Category: English

Four years into our marriage, I sent my husband’s mistress abroad and then drugged him. We spent the night together, and I became pregnant. The next morning, Julian said nothing and flew out of the country. On the first day, my family’s company went bankrupt. On the second day, I got into a car accident. Not only did I lose the baby, but my uterus was removed, leaving me unable to ever conceive again. On the third day, my parents were kidnapped, taken thousands of feet into the air, and dropped to their deaths while I begged for mercy. It wasn’t until Julian stood in front of me, holding his mistress, that I realized he was behind it all. “You should be grateful I found Bella today, Sarah. Otherwise, you would have died with your parents.” I coughed up blood and rushed forward to confront him, but his bodyguard kicked me dead before I could say a word. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I drugged Julian. 1 “Sarah, you’re going to regret this.” His voice was accompanied by heavy, ragged breathing. I opened my eyes in disbelief, staring at the familiar scene. Julian, under the influence of the drug, looked at me with dark, lust-filled eyes. He grabbed my wrist violently. “Come here! Isn’t this what you wanted?” I instinctively jerked my hand away and ran out of the room in terror. Behind me, Julian kept calling my name like a death sentence. In my past life, this was the day I sent his mistress, Bella, abroad and drugged him so we could sleep together. Julian and I grew up together. But when we got married, he told me he only saw me as a sister. In our first year of marriage, he got himself a mistress. No matter how hard I tried to please him, he remained unmoved. Desperate for a child to secure my place, I sent Bella away and drugged him. That night, I got what I wanted. The next morning, Julian gave me a dark look and left the country. After that, disaster struck my family. Bankruptcy. Miscarriage. Hysterectomy. And finally, my parents’ brutal deaths. It was all Julian’s punishment for me sending Bella away. He had forgotten his wedding vows to cherish me forever. He forgot how my parents treated him like their own son. The Su family’s resources were always open to him. When the Qin family was on the brink of bankruptcy, it was the Su family that saved them. Yet, he destroyed my parents without hesitation. And if he hadn’t found Bella quickly, I would have died without ever knowing the truth. I shuddered at the thought. Julian was pounding on the door behind me. I knew the lock wouldn’t hold for long. But the mistake hadn’t been made yet. Bella should have just arrived at the airport. If I brought her back and sent her to his bed, everything could be saved. In this life, I didn’t want a child, and I didn’t want Julian’s love. I just wanted to stay far away from them. Without hesitation, I called my assistant. “Bring Bella back to the estate. Now!” 2 After making the call, I collapsed to the floor, weak. Soon, Bella was brought back. She looked at me with venom in her eyes. “Who are you to send me away? You’re lucky you brought me back, or Julian wouldn’t have let you off!” Bella held her head high, eyes full of triumph. I said nothing. I just opened the door and shoved her inside. “I know you and Julian are made for each other. I’m fulfilling your wish.” Hearing the heavy breathing behind her, Bella looked terrified. “You crazy bitch! Are you giving me to some random man? Even if you use such evil tricks, Julian won’t love you!” My heart ached. I shouted to Julian, “I was wrong to drug you, but I’m compensating you now. We’re even.” In my past life, I used a high dose. He went at it for a whole day. Now with the woman he truly loved, they probably wouldn’t leave the room for twenty-four hours. Seeing that the man was Julian, a smile instantly appeared on Bella’s face. She proudly took off her coat, revealing the lace lingerie underneath. Seeing my stunned expression, she gloated, “What are you looking at? Julian loves this on me. He says you’re like a dead fish in bed. Holding your hand feels like holding his own left hand.” She walked over and hugged Julian. The next second, Julian, unable to hold back any longer, tackled her to the ground. I couldn’t watch anymore and slammed the door shut. Even in a new life, seeing this still cut me like a knife. But this time, I would not repeat the same mistakes! The sounds from inside continued. I turned and walked away numbly. After gathering all my documents, I finally let out a breath. Next step: get Julian to sign the divorce papers so I can leave for good. I started drafting the agreement, word by word. Looking at his name, memories flooded back. We grew up together. He had his tender moments. He always brought me my favorite wontons. He prepared gifts for every holiday. He was the first to defend me when others hurt me. I was young and naive, thinking it was love. So I begged my parents to let us marry. Julian didn’t object, and I thought he loved me too. Until after the wedding, when he brought Bella home for the first time. He said he only loved me as a sister. If my parents hadn’t threatened him with death, he wouldn’t have married me. But he couldn’t spend his life with a “sister,” so he brought Bella home. “From now on, we are husband and wife in public, but at home, you are my sister, and Bella is my wife.” I cried, screamed, and threatened to jump off the balcony. Eventually, I forced Bella out of the estate. But driving her away didn’t win his heart. In the end, it cost me my entire family. Thinking of this, I printed the divorce agreement and clutched it tightly. Suddenly, a voice came from behind. “Sarah, what are you doing?” 3 I turned around and saw Julian holding Bella, looking at me with dark eyes, his body covered in marks. I took a deep breath and handed him the divorce papers. He slapped them away without looking, frowning at me. “Sarah, apologize to Bella.” My heart sank. I had given them what they wanted yesterday, but he still wouldn’t let it go. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Bella nestled into Julian’s arms, looking aggrieved. “Forget it, Julian. Who am I to ask the great Miss Su for an apology? What if she gets angry and sends me abroad again?” She tugged at his sleeve, voice trembling with tears, while shooting me a hateful glare. Julian hugged her tighter, turning a cold gaze on me. “Sarah, apologize to Bella. Don’t make me say it twice! Or your family’s company and your parents…” Seeing the ruthlessness in his eyes, I realized Julian might never have intended to live peacefully with me. He was coerced into marriage, and from that day on, he hated my family. Even in this life, where I didn’t send Bella away, he still threatened me with my parents and the company. He had always planned to destroy us. I swallowed the bitterness and rasped, “I’m sorry.” Bella turned her head, pouting. “She’s not sincere at all. I want her to kneel and slap herself while apologizing. Ninety-nine times. Only then will I forgive her.” Julian frowned. Bella quickly added, “If I had really been sent away last night, Julian, wouldn’t you be heartbroken? What if something happened to me abroad…” Before she could finish, Julian kissed her. “Don’t say that. You know I can’t lose you.” He looked at me coldly. “This was your fault. I know you can’t do it yourself, so just apologize, and I’ll have someone help you.” The bodyguards forced me to my knees. Slaps rained down on my face. Pain blinded me. Julian wasn’t satisfied. He grabbed my chin. His eyes were dark. “Sarah, I was too good to you before. Think of your parents. Do what Bella wants, or ninety-nine slaps will become nine hundred and ninety.” I gritted my teeth and apologized until I coughed up blood. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” After ninety-nine slaps, I collapsed, unconscious. Before I closed my eyes, I saw a flicker of pain in Julian’s eyes. 4 When I woke up, Julian was sitting by my bed. He sighed and tried to feed me warm porridge. I turned my face away. He frowned. “It was wrong to hit you, but Sarah, you started it.” I cut him off by handing him the divorce papers. “Let’s divorce. I’m giving you and Bella my blessing.” Julian snatched the papers and threw them on the floor, his face black. “You think you can marry when you want and divorce when you want? What am I to you?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Didn’t you always want to marry Bella?” He stood up, glaring at me coldly. “Sarah, playing hard to get? I told you I only see you as a sister. You want a divorce? Fine. But until the certificate is issued, don’t touch Bella. If she gets a single scratch, it’s on you.” Bella walked in, smirking at me. “Julian, that’s not nice to Sarah. If you say that, doesn’t she become my bodyguard until the divorce? But since you asked, Sarah, I’m counting on you.” Bodyguards flooded the room. Julian signed the papers, staring at me as if trying to read my mind. I was dragged out of bed silently to follow Bella. Once I get the divorce certificate, I can escape them and avoid my past fate. The next month was pure torture. Julian made out with Bella in front of me without shame. They kissed loudly in dressing rooms while I stood guard outside. Listening to their laughter, I stared blankly into the distance. Tomorrow, I get the certificate. Freedom. An hour later, Julian walked out with a disheveled Bella. He looked unhappy. After taking a call, he gave me a dark look and left. Once he was gone, Bella dropped the act. She mocked me, “Some people just have thick skin. Squatting on things that don’t belong to them, refusing to give them back even when the owner returns. Like a stray dog.” Before I could reply, a group of men rushed out and grabbed Bella. The leader looked vicious. “You’re Julian’s mistress? Today is your unlucky day!” He raised a hand to knock her out. I lunged forward and grabbed Bella’s hand. If anything happened to her, Julian would blame me. Thinking of my past life, I held on for dear life. If I let go, I’d be buried with her. The man sneered and slapped me. My head spun. “Bitch, can’t even save yourself and trying to stop me? Take them both!” Soon, amidst Bella’s screams, we were pinned to the ground. Just as we were being dragged away, a noise came from behind. “Let them go!” Julian rushed forward, eyes anxious. While the men were distracted by Julian, I tried to drag Bella toward the exit. But Bella pinched my hand hard and shoved me backward. I looked at her in shock. She whispered: “Who told you to compete with me?” The next second, I was grabbed by the thug again. “Julian! Tell your men to back off! Or I can’t guarantee her safety!” The man choked me, lifting me high. Julian looked at me, expression unreadable. “Sarah, you’re overacting. Don’t believe your own lies.” I didn’t know what he meant. I reached out to him. “Save… me.” Julian hesitated. Just then, Bella cried out in pain. “Julian, it hurts! Sarah hired these people herself, they won’t hurt her! She just pushed me, I’m worried about the baby…” I looked at Bella in disbelief. I struggled, trying to explain. But hearing Bella’s words, Julian picked her up and turned away. The thug threatened him, but he just said coldly: “Do whatever you want with her.” Seeing no escape, the thug stopped struggling. He pinned me down with a twisted expression. “Boys, this Julian guy is ruthless. Since he doesn’t want his wife, let’s taste what a CEO’s woman is like!” He tore my clothes open. “Julian! Save me!” Desperate, I used the name I called him as a child, hoping to awaken his conscience. He paused but continued walking away with the unharmed Bella. I fought with everything I had, but I was overpowered. Just before he entered me, a fierce resolve flashed in my eyes. I bit my tongue off. Blood gushed out. The man looked terrified. In the last second before passing out, memories of Julian’s past kindness flashed before my eyes. Then, they shattered. I fell into darkness. … After leaving, Julian’s heart raced. He felt like he missed something. After settling Bella in the hospital, he stood outside her room. Remembering Sarah’s dead eyes and her cry for help, he finally made a call. “Go see if Sarah is dead.” He knew she hired those people. She wouldn’t be hurt. But he frowned. He swore he would teach her a lesson when she came back. But the next second, the voice on the phone froze him. “Mr. Vance, the Madam bit her tongue and committed suicide after you left. She was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital…”

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They called me the luckiest woman in the city. An orphan, I had found a broken man in the gutters, and with a little begging here, a little borrowing there, I had somehow nursed Julian Devereux, the heir to the Devereux fortune, back to life. In return, he had lifted me from obscurity and was about to make me his wife. Everyone said he spoiled me, let me run wild with his affection. When I idly mentioned I liked pearls, a collection once belonging to British royalty appeared at my door. When I gazed at a single rose, the next morning, the entire estate was carpeted in the rare Louis XIV varietal. He was the untouchable Lord Devereux, master of his family’s empire. And then, at the zenith of my fairy tale, the day he was to make me his, I met Vivienne Pembroke. And she had my face. … Vivienne tilted my chin up with a manicured finger, her eyes a canvas of undisguised contempt. “You do have a pretty face, I’ll give you that.” Whispers erupted around us. “That’s Vivienne Pembroke… she looks exactly like her…” “Be quiet. Do you know who she is? The Pembroke heiress. She could snap her fingers and half the Capital would tremble. As for her origins…” No matter how Julian tried to hide it, the fact that I was an orphan could never be erased. They just didn’t dare say it aloud. Not after what happened to the last person who did. At a gala, when Julian first brought me into his world, a society matron had sneered about my parentage. Julian had merely glanced at her, his expression placid. The next day, that woman was found on the city’s busiest street, broken and begging, her mind gone. No one had breathed a word against me since. In the next instant, the glowing cherry of Vivienne’s cigarette was pressed against my cheek. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. I cried out in pain and shoved her away. She stumbled backward, falling gracefully into Julian Devereux’s arms. The burn on my face was agony, but a sharper pain lanced through my heart at the look in Julian’s eyes as he held her—a tempest of emotions I had never seen before. “Julian, my face,” Vivienne whimpered. “It hurts so much…” But Julian’s gaze was fixed on the cigarette still in her hand. He gently took it from her fingers. “Your lungs are delicate, Vivi. You must be more careful.” He had completely ignored me. Vivienne looked over his shoulder at me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to this… young lady?” Only then did Julian seem to notice the weeping burn on my face. He looked away, his voice low. “This is Celine. She’s… my sister.” The ancient jade signet ring on my finger slipped from my grasp, hitting the marble floor and splitting in two. He had placed it there only last night when he’d asked me to be his wife. I looked around the grand ballroom. The crimson banners celebrating our union, the loving portrait of us at the entrance, even the interwoven gold embroidery on our formal attire—everything screamed engagement. So how had I, the fiancée, suddenly become the sister? The jade had broken cleanly, but my heart was tearing apart, a ragged, shredding agony. “Julian…” I stepped forward, wanting to demand an explanation, but he was already turning, shielding Vivienne as he led her away. The whispers swelled into a roar. “I thought this was their engagement party.” “The next lady of the Devereux estate? I wouldn’t be so sure now.” I looked to Julian, the man who couldn’t bear to hear a single bad word spoken about me. He didn’t even glance my way. His entire world was focused on Vivienne. I was invisible. In a haze of pain and medication, I felt a cool sensation on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see Julian carefully applying a salve to the burn. I threw my arms around his waist, clinging to him. “Why did you call me your sister tonight?” He didn’t answer, his voice a low rumble. “I have to go to the Capital City.” The Pembrokes… they were from the Capital. The events of the night—the canceled engagement, his sudden departure, the strange new obsession in his eyes when he looked at Vivienne—crashed over me in a suffocating wave. My heart hammered against my ribs, a painful, frantic rhythm. I couldn’t breathe. “Is it because of her? Because of Vivienne?” Julian’s gaze snapped to mine, cold and hard. “Celine. Be careful what you say.” It was the first time he had ever looked at me with anything but warmth. My voice trembled. “Then tell me why! Why are you going to the Capital? Why did you call me your sister? Why did you cancel our engagement? Why!” He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “Take Miss Celine to the family chapel,” he commanded the guards at the door. “She will kneel there until she has calmed down.” I stared at him. The man before me was a stranger. Not the Julian who had promised to grant my every wish, to answer my every question. I knelt in the cold chapel, before the stone tombs of his ancestors. Staring at the eternal flame, I whispered a desperate prayer. “Spirits of this house, I will accept a lifetime of hardship and poverty in my next ten lives, if you will only grant me this one with Julian. Let us be together, always.” A soft, mocking laugh echoed from the doorway. Vivienne stood there, wreathed in shadow. “The Devereux ancestors,” she purred, “do you really think they’ll ever accept you?” “A woman like you, Miss Pembroke,” I retorted, my voice shaking, “has no shame, interfering in our relationship?” She laughed again, a low, throaty sound. “Interfering?” She blew a plume of smoke in my direction. “You, who appeared with my face while I was away at university and attached yourself to my childhood sweetheart. You call me the intruder?” With a flick of her wrist, she touched the lit end of her cigarette to an ancient tapestry. It smoldered for a second before catching fire. I tried to scramble away, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like steel. “You think I’m the one who came between you?” she hissed, her face illuminated by the growing flames. The fire spread with terrifying speed, smoke billowing around us. She didn’t seem to feel the heat at all. “Then let’s see who he chooses.” The fire alarms blared. Servants rushed to the chapel doors, but Vivienne pressed the sharp point of a hairpin to her own throat. “Tell Julian Devereux he has to choose between me and Celine, right now! Or we both burn!” I had inhaled too much smoke. My lungs burned, my vision swam. I collapsed to the floor. Through the distorted haze of heat and smoke, I saw Julian burst into the chapel. He swept Vivienne into his arms and ran. