Category: English

1 On the exact day our mandatory divorce waiting period was supposed to end, Bill threw a lavish, highly publicized wedding for his mistress. The local Boston networks were practically foaming at the mouth to cover it. My best friend, Hanni, was one of the reporters in the crowd. Watching the two of them share a passionate kiss on the altar was the final straw for her. She grabbed the microphone, cutting through the applause. “Mr. Kingston, rumor has it your divorce with your wife, Sierra, isn’t even finalized yet.” Her voice rang out, sharp and accusing. “How do you sleep at night doing this to her?” Bill’s face instantly darkened. “Sierra is the one who filed for divorce, and she is the one playing hide and seek to drag out the clock,” he said coldly. “I spent three days and three nights kneeling in a blizzard to prove my innocence. What more does she want from me?” Hanni’s voice began to tremble. “Did it ever cross your mind that something terrible might have happened to her?” “What could possibly happen? She is just throwing a tantrum and hiding because she regrets filing.” His tone dripped with absolute disgust. “You can tell her that hiding is useless. This marriage is over.” I hovered in the air above them, a weightless phantom, smiling a bitter smile. Bill really didn’t need to rush. Very soon, the County Clerk’s office would notify him that he was officially a widower. … The banquet hall was a sea of floating white balloons and floors carpeted in crushed red roses. On every guest’s seat sat an expensive floral arrangement hiding a thick silver envelope stuffed with cash favors. Bill and Violet’s wedding was arrogant, loud, and incredibly expensive. The dozen or so reporters swarming the venue were entirely his doing. He had invited them specifically to make a spectacle. He wanted me to see it. He wanted me to lose my mind with jealousy and come crashing through the doors. Because six years ago, we got married in this exact same ballroom. The layout, the floral arrangements, the music. Everything was identical. Hanni had been my maid of honor back then. She knew exactly what Bill was doing. It was a deliberate, cruel provocation. She was shaking with rage, her knuckles turning white around the microphone. “Mr. Kingston, you are the one who destroyed your vows. Have you ever wondered why Sierra had to disappear? If you hadn’t cheated on her with…” “Stop making things up!” Before Hanni could finish her sentence, Violet shrieked like a startled bird, aggressively cutting her off. “I am not a homewrecker! Bill and I only got together after they separated!” Hanni stared at Violet with pure loathing, her lips curling into a sneer. “Oh? Are they divorced yet?” Violet’s face drained of color. She gripped her bridal bouquet so hard the stems nearly snapped. Bill took a protective step forward, shielding Violet behind his broad shoulders. “Sierra refuses to show her face to sign the final decree. That is the only reason this marriage isn’t legally dead,” he said, staring dead into the camera lenses. “And the idea that Violet is a mistress is complete garbage. Sierra saw us share a single, innocent hug and immediately convicted me of cheating. She refused to listen to a single word of explanation.” He leaned closer to the microphones, his voice dropping to a terrifying calm. “I invited the press here today because I want the woman hiding behind the screen to hear this loud and clear. Even if you are drowning in regret right now, it is too late. You pushed me away with your own two hands. You have exactly three days to show your face. If you don’t, you will face the consequences.” The entire ballroom fell into a stunned, suffocating silence. Only Hanni was crying, hot tears of fury spilling down her cheeks. “Bill, you grew up with Sierra! You two were childhood sweethearts. How can you be this cruel to her? Do you want to know where she is? She is dead! She is already dead!” “This reporter is emotionally unstable. Escort her out.” Bill’s voice didn’t even waver. He didn’t believe a single syllable that came out of Hanni’s mouth. Two massive security guards lunged forward, grabbing Hanni by both arms and dragging her toward the heavy mahogany doors. Panic seized me. I floated down frantically, trying to push the guards away, but my translucent hands slipped right through Hanni’s shoulders. She kicked and thrashed, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “You are going to regret this, Bill! You will pay for what you’ve done to her!” Bill casually looked away, completely unbothered, not even willing to waste another breath on her. The atmosphere in the room was freezing. The wedding officiant nervously cleared his throat to break the tension. “And now, the groom may kiss the bride!” Forced applause and awkward cheering erupted. Bill took Violet’s hand, a gentle smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he leaned down toward her blushing face. I squeezed my eyes shut. But even over the deafening noise of the crowd, Bill’s words from our own wedding six years ago echoed perfectly in my ears. “I finally made you mine, Sierra. Don’t even think about running away from me in this lifetime.” Bill and I used to be the gold standard in our social circle. The textbook definition of soulmates. We grew up on the same street, leaning on each other through everything. I stayed completely behind the scenes, gladly swallowing my own ambitions to manage every trivial detail of his life while he built his empire from scratch. When his tech company finally took off, he didn’t forget me. Almost every major asset and property was placed under my name. It was a perfect fairytale, until the sixth year of our marriage, when Violet showed up. She was a charity case Bill had sponsored in high school. Later, she graduated top of her class at a prestigious business school in Boston. Fresh out of college, she was instantly hired as a senior executive at his company. The nightmare started the day I brought homemade lunch to his office. I pushed the door open only to find them wrapped in each other’s arms. Violet was sobbing, tears streaming down her perfect face, while Bill gently stroked her back, whispering softly to her. The intimacy in the air was suffocating. My sudden appearance threw them both into a panic. Bill practically shoved her away. Violet started stuttering, calling me “Mrs. Kingston” over and over, begging for forgiveness and swearing it wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just set the lunchbox on the coffee table, turned around, and walked out. As I waited for the elevator, I could hear his employees whispering in the cubicles. “The boss’s wife is looking a little tired these days. She definitely can’t compete with Violet.” “No kidding. If I were the boss, I’d pick Violet too.” “It’s a shame. I heard his wife used to be a valedictorian back in the day. No idea why she threw it all away to be a desperate housewife.” My steps quickened. I basically sprinted out of the lobby, got into my car, and locked the doors. Bill came tearing out of the building, chest heaving, and threw himself in front of my hood. “Sierra, please! There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Violet!” he yelled, banging on the glass. “Her grandmother just passed away! I was only comforting her!” “Move.” I stared at him through the windshield, my voice utterly devoid of emotion. He was pale, his eyes wide with panic. He slammed his hands onto the hood, refusing to budge, demanding I get out and listen to him. I narrowed my eyes and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. The engine roared. Bill barely jumped out of the way in time, stumbling awkwardly and falling hard onto the concrete. I glanced at the rearview mirror as I drove off. Violet had already rushed out of the building. She was kneeling next to him, gently wiping the dirt off his expensive suit with tender, careful hands. I pulled out my phone and texted him that I wanted a divorce. For the first time in years, Bill blew off work. It was the dead of winter. He chased me all the way home, only for me to drag him straight to the lawyer’s office to file the separation papers. That afternoon, he knelt in the snow in our front yard, his eyes bloodshot, begging me to take it back. “Sierra, I swear to God, Violet and I are clean! If you don’t trust us, I will fire her right now! Please don’t do this. Please don’t divorce me.” A massive blizzard rolled in. The snow fell for three days, and he stayed on his knees for three days. By the end, he was using his dead mother’s name to swear he hadn’t slept with her. Looking back on it now as a ghost, I realize my anger wasn’t just about catching them in an embrace. It was the crushing inferiority complex that had festered inside me after playing the perfect, invisible housewife for five years. I was furious at his lack of boundaries. But I was mostly furious at myself for rotting away. I went from being the brightest, most ambitious girl in my class, to being reduced to nothing more than Bill’s shadow. The boss’s wife. Standing next to a young, brilliant, and vibrant woman like Violet, I felt pathetic. On the fourth day, I finally walked out the front door. I told him I was going out of town to clear my head, and ordered him not to follow me. As I walked down the driveway, he panicked and tried to stand up, calling my name. But his knees were so badly frostbitten he collapsed back into the snow, his face turning an ashen gray from the blinding pain. I never looked back. The wedding finally ended. As the last few guests filtered out, Violet wrapped her arms tightly around Bill’s waist. “Dom, there are only three days left on the waiting period. What if she still doesn’t show up to sign?” She pouted, looking up at him through her lashes. “Maybe you should put more pressure on Hanni. She definitely knows where Sierra is hiding.” Bill fell silent for a moment before pulling out his phone. Hanni picked up on the first ring, probably thinking he was calling to apologize. Instead, his voice was laced with a chilling threat. “Hanni, if Sierra doesn’t stand in front of me within seventy-two hours, I will personally see to it that your career in journalism is over.” “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Hanni screamed through the speaker, her voice raw with grief. “I told you she is dead! Dead! Do you not understand plain English?” “I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.” Bill’s jaw tightened. “Bring her to me.” “Fine! You wait right there!” Hanni snarled. “I’ll bring her to you right now!” That afternoon, Hanni kicked the front door open at Bill’s house. The house that used to be ours. Violet was curled up in Bill’s lap on the living room sofa, watching the drone footage from their wedding. Hanni marched straight in with her muddy boots, marched up to the sofa, and slammed a piece of paper directly into Bill’s chest. “You want to see Sierra? Here is her death certificate. Take a good look!” Bill’s face instantly turned glacial. Just as he reached for the paper, Violet snatched it out of his hands. With three quick, violent tugs, she ripped the certificate into tiny pieces and threw it on the floor. “What is your problem, Hanni?” Violet snapped, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows you and Sierra lie for each other all the time. Who in their right mind would believe this cheap fake?” Hanni froze, staring at the shredded paper on the rug. Then, a primal scream ripped from her throat as she lunged forward. “You absolute bitch! How dare you!” She raised her hand to slap Violet across the face. But before she could make contact, Bill caught her wrist in a vice grip. “Hanni, if you want to throw a tantrum, do it somewhere else. This is no longer Sierra’s house.” Hanni winced as his grip bruised her skin. She yanked her arm back, failing to break free, as hot tears spilled over her lashes. “You are a monster, Bill!” she cried. “Sierra gave up her entire life for you! Is this how you repay her?” “What did I do to her?” Bill’s eyes were practically made of ice. “I got on my knees in a blizzard and begged her for three days, and she still walked away. It has been ten months. I have sent her hundreds of messages, and she hasn’t replied to a single one. Tell me, what else am I supposed to do?” My ghostly heart shuddered, plummeting into a deep, endless void. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reply to his messages. I physically couldn’t. Shortly after I drove out of Boston, my phone rang. It was Violet. Her voice was sweet, dripping with fake sincerity. “Mrs. Kingston, can you please just let Bill go? The company is in a critical stage right now and he has so much to deal with. He hasn’t answered a single business call in days, he is just kneeling in the freezing snow at your house. Are you made of stone? Do you not feel bad for him at all? If you are mad, take it out on me. I’m the one who fell in love with him, it’s not his fault…” Before she could finish her sentence, a horrifying crunch of metal shattered the air. A massive semi-truck, driven by a man asleep at the wheel, swerved into my lane. I was too distracted by Violet’s sickening words to react in time. My sedan smashed through the guardrail and plummeted down the side of a steep, rocky ravine. I died on impact. My phone was crushed into pieces. The highway patrol only managed to salvage the SIM card well enough to pull my emergency contact. My mother. She rushed to the county morgue to identify the body. When she saw the mangled mess they pulled out of the body bag, she fainted on the spot. By the time she woke up in a hospital bed, several days had passed. She called Bill, sobbing uncontrollably, which was when she finally learned about our impending divorce. At that point, Bill was suffocating in his own pride and anger. He spat cold words into the phone. “Since Sierra is so convinced I cheated, then fine, I cheated. Tell her not to forget the clock is ticking on our divorce papers.” He hung up. My mother, completely shattered by the double blow, suffered a heart attack and slipped into a coma. If Hanni hadn’t been there to pay the bills and keep vigil, my mother might not have survived at all. But Bill didn’t know any of this. And even if he were told, he wouldn’t listen. Hanni’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot. She violently shoved Bill away, pulled out her phone, and shoved the screen into his face, pulling up our text thread. It was the messages I sent her the day I left for a cabin in Vermont. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m going up to the cabin for a few days to breathe. When I get back, I’m going to pull the divorce papers. I want to work things out with him. Hanni had replied, clearly annoyed: You are so blind when it comes to him! What if he really is sleeping with Violet? I had sent a little sighing emoji. He’s not. I know him. I trust him. Bill read the screen, a dark, mocking laugh escaping his lips. “You think these pathetic little tricks are going to work on me?” He shoved her phone away. “Go back and tell Sierra that faking text messages is insulting to my intelligence. If she has something to say, she can look me in the eye at the courthouse and say it herself.” Hanni’s pupils dilated in absolute disbelief. She opened her mouth to argue. Bill leaned in, his voice a low, venomous hiss. “If you utter one more lie to cover for her, you will never work in this city again.” Hanni left. But Violet was still pacing the floors, chewing her nails. There were only three days left before the judge finalized the paperwork. And judging by everything, I really had no intention of showing up. The anxiety was eating her alive. The next morning, she wrapped her arms around Bill’s neck, pouting playfully. “Dom, we already had the wedding. Without the actual certificate, I feel like a fraud. Why don’t we go visit Sierra’s mother? If Hanni won’t talk, her mom definitely will!” Bill frowned, a flash of hesitation in his eyes. “Let’s leave the parents out of our mess.” Violet tightened her grip, refusing to let it go. “But I just want to be legally yours! Didn’t you see the comments under the news segment? People are calling me a gold digger and a homewrecker. They are saying Sierra is doing this on purpose to punish me. Does it not break your heart when they talk about me like that?” Bill stared into her tear-filled eyes. After a long, heavy silence, he finally gave in. “Fine. We will go talk to her. But remember, her mother has severe hypertension. You need to watch your tone.” Violet’s lips twisted in annoyance, a flash of ugly jealousy crossing her face. “Wow. You remember her medical history perfectly. You’re divorcing the daughter, but you still care so much about the mother?” Bill sighed, gently pinching her cheek. “Mrs. Cole treated me like her own son when I was a kid. I owe her that respect.” Floating near the ceiling, my soul felt like it was encased in ice. That afternoon, they drove to my mother’s suburban house. Hanni must have given my mom a heads-up. The second she opened the front door and saw their faces, her expression turned to stone. “What do you want?” Bill’s eyes softened slightly. “Mom… Mrs. Cole. I just came to ask…” “What the hell is this?” Before he could finish, Violet pushed past them and barged right into the living room. She grabbed the framed photograph sitting next to the urn on the mantle. Her voice was shrill and mocking. “Wow, you guys are really committed to the bit, aren’t you? You even set up a fake funeral shrine?” “Put that down! Don’t touch her!” My mother screamed in horror, lunging forward to wrestle the photo out of Violet’s hands. Bill stepped into the living room, taking in the black-and-white portrait. The temperature in his eyes plummeted to absolute zero. “So this is Sierra’s new strategy to delay the paperwork.” My mother didn’t even hear him. She was desperately grappling with Violet, trying to pry my memorial photo away from her manicured claws. But she was old, and her body was frail. With one hard shove, Violet pushed her back. My mother crashed heavily onto the hardwood floor with a sickening thud, her face turning gray with pain. Bill instinctively reached out to catch her. But halfway there, he froze, pulling his hand back as a flash of bitter resentment crossed his face. Violet gritted her teeth, holding the portrait high above her head before smashing it violently onto the ground. “Keep playing dead, Sierra! You think making me look like a villain is going to stop this divorce?” Crack. The glass shattered into a hundred jagged pieces across the floor. My mother stared at the broken glass for three agonizing seconds before letting out an earth-shattering wail. Ignoring the sharp shards slicing into her hands, she scrambled across the floor, desperately trying to put my smiling face back together. Bill finally couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped closer, his voice tight. “Mrs. Cole, just tell me. Where is she hiding?” “Get out of my house!” My mother shrieked like a wounded animal. She grabbed handfuls of his expensive coat, hitting his chest with weak, trembling fists. “You ungrateful animal! Sierra gave you everything! You used to eat at my table when you had nothing! You promised me you would protect her with your life! Is this how you protect her? You monster! You monster!” Bill took the beating without flinching, his brows knitted tightly together. But he refused to accept her words. “I have a clear conscience when it comes to your daughter. You might hate me right now, but you need to accept reality. She is the one who abandoned me.” “You…!” My mother pointed a shaking finger right at his face, but before she could get the next word out, her eyes rolled back and she slumped against the sofa, gasping for air. Bill quickly hoisted her up onto the cushions, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. “Since you refuse to tell me where she is, I’ll find another way to flush her out. Let’s go, Violet.” He grabbed Violet’s hand and marched out the front door. But the second they stepped onto the driveway, Violet let out a horrified gasp. She shoved her glowing phone screen into Bill’s chest, her face pale with terror. “Hanni… Hanni just posted a video!” Bill frowned, grabbing the phone. On the screen, Hanni was sitting in her car, her eyes completely red and swollen from crying. “Hello everyone. I am a reporter for Boston Metro News. And I have something to say about the character of Bill Kingston, CEO of Kingston Corp. “Ten months ago, he began sleeping with his executive, Violet Dunn, completely betraying my best friend, Sierra. While still legally married, he decided to parade his mistress around in a sham wedding yesterday. “I am not posting this to seek revenge. I am posting this because I need to deliver one final message on behalf of my dead best friend.” Hanni choked on a sob, covering her mouth as she struggled to breathe. It took her a long time to look back into the camera lens. “Bill, Sierra is really dead. She isn’t playing a game to trap you in a marriage. She was never that kind of person. “And you don’t ever have to threaten my career again. Because ten minutes ago, I handed in my badge. I quit.” The video abruptly cut to black. Bill’s face was a mask of cold fury, a thick vein pulsing dangerously at his temple. Violet was stomping her feet in panic. “She is trying to destroy us! This is going to tank the company’s stock by morning! Why aren’t you suing her for defamation? And just file for an absentee divorce against Sierra! The judge will grant it if she refuses to show up to court!” Bill tossed the phone back to her. He pulled out his own phone, his voice dropping into a register so cold it didn’t even sound human. “Legal? Draft a lawsuit for extreme defamation against Hanni immediately. And prep the papers to sue Sierra for emotional distress.” He didn’t even wait for his lawyers to respond before hanging up. For the rest of the day, a suffocating, terrifying storm cloud hung over him. He didn’t speak another word to anyone. Early the next morning, the legal team was already in the elevator heading up to his penthouse. But before they knocked, his cell phone rang. “Hello, is this Mr. Kingston?” “Speaking.” “We are calling from the County Probate and Vital Records Office. Your wife’s death certificate has been fully processed and her social security number is now officially retired. Please make an appointment to come down and finalize your survivor benefits and the legal change of your marital status to widowed.”

