. The way she looked at me was overflowing with a fragile, desperate kind of tenderness. She knelt down to my eye level. “Would you like to come home with me and be my one and only son?” I wanted to. When you’re a kid drifting like dead leaves in the wind, you’ll crawl toward even the faintest flicker of warmth. Let alone the promise of a real family. I placed my small hand into Mrs. Stone’s warm, soft palm. “I want to,” I whispered. “Oh, Hugo, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me!” Mrs. Stone pulled me into a fierce, crushing hug. She was laughing and crying at the same time, looking exactly like a kid waking up to snow on Christmas morning. In that moment, I knew she genuinely wanted me. As we walked out of the foster home, Mr. Porter turned to the Stones with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, if my wife hadn’t been so dead set on Oliver, I really would have hated to let little Hugo go!” Hated to let me go, yet he still threw me away. The Porter family was already a closed chapter in my life. They were the first people I had ever dared to trust. The first I ever tried to rely on. And the outcome had been humiliating. A sudden sting of tears blurred my vision. I quickly ducked my head, pretending to brush dust off my jacket. A large, warm hand rested on the top of my head and gently ruffled my hair. “Arthur, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say things like that in front of the boy anymore,” Mr. Stone said smoothly. “Family is about timing and connection. You made your choice. Let’s just wish each other well and leave it at that.” Dignified. Unshakable. That was my first impression of Richard Stone. It suddenly hit me. Back at the Porter house, I spent every waking second walking on eggshells. I was always terrified of breathing too loudly. Mrs. Porter constantly complained that I was too stiff, too unrefined to be shown off to her socialite friends. I never knew what to do to make them smile. Whenever I tried my hardest, it always backfired and made things worse. So I had just shrunk into myself, trying to take up as little space as possible. But right now, standing on the steps of the foster home, the answer finally clicked. When people don’t truly want you, nothing you do will ever be right. I hesitated for a second before reaching out to gently tug on the hem of Mr. Stone’s coat, silently thanking him for protecting my feelings. He crouched down, his tailored suit completely ignoring the dirt on the pavement. “Hugo,” he said quietly. “If you ever hear something you don’t want to hear, you can just cover your ears. You’re a kid. If you want to yell back at them, that’s perfectly fine too.” In that single heartbeat, everything around me seemed to light up. I finally understood what the older kids meant when they whispered in the dark. Being loved gives you a spine. My first time stepping into the Stone Estate was overwhelming. The staff walking across the manicured lawns all bowed their heads respectfully, greeting me as Master Hugo. Mrs. Stone excitedly dragged me from room to room. She had boundless energy, acting as though she could sprint a marathon in heels and never break a sweat. But that manic joy didn’t clash with her innate elegance. Whenever she spoke to me, her voice dropped to a gentle, comforting murmur. Martha, the head housekeeper, came by to ask about the dinner menu. Mrs. Stone started checking boxes on an iPad while simultaneously bombarding me with questions. “What does Hugo like to eat? Does he have any allergies? Oh, make sure he gets an extra glass of warm milk after dinner, he’s far too skinny…” Martha caught my eye. We shared a secret little smile, silently agreeing to just let her ramble. A full five minutes later, Mrs. Stone finally realized she was the only one talking. She gasped in mock outrage. “Hugo! How could you? Teaming up with Martha to make fun of your poor mother?” It wasn’t making fun of her. It was adorable. “Ma’am, Master Hugo just got here,” Martha said with a fond chuckle. “Adjusting to the estate will take time. We have plenty of days to figure out what he loves.” Mrs. Stone let out a long breath, clutching the iPad to her chest. “I thought I was hiding my nerves so well. I guess I am rushing things.” She looked down at me, her eyes filled with sudden panic. “Hugo, I’m not overwhelming you, am I?” I shook my head firmly. “No.” “Thank God.” The estate was massive. By the time we had toured half of the east wing, it was time for dinner. At the dining table, Mr. Stone took his phone out, switched it to airplane mode, and placed it face down. Then he picked up the serving tongs and personally plated food for his wife and me. Mrs. Stone took a bite of her roast and smiled. “After dinner, I’m taking you upstairs to pick your bedroom. I actually called Victoria Porter to ask what style you preferred. She said you didn’t care either way. Is it that you really don’t know what you like, or are you just too polite to ask?” I lowered my eyes to my plate. I truly didn’t know what I liked. Growing up in the system meant choices were a luxury I couldn’t afford. Sometimes, ten of us shared a single box of colored pencils. Before I could even figure out which shade of green I was holding, someone else had already snatched it out of my hand. When I moved in with the Porters, Mr. Porter’s favorite color was navy blue. Mrs. Porter blindly assumed all boys must love blue, so every piece of clothing, every bedsheet, every toothbrush I owned was navy. I stared at the steam rising from my bowl, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what my style is.” The air in the dining room froze for a few seconds. Mr. Stone was the first to break the silence. “It’s completely normal not to know.” His voice was steady and grounding. “You’re just a kid. You haven’t even figured out how the world works yet. How could anyone expect you to have your tastes locked down?” No adult had ever spoken to me like that. I jerked my head up, staring at him in pure shock. Wasn’t everyone supposed to know exactly who they were from the start? The teachers at the foster home, and even Mrs. Porter, always preached the same tired line. “You are the only person in the world who truly knows yourself.” Seeing my stunned expression, Mr. Stone let out a low chuckle. “My wife is thirty-two years old, and she still can’t decide if cotton or silk pajamas help her sleep better. It’s not a crime to be undecided.” “You never have to apologize for things you aren’t sure about.” After dinner, Mr. Porter called. Mr. Stone held the phone to his ear, exchanged a few brief sentences, and then glanced over at me. Catching his subtle look, Mrs. Stone leaned in and asked softly, “Do you want to see the Porters?” Silence swallowed me whole. Whenever I faced the Porter family, all I felt was bone-deep inadequacy. Especially at their high-society dinners. The gap between me and the other wealthy kids my age was a massive, gaping canyon. Mr. Porter would constantly pull me aside, making passive-aggressive comments about how I needed to catch up before I humiliated him. During those six months, my days were packed with an endless rotation of tutors. Academic cram schools. Etiquette coaches. Dining protocol instructors. It was relentless. Suffocating. The Porters would parade their wealthy friends through the house to inspect my progress, treating me like a prized show dog they were training for a ribbon. The scrutiny. The sheer terror of making a mistake. When they finally dumped me back at the foster home, my heart had shattered, but beneath the grief was a massive, shameful wave of relief. Did I want to see them? My fingers instantly curled into fists, gripping the fabric of my trousers. The Porters arrived late in the evening, parading Oliver through the front doors. Oliver looked healthier, his skin glowing and pampered. He was wearing a ridiculously expensive tailored blue suit, strutting into the foyer like he owned the place. “Long time no see, Hugo!” He lunged forward and threw his arms around me, acting like we were long-lost blood brothers. I gave him a stiff, polite pat on the back, then immediately took a half-step backward, putting cold air between us. “Hugo, I’ve made so many new friends here! All the girls in my class just adore me.” Oliver grabbed my wrist and shook it enthusiastically, practically vibrating with smugness. “Oliver really is a charmer. Everyone says he gets his shining personality from me,” Mrs. Porter chimed in, practically glowing with pride. “When we first brought him home, Arthur was so worried that Oliver’s energy would drain me. But now? He makes Arthur laugh until his stomach hurts every single day.” “He’s a handful, sure, but raising kids is supposed to be tiring. We’re loving every second of it.” Mr. Porter took over the conversation, his eyes glued to Oliver with sickening adoration. I stood perfectly still, watching them. A bitter taste flooded the back of my throat, thick and metallic. Once, during my time with them, I had scored the highest grade in my class. It happened to be the night of Mrs. Porter’s birthday gala. My homeroom teacher was on the guest list and praised my grades right in front of them. What did Mr. Porter say then? “Children are arrogant by nature. Don’t praise him in public, or he’ll forget where he came from and get a swollen head.” He had dressed down my teacher in front of fifty wealthy guests. The teacher had awkwardly stared at his shoes, humiliated. Mrs. Porter had swirled her red wine, barely sparing the teacher a glance before turning her cold eyes on me. “Hugo, you need to reflect on this. Why were you only first in your class? You and the kid who ranked first in the entire grade are sitting in the exact same building. The gap between you two is frankly embarrassing.” After that night, my homeroom teacher never gave me a second glance. Seeing the Porters dote on Oliver now, the truth was blindingly obvious. They were fully capable of unconditional love. They just didn’t want to love me. After the Porters finally left, Mrs. Stone exploded in the hallway. She was furious because Mr. Stone had held her arm, stopping her from tearing into them while they were bragging. Mr. Stone kept his voice calm and steady. “Eleanor, these are realities Hugo has to face eventually. We can’t shield him from every ugly truth. Letting him see exactly who they are right now will help him cut ties and start fresh.” “Don’t you dare use your corporate psychological warfare on my boy!” Refusing to accept his logic, she grabbed my hand and stomped up the grand staircase. “Darling, Hugo is a boy. He’s much stronger than you give him credit for. We can’t raise him in a greenhouse,” Mr. Stone called out, trailing behind us. His tone was exasperated but entirely fond. “Hugo is my son. Nobody gets to bully him under the pathetic disguise of ‘tough love’.” Mrs. Stone was still grumbling under her breath as she walked me down the hall to choose my room. She was genuinely livid. Every time Mr. Stone tried to reach for her hand, she slapped his fingers away. Left with no other option, Mr. Stone caught my eye behind her back, rubbed my head, and pressed his palms together in a silent plea for help. “Please don’t be mad,” I said, stopping in the middle of the hallway. I pulled gently on Mrs. Stone’s sleeve and looked right into her eyes. “I didn’t feel bullied.” The fight instantly drained out of her. Tears spilled over her lower lashes. She dropped to her knees right there on the Persian rug and pulled me close. “Hugo, I’ve never been a mother before, but I know what it’s like to be a child. Whenever anything went wrong, my parents stood like a brick wall between me and the rest of the world. You are my son. Anyone or anything that tries to make you sad has to go through me first.” Watching her cry over me made my own nose sting. No one had ever said those words to me. It felt like all I had to do was wear the title of her son, and I suddenly became worthy of being unconditionally loved. “I was too rational. My wife is completely right. Hugo is our son, and nobody gets to make him feel small.” Mr. Stone crouched down beside us, wrapping his massive arms around both of us. His chest felt like a fortress. Solid. Impenetrable. “We are a family now,” he murmured against my hair. “And we will always stand fiercely on your side.” I swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in my throat. I reached out and wiped a stray tear from Mrs. Stone’s cheek. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. Thank you for letting me know what love feels like. The Stone family had prepared two separate bedrooms for me. One was styled with classic, dark-wood elegance. The other was ultra-modern and sleek. Ironically, the designs didn’t match their personalities. Mrs. Stone, the artist, had designed the sleek modern one. Mr. Stone, the ruthless CEO, had designed the warm, classic one. I stood in the doorway, quietly taking in the spaces. “Hugo, these two rooms are just our welcoming gifts. You can choose the classic, or the modern. But we also cleared out the massive suite at the end of the hall downstairs. Whenever you finally figure out exactly what your style is, you can gut it and build it from the ground up.” Mrs. Stone rested a hand on my shoulder. “You never have to twist yourself into knots to fit someone else’s mold. Not even ours.” I stared at her, my vision going dangerously blurry. They weren’t trying to prune me like a bonsai tree to fit their living room aesthetic. They were just handing me a patch of rich soil and telling me to grow however I wanted. “Then… can I sleep in this one for now?” I took a deep breath and stepped into the warm, classic room. Mrs. Stone’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling like crushed diamonds. “Absolutely. And if you get bored of it next week, we switch. In this house, you always have choices.” The Stones didn’t constantly shower me with theatrical praises or smothering kisses. But the quiet, unshakeable tolerance that flowed through the very air of their home was more powerful than any grand gesture. During my time with the Porters, I had seen countless high-society couples who smiled for the cameras but despised each other in private. Even the Porters themselves, famous in the tabloids for their “perfect” marriage, would tear each other to shreds over the pettiest things. Mrs. Porter was obsessed with pastel pink. She forced Mr. Porter to paint his private home office pink. She demanded he wear pink silk ties to work every single day. Mr. Porter would put the tie on before walking out the front door, and rip it off the second he got into his Bentley. One afternoon, she showed up at his corporate headquarters unannounced to bring him lunch. When she saw he wasn’t wearing the tie, she threw a screaming fit in the middle of the lobby, sobbing to the board members that he didn’t love her anymore. Mr. Porter had finally snapped, yelling, “There has to be a limit to your psychotic delusions!” I used to think that adult marriage was just an endless endurance test. That love meant beating the other person down until they turned into exactly what you wanted. But looking at the Stones, I realized love could be entirely different. After settling in, they didn’t immediately rush to throw me into a private prep school. Mrs. Stone, a renowned painter, dragged me to gallery openings and private art salons. No matter how many millions Mr. Stone was negotiating, he always cleared his weekends to walk through the botanical gardens with us. One afternoon in the park, I heard the haunting melody of a violin. I stopped walking and stared at the street performer for a long time. The very next morning, Mrs. Stone drove me to a high-end strings shop downtown. An elderly woman, Mrs. Higgins, happened to be there. She taught me how to grip the bow. After listening to me drag out a few shaky notes, she turned to Mrs. Stone. “The boy has an ear for it. I’d be willing to take him on as a student.” Mrs. Stone didn’t immediately pull out her black card. She knelt down and looked me in the eye. “Hugo. Do you want to learn?” I didn’t answer right away. I had learned the piano at the Porter house. Mrs. Porter had bragged to her country club friends that I would pass the advanced conservatory exams within six months. To make that happen, she stood over my shoulder with a metronome. Eight hours a day. I practiced until my fingers cramped and violently shook. Just looking at black and white keys made my stomach turn. What Mrs. Porter didn’t know was that the advanced exams were only held twice a year, and beginners weren’t allowed to skip straight to the top tier on their first try. When she found out she couldn’t show off her prodigy child at her next luncheon, she felt utterly humiliated. That was the day she decided to go back to the orphanage and exchange me. “I want to learn,” I whispered softly. “But I don’t want to take any exams. Is that okay?”

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1 The day I returned to the family estate, my three brothers added me to a group chat named The Family. They promised that if I ever ran into trouble, I could post there and they would handle it. Though it stayed silent for months, I treasured it, believing I was finally loved after years in the orphanage. Later, I traveled for the National STEM Fellowship Selection. The night before, my stomach ruptured and I was rushed in with acute gastric perforation. Surgery required a guardian’s signature. I called Gary, the eldest, but he did not pick up. Garrett, the second, declined and texted that he was helping Giselle pick her birthday gown. Gabe, the youngest, answered, but Giselle was giggling for him to cut her cake. He muttered he would talk later and hung up. Curled on the gurney in agony, I sent my first plea to the group chat. Silence followed. With no one to sign, I nearly died on the table. The delay cost my health and the competition that would have rewritten my future. Discharged, I returned to the quiet mansion. Giselle waved her phone, showing a video the boys had posted, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh, she gasped, I forgot you are not in that group chat. I froze in the doorway. Gary cleared his throat, saying that group was mostly dead so they had muted it. The truth was clear. They had another chat that buzzed warmly without me. I said nothing, calmly pulled out my phone, opened their appeasement chat, and pressed Leave Group. Gary’s stiff laugh died in his throat. “Nick, seriously, that chat was always quiet. We just muted it by habit.” He pulled out his phone, quickly tapping into the dead chat to prove his point. Only a single message occupied the screen. “Guys, I’m in the ER. My stomach ruptured, and I need emergency surgery. They need a guardian to sign off. Please, can someone come?” The timestamp showed it was sent ten days ago. Gary’s expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his features. Garrett leaned over to glance at the screen, his brow furrowing slightly. “Was it really that serious?” “I had the surgery,” I replied quietly. “I survived.” “You’re fine now, right?” Gabe asked, looking up from his tablet. “Yes, I’m fine.” “Well, that’s a relief.” Gary tucked his phone back into his pocket, letting out a breath. “If you’re fine, why make such a big deal out of it? You should have called us directly.” I looked at him but chose not to answer. I had called. They simply had not cared enough to listen. Garrett seemed to recall something and casually asked, “By the way, what about that national fellowship? Did you qualify?” “I didn’t make it. The surgery happened the night before the exam. I was in the ICU.” The living room fell into a brief, awkward silence. Gabe was the first to shrug it off, tossing a hand over my shoulder. “It’s fine. Honestly, those national selections are incredibly brutal anyway. Even if you went, there was no guarantee you’d pass.” Gary nodded in agreement. “Those fellowships are meant for the absolute top prodigies. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.” “Exactly,” Garrett chimed in. “You’re not like Giselle, who has been winning trophies left and right since she was a little girl. You don’t need to force yourself to compete at that level.” Gabe offered a lazy smile. “If worst comes to worst, we can always find some private college to take you in. It’s not like our family can’t afford to pay your tuition.” With a few casual, dismissive remarks, they swept away months of my sleepless nights and grueling study sessions. But they had no idea. Only thirty-two students in the entire country had qualified for that fellowship selection. I was one of them. During my junior year, I had won a national silver medal in mathematics and placed first in the state physics league. I had maintained the top rank in my class for six consecutive semesters. Meanwhile, Giselle did not even have the basic credentials to submit an application. Her so-called trophies were merely local youth piano recitals and school-level spelling bees. Yet, in my brothers’ eyes, Giselle was a brilliant, fragile princess. I was merely a dull, plodding bookworm who knew how to do nothing but memorize texts. Gary patted my head lightly. “Alright, lose the gloomy face. We’ll have Dad pull a few strings later on. Maybe we can send you to study abroad.” “Our Nick is always the good girl,” Garrett said with a grin. “She doesn’t let these little things get to her.” An overwhelming sense of exhaustion washed over me. They did not care about my pain; they merely used moral blackmail to praise me for being quiet. Giselle bounded over, wrapping her arms around Gary’s elbow. “Gary, you promised you’d help me choose the makeup look for my gala today!” With a gentle tug, Gary’s attention shifted entirely to her. “Right, right. Let’s go take