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t see me on the floor. His foot came down hard on my outstretched hand, crushing it as he fled. The searing pain jolted me back from the brink of unconsciousness. As the darkness closed in, his promise from the day he brought me to his home echoed in my ears. “Celine, you saved my life. I can only repay it with my own.” “I will give you a lifetime of honor, of wealth, of safety.” But here I was, broken and burning, my life hanging by a thread, abandoned by my savior. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. I waited. Day turned to night, and back to day. I sat as still as a statue, a forgotten idol waiting for a worshipper who would never come. Julian never came. Perhaps the fire had burned away his love, I thought. My heart felt like a hollow chamber of ash, no longer capable of pain. Then, he was there. He gently tried to give me a sip of water. It tasted strange, bitter. I turned my head away, but he gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open and pouring the liquid down my throat. A fire erupted in my larynx, a pain so intense I thrashed wildly. Julian’s grip only tightened. I tried to cough, to scream, but no sound came out. I was silent. My throat felt as though it had been scoured with acid. A single tear escaped and traced a path through the soot on my cheek. I looked up at Julian. His own eyes were red, rimmed with tears. He gathered me in his arms, his voice a broken whisper. “Celine, it’s okay. From now on, I’ll be your voice. I’ll speak for you…” I bit down on his arm, hard. Blood welled up, but he didn’t flinch, letting me inflict the pain. His tears were hot on my skin, a stark contrast to the chemical fire in my throat. The twin agonies made my head swim. Through the haze, I heard him whisper again. “I’m so sorry…” “Someone has to take the blame for the chapel, Celine… Vivienne can’t… she’s too fragile. And you… you’re too stubborn. You would never have confessed for her.” “This was the only way… I’m so sorry…” When I next awoke, the room was empty. It was all a nightmare. The door opened, and the Devereux matriarch swept in. She placed a document on my bedside table. “When Julian favored you, I allowed your foolishness. But Vivienne is back now. They were meant to be. Everything is finally back on its proper course. It is time for you to leave.” With a trembling hand, I wrote on a notepad: Is this what Julian wants? “Julian’s wishes are no longer relevant.” A thousand protests rose within me—to fight, to scream, to beg. But I touched my throat, the silent, ruined flesh, and signed my name. I wrote one last thing. I have only one condition. I never want to see Julian Devereux again. The matriarch said a car would take me to the airport in the morning. But just as dawn broke, Julian’s men came for me instead. Before the charred ruins of the family chapel, Julian stood with Vivienne shielded behind him. The family elders were gathered, their faces grim. “The ancestral tablets of eighteen generations, the family registry, all of it, gone!” one of them roared. “And you still protect this woman?” Julian’s shoulders relaxed when he saw me. He pulled me before the elders. “Vivienne didn’t do it,” he announced, his voice ringing with false conviction. “Celine burned the chapel.” I wanted to scream, No! But only a strangled gasp escaped my throat. I gestured frantically, trying to explain, but no one looked at me. After a long, tense silence, the eldest patriarch sighed. “Then let the family law be served. Forty-nine lashes. Not one less.” The Devereux “family law” was a brutal tradition. One lash could break a man. I grabbed Julian’s hand, my eyes pleading with him to speak, to stop this. He pulled his hand away, refusing to look at me. “Administer the punishment,” he said softly. As the first whip fell, my mind flashed back to the day I met him. He was fleeing his enemies, bleeding and near death in the ruins of an old church. I found him. He told me he’d give me a million dollars to save him. I told him he was a liar, but I saved him anyway. Later, when he was safe in his magnificent home, he had laughed. “A million dollars is for common people, Celine.” He had offered me the entire Devereux empire. His heart. His whole world. That was to be my reward. At the tenth lash, I thought I heard his voice from the night he proposed. “From this day forward, you are the lady of this house.” “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, they will have to go through my dead body first.” A mouthful of blood escaped my lips, spattering the mended jade ring on his hand. The brilliant green was stained with crimson. A broken gem, even one set in gold, is still just a broken thing. When the forty-ninth lash fell, I was barely breathing, a bloody ruin on the stone floor. In his study, Julian’s heart gave a violent lurch. A terrible, suffocating unease washed over him. He couldn’t name the feeling, but then a frantic shout erupted from outside. “Miss Celine has no heartbeat!” Julian shot to his feet. The world tilted, the room spinning around him. The only words that cut through the chaos were: “No heartbeat!” What did that mean? A hot rush filled his throat, and he doubled over, vomiting blood. The sharp pain cleared his head for a moment. He had to get to her. He threw open the door and came face to face with his grandmother. The matriarch’s smile was glacial. “And where do you think you’re going?” “I have to see Celine…” he mumbled. “See her? Who is she to you?” Her hand cracked across his face. “Remember this! The daughter-in-law of this family, the wife of Lord Devereux, your intended, is Vivienne Pembroke! Not some gutter orphan you picked up off the street!” Julian froze as if struck by lightning. He turned. Behind him, Vivienne stood, her expression unreadable. “Are you going to abandon me for her, too?” she asked quietly. A wave of crushing despair washed over him. He collapsed into a chair, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. It had all been a lie from the start.

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I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize, the air thick with a rising heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. I was drugged. And I wasn’t alone. The red pinpricks of high-definition cameras in the corners confirmed the nightmare: a live feed, streaming right now, straight onto the darkest corners of the internet. The viewers—thousands of them, the digital leeches of the dark web—were buzzing, placing bets on how long we could hold out. I had two choices laid out for me in this agonizing space. I could let the drug burn me alive from the inside out, a fever of chemical torture. Or I could sacrifice every shred of my dignity, and put on a show for the anonymous masses with the man standing a few feet away. 1 “Heh heh, welcome, everyone, to ‘How Long Can They Last?’” “Tonight, we feature the famously aloof artist and the notoriously untouchable CEO!” “We’ve been planning this event for an entire year! Hope you enjoy the show!” The synthetic, electronically processed voice echoed off the concrete walls. With a sharp clack, the enormous screen mounted on the wall flickered to life. Four brutal, industrial spotlights immediately skewered my vision with blinding white light. The searing pain made me hiss in discomfort. “Awake?” The man’s voice was rough, like gravel had been dragged across his vocal cords. I turned my head and my breath hitched, then stopped completely. It was Ethan Rhys. The heir to the Rhys BioPharma empire in Boston, known for his utterly impenetrable aloofness. We’d only met twice before, briefly, at a gallery reception for the new packaging illustrations I’d done for his company’s latest drug—an approval I’d just secured. We hadn’t exchanged more than three complete sentences. “Mr. Rhys, where are we?” “An abandoned warehouse. And we’re being streamed, live.” He spoke, then immediately shuffled backward, retreating into the farthest corner he could manage, his breathing heavy. “Does it feel hot in here to you?” I fanned myself nervously, taking in the scene. He shot me a look of pure, mortifying awkwardness, his lips moving as if to speak, but he said nothing. Odd. But he wasn’t wrong. It was a broadcast. HD-800 models—a dark web favorite, meaning the transmission distance wasn’t great, maybe a couple of miles. A peculiar, unwelcome heat was beginning to rise under my skin. I forced myself to breathe deeply, trying to distract my mind from the intensifying sensation. “Mr. Rhys, how did you get caught up in this?” It was easy enough to target an independent artist like me, with no security. But Ethan Rhys? Surrounded by security and corporate muscle? Taking him down would have required a massive operation. Why us? Why the two of us together? A suppressed groan of agony escaped Ethan’s throat. “Someone set me up…” “Who’s the bankroller? The person behind the curtain?” Anyone who could pull this off against him must have invested a fortune. “I don’t know,” Ethan ground out, each syllable a struggle to escape his gritted teeth. “But I will.” 2 On the massive screen, a dense, frantic scroll of comments flashed. [WTF! Isn’t that Sienna the Illustrator? The one they call the ‘Untouchable’?!] [Heard half of Boston’s A-list has chased her, and she’s shot them all down.] [Yep, notoriously hard to get!] [And the other one is the Hermit CEO, Ethan Rhys? They’re playing for real stakes!] [Holy hell, I’m so stoked!] [Dark web is killing it! They managed to snag these two for a live stream!] [Rumor is, they planned this for a year!] [The Ice Queen meets the Hermit. Perfect pairing!] [Heh heh, I love watching the ‘prim and proper’ finally get ‘down and dirty’…] Those comments felt like dirty, invisible hands, stripping me bare and tossing me onto the street. “Let us out of here! This is illegal!” I instinctively curled my body inward, but my voice still came out in a terrified tremor. The synthetic voice gave an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Help me! I’m so scared!” “Heh heh, friends, guests! The countdown starts now: 30 minutes! Place your bets! Let’s see how long they can resist the urge. And… who gives in first~~~” The comments grew more brazen, more vile. [Oh, spare us the high-and-mighty act. When the drug hits, you’ll be crying for him.] [They’ve been locked up for almost half an hour. Why hasn’t the show started yet?] [Is this a fake?] [I bet twenty minutes! The girl’s dose hasn’t fully kicked in.] [Both of them are total smoke shows. Worth every penny.] [Stop messing around! Get on with it! I’m putting $200k on them not lasting.] The drug? The drug? The one I’d only read about in trashy romance novels? I risked a glance at Ethan Rhys. He was in far worse shape than I was. Cold sweat beaded on his temples. He was propped against the wall with one hand, his knuckles white and protruding. The muscles in his exposed forearm were taut and subtly shaking, like he was wrestling a silent, invisible beast. I finally understood the meaning of his earlier, hesitant look. He couldn’t speak. He was beyond opening his mouth for a casual chat. I ran to the heavy iron door and started beating on it like a maniac. “Is anyone out there? Open up! Open the door!” “Stop, Sienna… that will only make the drug take hold faster.” Ethan’s voice cut through my panic. It was raspy, yet possessed a dangerous, compelling magnetism. His breathing was ragged and hot. In this suffocating, drug-fueled situation, his voice was like a lethal aphrodisiac. A mortifying thought flashed through my mind: If he lunged at me, would I fight him, or… I shivered, realizing I had already started spiraling into the forbidden thought. I kicked the door harder. “It’s been welded shut…” Ethan spoke again. I spun around to face him, my heart hammering in my chest like a runaway train. “Then what are we supposed to do? Wait to be burned to death by this chemical torment? Or couple like animals in front of a thousand people?” The words were out before I could stop them, and I instantly regretted it. The bloody redness in his eyes flared, but he bit down hard, turning his face away. His Adam’s apple convulsed violently, almost tearing through the skin. He was clearly struggling far more than I was. My words sounded like an accusation that he would take advantage of me. “I’m sorry,” I looked down, my voice catching on a sob. “I’m just… terrified.” “Don’t worry,” Ethan said, his fists clenched so tight his skin stretched white. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, soaking the back of his shirt. “I will not touch you.” 3 “Too loud! Hmm, seems like my hospitality was lacking. I didn’t give you enough of the good stuff!” The electronic voice was cold and sinister. The next second, a cloud of rose-tinted gas hissed from the ventilation duct. It smelled sickly sweet, like melted honey and a chemical burn, snaking its way into my nostrils. My fingertips immediately started to tingle with a terrifying, delightful numbness. Ethan spun around violently, his eyes fixed on me, pupils contracted to pinpricks. My heart seized. My body trembled uncontrollably, and I felt a surge of utterly shameful anticipation. “Don’t inhale!” He roared and lunged, moving so fast he was a blur. His hand, burning hot, clamped over my mouth and nose. His touch was scalding. The calluses on his thumb grazed my lips, an act of sheer, terrifying aggression. I instinctively recoiled, but ended up driving my head straight into his chest. His face was inches from mine. His breath, erupting in ragged bursts, was a fiery, medicated inferno. The comments section exploded: [Finally! Mr. Rhys, hold her tight!] [Look at his hand! He’s about to crush her face!] [Get on with it! Stop pretending to be a gentleman!] Ethan’s fingers suddenly tightened, and I let out a sharp, muffled cry of pain. “Sorry.” He seemed to snap out of a trance, abruptly releasing me. He stumbled back a huge step, his body slamming violently against the iron door. BAM! A low, guttural moan of pain ripped from his throat. A shard of sharp, upturned metal on the door sliced a deep gash into his forearm. Blood instantly gushed out, streaming down his arm and dripping onto the pale concrete floor—a shocking, aggressive red. I gasped in horror. “Don’t be afraid!” He retreated to the corner, and I watched, paralyzed, as he dug his own fingers into the fresh wound on his arm. He let out a suppressed roar, a sound of pure, tearing agony. He was using the pain to force himself awake, to force himself away from me. The comments instantly turned crueler: [Oh, look! He’s actually bleeding! Is he trying to look pathetic? Trying to make the girl pity him?] *[Get her to lick the wound! And get it on!] * [He’s about to blow, but he’s still playing the saint. Give it up, Romeo!] 