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1 Late at night, Jordan’s heart rate spiked to 180 while he was “out of town.” I called and heard panting, though he claimed to be jogging after texting he was in bed. A woman’s giggle echoed before the line died. Checking his hidden Twitter, I saw his post: “If this gets 100 likes, I’ll confess I’m cheating.” An anonymous text followed, dozens of photos proving Jordan and my best friend Ruby had been together for over a year. My phone clattered to the floor. Jordan hated watches yet wore the one I gave him tonight. This was his twisted confession. Nails biting into my palms, I called back, throat tight. “I got your confession,” I said. “We’re done.” … Half an hour later, Jordan burst through the front door. He had rushed all the way back from his supposed out of town trip. He rubbed a towel over his rain soaked hair and shot me a deeply annoyed glare. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing this time? Breaking up out of nowhere?” I didn’t scream. I just turned my phone around and shoved the gallery of him and Ruby right in his face. For a rare second, Jordan was actually speechless. A long, suffocating silence stretched between us. Finally, he gave a careless shrug. “Since you already know everything, I guess there is no point in hiding it.” “Ruby and I are together.” His tone was incredibly casual. He sounded like he was deciding what to order for takeout. The sheer disrespect felt like a physical blow to my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. My last shred of sanity snapped. I lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar of his expensive shirt, and screamed until my throat tore. “Why? Why would you do this to me?!” “You promised me you would never cheat again!” “You swore on your life!” Jordan frowned. He reached up and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. His touch was so tender, yet his words were dipped in absolute poison. “Stella, you know your health is fragile. You can’t handle anything too strenuous.” “I just needed a physical outlet. Is it really such a crime for a guy to find a release?” I froze completely. My hands lost all their strength and dropped dead at my sides. He had used almost the exact same excuse before. A year ago. The very first time I caught him sneaking around with Ruby. Back then, Jordan’s eyes were bloodshot as he frantically tried to explain himself. “I just got caught up in the moment, Stella! I lost control. I just needed to blow off some steam!” He had dropped to his knees right there on the living room rug, begging me over and over not to leave him. Being betrayed by my partner and my best friend at the exact same time broke me. I fell into a pitch black depression. One night, completely overwhelmed by the pain, I climbed up to the rooftop of our building. Jordan had completely lost his mind. He sprinted up the stairs, grabbed me away from the ledge, and dragged me back to safety. He was sobbing uncontrollably. “I messed up! I messed up so badly!” “I will never see her again! I swear to God I will never do anything to hurt you ever again!” “You can punish me however you want, just please do not hurt yourself!” “I can’t survive without you, Stella!” I eventually caved. I chose to forgive him. And for a long time, Jordan actually kept his word. He stopped going out for drinks. He stopped attending late night networking events. He went straight to the office and came straight home, checking in with me constantly. But there was a catch. Every single month, he had to take a mandatory five day business trip. I honestly believed it was just corporate obligations. Until tonight. He was just using company time to hook up with Ruby. He never cut her off. He just got better at hiding her. The dam finally broke, and tears spilled hot down my cheeks. I forced myself to look him dead in the eye. “Jordan. We are done.” “I cannot forgive you this time. I won’t.” Seeing that I wasn’t getting hysterical or throwing things, Jordan seemed to realize I was actually serious. He reached into his duffel bag, pulled out a small velvet ring box, and held it out to me. “Come on, stop being mad. Ruby is literally just a toy to me. Just a distraction. Why are you letting this get under your skin?” “Haven’t you always wanted to lock this down and get married? You even tried to trap me with a baby back then.” “Well today is your lucky day. I’m willing to make it official.” My nose burned fiercely, but I bit my lip hard enough to keep fresh tears from falling. My body had always been incredibly frail. Whenever Jordan and I were intimate, he always had to be incredibly careful. Three years ago, against all odds, I finally got pregnant. I was absolutely thrilled. I brought the ultrasound printout home and showed it to him, expecting him to lift me in the air. Instead, he just stared at the paper and frowned. “Stella, I still want to enjoy our freedom for a few more years. We can always have kids later.” But because my body was so weak, the subsequent termination completely destroyed my reproductive system. The doctors told me I would never be able to conceive again. I looked at Jordan through blurred vision, a bitter, broken smile forming on my lips. With shaking hands, I popped open the velvet box. There was no diamond inside. Just the cheap metal pull tab from a soda can. I stood there totally paralyzed. At that exact moment, Jordan’s phone speaker crackled to life. It was Ruby, laughing hysterically. “Surprised, Stella?” “I snuck into his bag and swapped out the huge diamond he bought you.” “Honestly? I think a piece of trash like a soda tab suits you way better.” Jordan laughed lightly, playfully scolding Ruby through the phone, before turning back to me with a smooth explanation. “Ruby just wanted to see how you would react to catching me again. She is just a little wild and loves playing pranks. Don’t take it personally.” “I swear I had no idea she swapped the ring out, though.” I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip, refusing to speak. Jordan ended the call and reached out to gently ruffle my hair, exactly like he used to do when things were perfect. “What’s wrong? Are you actually upset?” “Ruby grew up in the system with no parents. She barely even finished high school. You know she lacks basic manners, so just be the bigger person.” I stared into Jordan’s eyes. My chest felt like it was packed with burning coals. He was lying through his teeth. Nobody goes out of their way to make long, passionate excuses for a woman who is just a “distraction.” He was only defending her because he was terrified I might snap and go after her. Jordan changed out of his damp clothes. He was about to say something else when his phone lit up again. He answered it briefly, hung up, and walked over to the hallway mirror. He spent a solid minute perfectly styling his hair before grabbing his car keys. “Ruby needs me for something real quick. I’m going to run over to her place.” Right as his hand touched the doorknob, he paused and looked back at me. “Stella, I promise I will never let her take your place.” “In my heart, you are the only woman I will ever call my wife.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read my expression. “Just please. Don’t go out of your way to bully Ruby.” “She has already had a really hard life.” The front door clicked shut. His headlights swept across the living room wall, fading into the dark street. I stood alone in the massive, empty house, and finally let out a raw, agonizing scream. No one on earth knew Ruby better than I did. We grew up together in the same run down brick apartment complex on the east side of the city. When she was seven, loan sharks drove her parents to suicide. The police found her sitting on the pavement outside her building, crying hysterically. My mother had a heart of gold. She brought Ruby home and raised her exactly like she was her own flesh and blood. But Ruby absolutely hated school. She started skipping class, hanging out with the local gangs, and constantly getting into trouble. My mother bailed her out of holding cells and apologized to neighbors time and time again. My mom wasn’t even forty, but the stress turned her hair completely gray. When Ruby turned eighteen, she got into a massive bar fight and slashed another girl’s face with a broken bottle. The victim’s family demanded a two hundred thousand dollar settlement to drop the charges. My mother had no choice but to bite the bullet. She worked three brutal jobs just to keep Ruby out of prison. The very week the final payment was made, my mother collapsed at the diner where she worked. Her body just gave out from sheer exhaustion. She died before the ambulance even arrived. She left me all alone in the world. I bet my mom never imagined this. She traded her own life to save Ruby. And a decade later, Ruby would be the one twisting a knife into her daughter’s back. A sharp knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. It was Simon, Jordan’s executive assistant. He handed me a small jewelry box. The real one this time. “Mr. Jordan knows you have been looking at this specific cut for a long time. He custom ordered it for you last month.” I opened the box and ran my thumb over the cold, heavy diamond. Jordan remembered that I loved this design. But this was the ring I wanted two years ago. The style was already outdated. I didn’t get it when I wanted it, and I certainly did not want it now. Simon cleared his throat. “Mr. Jordan also said you have full creative control over the wedding arrangements. You don’t need to worry about the budget.” A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t even form words. A wedding is supposed to be for two people. But he was just dumping the entire burden of planning onto me while he went off to sleep with my best friend. If this marriage meant so little to him, then it simply wasn’t going to happen. I looked out at the storm raging outside the windows. I pulled out my phone and dialed my corporate director. “I’ll take the transfer to the Berlin branch.” A month ago, upper management asked me to relocate to Europe as a regional Vice President. I had been stalling because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jordan. Now, there was absolutely nothing tying me down. The very next morning, Jordan walked through the front door. He wasn’t alone. Ruby was trailing right behind him. “Ruby heard you were stressing about wedding planning, so she came over to help you bounce some ideas around.” As Jordan bent down to take off his shoes, his collar slipped. I saw fresh, aggressive red scratch marks trailing down his collarbone. My stomach violently flipped. A wave of pure nausea crawled up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, bolted to the downstairs bathroom, and started dry heaving over the sink. Jordan rushed in behind me, rubbing circles into my back, his voice full of panic as he asked if I had food poisoning. Ruby just leaned against the doorframe and laughed out loud. “Stella isn’t sick. She is just disgusted seeing us together. It’s a psychological reflex making her gag.” The second the words left her mouth, Jordan’s hand dropped from my back. “Stella, please stop throwing these little tantrums.” “Ruby came all the way out here out of the goodness of her heart to help you. Do you really have to act like this?” A tidal wave of pure anger and betrayal rushed into my brain. I completely lost it. “I never asked for her help! She invited herself!” “She is just trying to rub her shameless face in my home!” The temperature in the bathroom plummeted to freezing. Ruby’s eyes immediately filled with crocodile tears. Her lip quivered perfectly. “I’m so sorry, Stella. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so impulsive and crashed your morning.” “Please don’t be mad. I’ll just leave.” She said she was going to leave, but her feet stayed planted exactly where they were. Jordan immediately stepped in front of Ruby, shielding her with his body. He glared at me like I was a complete monster. “Stella, you are crossing a massive line right now!” “Ruby has been your best friend since you were kids! How can you stand there and say such cruel things to her?” “She always puts you first! She has never once tried to compete with you for anything! You have a friend who would jump on a grenade for you, and you are still complaining?” The raw fury in Jordan’s eyes burned straight through my soul. I closed my eyes, and a montage of our entire relationship flashed behind my eyelids. A year ago, when I first found out he was cheating, the betrayal triggered severe clinical depression. I completely lost my grip. I started hurting myself just to feel something other than the crushing heartbreak. Every single time Jordan caught me cutting myself, he would grab the blade and cut his own arm twice as deep. He would press his bleeding hands over my eyes, pulling me into his chest. “It’s my fault, Stella. If you’re going to bleed, I’m going to bleed with you.” When my insomnia got so bad I couldn’t sleep for days, he hired contractors to tear the roof off the master bedroom and install massive skylights so he could hold me and count the stars until the sun came up. When I refused to eat, he starved himself right alongside me. We lived in that dark, agonizing purgatory for over six months before I finally started to heal. I clawed my way out of the mud for him. I never expected this. Barely a few months later, he was the one shoving me right back into the swamp. The man who had cried blood swearing he would never betray me again. Was now standing like a bodyguard, protecting another woman from me. Jordan took a deep, jagged breath, clearly trying to reign in his temper. He pointed up the sweeping staircase to the guest wing and looked at Ruby. “Go on upstairs and pick out whichever room you like best.” That was when I noticed the pink designer suitcase Ruby had been hiding behind her legs the entire time. “You’re letting her move in here?” I asked, my voice completely hollow. Before Jordan could even respond, Ruby completely broke character. She clapped her hands and lunged forward, trying to grab my arm. “Stella! We finally get to be roommates again! Aren’t you excited?!” “Remember when we were little kids in the projects? You said you wanted us to live together forever!” “Well your dream finally came true! Are you happy?!” I stared at her in sheer disbelief. A toxic cocktail of rage and pure, unfiltered hatred boiled over in my chest. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. “Are you proud of yourself, Ruby?” “Twenty years ago, you took my mother away from me. Now you want to take my fiancé. Do you just get off on ruining my life?” “Are you completely incapable of building your own damn home?!” The massive house fell dead silent. The only sound was Ruby sobbing into her hands. And my own ragged breathing echoing off the walls. Jordan gently pressed an ice pack against Ruby’s swollen cheek. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were devoid of any warmth. “Stella, let’s get one thing straight. This isn’t your home.” “I bought this house. My name is on the deed.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water directly over my head. He was right. He paid for the mortgage. What right did I have to claim this as my territory? A pathetic, tragic smile broke across my face. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.” Ruby immediately dropped the ice pack and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip, refusing to let go. “Stella, please don’t do this! Jordan didn’t mean it, he is just stressed out!” “I’m the one who should go!” I looked at Ruby’s face. The fake concern painted over the smug, victorious gleam in her eyes made me physically sick to my stomach. Jordan’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Ruby, let her go.” “If she is dead set on walking out that door, let her. Let her see exactly how miserable her life is going to be without me bankrolling it.” The storm outside was absolute chaos. The freezing rain soaked me to the bone in seconds. I dragged my feet through the flooding streets, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I just instinctively walked back to the old, run down neighborhood where I grew up. When I pushed open the rotting wooden door of my childhood apartment, I froze. Jordan was sitting on my dusty childhood bed. He noticed my shock and tossed a dry towel at my chest. “Dry off before you catch pneumonia.” I let the towel drop to the floor. I just stared at him, my eyes burning. “How did you know I would be here?” Jordan smirked confidently. “Where else could you possibly go?” He stood up, picked the towel off the floor, and started aggressively rubbing my wet hair. “Walking in the rain isn’t as romantic as it looks in the movies, is it?” “Stop being a brat. Come back home with me.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. My hands balled into tight fists at my sides. When I finally spoke, my voice was so quiet I could barely hear myself. “Jordan, is it really that difficult to just love one person?” His hands paused. His entire demeanor shifted, irritation instantly flaring up again. “Is cheating a crime? Show me the law that says I can’t look for a little fun.” “Stop being such a drama queen, Stella.” Those two words hit me harder than a physical punch to the jaw. My face burned with humiliation. I stared at him, feeling like someone was carving pieces off my heart with a rusty butter knife. The pain was so relentless it was starting to make me numb. “Why did it have to be Ruby?” “You knew exactly what she meant to me. She was my absolute best friend. Are you really that desperate? Did you absolutely have to sleep with the only family I had left in this world?!” “You make me sick, Jordan!” He aggressively ran a hand through his hair, threw the damp towel onto the bed, and finally snapped. “Yeah! I am desperate!” “I have no morals! Is that what you want to hear?!” Jordan’s chest heaved. The volume of his voice shook the tiny room. “You know that massive car crash you got into six months ago? When you were terrified and called me from the ambulance?” “You think I was choked up on the phone because I was scared for you?!” “I wasn’t crying, Stella! Ruby just knew exactly how to work her mouth, and I was too overstimulated to hide the groans!” The tiny apartment plunged into a terrifying, suffocating silence. It wasn’t until a tear slipped down my chin that Jordan finally realized what he had just confessed. Panic completely erased the anger on his face. He reached out, desperately trying to backtrack, but I shoved him backward out the front door. Six months ago, a semi truck had rear ended my car on the freeway. The moment I regained consciousness in the wreckage, the very first thing I did was dial Jordan’s number. I had always wondered why it took him two full hours to drive ten miles to the hospital. While I was sobbing in absolute terror, bleeding onto a stretcher, my fiancé and my best friend were using my trauma as background noise for a hookup. The physical pain in my chest finally outpaced the pure rage. It felt like my heart was being crushed in a vice. Through the thin wooden door, I could hear Jordan apologizing over and over, begging me to open up. When I didn’t make a sound, he finally let out a heavy sigh. “Stella, I have a massive crisis at the firm. I need to go handle it. I will come back and check on you tomorrow.” His heavy footsteps faded down the stairwell. Inside the dark apartment, I sank to the floor and vomited until my throat bled, tears streaming down my face. My phone buzzed on the floorboards. The corporate office had pushed my flight forward to tonight. I wiped the spit and tears off my face. It felt like I was wiping away the last seven years of my life. I threw whatever essentials I had left into a duffel bag, called a cab, and headed straight to the international terminal. Right before I approached the boarding gate, my screen lit up with another desperate apology text from Jordan. I didn’t reply. I just permanently blocked his number and deleted his contact. The plane pierced through the clouds, leaving the wreckage of my city far below. From this moment on, Jordan and I were separated by an ocean. We would never cross paths again.

