Category: English

There’s a guy on my Snapchat who loves showing off his body. He frequently posts mirror selfies flexing his muscles. I used to wonder which player was casting such a wide net. Later, I found out—his stories are only visible to me. 01 I swiped onto another post from our resident thirst-trapper. As usual, it was a photo. But this time, the style had changed, giving off a vibe of coy restraint. His hand lifted the hem of his t-shirt, revealing deeply defined abs. He was wearing loose gray sweatpants, the drawstrings hanging naturally—one long, one short—stealing all my attention in their extreme asymmetry. I stared at it for a moment, and my face silently flushed red. I forget when I added him, but as far back as I can remember, his stories have been exclusively these kinds of photos. Abs, biceps, back muscles… He posted one every few days, persistently tugging at people’s heartstrings. I assumed he was a total player, for three reasons: First, he never showed his face. Second, he was incredibly good at teasing. Third, he lacked any sort of modesty. —What kind of decent, upstanding man posts stories like this! I originally just watched with a “might as well look if it’s there” mentality, but today, it kind of went to my head. Those gray sweatpants really did something to me. My sleepiness vanished completely. I forwarded the photo to him and started a chat: “Is it cold in your house? Why are you wearing so much today?” I sent the message, but he didn’t reply. I didn’t know if he was busy or just ignoring me. I didn’t dwell on it. Seeing that my lunch break was almost over, I hurried to catch some sleep. When I woke up, it was to the loud chatter in the office. My female colleagues were gathered in small groups, clutching their phones and wailing, “I’m heartbroken, I’m heartbroken.” In my groggy state, I caught fragments of the conversation. It seemed some celebrity had just gone public with a relationship. I reached for my phone, clicked on the Twitter trending topics, and froze when I saw the name at the top. #ChloeMillerLiamHayes# The person who went public was my best friend! Fueled by the indignation of “how dare she not tell me she’s dating,” I clicked on the hashtag. The video content left me even more dumbfounded. It was from the recording of a late-night talk show. The cameras zoomed in on each guest’s phone. The game segment required each guest to post a story claiming they were unhappy and see who received comfort first. Among the phones placed on the table, the one on the far left was the first to get a notification. It was Liam Hayes’s. The host eagerly opened it, still making conversation: “Let’s see who it is—” His voice abruptly cut off, and he stood frozen. Because in the chat window, there was no comfort. None at all. Instead, there was a borderline-inappropriate photo of a man, accompanied by a line of text: “Is it cold in your house? Why are you wearing so much today?” The video ended there. The quality wasn’t great—it was probably filmed by an audience member—but even with poor quality, it was clear enough to see the details in the chat window. The sender’s profile picture was of the actress Chloe Miller, saved under the contact name “Momo.” She had sent the award-winning actor, Liam Hayes, a highly private photo he had never released to the public, accompanied by intimate—even borderline harassing—words! Since Chloe had previously stated in interviews that her childhood nickname was “Momo,” netizens universally concluded this was her. Thus, the relationship between Chloe Miller and Liam Hayes rocketed to the top of the trending list. I rubbed my cheeks, the shock so immense I wondered if I was still dreaming. The conversation with the thirst-trapper was still sitting right there on my screen. With trembling hands, I tapped it open. The exact same content blasted my retinas once again. I had a stark realization—the guy who posted thirst traps on Snapchat every few days was the Hollywood A-lister, Liam Hayes. 02 The trending topic was still blowing up. The most triggered ones were the fans: “Usually you don’t even show an ankle, and you button your shirts all the way to the top. I thought you were the most modest guy out there, but…” “What is this? Liam Hayes’s abs, let me touch! What is this? Liam Hayes’s abs, let me touch!” “Has anyone managed to get a high-res version of this? I need it for my lock screen.” “Just a casual observer here, but is this Liam Hayes’s usual vibe? This is hot.” That last comment had the most replies. I clicked into the thread and was nearly blinded by a screen full of “HE IS NOT!” Undoubtedly, the fans were shocked. But I was equally shocked! I scrolled through the comments, trying to use the fans’ shock to offset my own. Before I could fully process it, a new notification popped up at the top of my phone. It was from my best friend, Chloe, and she sent a screenshot. Chloe: “Audrey, please tell me this isn’t you.” The screenshot was of that exact conversation. Indisputable. I hung my head and admitted: “It’s me.” She sent a string of ellipses and asked genuinely: “How did you manage to strut your stuff right in front of Liam Hayes?” Honestly, I wanted to know too. I was just engaging in some ordinary ogling, how did I end up experiencing social death in front of the entire nation? Although, currently, the one experiencing social death was my best friend… Afraid of causing her trouble, I couldn’t help but ask: “Is this going to be a huge mess?” She replied: “It’s fine on my end. It wasn’t me anyway, I’ll just clarify it. Liam Hayes’s side is the tricky one.” I pursed my lips, still digesting the fact that “the thirst-trapper is Liam Hayes.” My best friend started probing: “What exactly is going on between you and Liam Hayes?” I didn’t know how to answer, so I just said: “He’s the player I told you about before.” My best friend slapped her desk in shock: “So you were the one he was trying to hook all along!” “…” I felt this was basically equivalent to a fairy tale. Liam Hayes and I were complete strangers. He didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him. Or rather, I knew of him; I knew he was a massive star. Aside from that, we had zero connection. How could he possibly be trying to hook me? Just as I denied it, another new message popped up at the top of my phone. It was the other party involved in the scandal. He replied to me. Liam Hayes: “I’ll try to wear less next time then.” “…” Dude, are you sure you didn’t hook the wrong person? 03 If he were just a regular guy on Snapchat, I might have bantered back. But he wasn’t. He was the acclaimed actor, Liam Hayes. I couldn’t fathom how he had the leisure to flirt with me, a stranger on the internet? After the incident, my best friend immediately issued a clarification, stating she was not the person sending the messages. Her friends in the industry also vouched for her, proving that her personal Snapchat was not that account. As for me, I quickly changed my profile picture and display name, terrified that people around me might figure something out. Only Liam Hayes, at the center of the storm, remained completely silent. No PR statement, no clarification. It was as if he had no idea the internet was tearing itself apart over him. The biggest target of criticism was the collapse of his public persona. After all, Liam Hayes had previously been known as Hollywood’s paragon of modesty. He kept his nose clean, had zero scandals, and his life consisted only of acting and hitting the gym. He had almost no other hobbies, and didn’t even touch alcohol or cigarettes, which are ubiquitous in the industry. He was a gentleman, polite, and always covered up. The media had even interviewed him about his habit of “not showing a single inch of skin.” At the time, Liam stated: “Only my wife gets to see my body.” When that interview clip dropped, it was instantly shared and praised by countless netizens, cementing his status as the “modesty paragon.” Let’s just say, the harder they praised him then, the harsher they mocked him now. Because the guy who claimed “only my wife gets to see my body” was secretly blasting thirst traps everywhere. I also felt his public persona was a bit fake. If only his wife could see it, what was he doing posting on Snapchat all day? Photo after photo, I had practically seen his entire body. Was I his wife? As it turned out, I underestimated Liam Hayes’s resilience. The very moment his Snapchat account was exposed, not only did he not lay low, but he actually posted another story that night. Still a photo. But the style was much more explicit than before, and true to his word, he was wearing a little less. I honestly didn’t know what to say anymore. I could only sigh at how incredibly fake Hollywood personas were! Liam Hayes was practically a master-level player, casting a wide net, yet he managed to be called the “modesty paragon” of Hollywood… It was the joke of the century! I decisively chose to block his stories. Unexpectedly, moments later, Liam Hayes actually reached out to me with that same photo. He asked: “Is this okay?” I had no desire to play games with him and asked bluntly: “What exactly do you want?” He was even more blunt: “I want to date you.” I was so freaked out I deleted him right then and there! Even after deleting him, my heart was still pounding. Thank goodness my best friend warned me. Turns out I really was just one of the fish in his pond! 04 I had just escaped the pond, but my best friend was caught in his clutches. It turned out she and Liam Hayes already had a professional connection; they were set to co-star in a commercial for a luxury bottled water brand. The contracts had been finalized ages ago, but the official announcement had been delayed. Now that the collaborating brand saw dating rumors swirling around their two spokesmodels, they decided to capitalize on it. The commercial shoot was urgently moved up on the schedule. Afraid my best friend would be taken advantage of, I warned her repeatedly: “You must be careful around Liam Hayes!” She nodded in agreement. Who knew that on the very first day of shooting, she’d drop a massive bombshell on me. Chloe: “Turns out Liam was the one who recommended me to the brand for this commercial!” My head instantly filled with question marks. While confused, I was also amazed. This guy Liam is casting a seriously wide net! I asked urgently: “How is it? Has he harassed you?” My best friend’s reply surprised me: “No, he’s totally normal. If you hadn’t told me, I would never have imagined he’s that kind of person in private.” I typed back, distressed: “It’s all a persona!” Afraid she’d let her guard down, I called her directly and told her about Liam saying he wanted to date me, emphasizing heavily: “He’s literally just trying to hook whoever he can!” To my surprise, my best friend missed the point entirely: “So he really does want to date you!” Me: “?” She went further off track: “Do you think Liam gave me this commercial gig because of you?” I couldn’t take it anymore, feeling a surge of frustration: “Why are you giving a player such a romantic backstory!” My best friend suddenly laughed: “What if he isn’t a player?” “Of course he is,” I argued. “What normal person posts stories like that? At first, I thought he was looking for a sugar mama.” My best friend laughed harder: “I think the only person he wants to hook is you.” I was speechless: “We don’t even know each other.” “Maybe you two—” Her voice cut off abruptly. Immediately after, a clear male voice came through the phone: “Can I sit here?” Thanks to the internet drama these past few days, I could instantly recognize that this voice belonged to Liam Hayes. Clear, clean, and highly distinctive. “Go ahead,” came my best friend’s voice. After some rustling sounds, Liam asked: “Are you close with Audrey?” “…Yes,” my best friend sounded like she was holding back laughter. “Then do you know why she deleted me?” Liam’s tone was so puzzled. “If she wasn’t satisfied with the photos, I can push the boundaries a bit more.” “Pfft,” my best friend finally laughed out loud. After a long pause, her rather eager voice sounded: “Should I ask her for you?” “Please,” Liam said politely. As soon as he left, my best friend couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore, laughing continuously, making me incredibly annoyed. I snapped: “Stop laughing!” She finally gave a couple of ‘hahas’ and said teasingly: “He seems to know you.” Me: “…” 05 Eggged on by my best friend, I visited the commercial set. The area had been cleared, but a large crowd had still gathered, forming three dense rings of people. Through the crowd, I spotted Liam Hayes right away. This is probably that legendary star quality; he stood there, and my eyes couldn’t see anyone else. He was wearing a solid black tracksuit, looking elegant and tall. Currently, he was bending slightly while his assistant sprayed water on the loose hair at his forehead and temples. It seemed the assistant’s hand slipped, and a mist of water rushed into his eyes. The air froze for a few seconds. I saw him blink his eyelashes lightly, the water droplets sliding down. He opened his sparkling eyes and comforted the assistant: “It’s fine, keep going.” I thought silently, He has a pretty good temper. As if sensing something, Liam looked with pinpoint accuracy in my direction. He looked surprised at first, then panicked, and a few seconds later, quietly averted his gaze. But his pale, jade-like profile slowly turned red, visible even to the naked eye. When I got closer, I even heard the stylist exclaim, “Did you already apply blush?” My best friend was snickering next to me. She whispered teasingly: “You really don’t know him? But he blushed the second he looked at you.” To be honest, I was also quite baffled. Is Liam Hayes really this innocent? But would an innocent person post stories like that? The next second, my best friend cleared up my confusion. Just as the commercial was about to start shooting, she tossed her phone to me, saying simply: “Just added Liam on Snapchat, go look at his stories.” While muttering “What’s there to see,” I obediently tapped it open. The result surprised me. His stories page was completely clean, empty. There was no “Friend only allows viewing of the last 3 days” message, it was just literally empty. But I clearly remembered that when I looked a few days ago, it was full of thirst traps. Did he delete them, or put me on a custom list? Looking at Liam not far away, I found him harder and harder to figure out. The commercial shoot wrapped up quickly, and the crew discussed where to go for dinner. I waited beside my best friend, feeling a gaze seemingly fixed on me. I followed the feeling. No matter from which angle I looked, at the end of that gaze was Liam Hayes. My best friend watched like she was enjoying a show: “If you have something to say, say it. If you have questions, ask. Staring won’t get you any answers.” I was still debating whether to ask when Liam walked over. He was cleaned up and looking sharp, wearing a well-fitted dress shirt and trousers. Uncharacteristically, two buttons at his collar were undone, exposing a small patch of skin. Perhaps because he wasn’t used to exposing skin, as he walked steadily towards us, he subconsciously tugged at the slightly open collar. A very simple movement, but done by him, it was exceptionally alluring. When Liam reached us, he looked at Chloe first and said: “The dinner is at the Grand Hyatt.” My best friend feigned surprise: “Since when do we need you to personally deliver this kind of news?” Liam choked. He seemed to shift his gaze out of embarrassment, quietly turned to me, and without making a sound, mouthed the question: “Are you coming?” I felt a profound sense of absurdity and helplessness in that moment. To me, this action looked exactly like a couple pretending not to know each other in public, while secretly flirting behind everyone’s backs. Were we really that close? It wasn’t the place to talk, but I couldn’t hold back. I took a step closer to him, using a piece of equipment for cover, and whispered: “Do we know each other?” He nodded: “Yes.” “Then the Snapchat stories were…?” He stared at me for a long time, seemingly gathering courage, and said slowly: “The stories were for you.” He leaned in close to my ear, his bright red earlobe right in my line of sight, and added softly and slowly: “Only for you.” Boom. My ears burned red too.