4 My own condition was no better. The earlier struggle, the panic, and now the second dose had sent the drug racing through my bloodstream. It was a waking beast, consuming my will. I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted metal. The coppery scent of my own blood filled my mouth, a feeble attempt to use pain to fight off the shameful, burgeoning desire. Worse, my body had already surrendered. A million invisible ants seemed to crawl beneath my skin, urging me toward that specific source of pure, overwhelming male energy. Ethan’s wound was still bleeding, staining half of his shirt sleeve crimson. I gathered the last of my strength and ripped the lace trim from the hem of my cocktail dress. “Use this to tie it up.” My legs were jelly, my voice trembling and unrecognizable. I stumbled two steps and held it out to him. Ethan’s body instantly froze. He turned, his eyes bloodshot and feral, like a beast on the verge of losing control. His gaze dropped first to the scrap of fabric I offered, then slowly moved up, locking onto my face. The intensity of his stare terrified me. I instinctively tried to pull my hand back, but he suddenly clamped down on my wrist. His fingertips brushed my skin, sending a jolt of electrifying numbness up my arm. My rational mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body was a shameful traitor. All I wanted was to burrow into his arms, to feel his heat. “Please…” I bit my lip, my nails digging into my palm, clinging to the last sliver of control. “Don’t, Ethan.” The comments section went completely insane: [He finally put his hands on her! Pin her against the wall!] [The girl’s melting! What’s with the act?] [I bet they don’t last 10 seconds. Wager: $100k.] [Go! Go! Go! Stop wasting time!] A sob escaped me, and a single, scalding tear rolled down my cheek, splashing onto the back of his hand. He flinched violently, as if my tear had burned him. He abruptly let go, gasping as he staggered two steps back. “I’m sorry!” He averted his eyes, a flicker of panic in his voice. “Thank you, but I don’t need the bandage.” We both knew the score. If we gave in to this physical need, we would be reduced to rutting animals, coupling under the jeers and scorn of countless strangers. The dark web would record our humiliation and sell it. The price of a momentary surrender would be a lifetime of shame and regret. 5 Having been denied the spectacle they craved, the comments hissed like venomous snakes, dripping with malice: [Oh, he actually refused? What a pretentious gentleman!] [Loser! Can’t even get a girl when she’s doped up!] [Look at Mr. Rhys’s back! He must be rock-hard. Why the saintly act?] [Damn it! I’m out hundreds of thousands because they’re dragging their feet!] [The girl should stop faking it! Her face is flushed—she definitely wants it!] [Go jump him! Solve the problem for both of you! We’ll light up the rockets!] Just then, the warehouse loudspeaker boomed to life. The same cold, synthesized voice spoke: “Heh heh, now entering the ‘Close Proximity Challenge’ segment.” “Rule: Do what I say, or we will release more ‘Pink Bubble Air.’” Ethan’s head snapped up. Like an enraged bull, he bellowed into the speaker. “Go ahead! I’d rather die than let you scumbags get what you want!” “And what about Miss Sienna?” The voice was playfully taunting. I was riding the peak of the drug’s effect, fueled by the rush of male hormones. I could barely speak, using every ounce of my diminishing strength to hold myself together. I just shook my head violently. The electronic voice suddenly turned chilling. “It seems you two aren’t getting the hint. Very well. Miss Sienna, they say a man pursuing a woman is like climbing a mountain, but a woman pursuing a man is like pushing aside a veil. How about you take the initiative?” “Don’t rush to refuse. Do you… recognize this?” The image on the screen abruptly switched from our live feed to a close-up shot—a pink hair tie with a tiny, silver rabbit charm dangling from it. My heart sank like a stone. It was my sister Layla’s hair tie. I’d given it to her for her birthday last year, and she wore it every day. The electronic voice carried an awful, malicious chuckle: “If you don’t want anything to happen to her, you’ll kiss him. And don’t tell me you don’t want to kiss him right now.” The comments section went ballistic: [Aha! Time for the big guns!] [Kiss! Kiss! Quick!] [Whose life is more important, your sister’s or your virginity?] [Hurry! I’m betting on the position already!] [I’m betting $500k on the missionary position.] 6 Staring at that familiar hair tie, the blood ran cold in my veins. Layla was the most important person in the world to me, second only to my father. I felt like I was going insane. The last flicker of my sanity was being extinguished. “Who? Who paid you to do this?” Ethan ground out, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. The synthetic voice remained cheerfully indifferent: “That’s none of your concern, Mr. Rhys! We take people’s money; we deal with people’s problems.” “I’m starting the countdown now. If you don’t complete the task in ten seconds, I will kill the little girl! Heh heh…” I shuddered, my mind clearing slightly. “Stop! That hair tie might look like the one I made, but there are similar ones! How do I know Layla is actually with you?” The electronic voice let out a sinister laugh. The screen flashed, cutting to a new image: a familiar figure tied to a chair, gagged with cloth. Seeing the camera, she shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. “Layla!” I screamed, trying to rush forward, but Ethan pulled me back instantly. “Ten… Nine…” The screen instantly returned to the live feed, and the synthetic voice started counting. “Ethan!” I pleaded, my voice choked with sobs and completely shattered. “Please…” I had broken. Under the dual torment of the drug and the threat, I abandoned my last shred of struggle. Ethan looked up at me sharply, his eyes wide with shock, and a trace of barely concealed heartbreak. The comments section was in a frenzy: [She’s finally come around!] [Mr. Rhys, stop standing there! Kiss her!] [Kiss her, then go straight for it! No holding back!] [Go! Go! Go!] “Eight…” But Ethan didn’t move. He turned his head away, biting down hard, trembling slightly. We both knew what that one kiss would lead to.

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My wife, the CEO, had fallen for a grease monkey. To fit in with his crew, she traded her chauffeured Maybach for the back of a motorcycle. Her collection of haute couture gowns was locked away, replaced by nine-dollar graphic tees with slogans like ‘GET RICH OR DIE TRYING.’ The exclusive membership at the Sterling Club was swapped for a monthly tab at a dive bar on the wrong side of town. I tried to reason with her. “Have your fun, Audrey, but don’t let it get out of hand,” I’d said, my voice low and steady over the phone. “If you embarrass the family name, it reflects poorly on all of us.” She called me stale. Predictable. “Donovan, have you ever done one thing in your entire life just for yourself?” Her voice was laced with a kind of pitying scorn. “When I’m with Jax and his friends, it’s the only time I feel free.” Then she blocked me. I stared at the undelivered message, at the stark finality of it. A flicker of anger, hot and unfamiliar, coiled in my gut. Freedom? Was this what she called freedom? Trading a billion-dollar empire for cheap beer and asphalt? I typed out one last message from my assistant’s phone, my patience worn to a thread. “I don’t care what kind of freedom you think you’re chasing. But if you dishonor our families at the foundation gala in three days, we’re done. This marriage is over.” 1 The message was marked as ‘Read.’ No reply came. Looking at the blank screen, the whole situation felt absurd. Audrey Croft was the perennial good girl, the dutiful daughter whose life had been a blueprint drawn by her parents. She’d married me the summer after graduating from Wharton, a union of holding companies, a merger of legacies sealed with a ring. For five years, we had been the picture of a modern power couple. The Crofts and the Shaws were more than satisfied. A stable marriage meant a stable alliance. On the back of our union, Audrey had been unofficially crowned the heir apparent to the Croft empire. But then, a month ago, some grifter had thrown himself in front of her car in a clear insurance scam. Jax, the yellow-haired biker, happened to be there and played the hero, scaring the guy off. And just like that, it was as if Audrey had been put under a spell. A part of me was hurt, I’ll admit. But I could tolerate it. In the face of family legacy and market share, affection was merely a seasoning, not the main course. I never imagined she would forget who she was. She started following Jax into his world of dingy bars and back-alley brawls. Smoking, fighting, even getting caught up in a petty shakedown of some college kids. I cleaned up her messes, quietly and efficiently, urging her to come home. She responded with a quote that the tabloids ran with for a week: she would rather feel the wind on the back of Jax’s bike than be suffocated in the leather of a Maybach. In the span of thirty days, Audrey Croft, the formidable CEO, had become a running joke. And I, by extension, was the punchline. My phone buzzed, dragging me from my thoughts. It was my executive assistant, her voice tight with panic. “Mr. Shaw, you need to see the news. How do we want to respond?” I opened the browser. The headline sent a shock of ice through my veins. #CEOInLove: Society Heiress Gets Inked for Her Bad Boy# #LoveThatCrossesTheTracks# In the accompanying photo, Audrey was lying face down in a tattoo parlor, a triumphant smirk on her face. And there, emblazoned on the small of her back, were two words in a thick, blocky font that screamed cheap rebellion: JAX’S GIRL. Jax. That was his name. Almost simultaneously, a call came through from the chairman of our board. My father. “Donovan,” he began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “I’ve managed to kill the story on the major wires for now, but the gossip sites are having a field day. How you handle this next is up to you.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was heavy. “The Shaw family values its dignity above all else.” The line went dead. I gripped the phone, a hot flush creeping up my neck. I immediately buzzed my assistant. “Find Audrey Croft,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Use any means necessary. Bring her home.” Less than an hour later, Audrey was tossed into our living room, a burlap sack pulled unceremoniously from her head. She was spitting fire. “Do you have any idea who I am?” she yelled, then her eyes focused on me and the fight seemed to drain out of her, replaced by sheer contempt. “Seriously? You had me kidnapped? What happened to respecting a woman’s autonomy, Donovan?” She fished a crumpled cigarette from her pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick of a cheap lighter. She took a long, deliberate drag, then blew the smoke directly into my face. “So,” she said, her voice dripping with insolence. “What was so important?” I looked at her—the studded crop top revealing a sliver of her stomach, the ripped jeans, the smudged eyeliner. This was my wife? I didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of me. For five years, we’d been partners. Courteous. Professional. There was a distance between us, yes, but I had always treated her with respect, with a quiet concern I thought she appreciated. We were two well-cast actors, playing our parts in a long-running production. But somewhere along the way, I had started to believe in my role. My affection held a kernel of truth. It’s why I’d defended her, why I’d cleaned up her messes without a word to her family. But the stranger before me now made me question everything. Seeing my silence, Audrey rolled her eyes. “Look, if that’s all, I’ve got places to be. I’m busy.” She turned to leave, the clunky soles of her platform boots thudding against the marble floor. “My father called me,” I said finally. The words stopped her cold. She turned back slowly, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “What… what did he say?” I pressed my lips into a thin line, a small measure of relief washing over me. So, she still cared. She still understood what was at stake. The lecture I had prepared died on my tongue, replaced by a softer, more familiar tone. A warning. “You need to make this scandal disappear, Audrey. If you don’t, I can’t protect you anymore.” I expected compliance. Instead, she exploded. “Because I got a tattoo?” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “I have spent my entire life doing exactly what I’m told! Am I not allowed to have one thing for myself? It’s my body! Why don’t I get to have a say over my own body?” Her accusations hammered at me, and the dam of my composure finally broke. A week of swallowed anger and humiliation surged forth. “Of course, it’s your body!” I roared, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. “But you are Audrey Croft-Shaw! And you chose to tattoo another man’s name on it! Have you forgotten? I am your husband!” She flinched as if struck. It was the first time I had ever raised my voice to her. The color drained from her face, leaving it pale and shocked. After a long, tense silence, she took a shaky breath. A hint of her old self returned, laced with a newfound guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just assumed… in a family like ours, feelings weren’t part of the equation.” She looked at me then, truly looked at me. “I’ll fix it. I’ll come home. I’m sorry I worried you.” Two days later, she kept her word. When I walked through the door, she was sitting on the sofa in the grand parlor. Her dark hair fell in a silken sheet over her shoulders, and she wore a tasteful cashmere set that spoke of quiet luxury. She stood as I entered, her expression placid, her voice a cool, even monotone. “Donovan. The tattoo has been removed.” She gestured to a small, fresh bandage at the small of her back, visible just above her waistband. “I will be going to the board personally to offer my apologies,” she continued. Then she retrieved a thick file from her briefcase. “I know my behavior has been… irrational. As an apology, I’m signing over 20% of my new AI venture to you.” I took the file, my eyebrows raising slightly as I scanned the first page. The company was at the forefront of generative AI, a market darling poised for an explosive IPO. The valuation was easily in the ten-billion-dollar range. It was a weighty apology, a gesture of sincere contrition. I handed the documents to my assistant, who had been waiting silently by the door, and nodded for him to handle the transfer. As I turned back, Audrey reached out, her fingers closing around the cuff of my shirt. “Are you still angry?” she asked, her voice so soft it was like a breath against my chest. “I promise, it will never happen again.” My heart gave a painful throb. I swallowed the bitter taste of the past few weeks. A crack in a vase can be glued, but the line always remains. In my mind, the perfect image of Audrey Croft was now irrevocably flawed. I closed my eyes, steeling myself. Gently, I pulled my sleeve from her grasp. “Don’t forget the foundation gala tonight,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “The car will be here at seven.” She stood frozen, her eyes welling with a guilty red. I sighed, a long, weary breath, and handed her a gift box I’d had brought in. “A new gown,” I said. “Don’t overthink it. It’s in the past.” It was a truce. A signal that our alliance, our marriage, was still intact. She nodded, taking the box, her expression unreadable. At seven o’clock sharp, she descended the stairs. She was a vision. The gown I’d chosen, a deep emerald silk, clung to her frame, setting off her porcelain skin and cool, composed features. She turned heads the moment we arrived. With the seamless grace I’d always admired, she navigated the crowd, greeting investors and board members, her smile perfectly measured, her charm deployed with practiced efficiency. She found me by the bar and slid her arm through mine, a familiar, proprietary gesture. “Darling, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she murmured, loud enough for those around us to hear. A few of our acquaintances chuckled. “Look at them. Still newlyweds after all these years.” By silent, mutual agreement, no one mentioned the recent unpleasantness. As long as she was Mrs. Donovan Shaw, she commanded respect. The gala was proceeding flawlessly. Audrey was playing her part to perfection, a testament to her breeding. Later in the evening, after the speeches and the auction, the orchestra began to play. Audrey’s parents found me by the terrace. “Donovan,” her father began, his expression somber. “We apologize for Audrey’s recent… foolishness. It must have been difficult for you.” He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “But rest assured, she is a Croft. She knows how to weigh her options and choose what is most advantageous.” I smiled and nodded, offering the requisite polite assurances. But his words left a bitter aftertaste. I was the advantageous choice. The logical one. But he was right. In our world, love was never the bottom line. As long as the merger was profitable, the marriage would endure. I could learn to retract the small, worthless piece of my heart I had foolishly invested. Toward the end of the night, my father made his appearance. I was about to lead Audrey over to pay our respects when I turned and found she was gone. I frowned, catching my assistant’s eye. “Where is she?” He looked uneasy. “Mrs. Shaw took a call a few minutes ago, sir. She said it was an emergency and left in a hurry.” My jaw tightened. What emergency? Every major firm in the city knew this gala was happening tonight; no one would dare interrupt. And if it were a Croft family matter, her parents were right here. It could only be one person. Jax. My father’s gaze was already on me. I smoothed my expression into one of easy confidence and walked toward him. “Father. Audrey was called away for an urgent matter. She sends her deepest apologies. Allow me to toast you on her behalf.” He looked at me, his eyes sharp and knowing, but he accepted the glass. He took a sip, his gaze unwavering. “Donovan, family interests are paramount, I know. But you are my only son. Your own well-being matters more.” I was stunned. I never expected that from him, a man forged in the cold calculus of corporate warfare. For a moment, a genuine warmth spread through my chest. But I shook my head. “I appreciate that, Father. But I have it under control.” He gave me another long, meaningful look. “You always were the one with the heart, son. Be careful with it.” When I returned home after the gala, the house was dark and empty. Audrey wasn’t back. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed one. I pulled out my phone, about to call my security team to track her down, when a text from an unknown number came through. It was a video. I opened it. The scene was a filthy, cluttered apartment. Greasy takeout containers, cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, and playing cards were scattered across the floor. Audrey, who I knew to be a fastidious neat-freak, who would often have the maids re-clean a room she found unsatisfactory, was sitting cross-legged on a stained carpet. She wore a faded, cheap-looking t-shirt and her hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail. She was playing cards with a group of thugs with brightly dyed hair. “Haha, you lose again! Off with an item, Audrey-baby!” a voice jeered. It was Jax, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The other men hooted in agreement, their eyes crawling over her with a slimy, possessive hunger. My stomach clenched. Audrey? Taking her clothes off? The woman who, for all five years of our marriage, insisted on turning the lights off during intimacy, maintaining a rigid, almost puritanical modesty. I told myself she wouldn’t. But my hand had started to tremble. On the screen, Audrey just shot Jax a playful glare. But she was smiling. She reached up and pulled her shirt over her head. Her bare shoulders and collarbones were exposed to their greedy stares. She didn’t seem to care. “A bet’s a bet,” she said, her voice giddy. The game continued. She didn’t win a single hand. Her tank top, then her shorts, were tossed onto a pile on the floor. Finally, she was completely naked. Under the dim, grimy light, she looked like a priceless porcelain doll put on display in a junkyard. The stares grew more brazen. Someone shoved a beer into her hand. “You lost the game, now you gotta chug the pain!” I watched her take the bottle, a wave of self-loathing washing over me. Audrey had navigated treacherous boardrooms and hostile takeovers for years. Her perception was razor-sharp. She had to see the blatant malice in their eyes. She was doing this on purpose. Or worse, she simply didn’t care. After a few more beers, her eyes were glazed over. She suddenly threw her arms around Jax’s neck, draping herself over him. “Jax…” she slurred, her voice breathy. “Being with you… it’s the only time I feel alive…” Ah. So that’s what this was. A drunken confession. The room erupted in wolf-whistles. Jax grinned, puffed out his chest, and waved the other men away. “Alright, alright, show’s over! Everybody out!” The door clicked shut, leaving the two of them alone. Their faces smashed together in a desperate, clumsy kiss. CRACK. My phone hit the far wall, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of glass. I stood there, breathing heavily, the silence of the room pressing in on me. After a moment, I walked over and picked it up. Through the fractured screen, a new text message from the same number popped up. It was from Jax. “Heard you’re a big shot CEO too. You rich folks really get off on some weird shit, huh? Gotta say tho, your wife’s body is tight. Like a teenager’s.” The roiling nausea and white-hot rage in my chest instantly cooled, solidifying into something dense, cold, and absolute. The heir to the Shaw Corporation. Being mocked by some two-bit parasite. And it was all because of her. I walked to my desk and picked up the landline, dialing my assistant’s private number. “Liquidate and freeze every asset, every share, every joint account connected to Audrey Croft-Shaw. And put the PR team on standby. Level-one crisis protocol.” A pause on the other end. “Sir? Effective when?” “Effective now.” Three days later, in the early morning, I heard the faint click of the front door. Audrey was back. She carried with her the stale, lingering scent of cheap beer and smoke. She looked exhausted, but her eyes held a feverish, manic energy. She froze when she saw me sitting on the sofa in the living room. After a beat, she affected a casual air, slipping off her boots. “Sorry about that,” she said, her voice flat. “A last-minute project came up. Had to fly out for a few days.” I said nothing, taking a slow sip of my tea. Her own assistant, who had followed her in, was pale as a ghost. She leaned in and whispered frantically, “Ms. Croft, you need to look at the top news stories. Right now.” Audrey frowned, pulling out her phone with an annoyed sigh. A few seconds later, the color drained from her face. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the device. The number one trending topic, in bold, lurid letters: #HighSocietyScandal: Billionaire Heiress’s Wild Hotel Party# #VIDEO: Business Titan Audrey Croft’s Sex Tape Leaked# Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. “You?!” she screamed, her voice shaking with rage. “Donovan Shaw, did you do this?! Did you stoop this low?” The video was pixelated, with blurs over the most explicit parts, but her face was perfectly clear. Whoever released it wanted to destroy her reputation, not just titillate the public. It was a character assassination. And it dragged both the Shaw and Croft names through the mud with it. I leaned back against the sofa, a smirk playing on my lips. “I did. What of it?” “You—!” Audrey was trembling, speechless. She had clearly never imagined I would be capable of such a thing—of choosing scorched earth over ‘the greater good.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath, reining in her fury. “Fine! Fine, Donovan, you win! You’re ruthless. Now, get this taken down. Bury it. Erase every copy from the source. You do that, and I’ll agree to one demand. Anything you want.” She paused, her eyes glinting with what she thought was her trump card. “I’ll break it off with Jax for good. I’ll spend the rest of my life playing the part of your perfect wife.” A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. She really thought this was all some grand, manipulative gesture to force her back into line. She thought my ultimate goal was simply to maintain our respectable, hollow marriage. She had no idea. I was done wanting her. I stood up and retrieved a document from the desk drawer. “Alright,” I said, sliding it across the polished mahogany table toward her. Her eyes lit up with a flash of triumph. But then I finished my sentence. “I’ll have it all taken down the moment you sign the divorce papers.”

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One week ago, the real daughter of the Sterling family showed up at our doorstep. That was when I found out I was a fraud. A placeholder. But my biological parents were long dead, so the Sterlings decided to keep me on as a charity case. The newly returned heiress, Harper, seemed to have a bone to pick with me. Not only did she reclaim the attention of Mom, Dad, and my older brother, but she also set her sights on the fiancé who was supposed to be mine. I didn’t really care. I just wanted to survive and keep a roof over my head. But when I tried to return my fiancé to her, the usually gentle Liam showed a dark expression I’d never seen before. He gripped my waist tight, looking down at me with a suffocating intensity. “Chloe, I’ve known since we were kids. You can only be mine.” Just then, Harper pushed the door open. She blinked, flashing a smile that showed off her cute canines. “Liam, didn’t you promise Mrs. Vance you’d have dinner with me?” Weirdly, I suddenly heard a roar echoing from her soul. — “Get away from the female lead, you psycho protagonist! She belongs to the second male lead, you absolute trash bag!” 1. I’ve become weird. Normal people can’t read minds, but apparently, I can. Specifically, I can only read Harper’s mind. Harper is my sister in name, but she’s the true Sterling bloodline, and I’m the fake. The day she was brought back, Mom, Dad, and my brother Ethan held her and cried their eyes out. I stood off to the side, clearly an outsider looking in. From that day on, I knew my place. No more acting spoiled. No more willful demands. I just needed to be a quiet piece of furniture in this house. The whole world started revolving around Harper. Harper hated me, the imposter, which I understood. I had lived a life of luxury in her place for nineteen years while she suffered out there. I accepted my fate. I was pretty chill about it. Mom, Dad, and Ethan were hers. My childhood fiancé, Liam Vance, should also be hers. Harper had been visiting the Vance estate a lot lately. She’d come back and flex in front of me about how nice Mrs. Vance was to her, how polite and gentle Liam was, and how lively the house was with her around. My brother, usually close to me, looked like he wanted to say something but held back. Finally, Mom came to me. “Chloe, Harper has really taken a liking to Liam. She’s knitting scarves, baking pastries… If Harper hadn’t gone missing, she would have been the one engaged to him…” Before she could finish, I cut in. “Mom, as long as my sister is happy, I’m happy.” Mom breathed a sigh of relief, then seemed to feel a delayed pang of guilt. “Good child. Mom will keep an eye out for a great guy for you in the future. We won’t mistreat you.” I nodded obediently. But everyone knew how awkward my position in the Sterling family was now. Any ‘great guy’ would probably avoid me like the plague. Whatever. I never planned on relying on a man anyway. 2. Liam must have heard the rumors. He walked into my room casually, just like he did when we were kids. We grew up together; he used to love lounging in my room while I played house, forcing him to eat ‘fried rice’ I made out of Play-Doh. But this was the first time since we grew up that he barged in without knocking. “Liam…” I barely got his name out before he yanked me up from the sofa by my wrist. His grip was rough. I realized standing in front of him that I only reached his chest. Through his thin white dress shirt, I could see the definition of his muscles rising and falling. There was a dangerous, wild edge to him. He was mischievous as a kid, but grew up to be gentle and calm. I’d never seen this side of him. My wrist throbbed. I wanted to curse him out like I used to, but then I remembered—this guy was about to become my brother-in-law. Let it go. But when I stayed silent, he escalated. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tight against him. Even though we were engaged early on, we had never been this intimate. “Liam, are you crazy?” I couldn’t help but snap, trying to struggle free. “Shh,” his voice was low and raspy, right in my ear. “Be good. Let me hold you for a second.” I struggled harder, but against his absolute strength, it was useless. He held me for a long time, then suddenly looked down at me. His eyes were dark, like they wanted to swallow me whole. “Chloe, I’ve known since we were kids. You can only be mine.” His predatory gaze made my skin crawl. The childhood friend I knew had turned into a wolf that had been lying in wait. 3. When Harper walked in, Liam didn’t let go. I was standing in the middle of a total nightmare scenario, scalp tingling with awkwardness. But Harper, clearly a girl of deep schemes, didn’t even flinch at the scene. She just smiled. “Liam, didn’t you promise Mrs. Vance you’d have dinner with me?” At that exact moment, her lips didn’t move, but I heard a roar full of primal rage. It hit the room like a thunderclap. — “Get away from the female lead, you psycho protagonist! She belongs to the second male lead!” Liam’s expression didn’t change. I thought I was hallucinating. But then came another line. — “Toxic male, get your ass downstairs and eat. Don’t bother the heroine.” — “Or I swear to God I’ll send you to prison myself!” Me: ? I looked at Harper, who was smiling innocently, and felt my worldview shattering. She had no idea I could hear her screaming internally. — “Big sis is here. I won’t let you hurt the heroine.” — “Got it?” 4. From then on, I kept hearing these bizarre rants coming from Harper’s mind. Like the day she came back from dinner with Liam and started bragging to me as usual. “Liam is so sweet. He heard I hate de-boning fish, so he picked all the bones out for me. He said there’s this amazing seafood place he wants to take me to next time. I’m totally going to love seafood~” In reality, her mind was spewing profanity. — “Eat sht!”* — “Liam, that son of a btch. Who was he showing that long face to during dinner? It’s not like I kidnapped him!”* — “He wants the heroine but also wants the Sterling family’s political backing to secure his place in the Vance empire.” — “Trash. Absolute societal garbage.” — “Useless except for his face.” — “I sincerely hope he has a micropenis.” — “Three-second wonder.” Me: … Me: “Pfft.” Harper instantly looked at me, her fake bragging expression cracking. Her inner voice fired up again. — “? What’s she laughing at?” — “Sigh, her mental state. She must be driven crazy by me.” — “Hope she’s okay.” — “But short-term pain is better than long-term suffering. Stay away from this cheating psycho and you’ll be happy for eight hundred lifetimes.” Harper walked past me up the stairs, then suddenly turned back and gave me a provocative smirk. “Sister,” she said. “Liam… I’m going to win him, you know.” She strutted away like a peacock fanning its tail. Accompanied by her excited inner thoughts. — “Yessss!” — “I’m amazing.” — “I should go get an Oscar.” 5. My brother Ethan came back from a business trip in Chile. He brought gifts. Harper and I each got a crystal bracelet. She got an extra pair of pearl earrings. I got an extra jar of artisan chocolates—I’d specifically asked Ethan to bring them. He knew I didn’t care much for jewelry but loved sweets. Harper eyed my chocolate. She wanted the whole jar. Ethan couldn’t handle her whining and soft-soaping. He turned to me. “Chloe, Harper has never had these before. Her old family couldn’t afford them… How about you give the chocolate to her this time? I’ll buy you more later.” I never realized before how good my family was at making empty promises. The moment I handed the chocolate to Harper, a hurricane raged in her mind. — “Wow. Just wow.” — “If he’s so good at selling dreams, why doesn’t he go into marketing? Spineless coward.” — “Useless trash man. His brain fell out somewhere over the Pacific.” — “Heroine, please give up on this loser already.” — “If this guy gets a wife later, he’s just going to let her bully you too.” — “Now he asks you to ‘tolerate’ giving up chocolate. Later, if his wife slaps you, he’ll tell you to ‘tolerate’ that too.” — “Heroine! Wake up!” — “There aren’t that many things in this world worth tolerating!” I looked up at her, stunned. There aren’t that many things in this world worth tolerating. I don’t know why, but that sentence hit a nerve. Snap. Two tears rolled down my face.