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I was at the absolute peak of my career when I officially went public with Hugh Hayes. He was Hollywood’s most brilliant young director, the mastermind behind two consecutive blockbuster television series that had broken streaming records worldwide. The moment my Instagram post dropped, my comment section exploded. Not with congratulations, but with an avalanche of sheer venom. Stop trying to clout-chase, okay? Everyone knows Hugh has had a girlfriend for years. If you’re his girlfriend, then what the hell is Chloe Vance? Lmao, go look at Hugh’s comments. He literally said he doesn’t even know you, lady. What are you trying to prove? Plus, his next lead actress is literally Chloe. Reading those comments, I felt the air leave my lungs. Chloe was his childhood best friend. She had clung to him like a shadow since they were kids. But he had looked me in the eyes and promised me the lead role in his new series. I took a screenshot of the comments and texted it to him, demanding an explanation. Hugh brushed it off like it was nothing. The industry is cutthroat, Phoebe. Chloe doesn’t have any backing; she gets walked all over. She’s only been in the business for a year, she needs a lead role to cement her status. Don’t take it personally. I promise the lead in my next project is all yours. Just delete that post. It’s not a good look for you anyway. I stared at those three text bubbles for a long time. Suddenly, I just felt utterly exhausted. If this was how it was going to be, then fine. I was done. 1. I deleted the post claiming Hugh as my boyfriend. But the internet had already done its thing. I was trending everywhere. #PhoebeCloutChasing #HughHayesDeniesKnowingPhoebe #ChloeAndHughRealCouple In less than thirty minutes, my name was attached to half a dozen toxic hashtags dominating the trending page. My DMs were flooded with death threats and vile curses from Chloe’s fan base. I scrolled through them slowly, my thumb swiping across the screen. My expression didn’t even flicker. After clawing my way up through this industry for seven years, I had heard far worse. I was bulletproof when it came to internet hate. I closed my DMs and clicked over to Hugh’s profile. He had posted a new photo five minutes ago, officially announcing the female lead for his new series. It was a candid, beautifully lit photo of Chloe reading a script. His comment section was having a field day. Is this Hugh’s subtle way of clapping back at that desperate clout-chaser? Lmao, that actress must be desperate for fame. Claiming Hugh is her boyfriend? The delusion is real. As if she could ever get the official girlfriend treatment like our girl Chloe! I lowered my eyes, double-tapped the comment to like it, and closed the app. Let them think I was just desperate for attention. It was true that I didn’t get the “official treatment” Chloe did. Nobody in the industry would ever connect me to Hugh Hayes. If I really had Hugh pulling strings for me, I would have skyrocketed to the A-list years ago. I wouldn’t have spent seven grueling years playing minor roles just to build a shred of name recognition. But the bitter irony was that Hugh and I did have a relationship. We had been quietly, secretly dating for nearly ten years. I scrolled down his feed and saw the specific comment someone had left, asking what his relationship with me actually was. Hugh had replied with exactly four words: We aren’t close. Don’t know her. Those four words were the reason I was being torn apart online. A bitter, hollow smile touched the corners of my mouth. Right then, a text from Hugh popped up. I saw the trending topics. Let’s talk when I get home. Hugh didn’t come home alone. He walked through the door with Chloe. The moment she saw me, Chloe raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Sorry about this, Phoebe. A couple of stalker fans were following my car, so I had to ride back with Hugh.” Chloe had had Hugh, the powerhouse director, shielding her from day one of her career. Every major audition, every role she landed, was handed to her by him. Everyone in the industry knew Hugh was Chloe’s safety net. They had slowly started feeding the media dating rumors, pushing her into the spotlight until she became an overnight sensation. Hugh dropped his keys on the counter. “Her stalker situation is getting bad. Just try to be understanding.” Understanding. I couldn’t even count how many times Hugh had thrown that word at me. Understand the PR dating rumors with Chloe. Understand why he posted a birthday shoutout to her right at midnight every year. Understand why he was funding her career. Understand why he drove four hours out of his way just to visit her on set. And now, I was supposed to understand why he brought her to our home. Again. I ignored his excuse and brought up the internet firestorm. “Chloe’s career is just taking off, and you’re finally getting public recognition too,” Hugh said smoothly, unbuttoning his jacket. “Going public right now would be toxic for both of you.” “I’ll have my PR team pull the trending topics down later tonight. Just ignore the hate comments and DMs for now.” I just stared at him. When my brain finally processed his words, a soft laugh escaped my throat. Going public wasn’t bad for me. It was bad for Chloe. If we announced we were together, Chloe would instantly be branded as the homewrecker who tried to steal Hugh Hayes. Waiting until “later tonight” to pull the trending topics was just a calculated move to let Chloe soak up the sympathy and exposure. There was a time when Hugh would see a negative comment about me and get angrier than I was. If a bad hashtag started trending, he would have it killed in minutes. Not anymore. All his protective instincts belonged to Chloe now. I uncurled my fists. Suddenly, the urge to fight just evaporated. “Sure. Whatever.” It wasn’t like he needed my permission anyway. He had already orchestrated the whole thing. Not to protect me. To protect her. Seeing me fold so easily caught Hugh off guard. He blinked, then exhaled, slipping back into his old, comforting tone. “It’ll all blow over in a few days. I promise.” Another line I had heard a hundred times before. I stayed silent. Chloe smiled, a sickly sweet expression on her face. “Phoebe, you’re not mad, are you?” I looked at her, my voice deadpan. “Mad about what?” Should I be mad that Hugh told millions of people he didn’t know who I was? Or that he refused to shut down the dating rumors between them? Or maybe I should be mad that he gave the role he promised me to her? Or that he brought her into my sanctuary. There was too much. I didn’t even know where to start. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Which part are you referring to?” Chloe faltered, glancing quickly at Hugh. She recovered with a nervous laugh. “I mean… if you’re uncomfortable, I can just go back to my place.” She looked at me like a puppy kicked out into the rain, but her eyes were glittering with smug satisfaction. She knew exactly what she was doing. Right on cue, Hugh frowned. “Go back where? There are stalkers out there. Did you forget what happened last time they followed you home?” His tone was sharp, but the underlying panic and care were impossible to miss. Chloe immediately looped her arm through his, leaning into him. “I know, I know! I just don’t want Phoebe to feel weird about it. I’d hate to cause friction between you two.” “Besides,” she added, “you came and got me last time, right?” My stomach dropped. That had been a day the production was completely shut down. A six-hour round trip just to get back to the city. I had made that drive. I hadn’t seen Hugh in weeks, and the whole drive back, I kept imagining the look on his face when I surprised him. But when I unlocked the front door, the house was dark and empty. I called him, only to find out he had driven out to ‘rescue’ Chloe. The words “I’m home” died in my throat. Hugh didn’t even wait for me to speak before he rushed me off the phone. The next morning, photos of him and Chloe walking into a boutique hotel were plastered across every gossip site. Even though her PR team claimed it was to escape crazy fans, the public narrative was cemented: they were together. And Hugh never released a single statement denying it. When I confronted him about it, what had he said? He told me to be understanding. That shutting down the rumors would hurt Chloe’s rising star. Hugh let out a heavy sigh, looking exhausted. “You know how it is.” He looked at me, hesitating slightly. “Phoebe, Chloe really does have people stalking her building. Let her crash in the spare room tonight.” He wasn’t asking. I looked him dead in the eye. “And if I say no?” Hugh’s jaw tightened. Annoyance flashed across his face, quickly masked by forced patience. Even if I screamed and threw things, he would still let her stay. “Phoebe, you know how dangerous stalkers can be,” Hugh said, his voice dropping into a patronizing register. “Don’t be so petty. You know what my relationship with Chloe is like.” Oh, I knew. After Chloe’s parents passed away, Hugh’s family had taken her in. They grew up under the same roof. When it came to Chloe, Hugh’s compass was permanently skewed. He always said she was fragile, that if he didn’t look out for her, she’d have no one. So, when I finally had a rare weekend off, he spent it with Chloe. On my birthday, he was with Chloe. On our anniversary, Chloe mentioned a headache, and he vanished. When she was filming, he was on her set every single week. When they were photographed together, he let the rumors run wild. He claimed stalkers were terrifying, but when I had aggressive paparazzi tailing my car, he blamed me for being too flashy, saying I brought it on myself. Whatever, I thought. Let it rot. I looked at Hugh, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I know. Let her stay.” Chloe blinked, surprised I caved so easily, then flashed a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Phoebe.” I stood up to leave the room, but my phone started buzzing. It was Sarah, my agent. I swiped to answer, and her furious voice blasted through the speaker. “Phoebe, you told me Hugh greenlit going public! Now the entire internet is dragging you, calling you a desperate clout-chaser! What the hell is going on?” He had agreed. He told me going public would be a relief, that we wouldn’t have to hide from cameras anymore. When I asked him for final confirmation last night, he paused for a long second, but he didn’t stop me. And when I hit post, his response was to publicly announce he didn’t know me. I let out a soft “Yeah.” Then I said, “It’s exactly what he posted online. We aren’t close.” Hugh stared at me, his expression darkening. He reached over, snatched the phone from my hand, and spoke directly to Sarah. “Now isn’t the right time. We’ll announce it properly later. I’m having my team kill the trending topics.” “It’s not her fault.” I just stood there. For a second, the back of my eyes burned. He ended the call and handed the phone back to me. He hesitated, then muttered, “We’ll do it right next time.” I gave him a small, empty smile. There wasn’t going to be a next time. When I walked out of the bathroom after my shower, Hugh and Chloe were standing in the hallway. And a fresh set of expensive silk sheets was sitting on my bed. I looked at Hugh, my voice freezing over. “What is this?” He shifted his weight, looking anywhere but my eyes. After a long pause, he muttered, “Phoebe, could you just swap rooms with Chloe for the night?” “The mattress in the guest room is too small, she can’t sleep on it.” I looked at Chloe, standing there looking perfectly innocent, then locked eyes with Hugh. “Hugh. This is the master bedroom.” Asking the woman you live with to give up her bed for your ‘friend’ was a new level of disrespect, even for him. “It’s just a bed, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he deflected. “The guest mattress is firm, Chloe isn’t used to it.” “You sleep in cramped trailers on set all the time. You’re adaptable.” Right. I hadn’t just slept in trailers. Once, on a remote location shoot, the crew accidentally left without me. I spent the entire night huddled on a freezing rock waiting for dawn. When Hugh found out back then, he was sick with worry. He didn’t sleep for days, obsessing over whether I was okay. And now? He was worried Chloe wouldn’t sleep well because the mattress was a little firm. I wasn’t giving up my bed. Why should I? I held Hugh’s gaze, unblinking. “Then she can book a suite at the Four Seasons. I am not moving.” “Phoebe!” Hugh snapped, his frustration boiling over. “It’s just a room swap! Why are you being like this? Chloe isn’t as tough as you, can’t you show a little grace?” “No,” I fired back. “I’ve shown enough grace to last a lifetime, Hugh.” I was done compromising. Chloe reached out and tugged gently on Hugh’s sleeve. “It’s fine, Hugh. Don’t fight with her.” She looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “I’ll just make do. It’s really not that bad. I’m not that fragile.” Somehow, she managed to twist the narrative perfectly. I was the irrational, jealous girlfriend, and she was the mature martyr making peace. She offered me a gentle smile. “Don’t be mad at him, Phoebe. He’s just overprotective of me.” I didn’t dignify that with a response. She said it so effortlessly, like it was a universal truth. And she wasn’t wrong. Hugh was overprotective of her. He was so protective that he dropped everything to cater to her every whim, completely disregarding anyone else in the blast radius. Just like right now, demanding I hand over my own bed because he didn’t want her to be slightly uncomfortable. That was Hugh Hayes’ love. Hugh shot me a look of pure ice, leaned over, and yanked the fresh sheets off my bed. Once they finally left, I collapsed onto the mattress, my body heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion. Hugh didn’t come back to the bedroom that night. The next morning, I was violently woken up by my phone ringing. It was Sarah, and she sounded borderline hysterical. “Hugh said he was pulling those hashtags down! Not only are they still up, but two new ones just broke the top ten!” “Everyone is tearing you apart, saying you’re trying to homewreck his relationship with Chloe.” “The director for your next project just called. He’s ‘reconsidering’ your casting. I’ve got three different brand sponsors breathing down my neck…” “Phoebe, what the hell is actually going on between you and Hugh?” I took a slow, shuddering breath. “Sarah, let me talk to him. I’ll call you right back, okay?” “Okay. Hurry,” she said before hanging up. I threw off the covers and marched downstairs. Hugh and Chloe were sitting at the kitchen island, eating breakfast. The moment Chloe saw me, the bright smile vanished from her face. “Good morning, Phoebe.” She sounded like a bullied schoolgirl forced to greet her tormentor. I completely ignored her, walking straight up to Hugh. “Hugh, why are the hashtags still trending?” “You looked me in the eye and promised you were taking them down.” I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking. Hugh looked up from his coffee. He offered a cold, casual smirk. “I changed my mind.” He stared me down. “You deal with it.” Those few careless words were the final nail in the coffin. The last microscopic shred of hope I had for us shattered into dust. It hit me then. This was punishment. Because I refused to give up my bed for Chloe, he was letting my career burn to the ground. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my chest. Hugh frowned. “What’s so funny?” The back of my eyes burned fiercely. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let a single tear fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. No more tears. If this was who he was, there was nothing left to salvage. I looked straight into Hugh’s eyes, my vision perfectly clear. “Hugh, we’re done.” “Excuse me?” Hugh leaned back, his tone mocking. “You’re breaking up with me?” “Yeah.” My voice was dead calm. “We’re done. It’s over.” If his heart was permanently tethered to her, I didn’t want it anymore. Chloe jumped up, suddenly panicking. “Phoebe, is this because of me? If you’re that upset, I’ll pack my bags right now. Please don’t ruin your relationship over me.” She played the role flawlessly. If her eyes hadn’t been swimming with fake tears, I might have actually believed she cared. She bit her lip, looking devastated. “You guys have been through so much. Don’t just throw the word ‘breakup’ around.” Hugh couldn’t stand seeing her distressed. He stood up and pulled Chloe against his side, rubbing her arm protectively. “That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice rough with irritation. “Phoebe, stop throwing tantrums and using breakups as a weapon. Grow up.” Watching him shield her from the big bad monster that I apparently was… I just looked away. I had absolutely nothing left to say. I didn’t want him anymore. I walked back up to the bedroom and called Sarah. She picked up on the first ring. “Phoebe! What did he say?” I looked out the window at the manicured lawn. After a long silence, I whispered, “Sarah, forget it.” “He did it on purpose.” The exhaustion in my voice was absolute. “Can the agency do anything to pull the tags?” Sarah let out a heavy sigh. “No. Your contract expires next month, Phoebe. The label isn’t going to spend money fixing this.” I knew that was coming. The executives had dragged me into several meetings over the last few weeks, but I had made it clear I wasn’t renewing my contract. “Okay,” I murmured. “Then let it burn. Calculate the penalty fees for the lost sponsorships and send me the total.” “We’ll just handle it.” Sarah couldn’t hold back. “You’re not going to ask Hugh for help? He’s your boyfriend! He’s just going to sit back and watch the internet tear you to shreds?” “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. She paused. “What?” I repeated it, my voice steady. “We broke up. Ten minutes ago.” “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” I ended the call and opened Instagram. The app lagged violently before finally loading. My DMs were a toxic wasteland of death threats and slurs. I couldn’t even scroll through them. My comment sections were a bloodbath. My loyal fans were desperately trying to fight off the mob, but they were drowning. Lmao, this girl needs a reality check. You really think you can compete with his actual childhood sweetheart? Hugh needs a restraining order against this stalker. I don’t know what this psycho was thinking, claiming they were together. Hugh literally said ‘who?’ Embarrassing. I closed the app and turned off my phone. That evening, Sarah emailed me the itemized list of breach-of-contract penalties. I let out a breath of relief. I had lived out of a suitcase for years, hoarding every paycheck. I had enough to cover it. I transferred the funds and pulled my suitcase from the closet. Hugh and Chloe had left around noon. His new blockbuster was scheduled to start shooting in two months, which meant endless pre-production meetings and script readings. Because I practically lived on film sets, I didn’t actually have that much stuff at the house. Everything fit perfectly into one large suitcase. I dragged it downstairs and placed my spare house key perfectly in the center of the coffee table. I took one final look at the pristine, gorgeous house I had shared with Hugh. Then I turned around, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, sounding incredibly final. I texted Sarah and told her I was stepping away from acting indefinitely. “Stepping away?” Sarah sounded alarmed. “What else are you going to do?” “I’m moving to London to study at the Royal Academy,” I told her, finalizing my decision aloud. “My flight leaves the day after tomorrow.” Whatever chapter Hugh Hayes had occupied in my life, the book was finally closed. … It took a full month of grueling pre-production before Hugh suddenly realized he hadn’t received a single text from Phoebe. He pulled up their chat history. The last message was from the day she blew up the internet. Nothing since. Hugh stared at his screen, his brow furrowing. Was she seriously still throwing a tantrum? A month was a long time to hold a grudge. This was the longest they had ever gone without speaking. A strange, uncomfortable itch started crawling up the back of his neck. “Everything okay?” Chloe asked, looping her arm through his as they left the studio. “Dinner tonight?” Hugh locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He needed to go home. “Raincheck. I’ve got something to handle tonight.” Chloe’s bright smile tightened for a microsecond before smoothing out. “Going to see Phoebe?” Hugh didn’t try to hide it. “Yeah. We haven’t talked in weeks.” “I need to check in on her.” “Okay.” When Hugh unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the house was dark. Phoebe wasn’t there. He realized he had no idea what her shooting schedule was. She always used to send him perfectly color-coded PDF itineraries of her locations. Since they hadn’t spoken, he had completely lost track of where she was supposed to be. He opened their text thread, typed a message, then deleted it. He scrolled through his contacts and called her agent instead. When she answered, he asked, “What set is Phoebe on right now? I’m going to send a coffee truck.” He used to ignore her hints about visiting her sets, brushing her off with excuses about his own workload. He figured a grand gesture would be a good peace offering. Sarah was dead silent for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “She didn’t tell you?” “She left the country over a month ago.”

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At the class party after the SATs, someone suggested playing a game of “Expose Your Friends.” In the first round, the bottle spun and pointed at Chloe Jenkins and me. She jumped at the chance to speak first. “Sera never wears skirts because she has a massive, ugly scar on her thigh that looks like a giant centipede.” In an instant, everyone’s eyes locked onto my legs, covered by my long jeans. Only Ethan Sinclair knew about that scar. He had promised me he would keep it a secret forever. Yet right now, he was laughing the loudest. “Yeah, it’s honestly super gross!” Ethan chimed in. When it was my turn to speak, Ethan suddenly covered my mouth. The crowd started teasing us. “Oh, come on! You’re being way too protective, Ethan. Sera hasn’t even exposed Chloe yet, and you’re already shielding her.” “No way, you and Chloe have to kiss as a penalty!” With a flushed face, Ethan grabbed Chloe by the back of her neck and kissed her deeply right in front of everyone. The air conditioning in the room blasted cold air over me, making me shiver. I placed my hand on my thigh—the exact spot where I had received forty-two stitches years ago to save Ethan’s life. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Lucas Vance: [Come to Harvard with me. Let’s go to the same college, please?] I typed back: [Okay.]