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1 Twenty years ago, I was stolen from my crib. Most of my life was spent in a maximum-security psychiatric ward, where doctors labeled me a high-functioning sociopath. When my biological parents finally found me, I changed. I didn’t want to scare them, so I became a timid, fragile girl who startled at her own shadow. My mother treated me like glass, brewing bone broth each afternoon and choosing pink lace-trimmed pajamas for me. My father kept his voice soft, afraid to startle me. My brother Connor wouldn’t even let me carry plates, worried I’d get hurt. But today, the act ended. Valerie, the daughter they raised before finding me, came to seize my father’s company shares. She kicked the door in, her billionaire fiancé Peter beside her. She smashed Connor’s arm with a baseball bat, then forced my mother to her knees on broken glass. Peter pointed at me and sneered, “Crawl over and lick my shoes clean. Do it well, and I might leave your bodies whole.” I watched blood drip from my father’s lip. Deep inside, the last thread holding me back snapped. I sighed softly, locked the front door, and picked up a serrated boning knife from the kitchen. Looking at my parents, I said, “Close your eyes. What happens next isn’t for family viewing.” Peter pressed his designer shoe harder into my mother’s hair and let out a bark of laughter. “You’re out of your mind, sweetheart. What are you gonna do with that?” The bodyguard standing next to him cracked his knuckles and raised a steel pipe. I didn’t answer. I just walked toward him, my slippers crunching over the bloody glass. The bodyguard swung the pipe in a lethal arc aiming for my skull. I sidestepped, letting the heavy steel slice through empty air. I grabbed his wrist, locking my fingers around his pulse point, and twisted violently outward. A wet crunch echoed through the living room. Before he could scream, I drove the heavy brass pommel of the knife directly into his temple. He dropped like a sack of wet cement. I wiped the bloody handle on the shoulder of his tailored suit, stepped over his twitching body, and kept walking toward Peter. “Don’t you take another step!” Valerie shrieked, her face pale as she peeked out from behind the ruined sofa. “Do you even know who Peter is?” she yelled, her voice trembling. “The people backing him will wipe you off the map! You lay a finger on him, and the entire Cohen family burns with you!” I stopped. I slowly turned my head to look at her. “Valerie.” She swallowed hard. “What?” “Did you just say you were extorting these shares to save the Cohens?” Her eyes darted around the room. “Look, Riley, I know it sounds awful. But my hands are tied. Peter’s family agreed to inject thirty million into the company, but only if they get controlling interest. Arthur and Eleanor are getting old. Connor’s health is declining. If I marry into his family, I can at least keep an eye on them.” I nodded slowly, letting the words hang in the air. “So, you’re the good guy here.” “I’m glad you finally understand.” “You’re a saint,” I said, staring at the serrated edge of my knife. “So get on your knees.” Valerie’s voice hit a shrill pitch. “Are you psychotic?!” “Yes.” I closed the distance before she could blink. I twisted my hand into her hair and slammed her downward, her kneecaps cracking against the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. My mother pushed herself up, her voice quivering. “Riley.” “Mom, I told you to keep your eyes closed,” I said, my voice completely flat. “I’ll help you change your clothes in a minute. Some ice will take care of the bruises.” Behind me, Peter roared. He snatched up a heavy oak dining chair and hurled it at the back of my head. I tilted my neck. The chair leg grazed my ear and shattered against the wall. Releasing Valerie’s hair, I pivoted. Peter was still frozen in the follow-through of his throw. I looked down at his expensive Italian loafers. “What was that you said earlier? Crawl over and lick your shoes?” Peter took a shaky step back. “Let’s talk about this.” I snapped my leg up and brought the heel of my boot down on the bridge of his foot with every ounce of my weight. Peter let out a guttural shriek, folding completely in half as he collapsed to the side. I grabbed him by his expensive silk tie, dragging his dead weight across the floor until he was inches from my boots. I pressed the tip of the boning knife under his chin, forcing his head up until he was choking on his own tie. “Leaving our corpses intact,” I whispered. “How exactly did you plan to do that?” Peter just gurgled, his mouth full of blood from where he had bitten his own tongue. The remaining two bodyguards exchanged a panicked glance and lunged at me together. I shifted my weight. The blade sliced clean through the first man’s wrist tendons. His steel pipe clattered uselessly to the floor. The second man leaped onto my back, locking his thick forearm around my throat. I dropped my center of gravity, ducked my chin, and threw my head back, smashing my skull directly into the bridge of his nose. Cartilage shattered. He stumbled backward, clutching his ruined face. I walked over to the kitchen sink, casually rinsed the blood off my hands, and looked back at Peter. He was curled up on the rug, cradling his mangled foot. “Security!” he screamed, his voice cracking. He slammed a panic button on his Rolex. “Breach on the perimeter!” I tossed the knife into the fruit bowl and walked over to my brother. Connor was slumped against the wall. His arm was bent at a grotesque angle, his forehead slick with cold sweat. “Connor, how bad is the pain?” “I’m good,” he gasped out, trying to force a smile. “Barely feel it.” I patted his cheek. “Hang in there.” My dad was sitting in the corner. His lip was bleeding, but he wasn’t looking at his attackers. He was just staring at me. Before I could say anything, a heavy rumble shook the driveway. The sound of combat boots marching in unison drowned out the evening crickets. The front doors were blown inward by a breaching charge. The heavy wood and iron hinges collapsed onto our entryway rug, sending a cloud of drywall dust into the air. Richard, Peter’s father, stepped through the smoke. Behind him stood dozens of hardened enforcers, all gripping heavy steel rebar. Richard looked down at his bleeding son, his face twisting in pure rage. Then he looked at his men. “Kill every single Cohen in this house. Make it look like a home invasion gone wrong. Keep it clean.” 2 Connor forced his good arm over my shoulder, desperately trying to pull me behind him. “Riley, get upstairs, hide.” “Connor, put your arm down.” “I’m fine, my arm is fine.” I looked at the swollen, purple flesh of his broken limb. I gently peeled his fingers off my shirt and pushed him back down to the floor. “Sit. Don’t move.” Dozens of steel pipes were raised high. Richard’s men fanned out, boxing us in from every angle. My mom threw her arms around my dad, squeezing her eyes shut. My dad held her tight, but his eyes never left me. I reached into my sweatpants pocket and pulled out a heavy, military-grade walkie-talkie. A faded, peeling sticker of a cartoon panda was slapped on the back. Richard caught sight of the radio and froze for a split second before a cruel smile spread across his face. “You calling for backup with a toy?” “She really is a psycho,” one of his thugs muttered. I pressed the push-to-talk button. “Feeding time.” Static crackled for three agonizing seconds before a deep, gravelly voice replied. “Copy that.” The signal died. Richard raised his hand to signal his men. I didn’t move a muscle. First came the screech of burning rubber, followed by the deafening crunch of crushing metal. The impact vibrated up through the floorboards, rattling the crystal chandelier above us. Richard’s enforcers spun around. Outside, a massive armored transport had just violently rear-ended Richard’s Maybach, launching the luxury car into the garden wall. A chain reaction of collisions echoed through the estate. The lights in the living room flickered. Richard’s smile vanished. In the gaping hole where our front doors used to be, five heavily armored tactical vans pulled up nose-to-tail. Emblazoned on their sides in stark black lettering was the logo. Blackwood Maximum Security Psychiatric Facility. The side doors were kicked open. A massive man with a jagged scar running down his bald head leaped out. He was wearing faded institutional scrubs, and in his hands, he gripped a heavy red fire ax. Behind him poured a tide of men in matching scrubs. They carried bone saws, crowbars, and heavy chains. They crunched over the ruined front doors and filed into the living room. Richard’s thugs froze, their steel pipes suddenly feeling very inadequate. The scarred man, Grimm, looked around the room. He kicked a piece of shattered brick out of his way, walked straight up to me, and dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “Director.” Richard opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I pointed a finger at Richard’s crew. Grimm stood up, turning to face the intruders. He didn’t say a word. He just waved a hand. Three minutes later, every single one of Richard’s men was pinned face-down against the hardwood, groaning in agony, completely immobilized by the inmates. Richard was backed up against the doorframe, his legs visibly shaking. The walkie-talkie in his hand slipped from his sweaty grip and clattered to the floor. Over by the sofa, Valerie was curled into a tight ball, holding her bruised ribs and sobbing hysterically. “Arthur! Eleanor! Please, you have to save me! I’m your daughter! That crazy bitch is going to murder me!” My father, still sitting against the wall, looked up at her through the wreckage. He stared at her for a long time. “You broke my son’s arm.” Valerie’s sobbing hitched. “You dragged my wife by her hair. You tried to make her kneel on broken glass.” He paused, his voice turning to gravel. “You were my daughter. Whenever you cried as a little girl, it broke my heart. But you hurt my real family tonight. I don’t have a heart left for you.” Seeing his opening, Richard scrambled for his dropped phone. He punched in a speed-dial number, turned his back, and whispered frantically into the receiver. Roman. Boss. Help. I let him make the call. I sat down on the floor next to my brother. I ripped the sleeve off his expensive suit jacket and used it to tie a makeshift splint for his broken arm. Every time I moved the bone, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Bite down on this.” I folded his silk tie a few times and shoved it between his teeth. He bit down hard, breathing heavily through his nose, before squeezing a few words out. “Riley. When you were out there.” “Save your breath, Connor.” “You were only seven,” he rasped, ignoring me. “Seven years old. Taken away all by yourself.” “Connor.” “Yeah?” “Does it hurt?” “Yeah. It hurts.” “Then focus on the pain. Don’t get distracted.” He let out a muffled chuckle and bit down on the tie again. Outside, the chaotic sounds of sirens, heavy diesel engines, and shouting bled into the night air. A booming, arrogant voice echoed from the driveway, cutting through the noise. “Which suicidal piece of trash is making a mess on my turf?” I let go of Connor’s splint and slowly stood up. 3 When Roman walked in, the smell of premium Cuban cigars filled the room. He was flanked by an army of heavy-hitters. He stood dead center in our ruined living room, his cold eyes sweeping over Richard’s pinned men, lingering on Grimm who was still kneeling, before finally locking onto me. Richard practically crawled over the debris to reach him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his tailored suit. “Roman! Thank God you’re here!” Richard pointed a shaking finger at me. “That psycho is a stray the Cohens picked off the street! She ambushed us, snapped my boy’s foot, and look at what her freaks did to my cars out front.” “Get to the point,” Roman said, flicking ash onto our rug. “These guys are wildcards. I can’t handle them. I need you to clean this up.” Roman grunted. He raised two fingers. Hundreds of hardened syndicate enforcers flooded the property, completely surrounding the estate. They drew machetes, brass knuckles, and heavy iron bars. Grimm stood up, stepping protectively in front of me, but the sheer number of Roman’s men forced him back a step. Roman strolled over until he was invading my personal space. He looked me up and down. “What’s your name, little girl?” “Riley Cohen.” “Cohen,” he mused, pulling the cigar from his lips. “Do you have any idea how much weight that name carries in this city?” I didn’t blink. “I’ve been backing Richard’s plays for twenty years,” Roman continued, blowing smoke in my direction. “This city is mine. It is not a playground for some mental ward runaway.” He didn’t even look at me as he gave the order to his men. “Hack off both her hands. Throw her out on the Cohens’ front lawn. Let the old man know his family’s credit has officially expired.” “Roman,” I said. “What?” “I’m just wondering,” I said, tilting my head. “When exactly did a dog like you get a new master?” Dead silence fell over the living room. Roman’s hand, still holding the cigar, froze in mid-air. He stood like a statue for three full seconds before slowly lowering his arm. His eyes narrowed as he reassessed me. “Who exactly…” he lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, “do you work for?” I said nothing. Richard yanked on Roman’s sleeve again. “Roman, don’t listen to her! She’s a lunatic, just put her down.” Roman violently shoved Richard away. He took a deep breath, forcing a tight, unnatural smile onto his face. “Alright, no need to lose our tempers over a misunderstanding.” He turned to his men. “Just restrain them. Nobody dies. We’ll sort out the politics later.” Hundreds of machetes were raised. Connor tried to slide in front of me again. I clamped a hand down hard on his shoulder. “Connor, sit.” “Riley.” “Sit.” I looked down at the screen of my phone. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up. A deep, unnatural vibration began to hum through the floorboards. It was a heavy, rhythmic thudding that made the remaining glass in the windowpanes rattle. Roman frowned. The mechanical roar grew deafening. One of Roman’s scouts sprinted into the living room, completely breathless. “Boss! There are bulldozers outside! Not just one, it’s a whole damn fleet.” Roman spun around. 4 The rusted steel bucket of the first excavator crashed through the front gates, effortlessly crushing a Mercedes into the asphalt. Right behind it came a second, then a third. Five massive, industrial bulldozers drove in a tight formation, plowing over everything in the courtyard, turning luxury cars and pristine landscaping into mud and scrap metal. Roman’s enforcers scattered in a panic, retreating to the edges of the property. Richard was trembling so violently he had to lean against the wall to stay upright. Roman gritted his teeth and pulled out his encrypted phone, dialing a private number. It rang five times before a voice answered. “Speak.” “Carter, it’s Roman. I’ve got a situation in the Metro district. Some girl brought a small army of mental patients and heavy machinery to level Richard’s estate. Run a background check right now. Cohen family. Riley Cohen. I need to know whose toes I’m stepping on.” A heavy, suffocating silence stretched over the line. “Carter?” “Roman,” the voice finally replied. It sounded completely parched. “What is it?” “The name you just gave me. Riley Cohen.” Carter paused, taking a ragged breath. “Are you on site right now?” “Yeah.” “How far away from her are you standing?” Roman glanced back at me. “About twenty feet.” Another agonizing three seconds of silence. “Roman, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Turn around. Walk away. Do it right this second.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Do you remember who they used to keep locked up at Blackwood Max?” “You mean…” Roman’s voice dropped an octave. “The Director of that facility. The one who is never actually on the payroll. Take a wild guess who that is.” Roman slowly turned his head to look at me. “Roman,” Carter whispered, the fear bleeding through the speaker. “That girl’s file at the Agency is a black hole. It’s a kill-switch dossier. Anyone who even looks at it disappears. If you can walk out of there tonight, you run. You abandon Richard. This is not your fight.” The expensive cigar slipped from Roman’s fingers, burning a hole into the carpet. He didn’t move a muscle. Richard grabbed him, shaking him frantically. “Roman? Roman! Give the order! Kill these freaks.” Roman just stared at me. He took a slow step backward. “Roman, what are you doing?” “I can’t help you.” Roman’s voice was completely hollow. “You’re on your own, Richard.” Richard blocked Roman’s path, gripping his lapels. “You can’t do this! If you walk out, my family is dead! She’s a monster! Twenty years of loyalty and you’re leaving me to die?!” Roman said nothing. He just stared blankly at Richard’s hands on his suit. His bodyguards rushed forward, physically peeling Richard off their boss. Roman adjusted his cuffs and turned his back to me. He took two steps toward the door and froze. “Roman,” I said quietly. He stayed perfectly still, his back facing me. “You know exactly why I’m here tonight.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “And you know you can’t cover for Richard. Not when it comes to me. You never could.” “What do you want?” he asked, his voice barely a rasp. “Turn around.” After a long pause, Roman slowly pivoted. He stood ten feet away, facing me directly for the first time since the phone call. “I know you have Richard dead to rights tonight,” he said slowly, trying to regain some composure. “But there are lines even you can’t cross. Commissioner Wyatt runs this city’s special investigations. He’s my blood brother. Every move you make, he’ll know.” I didn’t say a word. “Even if you have the Agency backing you,” he reasoned, “you broke into a private residence. You assaulted half a dozen people. That’s a federal crime. Nobody can sweep this much collateral damage under the rug.” Before he could finish his sentence, the deafening roar of helicopter blades shattered the night. The chopper hovered directly over the ruins of our roof. Down in the courtyard, blinding searchlights cut through the darkness, turning night into day. “SWAT! Everyone on the ground! Hands where we can see them!” Dozens of tactical operatives repelled from the walls, crashed through the shattered windows, and stormed the perimeter. They were dressed in full tactical gear, assault rifles raised. Red laser sights painted every single person in the room. Roman’s men didn’t hesitate. Machetes and pipes clattered to the floor as hundreds of gangsters hit the dirt. Richard scrambled toward the SWAT commander, screaming in relief. “Captain! Captain, thank God! It’s this psychotic bitch! She brought these mental patients to slaughter my family! Arrest her! Shoot her.” Valerie pointed a trembling finger at me, wailing. “Officer, she’s insane! She was going to murder us all! Put a bullet in her, my whole family will testify.” Captain Reed ignored them. He scanned the carnage, gave a hand signal for his men to secure the perimeter, and stepped over the groaning bodyguards. He stopped directly in front of me, his assault rifle leveled at my chest. “Hands in the air. Drop the knife.” “You don’t have the clearance for that,” I said, tapping the toe of my boot against a piece of broken glass. “I said, drop the weapon.” “And I said you don’t have the clearance.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Look very closely before you do something stupid.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “Failure to comply will result in lethal force. This is your final warning.” I didn’t drop the knife. I didn’t raise my hands. Instead, I took a step forward, walking right up to him until the cold steel of his gun barrel was pressing into the space between my eyes. “Last chance,” he hissed, his jaw locked tight. “Who the hell are you?” I brushed my hair out of my eyes, tilting my face up into the blinding glare of the tactical flashlights. “See for yourself.” Reed squinted, his eyes tracing the lines of my face. A soft click echoed as his finger slipped off the trigger. The barrel of the rifle slowly dipped toward the floor. Then, with a dull thud, the weapon slipped from his hands entirely. His knees buckled. He collapsed right into the sea of shattered glass. He swallowed hard, his voice cracking into a high, terrified pitch. “You… Commander…” Roman stood ten feet away, watching the scene unfold in absolute horror. Captain Reed, bleeding from his knees on the glass, trembled as he forced the words out. “Supreme Commander… Black Site Zero.”