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Four months pregnant. My husband, an OB/GYN, was with me to get the results of my latest scan. The smile on his face froze the moment he saw the report. Then, he was dragging me by the arm, insisting I have an abortion. I stood there, stunned. The doctor had just told me the baby was perfectly healthy. I wrenched my hand free. “Why? What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer, but his fingers were already flying across his phone, scheduling the procedure. When he saw me backing away, his grip on my arm became a vise. “This baby cannot be born, Anna.” I clutched my stomach and called my parents—both of them OB/GYNs, like him. My father, the man who had always cherished me, raised his fist as if to strike my belly. My mother’s face was a mask of terror, her head shaking frantically. “No, this is wrong. All wrong.” Then, a chilling whisper from my father. “We need some guys. To be with Anna.” I didn’t understand why they wanted to destroy my child, my life. I tried to run. They locked me in a dark room. When I saw the blood pooling beneath me, I knew my baby was gone. My mother came for me later, a bright, brittle smile on her face. I screamed at her, demanding to know why, why they had done this to me. She didn’t answer. Instead, she had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I died there, tormented and alone. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back. It was the morning we were supposed to get the test results. 1 “Annie, you ready?” My husband, Mark, smiled at me from the doorway, his eyes shining. “Our first baby. I can’t wait to finally meet them.” “Come on, honey, let’s beat the morning rush at the clinic.” Hearing his voice jolted me back to the present. I felt the gentle, firm curve of my four-month belly, the warmth of the life inside, and I knew it was real. I was back. I had been reborn on the exact day my life had shattered. In my first life, Mark had been the perfect expectant father. He’d treated me like I was made of glass from the moment we saw the positive test. Every day, he’d buy something new for the nursery—a tiny pair of socks, a beautifully illustrated book. He’d already compiled a list of over a hundred names. Even though I was getting my prenatal care at the very hospital where he worked, he insisted on taking the day off to come with me to every single appointment. His excitement for this child was boundless, a radiant sun we both orbited. Then came the four-month check-up. We went to the appointment, holding hands, full of happy anticipation. Dr. Evans, my obstetrician, confirmed that the fetus was healthy, with all genetic markers, including for Down syndrome, coming back clear. Mark, being a doctor himself, asked to see the report. He was still smiling when he took it. And then the smile didn’t just fade; it shattered. A raw, animal fear flashed in his eyes. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me out of the office, his other hand already on his phone. I realized with a sickening lurch that he was booking an appointment with the surgical unit. I dug my heels in, yanking my arm back. “Mark, Dr. Evans just said the baby is fine! Why are we doing this?” He ignored me, his focus locked on the screen. I tried to snatch the phone from his hand, but he spun away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were bloodshot when he turned back to me, and his voice was a raw snarl I had never heard before. “Anna, listen to me,” he growled. “This baby cannot be born!” The sheer violence in his tone terrified me. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my knees went weak. While he was finalizing the arrangements at the front desk, I scrambled for my phone and sent a desperate text to my parents. They were both respected doctors; surely, they would talk some sense into him. They arrived in minutes. Seeing them didn’t faze Mark. If anything, a strange, chilling smirk touched his lips. I shrank into my mother’s arms, seeking the familiar comfort of her embrace. My father, however, bypassed me completely and slammed his fist into Mark’s jaw. “What the hell are you doing?” he roared. “The baby is healthy. Why would you schedule an abortion?” Mark didn’t even rub his cheek. He simply straightened up and handed the lab report to my father. The rage on my father’s face dissolved into the same stark terror I’d seen in Mark’s. His eyes widened, his hands trembling as he clutched the single sheet of paper. Then, he turned, his gaze fixing on my stomach, and he lunged, his fist raised. My mother threw herself in front of me just in time. The blow landed on her shoulder with a sickening thud. “Are you insane?” she screamed at him. “That is your daughter! Your grandchild!” My father just laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He passed the report to my mother. The woman who had just protected me, the woman whose arms were my lifelong safe harbor, recoiled as if the paper had burned her. Her face went ashen. She pushed me away from her, stumbling back, shaking her head over and over. “No,” she whispered. “No, this can’t be.” A cold dread was coiling in my gut. “Mom? What is it? What’s wrong with the baby?” She didn’t seem to hear me, lost in her own private horror. “This is not going to work,” she muttered, grabbing my father’s arm. “Doing it here, at the hospital… it’s too public. I have another idea.” Her eyes, when they finally met his, were cold and hard. “We need some guys. To be with Anna.” My entire body went numb. I stood frozen, watching the three most important people in my world transform into monsters, all because of a piece of paper. What could it possibly say? And why wouldn’t any of them tell me? As my parents started to move toward me, instinct took over. I turned and ran. But my father was faster. He caught me by the arm, his grip unforgiving. I sobbed, begging them to let me go, begging them to just tell me the truth. They forced me into their car, stuffing a glove in my mouth to silence my screams. They locked me in a dark, foul-smelling room with five naked men. I was too terrified to even scream. I pounded on the door until my fists were bruised and bloody, but the world outside was silent. The men dragged me to the floor. Every time I fought back, they hit me. My child dissolved into a pool of blood that dried on the filthy concrete. A week later, my parents and Mark came to get me. “Anna, sweetie, we’re going home,” my mother said, her voice bright and cheerful. I stared at her, at the casual way she pretended nothing had happened, and something inside me snapped. A raw, guttural laugh escaped my throat. “Why?” I shrieked, the sound tearing at my vocal cords. “Why would you do this to me?!” The mask of maternal concern dropped, revealing a face of ice. My father slapped me, hard. “You ungrateful bitch.” I was still reeling from the blow when my mother’s gaze, sharp and venomous, pinned me in place. “Anna is confused,” she said, her voice clinical and detached. “We should take her to a psychiatric hospital.” From that day on, Mark made sure my life in the institution was a living hell. He sent people to torment me, to ensure I never had a moment of peace. The man who had once loved me more than life itself now wanted nothing more than my death. Three months later, he got his wish. I died without ever knowing why. What was on that report that made them all want to kill me? The terror of my past life flooded back, a cold tide in my chest. I rested a hand on my still-warm belly and took a deep, shaky breath. This time would be different. This time, I would find out the truth. At the hospital, I made sure I was the one who took the report from Dr. Evans. As she gave me the good news, my eyes were already scanning the page, my fingers closing around it. I thought that as long as Mark never saw it, I would be safe. But as we were leaving the exam room, he held out his hand, just like before. “Can I see the report, honey?” My heart stuttered, but I forced a playful smile. “What for? It’s just a bunch of numbers.” He chuckled, a sound that now seemed laced with menace. “I’m the father, and I’m an OB/GYN. Isn’t it normal for me to want to see it?” “Dr. Evans just told you we’re both perfectly healthy. You don’t trust your own mentor?” “Of course I do. I just want to be informed so I can take the best possible care of you.” I deliberately tucked the paper into my purse. “Well, today you don’t get to. Call it a pregnancy whim.” He played along, his tone indulgent. “Alright, alright. As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” I smiled and linked my arm through his. “I’m just going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back, and then we can go home.” I clutched my bag and walked toward the bathroom. I had glanced at the report, but in my haste, nothing had jumped out at me. I needed to lock myself in a stall and study it, line by line, to find the monster hiding in the details. But the moment I stepped into the deserted restroom, a cold wave of panic washed over me. I fumbled inside my purse. The report was gone. I rushed back out into the hallway and saw him. Mark was standing twenty feet away, his face deathly pale. In his hand was the report that was supposed to be in my bag. He saw me and started walking toward me, his steps quick and purposeful. My survival instinct screamed at me to run, but he caught my arm before I could take more than a single step. His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze locked on mine with a terrifying intensity. “Anna,” he hissed, his voice low and urgent, “this baby cannot be born. We’re going to schedule the procedure right now.” In my last life, I never understood how the man I loved could change so completely in an instant. The raw hatred in his eyes was something I had never seen before. My body trembled, but this time was different. This time, I knew what to do. “HELP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “SOMEBODY HELP ME! HE’S TRYING TO MAKE ME LOSE MY BABY!” The busy hospital hallway fell silent for a beat, then erupted into motion. In seconds, we were surrounded. Mark froze, clearly stunned by my outburst. I immediately dropped to my knees before him, my voice breaking with manufactured sobs. “Mark, please! The doctor just said the baby is healthy! Why are you trying to make me have an abortion?” He gritted his teeth, his voice a furious whisper. “You bitch. Shut your mouth.” He tried to haul me to my feet, but a burly man stepped out of the crowd and shoved him back. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” “My God, the baby’s fine and he wants to abort it? What kind of monster is he?” a woman gasped. “He didn’t want the responsibility, he should’ve thought of that before he got her pregnant,” another man chimed in. “Forcing a pregnant woman to have an abortion is illegal! Someone call security! Call the police!” Mark’s breath was ragged, his face contorted with a rage he couldn’t unleash. He glared down at me, trapped by the circle of strangers. Then, a slow, cold smile spread across his face. He pulled out his phone and made a call. To my parents. By the time they arrived, a small crowd was still gathered around Mark and me. My mother rushed to my side, her face etched with worry, pulling me into a protective hug. The moment she touched me, I flinched. Sympathetic onlookers quickly explained what had happened. My father’s face purpled with rage. He strode toward Mark, his hand raised to strike. But before the blow could land, Mark held up the lab report like a shield. “Dad, don’t look!” I screamed, trying to scramble forward to snatch it away. It was too late. My father took the paper and his eyes scanned the page. The change was instantaneous. The fury in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by a familiar, chilling horror. “Dad?” I whispered. When he looked at me, his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with loathing. The hand that had been meant for Mark swung without hesitation and cracked across my face. “You animal!” he spat. “Mark wants you to get an abortion for your own good!” The world felt like it was crumbling around me again. I pressed a hand to my stinging cheek, my voice trembling but defiant. “But Dr. Evans said the baby is healthy!” “I’m an OB/GYN too! Are you calling me a liar?” He drew back his fist, aiming for my stomach this time. My mother leaped forward, pushing me behind her. “Have you lost your mind? She’s pregnant!” she yelled at my father. But instead of backing down, my father let out that same, ugly laugh. “You feel sorry for her? This… thing… doesn’t deserve to be our daughter!” Gasps rippled through the crowd. People started murmuring, pointing at my father, disgusted that a man could speak about his own child that way. My mother, though, was no longer looking at him. Her focus was on the report in his hand. She knew my father, knew his gentle nature. She knew something on that paper must have broken him. “Let me see it,” she demanded. I grabbed her arm, my eyes pleading. “Mom, please. Dr. Evans said the baby is fine. You don’t need to look, do you? You can go ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.” I knew that the moment she saw it, I would lose her, too. She pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your father and Mark are just a pair of incompetent doctors. They’ve misread something. Remember, I was the head of the department. I know what I’m looking at.” “No, Mom, please don’t,” I sobbed, clinging to her. “Please, I’m begging you.” But the more I resisted, the more determined she became. Seeing there was no stopping her, I fell to my knees again. “Mom,” I cried, my voice raw with desperation. “If you look at that report, you’ll stop loving me. Just like they did.” “That will never happen, Anna,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring. “I’ve seen every kind of report imaginable in my career. And even if this baby wasn’t Mark’s, I would still stand by you and protect you. You are the person I love most in this world.” Her gaze was so warm, so full of love, that for a foolish second, I believed her. I let her go. She took the report. The warmth in her eyes vanished as if it had never been there, replaced by a flicker of pure, cold malice that made me shrink back. Her face drained of all color. A bitter, twisted smile touched her lips. She wasn’t explosive like my father or Mark. Her control was what made her terrifying. “It’s alright, Anna,” she said, her voice a monotone. “The baby is fine. Get up now. We’re going home.” She said the words, but the hand she extended toward me was trembling violently. She was fighting to contain an earthquake of emotion. “No,” I whispered, scrambling backward, into the legs of the crowd. “I don’t want to go home.” My mother’s brow furrowed, her expression turning venomous. “Anna, what are you doing? You’re pregnant. You can’t be out here. What if something happens to you?” I saw them closing in—the three people I once called family. I grabbed the sleeves of two strangers, kneeling on the hospital floor. “Please,” I begged them, “please help me. I can’t go with them. They’ll kill my baby.” The onlookers hesitated. I was a pregnant woman, but I was also clearly hysterical. And these were my parents, my husband. It was a family dispute. Thankfully, one woman spoke up. “She’s pregnant and clearly distressed. You shouldn’t be forcing her. What if you hurt the baby?” My father’s face was a mask of fury. “We are the doctors! Do you think we don’t know what we’re doing?” he roared at her. The good Samaritan faltered. In that moment of hesitation, Mark lunged, grabbing me from the crowd and dragging me across the polished floor without a shred of care. The crowd watched, hesitant to physically intervene with family. But just as they were about to pull me through the automatic doors, a firm hand clamped down on Mark’s shoulder. “Let her go. Now.” A uniformed police officer stood behind him, his voice radiating authority. Mark instantly released me. My mother was already spinning a story. “Officer, thank you for coming. This is our daughter. She’s been having some… mental health issues. We’re just trying to take her home.” The officer looked at me, his expression skeptical. I shook my head, my voice finding its strength. “That’s not true,” I said, pointing at them. “They want to kill my baby. My perfectly healthy baby.” The three of them froze, but I could see the smug certainty on their faces. They believed they held all the cards. “If you don’t believe me,” I continued, my voice growing stronger, “check the hospital’s security footage. You’ll see them. You’ll see everything.” The officer dispatched his partner to retrieve the surveillance tapes. After they reviewed the footage, a female officer moved to my side, placing a protective hand on my shoulder. She faced my family, her voice stern. “Why are you trying to force this woman to terminate a healthy pregnancy?” My parents just scoffed. Mark stared at me with cold indifference. “Coercing a pregnant woman into an abortion is a felony,” the officer reminded them. Mark didn’t flinch. I turned to the police officer, my voice steady. “Let me see the report.” Their faces changed the moment they saw it. The truth had to be there. At the officer’s command, Mark reluctantly handed over the single sheet of paper. I took it from him. And as I read the words printed in neat, clinical black ink, I finally understood. I finally knew why this child had to die.