a look.” Garrett handed a sleek designer bag to Giselle. “Here. The diamond bracelet you wanted. Took me forever to track down this specific edition.” “Oh, my gosh, Garrett, you are literally the best!” Gabe ruffled her styled hair. “Hey, what about me? I bought you that custom pendant, and I don’t get any praise?” The living room instantly filled with laughter and warmth once more. I stood by the entryway. On the shoe rack, four pairs of house slippers were neatly aligned. Gary’s black pair, Garrett’s dark blue, Gabe’s gray, and Giselle’s soft pink. There was no fifth pair. I bent down, slipped into my outdoor shoes, and quietly retreated to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. The surgical incision in my abdomen began to throb, and a faint crimson stain bloomed through the edge of the fresh gauze. My phone screen flickered. Gabe had sent a message to “The Family” group chat. “Let’s use this chat to coordinate from now on, guys.” Nobody replied. The chat sank back into the silence of a tomb. “Nick, are you awake? Perfect. Take Giselle to the skin clinic.” At seven-thirty the next morning, Garrett stood outside my door, tapping his watch. “She wants to get a quick laser facial before her gala. I booked her a ten o’clock slot, but a sudden meeting came up.” “My stitches aren’t even—” “You just need to sit in the waiting room with her,” he interrupted, his tone breezy. “It’s not like you have to do any heavy lifting.” He made it sound like a simple, effortless errand. By the time I threw on a jacket and walked downstairs, Giselle was already sitting in the back of the family SUV, applying lip gloss in the vanity mirror. “Nick, do you mind sitting in the front? I have a bunch of stuff back here.” The entire backseat was piled high with luxury shopping bags, all bearing prominent designer logos. I climbed into the passenger seat. As the seatbelt pressed tightly against my fresh incision, a sharp, white-hot pain shot through my core, forcing me to gasp for air. The driver started the engine. Giselle kept her head down, scrolling through her phone, occasionally letting out a soft giggle. “Gabe booked the entire riverfront venue for my gala,” she said, leaning forward to flash her screen in my face. “It’s insanely expensive.” I caught a glimpse of her open chat. The group name was “Giselle’s Fan Club.” The profile pictures of my three brothers were all active, and the messages were flying in. Gary had uploaded a digital rendering of the venue setup, adding a note: “Pink and gold themes for our princess.” Garrett had followed up with a string of thumbs-up emojis. Gabe had sent a voice note. When she tapped it, his warm, laughing voice filled the car: “I put together a video of your childhood photos to play on the main screen.” Noticing my quiet gaze, Giselle locked her phone with a swift slide of her thumb. “Nick, how are you planning to celebrate your eighteenth?” “I turned eighteen last month,” I said softly. “Oh? Really? Why didn’t anyone say anything?” “There wasn’t much to say.” On the fifteenth of last month, my actual birthday, all three of my brothers had been home. Gary was locked in his study, conducting a global video conference. Garrett was in the home gym, lifting weights. Gabe was out on the terrace, busy repairing a drone for Giselle. I had quietly cooked a simple bowl of noodles for myself, dropped in a single egg, and posted a rare update on my personal feed: “Eighteen today.” Two hours later, I had received a dozen likes from classmates, but not a single reaction from anyone in the house. Later that evening, Giselle had bounced into the living room carrying a slightly burnt cake. “Guys! I tried baking! Come taste it!” Within seconds, all three of them had swarmed her. Gary took a bite, teasing that it was too sweet, but happily took another. Garrett recorded a video to post online. Gabe simply carried half the tray to his room for a midnight snack. No one remembered my birthday. The cake was just a toy Giselle had made on a whim. But her whimsical creation was infinitely more important than my existence. At the clinic, while Giselle was taken back for her treatment, I sat rigidly on the plush waiting room sofa. The pain in my abdomen pulsed in steady, sharp waves. Because of the stitches, I couldn’t bend forward to ease the tension, so I had to remain completely upright, sweating silently. My phone vibrated. A message from Gary. “Is Giselle done? Take her out for that hotpot place she’s been craving afterward.” I stared at the screen, then typed a single word: “Okay.” I scrolled through my chat history with Gary. For the past three months, every single message from him had been an instruction regarding Giselle. “Pick up Giselle’s packages.” “Accompany Giselle to the music store.” “Pay Giselle’s dance academy fees.” My role in this household was not that of a sister. I was merely Giselle’s unpaid, live-in assistant. At the restaurant, Giselle ordered a table full of dishes, requesting the spiciest Szechuan red broth. I sat across from her with a bowl of plain white rice and a small side plate of unseasoned, boiled lettuce. “Why aren’t you eating the meat?” Giselle asked, her mouth full of beef. “My stomach is still recovering. I can’t have anything spicy.” “Oh. You really should have mentioned that earlier. We could have ordered a split pot.” She casually tossed another piece of tripe into the bubbling red broth, her tone entirely unbothered. Gary had made the reservation knowing Giselle loved spicy food. But not a single person had remembered that I had just undergone major abdominal surgery, and that a single drop of chili oil could land me back in the hospital. I swallowed a few leaves of the bland lettuce, the pungent, spicy steam from her pot making my eyes water. My stomach began to ache with a dull, familiar burn. Across the table, Giselle took a selfie with the fiery pot, uploading it to “Giselle’s Fan Club” with the caption: “Gary’s recommendation is literally the best! My mouth is on fire!” Three seconds later, Gabe replied with a voice note: “Save some for me next time!” Garrett sent an emoji of a drooling face. I placed my chopsticks down, looking at the pale green lettuce leaves. My mind drifted back to the small, sterile dining hall of the orphanage. The sweet kitchen lady, knowing I had a fragile stomach, would always quietly set aside a warm, plain bowl of rice porridge for me whenever the main menu was too heavy. A stranger at a charity home had remembered my health. My biological brothers did not even know the basics. On the tenth day after my surgery, I went to the clinic alone to have my stitches removed. As I stepped out of the clinic doors, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an email from my high school counselor, Mr. Abernathy. “Nick, the early admission track for Kingsley University is still accepting applications. Your competition record and academic ranking are well above their threshold. Would you like to submit your file?” I stood on the bustling sidewalk, staring at the screen for a long time. My path through the national selection had been cut short. But there was always another way out. I typed back: “Thank you, Mr. Abernathy. I want to apply.” His reply came almost instantly: “Excellent. I’ve already compiled most of your academic transcripts. Come to my office tomorrow and we’ll finalize the details. We have until Wednesday. We can do this.” In this vast world, someone was actively trying to help me find a future. It just wasn’t my family. When I returned to the estate, the entrance was cluttered with dozens of shoes, and the sound of music and laughter spilled out of the open doors. It was Giselle’s pre-gala warm-up party. Gary was on the terrace setting up a high-end grill, Garrett was adjusting the surround-sound speakers, and Gabe was running up and down the stairs with a massive bundle of pastel balloons. Giselle wore a beautiful white designer dress, her hair curled into soft waves, looking like the absolute center of the universe. “Gabe, that balloon is crooked! Move it to the left!” “Your wish is my command, your highness,” Gabe teased, quickly adjusting the string. I tried to slip past the crowd toward my room, but Gary caught sight of me from the terrace doors. “Nick, perfect timing. Go help prep the fruit platters in the kitchen. The catering staff is slammed.” I looked at him. He was wearing a custom apron, his face flushed from the heat of the grill, his eyes bright with excitement. “I just got back from the hospital—” “It’s just a bit of slicing and plating,” he cut in, already turning back to the grill. “You can do it standing up.” I walked into the kitchen. The counters were piled with crates of fresh watermelons, mangoes, and strawberries, all of Giselle’s favorites. I picked up the chef’s knife. As I brought it down on a watermelon, a sudden, sharp pull in my abdominal muscles made my hand tremor. The blade slipped, slicing deep into the pad of my index finger. A bead of dark red blood welled up. I stared at it for a few seconds. Then, I quietly wrapped a paper towel around it, squeezed the wound tight, and went back to slicing. At eight-thirty, the party reached its peak. My three brothers took turns giving toasts, offering touching speeches about how much their little sister had grown. Gary presented her with a classic Patek Philippe watch. Garrett gave her a rare, limited-edition skincare set. Gabe produced an elegant envelope containing round-trip first-class tickets to Paris. Giselle squealed with delight, throwing her arms around each of their necks in turn. No one noticed me sitting in the shadow of the kitchen archway, my bandaged finger tucked out of sight. No one remembered that a month ago, on my eighteenth birthday, I hadn’t received a single card, let alone a gift. I slipped back into my room and locked the door. Pulling out the checklist Mr. Abernathy had sent, I began compiling my application documents, scanning my certificates one by one. Outside my door, Giselle was singing a popular tune while my brothers cheered and clapped. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and focused on my laptop screen. When I finally finished, I checked my phone. There were no messages for me. In “The Family” group chat, Gary had posted a photo: “Amazing night, everyone! Giselle’s celebration was an absolute success!” Garrett replied: “Our sister deserves nothing but the absolute best.” Gabe shared a short video of Giselle blowing out her candles, captioning it: “Our princess is finally eighteen.” I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment. It was fine. Just as I had written in the first line of my college personal statement: “I want to become someone who can walk a long, beautiful path, even if no one is watching.” Three weeks later. I received the official admission letter from Kingsley University. Along with it came a special invitation to join their elite Freshman Research Fellowship, a prestigious program that required me to report to campus early next month for a year of advanced study. I sat in the quiet corner of the school library, reading the letter three times over. I didn’t tell a soul. On my way home, I stopped by a local department store and purchased a simple, sturdy suitcase. It was just large enough to hold everything I actually owned. When I entered the house, Giselle was twirling around the foyer with her phone. “Gary! I want to sign up for that summer arts program in Florence!” “Go ahead and register. I’ll take care of the fees,” Gary replied, not even looking up from his laptop. I dragged my suitcase up the stairs. No one paid me any attention. In my room, I carefully folded my admission letter and the fellowship invitation, placing them at the very bottom of my new suitcase. I was going to step into my new life entirely on my own. The day I left, the clock read four-thirty in the morning. My room was at the very end of the long hallway, the smallest, darkest room in the house. When we had first moved in, Gary had told me, “This room faces north. It’s quiet, which is perfect for your studies.” Giselle’s room faced south, featuring a beautiful bay window and a private balcony, decorated with custom cherry-blossom pink drapes. My suitcase was light. There were very few things in this house that truly belonged to me. In the closet, there were two designer coats Gary’s assistant had purchased. The tags were still attached, and they were two sizes too large. They hadn’t been bought for me; he had simply ordered a bulk shipment for Giselle, and these were the leftovers. On the desk lay a small, faded sticky note Gabe had given me on my very first day in this house. It read: “Call me if you need anything.” I picked it up, flipped it over, and wrote a single line on the blank side: “I did call. No one answered. I won’t be needing anything anymore.” As I reached the front door, I placed my house keys in the small silver tray on the console table. Gary had handed them to me months ago, saying, “This is your home now. Keep these safe.” But this place had never been my home. The front door clicked shut behind me. I stood on the porch for a few seconds, listening to the absolute silence from within. It was just like the silence of their muted group chat. I wheeled my suitcase toward the elevator. The pre-dawn wind was cool, but it felt incredibly refreshing. It felt as though a heavy, suffocating weight had finally been lifted from my shoulders. My fellowship registration was in two days. A new city, a new campus, a place where no one knew my past, and no one would ever treat me like an unwanted assistant. The elevator doors slid open on the lobby level. The sky outside was still dark. Just me, my suitcase, and the beginning of my own life. Gary was the first to notice I was gone. He only noticed because there was no one to bring in Giselle’s morning deliveries. “Where is Nick? Tell her to go down and grab the mail.” Garrett stepped out of his room, brow furrowing. “Is she not in her room?” Gabe walked to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door to my room. The space was completely empty. The closet was bare. The desk was clear. The sheets on the bed were folded with military precision, looking exactly like a vacant hotel room. Only a single sticky note remained on the desk. Gabe reached out to pick it up. As his fingers touched the paper, he saw the neat handwriting on the back. Gary hurried to the entryway, his eyes landing on the silver tray. My keys lay there, catching the morning light. He picked them up, his fingers trembling slightly. “When… when did she leave?” No one had an answer. Because no one had been paying attention. Just like the desperate plea for help that had sat in their muted group chat, unnoticed for days. When I had arrived at this house, no one had truly welcomed me. And when I left, no one had even noticed. Gary frantically opened his phone, clicking into “The Family” group chat. A small system notification stared back at him: “Nick has left the conversation.” Gabe’s phone slipped from his hand, clattering onto the hardwood floor. Standing in the center of the cold, empty bedroom, a memory suddenly flashed in his mind. He remembered the missed call from the hospital ten days ago. After he had declined it, he had gone to help Giselle blow out her candles, taken photos, and posted them online. During all that time, he had never once thought to call her back. Garrett leaned against the doorframe, the color draining from his face. He remembered his own text message: “Helping Giselle pick out her eighteenth birthday gala dress. Later.” Later. A “later” that had almost cost his sister her life. Gary gripped the keys, his knuckles turning white. He turned back to look at the elegant foyer. On the shoe rack, four pairs of slippers were neatly aligned. None of them were mine.

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1 To earn merit, the city’s wealthiest Sterling family adopted me. A year later, my new mother bore Benjamin. Everyone predicted my downfall, but Benjamin treated me as kin. At age five, we both qualified for the National Junior Dance Finals. Backstage, our instructor Mr. Davis told Benjamin his crown was crooked and led him away to fix his makeup. In the crowd, Benjamin was snatched by traffickers. For three years, ransom calls tormented my parents. The kidnappers lied, claiming I’d handed him over out of jealousy. Believing them, my parents locked me in the basement and beat me to death. When I opened my eyes, I was five again. The stage music thundered. Mr. Davis crouched before us, smiling gently. “Benjamin, come. Let’s fix your lipstick. Your crown is tilted.” He reached for my brother. Trembling, I threw my arms around Benjamin, clinging with all my strength. “Don’t touch him! You’ll steal my brother!” Mr. Davis was the most popular instructor at our junior dance academy. He smoothed out the hem of Benjamin’s pants and patted his head affectionately. “Benjamin looks so handsome. You’re going to be the brightest star on stage today.” Benjamin shyly hid behind my back. “My big brother is handsome too.” Mr. Davis chuckled softly and looked up at my mother. “Mrs. Sterling, Benjamin’s lipstick is a little faded, and his crown needs adjusting. I’ll take him to touch it up, we’ll be right back.” My mother was just about to nod. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist. In my past life, this was exactly how he took Benjamin away. I hugged my little brother fiercely and screamed, “No!” The backstage area fell dead silent for a few seconds. Mr. Davis’s hand froze in mid-air. He looked at me, still maintaining his smile. “Is Leo just feeling a little stage fright before the competition? I’m just taking Benjamin to fix his makeup.” I held onto Benjamin with a death grip. “You’re a liar!” “You’re a bad teacher!” “You’re going to steal my brother!” Benjamin was startled by my screaming. He wrapped his little arms around my neck and whispered, “Brother…” People around us started to stare. A few parents frowned. “Why is that kid saying such awful things?” “Mr. Davis has been teaching for years, he’s so responsible with the kids.” “Do you think the adopted kid is just scared the real son is going to dance better than him?” Adopted kid. Real son. Those words felt like rusted nails driving straight into my brain. They said the exact same things in my past life. They said I wasn’t a real Sterling, so I had a wicked heart. They said Benjamin was the true young master, and I couldn’t stand to see him shine. But I had never, ever been jealous of Benjamin. He was my little brother. He was the very first person in this house to hug me and say, “My big brother is a baby too.” I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Dad, Mom, please don’t let him take my brother away.” “Please.” My father, Richard Sterling, had been talking to the event coordinator nearby. Hearing my hysterical crying, he strode over, his brow heavily furrowed. “What’s going on?” My mother knelt down and wrapped her arms around me. “Leo, breathe. Tell me slowly, does something hurt?” I couldn’t say anything more. I only had the body of a five-year-old. The kidnappers, the ransom money, the audio tapes, the blood-soaked reality of my past life—I couldn’t explain any of it. Even if I did, no one would believe a child. All I could do was hold onto Benjamin and repeat frantically: “Don’t let him take my brother.” “No one is allowed to take him away alone.” Mr. Davis’s eyes turned red, looking deeply hurt. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling, I really don’t understand why Leo is suddenly so terrified of me.” “I was only worried that Benjamin’s makeup would affect his stage score.” “If I did something to upset him, I’m truly sorry.” 2 He played the victim flawlessly. Immediately, people nearby began to defend him. “Poor Mr. Davis.” “Being falsely accused by a kid like that, who could handle that?” My father looked down at me. His eyes held confusion. But also a deep sense of protectiveness. I was shaking from head to toe, gripping the cuff of his suit jacket like a lifeline. “Dad, please don’t let Benjamin out of your sight.” “I’m begging you.” My father stayed silent for two seconds. When he looked up, his voice had turned ice-cold. “He can get his makeup touched up.” “Have the makeup artist come over here. They can do it right in front of us.” Mr. Davis’s face twitched slightly. “But the waiting area is so crowded, and the lighting is terrible…” My father cut him off sharply. “Then bring over two more ring lights.” “My son is terrified. Today, absolutely no one takes either of them away alone.” My mother hugged Benjamin tighter and said softly, “Mr. Davis, please try to understand. The boys might just be really overwhelmed right now.” Mr. Davis’s fingers curled inward for a fraction of a second. But quickly, the gentle smile returned to his face. “Of course. The children’s emotional well-being is the most important thing.” He turned around to fetch a makeup artist. I stared at his retreating back. In that moment, I thought I had successfully grabbed the steering wheel of fate. But I forgot. If he had the nerve to execute a kidnapping at a national competition, there was no way he only had a Plan A. The makeup artist was brought over quickly. She reapplied Benjamin’s lipstick and pinned his little crown securely in place right there in the waiting area. Throughout the entire process, my mother held Benjamin in her lap. I sat right beside her, both of my hands gripping the hem of my little brother’s stage outfit. Four-year-old Benjamin whispered to me, “Brother, are you scared of the teacher?” I looked into his clear, innocent eyes and felt my throat burn. “Yeah.” “Then I’m scared too.” He shook his wrist, making the little silver bell on his bracelet jingle. “Listen, brother. If the bell is here, I’m