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During study hall, the school’s most popular girl grabbed my childhood best friend, Liam Vance, and demanded: “What do you even like about Chloe? Do you just like those massive cow tits of hers?” “Can you please not be so utterly vulgar?” Countless pairs of eyes landed on me. Some were watching for the drama, some were gloating, and others were purely malicious. Liam gave a helpless sigh and explained, “Our relationship isn’t what you think it is, Summer. I just take care of her like a little sister.” It really wasn’t what Summer Hayes thought. The only reason Liam hovered around me every day, showering me with care and attention, was because his mother was my estate manager. I am the sole heiress of the Vance corporate empire. From the time Liam was a little boy, the only education he received from his mother was how to serve me, please me, and eventually marry into the Vance family to secure her a golden ticket. 01 “First she’s just a friend, then she’s a ‘sister,’ and next thing I know, she’ll be your girlfriend! Liam, it’s her or me. You have to choose!” The veins on Liam’s neck bulged. He weighed his options in agonizing silence, but ultimately gave her no response. Overwhelmingly disappointed, Summer burst into tears and ran out of the classroom. Liam cast a quick, sideways glance at me, gritted his teeth, and chased after her. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if this scene was a flashback before death or reality. Because I was already dead. The day after Liam successfully seized total control of my father’s conglomerate and publicly announced his engagement to Summer, I was pushed into the artificial lake at my family’s estate and drowned. By that point, I had been paralyzed from the waist down and plagued by chronic illness, locked inside the house by Liam. Every single maid and nurse had been replaced; not a single person on the payroll was loyal to me. When I saw their engagement announcement on the news, I expended every ounce of my remaining energy to force Liam to come home. Stripping away his usual gentle, considerate mask, his face twisted into a demonic sneer as his hands clamped around my throat. “I’ve had enough of you, Chloe.” “For years, I threw away my dignity as a man and followed you around like a dog. I couldn’t even go to the college I wanted, and I gave up the chance to study abroad with Summer. I sacrificed everything for you, and that stubborn old bastard of a father still refused to hand the company over to me. He played me for an absolute fool.” “You think just because you have money, you can do whatever you want? You’re just as hypocritical as your father. Today, you’re going to find out exactly what it feels like to struggle at the bottom of the water!” After my father died, Liam’s attitude toward me had slowly turned cold. Once he leveraged my name to fully hijack the Vance empire, his true colors were finally revealed. My father’s drunken drowning in that same lake wasn’t an accident. Liam had orchestrated the whole thing. I looked into his dark, bottomless eyes and saw pure, unadulterated murderous intent. His wings were fully formed; he no longer needed me to act as his good-luck charm to legitimize his reign. His wedding to Summer was approaching. It was time for his hidden, disabled wife to disappear. At the edge of the lake, right as he violently shoved me toward the water, my hands locked onto his collar in a death grip, dragging him straight into the freezing depths with me. A hurricane of pure hatred consumed me. Every single time he thrashed and clawed to reach the surface, I used the very last of my fading strength to drag him back down into the abyss. He murdered my father. If I had to die, I was dragging him straight to hell with me! To ensure my death looked like an accident, Liam had given all the estate staff the day off. In that massive, empty estate, no one was there to hear my cries for help. And now, no one was there to hear his. Right as I confirmed he had completely lost consciousness, I blacked out entirely. When I woke up, I was staring at the current scene. The two of them had just run out the door, and the study hall erupted into chaotic gossip. “Liam is just too nice. Who else would let their maid’s daughter ride to school in his Maybach every day?” “She constantly third-wheels the couple in their own car. No wonder Summer finally snapped…” Then, the crude, mocking laughter of the boys reached my ears. “Hey Tyler, your dad owns Brooks Dairy Farms, right? Tell us, who has bigger udders? Your prize-winning Holsteins, or Chloe?” “Bro, you can’t compare them. Our cows are purebreds and properly mated. They aren’t loose and easy like she is…” “Hahahaha!” They fed off each other’s vile energy, laughing like a pack of hyenas. While I was still processing my shock, a heavy, aluminum can of iced coffee flew across the room and smashed directly into my chest, before clattering onto my desk. Pain. A sharp, piercing pain blossomed in my chest. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a dying hallucination. This was absolute, undeniable reality. I had been reborn into the nightmare that was my high school years. It was today. The day Summer Hayes finally exploded. She had given Liam a final ultimatum: if I rode in the same car with them to school one more time, she would cut ties with him forever. Before study hall even ended, Liam took Summer and left in my chauffeured car. I had to take a cab home in the pouring rain. We got into a horrific crash, leaving me permanently paralyzed from the waist down. I missed over half a semester before returning to school in a wheelchair. By then, Summer and Liam were publicly dating, and because of my disability, the bullying escalated into pure malice. I violently threw my head down and wiggled my toes. Thank God. My legs were perfectly fine. 02 The instigator, Tyler Brooks, laughed hysterically, seeking praise from his cronies. “Did you guys see that? Maximum elasticity!” The group of delinquent boys stared at my chest with blatant, disgusting entitlement. I heard one of them mutter crudely, “Fucking slut.” Smack! The class president slammed a textbook onto his desk. “We’re all classmates here. Don’t cross the line.” Tyler smirked shamelessly. “The Cow Girl doesn’t even mind, why are you playing white knight?” The nickname “Cow Girl” started with Summer. At first, nobody in class treated me like this. Until Summer transferred in. She set her sights on the perfect, wealthy “heir,” Liam Vance, and pursued him relentlessly. After Liam rejected her a few times to keep his facade up, she shifted her crosshairs onto me—the girl who arrived and left with him every single day. In front of all the boys in our class, she announced that I looked like a dairy cow. She claimed that girls with chests that large were promiscuous from a young age, and that they only got that big because men had been groping them. Those filthy, slanderous words acted like Pandora’s box. The moment they were spoken, a demon of pure misogyny was unleashed. Alongside my real name, I was permanently branded “Cow Girl.” At first, they were slightly hesitant, knowing I was dropped off in luxury cars and wore expensive clothes. But thanks to Liam’s deliberate, manipulative blurring of the lines, the entire school began to believe that I was the maid’s daughter, and that Liam—the son of my estate manager—was the true prince of the Vance corporate empire. Under Summer’s passionate pursuit, Liam’s resistance slowly melted. As the two became the school’s golden couple, a horde of Summer’s simps and Liam’s lackeys started targeting me to win their favor. They catcalled me, made sexually explicit jokes, and ruthlessly mocked my “low-class” background. Initially, the “Cow Girl” nickname was contained to our classroom. But one day, my estate manager attended a parent-teacher conference on my behalf. That completely solidified the rumor that I was the maid’s daughter. Soon, the “Cow Girl” moniker echoed through the entire school. Goaded by Summer, the boys even organized a “Brainless Bimbo” poll for the entire high school. Unsurprisingly, I won by a landslide. Ignoring the class president’s warning, Tyler kept throwing insults. “Do you have the nerve to wreck someone else’s relationship, but not the nerve to show your face, Cow Girl?” I took a slow, deep breath. I picked up the heavy aluminum can from my desk and walked straight toward Tyler. “Since you have the audacity to call me ‘Girl’, it’s my responsibility as your superior to teach you how to act like a human being.” Under his utterly bewildered gaze, I smashed the metal can squarely into the center of his forehead. He howled in agony. Taking advantage of his momentary blackout, I grabbed him by the collar, ripped him out of his chair, threw him to the floor, mounted his chest, and started raining slaps across his face left and right. “This is for being a degenerate! “This is for the nicknames! “And this is for barking like a pathetic, rabid dog for a girl who doesn’t even want you!” 03 In the principal’s office. Seeing the bloody scratch marks covering her son’s face, Tyler’s mother raised her hand and lunged forward to slap me. I swiftly ducked to the side. Ms. Parker, my homeroom teacher who was standing right behind me, took the full, ringing force of the slap directly to her face. Ms. Parker had never been a good person. Whenever conflicts arose in her classroom, she always sided with the students who had wealthy, powerful parents. I had reported to her countless times that Tyler and his friends were leading the bullying, catcalling me, and throwing things at my head. Ms. Parker had just looked at me coldly and said: “Where there is smoke, there’s fire. If you behaved like a proper, decent girl, no one would bother you.” God as my witness, what kind of disgusting logic was that? If a fly lands on you, does that mean you’re a piece of rotting garbage? Not only did she refuse to do her job and protect me, but she actually victim-blamed me. Smack! Tyler’s mother gasped in horror, covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. Ms. Parker’s face turned ash gray. “Chloe Vance! Look what you’ve done!” Tyler’s mother had swung with everything she had. A bright red handprint was rapidly blooming across Ms. Parker’s left cheek. “Ms. Parker, Tyler’s mom is the one who slapped you. Why on earth are you blaming me?” Tyler’s mom quickly began apologizing profusely to the teacher, while simultaneously cursing me out. “You little bitch! I was aiming for you! If you hadn’t dodged, I wouldn’t have hit Ms. Parker!” “So I’m just supposed to stand there and let you hit me? The apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree. No wonder Tyler has absolutely zero class.” Furious, Tyler’s mom raised her hand to strike me again. “Stop right there.” A familiar female voice echoed from the doorway. It was Liam’s mother, my estate manager, Evelyn Thorne. She was dressed in a sharp, tailored business suit, her shoulder-length hair styled in elegant waves. She didn’t look like a housekeeper; she looked like a high-powered corporate executive. “Mrs. Vance! What a surprise to see you here!” Seeing who it was, Ms. Parker instantly flipped her attitude, stepping forward with a fawning, desperate smile. My father was overseas on a business trip and couldn’t make it back. As my dedicated estate manager, it was perfectly normal for Evelyn to come to the school to handle emergencies. Evelyn offered a graceful, weary smile. “Chloe’s parents are so busy with work. We’re all family, so I came in their place. It’s the same thing.” “Of course a maid is busy serving her masters,” Tyler muttered under his breath. Acting as if she hadn’t heard a thing, Evelyn began exchanging pleasantries with Ms. Parker. I lowered my eyes, unable to hold back a cold sneer. This duo, Liam and his mother, were absolute masters at dropping vague, misleading statements that confirmed everyone’s false assumptions. Anyone looking at them would assume Evelyn was the wealthy matriarch, and Liam was the heir, simply letting a poor charity case live with them. When people called me the maid’s daughter, my denials were treated like delusional lies, because Liam and Evelyn never once stepped up to correct the record. Instead, they would pull me aside and lecture me. They’d say, “Don’t stoop to their level. People are just jealous of wealth. Keeping a low profile protects your dad’s company from unwanted attention.” Ms. Parker glanced at me, then gave Evelyn a brief rundown of today’s incident. “Arguments between students are normal, but resorting to physical violence crosses the line. Tyler is injured. In my opinion, you should cover his medical bills, and Chloe needs to give Tyler a formal apology.” “Absolutely not! My Tyler took a beating for no reason. This is not going away that easily!” “What do you propose, Mrs. Brooks?” Tyler’s mom held up five fingers. “This much. And she has to apologize to my Tyler in front of the entire school assembly.” “$50,000?” Evelyn smoothly pulled out a designer checkbook. She turned to me. “Chloe, the car is parked downstairs. Go wait for me in the back.” I walked out, but I didn’t go downstairs. Tyler’s furious complaints drifted through the open door. “Aunt Evelyn, Chloe is just a maid’s daughter! Why are you treating her so well?!” Evelyn’s voice was soft and maternal. “Don’t speak about her like that. She and my Liam grew up together, and I’ve watched over her since she was a little girl. If she makes a mistake, how could I not look after her?” Ms. Parker gushed, “You are simply too kind, Mrs. Vance.” 04 By the time they escorted Evelyn downstairs, I was already sitting in the car. Tyler yanked the car door open and started yelling. “Aunt Evelyn is nice enough to come pick you up, and you’re sitting in the back seat acting like you’re the boss?! Do you have any manners at all?” “You’re talking to me about manners? The guy who makes up degrading nicknames for girls?” Tyler was about to snap back, but Evelyn grabbed his arm. “Let it go. This child has always had a difficult temper. As adults, we just have to be a little more forgiving.” Ms. Parker shook her head in disapproval, and Evelyn offered a tragic, long-suffering sigh. The car pulled away from the school and merged into traffic. “Chloe, we are ladies. We cannot go around getting into physical altercations. It’s inappropriate.” “No boy is ever going to like a girl who is that aggressive and abrasive.” “Besides, you’re all classmates. You have to see each other every single day. There’s no need to make enemies.” “I’ve already smoothed things over with them. You don’t have to apologize in front of the whole school anymore. Just give Tyler a sincere apology in front of the class, and this whole thing will blow over.” She still thought I was the same brainwashed, naive child she had PUA’d for the last decade, assuming she could just pay people off and force me to apologize without even asking what happened. Her “solution” blatantly cemented the narrative that I was the one entirely at fault. “Why didn’t you ask me why I hit him?” In the rearview mirror, Evelyn’s face stiffened for a fraction of a second, before she offered a silent, patronizing smile. “Regardless of the reason, resorting to violence is always wrong.” “Fine. If you think I’m wrong, you go apologize to him. I am not covering a single cent of that check. You can pay it out of your own pocket. And if you can’t handle a minor issue like this properly, I’ll ask my dad to replace you with a competent estate manager.” I had my own independent bank accounts. The massive budget required to run the estate, covering the salaries and expenses of dozens of staff members, was entirely under my control. My dad had assigned a dedicated corporate accountant to manage my books. I pulled out my phone and dialed Mr. Reed. “The estate manager just wrote a check for $50,000. Void it immediately. Do not let the bank clear it.” Hanging up the phone, I looked at the familiar city streets outside the window and ordered Evelyn to take a different route home. Even though the driver today wasn’t Arthur—who in my past life had taken cold medicine before driving—taking a different route gave me peace of mind to avoid the crash entirely. Before I closed my eyes to rest, I caught a glimpse of Evelyn in the rearview mirror. Her face was absolutely livid. Evelyn Thorne arrived at the Vance estate when I was five years old. My mother had just passed away, and my dad was drowning in corporate expansion. Originally hired as a nanny, Evelyn slowly morphed into a mother figure in my life. Her promotion to head estate manager was largely because of me. My dependence on her eventually surpassed my reliance on my constantly traveling father. Who could have guessed she harbored the ambition of a starving wolf? From the time I was a child, she began systematically gaslighting me. She subtly brainwashed me with toxic, outdated ideals: Men conquer the world, women manage the home. Girls should be submissive, quiet, and excessively forgiving. She deliberately manufactured endless opportunities for me to be alone with her son, paving the way for Liam to secure my heart—and by extension, the entire Vance empire—before we even graduated. Evelyn and Liam’s current behavior made them look more like the masters of the house than I did. When we got home, my chauffeured Maybach still hadn’t returned. Because of the voided check, Evelyn was in a foul mood, her tone sharp and snappy. “The young master still isn’t back yet?” Martha, our loyal maid, took my backpack and blazer, shaking her head. “No, ma’am.” “Arthur is so incredibly reckless! Keeping Liam out wandering the streets this late! Do you have any idea what time it is? Are you too stupid to call him and tell him to hurry up?!” Arthur was my dedicated driver. He was also Evelyn’s younger brother, and Liam’s uncle. After Evelyn secured her iron grip on the Vance household, it didn’t take long for Arthur to be appointed as my personal chauffeur. In my past life, when I was abandoned at school, I called Arthur to come back and get me. He casually told me that Liam had an urgent matter to attend to and couldn’t be interrupted, telling me to just hail a cab. I was so blinded by heartbreak over Liam leaving with Summer that I didn’t even think to call my dad. And then the crash happened.