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Everyone in New York City knew I was the gold digger who’d clawed her way into a marriage with Grayson Ford for his money. Grayson, however, only had eyes for the ghost of a girl his mother had once paid fifty thousand dollars to break up with him. The one that got away. So, the moment Ava Cole set foot in Ford Industries, the vultures in our circle started a betting pool, taking odds on how long it would be before Grayson kicked me to the curb. Some said three months. Others said six. I had every intention of fighting to save both my marriage and my money. But that resolve crumbled the moment I saw Grayson—a man who was usually a glacier in a bespoke suit—turn a rare, warm gaze on his new secretary. I can lose the man. I can’t lose the money. That evening, I walked straight into the city’s most exclusive speakeasy and laid down five million dollars. “I’ll take the one-month bet,” I said. 1 Who on earth doesn’t love money? I was intensely curious about this sainted ex-girlfriend of his. The day after I heard she’d been hired, I stormed into Ford Industries, dressed for battle and ready to see for myself. Grayson was in his office with a client. When he saw me walk in, his expression didn’t flicker. I was used to it. My husband had a face carved from ice. What could I do? He was handsome and rich. My only option was to spoil him. I’d just settled onto the plush leather sofa when his new secretary, whose back was to me, spilled a cup of coffee. It splashed, with almost theatrical precision, all over the new shirt I’d picked out for him that morning. The secretary’s face was a mask of calm. She expertly retrieved another shirt—one I’d never seen before—from the private adjoining room, her chin held just a little too high. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ford. You’ll have to change.” Despite the interruption in front of a client, Grayson didn’t reprimand her. He simply took the shirt and went to change. When he came out, adjusting his collar, he glanced at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. “How does it look?” he asked her, his voice casual. “It looks good on you.” Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, a silent understanding passing between them, followed by the ghost of a shared smile. Oh. I could smell the stench of betrayal from across the room. Before I could demand he shut the door for a private conversation, Grayson was already ushering the client out and toward the conference room. I stood up, my four-inch heels clicking furiously on the marble floor, but I couldn’t keep up with their brisk pace. The secretary, cool and detached, stopped me at the door. “Ms. Langley, there’s an important meeting today. Unlike you, some of us have things to do. We don’t have time to entertain you.” Her voice was low, but sharp. “For those of us who believe in earning our place in the world, our time is best spent on things that actually matter to this company.” A mocking smile touched her lips. “Besides,” she added, “you’re dependent on this company to survive, aren’t you?” I stared at her, this legendary woman who supposedly couldn’t be bought, this icon of integrity and strength. I let out a soft, deliberate “tsk.” Ms. Langley? Earning our place? What a perfect performance. The noble working girl who scoffs at the very capital that keeps the lights on. So this was his type. No wonder a bombshell like me didn’t even register on his radar. … When I agreed to the merger of our families, I already knew about the one that got away. Ava’s family wasn’t wealthy, and she was fiercely proud. She couldn’t stand the constant condescension from Grayson’s mother and had ended things, walking away without a second glance. Grayson had been hung up on her for years. On our wedding night, he slept in the guest room, clutching a cheap, hand-knitted scarf she’d once made for him. I scoffed, rolled over, and buried my face in my five-figure, custom-made silk comforter. It smelled divine. I slept until dusk the next day, then met my friends to continue the bachelorette party we’d started two days prior. It wasn’t until the fourth day of my marriage that I found out Grayson had fled the country for a “business trip,” a trip that lasted three months. The story of his blatant rejection spread like wildfire. Everyone in New York’s elite circles knew that the beautiful daughter the Langley family had pushed on the Fords couldn’t even keep her husband in their bed on their wedding night. The humiliation was… immense. Gritting my teeth, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I eyed his broad shoulders, his lean waist, the outline of his abs through his shirt. One evening, I found my chance and slipped something into his tea. We spent the night tangled together, a blur of skin and heat. The next morning, he woke up in a fury. “Aurora! Have you no shame? This is… this is coercion! You can’t just—” I crossed my legs, lounging against the headboard, and gave him a lazy, dismissive glance. “Please, Grayson. It’s called fulfilling your spousal duties. Besides, don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.” He was a mess of shame and indignation. “I’m warning you, Aurora. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will pull all funding from Langley Enterprises.” That got my attention. I immediately backed down, hopping out of bed. “Fine! Don’t sleep with me! It wasn’t that great anyway!” I, Aurora Langley, fear nothing. Except being broke. To seal this marriage, my father had reluctantly signed over thirty percent of his company’s shares to me. Threatening the family business was the one way to get to me. With Langley Enterprises still on shaky ground, I was living on Grayson’s dime. Pissing him off was not a good strategy. So, I decided to lay low and play the long game. And so, two years of our marriage passed. The numbers in my bank account grew exponentially with each passing day. Life without love but with plenty of money was a kind of blissful, hollow existence. It was certainly better than the years I’d spent after my parents, high on their first taste of success, had dumped me in a small town in the middle of nowhere to be raised by my grandmother. It was better than begging door-to-door in a storm to scrape together a few hundred dollars for her medication. I was done with the anxiety of wondering how we’d pay for things. I was done watching my grandmother’s trembling hands pull wrinkled dollar bills, one by one, from her old wooden box. From a very young age, I decided my life could be devoid of a soulmate, devoid of family, but it could never, ever be devoid of money. … Honestly, I truly did want to make things work with Grayson. That is, until his sainted ex showed up at our front door that night. Ava Cole held out the ruined shirt, her chin still tilted in that same posture of defiant pride. “Mr. Ford, just tell me how much it costs. I’ll pay you back in full.” Grayson, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a loose robe, paused at the sight of her standing in our doorway. His voice softened. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a shirt.” “Five thousand dollars. Cash or transfer?” I stepped out from behind him, plucking the shirt from her hand. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I watched the color drain from hers. “Can’t afford it? That’s alright,” I purred. “I can just deduct it from your salary. Installments are fine.” … 2 “You went too far, Aurora! Do you need that five thousand dollars? Didn’t you see she was about to cry?” The second the door closed, Grayson’s anger was palpable, rivaling the morning after I’d drugged him. I sat down gracefully, taking a moment to admire my fresh manicure. “No, I don’t need the money. But why should I have to pay for her mistake?” “Her family is struggling, Aurora! That’s several months’ salary for her. She has a sick grandmother to support. How is she supposed to live?” “Is her financial situation my fault?” I countered, my voice dangerously calm. “If you know you can’t afford to make mistakes in life, you learn to be careful with everything you touch. Whether it’s a man… or a job.” Grayson was speechless for a moment. “You’re unbelievable,” he finally spat out, before storming upstairs to his study. The door slammed with a resounding crack. I just lowered my gaze to the wrinkled, unrecognizable shirt in my hands. He seemed to have forgotten. Two years ago, he’d developed a severe skin allergy. Even the finest custom-tailored fabrics irritated him. I had gone to a master tailor in Charleston, a man known for his work with a rare, limited-edition heritage silk. I’d bought the entire bolt. And then, with my own two hands, I had stitched that shirt for him, thread by thread. My carefully manicured fingers were pricked and raw by the end, but when I saw that rare flicker of genuine pleasure in his eyes, I felt the ridiculous, hands-on effort had been worth it. For a little while after that, our marriage had a hint of sweetness to it. But that was before Ava Cole’s return. Before I realized that Grayson—the man who treated me with such icy indifference, whose smiles felt like charity—could be so gentle with someone else. I never knew his eyes could hold that kind of warmth so effortlessly. I could faintly hear the low murmur of his voice through the closed study door, comforting her. It was quiet, but it grated on my nerves. A bitter laugh escaped me. I crushed the shirt in my fist and threw it into the trash can with a satisfying thud. A gift that isn’t cherished is meaningless, no matter the effort. Money, on the other hand, is loyal only to the person holding it. The next day, I called my friends and went on a marathon shopping spree. When I returned home, arms laden with bags from every designer on Fifth Avenue, I was stunned to find Ava Cole in my house. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, her hair in a low bun. Modest. Understated. An apron was tied around her waist. She was walking out of my kitchen, carrying a steaming tureen of what smelled like a hearty beef stew. 3 I stared at Grayson, who was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in some documents. I tried to rack my brain, wondering if I’d suffered some sort of memory loss. “What did I miss? When did we start the part of the show where you move into my house?” Ava’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She lifted her chin, her voice trembling with indignation. “Ms. Langley, does having money give you the right to bully people like this? You’re attacking my character and my dignity!” Grayson didn’t even look up from his papers. “You pushed her to the point where she was about to start delivering food to pay you back. That’s dangerous. You were never happy with the last housekeeper anyway. I told Ava she could work here instead.” “You have my word, Ms. Langley,” Ava said, regaining her composure and that infuriatingly righteous expression. “I will pay back the five thousand dollars as soon as possible. I won’t be in your debt for long.” “Hah.” I glanced at the stew on the dining table. “Did you bother to do any research before you started playing house? I’m allergic to mushrooms.” Ava flinched, but her face quickly settled back into a neutral mask. “Mr. Ford enjoys this recipe. If you don’t like it, Ms. Langley, you can have something else. I also made a salad.” “Tsk,” I clicked my tongue, applauding softly. “So, you’re paying off your debt to me with money you earn by waiting on my husband?” Ava’s face flushed. “You…” “That’s enough!” Grayson stood up, his face dark. “I asked her to come here. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Stop making things difficult for her.” “Grayson! She just appears out of nowhere at your company, and now she’s in our home! She is not here with good intentions!” I was losing my composure. A cold smirk crossed Grayson’s face. “Do you really think every woman is like you, Aurora? Don’t forget why you married me in the first place. This family, this company… I’m in charge of it all. And that includes your family’s little business.” The air crackled with silence. After a long moment, I burst out laughing. “Fine. You’re the boss.” I shrugged. “You two enjoy your dinner. I’m going out for martinis.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out, ignoring the stunned look on Grayson’s face. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ava. She was standing perfectly still, a look of pure, triumphant scorn directed right at me. … I drove aimlessly for a while before pulling over. I couldn’t explain the feeling. Seeing Grayson defend her left an ache in my chest, a hollow space that made it hard to breathe. I pulled out my phone. The screen was blank except for a single notification from my doctor’s office with my recent test results. Bored, I opened the file and started scrolling. When I got to the gynecology report, my eyes widened. Wait. Abnormal hCG levels? What did that mean? Was I… pregnant? My mind went into a tailspin. Last month, overcome by a rare wave of desire for him, I’d put on a silk slip and tried, with a little flourish, to seduce him. And now… this. As if on cue, a dull ache started in my lower abdomen, a phantom pain that felt like something was actually taking root. This baby… It was coming at the worst possible time. And the best possible time. A wave of melancholy washed over me. Because I had, in quiet moments, actually imagined… having a child with Grayson. 4 I had seen him once before, long before we were married. I was twelve, a year before my parents, who had finally struck it rich, remembered they had a daughter and brought me to New York. He had come with a team from his family’s foundation to donate supplies to the schools in our small town. He was only eighteen, but he moved with a quiet confidence. He was so handsome it made my heart ache. I saw him, and I never forgot him. So later, when my parents decided to trade me and Langley Enterprises’ most profitable division for an alliance with the Fords, I agreed. But he had always been cold to me. And our marriage was a business deal, tainted by ambition and money. There was never a moment for heartfelt confessions. There was never a chance to tell him I’d fallen for him when I was twelve. It was a shame, really. But then I thought, she’s the one who walked away from him. Why should I be the one to step aside now that she’s decided to waltz back into his life? If anyone should leave, it’s the expired ghost of his past. With that thought, I spun the car around and drove back, my foot heavy on the accelerator. The moment I opened the front door, I saw her. Ava was standing in the foyer, the house spotless behind her, as if she’d been waiting for me. She saw the storm on my face and a knowing look crossed hers. “Grayson already left for a meeting with a client.” She paused, her voice laced with condescension. “You really have a low opinion of me, don’t you, Ms. Langley? Did you think I would try to seduce him the moment you were gone? I’m not like you. I don’t do everything for money. If I did, you never would have had the chance to become Mrs. Ford.” She smiled, a cruel, cutting thing. “But a woman like you, who needs Grayson to survive… you must be terrified of losing him.” Her eyes flickered with amusement. “By the way, do you and Grayson sleep in separate rooms? I noticed while I was tidying up the master bedroom. Your side of the bed looks… untouched.” I ignored her, striding past her into the immaculate living room. My eyes landed on the coffee table. Sitting there, as if placed on display, was a single, gold-rimmed coffee cup. Used. A cold laugh escaped my lips. I swept the cup, the apron she’d worn, and a hairpin she’d “accidentally” left on the table into the nearest trash can. “Sorry, Ava. You’re fired. I don’t welcome people who help themselves to the owner’s private belongings. Nor do I welcome people who are obsessed with whether or not my husband is sleeping in the master bedroom.” I turned back to her. “Oh, and that coffee cup was part of a set worth twenty thousand dollars. I’ll expect you to reimburse me for the one you used. If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to file a police report.” Ava’s calm facade finally cracked. Her face was flushed with fury. “On what grounds? This is Grayson’s house! You can’t just throw me out!” I grabbed her arm and physically pushed her toward the door. “I can,” I said, my voice like ice. “Because I am Mrs. Ford.” 5 Night fell, and a cold rain began to pour. Ava remained outside the gates, a stubborn, pathetic statue in the downpour. I made myself a coffee and sat on the second-floor terrace, watching her, until Grayson’s car screeched into the driveway. He saw her there—the proud girl who had never bowed to anyone, now a tear-streaked mess locked out of his house—and his face contorted with rage. He looked up at me, his eyes burning with a hatred that chilled me to the bone. Without a second’s hesitation, he shrugged off his suit jacket, draped it over her trembling shoulders, and gently helped her into his car. And then I remembered. In two years of marriage, Grayson had never once let me ride in his car. I drove myself everywhere. Once, I’d been stranded on a back road outside the city during a torrential storm. The roads were flooding. Terrified, I’d called him, sobbing, but he’d hung up before I could even finish my sentence. So, this was the difference between love and the lack of it. … My phone rang, shattering the quiet. It was my mother, a woman I rarely heard from. She didn’t bother with a greeting. “The finance department at Langley just called. Grayson pulled the funding! The news just broke and our stock is already tanking. What in God’s name did you do to him?” I was silent for a moment. In the past, when I’d annoyed him, he’d threatened this. But he’d never actually done it. This time, he’d acted swiftly, without warning. I had clearly crossed a line. “Oh…” I said slowly, my voice devoid of any real concern. “I’ll figure something out.” She let out a theatrical sigh on the other end of the line. “Aurora, please, take this seriously. Your brother is about to take over the company. We can’t afford any problems. And don’t forget, you get a healthy dividend from Langley every month. Keeping him happy is keeping your own wallet happy, isn’t it?” She paused. “And whatever little tramp he has on the side, surely you can handle her. A woman with your looks?”