here.” I almost broke down crying. In my past life, in the very last audio tape they sent us, his little voice was completely hoarse. He just kept repeating: “Mommy, I want to go home.” “Brother, I want a piece of cake.” But none of us could reach him. This time, I absolutely could not let go. The competition schedule moved forward rapidly. The loudspeakers began to announce our dance academy’s name. Director Evans was sweating profusely. She was the head of the dance academy. She was usually very kind to us, but she cared deeply about competition rankings. This was the first time she had led a team to the national finals, and the Sterling family was the academy’s biggest financial sponsor. She desperately needed everything to go perfectly. She hurried over, lowering her voice. “Mr. Sterling, the kids are all lined up. It’s time for them to head to the wing to wait for their cue.” My father glanced down at me. I immediately pulled Benjamin closer. “I have to go too.” Mr. Davis stood a few feet away, smiling warmly. “Of course! Leo and Benjamin are performing a duet, they absolutely have to go to the wing together.” He looked completely flawless. But the more perfect he acted, the more terrified I became. My father eventually assigned two massive bodyguards to follow right behind our line of children. That hadn’t happened in my past life. I let out a tiny breath of relief. But just as we stepped into the backstage corridor, the overhead lights went out with a loud crack. The darkness crashed down on us like a heavy, suffocating blanket. The children started screaming in terror. Someone knocked over a heavy metal makeup case. Kids were crying out for their mothers. My first instinct was to grab Benjamin. His little hand was still securely in my palm. Small, and so soft. “Brother…” He called out to me, terrified. I was just about to pull him into my arms when someone slammed violently into my back. I crashed hard onto the floor. My elbows hit the concrete, sending a sharp spike of pain up my arms. In the pitch black, a large hand clamped down hard over my mouth. I instantly smelled the sharp, chemical stench of fresh paint, mixed with the distinct cedarwood cologne Mr. Davis always wore. I thrashed and fought with everything I had. But I was only five years old. A second later, someone violently ripped Benjamin’s hand out of my grip. The sound of his silver bell jingled wildly for a chaotic second. Jingle. Jingle. And then it faded into the distance. “Brother!” Benjamin screamed exactly once before his voice was completely cut off. When the emergency backup lights finally flickered on, the corridor was absolute pandemonium. I was lying on the cold floor, the skin scraped raw off my knees. My hands were empty. Benjamin was gone. 3 My brain buzzed like I had just been thrown off a building. “Benjamin!” I screamed hysterically and scrambled to my feet. Hearing my voice, my mother spun around frantically. “Where is Benjamin?” All the color instantly drained from her face, leaving her ghost-white. “Where is my baby?!” My father sprinted over, his voice tight with rising panic. “Where is he?” The two bodyguards looked horrified. During the blackout, they had been blocked by panicked parents and a massive prop cart. They had lost sight of us for barely fifteen seconds. And my brother was gone. In that moment, the nightmare of my past life came crashing down on me entirely. My father’s eyes were filled with explosive rage and absolute terror. The people around us were panicking too. Voices began to overlap: “Did the kid just run off in the dark?” “It’s so crowded backstage, he probably just hid somewhere.” “Let’s not call the police yet, the competition is being broadcast live.” Director Evans was pale and sweating, but she was still trying to do damage control for the event. “Mr. Sterling, please, the child was probably just scared of the dark and ran to hide. We will find him right now.” My head snapped up. This was exactly what happened in my past life. At first, everyone told us not to make a scene. They said Benjamin was probably just lost. They said we couldn’t cause chaos at a live national broadcast. It was exactly that window of wasted time that allowed them to smuggle Benjamin completely out of the arena. I lunged forward, grabbing my father’s pant leg, crying hysterically. “Call the police!” “Lock down the doors!” “Mr. Davis is trying to take him out the side exit!” Mr. Davis was standing at the edge of the crowd. His hair was slightly messy, and his eyes were rimmed with red, looking just as traumatized as the rest of us. “Leo, please don’t say things like that.” “When the lights went out, everyone was right here. I was right here.” “Benjamin probably just got separated in the panic.” The moment he spoke, a few other teachers immediately backed him up. “That’s true, Mr. Davis was standing right next to me.” “I saw him helping a kid who fell over.” “He never left the area.” They were all providing him with an alibi. I knew he had planned for this. But I couldn’t afford to be scared. Benjamin had already been taken. This time, I had to bring him back. My father instantly ordered his security team to lock down every single exit in the backstage area. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 himself. “My son has gone missing in the backstage area of the arena.” “I suspect a coordinated kidnapping.” “Send units immediately.” Director Evans panicked, her voice cracking. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t say kidnapping! The negative press will ruin the academy!” My father snapped his head toward her. “My son is missing.” “And you are talking to me about press?” Director Evans shrank back, completely silenced. My mother was on the verge of total collapse. She was screaming Benjamin’s name, trying to physically push her way into the chaotic crowd to search for him. My father grabbed her and held her tight. “Sarah, you have to stay calm.” “He is still inside the building.” “I will find him.” My mother gripped his suit jacket, sobbing. “But what if we don’t?” Those words felt like a knife to my heart. In my past life, we didn’t find him. And then everything slowly began to rot. I ignored the searing pain in my knees and ran straight up to Mr. Davis. I pointed my little finger right at him and screamed: “It’s him!” “He took my brother!” Tears immediately spilled out of Mr. Davis’s eyes. “Leo, why are you targeting me like this?” “I wasn’t anywhere near Benjamin when the lights went out.” “All these teachers can vouch for me.” A female instructor murmured quietly, “It’s true, he was right next to me the whole time.” Another parent chimed in, “I saw him helping a kid up.” Mr. Davis cried, looking completely victimized. “Mr. Sterling, I know your son is precious, but I am an innocent man.” “Leo has been calling me a bad teacher since we got here.” “And now that Benjamin is missing, he’s instantly pointing the finger at me.” “Is this because I’m a little stricter with Leo during practice, so he doesn’t like me?” 4 People in the crowd started whispering. “Why is the adopted kid biting down so hard on Mr. Davis?” “His brother is missing, and he’s just busy trying to frame the teacher.” “Do you think there’s actually something wrong with him?” “Did you see him earlier? He was holding his brother hostage, refusing to let him go on stage.” Those whispers merged perfectly with the anonymous hate mail from my past life. My blood ran freezing cold. Mr. Davis was the one who stole Benjamin. But the second he shed a few tears, everyone immediately turned their suspicion onto me. Hearing the words “adopted kid,” my mother’s face grew even paler. Her head snapped toward me. In that split second, my heart stopped beating. Was my mother going to doubt me too? Was she going to think I hurt Benjamin, just like she did in my past life? I opened my mouth, tears spilling over my cheeks. “Mom, I didn’t.” “I didn’t hurt him.” My mother froze. A second later, she lunged forward and pulled me fiercely into her arms. “I know you didn’t.” “My brave boy was just scared too.” “Don’t listen to those people.” I went completely stiff in her embrace. The tears broke through like a dam. She believed me. In this life, even though my brother was already gone, she still chose to believe me. My father walked over and scooped me up from my mother’s arms. “Leo, look at me.” “You said Mr. Davis did this. What exactly did you see?” I was sobbing so hard I was hiccuping. But my brain was spinning at light speed. Right before the lights went out. The red string bracelet on Mr. Davis’s wrist. The stench of fresh paint on his clothes. The heavy cedarwood cologne on the hand that covered my mouth in the dark. And when Benjamin was dragged away, the sound of the silver bell moved toward the right. The right side. The side exit. The prop corridor. In my past life, the police eventually discovered that a massive peacock prop box had been moved out of the arena early. But by the time they found out, the box had already been incinerated. This time, the blackout just happened. Benjamin was likely just shoved into that box. I threw my arm out, pointing desperately toward the corridor on the right. “The big bird box!” “He put him in the big bird box!” “Go to the side door!” Mr. Davis’s face hardened for a fraction of a second. He immediately said, “Leo, there are hundreds of props backstage. How can you just make wild guesses out of thin air?” “The most important thing right now is finding Benjamin, not throwing a tantrum and making things up.” My father didn’t even look at him. He held me tight and began striding toward the right corridor. My mother followed right behind us. Mr. Davis suddenly stepped in front of us, blocking the path. “Mr. Sterling, the event organizers just announced that the right corridor is being used for heavy prop storage. Unauthorized personnel aren’t allowed back there.” My father stared him down with eyes like ice. “Move.” “I—” My father’s voice dropped to a lethal register. “If you try to stop me again, I will consider you an accomplice to kidnapping.” All the color drained from Mr. Davis’s face, and he slowly backed away. We burst into the right corridor. The lighting here was incredibly dim, and the air was thick with the smell of wet paint and heavy dust. Scattered on the concrete floor was a tiny trail of silver sequins. They were from the hem of Benjamin’s stage outfit. I scrambled out of my father’s arms, picked up one of the sequins, and cried, “He was here.” My mother’s knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed. My father caught her, his eyes burning with terrifying intensity. “Search it.” “Tear open every single box.” The bodyguards immediately fanned out. Right at that moment, the distinct sound of heavy rubber wheels rolling across concrete echoed from the end of the corridor. Someone was pushing something heavy toward the side exit. My head snapped up. “He’s right there!”