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1 In the middle of the most important day of my life, our wedding officiant was working the crowd with his overly sentimental routine. He suddenly turned the spotlight on me and Silas, flashing a charismatic smile as he asked what we were each best at after seven years of being in love. The eyes of every single guest in the ballroom zeroed in on us, brimming with warmth and curiosity. My cheeks burned. Deep down, I was secretly hoping Silas would say something incredibly sweet, like “She is best at loving me.” Instead, Silas casually twisted the platinum wedding band on his finger. A mocking smirk curled the corners of his lips as he spoke into the microphone with terrifying nonchalance. He said he was not particularly good at anything. But then his gaze shifted to me. He told the crowd that I was an absolute pro at being a hooker. The grand ballroom instantly plunged into a dead, horrifying silence. The only sound was the sleazy, muffled snickering coming from his frat boy friends in the front row. The officiant began sweating bullets. He desperately tried to smooth things over, laughing awkwardly and saying the groom was quite the joker, adding that I must be an amazing cook. Silas brutally cut the officiant off, emphasizing every single syllable as he clarified that he was not talking about cooking. Right there, in front of five hundred people, he used the absolute filthiest language to describe what a working girl was. He told the entire room that I was a cheap escort who had slept with countless men, entirely used up and worn out. … Five hundred guests. Not a single person breathed. I stood beside him in the custom gown that took three months to make, a deafening ringing echoing in my ears. In the third row, my mother sat frozen in her chair. Her lips were trembling violently. The private nurse beside her had to hold her down with both hands to keep her from collapsing. Meanwhile, Silas’s mother, Eleanor, sat perfectly upright. She gracefully lifted her crystal champagne flute and took a delicate sip. She knew. She knew exactly what he was going to say. I gripped my bridal bouquet so tightly that my manicured nails dug right into my palms, sending sharp spikes of pain up my arms. The whispers began rippling through the banquet hall like a plague. “The new bride used to be a working girl?” “No wonder Eleanor refused to give her blessing and dragged this out for seven years.” “With a face like that, I am honestly not surprised.” The officiant looked helplessly at the wedding planner, who was shaking her head frantically. I finally managed to find my voice. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “Silas, what the hell are you talking about?” He slowly turned his head to look at me. Raising his hand, he gently wiped away a single tear that had slipped down my cheek. The gesture was so light, so incredibly tender. It was like the monster who just spoke those vile words was an entirely different person. “Nora,” he murmured my name, his thumb tracing my jawline. “Do you really think I would stand at my own wedding and spout nonsense?” One of his groomsmen whistled loudly from the floor. My entire body started to shake. Seven years. I had been with Silas for seven years. From our college days to entering the workforce, from squeezing into a tiny rented apartment to moving into his massive estate. For seven years, he took the drinks meant for me at parties. He sat with me in emergency waiting rooms. He gave me every ounce of romance a girl could ever dream of. I genuinely thought he loved me. Now, I was second guessing everything. It took every ounce of willpower I had just to keep my feet planted on the stage and avoid passing out. The wedding abruptly ended in absolute chaos. Guests scurried toward the exits, whispering furiously. I saw dozens of phones raised in the air, recording the fallout. I could not even begin to fathom the digital bloodbath and harassment waiting for me online. Silas grabbed my wrist in a vice grip and dragged me all the way to the hotel’s penthouse bridal suite. The second the heavy doors clicked shut, he let go. He walked straight to the minibar and poured himself a heavy glass of bourbon. I stood frozen in the entryway, the long train of my white gown pooling on the carpet around me. “Why?” I asked him. “If you didn’t want to marry me, you could have just walked away. No one forced you to stand there. Why did you publicly ruin me with lies?” He threw the bourbon back in one gulp. Turning to look at me, a sudden smile broke across his face. “Who said I didn’t want to marry you?” He closed the distance between us step by agonizing step, stopping only when he was mere inches away. He lowered his head and pressed a bruising kiss against my lips. “Listen to me very carefully, Nora.” “Your past, every single guy who ever put his hands on you, every time you opened your legs for cash, I know all of it.” “But I still put a ring on your finger.” “Do you know what that means?” His voice dropped to a dark, obsessive whisper. “It means I love you, Nora. I love you so damn much that I am willing to claim even the filthiest parts of you.” My tears spilled over, splashing hotly against the back of his hand. He seemed incredibly satisfied with my reaction. He pulled me into a suffocating embrace, resting his chin heavily on the top of my head. “Be a good girl. Stop crying. Now that you are my wife, absolutely no one will ever dare bring up your dirty little secrets again.” He held me so tight I could barely breathe. The steady thumping of his heartbeat vibrated against my chest. I closed my eyes in his arms, only one thought screaming through my mind. Not a single thing he just said was true. 2 I was never a hooker. But I had stepped foot into that kind of world. Seven years ago, when I was eighteen, I spent forty seven nights sleeping on the cold linoleum floor of the hematology ward at Harbor City General. My mother, Helen, had acute leukemia. The day her diagnosis came in, the lead oncologist pulled me into his office and told me the bone marrow transplant and post op care would cost roughly eight hundred thousand dollars. Eight hundred thousand. My father died when I was six. He left behind a leaky roof over our heads and a measly three thousand dollars in a savings account. I barely scraped through high school on financial aid. My entire life savings consisted of four thousand dollars I earned pulling double shifts at a local coffee shop. I got down on my knees and begged the local welfare office. I begged the charities. I begged the reviewers on medical crowdfunding websites. I only managed to raise sixty thousand dollars. A drop in the ocean. Eventually, someone handed me a business card with an address. 88 Golden Crest Avenue. A high end private club called The Velvet Lounge. I went. The madam running the floor took one look at me and asked how old I was. I told her eighteen. She tossed me a form fitting dress and dragged me to the door of a VIP room on the third floor. “Go in there, pour their drinks, smile, and make small talk.” She leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette. “You don’t need to do anything else. You are too skinny anyway, none of these guys want a stick figure in their bed. Two thousand bucks a night. Do you want the job or not?” I took the job. I was not a hooker. I was a bottle girl. I poured whiskey, lit cigars, swallowed insults, got forced to drink until I threw up, dodged wandering hands, and endured endless sleazy remarks. But I never sold my body. During those forty seven days, I worked thirty nine night shifts at The Velvet Lounge. There was one night a heavily intoxicated client pinned me against a leather sofa. I slammed my knee directly into his groin. The floor manager docked my pay for three days. The manager looked at me with absolute disgust. “If you don’t want to play the game, get out. There is a line of pretty girls around the block begging for this job.” I did not get out. Because my mother’s surgery bills had to be paid. Every night, I clocked out at 2 AM. I walked forty minutes through the sketchy part of town back to the hospital, slept for exactly three hours on a waiting room bench, and woke up at 6 AM to make my mother oatmeal. I saved up eighty thousand dollars. Combined with the crowdfunding money, it was barely enough to cover the initial surgical deposit. The day we got the news of a successful bone marrow match, I locked myself in the hospital stairwell and cried hysterically for twenty minutes. Then I splashed cold water on my face, walked into my mother’s room, and told her the university had granted me a massive scholarship. Silas met me in that very same hospital corridor. He was visiting his sick grandfather in the VIP wing. He walked past the hematology ward and saw me curled up into a tight ball, fast asleep on a plastic bench. He told me later that he stood there and watched me for five whole minutes. “You were smiling in your sleep,” he had said. “I really wanted to know what you were dreaming about.” Those were the very first words he ever spoke to me. Throughout our seven years together, I buried my time at The Velvet Lounge deep in the darkest corner of my mind. It was not out of guilt. It was because I knew exactly how the real world worked. If you try to explain that you were just pouring drinks, society will simply nod and say, ‘Sure, so you were a hooker.’ I really thought I had buried it deep enough. Until last night, the eve of our wedding. Silas took a call in his study. His voice was hushed, but I was standing right outside the door and heard every word perfectly. “You saw the files? The ones Daphne sent over?” “…It is just a few photos. I already knew she used to work in a place like that. I don’t need you reminding me.” He hung up, pulled open the heavy oak door, and froze when he saw me standing there. He didn’t explain. He didn’t ask. He just reached out and ruffled my hair. “Go to bed early.” In that exact moment, every survival instinct in my body screamed that the wedding tomorrow was going to be a disaster. But I was too terrified to ask. For seven years, I was too terrified to breathe a word about The Velvet Lounge. I was so scared that if I pulled at that loose thread, everything we built would unravel. And in the end, it unraveled anyway. It shattered into a million unfixable pieces in front of five hundred people. 3 Even the next morning, my brain was still lost in a dense fog. Silas practically dragged me to his family’s sprawling estate to perform the post wedding formalities. His mother, Eleanor, was sitting perfectly poised on a velvet armchair. Standing right beside her was a gorgeous, elegant woman. I recognized her from photos. Her name was Daphne. When I knelt on the rug to offer Eleanor her morning coffee as a traditional sign of submission, she completely ignored the cup. “Stay on your knees.” She slowly twisted the diamond ring on her finger. “If Silas absolutely insists on marrying you, I cannot stop him. But we are setting ground rules right now.” “First, now that you are in my house, your dirty past is buried. You will not breathe a word of it to anyone. If you cannot keep your own mouth shut, I will shut it for you.” “Second, Daphne is a girl I watched grow up. She has been Silas’s best friend since childhood. You might be the wife, but do not ever get in her way.” Get in her way? The fine china cup in my hands rattled. Daphne let out a delicate little scoff. “Oh, Eleanor, what are you saying? She is my pure, innocent new friend.” She dragged out the word ‘pure’, her eyes practically glowing with undisguised malice. Eleanor patted the back of Daphne’s hand, looking at her with nothing but absolute adoration. I held that scalding cup of coffee in the air for a full hour. My arms were trembling so violently I thought my shoulders would snap. Finally, Eleanor reached out to take it. I let out a breath, thinking she was finally going to drink it. The next second. A sharp splash. She threw the burning hot coffee directly into my face. “Formalities are done. Get out of my sight.” Walking out of the estate, I sat in the back of Silas’s luxury SUV without uttering a single syllable. Silas drove with one hand draped casually over the steering wheel, glancing at me through the rearview mirror every few minutes. “Cat got your tongue?” I shook my head. “Are you throwing a tantrum over a little coffee? Honestly, you should be…” I cut him off softly. “I’m not.” I was simply processing the realization that it was finally time to pull the plug on this relationship. That night, I sat wide awake on the edge of the mattress until the sun came up. Just as the sky began to turn a bruised purple, a violent chill wracked my body, followed instantly by a tidal wave of nausea. I scrambled off the bed and practically crawled into the master bathroom, gripping the edges of the marble sink as I dry heaved until tears blurred my vision. After a brutal wave of stomach cramps, I stared blankly into the mirror, a horrifying realization slamming into my brain. My period was exactly two weeks late. With shaking hands, I yanked open the bottom drawer of the vanity and dug out an old pregnancy test I had stored away months ago. Those agonizing minutes of waiting felt like standing on the gallows with a noose around my neck. The pink dye slowly crept across the window. One line. Two lines. I was pregnant. But out of all the moments in my life, why did it have to be right now? Silas suddenly pushed the bathroom door open. His eyes instantly locked onto my right hand before I could hide the plastic stick behind my back. “You’re pregnant?” I dug my fingernails into my palms and gave a stiff, mechanical nod. “Yes.” He slowly crouched down to my level, looking me directly in the eyes for the first time in two days. “Whose kid is it?” My entire body flinched. I genuinely thought it was a sick joke. “Yours, obviously. Our baby.” He stared at me in complete, suffocating silence. “We are getting a paternity test anyway.” My heart felt like it completely stopped beating. “What?” “We are doing a paternity test. Once there is medical proof it belongs to me, I will claim it.” I locked myself inside that bathroom and threw up for another hour. It was not morning sickness. It was pure, unadulterated disgust. Three days later, someone violently shoved me from behind while I was walking back from the grocery store. I fell hard against the concrete. I lost the baby. The ER doctor told me my body was already incredibly weak, and the massive spike in cortisol from my emotional distress turned the fall into a threatened miscarriage that could not be stopped. I lay alone in the sterile hospital bed, calling his cell phone. I dialed twelve times. He ignored every single one. On the thirteenth attempt, his executive assistant finally answered. “Mrs. Kensington, the CEO is currently in a high level board meeting. Would you like me to pass along a message?” Two hours later, the assistant appeared at my hospital room door. She set a plastic bag on the bedside table. Inside was a generic thermal food container. “Mr. Kensington asked me to drop this off. He said you need to get plenty of rest.” I popped the lid off the container. It was cheap takeout, and it was completely cold. He did not show up to the hospital until 11 PM that night. He walked through the door, immediately crinkled his nose at the smell of antiseptic, and looked at me. “It’s gone?” I nodded. He sat on the edge of the mattress and stayed silent for a few agonizing seconds. “Probably for the best. With everything going on right now, it is really not a good time to bring a kid into this.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled through a few business emails, and then gave my hand a dismissive pat. “Go to sleep early.” He walked out. My phone vibrated on the sheets. It was a text from my mother. “Is Silas treating you right? Because if he is hurting you, just…” I stared at the screen for a long time before typing out a reply. “Mom, I am doing great. Don’t worry about me.” Then I shut off my phone and buried my face into the hospital pillow. 4 The day I was discharged. Silas had booked a private dining room at an upscale hotel, claiming he had to host a dinner for crucial business partners and could not come to pick me up. I nodded. It was probably for the best. I honestly had no idea what kind of mask I was supposed to wear around him anymore. But the moment I stepped into the empty estate, his assistant called in a panic. “Mrs. Kensington, Silas had way too much to drink and his cough is acting up horribly. Could you please come check on him?” Ever since winter started, his bronchitis had been severe, so I always kept a special honey and loquat syrup brewed in the fridge. I hesitated for a few seconds, but my muscle memory took over. I heated it up, poured it into a thermos, and took a cab to the hotel. Third floor. I could hear the raucous laughter echoing down the carpeted hallway before I even reached the door. Pushing it open, I immediately recognized the faces around the table. Preston, Blake, and Connor. They were Silas’s closest business associates, and the exact same men who had laughed the loudest from the front row at our wedding. The second I walked in. Preston raised his whiskey glass at me. “Look who it is! The missus finally graces us with her presence.” Blake chimed in with a sleazy grin. “Silas keeps his toys locked up tight. Didn’t want to share his gorgeous wife with the boys.” The atmosphere seemed casually toxic, exactly what I expected from them. But I immediately noticed Silas’s expression. He had a smirk painted on his lips, but his eyes were completely dead and devoid of warmth. I cleared my throat. “I just came to drop off Silas’s medicine. I will head out now.” Connor quickly slid out of his chair and blocked the door. “Don’t be like that, Nora. You’re already here, you have to stay for a drink.” “I really can’t. I have things to handle at home.” I subconsciously gripped the thermos tighter, turning to look pleadingly at Silas sitting at the head of the table. He finally opened his mouth. “Sit down. We will go home together when I’m done.” Trapped, I had no choice but to take a seat at the far end of the table. After a few more rounds of drinks, Blake pulled out his phone and loudly cleared his throat. “Silas, I’m in a great mood tonight. I want to show the boys something really special.” He mirrored his phone screen onto the massive flat screen TV mounted on the wall. The screen lit up. It was a video, heavily blurred and pixelated, but it was unmistakably a man and a woman in a hotel bed. The woman in the footage was pinned down, her muffled but provocative noises filling the room. Blake pointed an accusing finger at the screen, a vicious smile on his face. “Do any of you recognize the star of the show?” Preston squinted at the screen. “Too blurry, man. Who is it?” Blake cut his eyes directly to me, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. “It’s Silas’s wife.” All the blood in my body violently rushed to my head. “That is not me.” I shot up from my chair, my voice trembling with rage. Blake leaned back, draping his arm over his chair. “Oh, come on, Nora. Stop playing innocent. Three years ago at The Velvet Lounge, I was the very first guy to get a taste of you.” My brain short circuited. The woman in that video was absolutely not me. The voice was wrong, the body type was wrong. But the deepfake blur was so thick you could not prove a damn thing. Connor practically jumped out of his seat, pulling his own phone out and waving it in the air. “I’ve got a clip too! I bought a night with her a month after you did. Honestly, she was a screamer.” Preston scoffed loudly. “Give me a break, she was way louder when I had her. That night we—” “It is not me.” I spoke again, my whole body shaking uncontrollably now. “The woman in those videos is not me!” All three men turned to look at me simultaneously, before bursting into a chorus of obnoxious, booming laughter. Blake slammed his hand on the table. “Nora, you are already married to the guy! What is the point of acting like a virgin now?” I snapped my head toward Silas. He was leaning casually against the back of his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, completely silent. I threw myself across the table, desperately grabbing his forearm. “Silas, look at the videos! Look closely, that is not me! I swear that is not—” Connor took a swig of his beer and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, let’s settle this right now. Who made the missus scream the loudest?” The three of them erupted into another fit of disgusting laughter. The next second, Silas slammed his glass down. He pulled his own smartphone from his pocket, unlocked it, and pulled up a video file. No deepfake blur. No pixels. The footage was sickeningly clear. It was me. It was me and him. A video taken inside our own marriage bed, inside the sanctuary I foolishly believed held the last remaining shreds of his love. He tossed the phone into the center of the table and leaned back. “Stop arguing,” he slurred, his voice dripping with arrogant, drunken pride. “She’s loudest with me.” Preston leaned over the table, his eyes glued to Silas’s screen, and let out a low whistle. “Damn, Silas wins. That is definitely the loudest.” Blake raised his glass in a toast. “The undisputed champion. Hats off to you, brother.” My mind completely blanked out. I lunged across the wood, frantically clawing at the table to grab his phone. Silas’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He backhanded me right across the face. The sheer force sent me crashing over the glass coffee table. Empty liquor bottles shattered in every direction. Jagged shards of glass sliced deep into the palms of my hands. The private room went dead silent for a split second. “Are you insane?” He stared down at me with pure disgust. Blood was steadily dripping from my palms onto the carpet, but the physical pain didn’t even register. “Delete the video.” I dropped to my knees amidst the broken glass, my voice entirely broken. “Silas, please. I am begging you. Delete it.” He leaned down, grabbing my jaw with a grip so tight I felt my cheekbones bruising under his fingers. “Nora, when you were hooking at The Velvet Lounge, did you beg your clients to delete their videos too?” He violently twisted my face toward the three men sitting at the table. “You let them look at you all they want, but suddenly I’m the bad guy? Or is it that you just love showing off for other men, but your own husband isn’t allowed to watch?” Tears completely blinded my vision. He let go of my face, picked up his bourbon glass, and went right back to drinking with his friends. I stayed on my knees on the floor, bleeding from both hands. The four men in the room carried on laughing and talking business. Not a single one of them looked down at me. I honestly have no memory of how I managed to stand up. I only remember that the hallway outside that room felt like it stretched on for miles. I walked for what felt like an eternity, finally pushing open the heavy glass doors of the hotel lobby. It was pouring rain outside. The bitter November rain chilled me down to the marrow of my bones. I stood completely still in the torrential downpour, digging my phone out of my soaked coat pocket. The screen lit up, illuminating Silas’s profile picture. The very last message in our chat history was from the night before the wedding. “What are you doing? I miss you.” Staring at those words, a hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was all just so utterly pathetic. I powered down the phone. I tilted my head up, letting the freezing rain wash the blood and tears completely off my face. Seven years. That was more than enough. It was time for Nora to leave.