After returning from the restroom, I overheard people chatting and mentioning my name. “Ethan, did your little childhood friend run off to cry because her secret was exposed? By the way, have you actually seen her scar?” Ethan had a look of pure disgust on his face. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. Trust me, it’s the kind of scar you only want to see once in your life.” Chloe leaned close to Ethan’s side. “How about you purposely lose the next round? Choose ‘Dare’ and pull her pants up so we can all get a look.” Ethan carelessly wrapped his arm around her waist. “Why waste a game on that? I don’t even need to ask twice. One word from me, and she’ll take them off and show me herself.” Chloe’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I want to take a picture!” “Me too!” another classmate yelled. Ethan stood up, clapping his hands. “Anyone else want to see? Let me know, and I’ll make sure she shows you for a little longer!” I gripped the door handle, my knuckles turning white. When I was ten, Ethan and I went to the grocery store. A sudden gust of wind blew a heavy metal billboard down, heading straight for him. I pushed him out of the way. The sharp metal sheet sliced deep into my thigh. Blood wouldn’t stop gushing, and I almost lost my leg. I cried for two days and nights in the hospital. Ethan stayed by my side, carefully helping me apply my ointment. The boy who swore he would never find it ugly, the boy who promised never to tell a soul, was now using my pain to entertain the crowd. Seeing me walk back in, Chloe gave Ethan a look. Ethan looked at my thighs with a playful smirk. “Sera, this might be the last time we all hang out. Since we’re classmates, why don’t you let everyone see your scar?” I tightly shielded my legs. “No.” Ethan’s face hardened, and his brows furrowed. “It’s just a scar, what’s the big deal? Stop being so dramatic.” Chloe stepped in to play the peacemaker. “Sera, are you mad because I took your turn during the game earlier?” “You really don’t know how to take a joke.” She playfully tapped Ethan’s back and turned to me. “Sera, see? I hit him for you. Are you happy now?” “I said no.” Ethan pulled Chloe back. “Don’t waste your breath on her.” Two minutes later, everyone’s phone buzzed. Except mine. Everyone stared at their screens for a few seconds, then looked at me, stifling their laughter. Chloe patted my shoulder. “Sera, the scar isn’t even that bad. Why are you hiding it? Girls need to be confident.” She shoved her phone in front of my face. Ethan had posted a photo of my freshly stitched thigh from years ago into the Snapchat group. The photo was so high up it even showed my underwear. A wave of anger and humiliation washed over me. “Ethan, you spoil Chloe too much. But her SAT scores aren’t as good as yours. When she gets bullied in college, are you going to fly over to save her?” “It’s just a matter of skipping a few math questions on purpose so we end up at the same place,” Ethan said casually. Chloe spoke in a sweet, whiny voice. “Did you change your college application without telling Sera? She’s going to cry herself to death if she doesn’t go to the same school as you.” “I know her,” Ethan sneered. “She’ll follow me no matter what.” “A genius girl going to a local community college for love? That’s going to be front-page news.” Three years ago, he told me, “If you tutor me so we can go to the same college, we never have to be apart.” Because of those words, I chased after him for three years. Every single weekend, rain or shine, I went to his house to tutor him. The dark circles under my eyes were the result of staying up late for three years, preparing study guides, organizing his mock exams, and making study plans. But my three years of hard work had turned into a joke in his mouth. My phone alarm went off, reminding me to finalize my college enrollment. I opened the portal and changed my choice to Harvard University, thousands of miles away. To each their own. This time, I was done chasing him.

“What are you looking at?” Chloe suddenly leaned over. I locked my screen. “Nothing.” “I clearly saw you changing your college portal. Sera, are you really retaking the SATs just for Ethan?” Before I could argue, Chloe patted my shoulder. “It’s fine, I know you’re embarrassed. You want to surprise him, right? I won’t tell.” The party ended quickly. When I walked out, Ethan was nowhere to be seen. I waited for half an hour until everyone had left, but he still didn’t show up. “Has Ethan not come out yet?” I asked a classmate. “He left ages ago. He got in an Uber with Chloe.” But before the party, he had told me to wait for him at the entrance. Just then, Ethan called. “Are you out yet? It’s late, and it’s not safe for Chloe to go home alone.” “I’ll drop her off first and then come back to get you.” Chloe’s voice came through the speaker: “Sera, if you’re in a hurry, I can let him go back for you right now.” “What rush could she possibly be in?” Ethan snapped. “Besides, it’s about to storm, and you’re terrified of thunder. I need to stay with you.” A sudden crack of thunder sounded, and the line went dead. When we were kids and I was terrified of thunder, I begged Ethan to walk with me to school. He complained I was a nuisance and walked faster to leave me behind. Now, not only did he remember Chloe’s fear of thunder, but he also insisted on staying with her. I bit my lip hard to keep the tears from falling. Chloe’s house was only seven miles away, but an hour and a half passed, and Ethan still hadn’t returned. I opened Instagram. He had posted a story. “My little greedy girl got hungry again, so I had to take her out for round two.” The picture showed the two of them feeding each other at a restaurant. I stared at the food on the table. Ethan had never cooked for me, nor had he ever taken me to a nice dinner. He only ever criticized my UberEats orders, telling me, “Stop eating junk, it’s bad for you.” I looked down at my soaked dress, laughed at my own stupidity, and called an Uber home. By dawn, my body was aching. I checked my temperature—100.8°F. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Ethan. A tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. [Chloe’s swim goggles broke. Buy a new pair and bring them over.] No explanation for why he never came back for me. No question about whether I made it home safe. Just treating me like an errand girl. [Go directly to the pro shop downtown. Don’t get the rubber ones, Chloe is allergic.] Going downtown and back would take two and a half hours. To make sure they had them when they woke up to go swimming, he texted me before the sun was even up. I didn’t reply and closed Snapchat. I slept again, and when I woke up, my fever was gone. Ethan called again. “Why aren’t you replying? Did you get the goggles? Chloe is waiting. Can you hurry up?” In the past, when I asked him to teach me how to swim, he always said he was too busy with school and we would do it after the SATs. It had been weeks since exams ended, and he hadn’t mentioned it once. Instead, he was teaching Chloe. “I have a fever.” Silence on the other end. “Don’t you have anything else to say?” I asked. “You clearly have enough energy to argue with me, which means you’re fine.” “Drop them off at the pool near Chloe’s house. Don’t go to the wrong one.” I didn’t go. I warmed up some food instead. I remembered my library books were due today. After returning them, I checked out two more books. Walking out of the library, I saw Chloe and Ethan buying matching bracelets at a boutique. Ethan threw the braided friendship bracelet on his wrist into a trash can and replaced it with a pink one that matched Chloe’s. That braided bracelet was a good-luck charm I had spent hours making for him before the exams. “Sera? What are you doing here?” Chloe asked. Ethan pulled her back. “Stay away from her. You might catch whatever she has.” Chloe pointed at the books in my hand. “Oh, I really wanted to read that book! But they were all out. Do you mind if I borrow it first?” Before I could answer, Ethan snatched the book from my hands. “Go read something else,” he told Chloe. Then he turned to me. “Besides, you need to study to retake your exams next year. Reading novels will only distract you.” That book was out of print, and I had waited on a waitlist for months to get it. I stepped forward to grab it back, but Ethan blocked me and shoved me away. My body was still weak from the fever. My legs gave out, and I fell hard onto the concrete. A sharp, needle-like pain shot through my lower back. “You claimed you had a fever, and I let the goggles slide. But I didn’t expect you to be healthy enough to wander around and fight over a book. Sera, I really underestimated your ability to lie.” “Go home and think about what you did. Don’t contact me until you’ve cleared your head.” As I applied ointment to my bruises at home, I told my mom I wanted to pack our things and move early. I asked her to come with me to Boston. My mom didn’t ask a single question. She just nodded and agreed. Once I left this place, I was never coming back. And I never wanted to see him again.

The next morning, Ethan’s mom, Karen Sinclair, came over to chat with my mom. Ethan and Chloe came along too. He walked into my room without knocking and threw the book onto my desk. The cover smelled like spicy Cheetos, and there were greasy fingerprints all over the pages. The book was checked out under my name. Any damage meant I would have to pay for it. “You need to pay for this,” I said. Ethan picked it up, sniffed it, and said with annoyance: “It’s just a few grease spots. Why are you being so dramatic? Anyone can make a mistake. Is it really necessary to make a big deal out of a stupid book?” I didn’t hold back this time. “The library rules state that if you damage a book, you replace it. Buy a new copy and return it to them.” Chloe nodded submissively. “Okay, Ethan, it was my fault anyway. Don’t yell at her. Sera, how much is it? I’ll Venmo you.” As Chloe reached for her phone, Ethan snatched it away, his voice cold. “Don’t pay her. I don’t believe she doesn’t have the money for this. Let her figure it out herself.” I couldn’t stand looking at them anymore, so I walked into the living room. Karen Sinclair glanced at me. “The book is still readable, isn’t it? It’s just a book. Don’t ruin your friendships over something so small.” She had always treated me poorly. When I was in the hospital after getting forty-two stitches, she came to visit, saw that Ethan was fine, and said, “Thank god you’re okay, sweetie. Her scar doesn’t look that bad anyway. You don’t need to feel guilty, Ethan. She chose to push you. We didn’t force her. Let’s get out of this hospital, it’s full of germs. I’ll make you a nice steak at home.” From beginning to end, she only glanced at my leg once. She never offered a single word of thanks or comfort. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Lucas. [Sera, I just got my official Harvard admission letter! Did yours arrive yet?] I replied with a photo of my own Harvard admission letter. [Awesome! You should fly out early. I can show you around the campus.] There was indeed no reason for me to stay here any longer. I replied: [I booked my flight for next week.] I had no energy left to argue with anyone in the living room. As I turned to leave, Karen grabbed my sleeve, stopping me. “You tutored Ethan every single day. How did he only get into a community college while you did so well? Did you not actually put any effort into helping him?” Ethan added, “She was probably too busy focusing on her own studies.” He was the one who threw the exam on purpose, yet to save face, he threw me under the bus. Chloe blushed and said, “Mrs. Sinclair, Ethan and I are going to the same college. I’ll make sure to watch over him for you.” Karen patted her hand, smiling warmly. “I feel so much better with you around. You’re such a sweet, honest girl. Not like some girls who only care about themselves and don’t care about anyone else.” I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails dug into my palms. All those three years of devotion felt completely worthless. Every time I went to Ethan’s house to tutor him, his mother would either chop vegetables loudly or blast the TV. She always made so much noise. I couldn’t teach him at a normal volume, so I had to strain my voice and yell. My throat would be burning by the end of the night, and I was never even offered a glass of water. Now, I had to carry throat lozenges with me everywhere because my vocal cords were permanently damaged. The next day, I saw Chloe’s TikTok video of her at an exclusive, invite-only art exhibition. Our classmates were commenting in envy. [I tried getting tickets to this three times with twenty friends and couldn’t get one! How did you guys get in?] [So lucky! Are you two secretly dating? Where’s Ethan’s little shadow today?] Ethan replied: [She didn’t have a ticket. It’s better this way, she’s annoying anyway.] I zoomed in on the background of the video. It was an exhibition by a famous European painter that I absolutely adored. The ticket included a private signing session and limited-edition merchandise. I had begged my mom to use all her connections just to secure two tickets. I had planned to ask Ethan to go with me. I guess I would be going with my mom instead. I went to find the book where I had tucked the tickets. The book had been knocked over, but I didn’t think much of it. However, when I flipped through the pages, the tickets were gone. I remembered Ethan entering my room to grab something before he left yesterday. A surge of anger rushed to my chest. I was about to comment “Thief” under Chloe’s video, but when I hit submit, the video vanished. Her profile showed she had blocked me. I opened Ethan’s chat. I remembered when we first officially became a couple, he had kissed me gently on the cheek. I had waited three years for that day. But only two months had passed, and I wanted nothing to do with him. I typed out a line: [Let’s break up.]

I left my suitcases in our front yard while my aunt and I went out for a two-day trip. When I got back, my suitcases were gone. I walked over to Ethan’s house. Chloe was there too. They had my suitcases open on the living room floor, going through my things and making a complete mess. “Ethan, I love this limited-edition t-shirt! It’ll look so good on me for freshman orientation,” Chloe squealed. “Take it,” Ethan said carelessly. “She has so many nice toiletries here. I’m going to save so much money on college shopping.” I pushed the door open. “Who gave you permission to touch my suitcases?” Ethan scoffed. “Oh, stop acting. Chloe told me you’re planning to retake your SATs anyway. You won’t be needing these things this year. You can just buy new ones next year.” I screamed at them. “Going through my personal property without my permission is theft!” They ignored me and kept digging through my clothes. Suddenly, Chloe gasped. “An admission letter? From Harvard?” Ethan laughed, snatching it from her hand. “Wow, this fake looks pretty realistic. Did you print this out to motivate yourself? Honestly, you’d be better off printing out my acceptance letter and hanging it on your wall.” I lunged to grab it, but Ethan stepped back, threw the letter onto the floor, and ground his dirty shoe into it. The mud from his sneaker stained the words “Harvard University.” “Give it back!” I screamed, my voice raw with rage. Ethan smirked, twisting his foot back and forth on the paper. With a loud rip, the letter tore in half. That letter was my late father’s biggest dream for me. I hadn’t even had the chance to bring it to his grave to show him, and Ethan had just destroyed it. “Sera, I’m just trying to help you face reality. Stop living in a fantasy world,” Ethan said. He kicked my suitcase over, grabbed a bucket of dirty car-wash water nearby, and poured it over everything. My admission letter, along with all the rare, out-of-print books my father had left me, was completely soaked in muddy water. I threw myself forward to stop them. “Don’t go! You’re going to pay for this!” Ethan stuck his foot out. I tripped and fell face-first onto the gravel. My loose pant leg rolled up, exposing the long, ugly centipede-like scar. Ethan immediately spun Chloe around to shield her eyes. “Don’t look, it’s disgusting.” He picked up a wooden broom nearby and jabbed the end of it right into my scar. The sharp splinters pierced my skin, and blood quickly began to seep through. I winced but didn’t cry out. “You don’t need to keep using this scar to guilt-trip me,” Ethan sneered. “It just makes you look desperate.” I stood up, holding the torn pieces of my admission letter tightly against my chest. My phone buzzed. A notification popped up: Your flight departs in 24 hours. I handed our house keys to the real estate agent, grabbed my ruined suitcase, and left for the airport with my mom.

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On the day I was supposed to marry Ethan Miller, I shockingly overslept. When I finally rushed to the wedding venue, my sister, Claire, was standing at the altar. She had the exact same face as me, and she was exchanging wedding rings with my fiancé. I stood frozen. I knew. He had “mistaken” her for me. Again. Claire and I are identical twins. In the five years I had been with Ethan, he mixed us up constantly. When we went shopping, he would accidentally grab Claire’s hand. When we were supposed to meet his parents, he somehow ended up taking Claire instead. Just as I was about to lift my wedding gown and storm the stage, my phone buzzed violently in my hand. It was a FaceTime call from an unknown number. I swiped to answer. The woman on the screen had graying hair and looked completely withered, like a ghost. “Don’t go up there!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “After today, everyone you love will turn their backs on you. You will end up dying alone in a psychiatric hospital!” I took a hesitant step forward. But the woman on the screen went wild with panic. “No! Don’t! I am you, ten years from now! The one he loves isn’t you—it’s Claire!” That stopped me dead in my tracks.

I stood frozen in the back of the hall, my eyes locked on the couple on stage. Under the celebrant’s direction, they smiled and slid the ring onto each other’s fingers—the very ring I had spent six months picking out. My voice shook as I whispered into the phone, “What do you mean, he loves Claire?” The woman on the screen choked back a sob, as if reliving a nightmare. “Oversleeping wasn’t an accident. Ethan put sleeping pills in the milk he gave you last night.” My mind went blank. I couldn’t process her words. But she didn’t stop. “Ethan wanted to marry Claire all along. He planned this for three months. Claire, your parents… they all knew.” “In the original timeline, you ran up and ruined the wedding. Everyone blamed you for driving Claire to a breakdown. She jumped from a building, and you took the blame.” My body went numb. My lips parted, but no sound came out. “They hated you for Claire’s death. Your parents disowned you, and Ethan divorced you, leaving you with nothing.” “Don’t go, Chloe. Let’s just leave. Let’s go home, okay…?” The woman looked at me, her eyes filled with desperate pleading. I bit my lower lip so hard it bled. I didn’t say a word. The next second, with a sharp rip, I tore the delicate lace of my wedding dress—the gown I had tried on a hundred times. “Chloe… what are you doing?” the woman on the screen gasped. I stared coldly at the stage. My parents, my sister, and my fiancé. A happy family of four, smiling and laughing. “It’s their lie,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “Why should I be the one to run away?” I hung up, went to the dressing room, and borrowed a simple casual outfit from one of the hotel staff. Then, under the gaze of the guests, I walked out from backstage. Ethan was the first to notice me. His face instantly went pale, and he shot me a warning, threatening look. I knew what he was afraid of. He was terrified I would expose this pathetic circus. But I acted like I didn’t even see him. After all, at this moment, I wasn’t his bride, Chloe Vance. I was supposed to be the “sister” who arrived late, Claire. “Where the hell have you been? Why are you so late?” My mother grabbed my arm, dragging me to a corner table with an annoyed scowl. “Don’t blame Claire. We banged on your door, but you wouldn’t wake up. The ceremony had to start, so I told Claire to fill in for you.” “Anyway, you two look exactly the same. The guests can’t tell. Once the reception is over, make sure you thank Claire properly.” I looked at her, a bitter, acidic feeling rising in my chest. Yeah. It wasn’t just the guests who couldn’t tell us apart. My own parents never could. Or rather, they never cared to. When we were in high school, Claire skipped her classes to go to a wild party. The moment my mother found out, she marched into my AP History class, dragged me out by my collar, and slapped me in front of everyone. Even my teacher tried to explain that I had been in class all day. But my mother refused to believe it. She just glared at me with pure hatred. “You don’t know Chloe, Principal. She is a pathological liar! She obviously skipped class and set up her sister to take the fall.” “My sweet Claire would never do such a thing!” No matter how much proof I showed her, she never believed me. In her eyes, I was always the culprit. If a neighbor’s window was broken, it was me. If the TV was ruined, it was me. Even when we applied for college and both got accepted to NYU, she convinced herself that I had forged my admission letter just to steal Claire’s spotlight. She made dozens of angry calls to the admissions office, trying to get my acceptance revoked. It only stopped when our high school principal personally intervened. The romantic wedding music echoed through the hall, pounding against my eardrums. I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. “Did I ask her to stand in for me?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Or did you all know I wouldn’t wake up? This wedding… it was planned for Claire from the very beginning, wasn’t it?” My mother’s face turned white. Caught in her lie, she exploded in fury. “You ungrateful brat! What garbage are you spewing?” “Claire saved your reputation, and this is how you treat her?” Some nearby relatives noticed the tension and tried to play peacemaker. “Hey, why are you two arguing at a wedding?” “Mrs. Vance, didn’t you always say Claire is your favorite, your perfect angel? Why are you yelling at her today?” I screamed silently in my mind. Of course she’s yelling. Because I’m not her precious Claire. I am Chloe, the daughter she has detested since the day I was born. My mother choked on her words, coughing awkwardly to change the subject. On stage, the ceremony was ending. The two of them looked at each other with deep, sickening affection. During the applause, Ethan cast a brief, guilty glance at me before quickly looking away. Then, before all the guests, he leaned down and kissed her. I stared at them. Without realizing it, my hand had found the steak knife on the table. I gripped the blade tightly. By the time they parted on stage, my hand was soaked in blood. The sharp, burning pain finally registered. But I couldn’t tell if the pain was coming from my hand, or my heart.