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I snuck into the city where my online boyfriend lives to surprise him. But instead of a romantic reunion, I overheard him talking trash with his boys: “What’s the use of a sexy voice if she won’t even send a pic? She’s definitely a troll.” “If the campus queen hadn’t rejected me, I wouldn’t waste my time sexting someone like that.” “It’s bad enough she’s probably ugly, but she’s thirsty as hell. Kept demanding to ‘verify the goods’ before we meet.” His friend laughed, “So you showed her?” My boyfriend smirked. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Xavier’s.” “Holy sh*t,” his friend gasped. “Your roommate? You said he was packing at least 8 inches. For real?” “Of course it’s real. Why would I lie?” “Xavier’s a real one. Saw I didn’t want to send nudes, so he offered to be my stunt double.” The group erupted in laughter. I laughed too. I’ve heard of hand doubles and leg doubles, but a “d*ck double”? That’s a first. I need this man’s file on my desk in three minutes. 1 I’m a “good girl.” Polite, modest, well-read, and respectful. Optimistic, cheerful, hardworking. Bullsh*t. That’s just the persona I maintain in front of the elders. The real me… Rebellious, spicy, wild at heart, petty, and definitely not to be messed with. And I have cravings. In every sense of the word. After high school graduation, I spent my days scrolling through hot guys on TikTok. Lean swimmers, golden retrievers, cold and aloof scholar types—liked and saved them all. Scrolling and scrolling, my heart started racing, and I got restless. So, I got myself an online boyfriend. Julian. One year older than me, currently in college. 6’0″ barefoot, broad shoulders, a tapered waist, abs you could grate cheese on. Most importantly, he’s allegedly packing 8 inches. I can’t believe I stumbled upon such a prime specimen. Life is good. Surprisingly, Julian turned out to be an upperclassman at the university I was about to attend. It felt like destiny. But Julian knew nothing about this. I kept it a secret because I wanted to surprise him when the semester started. To keep the mystery alive, I never sent him a face pic. Julian got annoyed about it, saying I wasn’t being sincere. He sounded so dejected on the phone. His hometown was just a city over from mine, less than thirty minutes by train. After thinking it over, I decided to just go find him. 2 To give me “security,” Julian reported everything to me. He even texted me where he was eating with his friends. Saved me the trouble of fishing for info. I followed the GPS and easily found the BBQ joint where they were hanging out. Among dozens of tables at the roadside stall, I spotted Julian instantly. He was even better looking in person than in his photos. It was midsummer, the wind was hot, and as it hit my face, my cheeks felt even hotter. I steadied my breathing and was about to walk up. Suddenly, Julian slammed his beer glass on the table, a mocking look in his eyes: “What’s the use of a sexy voice if she won’t even send a pic? She’s definitely a troll!” I stopped in my tracks. The blush on my face receded like a tide. Julian continued, “Just playing around. If the campus queen hadn’t rejected me and I wasn’t bored out of my mind, I wouldn’t even give her the time of day.” “It’s bad enough she’s probably ugly, but she’s thirsty as hell. Kept demanding I send nudes.” I pursed my lips, fists clenching involuntarily. Wait a minute. He was the one who bragged about his size and asked if I wanted to see. Why wouldn’t I look? Free show. Now he’s acting like I forced him? Amidst the jeering, someone asked, “So you showed her?” Julian smirked, looking proud. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Xavier’s.” “Holy sh*t,” his friend gasped. “Your roommate? You said he was packing at least 8 inches. For real?” Julian took a drag of his cigarette. “Of course it’s real. Why would I lie?” “Xavier’s a real one. Saw I didn’t want to send nudes, so he offered to be my stunt double.” The table went silent for a second, then burst into laughter. “Bro, I’m dead. So this relationship is superficially two people, but actually two people plus a…” More laughter. Julian frowned. “What relationship? It’s just sexting. She’s basically my dog. Once summer break is over, I’m kicking this ugly troll to the curb immediately.” Hearing Julian say these things again, I surprisingly didn’t feel much. Because right now, my mind was filled with that impactful photo. What was his name again? Oh, right. Xavier… 3 Sitting on the train back home, I started scrolling through Julian’s Instagram. But the guy was too narcissistic; he posted nothing but himself. I sighed. Looks like if I want to see what Xavier looks like, I’ll have to wait for school to start. I felt a pang of regret for a second, then opened TikTok to scroll through hot guys again. Just as I was about to arrive, I swiped onto a campus interview video. The topic was “Who is your campus heartthrob?” I wasn’t interested and was about to swipe away. But suddenly, I heard the name “Xavier.” The arrival announcement chimed. I turned up the volume on my earbuds as I walked out. I listened several times. I definitely didn’t mishear. And the university name matched. I thought back to that photo… Campus heartthrob Xavier. Pretty wild in private, huh? 4 As the semester approached, Julian grew colder. He took days to reply to messages. I gritted my teeth. If he wasn’t still useful to me, I would’ve blocked him ages ago. That night, looking at the one-sided chat log, I sent Julian a sticker, refusing to give up. This time, Julian replied quickly: “Hey, I don’t think we’re suitable. We can be friends, but let’s forget about dating.” I was lying on my bed with a face mask on, legs crossed. Seeing this message, my eyes lit up. I’ve been waiting for this day! I typed with a smirk: “Why? Did I do something wrong? Finger guns sticker” Julian replied: “No, don’t overthink it. It’s my problem.” I rolled my eyes silently. Classic f*ckboy line. Zero creativity. Inner monologue over, time to unleash my acting skills. Crying sticker “You don’t need to comfort me. I know I’m not good enough for you. You deserve a better girl. I wish you happiness.” Julian paused, his heart inexplicably twitching. A while later, he replied: “You’re great. Be confident, babe. It’s me who let you down.” “If you have any requests, just ask. I’ll fulfill them.” I got excited, ripped off my face mask, sat up straight, and voice-called Julian directly. When he picked up, I sniffled first, adding a hint of a sob to my voice. “Will you really agree to any request?” Julian gave a solemn “Mmhmm.” “Actually, I kind of know you’re not confident about your looks. Don’t worry, I don’t care. If you want to meet me, I can right now…” “Then introduce me to a new boyfriend.” I really didn’t have the patience to listen to his rambling anymore, so I interrupted. Julian froze. Three seconds later, he reacted: “Huh?” 5 I sighed. “Julian, actually, from the moment I saw your photo, I knew it was impossible for us.” “You’re so handsome. How could you like an ordinary girl like me? Being friends with you is already enough for me.” Julian, who was originally annoyed, instantly deflated. His vanity was satisfied, and he felt guilty at the same time. So he said, “Chloe, don’t belittle yourself. You’re great. I… I’ll introduce my roommate to you right now.” “He’s also very handsome. Many beautiful girls at our school chase him, but he rejected them all.” “This shows he doesn’t care about looks. You guys chat, maybe you’ll hit it off.” I stayed silent for a moment, then sighed softly. “Okay, I’ll try.” Then I asked casually, “By the way, what’s his name?” “Xavier. His name is Xavier.” Success! My eyes curved into crescents. I suppressed my excitement and steadied my breathing. “Okay, I’ll add him on WeChat first. Send me his contact.” “Julian, thank you.” Julian laughed. “Don’t mention it. Don’t forget, we’re friends now.”

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Preston Rhodes ran out on our wedding five years ago. He didn’t just get cold feet; he vanished. Now, he was back, standing in my office with a diamond ring in one hand and the audacity of a thousand men in the other, asking me to marry him. “Audrey, let’s make this official.” He gestured vaguely to the air, as if swatting away a minor inconvenience. “Bella gave me a son. My grandfather had to accept her into the fold because of the bloodline. The three of us… we can make this work.” He held the ring up, twirling it between his fingers with a bored elegance. “Bella doesn’t have your pedigree, obviously. I didn’t have a choice.” I looked up from the quarterly financial reports spread across my mahogany desk, staring at him as if he were a rare, fascinatingly stupid insect. Did this man miss the last century of social progress? Did he think he was living in a feudal fantasy because he forgot his medication this morning? He caught my stare and offered a smirk that was equal parts condescension and charm. “Why are you playing dress-up in this CEO role, Audrey? You should take a page out of Bella’s book. Give me a son. That’s the only legacy that matters.” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Listening to him pontificate about male heirs and domestic submission was like inhaling toxic fumes. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Legacy is just a bedtime story insecure men tell themselves to feel important, Preston.” I closed the folder with a snap. “Tomorrow, I’m initiating the hostile takeover of Rhodes Enterprises. If you’re going to work delivery to make ends meet, try not to be late. My time is money.” 1 Preston had always been arrogant. He hated nothing more than being ignored. He snatched the report from my hands, his voice dropping to a growl. “You will never be half the woman Bella is, simply because you don’t know how to be soft. What kind of woman treats her future husband like furniture?” When he saw my smile vanish, replaced by a glacial stare, he softened his tone, pivoting to manipulation. “Look, I know you’re hurt. But men of my status… we have needs. We have options. It’s the way the world works.” He sighed, feigning the burden of nobility. “I know you’re still hung up on me leaving the wedding. But Bella was showing. I couldn’t hide it. I had to be there for the birth. You can’t hold a grudge against a mother and child.” When Preston fled five years ago, I threw myself into the wreckage of my family’s company. I didn’t have time for romance or heartbreak. Hearing these archaic justifications now, unearthed like dinosaur bones, I felt absolutely nothing. “You have thick skin, Preston. You think this is the 1950s? You think I’m going to sign up for a sister-wife arrangement?” Preston kicked his feet up onto my desk, crossing his ankles in his signature playboy sprawl. “Audrey, five years and you’re still so naive. In our circle, every powerful man has a side arrangement. The Sinclair family needs to save face, right? We’ll get the marriage license after I introduce Bella to Grandfather. You’ll be the official Mrs. Rhodes. That title belongs to you.” He leaned back, examining his fingernails. “Besides, holding it all together while I was gone… it must have been exhausting. I’ve always said, running a conglomerate isn’t women’s work. Pack it up, Audrey. Go home. Cook me dinner.” He leaned in, trying to turn on the charm, attempting to brush my cheek. I recoiled as if he were radioactive. Feeling my revulsion, Preston’s mask slipped. “Audrey Sinclair. Stop acting like a pristine saint. Take the damn ring. Do you really think you’re some untouched virgin goddess anymore?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “It sounds like you know exactly what happened to me, Preston.” For a split second, he looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Five years ago. The engagement party. Preston vanished. That same night, a catastrophic explosion ripped through the Sinclair main distribution center. Inventory destroyed. Lives lost. Crushed by the humiliation of being left at the altar and the devastation of my family’s business, I spent my nights drowning in bourbon. And then, one rainy night, in a haze of alcohol and grief, I was assaulted by a stranger. After it was over, the man—satisfied and cruel—whispered the truth. It was Preston. To force his family to accept Bella, he needed to devalue me. He paid for the sabotage at the factory. He paid the man to assault me. The goal was simple: drag the Sinclair name through the mud so we couldn’t sue for breach of contract, and drag me down to the gutter so I was no “better” than his mistress. I remembered lying by the window that night, staring at the rain, debating whether to jump. But I didn’t. Instead, I buried the girl I was. I took over the failing company. I fought in the trenches of Wall Street. Not for love. Not for happiness. But so my parents, with their graying hair and bowed heads, could look the world in the eye again. “Audrey, stop fighting it,” Preston said, his voice low. “I’m back. I’ll take care of the money. What else could you possibly want?” He reached out, grabbing my chin, trying to force a kiss. I didn’t think. I reacted. The slap echoed through the office like a gunshot. I slammed my hand on the security button. “If you see this man again,” I told the security team as they dragged him out, “throw him into the street.” Preston didn’t scream. He just smirked. “You’re fiery, Audrey. I’m the only one who can handle that. The ring is yours. I’ll wait for you to come to your senses.” Being thrown out didn’t stop him. For days, my office turned into a florist shop. Jewelry arrived by the crate. Lunch was delivered from his restaurants, a different menu every day. The notes were always the same condescending scrawl: Come back when you’re done playing boss. I didn’t even blink. I told my assistant to trash it all and block his number. We were in the final stages of acquiring Rhodes Enterprises. Negotiations and board meetings consumed my life. Preston Rhodes was a fossil, a relic of a life I had discarded. He meant less to me than the dust on my laptop screen. Just when I thought he’d given up, a text came through from a new number. Fine. You want to end the engagement? Come to the Rhodes Estate. It’s the only way you’re getting the contract back. The engagement contract? I almost laughed. It was a worthless piece of paper. But I was curious. I wanted to see the final act of his circus. The next evening, I walked into the Rhodes family manor. Preston was there, sitting on the velvet sofa. Next to him was the woman—Bella. She looked small, fragile, clutching a baby to her chest like a shield. Preston’s eyes raked over my tailored suit and short skirt. A smug smile tugged at his lips. “Audrey. You made it.” He stood, moving to wrap an arm around me. I sidestepped him effortlessly. He leaned in, whispering, “That skirt… remarkably short. Trying to get a reaction out of me?” I gave him a look that would wilt flowers. He cleared his throat, pivoting to the room at large. “Audrey, I brought you here to settle things. Bella is gentle. She’s sweet. You’re… ambitious. Capable. You two will be like sisters. One big, happy family.” Sisters? Happy family? The absurdity washed over me. He was still hallucinating. He actually believed that after the betrayal, the sabotage, the rape, I would settle for being the matriarch of his twisted harem. “Preston,” I said, cutting off his delusion. “Is your brain still buffering? We aren’t family. Give me the contract so I can leave. The air in here is stale.” Preston’s face darkened. The charming façade crumbled. Before he could speak, Bella tugged on his sleeve. Her voice was a breathy whimper. “Preston, don’t fight for me… She just… she can’t accept her place…” It was a masterclass in manipulation, pouring gasoline on Preston’s fragile ego. He slammed his hand on the table. “Audrey! Don’t be ungrateful! Bella has ten times the grace you do. You walked through that door, so you follow my rules.” He pointed a shaking finger at the floor. “Bella, sit.” Then he turned to me, his eyes manic. “You. Kneel. Pour Bella tea. Apologize for your attitude. Or you don’t leave this house.” Kneel? Serve tea to the mistress? I looked at Preston’s twisted face, then at Bella’s triumphant smirk hidden behind false tears. I didn’t feel anger. I felt a profound, icy contempt. I stood my ground and smiled. “Preston. You really think you have the leverage here?” “You want me to kneel? There isn’t a single brick in this house that the Sinclair Group doesn’t effectively own right now. I haven’t foreclosed yet out of pity.” “And as for the tea…” My eyes slid to Bella. “She doesn’t have the pedigree to accept a cup of water from me, let alone tea. It might shorten her life expectancy.” “You bitch!” Preston roared. Veins bulged in his neck. He raised his hand, stepping forward. I didn’t flinch. I took a step toward him. “Go ahead. Strike me. Let’s see what makes the front page of the Journal tomorrow: Rhodes Stock crash, or the last shred of your reputation obliterated?” Preston floundered, scanning the room for a weapon, desperate to assert dominance. “Fine. Fine! You need to learn a lesson. The old ways are best. You need a stick to learn respect!” “Respect?