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The female lead came to confront me: “Using a baby to trap Carter is truly shameless!” The next second, catching a glimpse of Carter appearing in the doorway, I rolled my eyes and fainted on the spot. 01 I transmigrated into a book. The female lead of this romance novel is Serena Brooks, and the male lead is Ethan Vance. The main antagonist, the second male lead, is Carter Hayes, Serena’s childhood friend. Serena and Carter both grew up in difficult circumstances and supported each other through their tough childhoods. Carter always kept that warmth close to his heart. Later, Carter went out of state to make his fortune and achieved great success. When he returned, Serena had already been swept off her feet by a domineering billionaire CEO. Consumed by jealousy, Carter began stirring up trouble for the constantly tearful female lead. Simply put, it’s a classic “childhood friend loses to the newly arrived billionaire” trope. I was pretty annoyed when I read it. I mean, you’re the female lead, you’ve already chosen the billionaire, so why do you keep crying to the second male lead? Even if you don’t have other friends to confide in, you know he’s in love with you, right? How do you think the male lead feels seeing you resting your head on Carter’s shoulder? And Carter, that idiot, actually strokes her hair affectionately! It’s like they’re trying to give the male lead an aneurysm. Alright, somehow, inexplicably, I’ve transmigrated into this mess. And of all people, I’m the plot device wedged between Carter and Serena. Well, since I’m here and have no intention of going back, I might as well cause some chaos. I checked myself out in the mirror. I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive. My character, Chloe Sterling, is hot. Like, seriously gorgeous! “Carter, this is my boyfriend, Ethan.” The delicate and charming Serena hooked her arm through the male lead’s, smiling sweetly like a summer peach. Seeing Carter’s face turn as dark as the bottom of a scorched pan, I smoothly sidled up next to him. According to the plot, this is where he’s supposed to pull me close. And declare that I’m his girlfriend. Sure enough, a strong arm wrapped around my waist. I looked up shyly. Holy crap! He’s so handsome. “Yes, I’m his girlfriend.” Whoops, spoke too soon… 02 Thankfully, Carter was a bit tipsy and just spaced out for a second without minding my eagerness. Serena’s expression instantly fell. Look at her, this is exactly what she does! If you don’t want to be with someone else, then you should be smiling! Wearing that disappointed look right in front of Carter makes him think you still have feelings for him! I quickly blocked Carter’s view and grabbed his hand. “Honey, look at them holding hands so tightly. They’re so in love.” Carter’s gaze drifted down, and his face grew even darker. Darker than a stormy night. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let me help you back so we can get to bed early… er, get some rest.” I half-dragged, half-pulled Carter away, completely ignoring Serena’s scrutinizing stare. A big bed, a handsome guy, and a drunk handsome guy at that. Just as the mood was getting perfect, Carter’s phone rang. Knowing the plot, I knew exactly who it was: Serena calling to ruin my night. He groggily reached for his phone. Yoink. I grabbed it, turned it off, and tossed it on the floor. What a wonderful night~ 03 The moment I opened my eyes the next morning, I saw Carter looking like he had been severely wronged. “You…” “Waaaahhh.” I beat him to the punch and started fake-crying. Because I knew he couldn’t stand seeing a woman cry. He looked intimidating on the outside, but was a total softie on the inside. Otherwise, how could he keep falling for Serena’s tears over and over again? A tissue was thrust in front of my face. “I can take responsibility for what happened, but I need to be clear with you.” “I already have someone I love in my heart.” Duh, tell me something I don’t know. And just like that, I officially became Carter’s shadow. At first, he was very annoyed and always told me to go do my own thing. Nonsense. I transmigrated here for entertainment. I had zero interest in that iceberg male lead who blew hot and cold. “I’m already yours.” “I’ll miss you today, miss you tomorrow, and miss you the day after tomorrow.” “I don’t care what you do, as long as I can be with you, that’s enough.” “I’m willing to wait for you forever, even if you’re waiting for someone else.” “Also, my family is super rich, so I don’t even need to go to work.” After that barrage of sweet talk, Carter went silent. Silence = consent. Yep, I deliberately ignored the way he looked at me like I was an alien. Slowly, Carter got used to having me around. Even though he rarely spoke to me. Even though he often stared blankly at pictures of Serena on his phone. Even though he often got furious looking at pictures of Ethan. But the end result was always the same: getting drunk and getting pushed down by me. “Serena, what’s wrong?!” A ringing phone in the middle of the night woke me up. My bad, I forgot to turn his phone off this time. 04 “Stay put at Mirror Lake, I’m coming right now.” Carter swiftly rolled out of bed and vanished out the door. Even Usain Bolt would applaud that speed. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. I dialed Ethan’s number. “Who is this?” “Ethan Vance, are you even a man?” “Why are you bullying my bestie, Serena?” “The first person Serena looks for when she’s heartbroken is Carter.” “Do you know how dangerous it is for a girl to be alone at Mirror Lake in the middle of the night?” “In her heart, the way you treat her doesn’t even compare to Carter.” “Reflect on your actions!” I let out a long breath. A while later, I heard arguing at the front door. I threw on Carter’s jacket and walked out barefoot. “Serena! Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you seeing Carter alone?” “What gives you the right to yell at Serena! You only ever hurt her!” “Do you know how hard Serena was crying?” Serena stood between them, her eyes red. “Ethan, hearts aren’t made of stone.” “You keep hurting Serena, are you sure she’ll keep loving you?” I stood up for her with a serious face of righteous indignation. Serena’s expression changed instantly. Furious, Ethan grabbed Serena and planted a passionate kiss on her. Serena went weak in the knees. She obediently let him lead her to his car by the hand. “Serena, Serena…” “Didn’t you say he treats you badly?” “Didn’t you say… I’m the only one who makes you feel safe?” Ethan’s footsteps paused for a second. He threw her hand off and got into the car. Serena threw back one last sentence: “I was just too heartbroken. I… I love Ethan.” “I’m sorry.” And hurriedly got into the car. Wow~ Crash~ Whose heart just shattered? 05 Carter locked himself in his room for two days without coming out. I get it, heartbreak doesn’t heal overnight. I lay on the couch, hugging a bag of potato chips, with a boba tea in my other hand. Gotta be full and energized to heal his wounds, right? On the third day, I made my move. If he starved himself any longer, his nice body would waste away. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work in the kitchen. A huge plate of fragrant sweet and sour ribs, glossy and aromatic. I also scooped a bowl of white rice. I knew sweet and sour ribs were the second male lead’s favorite. It was the only dish the female lead ever made for him when they were kids. I pushed open the door and saw someone who wasn’t wearing any clothes. “Blegh—” 06 The sadness that had been plastered on Carter’s face for days finally cracked. “Chloe Sterling, what is your problem! You—” His yelling stopped abruptly when he saw the food in my hands. I blinked my innocent, big eyes. “Carter, take me to the hospital, please.” Once I saw the positive pregnancy test, my heart settled. Man, I’m good. I’m very pragmatic; no time to lose, things change too fast. Having a baby makes everything much more secure. I knew Carter loved kids. In the original plot, his biggest wish was to build a warm family with Serena. To have children that belonged to both of them. After confirming my pregnancy, Carter changed. He changed in a way that scared me a little. Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him sitting in the living room, wide awake. Looking weighed down by heavy thoughts. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at my belly, careful but lost. I don’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones, but I suddenly started feeling a little insecure. Well, just a little bit. A few days later, Carter brought a strange older woman home. 07 The woman’s name was Mary, and she seemed very warm and friendly. Carter just briefly explained that she was his godmother, here to take care of me. He told me to call her godmother too, saying we were all family now. When Carter said we were all family, my heart suddenly fluttered. Family. When Carter went to work, Godmother managed all the cooking and cleaning around the house. Well, mostly she supervised the hired help to make sure they did a good job. She also often chatted with me about everyday things. To be honest, I was very curious about her. Because I didn’t remember this character existing in the original novel. Or maybe her appearances were too brief for me to remember. It seems my meddling since arriving here has caused a butterfly effect. Could I change the ending? “Chloe, I just love girls who are as decisive and straightforward as you.” Godmother looked at me, smiling like a sunflower. “When Carter came to see me, I guessed right away there was good news.” “He hasn’t smiled like that in ten years.” Uhh— Isn’t that a line usually reserved for the female lead? 08 Lately, because of morning sickness, my temper has been a bit volatile. My cravings got weird, and my mood swung wildly. Godmother kept treating me like a spoiled child, indulging me in everything. Whenever I nagged Carter, she always took my side. Seeing his helpless expression, too afraid to provoke me, I felt an inexplicable sense of joy. What if it’s not that he didn’t dare, but that he couldn’t bear to? Just as I was throwing another tantrum at Carter, he finally lost his patience. “Chloe, don’t push it!” I felt a wave of grievance and burst into loud sobs. Godmother rushed over in a panic. “Oh my, Carter, why are you upsetting our Chloe again?” “Our Chloe is beautiful, obedient, and devoted to you.” “You couldn’t find someone like her if you searched the whole world with a lantern.” “Look how haggard Chloe has gotten lately, all for your baby.” “Whatever she wants, just give it to her. If she scolds you, just take it—” I curled up in Godmother’s arms, making a lot of noise but shedding very few tears. Carter frustratingly punched a throw pillow. He interrupted Godmother’s scolding. “Godmother!” “She insists on eating an airplane meal in the middle of the night! Where am I supposed to find that for her?!” His voice trembled with a hint of grievance. 09 The room went silent for a moment. I also sniffled, feeling a little embarrassed. Godmother looked at me. “Chloe, do you really want to eat it? Think carefully, think very carefully.” I thought seriously for a whole minute. “Godmother, I really want it. I crave it so much.” Godmother and I locked eyes on Carter. An hour later, a still-warm airline meal was placed in front of me. Carter stood before me, his awkward expression resembling a child craving praise. So cute. “Carter, you’re amazing, love you!” I didn’t hold back on the praise. I’ve got a basket full of free sweet talk. A blush crept onto his cheeks, and he gave a feigned impatient “Mhm.” I scooped a spoonful and put it in my mouth. Carter watched my reaction with hopeful eyes. “Blegh—” “It’s gross. Take it away, I want to sleep.” The air fell silent once again. “Chloe Sterling!” I thought life would just continue peacefully like this. Until the frantic ringing of the doorbell shattered the quiet. 10 The ghost that wouldn’t leave, Serena, had arrived. With tears brimming in her eyes. “Carter, I—” Mid-sentence, Serena looked at me awkwardly. Oh, so there are secrets I’m not allowed to hear. Well, I’m not leaving. Carry me out if you can. I pretended not to see Carter signaling me to leave, stuffing my mouth with the healthy snacks Godmother made. “Cough, Serena, it’s fine, go ahead. Are you in some kind of trouble?” Duh, obviously. What other use is the second male lead for? “Carter, I’m doomed this time…” It turned out she volunteered to take charge of a very important project at Ethan’s company. Lacking professional competence, she even publicly insulted the clients for being arrogant and overly demanding. As a result, she blew it. Serena didn’t want Ethan to find out, so she hinted that Carter should hand over a major project from his own company to her to cover her mistake. Wow, so shameless. Is this the independent, strong female lead? “This—” Even Carter hesitated. Thank goodness he still had a brain; this wasn’t a small favor. Such a major project, and with a long-term, important client. If he transferred it to a rival company like it was child’s play, not only would his company suffer a massive financial blow, but he would also lose all respect in the business world and among his partners. In the original plot, Carter agreed to this favor, which later led him to walk down a dark path out of desperation to rebuild his empire. “Carter, it’s okay. It’s my fault anyway.” “But in my heart, you’re the only person in this world I can truly rely on.” “It was true when we were kids, and it’s true now.” After that, Serena’s tears began to fall. It was truly a pitiful sight. Sure enough, someone couldn’t hold back. “Serena, don’t cry, I’ll just—” “Hold on!” This idiot! They both looked at me simultaneously. Serena’s eyes were full of resentment. “Carter, even if you don’t think about yourself, shouldn’t you consider our baby?” 11 “What?” Serena looked at my belly in shock. Then frantically turned to Carter. “Carter, you, you two already have a child?” Carter’s expression softened. “Yeah, Godmother said it’s better to wait until the pregnancy is more stable before telling others, so…” “Others… Carter, have I become ‘others’ to you?” “Serena, that’s not what I meant. I was just worried—” “Exactly, he was just too worried about me. Please don’t blame him, Serena.” I smiled radiantly. “Uh, congratulations, Carter. So, when are you transferring that project to me?” She’s still not giving up! I stared at Carter, feeling a sense of defeat. If he insisted on agreeing, there wasn’t really much I could do. “You were so good to me in the past, actually, I don’t really care about this company.” A smile appeared in Serena’s eyes. “But now that I have my own child, I think I need to be responsible for them.” “I don’t want them to have an irresponsible father like mine was.” Carter’s voice grew dim. A slight pang hit my heart. “So, I might need to think about it.” “I’m sorry, Serena. Let me try to find another way to help you, okay?” 12 Serena’s face looked terrible. This was probably the first time Carter had ever refused to help her. I could even sense panic in her. Panic that she was no longer this man’s sole emotional anchor. He had a child, a blood connection, a family now. “Serena, how about I have my driver take you home first?” “Carter has to take me to my prenatal checkup soon, we’re almost late.” Perhaps my overly joyful smile stung her, but Serena ignored my enthusiasm, grabbed her bag, and walked out. Oh, she’s mad. Giving the silent treatment. “Hey, Serena—” I blocked Carter, who was about to chase after her, feeling frustrated by his weakness. “Are you stupid? What good does chasing after her do now?” “Do you want to ruin the company? Do you want our child to suffer in poverty?” “If you’re not ready to be a father, I’ll go right now and… get an abortion!” “Chloe Sterling, don’t you dare! Do you believe I’ll—” Carter raised his arm in exasperation. I stuck my belly out, looking utterly defiant. He eventually gave up and rolled his eyes at me. “If I still had my old temper, I would have—” Carter muttered as he got into the car. “What did you say, you jerk?” “Get in the car!” Hmph, thought I couldn’t handle you. Seeing Carter’s company project finally secured, my heart felt a bit more at ease. Hopefully, nothing else will… “Chloe, let’s go out for afternoon tea.” The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone sounded very gentle.