As the kiss ended, the hall erupted in applause. Nobody noticed the small pool of blood forming at my feet. Clenching my bleeding palm, I asked a waiter for a bandage and went to the restroom to quickly wrap it up. On my phone screen, Future Chloe was sobbing uncontrollably. “Chloe, please don’t hurt yourself like this. Let’s just leave them behind, okay?” I kept my head down, wrapping the bandage tight. “Okay.” She gasped. “Really?” “Just now, I sent an email to Sarah. I’m accepting the transfer to the high-security project in London. We leave in three days. I’m leaving this city forever.” I looked up at the screen. She was only ten years older than me, but her hair was gray, and she looked like she was in her sixties. “I won’t let anyone destroy my life again,” I told her. “I’m going to give us a real future.” When I walked out of the restroom, Ethan and Claire were waiting for me. Claire immediately looked down, looking guilty. Ethan stepped in front of her, protecting her like a shield, and glared at me like a judge. “Chloe, what is wrong with you? How do you oversleep on your own wedding day? Claire had to clean up your mess!” Claire tugged at Ethan’s sleeve, pretending to be meek. “Ethan, don’t. It’s fine.” She turned to me with a fake, pitying smile. “Chloe, don’t worry. I know you were nervous. It’s totally normal to oversleep before a wedding.” “Don’t worry, Ethan and I got through the vows smoothly.” Vows? The rings? Or… the kiss? Her sweet, understanding act made me look like the crazy, hysterical one. Even though I was the victim here. I looked at the wedding gown Claire was wearing. I recognized it. When I had dragged Ethan to go wedding dress shopping, Claire had tagged along. She got excited and tried on that exact gown. When I stepped out of my fitting room, Ethan was busy taking dozens of photos of Claire on his phone. “Claire, you look stunning. This dress was made for you,” he had said, his eyes shining. But when I walked over in my gown, he quickly put his phone away and barely glanced at me. “It’s fine,” he had muttered. It wasn’t a mistake. It never mattered how I looked in a wedding dress. Because the bride he wanted at the altar was Claire, not me. I looked at them standing hand-in-hand and let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Since you two are so good at taking my place, why don’t you go ahead and spend the wedding night together too, Claire?” Claire gasped, looking deeply insulted, and her eyes immediately welled with tears. Ethan’s face turned thunderous. “Chloe, shut up! How can you say something so disgusting?” “If you two can do it, why can’t I say it?” Ethan’s jaw clenched. He took a step toward me, but suddenly stopped. His eyes fell on my hand. The thick bandage was already soaked through with fresh, red blood. His anger instantly vanished, replaced by sudden panic. He grabbed my hand. “What happened to your hand? Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Come on, I’m taking you right now.” He tried to pull me toward the exit, but Claire called out from behind him. “Ethan!” He froze. “The guests are still here. If you leave now…” She looked at us with a pitiful, conflicted expression. After a few painful seconds of hesitation, Ethan let go of my hand. “I’ll take you to the ER right after the reception, okay?” he whispered. I just stared at him and nodded slowly. For a split second, I actually thought the old Ethan had come back—the man who once swore he would never mix us up, who promised to love and protect me forever. It was just a pathetic illusion. Compared to Claire’s reputation and feelings, my bleeding hand was nothing. He patted my head, giving me a rare, relieved smile. “Good girl. I knew you’d understand.” “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.” With that, he let go of my hand and walked back to Claire’s side. I watched his retreating back. But Ethan, we don’t have a tomorrow.

My transfer request was processed immediately. Sarah, my manager, called me to confirm. “Are you sure about this, Chloe? I tried to convince you so many times and you refused. Why the sudden change of heart right before the deadline?” “Are you really ready to leave your handsome fiancé behind?” I looked through the glass doors of the banquet hall. Ethan was currently laughing and drinking with his college friends, holding Claire’s hand. “Yes,” I said quietly. “We broke up.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Sarah was smart enough not to push. “Alright. Your flight is the day after tomorrow. I’ll email you the details.” “Keep in mind, Chloe… this project means you’ll be in London for at least several years.” “I know,” I replied. I had no intention of ever coming back. When I walked back to the reception, Ethan was surrounded by his old fraternity brothers. They were all drunk, laughing loudly. As I approached, his chubby friend, Ben, grabbed my arm and pointed at Ethan. “Claire! You have no idea how crazy this guy was for you in college. He did everything to get your attention, but you ignored him and went off with another guy. He was depressed for six months!” I had heard rumors about Ethan pursuing Claire in college. We were in different departments back then, so I only knew vague details. I didn’t realize he had been that obsessed. Ben, clearly too drunk to filter his mouth, laughed loudly. “I still remember when this idiot said if he couldn’t have the older sister, he’d settle for the younger one as a rebound. It was like a twin fantasy come true. But damn, who knew he’d actually get stuck with her!” The table instantly went dead silent. My brain buzzed, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. So that was why he always “accidentally” held Claire’s hand. That was why his parents liked Claire so much better when they first met. Then why did he propose to me? Why did he bring me to meet his family? It turned out that in both my family and my relationship, I was nothing but Claire’s second-choice replacement. “What the hell are you talking about?!” Ethan snapped, slamming his glass down. He shoved Ben away and frantically grabbed my hand. “Chloe, he’s wasted. He’s talking nonsense. Don’t listen to him.” My vision blurred with tears. I yanked my hand back with all my strength. “Ethan, you are disgusting. We are done.” Ethan panicked, trying to pull me into his arms. “Chloe, stop making a scene! Why would we break up? Today is our wedding day! Don’t overthink it, I’ll explain everything when we get home.” I pushed him away, my voice cutting through the air. “Wedding? The bride you married today is Claire, isn’t it?” “The sleeping pills in my milk—that was you, wasn’t it?” “Ethan, the person you wanted to marry was always Claire. I don’t get it. Why are you still acting?” His face drained of color. “Who… who told you that?” Seeing his reaction, even though I already knew the truth, a wave of profound nausea hit me. I gripped my wounded hand, intentionally ripping the healing cut open again. I forced myself to look him in the eye. “Ethan, I hate you.” Our argument was drawing a crowd. To the guests, Claire was the one in the wedding dress, which meant they thought I was the “sister” Claire making a scene with the groom. Whispers started spreading like wildfire. Claire stepped in, taking Ethan’s hand with an air of fragile grace. “Ethan, let’s talk about this at home. Right now, I am Chloe. I am your bride.” She placed extra emphasis on the last words. Ethan regained his composure. With red eyes, he took a step back, distancing himself from me. Watching him back away, a wave of pure disgust washed over me. For Claire, he would do anything. Even though she had another boyfriend. Even if it meant using me as a pathetic substitute. And now, to protect Claire’s reputation, he could throw me to the wolves of public gossip without a second thought.

I turned to leave, but a sudden, terrifying screech of metal echoed from above. Before I could react, the massive steel rigging of the main chandelier snapped, crashing down toward the center of the hall. At almost the exact same moment, Ethan, who was standing closest to me, didn’t hesitate. He threw himself over Claire, shielding her with his body. The hall erupted into pure chaos. Screams and crashes filled the air. I felt a violent impact crush my legs and back, and everything went black as I slammed into the floor. After Ethan dragged Claire to a safe corner, he finally realized I was trapped under the debris. He turned to run back. “Ethan!” Claire sobbed, holding onto him. Ethan froze. He gritted his teeth and turned back to her. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?” Claire, clutching a minor scratch on her forehead, whimpered, “I’m okay… go look for Chloe. She’s trapped under there.” “Don’t worry about her! She’s always been tough. She’ll be fine!” My mother’s voice cut in as she rushed over, completely ignoring the pile of rubble where I lay. I was trapped only a few yards away. Every single word they said pierced through the ringing in my ears. My fading heartbeat went completely cold. When the rescue team finally pulled me out from under the steel frames, my legs and face were covered in deep, bloody gashes from the shattered glass of the chandelier. The excruciating pain kept me from making a sound. As they loaded me onto a stretcher, Claire suddenly let out a dramatic cry. “Ethan, my head hurts so bad!” My mother panicked. “Oh my god, she must have a concussion! Doctor! Save her first!” The paramedic looked at me on the stretcher, conflicted. “But this patient…” A desperate urge to survive made me force my eyes open. I reached out with my bloody hand, grabbing Ethan’s sleeve, silently begging him with my eyes. His eyes were red, and his throat bobbed. In the end, he averted his gaze, unable to look me in the eye. Amid the chaotic noise of the hall, his voice was horribly clear. “Save Claire first.” An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. I closed my eyes, and the world finally went silent. By the time I woke up, it was the next afternoon. My face was wrapped in thick, heavy bandages. Outside my door, two nurses were gossiping as they walked by. “The patient in Room 522 is so lucky. Her room is packed with flowers. Her parents and her fiancé haven’t left her side for a second.” “I know, right? But the girl in this room… she’s hurt so badly, and not a single person has come to visit her.” “Their names are so similar too. Claire Vance and Chloe Vance.” Listening to them, I licked my dry, cracked lips. The water pitcher on my nightstand was empty. My throat felt like it was on fire. I slowly pushed myself up. My hand brushed against the bandages on my face. I froze. I picked up the small mirror on the nightstand. In the reflection, the face that used to look exactly like Claire’s was gone. In its place was a horrific, jagged wound stretching across my cheek, held together by ugly stitches. It looked like a monstrous centipede. I stared at it, and then, I began to laugh. It was so ironic, yet so liberating. I had spent my entire life wishing to escape sharing a face with Claire. I never thought it would happen like this. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Sarah. “Chloe, the flight has been rescheduled. We leave tonight. Are you ready?” “Yes,” I said. “I’ll be there.” Half an hour later, ignoring the doctors’ protests, I signed my own discharge papers. As the plane lifted off into the clouds, a profound, long-awaited sense of peace finally filled my chest. Meanwhile, having finally heard that I was awake, Ethan pushed open my hospital room door. His eyes widened in shock. The bed was empty.

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Three days before my wedding, I found out my brother and his family had moved into the master bedroom of my new house without my permission. My mother said casually, “Austin has nowhere else to go. Let him have the master bedroom. You can sleep in the guest room.” “I’ll pay you $50 a month for his rent. We’re family, don’t be so stingy.” After I refused, my whole family called me an ungrateful wrench. My brother went live on TikTok, whining about how selfish I was, and my relatives took turns calling to tell me to “just suck it up.” On my wedding day, they even tried to ruin my ceremony. Since they wanted to play dirty, I decided I was completely done with this toxic family! Three days before the wedding, I walked into my new house carrying a box of wedding favors. Deafening video game sound effects and a toddler’s screaming echoed from the master bedroom. I froze at the entrance. Dirty shoes were scattered all over the hallway, and children’s toys littered the living room floor. The master bedroom door swung open. My brother, Austin, stepped out shirtless, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Oh, Chloe. You’re here?” I looked past him. My wedding bed was covered in dirty cartoon sheets. His wife, Lily, was sitting there, breastfeeding their two-year-old. The closet doors were wide open, stuffed with their clothes. I could hear my own voice shaking. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Austin acted like it was no big deal. “Didn’t Mom tell you? My lease ended. Since your place was empty anyway, I figured we’d move in.” I practically screamed, “This is my wedding house! My wedding is the day after tomorrow!” Austin rolled his eyes. “I know you’re getting married. It’s not like we’re kicking you out.” “I took the master bedroom, but I left the guest room for you. Pretty generous of me, right?” My blood ran cold. I turned on my heel, ran down the stairs, and drove straight to my parents’ house. My mother, Helen, was watering plants on the balcony. She didn’t even look up when I started questioning her. “I told Austin to move in. It’s so hard for him to rent a place with a toddler. Your house was just sitting there empty anyway.” “That is my house! I spent six months renovating it! Ethan and I saved up every penny to buy all the furniture and appliances!” Helen set down the watering can and frowned at me. “What’s yours is family property.” “Your brother is struggling. As his sister, shouldn’t you help him out?” “It’s not like we’re not letting you live there. Just let them have the master bedroom, and you can sleep in the guest room. What’s the big deal?” I let out a bitter laugh. “So I’m supposed to thank him for stealing my master bedroom?” Helen waved her hand impatiently. “Watch your tone, Chloe.” “Tell you what. I’ll pay you $50 a month on Austin’s behalf, okay? Don’t be so uptight with your own blood.” Fifty dollars. For the house I bought for my marriage, they took my master bedroom and offered fifty dollars a month. I said firmly, “No way. Tell them to get out by tonight, or I’m calling a locksmith to throw them out.” Helen’s face instantly darkened. “Chloe Miller! How can you be so selfish? Your brother doesn’t have a job, and raising a kid is hard. Can’t you show some empathy?” I shot back, “Is it my fault he’s struggling?” “He’s twenty-seven, doesn’t work, plays video games all day, and you guys pay for his kid’s baby formula.” “I bought my own house at twenty-seven without a single dime from this family. And now you’re trying to steal my wedding house?” “Steal? Who’s stealing!” Helen raised her voice. “What’s wrong with letting your brother stay for a few days? He’s your only brother. When your father and I are gone, who else are you going to rely on?” “Help him now, and he’ll remember your kindness in the future.” Always the same old speech. Since we were kids, whenever Austin wanted something of mine, it always ended up being his. My snacks, my toys, even the laptop I bought with my own hard-earned money from my part-time job after high school. Every time, Helen would say, “Austin wants it. Just let him have it. You can buy another one later.” But “later” never came. “They must move out tonight,” I said, turning to leave. Helen sneered behind me. “Fine. Act tough.” “Let’s see if Ethan still wants to marry an ungrateful, cold-hearted wrench who won’t even help her own brother!” My footsteps halted. My heart felt like it was pierced by an icicle.

On my way back, my phone rang. It was my father, Richard. His voice was harsh. “Chloe, your mother told me you’re picking a fight with Austin over a house? Have you lost your mind?” “He’s your brother. He’s going through a tough time. What’s wrong with letting him have the master bedroom?” I sighed, feeling exhausted. “Dad, that’s the house Ethan and I bought for our wedding. We are getting married the day after tomorrow.” “So what if it’s a wedding house? Aren’t we going to be one family after you get married anyway?” Richard said impatiently. “Lily has to take care of the baby. The guest room is too small for them.” “You only need a place to sleep. What’s the difference between the master bedroom and the guest room? Stop being so greedy. You’re making our family look bad!” My voice trembled. “Austin always came first since we were kids. Now I can’t even sleep in my own wedding bed?” Richard snapped, “Stop digging up the past! It’s settled. Austin stays in the master bedroom.” “If you keep throwing a tantrum, don’t even think about having a wedding. Don’t embarrass us!” He hung up. I gripped the steering wheel, my tears blurring the road ahead. When I got back to the small apartment Ethan and I were renting, he was working late on a project. Seeing my pale face, he immediately asked what was wrong. After I explained everything, Ethan’s face darkened. “They moved in? Without our permission?” “My mom said she’d pay fifty dollars a month for Austin’s rent.” Ethan laughed out of sheer anger. “Our mortgage is $4,800 a month. The HOA fee is $300, and utilities are at least $500. What is fifty dollars going to do? That doesn’t even cover the cost of cleaning the floors!” He grabbed his keys. “Let’s go kick them out right now. It’s our house. No one has the right to occupy it.” I stopped him, hesitating. “If we force them out, my mom might actually ruin our wedding. She’s crazy enough to do it.” Ethan was silent for a moment, then pulled me into a hug. “Chloe, this is our home.” “I won’t let anyone take away what belongs to us. Not even your family.” His eyes were filled with determination, and suddenly, I found my courage. We didn’t go to the new house that night. Instead, Ethan contacted the property management and the local police, reporting that someone was unlawfully occupying our private property. The police suggested we try to resolve it peacefully first, but said we could file a lawsuit if they refused to leave. Shortly after, my Aunt Clara called. “Chloe, your mother told me you won’t let Austin stay in your house?” “I’m not trying to criticize you, but the house is just sitting empty. Why can’t you let your own brother stay there for a bit?” “Your mom agreed to pay rent. Just let it go. Don’t make things ugly for the family.” Then came Aunt Beatrice, my cousins, and even an uncle I hadn’t spoken to in years. They called one after another. Their message was exactly the same: *You’re the older sister. You’re doing well. You should support your brother.* If I didn’t, I was selfish, cold-blooded, and ungrateful. Austin even sent me a voice message on Snapchat, his tone full of disdain: “Chloe, is this really necessary? It’s just a bed.” “When I make some money, I’ll buy you a new one, okay? Stop being so cheap.” I typed back: “Move out before noon tomorrow, or I’m changing the locks and throwing your stuff out.” Ten minutes later, my mother bombarded my phone with calls, screaming the moment I picked up. “Chloe Miller, you ungrateful brat! I raised you for nothing! Would it kill you to let your brother stay for a few days?” “Do you have to ruin this family to be happy? Fine, act tough. Let’s see how your wedding goes the day after tomorrow!”