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Your version of respect is bankrupting your family to fund your affairs?” “Silence!” he screamed. “You’re drunk! Look at you, loose, drinking with men at business dinners… you need discipline!” “Drunk?” I had one glass of wine at a gala before coming here. Bella shrank into the sofa. “Preston… maybe she had too much… it’s hard for a woman alone with all those businessmen…” She framed me as a slut with surgical precision. Preston was panting now, consumed by sexual jealousy and inadequacy. “Who were you with? Which man? I’m not dead yet, Audrey! You’re cheating on me?” It was pathetic. “Preston,” I said, my voice calm and sharp as a scalpel. “Instead of worrying about who I drink with, maybe worry about your liquidity? Worry about the three subsidiaries bleeding cash? Worry about the bank calling your father?” He looked blank. He knew nothing. He was a prince of nothing, signing papers he didn’t read. “You… you’re lying!” “Ask your grandfather. You’re a parasite, Preston. sucking the life out of your ancestors’ legacy while you play house with your little bird.” “Shut up! Shut up!” Humiliated in front of Bella, stripped of his delusions, Preston snapped. His eyes locked onto an antique ebony walking stick mounted by the fireplace—a heavy, brutal thing used for ‘family discipline’ in the darker chapters of the Rhodes history. He ripped it off the wall. “You disobey your husband! You act like a whore! I will execute the family law myself!” Bella gasped, covering her mouth, but her eyes were glittering with excitement. I watched him advance, swinging the cane like a madman. The fear was gone. Only rage remained. “Preston, if that stick touches me, the Rhodes family ceases to exist by sunrise.” He hesitated, the cane hovering. Then, the madness took over completely. “Family law? You’re insane,” I spat. “You drove me to this!” he shrieked. “Guards! Hold her!” Two burly house staff entered. They hesitated, looking at me—a CEO, a public figure—but Preston’s unhinged screaming terrified them. “She’s my fiancée! It’s a domestic matter! Hold her down or you’re fired!” “Don’t you dare,” I warned. But the men, fearing for their jobs, grabbed my arms. They forced me to my knees on the cold marble. My blazer tore. Buttons popped from my silk blouse, exposing my shoulder and bra strap. “Look at you,” Preston sneered, looming over me. “Disheveled. Reeking of alcohol. Just like those women in the clubs.” “You dress like a slut, you get treated like one.” Bella chimed in, soft and poisonous. “Preston… she lived abroad… maybe she’s used to being… loose…” “Loose? It’s depraved!” Preston raised the heavy ebony cane. “I’m going to beat the defiance out of you. I’ll teach you what a husband is!” He swung. The wood cracked against my back. The pain was blinding. It stole the air from my lungs. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Crack. A second blow. Crack. A third. The pain was a fire spreading through my nerves. The staff looked away, ashamed, but nobody moved. The sound of wood hitting flesh echoed in the silent mansion. My sweat turned cold. Blood began to soak through the silk of my blouse. I lay pinned to the floor, my body seizing with every strike. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I didn’t cry. I lifted my head, shaking, and locked eyes with him. My gaze was a weapon. “Have you had enough? Will you submit?” Preston was panting, sweat dripping down his face, pointing the cane at my nose. “Agree to the marriage. Be a good wife. And I’ll stop.” I spit a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the pristine floor. My voice was a raspy whisper, but it carried. “Preston… go to hell.” His eyes went wide with fury. He raised the cane high for a finishing blow— The heavy oak doors of the parlor groaned open. A voice, old and trembling with horror, shattered the moment. “Ms. Sinclair?! What… what in God’s name is happening here?!”

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My arms-dealer father brought home a pair of twin bodyguards from an underground fighting ring. My sister, Vivian, chose the brother who fawned over her. That left me with the other one, the silent one with expressive mutism. I knew that rejected bodyguards were thrown back into the fighting pits to fend for themselves, so my soft heart got the better of me, and I took him in. He couldn’t speak, so I found doctors and therapists for him. He was an outcast, bullied by the others for his quiet nature, so I trained twice as hard, beating down anyone who dared to lay a hand on him. I spent my nights learning sign language and psychology, desperate for a way to connect with him. I thought my devotion would earn his undying loyalty. Until the night of the botched arms deal, when he watched as both Vivian and I were trapped by the flames. He didn’t hesitate. He ran to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice clear. “I can’t let anything happen to Vivi.” His mutism had been cured long ago. As the explosion consumed me, he looked at me, and his lips formed the words: “I owe you this life. I’ll repay you in the next.” I opened my eyes and was back on the day we chose our bodyguards. … A stinging pain in my palm snapped me back to reality. The crescent-shaped wounds my nails had dug into my skin were a grim reminder that this was not a dream. My sister glanced at me, then wrapped her arm around our father’s, her voice a sweet poison. “Daddy, it looks like sister is still thinking. Why don’t you let me choose first?” Under our father’s doting gaze, she preened like a peacock, her eyes flitting between the two brothers, Zane and Kael. “I think I’ll choose Kael,” she announced, though her eyes had been fixed on Zane the whole time. “Sister is such a loner. She needs a bodyguard who knows how to read people.” I watched her performance, my mind replaying the scene from my past life. She’d said the exact same thing then, pretending to be considerate by offering me the more outgoing brother, Zane. She knew I would fall for it. She knew my heart was too soft. Back then, her act had worked. I’d not only let her have Zane but had taken the silent, brooding Kael under my wing. It wasn’t until the fire, when she cried for the brothers to save me first but held her hand out to Kael, that I finally understood. Zane, her sworn protector, was right beside her. The exit was closer to her. But she had always been certain I would yield, that my compassion was a weakness to be exploited. She got what she wanted and a reputation for being selfless. But this time, I met her confident gaze. “I’ll do as you say, sister.” The smile on Vivian’s face froze. She wasn’t the only one in shock. Kael’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” our father interjected. “Vivian, you’re fragile. You need the stronger protection. Kael has a speech impediment. He’s not suitable.” I understood. Father had already decided. This whole charade of letting us choose was just for show. “Daddy, let’s let sister choose first…” Vivian began, putting on her sweet, obedient daughter mask again. But Kael cut her off. “Sir, my speech impediment has been cured.” In my past life, Kael hadn’t spoken a word until the moment I died. But now? His eyes were no longer vacant. They were filled with a sharp, hidden pain as they met my scrutinizing gaze. So, he was reborn too. Watching his desperate attempt to be chosen, I thought of his last words to me—I’ll repay you in the next—and a bitter, ironic laugh threatened to escape my lips. It didn’t matter. I didn’t want him anyway. Father didn’t respond. In a blur of motion, Kael moved. One of the elite guards standing by my father’s side was on the ground, neutralized, in the span of a single breath. A flicker of surprise crossed my father’s face. Vivian beamed. She had always preferred Kael’s cold, aloof beauty. If not for his diagnosis, he would have been her first choice. Finally, my father nodded. “Very well. Kael, you will be with Vivian. As for Zane…” “He’ll be with Aria.” The silent Zane’s brow furrowed. He dropped to one knee, his voice tight and strained. “Sir, I cannot obey this command.” “You refuse?” My father’s face darkened. He might favor Vivian, but I was still his daughter. A bodyguard’s public refusal was a direct challenge to his authority. “Then you can crawl back to the fighting pits. The Smith family has no use for disobedient dogs.” I knew this would happen. A bodyguard who wasn’t chosen was discarded. In my past life, I couldn’t bear to see Kael sent back to die, so I kept him. This time, it was Zane’s turn. I stood by, a silent spectator. Vivian, however, was panicking. She rushed to Zane’s side, reaching for his arm, but he subtly moved away. She stomped her foot, her voice a petulant whine. “Zane, if you don’t go with my sister, they’ll beat you to death!” Zane looked up, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering loyalty. “My life’s only purpose is to serve you, Miss Vivian!” A blush crept up Vivian’s cheeks. I let out a soft laugh. This display of blind devotion was just as pathetic the second time around. “Sister!” Vivian whirled on me, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Are you just going to stand there and watch him die?” From the brothers’ perspective, she must have looked like a tragic, beautiful angel. I took a step forward. “Father, since Zane is so loyal to my sister, why not let them both serve her? One is good, but two is better. Vivian’s safety is what matters most.” My words were exactly what she wanted to hear. From the moment the twins had arrived, she had been torn, unable to choose. Father hesitated. “Aria, what about you?” I lowered my head, playing the part of the dutiful, self-sacrificing older sister. “It’s fine, Father. I’m the older sister. I should give way to Vivian.” Suddenly, every gaze in the room was filled with approval. A smile touched my father’s lips. “Aria, you’ve matured.” “However,” he continued, “things are unstable right now. Our enemies are watching. It’s not safe for you to be without protection.” I looked up, meeting his approving gaze and catching the complex emotion in Kael’s eyes. I didn’t care enough to decipher it. “If you’re worried, Father, you can send me to work with my cousin. I won’t cause any trouble for the family.” In my past life, I had no foundation in this family, so I had poured all my energy into saving Kael. Vivian was born when I was five. To ensure she was the sole recipient of their affection, my parents had sent me to live with distant relatives. It was only two years ago, when the family needed to manage some bad press, that my father brought me back. My cousin, who ran the family’s overseas arms trade, always brought Vivian limited-edition bags and jewelry when he came home. Even her nanny was treated better than I was. The money for Kael’s medical treatments had come from my own meager allowance, saved penny by penny. This time, I knew better than anyone: if I wanted to escape being a pawn, I had to seize every opportunity to build my own power. My cousin was cold and dismissive, assigning me to a low-level position in his company. I didn’t complain. I poured every waking moment into my work. Using my knowledge from my previous life, I quickly mastered the business, even seizing an opportunity everyone else had written off, landing a massive contract for the company. That success finally caught my cousin’s attention. He summoned me for a formal meeting. “There’s an important business dinner tonight. You’re coming with me.” The banquet was a sea of influential figures. My cousin introduced me to several key partners. “This is my uncle’s daughter, Aria Smith.” I was poised and articulate, my insights into the business impressing many. Soon, the rumor of the capable elder Miss Smith spread through the circle, eclipsing my sister, who was known only for her frivolous lifestyle. That night, when I returned to the Smith villa, Vivian stormed into my room the moment I opened the door. “Sister, you should just stay quietly at home.” I glanced at her. Her voice was sharp. “The Smith family business is run by men. As daughters, our greatest contribution is to marry well. Cousin has helped you, but your foundation is weak. If you mess up, you’ll not only bring shame to the family, you might lose your value as a marriage asset.” I responded coldly, “Vivian, by what right do you presume to plan my future?” I stepped closer, my gaze like steel. “You’ve enjoyed everyone’s favor your entire life. Does my carving out a path for myself threaten you that much?” “Sister…” Her face flushed, and she glanced at Zane, who stood guard behind her. Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “I know, it’s all my fault… If it weren’t for me, Mom and Dad would never have sent you away.” “Save your tears,” I snapped. “You’re not the one who should be crying.” “After you were born, they threw me away like trash so you could have everything. With those so-called relatives, I was beaten, starved, and almost assaulted. I escaped and survived on the streets like a stray dog!” I backed her toward the door, my voice a low snarl. “You can continue being the perfect little princess. No one is going to take that from you. But you will not tell me how to live my life!” “Sister, that’s not what I meant,” she sobbed, grabbing my sleeve. “I really do care about you. I want to make it up to you. Why won’t you let me… I might as well just die.” She made a show of running toward the window. Zane caught her, pulling her into a protective embrace. He glared at me. “Miss Aria! Miss Vivian has a pure heart. Do you want to push her to her death?” Vivian sobbed in his arms. “It’s not sister’s fault… It’s all my fault. I owe her…” Zane held her tighter, his eyes burning with anger at me. “Apologize to Miss Vivian.” I scoffed. “And who are you to command me?” Zane’s lips tightened, but before he could speak, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Vivian shrieked, “Sister, how dare you hit him!” My voice was ice. “I thought you were the expert on rules and etiquette, sister. Why can’t you control your own dog? A mere bodyguard, speaking out of turn to the eldest daughter of the house?” A flicker of rage crossed Zane’s eyes, but my colder gaze froze him in place. Kael, drawn by the commotion, arrived just in time to see it. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I had no desire to waste any more time on these three. I pushed them out of my room and slammed the door. The next day, I was packing for a business trip, eager to escape the suffocating drama of this house. I had just finished dressing when my door was slammed open. Zane burst in, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. He grabbed my wrist. “What did you do to Miss Vivian? She ran out last night and never came back!” My face hardened. I twisted out of his grip, using his own momentum against him and kicking his knee, breaking his hold. “You are Vivian’s bodyguard. Her disappearance is your failure! Don’t come here taking your incompetence out on me.” “This is your fault!” Zane’s eyes were red with a desperate fury. “If you hadn’t provoked her yesterday, she wouldn’t have run off!” “Before our father finds out, you’re coming with me to find her and apologize!” The door was kicked open again. Kael rushed in. “Zane, the kidnappers just called. They have Miss Vivian.” Zane’s eyes narrowed, pinning me with a vicious glare. “The kidnappers want a daughter of the Smith family. You caused this mess. You will be the one to take her place.” “You’re insane!” I snarled, slapping him again. “Useless waste of space. You can’t even protect your own master, and you dare to lay a hand on me!” Zane spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes dark with malice as he grabbed my wrist again, his grip like iron. “Forgive me, Miss Aria. Miss Vivian’s life is at stake. I have no choice.” He twisted my arms behind my back. “Kael, help me!” Kael hesitated for a split second before moving to assist.

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