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A severely depressed student sent me a suicide note late at night. I rushed to the school rooftop and pulled him back from the gates of hell. The very next day, his mother reported me to the school district, accusing me of psychological manipulation and grooming her son. I did not argue with her. I silently accepted the school’s decision to suspend me pending an investigation. Turning around, she brought a reporter to the school gates, holding up a massive banner: “Give My Child Back His Mental Health! Severely Punish the Corrupt Teacher Valerie Pierce!” On Thanksgiving Eve, her son stood on that same rooftop once again. He specifically asked to see me. She called my phone frantically, her voice bordering on madness. I replied with absolute calm. “My suspension is specifically to prevent me from causing him further harm. Therefore, I cannot be there. Going would be a violation of district orders. You will just have to wait for the fire department to rescue him.” … Late Friday night, I had just finished grading the last batch of weekly journals and was getting ready for bed. My phone buzzed. It was a message from my student, Noah. “Ms. Pierce, I finally figured it out. Thank you for everything.” Beneath the text was a photo. It showed the very edge of the high school’s rooftop. Two feet dangled over the abyss, framed by the glittering city lights far below. A spike of pure ice shot up my spine, freezing the blood in my veins. I dialed his number instantly. The receiver only fed me a cold, mechanical busy signal. Without a second of hesitation, I grabbed my car keys off the sofa and sprinted downstairs. Throwing myself into the driver’s seat, I started the engine and used the car’s Bluetooth to dial 911. “Crestview High School, the main building rooftop. A seventeen year old student named Noah Collins is attempting to jump.” My voice sounded terrifyingly calm. There was not a single tremor in it. The car shot forward like an arrow released from a bow. I blew through red lights, completely ignoring the traffic signals. My foot was practically glued to the gas pedal while my brain rapidly cycled through every psychological intervention technique I knew. Do not agitate him. Do not shout. Show empathy. Make him feel profoundly understood. A fifteen minute drive took me exactly seven. I sprinted up the stairwell and pushed open the heavy iron door leading to the roof. Noah was sitting on the ledge, his back to the entrance. His thin school uniform billowed in the night wind, making him look like a fragile kite about to snap off its string. I stopped walking. I did not call out his name. About thirty feet behind him, I quietly sat down on the concrete. “When birds grow weary of the sky, do they long to plunge into the deep sea to see the coral and the whales?” I spoke softly, reciting a line of poetry from the journal entry he had submitted the week prior. His shoulders gave a violent, almost imperceptible flinch. I kept my voice steady. “The feedback I wrote on your paper was that your words are like frost on a windowpane. They can bite and sting the heart. But when that frost melts, it becomes the water that nourishes the earth.” “Noah, your words hold immense power. It is a power that can heal others, but more importantly, it can heal you.” “You are a born writer. Your story is only in its opening chapters. You should not put a period here.” I did not mention his parents. I did not lecture him. I simply sat there in the quiet night, talking about his writing and the beautiful imagery in his poetry. The wind was biting, making my teeth chatter, but I kept my posture perfectly straight. An hour later, shivering uncontrollably, he slowly climbed back over the railing. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the safety of the concrete floor. Just as I was about to let out a breath of relief, the heavy roof door burst open with a deafening crash. His mother, Brenda, rushed in alongside several police officers. “Noah! My baby!” Brenda threw herself at the trembling boy, her wails echoing across the rooftop. She held him and cried for a few minutes before suddenly turning around. She practically threw herself at my feet, ready to drop to her knees. I reacted quickly, catching her arms to hold her up. “Ms. Pierce! You are a literal angel sent from heaven to save my boy!” She gripped my hands with a vice like strength, her face a mess of tears and snot. “If it were not for you, my son would be gone! You saved his life. You have been giving him free tutoring since his freshman year! You have poured so much of your heart into him!” The police officers and school security guards watched the exchange in silence. “Ms. Pierce, I have two thousand dollars right here. You have to take it! You deserve this!” She pulled a thick envelope of cash from her designer purse and tried to shove it into my coat pocket. I firmly pushed her hand back. “Brenda, please, there is no need for this. I am his teacher. This is my job.” I looked her in the eyes, my tone turning serious. “Money will not fix the root of the problem. Noah’s mental state requires far more attention from you as his parents.” I helped her steady herself. Later that night, I compiled a comprehensive list of adolescent psychological intervention resources and the contact information for several professional counseling centers, sending them directly to her phone. 2 On Monday, I was giving a masterclass in the grand lecture hall. The tiered seats were packed with students and faculty members observing my teaching methods. I was dissecting a classic piece of Victorian literature, reading a famous line about a tree planted in memory of a deceased wife. I was so immersed in the emotional weight of the text that my own voice grew slightly thick. The heavy oak doors at the back of the hall suddenly swung open. The principal walked in, accompanied by two men in sharp, official looking suits. Every single pair of eyes in the room darted toward them. My heart instantly sank. One of the men, possessing a stern, square jawline, walked straight down the aisle to my podium. He completely interrupted my lesson in front of hundreds of students and dozens of my peers. “Are you Ms. Valerie Pierce?” I offered a slow nod. “We are from the District Board of Education’s Disciplinary Committee. We have received a formal, named complaint against you. We need you to halt your teaching duties immediately and accompany us to the office for an investigation.” He did not shout, but in the dead silence of that lecture hall, his words hit like a bomb. A tidal wave of whispers erupted among the students. The other teachers exchanged shocked, suspicious glances, their eyes scanning me with deep scrutiny. I was escorted out of the room with a man on either side of me. A suffocating wave of humiliation washed over me. When they pushed open the door to the principal’s office, I froze. Brenda was sitting on the leather sofa. Seeing me, her eyes darted away, entirely avoiding my gaze. Sitting next to her was a scruffy man with a DSLR camera around his neck. He introduced himself as a reporter for the City Chronicle. Before I could even speak, Brenda stood up. Right in front of the district officials, she pressed play on her phone. An audio recording filled the room. It was my voice, sounding incredibly harsh. “Noah! If you keep giving up on yourself like this, your entire life is going to be ruined!” That was the entirety of the clip. Stripped of all context, heavily spliced, it sounded suffocatingly aggressive. Brenda instantly snapped into her role as a heartbroken, devastated mother. She sobbed directly at the district officials. “Do you hear that? This is how she has been verbally abusing my son for months!” “She tells everyone my boy is a genius, but behind closed doors, she tears him down! She is grooming him! She is completely gaslighting my child!” “How old is my son? She is a woman in her twenties, spending hours alone with him every day, talking about literature, talking about life, calling him her soulmate! It is blatantly obvious she is fostering an inappropriate, romantic teacher student attachment!” “She wants to isolate him so he becomes completely dependent on her. All so she can eventually extort us for astronomical private tutoring fees!” The fake reporter’s camera flashed aggressively in my face, the harsh light blinding me. Brenda slammed a stack of printed bank statements onto the coffee table, followed by a highly questionable psychiatric diagnosis report. “Here are the wire transfers she forced me to send for her ‘tutoring’! And here is the medical proof! My son has been diagnosed with severe clinical depression because of her psychological abuse!” “I am demanding that the school and the district compensate us for his medical bills and emotional distress. I want fifty thousand dollars!” The blood rushed to my head, leaving my vision speckled with black spots. Those bank transfers were just reimbursements. I had asked her to send me money so I could buy Noah specific study guides. She had deliberately photoshopped out the transaction memos. And the accusation of fostering a romantic attachment was an absolutely sickening, baseless lie. Standing in front of all of them, I was so furious my vocal cords locked up. My body swayed slightly. The principal let out a heavy sigh and delivered the verdict. “Ms. Pierce, per district protocol, you are suspended pending further review. Please hand over your office keys and your ID badge, and head home.” I walked out of the building feeling like an empty shell. But a far more explosive scene was waiting for me at the front gates. Brenda had taken her hired reporter to the main entrance. They had strung up a massive, blindingly white banner across the wrought iron gates. Bold black letters screamed out: “Give My Child Back His Mental Health! Severely Punish the Corrupt Teacher Valerie Pierce!” She was performing for the camera, weeping hysterically as she listed my supposed crimes. My phone vibrated violently. Richard Blackwood, the president of the Parent Teacher Association, had already posted photos and videos of the scene in the massive parent group chat. “Look at this, everyone! This woman is a ticking time bomb around our kids! A teacher with zero moral compass needs to be blacklisted from the industry forever!” “I propose we draft a joint petition demanding the school board give us a formal explanation!” “Exactly! This is terrifying. To think we actually respected her before this.” “You really can never know a person’s true colors. Who knows what sick agenda she actually had. It makes my skin crawl.” I stood on the opposite side of the street, staring at that blinding banner and Brenda’s theatrical, disgusting performance. My phone completely froze under the sheer volume of abusive text messages pouring in. With a totally blank expression, I raised my phone, aimed the lens at the absurd circus in front of me, and pressed the shutter. 3 I was officially suspended. The first thing I did when I got home was unplug my router and shut off my cellular data, but the harassment found ways to seep through. Richard Blackwood had leaked my home address and personal cell phone number to a group chat filled with hundreds of angry parents. “This is where the witch lives. If anyone has grievances to air out, feel free to drop by and have a chat with her.” From that day on, my phone rang non stop with unknown numbers. Every time I answered, I was met with vile, explosive curses. “Why don’t you do the world a favor and drop dead? You call yourself an educator? You are trash!” “I heard you groom little boys. You are absolutely disgusting!” My front porch became a dumping ground for rotting vegetables and foul smelling garbage. The final straw was the morning I tried to leave my apartment, only to find the keyhole of my front door completely filled with industrial superglue. I did not shed a single tear. I did not call the police. Calling the cops would only attract a crowd and give them another opportunity to humiliate me. I quietly called a locksmith to replace the hardware. Then, I went online and ordered several discreet pinhole cameras, installing them above my door frame and inside the peephole. I was going to capture every single one of their ugly faces on high definition video, frame by frame. I forced myself to eat three meals a day. I forced myself to sleep on a strict schedule. Then, I sat down at my laptop and began systematically organizing the arsenal of evidence that would burn their lies to the ground. That heavily edited audio clip was the linchpin. I contacted an old friend of mine, an absolute wizard in cyber security, who had helped set up the camera system in my tutoring classroom years ago. Under immense pressure and taking a massive personal risk, he stayed up all night pulling the raw, unedited cache data from the deepest layers of the cloud servers. He managed to recover the original, untouched two hour recording of that tutoring session. Once I had the raw file, I did not hand it off to anyone else. I taught myself how to use professional audio forensic software. Wearing noise canceling headphones, I listened to the track on a loop, manually generating crystal clear soundwave spectrograms. Using bright red digital markers, I pinpointed the exact timestamps where Brenda had spliced, cut, and stitched the audio together to change the context. I spent sleepless nights reading through legal precedents and civil codes. I interviewed three different attorneys before hiring Arthur Kingsley, a man infamous in legal circles for his ruthless, surgical precision in the courtroom. Next was Brenda’s forged psychiatric report. It was stamped by a so called Mental Wellness Center I had never heard of. I drove over two hundred miles to find the dilapidated, sketchy clinic hidden in a rundown suburban strip mall. Posing as a highly anxious mother, I engaged the staff. Through careful questioning and hidden audio recordings, I obtained hard proof that the man who signed Noah’s diagnosis, a certain Dr. Higgins, did not even hold a valid medical license. The night before my scheduled hearing with the district board’s investigative committee, I did not sleep. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, endlessly rehearsing my statement. I needed to ensure every single word I used was precise, icy, and entirely stripped of personal emotion. The next morning, facing a panel consisting of the principal and high ranking district officials, I did not cry. I did not beg for my job back. I simply placed a silver USB drive in the center of the polished conference table. “Ladies and gentlemen, everything I need to say is on this drive.” The flash drive contained four meticulously organized folders. Folder One held the unedited, two hour audio recording alongside my forensic soundwave analysis. Folder Two contained two weeks’ worth of high definition security footage showing the vandalism, the harassment, and the superglue being injected into my locks. Folder Three contained the undercover recordings from the fake clinic and a comprehensive background check on the unlicensed doctor. Folder Four contained every single text message Brenda and I had exchanged over the past two years, including her constant begging for extra tutoring sessions and her endless paragraphs praising my dedication. My presentation did not sound like a victim pleading for justice. It sounded like a brilliant academic defending a flawless thesis. This time, I was going to make sure they paid the absolute maximum price for their cruelty. 4 It was Thanksgiving Eve, a night meant for family and warmth. I was sitting alone in my apartment, running through the legal strategies Arthur Kingsley had outlined for me. In the parent group chat, Brenda was currently showing off. She proudly announced she had hired a gold medal tutor with a Harvard degree for Noah, costing nearly three hundred dollars an hour. She posted a photo of a very expensive looking contract, the caption dripping with smug arrogance. “This is what real professionals look like. So much better than those lazy public school teachers who just coast by!” Richard Blackwood immediately chimed in to stroke her ego. “Brilliant move, Brenda! You can never put a price tag on a child’s education. It is best to cut out the cancer early and keep certain toxic influences away from him!” I stared at the screen with absolute apathy and hit the button to leave the group chat forever. Suddenly, an unknown local number lit up my phone screen. My pulse spiked. I swiped to answer and simultaneously hit the screen record button. Brenda’s ear piercing scream echoed through the speaker. “Valerie! You vicious bitch! You have completely ruined my son!” “Noah is back on the roof! He says he does not trust anyone else in the world, he only trusts you! You need to get over here right now!” In the background, I could hear the howling wind and the distorted, booming voices of police officers using bullhorns. I could even clearly hear Richard Blackwood standing right next to her, spewing his toxic advice. “Make her come! Tell her to get her ass over here right now! When she gets here, make her kneel down and apologize to the kid! Maybe if he sees her beg, he will soften up and come down!” Brenda’s tone instantly shifted from rabid cursing to demanding, desperate pleas. “Ms. Pierce. No, Saint Pierce! I am begging you, please come here!” “If you come right now, I will drop the complaint with the district tomorrow morning! I won’t even ask for the fifty thousand dollars! I will drop it all!” My heart was physically aching in my chest. The image of Noah’s pale, hopeless face violently clashed with the grotesque, twisted expressions of Brenda and Richard in my mind. The conflict was tearing me apart. The raw, human instinct to save a life was at war with my dignity, which they had trampled into the mud. I could barely breathe. I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. In the distance, atop the tallest high rise in the downtown skyline, I could see the frantic, flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers. That was where he was. I took a deep, shuddering breath. When I finally spoke, my voice was so calm it bordered on absolute cruelty. I articulated every single word with lethal precision. “Hello, Mrs. Collins.” “First of all, according to the joint petition drafted by you and PTA President Richard Blackwood, signed by dozens of parents and submitted to the school board… I, Valerie Pierce, am a dangerous individual with severe moral failings, actively engaged in the psychological manipulation and grooming of your son.” “My current suspension is a direct mandate from my superiors designed specifically to ‘protect the student’ and prevent me from causing any further harm to Noah.” “Therefore, I cannot be there.” “If I show up, I am defying an official district order. I am breaking the rules. And I am placing the child you claim I have ‘severely damaged’ into an even more dangerous situation.” “That would be irresponsible to the boy, and incredibly irresponsible to you and the rest of the concerned parents.” “You will just have to wait for the fire department to rescue him.”