The next morning, there was no sign of them moving out. Ethan called a locksmith, and I contacted the property management and the local police to witness the eviction. When we arrived at the front door, Austin was holding his phone up, live-streaming on TikTok. “Look, guys. This is my sister’s new house. Pretty nice, right?” “But she’s kicking me out. She won’t let me stay here.” “I’m her own brother, and I have a kid with nowhere to go. She’s so heartless.” He pointed the camera at Ethan and me. “Chloe, are you really throwing us out? There are thousands of people watching this live stream. Aren’t you afraid of the backlash?” The comment section started rolling: [Wow, this sister is cold-blooded.] [She lives in a big house while her brother is homeless?] I walked right up to the camera. “We bought this house with our own savings. The monthly mortgage is $4,800, and we spent $150,000 on renovations. My family didn’t contribute a single dime.” “Austin is twenty-seven years old. He has no job and still relies on our parents to support his wife and kid.” “Now, he has broken into my house without my consent and refused to leave.” “Let me ask you all: should I be forced to pay for his laziness and incompetence?” The tone in the chat instantly shifted: [Wait, twenty-seven, unemployed, and leeching off his sister?] [He stole her wedding house? Where is his shame?] [Get them out, girl! Call the cops!] Austin’s face turned bright red. He shut down the live stream and yelled at me, “Are you out of your mind? Why are you airing our dirty laundry to the world?” Just then, Helen and Richard arrived in a hurry. Helen grabbed my arm tightly. “Chloe! If you dare change the locks today, I’ll kill myself right in front of you!” The police officer stepped in. “Ma’am, this property belongs to your daughter. She has the legal right to decide who lives here.” “Your son moved in without permission. That is unlawful entry.” “What legal right!” Helen screamed, throwing a tantrum. “I gave birth to her! What’s hers is mine! I have every right to let my son live here!” Richard pointed a finger at Ethan. “And you! You’re not even married to her yet, and you’re already turning my daughter against her family! What right do you have to interfere in our family business?” Ethan remained completely calm. “Sir, Chloe is my fiancée. Her rights are my rights.” “This house is our joint property. Your son has no right to be here.” “They are leaving today, or we are filing charges for illegal occupation.” “Filing charges?” Helen shrieked. “You’re going to sue your own brother? You ungrateful bitch!” “Chloe, if you let him touch that lock today, you are no longer my daughter!” I looked at her face. The face of the woman whose love and approval I had craved for my entire life. Right now, it was twisted with greed and entitlement. My heart was completely dead. I spoke slowly, “You’re right, Mom. As of today, you no longer have a daughter.” Helen gasped. I turned to the locksmith. “Change the locks. Officers, property manager, please witness this.” “Everything inside that doesn’t belong to me, please help us put it out in the hallway. If they don’t take it, throw it in the trash.” “How dare you, Chloe!” Richard raised his hand to slap me, but the officer quickly restrained him. Austin lunged at me, but Ethan grabbed him and held him back. In the chaos, Helen sat on the floor, wailing, “What did I do to deserve this? I raised a monster! She chose a man over her own mother!” The locks were changed anyway. All of Austin’s belongings were bagged up and piled in the hallway. Lily held her crying baby, sobbing and cursing me for being heartless. I stood inside my newly secured home, looking at my furious family through the doorway. “The wedding is still on. But none of you are invited.”

The hotel ballroom was packed with guests. Ethan’s family, our friends, and our colleagues had all arrived. But the tables reserved for my family were mostly empty. Ethan squeezed my hand. “Do you regret it?” I shook my head. The seeds of regret had been sown years ago. Today was just the harvest. To my surprise, just before the ceremony started, my parents showed up anyway. Helen was wearing a fancy dress I had bought for her, and Richard had a grim look on his face. Austin followed behind them like he was ready to start a fight. After the vows, it was time for the parents’ speeches. Richard took the microphone, but instead of offering blessings, he glared at me. “Today is my daughter’s wedding. We should be happy. But there are some things I must say.” He raised his voice so the whole room could hear. “Just for a house, she dragged her own brother to the police station and threw his family out on the street. Is this how a sister should behave?” The crowd gasped. Helen snatched the microphone, tears streaming down her face. “Chloe, I know you think I’ve been unfair to you.” “But your brother was struggling. What’s wrong with helping him?” “I’m apologizing to you in front of everyone, okay? Do you really have to embarrass our family like this on your wedding day?” The guests began to whisper. Some looked sympathetic, while others just watched the drama unfold. Austin shouted from below the stage, “Chloe, do you have to be like this? Are you happy now that you’ve humiliated our parents?” Ethan stepped forward to stop them, but I pulled him back. I walked to the center of the stage myself. Taking the microphone, I looked at the crowd of people whispering. “I wanted today to be just about blessings, but since they brought it up, I have some things to share.” I smiled at my parents. “Mom, Dad, I actually prepared a special gift for you.” Hearing this, their eyes lit up. Austin looked up expectantly, probably thinking I was finally backing down and giving him the house. I took out my phone and connected it to the projector. Images, bank transfer receipts, and Snapchat screenshots flashed across the giant screen. “These are my bank transfers over the past seven years. I sent $500 to my parents every single month, plus an extra $1,000 to $2,000 for holidays. It totals over $60,000.” “This is the $15,000 I gave Austin for his wedding and apartment renovation.” “This is the $3,000 gift I gave when his baby was born, plus the $200 I sent monthly for baby formula for two years.” “And this is when I wanted to buy my own house. My mother texted me saying the family had no money and told me to figure it out myself.” “My down payment was $100,000. Every single dollar came from my own savings and Ethan’s.” “And finally, this is the ‘solution’ my mother offered after Austin stole my master bedroom. He gets the master bedroom, and she pays me $50 a month.” The ballroom fell dead silent. My parents’ and Austin’s faces drained of all color. Ignoring them, I continued, “Since we were kids, Austin got whatever he wanted. I had to work for every single thing I owned.” “I thought if I worked hard enough and gave enough to this family, I would finally earn your love and fairness.” “But today, I finally realize that in your eyes, I will never be anything more than a cash cow to be sacrificed for your golden boy.” I looked directly at my parents, speaking clearly into the mic. “As of this moment, I am legally and personally cutting ties with Richard, Helen, and Austin Miller.” “From now on, your lives, your sickness, and your deaths have absolutely nothing to do with me.” “And not a single cent of my estate will ever go to you.” `[This is the paywall]`

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My husband is a famous “clueless boy-dad” influencer on TikTok. Once, he actually forgot our daughter in a shopping cart at the mall and walked three floors away before realizing it. Another time, he held the umbrella entirely over himself in a downpour, leaving our daughter, Stella, to run behind him. She tripped, fell, and cut her forehead open trying to keep up. Every single time, he would apologize with tears in his eyes. “Chloe, I swear I didn’t mean to. You know how forgetful I am.” I chose to forgive him. But the very next day, while taking Stella out of the car, he slammed her toes right in the car door. This time, he had just landed a million-dollar project. Using “celebration” as an excuse, he took Stella downstairs for a walk. To teach him a lesson he’d never forget, I secretly had our nanny, Maria, take Stella back to my family’s estate. I wanted to see him panic. I wanted him to finally learn his lesson. But to my absolute shock, instead of searching for our daughter, my husband calmly walked back through the front door with a toddler in his arms. “Since Stella is lost, and you’re infertile anyway, I can’t just let the Miller family legacy die with me.” “I adopted this boy. He’ll take care of us when we’re old.” I turned around, walked into the other room, and called my billionaire brother. “Ethan, crush that bastard.” “And that project he just got? Cancel it immediately.”

Tyler was sitting on the bench, scrolling through TikTok and laughing like an idiot. He had literally thrown our daughter, Stella, into the sandbox while he kicked his feet up on the bench, completely ignoring her. Stella crouched by the edge of the sandbox, playing with the dirt. Every now and then, she would look up and call out, “Daddy!” Tyler didn’t even raise his head. He just gave a dismissive “uh-huh” and kept scrolling. I noticed Stella had forgotten her water bottle in the hallway, so I came downstairs to bring it to her. Seeing this scene made my temples throb with rage. Last time at the mall, he forgot Stella in a shopping cart. He wandered through three floors of stores before he finally remembered she existed. By the time he went back, her throat was hoarse from screaming and crying. Yet, he just stood there looking innocent, saying, “Chloe, I really didn’t mean to. You know my memory is trash.” And the time before that, he picked her up from preschool in the rain. He remembered the umbrella, but he kept it entirely over his own head. Stella was running behind him, trying to stay under the shield, but she tripped and scraped her knee badly. Blood was dripping down her little leg before he even registered what had happened. And before that… he slammed the car door on her foot, almost fracturing her toes. But every single time, he apologized. His attitude was always so sincere, his tone so humble, and his eyes would even turn red. “Chloe, I was wrong. I’ll pay attention next time, I promise.” I believed him. Over and over again. And what did I get? There was never a “next time.” There was only another accident waiting to happen. An idea started to form in my mind. Since your memory is so bad, Tyler, let me help you remember. I turned back to the house, called my mother’s place, and asked Maria to come pick Stella up. Then, I started packing. Stella’s clothes, toys, bottles, and snacks—all went into a small suitcase. Everything was ready. When I went back downstairs, Tyler was still glued to his phone. Stella had crawled out of the sandbox on her own and was crouching by the flower bed, watching ants. I walked over, buckled Stella into her car seat in Maria’s car, and kissed her forehead. “Go with Maria to Grandma’s house, okay baby? Mommy will be there tomorrow.” “Bye-bye, Mommy!” I watched the taillights disappear down the street, and a slow smirk spread across my face. Tyler, since you can’t seem to remember your responsibilities, let’s see how you like this. Let’s see how it feels when your child is actually gone.

When I got back inside, Tyler had already gone upstairs. He was sprawled out on the bed, his screen glowing with a video game interface. “You’re back? Where’s Stella?” I asked. “She’s downstairs playing with the other kids,” he muttered, not looking up. I stared at the side of his face for three long seconds. With a cold laugh, I turned and went into the bathroom. As the hot water sprayed over me, I closed my eyes. Images from the last three years flashed through my mind. From my pregnancy until now, Tyler’s version of fatherhood was strictly “aesthetic.” He never accompanied me to a single prenatal checkup, claiming he was too busy with work. The day I went into labor, he was “on a business trip.” I had to sign the consent forms myself. During my postpartum recovery, he complained that the baby’s crying ruined his sleep and moved straight into the guest bedroom. When Stella had a 104-degree fever, I called him crying. He said he was at a business dinner and told me to just Uber to the hospital myself. Yet, on his Instagram, he was a completely different person. “Day one of being a girl-dad.” “She said ‘Daddy’ for the first time today!” “Newbie dad diaper duty is officially active!” Every photo was heavily edited, and the comment section was filled with people praising him as the “perfect husband and father.” I turned off the shower, dried myself, and walked out. Tyler was asleep. His phone was still on, the game still running. I walked over, picked up his phone, turned off the screen, and slapped him hard across the face. “Where is my daughter?” “Huh?” He rubbed his eyes, groggy. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s playing downstairs.” I faked a look of pure panic. “I searched everywhere. She’s not downstairs.” He still looked incredibly relaxed. “Maybe she wandered over to the neighborhood park? She said she wanted to go on the swings there a couple of days ago.” “I checked there too!” My voice raised a few octaves. “I searched the entire neighborhood, Tyler! She’s gone! If anything happens to her, I will ruin you!” He slowly sat up and yawned. “What’s the rush? Kids love to play. She’ll probably just walk back in a bit.” “Is this how you watch our child? Go out and look for her right now! Don’t you dare come back without her!” Tyler’s face darkened, but he didn’t say anything else. He grabbed his jacket and walked out. Over the next few hours, he called me several times on Snapchat, but I ignored every single one. He was probably panicking now. Good. Let him suffer. Late that night, he finally returned. “Did you find her? Where is she?!” I covered my mouth, pretending to cry, though I was actually trying to suppress a laugh. I was just about to tell him that I had sent her to my mother’s, but he spoke first. “Chloe, I know losing Stella is a big deal, but you need to calm down.” I froze. “What?” “I’ve already made a decision.” He sat down on the sofa and patted the back of my hand. “If we can’t find Stella, we can’t just let our lives stop.” The fake panic dried up instantly. I looked at him, my expression turning dead serious. “What do you mean by that?” “I mean…” He looked me dead in the eyes, speaking slowly. “You can’t have kids anymore anyway. I can’t just have no legacy, right? We need someone to carry on the family name.” “So, I took care of something today.” He stood up and pulled open the front door. A woman in her late twenties was standing in the hallway, holding a little boy who looked about two years old. “This is my colleague, Hazel. And this is Leo. He’s an orphan. I’m going to adopt him.” “From now on, he’s our son.”

I looked at the toddler, then at the woman. The way they looked at each other was dripping with unspoken intimacy. I almost laughed out loud. They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. He had literally brought his mistress and his illegitimate son right to my front door. “An adoption? And you didn’t think to consult me on something this massive?” Tyler looked incredibly righteous. “I tried to call you a dozen times, Chloe. You didn’t answer a single one.” Ah. I thought he was calling because he was worried about Stella. “What about Stella? Are we just giving up?” “We’ll keep looking, but if we don’t find her, we don’t find her,” he said casually as he took Leo from Hazel’s arms. “Don’t waste too much energy on it. Plenty of parents search for their lost kids their entire lives and never find them.” *If we don’t find her, we don’t find her.* *Don’t waste too much energy.* Was this really what a father could say about his own flesh and blood? I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Chloe, I am so sorry for dropping in like this,” Hazel said, looking up at me with a perfectly crafted, apologetic smile. “Tyler told me about your situation. I just felt so bad for this poor little boy, so I helped Tyler connect with the adoption agency.” “Felt bad?” I raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Leo has been in the orphanage since he was a baby. Nobody loved him.” Her eyes actually welled up with tears. “Thank God he met someone as kind-hearted as Tyler, who is willing to give him a real home.” *Kind-hearted.* What a joke. “Leo, call her Mommy,” Tyler suddenly said to the boy. The toddler looked up at me, puckered his lips, and immediately burst into tears. Hazel quickly snatched him back. “Don’t cry, Leo. Auntie Hazel is right here.” “Enough,” I said, unable to watch this pathetic theater any longer. “You guys stay here. I’m going out.” “Where?” Tyler demanded. “To find my daughter.” Tyler’s face immediately darkened. “Chloe, I told you, stop wasting your time. It’s late, and it’s not safe for a woman to be out alone.” “So?” “So, stay home.” His tone left no room for argument. “Leo just got here. Help take care of him and get used to him. We’re a family now.” *A family.* I looked deep into his eyes, searching for even a shred of guilt or fear. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was dead serious. He truly believed that replacing my “lost” daughter with his illegitimate son was perfectly reasonable. “Tyler, I finally see you for who you really are.” “Let me tell you something. If Stella has even a single scratch on her, you better pray for your life.” The moment I stepped out of the house, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Ethan.” My brother’s deep voice came through the speaker. “What’s wrong, Chloe?” “Crush that bastard,” I said, staring back at the silhouette of our house. “And that startup project he’s begging you to fund? Pull the plug on it. Completely.”