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1 On Grandma’s deathbed, Peter finally agreed to drive me home. She was clinging to life, desperate to meet the man I’d loved for seven years. Midway, Violet called, sobbing she was alone at the hospital. Peter fell silent, then spun the car around. “Explain to Grandma for me,” he said. “Violet saved my life once. I can’t leave her.” I stood roadside, watching his taillights fade. This wasn’t new. He’d ditched my birthday for her gala dress, ignored my fever for her therapy. Now, Grandma’s final wish still lost to Violet. At 3 A.M., Grandma squeezed my hand, voice thin. “Is he here, sweetheart?” I forced a smile. “Almost.” But she died before he came. I closed her eyes and tucked her wedding gift, the red envelope she’d clutched all night, into the bedside drawer. His text lit my screen: Violet’s asleep. Heading over now. I didn’t reply. Just shut the drawer, locking away the girl who’d waited seven years. … On the day of my grandmother’s funeral, I didn’t tell Peter. I hired the hearse myself. I held her urn myself. I stood on the windy hillside of my hometown, watching the gravediggers fill the dirt, entirely by myself. My aunt was sobbing so hard she could barely stand. She grabbed my arm, her voice thick with grief and anger. “Freya, where is that man of yours? Your grandmother is gone, and he can’t even show his face?” “He’s busy.” My throat was completely raw. I couldn’t bring myself to say another word. When the last shovel of dirt was patted down, I crouched in front of the headstone and placed a plate of her favorite lemon bars on the grass. My phone vibrated. It was Peter. His tone was surprisingly warm. “Freya, I’m at the furniture showroom looking at dining tables for the new house. Do you like the round mahogany one, or the long rectangular one?” I gripped the phone, freezing for a few seconds. It had been a very long time since he asked me what I liked. Just as I opened my mouth to answer, Violet’s voice drifted through the receiver. “Peter, definitely the rectangular one. Freya only has a few relatives anyway, right? It’s plenty of space.” Peter hummed in agreement, then asked me, “What do you think?” “I…” “Oh, and look at this credenza!” Violet must have leaned closer to his phone, because her voice was crystal clear. “The white is way too boring. The walnut finish looks much more expensive. Freya always dresses so plain, you don’t want the house to look depressing too, right?” Peter let out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. She doesn’t really have an eye for these things.” My knuckles turned white. I had wanted the round table. Because my grandmother always told me that when a family eats, they should sit in a circle, facing each other. That’s what makes a home. Peter was still talking. “Freya, why are you so quiet? Which one do you want?” Violet’s voice took on a sweet, coaxing tone in the background. “Peter, let’s just get this set. I’m sure Freya won’t mind. She is always so easygoing.” Hearing the word easygoing made me feel incredibly, profoundly tired. Peter and I had been together for years, and things had always been good. But ever since his old professor returned from Europe and brought Violet back with him, I realized some things had never actually changed. Back in college, they were the golden couple of their department. They were completely in sync. Even their professors used to lament that it was a tragedy they never dated. When Violet came back, that unspoken chemistry became impossible to ignore. Peter was entirely used to listening to her. He consulted her on corporate strategy, and subconsciously deferred to her on personal choices. And Violet acted like it was the most natural thing in the world. She managed his schedule, made decisions for him, and practically arranged his life. Most of the time, she would finalize everything before casually tossing an apology my way. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Freya. Did I overstep?” From the dining table to the living room sofa, to the curtains and our bedsheets. It was supposed to be the house I was moving into, but I couldn’t even get a single word of input in. I stayed silent for a long time before finally saying, “Whatever you guys want.” The line went quiet for a second. Peter sounded relieved. “Alright, we’ll go with Violet’s choice.” I hung up the phone and gently pressed the last lemon bar into the dirt. “I’m sorry, Grammy. I’m sorry I have to leave you here all alone.” On the bus ride back to the city, Peter called me again. This time, he sounded rushed. “Freya, I heard you went back to your hometown by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll drive up tomorrow so we can go see your grandmother together.” I stared out the window. She was already buried in the ground, and he didn’t even know she was dead. “Don’t bother. The funeral is over.” Dead silence on the other end. Then, his voice cracked slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me? I…” The call abruptly disconnected. Violet probably needed him again. That afternoon, Peter’s mother called me. The second I answered, she launched right in. “Freya, I heard your grandmother passed away. My condolences.” “But the wedding is only two weeks away. Keep the mourning period brief and low-key. We don’t want any bad luck ruining the ceremony.” I gripped the phone tightly. She kept going. “Peter has been under a lot of stress lately, and Violet’s health is so fragile. Don’t go piling your emotional baggage onto him.” “Violet is going to be your maid of honor. She has a weak constitution, so don’t make her run around doing chores on the wedding day. You don’t have many relatives on your side anyway, so just keep the itinerary simple.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t have any relatives.” She paused for a second, completely ignoring what I said. “Just make sure the wedding goes smoothly. If your grandmother were still here, she would want you to marry into our family with dignity.” Of course my grandmother wanted me to have a beautiful wedding. That was why she held onto that red envelope all night, waiting for him. But none of them cared. That night, I opened Instagram. Violet had posted a new story. It was a selfie of her and Peter at an exclusive sushi restaurant. She was holding a piece of salmon with her chopsticks, tilting her head and smiling brightly at the camera. Peter was sitting across from her. His face wasn’t in the frame, but I instantly recognized the expensive watch on the wrist of the man pouring soy sauce onto her plate. The caption read: So grateful for Peter taking time out of his crazy schedule to feed me. This sick girl is very touched. It was posted at 6:00 PM. The exact same time I told him my grandmother was buried in the ground, he was pouring soy sauce for Violet. I placed my phone face down on the mattress and rolled over. I stared at the ceiling for a very, very long time. Three days after I returned to the city, I went to the wedding planner’s office. The receptionist recognized me immediately and smiled warmly. “Miss Davis! Violet was just here this morning to sign off on the final proofs for the invitations.” “Final proofs?” “Yes, for the invites.” She pulled out a sample from a folder and handed it to me. “Violet said you gave her full authorization, so we went ahead and had her sign the approval forms.” I looked down at the heavy cardstock. The font had been completely changed. Beneath the gold-foiled names, the monogram read PC. P for Prescott. Peter’s last name. “What does the C stand for?” The receptionist looked slightly confused. She checked her notes. “Oh, Violet said the bride’s middle name is Claire.” Claire? Violet’s middle name was Claire. I stared at the monogram and let out a soft, dry laugh. “Cancel the wedding.” The receptionist froze. “I’m sorry, Miss Davis, what did you say?” “Terminate the contract. You can keep the deposit. I will pay whatever the cancellation fee is.” I placed my platinum credit card onto the marble counter. The receptionist panicked and made three frantic phone calls. The lead planner rushed into the lobby, gently grabbing my hand. “Miss Davis, did you and Mr. Prescott have a fight? Please, take some time to think this over! If Violet did something…” “This has nothing to do with her.” I signed the termination paperwork and stood up. As I turned around, Violet walked through the glass doors. She was wearing a pristine white sundress, carrying the designer handbag Peter had bought her last month. When she saw me, she blinked in surprise, then smiled brightly and walked over. “Freya! You’re here too? I was just looking for you to talk about the bridesmaid dresses…” “Don’t worry about it. You can just talk to the planner.” I stepped around her, heading for the door. She quickly chased after me, grabbing my wrist. “Freya, are you mad at me? Is this about the dessert menu? I swear I wasn’t trying to overstep, I just genuinely thought cranberry matched the color palette better…” I looked down at her hand. Pale, delicate, with perfectly manicured nails painted a soft blush pink. It made me think of my grandmother’s gnarled, arthritis-ridden hands. “Violet.” I gently pulled my wrist out of her grip. “I picked the lemon bars because my grandmother loved lemon.” Her face went completely rigid for a split second. Then, she instantly slipped back into her victim persona, her eyes wide and innocent. “I had no idea… Freya, why didn’t you just tell me? If I had known, I never would have changed it!” Seven years. Every single time, it was always Why didn’t you just tell me? When I did tell her, she pretended she didn’t hear it. When I stayed quiet, she assumed I was fine with whatever she wanted. “It’s fine,” I smiled faintly. “Your choice was perfect.” “I have to go.” When I walked out of the building, the glaring afternoon sun made me dizzy. My stomach started burning again. It was a dull, heavy, rhythmic pain. It started three months ago, and the flare-ups were getting worse. I leaned against a concrete pillar by the sidewalk, dug a bottle out of my purse, and dry-swallowed two painkillers. The day I got my diagnosis three months ago, I sat on a hard plastic chair in the oncology ward and called Peter. He didn’t pick up until the seventh try. The background was loud, and I could hear a woman crying hysterically. “Freya,” he said quickly, “Violet is having a panic attack. I can’t leave her right now. Whatever it is, we’ll talk tonight.” I gripped the phone. “Peter, my biopsy results came back. The doctor said…” He cut me off. “Hold on, Violet, stop crying, I’m right here.” “Freya, what did you say? The signal is terrible. We’ll talk when I get home.” The line clicked dead. That night, he came home completely exhausted and fell asleep on the living room sofa. His phone was lying face-up on the coffee table. The screen lit up. It was a text from Violet: Peter, thank you so much for being there for me today. You must be exhausted. Go straight to sleep. Goodnight. She attached a little kissing emoji. I stood behind the sofa, staring at that message for a very long time. Then I walked into the study, folded up my pathology report, and slipped it into the back of my journal. I never brought it up again. After leaving the wedding planner’s office, I went to Peter’s corporate headquarters. My stomach clamped down again. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, I swallowed two more painkillers. The receptionist smiled brightly when she saw me. “Mrs. Prescott! The boss is in a meeting right now. Do you want me to let him know you’re here?” I placed a thick manila envelope on her desk. “No need. Just give this to him.” She looked confused. “You aren’t going to wait for him?” “No.” As I walked past Peter’s corner office, the heavy oak door was slightly ajar. I could hear Violet’s voice coming through the speakerphone. “Peter, this penthouse is gorgeous. It even has an en-suite bathroom in the guest room. It’ll be so convenient when I come crash at your place.” Peter’s deep voice replied, “Show it to Freya first. If she likes it, we’ll buy it.” Violet let out a bubbly laugh. “Are you kidding? Freya is going to love whatever you give her. You could put her in a studio apartment in the slums and she would still think you were treating her like a queen.” “Don’t talk about her like that,” Peter said softly. But there was absolutely no anger in his voice. Violet asked, “So we’re going with the invitation design I approved this morning? You don’t think Freya is going to suddenly throw a fit and change her mind?” Peter chuckled. “What is she going to do?” “The wedding is in two weeks. She might pout for a couple of days, but she’ll get over it.” Violet sounded relieved. “I really thought she was actually mad at me today.” “She isn’t that kind of person.” His voice was overflowing with absolute certainty. “She would never leave me.” Standing in the hallway, I felt an overwhelming urge to laugh. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how much I loved him. He knew it perfectly. That was exactly why my compromises, my silence, and my suffering were the foundation of his arrogance. He was absolutely certain I would never walk away. He was certain that no matter how many times he turned his back on me to run to Violet, I would always be standing in the exact same spot, waiting for him. Just like the night my grandmother was dying. When he turned the car around, he didn’t even glance at me in the passenger seat. Because he knew I would cover for him. He knew I would make excuses to my family and swallow every ounce of my own humiliation to protect his image. I didn’t stay to listen to the rest of the call. I turned around and walked back to the elevator. When I reached the ground floor lobby, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Peter. What is the meaning of the security badge and the house keys? I didn’t reply. A second message came through. Freya, what kind of game are you playing now? Then a third. The wedding is in two weeks. Stop acting like a child and embarrassing us. I stared at the screen, feeling an unbearable exhaustion settling into my bones. I turned off my phone, hailed a cab, and went back to the apartment. When Peter’s executive meeting ended, the receptionist walked into his office and handed him the manila envelope. “Mr. Prescott, Miss Davis dropped this off earlier and asked me to give it to you.” Peter opened the flap and looked inside. He frowned deeply. Violet, who was sitting on the sofa across from his desk, asked softly, “Did I do something wrong? Is Freya upset with me again?” Peter tossed the envelope into his desk drawer. “She’s just throwing a tantrum.” “She wouldn’t even cancel a dinner reservation without asking me. Where is she going to go?” He picked up his phone and typed a message to Freya. I’m coming home tonight. We are going to sit down and talk. A few minutes later, he added one more text. Enough is enough. Drop the act. No reply. Peter stared at the chat log. He felt a flicker of annoyance, but zero panic. Every single time they fought in the past, Freya was always the one to apologize first. This time would be no different. Violet tilted her head. “Peter, are we still going to that omakase place tonight?” Peter checked his Rolex. “Yes.” “I’ll take you back to your apartment after dinner, and then I’ll go deal with her.” Violet giggled. “Won’t she be even more furious if you’re late?” Peter grabbed his suit jacket, his tone completely nonchalant. “She has been obsessed with me for seven years. She isn’t actually mad.” “She can’t live without me.” When I got back to the apartment, I started packing. I had lived in this place for four years, but everything that truly belonged to me fit into a single suitcase. I packed my passport, my medical records, and a few sweaters. When I opened the nightstand drawer, I saw the red envelope my grandmother had prepared for Peter. The red paper was deeply creased from how tightly she had been holding it. I put it in my bag. While clearing out the closet, my hand brushed against a blush-pink silk robe. Embroidered on the inside collar were two cursive initials. C.N. Claire Nan. Violet. I stared at those two letters for a very long time. Suddenly, the pain stopped. Not the burning in my stomach. But the place where my heart was. It had finally gone completely numb. The place I thought was my home had always made room for someone else. It just didn’t have room for me. I didn’t take a picture. I didn’t draft an angry text. I just carefully folded the silk robe and placed it perfectly in the center of the mattress. Then I took all of Peter’s tailored shirts off their hangers and folded them neatly next to it. My phone rang. It was the landlord. “Hey Freya, you really terminating the lease today? Aren’t you and Peter getting married next week?” “The wedding is off,” I said quietly. The landlord was silent for a moment. “Alright. Just drop the keys in the mailbox.” I hung up the phone and walked out, dropping the spare key into the metal slot. By the time I dragged my suitcase out of the lobby, the sun had already set. The gardenia bushes by the front gate were in full bloom. My grandmother loved gardenias. She used to tell me that a person should live like a gardenia. You don’t have to fight for attention, but you should always know your own worth. But I had spent seven years waiting. And all I got was her dying with a broken heart. I gripped the handle of my suitcase and flagged down a taxi. The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “Where to?” I stared out the window into the dark city streets. “The train station.”

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1 I was known in our social circle as the ultimate control freak. When it came to Ben, I demanded absolute loyalty. I would not allow another woman to even breathe in his direction. Three days before our wedding, I caught him in bed with his childhood best friend, Stella. This time, he did not apologize or back down. “We can either call it off right now and go our separate ways, or you can drop to your knees, beg for my forgiveness, and I might consider going through with this wedding.” Everyone in the room thought I would throw a massive fit and tear the place apart. Instead, I dropped straight to my knees. His friends sneered, laughing openly. “I told you women just need to be put in their place. Look at her. The second Ben actually gets serious, she falls right in line.” Overnight, I became the biggest joke in Seattle. But I did not care. I no longer loved Ben. I just desperately needed his money. … Ben ultimately granted me his twisted mercy and married me. But the sweet honeymoon phase I was supposed to have never happened. He vanished on our wedding night and did not come home for an entire month. Every text I sent sank like a stone in the ocean. The only way I knew what my husband was doing was by looking at Stella’s social media. On the night of our wedding, he was in her bed, wearing the custom suit I had spent a month altering perfectly for him. He took Stella to the exact beach where we had our first date. He took her to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, a trip I had been begging him to take with me for years. They looked like the newlyweds. I was just the unwanted third wheel. I swallowed my pride and stopped bothering them, until the hospital called. “Miss Paterson, we need you to settle your mother’s outstanding medical bills immediately. If the balance isn’t paid, we will have to halt her treatments.” Panic seized my chest. “Ben paid the entire balance in one lump sum. Is there a mistake?” “There is no mistake,” the doctor explained, his tone heavy with pity. “Mr. Prescott’s girlfriend came in this morning and withdrew the remaining funds. Your mother’s condition is critical. If we don’t have the money for the surgery within three hours, I am afraid…” A loud ringing exploded in my ears. I frantically dialed Ben’s number. I expected him to decline the call, but surprisingly, he picked up. Loud, thumping bass echoed in the background. He was at a club. His voice came through the speaker, thick with annoyance. “What do you want?” I rushed my words. “Stella took back my mom’s medical funds. She needs surgery right now, Ben. Can you please just tell Stella to put the money back?” Before he could answer, Stella’s voice overpowered mine through the receiver. “Ben, is your ball and chain checking up on you again? Didn’t we all agree to ignore her tonight? Just block her already. The guys are waiting for you to take a shot.” Pure terror gripped my throat. “No, please wait…” The line went dead. When I tried calling back, it went straight to voicemail. He had blocked me. It felt like a cold hand was squeezing my heart, stealing the air from my lungs. Thank God I still had access to his location. Back when he wanted to prove his loyalty, he had installed a tracker on his phone for me, and he never bothered to turn it off. I followed the map to an exclusive VIP lounge downtown. Pushing the heavy velvet doors open, I found Ben sitting on a plush leather sofa, holding Stella in his lap. They were playing a drinking game. Stella tore a small strip of paper until it was barely a centimeter long, placed it between her lips, and leaned in, gesturing for Ben to take it with his mouth. The crowd erupted in cheers, whistling and shouting for them to just kiss already. The cheering stopped when someone finally noticed me standing by the door. “Look who it is. The boss lady is here.” The flirtatious atmosphere shattered. Every single pair of eyes turned to me, dripping with hostility. Ben frowned, his jaw tightening in irritation. “Why are you here?” Stella looked me up and down with absolute disdain, a mocking smile on her lips. “Are you really here to play the jealous wife? Do you honestly still not understand your place?” I clutched the hem of my shirt, my fingers trembling. “I am not here to check on him. The doctor said my mom needs emergency surgery, but Stella took all the money back. I just came for the medical funds.” The room went dead silent for two seconds before erupting into roaring laughter. “Wow. You are seriously making up a story about your own dying mother just to drag Ben back home? Does your mom know you are cursing her like that?” “Stella and Ben grew up together. They know everything about each other. A pathetic outsider like you could never come between them.” “You better watch your step, or Ben is going to kick you to the curb, and you won’t even have a shoulder to cry on.” Back when Ben was completely devoted to me, these same men used to treat me like royalty. Now that they knew I had lost his favor, they could not wait to trample me into the dirt. Stella suddenly let out a dramatic sob, burying her face in her hands like a victim. “I know you hate me, Serena, but you don’t have to joke about someone’s life! Imagine how heartbroken your mother would be if she heard you say that.” Ben’s face darkened into a dangerous scowl. He glared at me, his voice a freezing command. “So you are a liar now too, Serena? Apologize to Stella right now.” I shook my head, desperately trying to get through to him. “I am not lying! Just call the hospital and ask them!” A crystal whiskey glass suddenly shattered right at my feet. Sharp shards of glass sliced through my ankle, drawing warm blood. Ben stared at me with pure disgust. “Since you love talking back so much, I guess a simple warning isn’t going to work. Get on your knees on that broken glass and apologize to Stella.” Before I could even process his words, someone kicked me hard in the back of my knees. I collapsed. My bare knees slammed directly into the jagged crystal. The glass dug deep into my skin, and blood immediately pooled on the floor. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead from the agonizing pain. I tried to push myself up, but a heavy boot slammed into my shoulder, shoving me back down. My palms hit the floor, catching more glass. My hands were covered in blood. Ben watched me with a completely blank expression, looking at me like I was a piece of trash on the street. This was the same man who used to panic if I got a tiny papercut. He used to bandage my fingers and throw away every sharp object in the house. He used to tell me, “You are the love of my life, Serena. I will never let anyone hurt you.” My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. It was my mother’s surgeon. Swallowing the blinding pain, I hit accept. “Miss Paterson, where are you? If the payment doesn’t clear in the next hour, we cannot proceed with the surgery!” Ben narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze down to Stella. Stella shrank back, looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to take her mom’s money. I was just so angry about how strict she used to be with you. I wanted to teach her a lesson. I’ll transfer the money back right now.” Seeing her fake tears, Ben’s expression softened completely. He gently patted her hair. “It is not your fault. You were just trying to protect me. If anyone is to blame, it is Serena for being a suffocating, controlling bitch.” The physical agony radiating from my bleeding limbs was instantly eclipsed by the sheer, devastating blow to my heart. It felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped it apart barehanded. When he first chased me, I hesitated because he was a wealthy heir with a reputation for playing games. To prove me wrong, he knelt in front of me, handed over all his passwords, his bank accounts, and the deeds to his properties. With red, desperate eyes, he had begged me. “I want to be yours completely. I want you to control me. If you tell me to go left, I will never go right. I swear I will never leave your sight.” Now, that exact devotion was suddenly my greatest crime. It was almost funny. When I finally made it to the hospital, I did not stop to get my wounds cleaned. I limped straight toward my mother’s wing. I expected to push the door open and see her warm, gentle smile. Instead, as I reached the hallway, I saw two nurses wheeling a stretcher out of her room. The body on the bed was completely covered by a thick white sheet. A terrifying sense of dread swallowed me whole. I lunged forward and yanked the sheet back. My mother’s weathered, exhausted face stared blindly at the ceiling, completely drained of color. I froze, my voice trembling so violently I could barely form words. “What happened to her?” The young nurse looked at me with deep pity. “The patient passed away. I am so sorry for your loss.” The words struck me like lightning. The blood in my veins turned to solid ice. “Why? The money was transferred back, wasn’t it? Why did this happen?” The nurse let out a heavy sigh. “The funds cleared, yes. But right as we were prepping her for surgery, a woman named Stella stormed into the operating wing with a group of private security guards. They caused a massive scene and physically unplugged the surgical equipment. The delay was too long. Your mother suffered a massive hemorrhage and we lost her.” My mind shattered into a million pieces. My knees buckled, and I nearly collapsed onto the sterile tiles. Stella. A blazing inferno of pure hatred burned away every last shred of my sanity. After quickly finalizing the paperwork for my mother’s body, I drove straight to Stella’s apartment. Ben was sitting on her sofa, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as they shared a deep, passionate kiss. When he saw me standing in the doorway, his face twisted in anger. “Are you stalking me now, Serena? Are you a psycho? When are you going to stop?” I did not waste a single breath on him. I grabbed a heavy ceramic vase from the entryway table and smashed it directly over Stella’s head. Stella let out a bloodcurdling scream and fell back. Blood poured down the side of her face. Before I could take another step, Ben kicked me squarely in the stomach. I crashed to the floor, the back of my head slamming violently against the sharp edge of the coffee table. Warm blood instantly soaked my hair. I tried to force myself up, but the room spun, and I collapsed back down. Ben was frantically pressing a towel to Stella’s bleeding head. He glared at me, his eyes burning with absolute fury. “You belong in a mental asylum! What the hell is wrong with you!” Fighting through the crushing pain in my skull, I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I am crazy? That bitch just murdered my mother, and I am not allowed to get even?” A stinging slap snapped my head to the side. Ben looked at me like I was a monster. “That is enough! You are actually making up a story about a murder just to ruin my relationship with Stella? You make me sick!” The raw, unfiltered hatred in his eyes left me completely paralyzed. This was the boy who used to take my side unconditionally. If someone so much as made me shed a single tear, he would wage war against them without asking a single question. Now, the man standing in front of me looked like he wanted to strangle me to death. My heart physically ached, a sharp, suffocating pain that made it hard to breathe. Stella’s dramatic crying interrupted us, fueling Ben’s rage even further. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me roughly toward the basement door. I thrashed in terror. “Let go of me! What are you doing!” His voice was devoid of any humanity. “I spoiled you too much. That is why you act like an entitled lunatic. I am going to make you pay for what you did today.” With one violent shove, he threw me down the stairs into the basement like a broken ragdoll. The heavy iron door slammed shut, and the lock clicked. I was swallowed by absolute, suffocating darkness. Blind panic wrapped around my throat like a vine. I scrambled up the stairs and pounded my fists against the door. “Let me out! Ben, please, let me out!” Besides my mother, Ben was the only person in the world who knew I suffered from severe claustrophobia. Whenever my anxiety flared up, he refused to let me stay in a room alone. No matter how busy he was at work, he would rush home while I was sleeping and sit by my bed, just so I would not wake up to an empty, terrifying room. Now, the terror was eating me alive. I scratched and clawed at the wooden door until my fingernails cracked and broke. My fresh wounds tore open, soaking my clothes in blood. Outside the door, I heard Stella’s sickeningly sweet voice. “Ben, are you sure it’s okay to lock her down there?” Ben scoffed coldly. “She brought this on herself. I let her walk all over me for years. It is time she learns some respect.” Their footsteps faded away. No matter how loud I screamed, no matter how hard I cried, no one came back. I curled into a ball on the cold concrete floor, weeping until my throat bled. The emotional agony was far worse than the physical pain. Eventually, my vision went black, and I passed out. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed. Ben was sitting in a chair beside me, looking genuinely concerned. But the moment I opened my eyes, his concern morphed back into arrogance. “A man in my position is going to have a few women on the side. It is perfectly normal. As my wife, you need to learn to be generous.” “I know I was a little harsh with the punishment this time. When you get discharged, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. You’ve always wanted to go, right?” An image of him kissing Stella under the glowing green sky flashed in my mind. My stomach violently churned. I shook my head slowly. “Save it. I want a divorce.” Ben’s face darkened instantly. “What kind of tantrum is this?” I looked at him with dead, empty eyes. “I am completely serious.” The only reason I had swallowed my pride and married him after he cheated on me was to pay for my mother’s medical care. Now that she was gone, this marriage meant absolutely nothing. Ben kicked the leg of my hospital bed in frustration. “I never realized you were this pathetic. If you leave me, who is going to pay for your mother’s treatments? Stop dragging her down just because you want to throw a pity party.” “There is no talking to you right now. Take some time and cool off.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the room without looking back. I didn’t stop him. I calmly pulled the IV needle out of the back of my hand, called a lawyer, and had two copies of a divorce settlement drafted. After signing my name, I sent them to Ben’s office via overnight courier. Then, I went to the funeral home, collected my mother’s ashes in a simple wooden urn, and bought a train ticket to take her back to our hometown. Just as I was walking toward the boarding platform, a group of massive bodyguards blocked my path. Stella stepped out from behind them. She glared at me with vicious hatred. “You think running away is going to make Ben miss you and come crawling back? You are delusional.” I frowned, gripping the urn tightly. “What do you want?” She let out a cold, sharp laugh. She suddenly lunged forward, slapping the urn out of my hands. It hit the pavement, shattering open. Gray ash spilled across the dirty concrete. Before I could even scream, she slammed her designer boot directly into the pile of ashes, grinding her heel into the dirt. I raised my hand to strike her, but one of her guards kicked me hard in the ribs. I collapsed onto the concrete. Stella looked down at me with mocking, venomous eyes. “You loved your mommy so much, right? Since she is dead, why don’t you go join her?” The bodyguards grabbed me by my hair and dragged me away. They hauled me to an abandoned industrial rail yard on the edge of the city. With heavy ropes, they tied my wrists and ankles directly to the rusted train tracks. I thrashed and fought with every ounce of strength I had left, but it was completely useless. Stella stood safely on the gravel bank, crossing her arms and watching me with absolute triumph. The ground beneath me began to vibrate. In the distance, the blaring horn of a massive freight train pierced the air. The blinding headlight grew larger and larger. I knew there was no escaping this. I stopped fighting and closed my eyes in absolute despair. Mom. I’m coming to find you. Across town, Ben sat at his massive oak desk. When he opened the overnight envelope and saw the divorce papers, he scoffed, assuming I was just playing hard to get. He ripped the documents into shreds and tossed them into the trash can. Then, he called his bank and froze every single one of my credit cards, fully expecting me to come crawling back in tears. Later that night, he was drinking expensive whiskey in a private VIP room with his friends, having the time of his life. His phone vibrated on the table. Seeing my name on the caller ID, he let out a smug chuckle, fully expecting an apology. He answered the call, a mocking remark already on his tongue. But instead of my voice, a grim, unfamiliar man spoke through the receiver. “Is this the family of Miss Serena Paterson? She was involved in a fatal accident at the rail yard. We need you to come down and identify the body.”

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