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On the day we broke up, I deliberately poked right at his deepest wound. “Every time I look at those hands, it makes me sick to my stomach.” Years later, he became my father’s attending physician. Before discussing the medical chart, he looked at me with chilling indifference and asked: “Ms. Davis, my hands won’t cause you any physiological discomfort, will they?” 01 Yesterday, a friend called and told me there might be hope for my dad’s condition. Their hospital had just hired a Dr. Sterling, who recently returned from studying abroad. His exact area of research was my dad’s rare disease. But I never in a million years expected Dr. Sterling to be Liam Sterling. “Dr. Sterling is so handsome! If his hands hadn’t been burned, he’d be absolutely perfect.” “I heard from Dr. Miller that his ex-girlfriend caused it. And the worst part? She dumped him because of the scars.” “Ew, seriously? That’s so disgusting.” Passing by the nurse’s station, I overheard several nurses gossiping while prepping IV bags. My footsteps faltered for a second, but I kept walking down the hall. With every step closer to that office door, my heart beat faster and faster. Thump, thump, thump. When my hand finally rested on the doorknob, I couldn’t stop trembling. But the moment I saw that familiar silhouette, everything went completely quiet. The man in the white coat heard the door open, stopped writing, and looked up. When our eyes met, my heart stopped. My entire body went rigid. Honestly, I had already mentally prepared myself for Liam’s mockery and scorn. Because— I was that disgusting, vile ex-girlfriend. 02 But as long as he could give my dad a fighting chance, I was willing to endure anything. In a fraction of a second, the man withdrew his gaze. “You must be Robert Davis’s family member. Have a seat.” His voice was freezing cold and completely detached. I remembered when I first had a crush on him, he always wore this same unapproachable, distant expression. He tipped his chin toward the chair across from him, and then… He looked back down and continued writing his notes. Was he— Pretending not to recognize me? The thought flashed through my mind, but I instantly dismissed it. How could he pretend to be so calm facing someone he despised? He was a proud, arrogant guy. Back when I was relentlessly pursuing him, if he got annoyed, he would just turn and walk away without sparing me a single word. But thinking about it logically, it made sense. I was wearing a surgical mask and had bangs now. And so many years had passed. —He probably genuinely didn’t recognize me. The heavy stone hanging in my chest finally dropped. Sitting across from him, my eyes involuntarily drifted to those shocking, disfigured hands. The raised, hypertrophic burn scars stood out violently against his otherwise pale skin. My heart squeezed. The agonizing pain I had buried deep inside me flared up again. Years ago, a girl in our chemistry lab group made a reckless operational error that triggered a flash fire. Instantly, flames shot across the bench. Liam happened to be standing right next to me. With terrifyingly fast reflexes, he shielded my face with his hands. In the fraction of a second his hands caught the fire, massive patches of skin blistered into horrifying, raw red flesh. It was gruesome. Crying, I asked him why he did it. He looked down, gently wiping my tears away, his eyes completely sincere. “Because it was you. I’d do it a thousand times.” Those scars made me absolutely certain Liam was the one. Which is exactly why, on the day I broke up with him, I used those very scars to end it. The vicious words were still ringing in my ears. “Do you know… every time I look at those hands, it makes me sick to my stomach.” “I can’t stand looking at them for another second.” He probably hated my guts. The scars he took for me were rewarded with that vile, ungrateful face. … “Ms. Davis?” I didn’t realize when Liam had looked up, but his gaze was now locked firmly onto my face. “Yes, I’m here.” He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, noticing exactly where my eyes had been glued. “My hands won’t cause you any physiological discomfort, will they?” 03 I shook my head awkwardly. “No.” How could they? They only looked like that because he saved me. I loved them and ached for them. How could they ever make me feel sick? His lips curled up slightly, and he patiently explained: “That’s good. “Everyone’s physical tolerance is different, so I had to ask beforehand. “Have the complete blood count and bone marrow biopsies been done?” “Yes, they’re done.” “When was his last blood transfusion?” “Two months ago.” “What is your relationship with Jackson Smith?” Jackson was the mutual friend who had referred me to Liam. But what did that have to do with my dad’s medical condition? The answer died on my lips. I couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously. “Is that… medically relevant?” He gave me a calm, flat look. “Of course. It’s hospital policy.” He was the doctor. I was the patient’s family. Naturally, whatever he asked, I had to answer. “We went to college together.” Those pitch-black eyes suddenly locked onto me, scrutinizing, analyzing, as if trying to decipher something hidden. Before I could say anything else, he pulled out the medical files, instantly switching back to a strictly professional demeanor, and began explaining the treatment plan. A few minutes later, the office door suddenly opened. “Liam, what do you want for lunch?” 04 Behind that sweet, soft voice was an incredibly agreeable, soft-featured face. I barely even had to process it. I recognized her instantly. It was Emily Miller! She was the exact girl who caused the lab explosion. Luckily for her, she had been standing slightly further back and wasn’t badly hurt. What a ridiculously small world. She stared at me, too. Slowly, the smile on her face began to slip. A deep, magnetic voice instantly interrupted before Emily could blurt out my name. “Whatever you want. “Or we could just grab Thai food downstairs again. “Go ahead and book a table. I’ll be done here in a minute.” They spoke right over me. From this angle, I could clearly see the sharp line of Liam’s jaw, and… The soft, unguarded tenderness in his eyes. A tenderness that used to belong exclusively to me. In high school, Emily was in our class, but she wasn’t particularly close to me or Liam. During breaks, whenever I went to find Liam, Emily would be sitting in the row right behind him. I would always see her sitting quietly at her desk, entirely alone. Maybe she felt awkward and couldn’t figure out how to join our conversations. Sometimes, when we accidentally made eye contact, she would immediately look away. But now, the roles were completely reversed. I was the outsider. Before closing the door, Emily gave me one last look. Her expression had already returned to normal, and she gave a polite, detached nod. Once again, it was just me and Liam in the office. He naturally possessed an incredibly dominant, intimidating aura. The air in the room instantly felt suffocating. I lowered my eyes, resting my elbows nervously on the edge of the desk. Suddenly, a large shadow fell over me, blocking the overhead light. His broad chest leaned forward, closing the distance between us. Almost completely by reflex, I jerked backward in my chair, scrambling to put space between us. His outstretched hand froze in midair. His face turned to absolute ice. “What are you dodging?” 05 The contempt in his eyes was barely concealed. “Didn’t you just say you weren’t disgusted by my hands?” Saying that, he reached past me and picked up a pen that had rolled near my arm. I never expected Liam to have become this incredibly sensitive. Actually, after we broke up, I begged my dad to use his connections to find a specialist hospital for burn victims, hoping they could repair Liam’s hands. But by then, Liam already despised me. The mocking sneer he gave me that day is permanently burned into my memory. “I’m just a broken toy to you, aren’t I? Tossed in the trash the second I got damaged.” “Let me make this clear: I don’t give a damn about these hands.” “Stop trying to play the saint. It makes me sick.” I didn’t know if it was just my imagination. But for a split second, I felt absolutely certain that he had recognized me. … Once the consultation ended, Emily was already waiting by the door, having changed into her street clothes. She was wearing a tight knit dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Liam didn’t look at me again. He naturally reached out and took Emily’s purse for her. Walking down the hallway, they looked like a perfect match, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looking incredibly intimate. Honestly, seeing him like this made me feel a profound sense of relief about the choice I made back then. If I hadn’t let him go, I might have completely ruined his life. “Hey! Spacing out over here?” “Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Jackson appeared out of nowhere, snapping his fingers right in front of my face and making me jump. His loud, booming voice echoed down the entire hospital corridor. Up ahead, that tall silhouette stopped walking and slowly turned his head to look at me. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, his eyes were impossibly dark and unreadable. Before I could decipher whatever emotion was hiding in his gaze, a heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder, forcefully spinning me around. “Let’s go.” I was half-shoved toward the elevators at the opposite end of the hall. 06 In the car, Jackson broke the silence. “So, how did it go regarding your dad’s case?” I didn’t answer. I just stared out the window into the dark night, watching the blurry shadows of trees speeding past. Liam’s words kept echoing in my head. “Given the extremely limited number of viable case studies, there is only one surgical option, and it carries massive risks.” “If it succeeds, it’s obviously a miracle. But if it fails, the condition will accelerate exponentially. He wouldn’t last a month.” A terrifying, high-stakes gamble with my father’s life. I simply couldn’t make that choice right now. “Hey! What are you doing?!” While I was drowning in misery, a heavy pair of hands suddenly landed on my head, violently messing up my hair. It was Jackson. Seeing me glaring and swatting at him like an angry cat, he grinned widely. “Just trying to boost your fighting spirit.” “You look like a wilted vegetable lately. When we get to my place to grab the supplements for your dad, make sure you take some for yourself too.” The only reason Jackson and I were such close friends was that we had both pulled each other out of total rock bottom. Our history started back in college, right after he went through a brutal breakup. His ex-girlfriend had started an internship and started attending high-end corporate galas with her boss. She was picked up in luxury cars every day. Suddenly, Jackson—who practically lived in loud Hawaiian shirts—wasn’t good enough for her anymore. She called him “immature.” Since he had genuinely loved her, it completely destroyed him to watch the girl he loved turn into someone unrecognizable. He got blackout drunk every single day. One night, he almost fell backward off the top of the stadium bleachers. Thankfully, I was right next to him. I grabbed his shirt, hauled him back, and slapped him as hard as I could across the face. “She’s already moved on with her life! Why the hell are you still standing here playing the tragic victim?!” Honestly, I was screaming those words at him… but I was also screaming them at myself. … After picking up the supplements, Jackson dragged me to a hot pot restaurant. He loved extremely spicy food, and by the end of the meal, my lips were completely swollen and burning. My apartment complex didn’t allow non-resident cars inside. Jackson was going to pull over at the main gate, but I told him not to bother. Just as I opened the passenger door, halfway out of the car, he grabbed me by the back of my collar and yanked me back. “It’s pouring rain out there and I don’t have an umbrella. Just put this over your head so you don’t get completely soaked.” I turned and looked at the Hawaiian shirt he was holding out. Right on the collar was a bright red lipstick stain. Who knows what girl left it there—he probably didn’t even know himself. I immediately waved my hands in disgust. “No thanks, I’ll just sprint. It’s fine.” He ignored me, threw the shirt over my head, and physically shoved me out of the car. “Stop being so picky. I’m throwing it away anyway. Take it home and tailor it into a raincoat or something.” Once I got out, I was actually secretly grateful. Thank God I had the shirt to cover me. The rain was much heavier than it sounded from inside the car. By the time I sprinted to my apartment lobby, the bottom half of my jeans was completely soaked. Even so, my footsteps slowed to a dead stop when I saw the completely drenched figure standing by the door. Those eyes, looking even darker and sharper in the shadows, were staring dead at me. He just stood there, motionless, letting the massive, freezing raindrops slide down his face. “Lia… Dr. Sterling? What are you doing here?” When I left the hospital, Liam’s eyes had already confirmed it: he absolutely knew who I was. Treating me like a complete stranger, letting go of the past, and moving on with our lives. That was probably the best possible outcome for both of us. The freezing rain did nothing to extinguish the furious fire in his eyes. His gaze swept over my messy hair, my swollen lips, and finally settled on my face with pure, absolute disgust and mockery. “Your father’s surgery isn’t even scheduled yet, and you’re already out screwing around.” “You really are something else, Chloe.” “What the hell did I do?” He completely ignored my question and continued speaking in a dangerously low voice. “Did you know the city blood bank is completely tapped out?” “Did you know about the hospital’s new policy? Before they authorize a transfusion, you have to provide proof of blood donation from five different people. Otherwise, they won’t release the blood. Did you know that?” “Even though your father is admitted to the hospital, if the blood bank supervisor doesn’t sign off, there is absolutely nothing I can do. Did you know that?!” I was completely stunned. Blood transfusions had never been this complicated before. Usually, the hospital just handled it internally. When did the policy change? He let out a bitter, mocking laugh that mixed with the sound of the pouring rain. “No, you didn’t know.” “Because you never take anything seriously.” In that moment, I couldn’t tell if he was condemning the person I was now, or the person I used to be. Maybe because he had been standing in the freezing rain for so long, his lips were completely pale. He looked utterly exhausted, incredibly weak. “Are you okay?” “Do you want to come upstairs and rest for a minute?” His face darkened instantly, his expression practically screaming: I’m not as easy and cheap as you are. He raised a hand, wiped the rain off his face, and violently threw a stack of small red booklets directly into my chest. Then he turned and walked away. I opened them. It was five certificates of blood donation. One of them had his name on it. So the reason he looked so pale and weak… was because… “Liam!” The man stumbled, swaying heavily to the side, and collapsed onto the wet concrete. 07 After dragging Liam upstairs and changing him into dry clothes, I rested my chin on my hands and watched him sleep. He had pale skin and incredibly striking, sharp features. He looked like an untouchable god, the kind of person everyone naturally favored. In high school, practically the entire student body knew… I was head over heels in love with Liam Sterling. His mother had a severe, chronic illness and required constant hospital treatments. The financial and emotional burden on him was crushing. So every single weekend, I would go to the hospital and help take care of her. Until Marcus appeared. He was a local street thug. First, he aggressively and publicly declared his love for me, then started stalking and verbally harassing me. When that didn’t work, he started targeting Liam. He even went to the hospital to harass Liam’s sick mother. I tried calling the police. But the most they could do was hold him for a few days. The second he got out, he went right back to terrorizing us. Marcus was a jobless delinquent with endless free time, and he took immense pleasure in making Liam’s life a living hell. Because of Marcus’s relentless harassment, Liam was constantly exhausted and distracted. His class ranking plummeted again and again. He started skipping classes. Before his old bruises could heal, he’d show up with new ones. Eventually, the school administration slapped Liam with a severe disciplinary mark for “engaging in violent street brawls.” By the time the news of the disciplinary action reached Liam’s mother, she was already incredibly frail, her eyes deeply sunken into her skull. Yet she still forced a warm smile and gently held my hand. “Liam hasn’t been focusing on his studies lately, has he?” “I don’t have much time left. If I could just see him get accepted into a top-tier university, I could die in peace.” “Chloe… you understand what I’m asking you, don’t you?” I gripped the hem of my school uniform so tightly my knuckles turned white. Slowly, I let go. Truthfully, she wasn’t the only one who had said things like that to me. My classmates whispered that I was a slut who lured in gang members, and that my drama was destroying Liam’s chances of getting a full-ride scholarship. Even our homeroom teacher pulled me aside for a “talk.” He told me that Liam had a brilliant future ahead of him, and begged me not to be the reason he ruined his life. Every single person around me was telling me exactly one thing: Stay away from Liam Sterling. The most paralyzing, suffocating part was… I couldn’t even argue back. Because on the surface, it really did look like I was the one who dragged Marcus into our lives. And because Marcus was jealous, he ripped Liam’s previously quiet, focused life to shreds. But back then, my teenage brain couldn’t comprehend it. I was a victim too. So why, in everyone else’s eyes, was I suddenly the villain? The crushing injustice and overwhelming pressure slowly ate away at my sanity. So, I chose the most extreme, cruel method to escape the rumors. … I was still drowning in my memories when a sharp clack snapped me back to reality. Something had rolled off the nightstand and hit the hardwood floor. I turned and saw that Liam’s car keys had slipped out of his pocket. And tucked underneath the keys was something else— A pair of matching promise rings. The rings that belonged to him and Emily. 08 When I woke up the next morning, Liam was already gone. The blanket on the bed had been folded into a perfect, crisp square. If it weren’t for the blood donation certificates still sitting on the counter, I would have convinced myself last night was just a hallucination. A few days later, I scheduled the blood transfusion with the hospital. Just as Liam had warned me, the bureaucratic process was an absolute nightmare. Even the nurse setting up my dad’s IV couldn’t help but complain. “Lately, the families of patients needing transfusions have been running themselves ragged trying to get approved. You’re the smoothest approval I’ve seen all month.” The image of Liam’s ghostly pale, exhausted face flashed in my mind again. When I went to his office to find him, he was resting his head on his desk, trying to take a nap. His brows were furrowed tightly, and a thin layer of cold sweat covered his forehead. Without thinking, I reached my hand out, wanting to smooth the crease between his brows. But remembering that he already had Emily, my hand froze in midair. Just as I was about to pull away, a vice-like grip violently clamped down on my wrist. Liam opened his eyes, staring at me with a dark, heavy intensity. “Do you need something?” He was gripping my wrist so hard it felt like he was trying to crush my bones. But a second later, as if he had just touched something disgusting, he violently threw my hand away and sat up straight. “Thank you for helping me last night.” He glanced at me, a cold, mocking smirk twisting his lips. “Help you?” “You seem to be confused.” “If any other patient had collapsed in front of me, I would have done the exact same thing.” … “Liam. I’m sorry.” A flash of absolute shock crossed his eyes. His dark pupils locked onto me as he spoke slowly. “Sorry for what?” “When we broke up… I never should have said those vicious things to you.” He didn’t speak. He just kept scrutinizing me, clearly waiting for me to finish. I hesitated for a second, then continued. “Your hands were burned because of me. I have always, always been grateful to you.” “I have never, ever felt disgusted or grossed out by them.” When I finished, dead silence filled the room. The air was so thick it was hard to breathe. “Are you done?” I thought about it carefully, then gave a firm nod. His face instantly turned completely black. With profound impatience, he looked away. “Get out.” I bit my lip and walked to the door. But right as I grabbed the handle, a surge of defiant frustration made me turn back. “Then tell me, what do I have to do for you to forgive me?” I watched as he looked up. In those dark eyes, a chaotic storm of emotions I couldn’t decipher violently swirled. “I want you to disappear from my life. Completely.” “Okay.” I answered cleanly and decisively. “Once my dad finishes his treatments, I’ll disappear.” He didn’t say another word, but his face somehow looked even more furious than before. The second I closed the door, I heard the violent, crashing sound of something heavy being hurled against the wall inside the office, shattering into pieces.