Ethan’s efficiency was terrifyingly fast. Within an hour, an encrypted document was sitting in my inbox. Tyler had already transferred all three properties under his name to Hazel Carter. His bank savings of twelve million dollars had been transferred in batches to a shell company called “Aura Consulting.” The registered owner of Aura Consulting? Luke Carter. Luke Carter, Hazel Carter. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out the connection. There was also a three-million-dollar transfer marked as a “business investment” sent to another shell company that Tyler had registered himself. Every single penny of his assets had been moved out. Cleaned out completely. But what truly chilled me to the bone was what came next. Tyler had taken out three massive loans under my name, totaling five million dollars. My name was forged on the signature line. In other words, if I filed for divorce right now, I would not only leave with absolutely nothing, but I would also be saddled with five million dollars in debt. I leaned back in my car seat and closed my eyes. This man was far more ruthless than I had ever imagined. When did he start planning this? A year ago? Two years ago? Or had he been setting this trap since I was pregnant? The moment Stella “went missing,” his first reaction wasn’t to look for her, but to immediately bring his mistress’s kid in to secure his position. He couldn’t even wait to confirm if Stella was actually gone. That was the most heartbreaking part of all. The next morning, I walked back into the house. Hazel was already sitting at my dining table. She was wearing my silk robe. It was a designer piece I had bought just last month. I hadn’t even worn it once; the tags were still on it. “Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry,” she said, looking up with a sweet smile as she sipped her coffee. “I didn’t bring pajamas last night, and Tyler told me I could just wear yours. You don’t mind, do you?” Right at that moment, Tyler’s phone rang. He picked it up on speaker. A distorted voice came through. “I have your daughter. If you want her back, bring one million dollars.” Then, a video was sent to his Snapchat. It was Stella, crying hysterically. “Daddy, Mommy, save me…” In reality, the video was an AI deepfake I had paid someone to make, just to test Tyler’s reaction. Before the video even finished playing, Tyler grabbed my hand tightly. “Chloe! Stella’s been kidnapped!” “Then what are you waiting for? Get the money to rescue her!” I yelled, pretending to panic. Tyler’s expression flickered. “Stella is just a girl. You expect me to throw away a million dollars on a gamble? There’s no guarantee they’ll even release her alive.” I clenched my fists. “You absolute monster! She is your biological daughter! Are you just going to let them kill her?” “If you won’t save her, I will!” I reached into my purse, grabbing my credit cards. “Going to the bank won’t do you any good,” Tyler said coldly. “I’ve already emptied your accounts.” I stared at him, feigning utter disbelief. “I used that money to secure Leo’s future and paperwork. So… just give up on her, Chloe.” With that, he typed a message and sent it back to the “kidnapper.” [Do whatever you want with her. I’m not paying a single dime.] I lost control and slapped him across the face three times, hard. Tyler took the blows without fighting back. “If hitting me makes you feel better, go ahead,” he said smoothly. “Stella is my daughter too. My heart breaks for her. But we have to be realistic.” I threw my useless bank cards straight at his face. “Get the hell out of my sight!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “455523”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I spent three years caring for my comatose boyfriend after a horrific car accident. But the moment he finally opened his eyes, he grabbed my best friend’s hand and called her “wife.” My best friend blushed, accepted the title, and turned to me with a pitying look. “Val, we shouldn’t stress the patient right now.” I smiled, reached into my bag, and pulled out every single medical bill from the last three years. “A total of $200,000. How would you like to pay?” “Also, since I’ve been acting as a full-time nurse for ‘your’ husband for three years, please reimburse me according to standard market rates.” On that rainy night three years ago, Julian was driving me to the airport when a truck swerved into our lane. He slammed on the steering wheel to take the hit. Because of his quick reflex, I only got minor scratches. But the impact shattered his skull. I sat outside the ICU for seven agonizing hours, signing three consecutive critical condition notices. The doctor told me he might remain in a permanent vegetative state. I was only twenty-three then. I had graduated a year prior and was working as a copywriter at an ad agency, making a meager salary. Julian was my first love. We had been together since college, our parents had already met, and we were planning our spring wedding. But after the crash, I canceled my flights, quit my job, and rented a tiny, cheap apartment right next to the hospital. Julian’s mother, Martha, cried her eyes out at first. She held my hand tightly and sobbed, “Valerie, I’m trusting you with Julian. I know how much you love him. The moment he wakes up, we’ll get you two married.” She was genuinely devastated back then, and genuinely grateful to me. But that gratitude started to rot by the third month. “Valerie, my back is acting up again. Can you pull the night shift at the hospital?” “Valerie, private nurses are just too expensive. Since you don’t have a job anyway, why don’t you just care for him yourself?” “Valerie, Julian’s physical therapy bills are due… How much savings do you have left?” I had about $15,000 in savings, which vanished in less than six months. To survive, I started freelancing. I wrote ad copy and marketing proposals, working on a shaky folding table right next to Julian’s hospital bed in the dead of night. During the day, I bathed him, turned him over to prevent bedsores, massaged his stiff muscles, and read him the news. At night, I pulled all-nighters to meet deadlines. My best friend, Chloe, only visited a handful of times. Every time, she showed up in full makeup, sat for ten minutes, took a selfie, and posted it on Instagram with the caption: *“Visiting my dear friend. My heart is breaking.”* I watched her post rack up hundreds of likes while I quietly knelt by the bed, clipping Julian’s toenails. In the first year, the doctor said there were signs of brain activity. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep all night. In the second year, Julian’s fingers twitched. I recorded over three hundred videos of his progress, crying and laughing at the camera. In the third year—just last month—the doctor told me he was finally showing signs of waking up. Over those three years, I spent $200,000. I sold the small condo my parents had bought for my future. I borrowed money from every friend who would reply to my texts. I maxed out three credit cards. Martha contributed a measly $30,000 before claiming she was completely out of money and needed to save the rest for her retirement. Yesterday, Julian finally opened his eyes. I held his hand, my tears splashing onto his knuckles. I was so choked up I couldn’t utter a single word. His eyes rolled slowly, his gaze bypassing me entirely to look at the space behind me. Then, his cracked lips parted. His voice was raspy, but the word he spoke was brutally clear: “Wife…” I froze. There was only one person standing behind me. Chloe. I didn’t even know when she had walked in. She was holding a bouquet of fresh lilies. The expression on her face shifted from shock to pure ecstasy, and then to a triumphant, gentle smile I had never seen before. “Julian…” She rushed to the bedside, squeezing his hand. “You’re awake! Oh my god, you’re finally awake!” Julian’s fingers tightened around hers, holding onto her as if she were his lifeline. His eyes never left her face. I was treated like thin air. I stood there frozen, my hands still hovering in the air in the shape of holding his hand. Martha burst into the room. Seeing the scene, she paused for a second before quickly walking over— And shoved me out of the way. “Chloe! Julian is calling you!” Her face lit up with joy. “Oh, thank God! You two are finally reunited!” *You two?* I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it had been sealed with concrete. “Martha…” My voice shook. “I’ve been the one taking care of him for three years.” Martha finally looked at me. Her eyes flickered with guilt before she sighed, grabbing my hand with fake sympathy. “Valerie, I know you’ve been good to Julian. But look, he just woke up. His memory is a mess, and the doctor said we can’t stress him. Chloe is the girl he loved growing up. His subconscious remembers her. Doesn’t that prove they are meant to be?” I ripped my hand out of her grip. “I took care of him for three years,” I repeated, enunciating every single word. “I sold my condo. I went into massive debt. I quit my career. And now that he’s awake, you’re telling me to get lost?” “How can you say that?!” Martha’s face darkened instantly. “Who’s telling you to get lost? I’m saying we need to prioritize Julian’s health! Once his memory recovers, we’ll straighten this out. If you throw a tantrum now and cause him to relapse, can you take responsibility for that?” Chloe turned around, her eyes red, looking like a helpless victim. “Val, I’m so sorry… I don’t know why this is happening either. But Julian just woke up, and we really can’t stress him. Why don’t… why don’t you go home and get some rest for a few days? Let me handle things here.” She sounded so sincere, as if she had been the one sleeping on a hospital cot for three years. I looked down at Julian. He was staring at Chloe with absolute tenderness, gently tracing her palm with his thumb. I knew that look all too well. He used to look at me the exact same way. Now, he didn’t even spare me a glance. Suddenly, I laughed. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll leave first.” I turned and walked out of the room. Behind me, I heard Martha whispering, “See? Chloe is so much more sensible, unlike some people…” I shut the door, leaned against the sterile hallway wall, and pulled a cigarette from my bag. I didn’t smoke, but I kept them to stay awake during late-night shifts. I lit it but didn’t inhale. I just watched the smoke rise and fade. Three years. $200,000. I pulled out my phone and opened my camera roll. The latest video was recorded just yesterday. In it, I whispered to a comatose Julian: *”The doctor says you might wake up soon. I bought your favorite blueberries. When you wake up, I’ll feed them to you. Let’s get married, Julian. I’m so tired. I want a home.”* In the video, I had dark circles under my eyes, but I was smiling. I locked my phone and took a deep breath. Did they really think I, Valerie, was a pushover? Did they think they could just swipe three years of my youth and two hundred grand under the rug? I crushed the cigarette, tossed it in the trash, and walked toward the elevator with long, confident strides.

I went back to my rented apartment and slept for ten straight hours. For the first time in three years, there was no alarm, no nurse’s call button, and no need to wake up in the middle of the night to turn Julian over. When I finally woke up, it was 3:00 PM. I had seventeen unread messages on my phone from Martha and Chloe. Martha: *“Valerie, Julian is doing well today. You don’t need to worry.”* Martha: *“Valerie, I thought about it. We will repay the money you advanced. Don’t overthink things.”* Martha: *“Julian asked who you were. I told him you were a hired nurse, and he didn’t question it. Don’t come by for now, we don’t want to trigger him.”* The last message was from Chloe: *“Val, I’m so sorry, but Julian only recognizes me right now. When he gets better, I’ll explain everything to him. Thank you for the last three years. When we get married, I’ll definitely make you my maid of honor.”* I stared at the screen and laughed out loud. *Maid of honor?* I typed a quick reply: *“I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow at 10:00 AM.”* Then, I turned off my phone, took a long shower, put on a full face of makeup, and squeezed into a dress I bought three years ago. I used to wear a small, but now I was thin enough to fit into an extra-small. I looked at myself in the mirror and practiced my smile. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the kind of smile that made people’s skin crawl. The next morning, I showed up at the hospital room right on time. I pushed the door open to a picture-perfect family scene. Chloe was gently spoon-feeding Julian some oatmeal. Martha was sitting nearby, peeling an apple. Julian was propped up against the pillows, pale but alert, smiling warmly at Chloe. “…And then you insisted on climbing that tree to pick peaches,” Chloe giggled. “You fell, scraped your knee, and lied to your mom saying I pushed you!” “I remember that,” Julian said, his voice weak but filled with affection. “You cried all afternoon and said you’d never play with me again.” “Well, you blamed me!” “Alright, alright. My bad.” They laughed together, looking like a couple straight out of a romance movie. I tapped on the open door. Three heads turned instantly. Julian looked at me with a cold, guarded gaze. “Who are you?” I didn’t answer. I walked straight in, tossed my bag onto the nightstand, and pulled out a thick folder. “I’m Valerie,” I said. “The woman who took care of you for three years.” Chloe stood up immediately, blocking Julian. “Val, why are you here? I thought we agreed—” “Move.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it made Chloe flinch. Surprisingly, she took a step back. I opened the folder and dumped a massive pile of receipts onto the bed. “These are the medical bills from the last three years,” I said. “The grand total is $205,340. That includes $150,000 in direct medical bills, $35,000 for physical rehab, and $20,340 for nursing fees—which is my labor cost, calculated strictly at the local minimum wage.” I pulled out the last piece of paper: my bank statements. “I sold my condo and took out $80,000 in personal loans. I have $25,000 in outstanding credit card debt. Martha, I kept track of the $30,000 you contributed. That leaves a balance of $175,340.” I looked up at the three stunned faces and smiled. “So, how would you like to pay?” The room fell into a dead silence. Julian frowned, looking back and forth between me and Chloe. “Chloe… what is she talking about?” Chloe’s face flushed bright red. “Valerie! Are you insane? Julian just woke up! Why are you bringing this up now?!” “Why am I bringing this up?” I tilted my head. “I’m collecting a debt. Chloe, you’re the new ‘Mrs. Miller,’ right? It’s only natural for a married couple to pay off their debts together.” “Who… who is Mrs. Miller!” Chloe panicked. “Julian is just confused right now. Once he recovers…” “Once he recovers, you two will get married and make me your maid of honor.” I cut her off, unlocking my phone and pulling up her text message from yesterday. I zoomed in and held it right in front of her face. “Isn’t that what you wrote?” Chloe turned white. Martha rushed forward, trying to grab my phone. “Valerie! You’ve gone too far! Julian just woke up and you’re here starting drama! What is wrong with you?!” I dodged her easily, my voice turning icy and loud: “What is wrong with me? I am here to get my money back!” I pointed at Julian. He flinched, pulling back toward the headboard. “Julian, listen to me. I don’t care what you call me. I don’t care if you pretend not to remember me. But I spent $200,000 on you. I quit my career, sold my home, and went from a healthy young woman to this skeletal version of myself. You don’t have to love me, but you are going to pay me back.” I pulled a USB drive from my bag and slammed it onto the nightstand. “On this drive, there is a record of every single payment made to this hospital. There is also a log of my caregiving hours. I’ve already consulted a lawyer, and by law, my labor costs are fully reimbursable. And…” I paused, staring into his eyes, “there are 387 video logs I recorded during your coma. In every single video, I state the date, what I did for you, and how much money I spent that day.” I leaned in closer to Julian. “You can play the amnesia card all you want, but the law doesn’t have amnesia. If you don’t pay me, I will file a police report and sue you. I have absolutely nothing left to lose. I don’t mind taking this to the local news.” I stood up straight and brushed some imaginary dust off my dress. “Three days. Get me my money in three days, and we’re even. Otherwise, I’ll see you in court.” I turned on my heel and walked out. Behind me, Martha screamed, “Valerie! You heartless bitch! You’ll rot in hell!” I didn’t look back. But the moment I stepped into the empty hallway, my knees buckled slightly. Yet, deep down, I had never felt so alive.

The very next day, the money hit my account. $175,340, down to the last cent. Staring at the bank notification, tears finally spilled over my eyes. But before I could even finish crying, my phone rang. It was Martha. “Valerie, you got your money. Are you happy now? But let me tell you, that money didn’t come from us. Chloe paid it! She had to sell her car and borrow money from her parents! Look at you, forcing a young girl who just started her career to sell her car. How do you sleep at night?!” I wiped my tears, my voice dead calm. “I don’t care where the money came from. I only care that the debt is settled.” “You!” Martha gasped in rage. “Julian said he doesn’t even know who you are! You chose to take care of him for three years; nobody forced you to! Now take your money and stay the hell away from us!” “Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t be seeing me again.” I hung up and immediately blocked her number. Then, I opened my Instagram account—which had been practically abandoned for three years—and posted a single status: *“Three years. $205,340. Paid in full today. We are officially even.”* I attached a screenshot of the bank wire transfer confirmation. My comment section blew up instantly. Though I rarely posted, the few times I did over the last three years were hospital check-ins or late-night coffee cups. My friends knew I was caring for my boyfriend, but they had no idea about the financial toll. *“Wait, what? You guys broke up?”* *“Over 200k? Val, you spent that much on him?!”* *“Did he wake up? What happened?”* I didn’t reply to anyone. I just shut off my phone. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. A week later, I landed a new job as a senior editor at a digital media company. The interview went incredibly well. Even though I hadn’t had a corporate job in three years, my freelance portfolio was stellar. On my third day of work, my assistant, Emma, crept over to my desk, looking concerned. “Hey, Val… have you seen this?” She handed me her phone, opened to TikTok. In the video, Chloe was wearing a pristine white dress, sitting at a piano, looking angelic. The caption read: *“True love is about staying. When he got into a car accident three years ago protecting me, he fell into a coma. I stayed by his side for three years. Today, he finally woke up.”* The comments were overflowing with praise: *“This is real love!”* *“Three years of loyalty? I’m crying!”* *“She is literally an angel. Wishing them a lifetime of happiness!”* My fingers trembled as I scrolled down. The second video featured Julian. He was sitting in a wheelchair, and Chloe was pushing him through a sunny park. He looked up at her with adoring eyes. *”Thank you for never giving up on me, Chloe.”* The third video was a “belated” proposal. Julian was on one knee, Chloe was crying into her hands, surrounded by red balloons and roses. And then, in the comment section of that video, I saw my own name. Someone asked: *“Wait, wasn’t there another girl taking care of him for three years? Is that true?”* Chloe had replied: *“You must mean Valerie. She was Julian’s ex. She actually broke up with him a month after the accident. I guess she felt guilty later and came back to help for a short while, but she left soon after. Martha and I were the ones who took care of him for the last three years.”* The replies below her comment were vicious: *“The ex sounds clout-chasing and disgusting.”* *“I heard she scammed them out of over a hundred grand! That’s literally criminal!”* *“Thank god Julian woke up, otherwise he would’ve been ruined by that leech!”* I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. They didn’t just want to steal credit. They wanted to drag my name through the mud. They wanted to paint me as a gold-digging villain just to make their “epic love story” go viral. Emma looked at me worriedly. “Val… this isn’t true, is it? When you took time off before, you said you were taking care of your boyfriend…” I locked the phone and took a slow, deep breath. “It’s a lie,” I said. “I took care of him for three years, spent over 200k, got kicked out, and now they’re claiming I abandoned him and scammed them.” Emma’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do? This video is trending! It has over half a million likes!” I smiled. “Good,” I said. “The higher they climb, the harder they fall.” I opened the folder containing the files from my USB drive. I had 387 video logs. Every single one was a hard piece of evidence. I opened my banking app. Every transfer to the hospital was documented. I opened my Snapchat and iMessage. My chat history with Martha and Chloe was fully intact. I even found my flight booking from three years ago—the dream job interview in New York I had canceled. If Julian hadn’t crashed the car, I would have been a director at a major agency by now. I looked out the window at the city skyline. “Emma, how do we get a video to go viral on TikTok?” Emma blinked. “Well… we post it with the right hashtags and let the algorithm do its magic. Val, what are you planning?” “What am I planning?” I opened TikTok, created a new account, and typed in the username: *Valerie_TheRealCaregiver*. Bio: *“Three years, $205,340, 387 video logs. Accused of being a scammer and abandoning him. Today, I’m bringing the receipts.”* I uploaded the first video. In the clip, I was wearing a stained, oversized t-shirt, my hair was greasy, and I was wiping Julian’s face with a warm towel. I turned to the camera and smiled tiredly: *”March 15, 2022. Day 58 of Julian’s coma. When I moved his fingers today, they twitched. The doctor says it might just be a reflex, but I’ve been happy all day. Julian, please wake up soon. I miss you so much.”* I set the post to go public at exactly 8:00 AM the next morning. Right during rush hour. I shut my laptop and looked at Emma. “Come on, let’s go get some coffee. My treat.” “Val, aren’t you scared?” she asked. “They have a huge following now…” “Scared?” I took a sip of my freshly brewed coffee. “Emma, I spent three years taking care of a comatose man. There is absolutely nothing left on this earth that scares me.” I watched the sunset outside, my mind completely at peace. It wasn’t the calm of surrender. It was the cold patience of a predator watching its prey step right into the trap. Chloe. Julian. Martha. You wanted the spotlight? I’m about to give you a stage.

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I was scrolling through Reddit while eating breakfast. A title caught my eye: 【Documenting how my wife dies today.】 I thought it was just some idiot writing creative fiction and was about to swipe away. But the very first sentence froze me in my tracks. 【She should be finished with breakfast by now, the one I personally made for her. What she doesn’t know is that I slipped something into her milk.】 I looked down at the glass in my hand. Empty. I had just finished it. My fingers trembled slightly as I scrolled down. 【In three hours, she will drive to pick up our daughter. I tampered with her brake lines. They will completely fail when she crosses the bay bridge.】 【There are no cameras on that stretch of the road, no emergency lane, and the bridge is ninety feet above the water. She can’t swim.】 【Once she’s dead, everyone will think it was just a tragic accident.】 【I will be the heartbroken husband, clutching her photo and sobbing until I pass out. Everyone will pity me.】 【Perfect.】

The comment section was already blowing up. 【Is OP writing a thriller novel here?】 【I swear I’ve seen this exact plot on a true crime podcast.】 【Bro, does your wife know you’re fantasizing about her death on here? Lmao.】 【Someone call the cops, this guy is giving off major psycho vibes.】 But a few comments made a chill run down my spine. 【Wait, OP’s IP is in Riverdale? The bay bridge? Is he talking about the suspension bridge?】 【What time did OP post this? What time is it now? If you do the math, isn’t the time almost up?】 【Holy crap, is anyone going to go check on this??】 I stared at the screen, my hands shaking. Not out of fear. But because— My husband, Julian, was born and raised in Riverdale. We lived in the Riverdale district. Every single morning, I drank a glass of warm milk he prepared for me. I did plan to drive and pick up our daughter today. And that suspension bridge was the only route to her school. I raised my head and looked toward the kitchen. Julian was washing the dishes, his back to me. His shoulder blades moved slightly with his motions. We had been married for five years. Every morning, he got up earlier than me to make breakfast and warm up my milk. Everyone envied me, saying I married the most perfect, loving man in the world. “All done?” He turned around and smiled at me. “Want another glass?” “N-No, thank you,” I said, my voice sounding incredibly dry. He walked over and took the empty glass from my hand. As he passed by, he naturally placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Come back early today. I’ll make your favorite lasagna for dinner.” I nodded. The moment he walked back into the kitchen, I grabbed my phone and reopened the Reddit thread. Post time: 7:03 AM. Current time: 7:48 AM. The post said she would drive to pick up the kid in three hours. That would be around ten o’clock. I looked at the clock on the wall, then out the window— Our car, a silver Toyota, was parked in the driveway below. Julian had taken it in for maintenance last week. He told me it was just a routine checkup. Only now did I remember that the mechanic shop he used was owned by Marcus, his childhood best friend. I dialed my daughter’s preschool. “Miss Chloe, what time does Lily get dismissed today?” “Dismissal is at 4:20 PM as usual, Maya. Is everything okay?” “Yes, just checking. Thank you.” 4:20 PM. The post said she would go pick up the kid. But my pickup time was in the afternoon. Unless— My phone suddenly vibrated. It was an iMessage from Julian: 【Hey babe, can you pick up my mom today? She suddenly decided to come visit Lily. Her train gets to the station at 11:30 AM.】 【You should drive. I have to meet a client this afternoon.】 11:30 AM. To get to the train station by then, I would have to cross the suspension bridge at exactly ten o’clock. Holding my phone, I stared at the message, my entire body turning cold. Julian’s mother had visited us three months ago. She gets terrible motion sickness and absolutely hates traveling. Why would she suddenly want to visit her granddaughter now? And the train station— To get there, taking the suspension bridge was unavoidable. I slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the car. The silver Toyota gleamed under the morning sun. It looked completely normal. But if that Reddit post was true… I took a deep breath, opened my phone, and tapped back into the thread. I scrolled down to the latest update. It was from OP. 【7:52 AM. She finished the milk. Now she’s going to change her clothes.】 My hand clenched around my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. I had indeed just finished the milk. I was indeed about to go change. I whipped my head around. In the kitchen, Julian was still washing dishes. The sound of running water filled the air. His back was toward me, his shoulders relaxed. But then, I noticed a detail— His phone was sitting right on the counter next to the stove. The screen was lit. I couldn’t read the text from this distance, but I could see the layout— It was Reddit. In Dark Mode. The exact same interface I was looking at.

I don’t even remember how I managed to change my clothes. My fingers wouldn’t stop shaking, and it took me three tries just to zip up my dress. When I walked out of the bedroom, Julian was already sitting on the couch. Seeing me, he smiled. “Ready? Let me walk you down to the car.” “No need!” the words spilled out of my mouth. He blinked, looking surprised. Realizing I had overreacted, I quickly added, “Don’t you have to meet your client soon? I can walk down myself.” “I’ve got time.” He stood up, walked over, and naturally wrapped his arm around my waist. “I’ll walk you to the garage.” His arm was warm and strong, just like it had been every day for the past five years. But right now, it felt like a snake wrapping itself around my body. We were the only two people in the elevator. The mirrored walls reflected our reflection—he was half a head taller than me, looking down at me with gentle, loving eyes. Just like he did every time we went out. But today, I didn’t dare to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “N-Nothing.” “Your hands are so cold.” He took my hand and frowned. “Did you skip breakfast again?” “No, I ate. I finished everything you made.” “Good.” The elevator doors opened at the garage level. He walked me to the car and pulled open the driver’s side door. I got in, and he leaned over to buckle my seatbelt for me. He had done this for five years, always meticulous and gentle. But today, his hand lingered on the seatbelt buckle for a second. Very brief. Maybe just a second or two. Then he stood back up and waved. “Drive safe. Let me know when you pick up Mom.” I nodded and started the engine. In the rearview mirror, he stood in his spot, watching me back out, turn, and drive out of the garage. Only when his figure completely disappeared did I dare to breathe heavily. I pulled over just outside our residential complex. The car sat idle. I took out my phone and reopened the Reddit thread. OP had updated again. 【8:47 AM. She’s out.】 【She’s driving the silver Toyota, license plate ending in 327. If you guys see her on the road, give her some space—not like she’ll need it for much longer anyway.】 【By the way, she seemed a little off just now. Maybe she noticed something? Doesn’t matter, she’ll still go. She’s far too obedient.】 My hands were shaking violently. “Too obedient.” That was what Julian always said to me. “You’re so obedient, Maya,” he would say, running his fingers through my hair, his tone so affectionate as if it were my greatest virtue. I didn’t know what to do. Call the police? Tell them I saw a post on Reddit saying my husband is trying to kill me? Would they even believe me? Call a friend? And say what? That I suspect my husband is trying to orchestrate a car crash to murder me? Even to my own ears, it sounded completely insane. I looked at the post again. 【9:12 AM. One hour left.】 One hour. In one hour, if I drove onto that bridge— I slammed my foot on the gas and turned into a narrow side alley. This road did not lead to the train station. I parked by the curb of a random street and dialed the school again. “Miss Chloe, it’s me.” “Maya? Is everything okay?” “I just wanted to ask… did Lily eat her lunch today?” “Yes, she did. She just finished. Is something wrong?” “No, nothing. I just… suddenly missed her.” “Haha, that’s totally normal for a mom. Dismissal is at 4:20 PM. Don’t be late!” 4:20 PM. 4:20 PM. The post said she would crash on her way to pick up the kid. But my pickup was in the afternoon. If I didn’t go pick up my mother-in-law— My phone rang. It was Julian. I stared at his name flashing on the screen. I took three deep breaths before sliding to answer. “Hey.” “Did you pick up Mom yet?” His voice was as gentle as ever. “Not yet, traffic is a bit backed up.” “Oh, then drive slowly, no rush. By the way, Maya—” “Yeah?” “Did you forget something in your purse?” I froze. “What do you mean?” “The ring in your bag. The one I gave you. I just saw it sitting on the couch.” The ring. I instinctively reached into my bag. It was empty. The ring engraved with the word “Substitute”—the one I had found in the car this morning and tossed into my bag. When I was changing my clothes, it must have slipped out. “Oh, yes, that’s mine,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “That’s a relief.” He chuckled. “I thought you picked up someone else’s. It’s a nice ring. The engraving is quite interesting.” The engraving. “Substitute.” How did he know what was engraved on it? I had never told him. I hadn’t even had the chance to. “Maya?” his voice came through the line. “Are you still there?” “Yeah.” “Good,” he said. “Be careful on the road. Drive slowly when you cross the bridge, it’s really windy today.” The bridge. He knew I had to cross the bridge. I had never told him his mother was taking the train. He was the one who told me. He was the one who sent me to pick her up. “Maya?” “I’m listening.” “Are you okay? Your voice sounds a bit strange.” “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little tired.” “Then go straight home after you get Mom. I’ll head home right after my client meeting. I’ll make that lasagna tonight.” “Okay.” The call ended. I gripped my phone, sitting in the car, watching the minutes tick away. 9:24 AM. Thirty-six minutes left. The silver Toyota sat quietly. The brake lines had been tampered with. They would fail the moment I got onto the bridge. Ninety feet high. I couldn’t swim. I closed my eyes, and my mind flooded with memories of the last five years. The way he warmed up my milk. The way he buckled my seatbelt. The way he stayed up all night taking care of me when I was sick. The way he sobbed until he passed out at my sister’s funeral. My sister. My eyes snapped open. Three years ago, my twin sister, Serena, died in a car accident. A rainy night. Losing control on the highway. The car plunged off the embankment. Everyone, including me, thought it was a tragic accident. But what if— What if it wasn’t?

I called a roadside assistance service. “Hi, what is your current location and what seems to be the problem with your vehicle?” “I’m on Elm Street in the Riverdale district. My car won’t start,” I said. “Can you send someone over to take a look?” “Sure thing, ma’am. We should have a technician there in about twenty minutes.” “Thank you.” The moment I hung up, I dialed another number. “911, what is your emergency?” Ten minutes later, two police cruisers pulled up in front of me. I handed my phone to the officers and showed them the Reddit thread. “Just because of this?” The younger officer frowned. “Ma’am, this looks like a typical creepy-pasta post. We can’t really—” “You can track the IP address,” I interrupted him. “The person posting this is very likely my husband.” “Your husband?” “He said he slipped something into my milk. I did drink the milk he made this morning. He said my brake lines were tampered with. He was the one who took this car for maintenance last week. He said I would crash on the suspension bridge. My mother-in-law is supposedly coming by train today, and I was supposed to cross that bridge to pick her up.” The two officers exchanged a look. The older officer spoke up. “Have you and your husband been having marital issues lately?” “No.” “How is your relationship?” “Perfect,” I said. “Everyone says we are the perfect couple.” “Then why—” “I don’t know,” I shook my head. “But you can investigate. Find out who wrote this post. Check if my car has been tampered with.” The tow truck arrived before the police could make a move. A mechanic in a jumpsuit hopped out. “Hey ma’am, which car is the one that won’t start?” I pointed to the silver Toyota. He popped the hood and tinkered around for a few minutes before sticking his head out. “Ma’am, there’s nothing wrong with your engine. It starts right up.” “I know,” I said. “But I need you to check something else.” “What’s that?” “The brake lines.” He looked puzzled but crawled underneath the car anyway. A few minutes later, he emerged, his expression looking grim. “Ma’am… your brake lines are indeed messed up.” “What’s wrong with them?” “The connection valve is completely loose. Almost all the brake fluid has leaked out. If you drove another ten miles, your brakes would have failed completely.” He stared at me. “You said you just got this serviced? Whoever did this did a horribly sloppy job.” The two police officers’ expressions instantly changed. “Sir, can you tell if this was intentional or an accident?” The mechanic scratched his head. “Hard to say for sure. But the valve was loosened very cleanly, doesn’t look like natural wear and tear. And given the location, a normal mechanic wouldn’t touch this part during a routine service.” The older officer looked at me. “Does your husband know you’re out driving today?” “Yes. He sent me to pick up his mother.” “Is his mother definitely arriving today?” “That’s what he told me.” The officer stepped aside to make a phone call. Five minutes later, he walked back over. “We checked the train registry. No one by that name has a ticket booked to Riverdale today.” I closed my eyes. Of course. There was no visiting mother-in-law. There was no train. There was only a husband who wanted me dead. “Ma’am,” the older officer said, putting his phone away. “We need you to come to the station to give a formal statement.” I nodded. But my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about— Serena. That rainy night three years ago. Did she also drink a glass of warm milk prepared by her husband on some ordinary morning? Were her brakes also “accidentally” tampered with? In the final moments of her plunge, did she realize what was happening?

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An emergency dispatch came in at midnight. An apartment building was on fire, with a couple trapped inside. When I burst through the flames, I saw Samantha, my wife of seven years, lying naked and wrapping her arms around another man. Both of them were semi-unconscious from the heavy smoke, but Samantha was still mumbling that man’s name. Later, I let go of the past and filed for divorce to start my new life. But Samantha regretted it. She held onto me tightly, crying and claiming I was her only true love. She thought I would soft-hearted again, but everyone around us just laughed at her: “Is she crazy? His kid is already in school, and she’s still here begging for a second chance!” Thick smoke billowed through the hallway. I navigated through the darkness, breathing heavily through my oxygen mask. Our station got the dispatch call in the middle of the night. It happened to be my shift. A neighbor had called 911. The fire started in the kitchen of the adjacent apartment. By the time the neighbor woke up coughing from the smoke and called for help, the fire had already spread. It was a messy situation. “The caller said a young couple lives here. Once we’re inside, we split into two search-and-rescue teams,” I ordered. I took the lead and kicked the door open. But before I could give the signal to split up, I froze. Right past the doorway, a naked woman lay slumped on the floor. It looked like she had used every ounce of her strength to crawl to the exit, only to collapse at the very last second. Not far from her lay a naked man. Their bodies were tangled together. The woman’s face was one I knew better than my own—it was Samantha, my wife, whom I had loved for eight years. And the man beside her was no stranger either. It was Julian, her childhood best friend. Standing in the swirling black smoke, I felt like I had been hit by a bolt of lightning. My mind went completely blank. Just before I left for my shift tonight, Samantha had wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me passionately. Because of the danger of my job, I went into every shift prepared for the worst. Samantha always worried about me. Every time she saw me off, she would cling to me, refusing to let go. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I prayed the toxic smoke was making me hallucinate. Was I dying? Was this a nightmare? Beside me was Mason, my best friend on the squad. He knew Samantha. He recognized her instantly, lying there completely naked. I could feel him stiffen beside me, shocked into silence. Through the haze, Samantha wasn’t fully unconscious yet. Spotting the flashlights of the rescue crew, she found a burst of weak strength. She mumbled: “Julian… Julian… don’t be scared… they’re here to save us… hold on…” My body shook violently. My last shred of hope shattered into dust. It was so disgusting. So painful. My head felt like it was going to explode. Someone nudged me from behind. It was my teammates. I forced my body to move like a machine. I didn’t even remember how we carried out the rescue. I didn’t remember how we dragged those two naked bodies out of the burning apartment. I threw a blanket over them. Even as they were loaded into the ambulance, barely conscious, their hands remained tightly clasped together. I collapsed onto the pavement. My teammates rushed over, checking on me in confusion. They had never seen me like this and thought I was physically hurt. I was hurt. In my rush to get out, I had scraped my wrist against a sharp metal hook on the doorframe. A chunk of flesh was gone, and blood was dripping onto the concrete. An EMT rushed over to bandage me. Surrounded by the flashing red and blue lights, I was pushed toward an ambulance. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care. The pain was unbearable. But it wasn’t my wrist. My entire body felt numb. It was weird. The cut was deep, and there was so much blood. It should have stung. But I felt nothing. All I knew was that tonight, Samantha, the woman I had cherished for eight years, had dealt me a fatal blow. It hurt a hundred times worse than dying in that fire.

I curled up on a bench in the hospital hallway. Just a wall away, Samantha and her beloved Julian were being treated. I was in a daze, unable to separate reality from a nightmare. Samantha was my first love, the first girl I had ever opened my heart to. I loved her with everything I had. I did everything to make her happy. Our first meeting felt like a gentle touch of fate. It was a sunny afternoon at the college library. She was sitting by the window, a soft beam of light catching the edges of her hair. At that moment, time had stopped. Samantha was beautiful and smart. Her smile could warm the coldest winter, and I fell hard and fast. Our love grew deeper with each passing season, solid and comforting. Then Julian came back, like a sudden storm that wrecked our quiet life. He was Samantha’s childhood friend, a fashion designer. We had met a few times. At first, I thought he was just a charming, artsy guy. My job as a firefighter meant I worked long, grueling shifts. Overtime was normal. I spent my rare free days working on side gigs, wanting to build a better financial future for Samantha. Samantha used to tease me, calling me an “unromantic block of wood.” But her eyes had always been full of love. But as Julian hung around more and more, things changed. Julian always knew how to make her laugh. He took her to fancy art galleries and trendy parties—things I couldn’t afford or didn’t have time for. With my crazy schedule, I started to feel inadequate. I kept telling myself that Samantha’s feelings for Julian were strictly platonic. But insecurity grew in my heart like weeds. His presence threw a shadow over our marriage. Still, I trusted her. Our bond was built on years of shared dreams. I started blaming myself. I realized I shouldn’t neglect her just because I was working hard. In fact, I had planned to take her on a romantic getaway to Hawaii right after this shift. I never, not even in my worst nightmares, thought Samantha would cheat on me. That was why the pain was so agonizing. The trust I had held onto so fiercely had turned into a knife in my chest. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. I buried my face in my knees, too broken to let anyone see me. “Logan?” A soft, gentle voice called out. I blinked and looked up. A nurse holding a medical tray stood before me, looking incredibly worried. “I’m on duty tonight,” she said softly. “Mason told me what happened. He asked me to check on you.” It was Lily, Mason’s younger sister. Seeing a familiar, kind face, the dam broke. All my agony rushed to the surface. I choked back a sob, desperate to let it out: “Why? Why would she do this to me?” “What did I do wrong?” Samantha, why?

I cried like a child, completely losing my grip. Lily placed her tray on the bench and sat beside me, gently patting my shoulder. “Let it out, Logan. You don’t have to be strong right now.” “I checked her chart. Samantha is fine. Just some mild smoke inhalation. She’ll be discharged tomorrow after a quick checkup. But that guy…” “He has some minor burns on his legs. They’re keeping him for another day.” “Logan… what are you going to do?” I shook my head in utter despair. My mind drifted back to the past. I remembered the day we stood at the altar. Our vows echoed in my ears like they were spoken yesterday. I had been so full of hope. Samantha and I had a whirlwind romance, but her parents disapproved of us from the start. I was an orphan. I had no family, and my job as a firefighter was dangerous and demanding. Samantha was a girl who wanted to be pampered and showered with romantic gestures. My life was rough. I spent my days surrounded by gruff men and burning buildings. My hands were calloused, and my life was simple. Her parents told her flat out that I couldn’t give her the dream lifestyle she wanted. I almost walked away back then, but Samantha fought for us. When her parents tried to set her up with rich ivy-league guys, she screamed: “No! I love Logan! Why are you doing this to me?” “He’s the only one I’ll ever marry!” At that moment, I swore to myself I would spend the rest of my life making her happy. On the day I finally proposed, Samantha looked into my eyes and said: “Everyone says I’m being childish, but I know what I want. I want to spend forever with you.” “I don’t know how long forever is, but I want you to come home safe from every shift.” “I’ll always be waiting at home to give you a big hug.” Those memories used to be my sanctuary. Now, they were poison. The numbness wore off, and the cut on my wrist began to throb with intense pain. “Lily, you know…” I whispered, my voice cracking. “When I was just a rookie making pennies, I had no idea what the future held.” “But Samantha told me I was her future.” “When I kicked that door open tonight, I expected a lot of things. But not her.” “They were naked, Lily. And she was screaming his name. It hurts so bad…” Lily wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Logan, you’re an amazing guy. Maybe… maybe it’s a misunderstanding?” “Think about it. She’s loved you for years. Maybe there’s an explanation.” “But no matter what you decide, Mason and I have your back.” I was an orphan. Samantha had given me my very first home. We had loved each other so deeply. I decided to give her one last chance. I would do it for the brave girl who had fought her family for me. Just one chance. If she came clean and begged for forgiveness, I would pretend this night never happened. Please, Samantha. Don’t make me regret this.

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