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My cold body knelt rigidly in the corner of the room. My head hung low. Even my heartbeat had faded away a long time ago. When Dad pushed the door open and saw me in this state, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had no idea that it took every agonizing ounce of willpower I had left just to crawl back here. Hours ago, I had sneaked out of the house to follow him and that fake son of his to a dinner banquet. Hiding in the shadows of the grand hall, I overheard Dad chatting with his wealthy buddies. “That kid has been gunning for Toby since day one. Always throwing the ‘I’m your real blood’ card in his face. I was at my wit’s end.” “I had no choice but to send him to that underground AI obedience clinic. Just a little neural rewiring to make him a compliant, proper son. It is tough love, but it is for his own good.” Just as the words left his mouth, the remote control in Dad’s pocket vibrated. The screen flashed a warning indicating I was not in my bedroom. His face went pale with rage. He jabbed his thumb onto the screen, firing off an override command: [Return home immediately. Assume the kneeling punishment!] My body instantly hijacked itself. I sprinted toward the estate like a madman, my legs moving completely against my own will. On the dark road, a speeding car came out of nowhere. The impact launched me into the air, shattering my ribs and rupturing my organs. But the override command was absolute. I dragged my broken frame off the bleeding asphalt, stumbling forward, murmuring blindly into the night air. “I am sorry, Dad. I will go home to kneel. I am sorry.” And now, I was finally kneeling here in the dark, exactly as he wanted. 1 The entryway lights flickered on. Dad walked in holding Toby’s hand. His eyes landed on me, and his lips curled into an approving smirk. “Good boy. Glad to see you have learned your lesson.” I remained frozen in place, kneeling perfectly still. Toby wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gross, Dad. He is covered in dirt. He looks like a homeless beggar.” Dad ruffled Toby’s hair, his voice softening instantly. “Do not be mean, buddy. Your brother knows he messed up. He is going to toe the line from now on.” He turned his cold gaze back to me, issuing his next vocal prompt. “Go up to your room and clean yourself up. Do not come out until I give you permission.” My neck gave a jerky, mechanical nod. I forced myself up and dragged my heavy feet up the stairs. During lunch the next day, the dining table was loaded with gourmet dishes. Dad kept piling food onto Toby’s plate, his tone dripping with affection. “Eat up, Toby. The salmon is good for your brain. And here are those BBQ ribs you love so much.” Toby chewed loudly, speaking with a mouthful of meat. “Thanks, Dad!” I sat rigidly in my chair, staring blankly ahead, waiting for Dad’s command. Dad glanced at me from the corner of his eye and muttered dryly. “Eat your greens. No being picky.” “Yes, Dad.” I picked up my fork, stabbed a pile of boiled spinach, and shoved it into my mouth. The vegetables had gone freezing cold. They felt like wet cardboard grinding against my teeth, but I could not stop. I chewed and swallowed, over and over again, like a machine on a loop. I did not put my fork down until Dad finally said, “Stop eating if you are full.” I immediately dropped the silverware and sat bolt upright. “Look at your brother, Toby. So obedient. Does not fuss over his food at all. You need to learn from him and finish your fish.” Dad tossed the words out casually. There was not a single ounce of actual praise in his voice. Toby scoffed, clearly annoyed by the comparison. He picked up his piping hot bowl of soup and shoved it across the table toward me. “Here, weirdo. You can have my soup.” Before I could even reach out, Toby deliberately tilted the bowl. Boiling hot broth splashed directly onto my forearm, soaking through my sleeve. “Wow, you are so clumsy! Can’t even hold a bowl right,” Toby sneered. A triumphant little smirk played on his lips. The scalding liquid blistered my skin, yet my face remained entirely blank. I did not flinch. I did not feel a thing. Dad quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe a stray drop off Toby’s fingers before turning to glare at me. “Ben, what is wrong with you? If you drop a bowl, you could burn your little brother! You are the older one here. You are supposed to protect him. Do you understand me?” I nodded my head in that same rhythmic, lifeless motion. “Understood, Dad. I will protect my brother.” Dad let out an exhausted sigh and called for Mr. Bates, our butler, telling him to take me upstairs to clean up the mess. I followed Bates into my bedroom. As he helped peel off my soup-soaked shirt, he gasped. He stared at my arms and back, horrified by the massive, dark purple blotches blooming across my skin. “Ben, sweet heavens… how did you get these bruises? This looks incredibly severe.” I just stood there, staring at the wallpaper with hollow, unblinking eyes. Bates asked me three more times. When my vocal box did not register a command to reply, he shook his head in distress and hurried downstairs to find Dad. “Sir, Ben’s body is covered in massive purple contusions. I don’t know what happened to the poor boy, and he absolutely refuses to speak.” Dad was busy peeling an orange for Toby. He rolled his eyes, utterly unbothered. “Where do you think he got them? He probably tripped and fell into a ditch when he snuck out yesterday. Leave him be. The pain will teach him a lesson so he stops running off like a stray dog.” Bates opened his mouth to argue, but Dad silenced him with a lethal glare. “Enough. Go back to your duties. Stop babying him.” After the butler left, a brief shadow of doubt crossed Dad’s face. He remembered last night. Shortly after he sent the punishment override, his control app had vibrated violently. A bright red error message had popped up on the screen, reading: [Subject is experiencing critical trauma. Vitals failing. System initiating emergency reboot.] It had freaked him out for a split second. But when he got home and saw me kneeling perfectly fine in the hallway, he assumed the underground clinic’s app was just glitchy. Thinking about Bates’s nagging only irritated him further. “Ungrateful little brat. I paid top dollar to have him fixed, and he still tries to run away.” Later that night, Dad walked up to my bedroom door and delivered his evening command. “No sleeping tonight. Stand facing the door and reflect on your pathetic attempt to escape. Think about what you did wrong.” I nodded, shuffled over to the heavy oak door, and stood perfectly straight. I did not move a single muscle for the rest of the night. When Dad woke up the next morning and saw me standing in the exact same spot, holding the exact same posture, a look of deep satisfaction washed over him. “Now that is more like it. You are actually tolerable when you listen. Try to rebel again, and the punishment will be twice as harsh.” 2 The Sunday afternoon sun was bright and warm. Dad had invited a few of his country club friends over for drinks. They were gathered around the patio furniture by the garden, laughing loudly with cigars in hand. Dad snapped his fingers, gesturing for me to come over. “Go play with Toby. Protect your brother. Do not let him get a single scratch on him. You hear me?” “I hear you.” My voice scraped out mechanically. I walked over to the lawn and trailed a few steps behind Toby, shadowing him like a silent ghost. Toby ran over to the edge of the large decorative koi pond. He leaned over the slippery stone border, standing on his tiptoes to peer into the deep water. “There is a shiny rock down there! I’m gonna get it!” I said nothing. I just stood rooted to the grass, eyes locked onto his frame, my internal hardware running the ‘protect’ directive on an endless loop. Suddenly, Toby’s foot slipped on wet moss. He shrieked, tumbling backward into the deep end of the pond. The water was over his head. He thrashed wildly, swallowing mouthfuls of dirty water. “Dad! Help! Help me!” My body reacted with terrifying speed. Without a single second of hesitation, I launched myself into the freezing water. The icy chill soaked through my clothes, but my nerve endings registered zero temperature. I grabbed Toby by the collar, kicking my legs to violently shove him up onto the stone ledge. Dad and his friends rushed over just in time to see me pushing a coughing Toby onto the grass. Once we were both dripping wet on the patio, Dad’s friends began patting him on the back. “Michael, your eldest boy is a brave one! Diving in like that without a second thought. You really know how to raise a man.” “Absolutely. So young, but he already knows how to step up and protect his family.” Dad puffed out his chest, hiding his smugness behind a fake, humble smile. “Oh, please. It is just basic instinct. They are good boys. Bates! Get them upstairs for a hot shower before they catch a cold.” By dinner time, the guests had cleared out. Dad stormed into my bedroom. Without a word of warning, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The sharp crack echoed loudly against the walls. My head snapped to the side from the sheer force of the blow, but the burning sting of the strike never reached my brain. “Who gave you permission to let him play near the deep water?” Dad roared, his face flushed with pure rage. “Did you do that on purpose? Were you trying to drown him to get him out of the picture? You are lucky Toby is fine, or I swear to God I would end you!” He raised his hand, fully intending to strike me again. But the moment his knuckles brushed against my cheek, he recoiled. He looked at his own hand in confusion. “Why is your skin so freezing? You feel like a block of solid ice. Did you catch a fever or something?” I offered no response. I just slowly turned my head back, staring at him with hollow, dead eyes. “Useless trash. You can’t even regulate your own body temperature, let alone protect your brother.” Dad sneered, wiping his hand on his trousers like I was diseased. “No dinner for you tonight. Stay in this room and think about how badly you failed today!” “Understood, Dad.” Toby was peeking through the crack in the doorway. Seeing me get berated brought a wicked little smile to his face. He tugged at Dad’s sleeve, playing the innocent angel. “Dad, please don’t be mad. Ben didn’t mean it. I forgive him.” Dad’s furious expression melted instantly. He crouched down and kissed Toby’s forehead, his voice dripping with honey. “Oh, my sweet Toby. You are too good for this world. Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll have the chef bake those chocolate lava cakes you love.” Dad took Toby’s hand, turning his back on me completely. He shut the door without a second glance. I stood completely still in the center of the room. After a full minute of silence, my heels pivoted mechanically. I walked into the dark corner of the room, assuming my standby position, quietly waiting for his next command. 3 The next morning, Dad’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, his voice immediately shifting into a loving purr. “Hey, honey. How is the business trip going?” Mom’s gentle voice drifted through the speaker. “It is going well. I just miss my boys so much. How is Ben doing? Has he adjusted to being home yet?” Dad glanced over at me, a fake smile plastered across his face. “Ben is an angel. Completely obedient. He dropped all that teenage angst and even keeps Toby company while he does his homework. Such a mature kid now.” He held up his phone, snapping a picture of me sitting rigidly beside Toby at the study desk. He texted it to her. “See for yourself. Two brothers bonding over math problems.” Hearing Mom’s voice, Toby dropped his pencil and rushed over to the phone. “Mom! I miss you! When are you coming back?” Mom chuckled warmly on the other end. “My sweet boy. I miss you too. I will be home in a week, and I promise to bring you and your brother some amazing gifts.” Dad shoved the phone near my mouth, dropping his voice into a hushed command. “Say hi to Mom.” “Hi, Mom.” I spoke mechanically. My pitch was entirely flat, devoid of any warmth or joy. Mom paused. A trace of worry crept into her tone. “Is Ben okay? He sounds exhausted, and he looks incredibly pale in that photo. Is he sick?” Dad snatched the phone back, laughing nervously to cover his tracks. “Oh, you know kids. He kicked his blankets off last night and caught a minor cold. I already gave him some meds. He will be totally fine by tomorrow. Do not stress yourself out.” “Okay, good. Make sure you take care of them, Michael. Don’t let my boys get sick.” “I got it, babe. Focus on your meetings. Love you.” The second the call ended, Dad’s warm smile vanished. He glared at me, his eyes full of venom. “Next time your mother calls, you better act like you have a pulse. Stop giving me that miserable dead-fish look.” “Understood.” Ever since Mom’s phone call, Toby’s malice toward me escalated dramatically. He would rip pages out of my textbooks and scatter them across the hallway floor. He would dump my expensive pens into the trash can, stomping on them for good measure. When Dad saw the mess, he just shrugged it off. “Toby is just a kid. He is playful. You are the older brother. Just clean it up.” Following the standing directive, I crouched on the floor, picking up the shredded paper and fishing broken plastic out of the garbage. The jagged edge of a ripped textbook sliced deep into my index finger. Dark, thick blood dripped onto the hardwood floor, but my face did not twitch. I just kept sorting the trash, moving my bleeding hand with rhythmic precision. I did not stop until the desk was perfectly organized. Then, I sat back down in my chair, staring blankly at the wall. As the days dragged on, I became nothing more than a puppet wired to Dad’s voice. If he did not give me a command, I would sit in the exact same posture for hours. I did not fidget. I did not blink. Even the sound of my breathing faded away into nothingness. One night, Bates woke up to get a glass of water. He walked past my room and saw me standing in the dead center of the floor, wide awake, staring into the dark. First thing the next morning, the butler confronted Dad. “Sir, something is terribly wrong with Ben. He does not speak unless spoken to. He barely moves. Last night, he did not even sleep; he just stood in his room staring at the wall. Did that obedience camp do some sort of psychological damage to him?” Dad was shaving by the sink. He wiped the foam off his chin, completely unconcerned. “That is the whole point of the program, Bates. He is quiet. He follows orders. He stops causing drama in my house.” “But sir—” “I pay you to clean my house, not to play doctor,” Dad snapped, pointing his razor at the old man. “Do your job and stop obsessing over him. You are forbidden from giving him any special treatment. Am I clear?” Bates swallowed hard, his eyes full of sorrow. He bowed his head and quietly left the bathroom. At dinner, I sat at the table, my jaw moving up and down in a stiff, unnatural rhythm as I chewed my boiled spinach. Dad suddenly spoke, issuing a new directive. “Wake up early tomorrow. Accompany Toby to his piano lesson. Do you hear me?” “I hear you.” I nodded slowly, returning to my mechanical chewing. No one at the table noticed that the beds of my fingernails had already turned a sickly, bruised blue.

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For him, I rejected an arranged marriage with my childhood best friend. But he just said: “You think I’m an animal? Why would I like you?” “I’m your uncle.” I asked him, “But we aren’t even related by blood.” He let out a cold scoff, cutting me off. “Do you really need me to say it bluntly? I don’t like you.” Later, I died in a car crash on the very day he got engaged to someone else. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my childhood friend proposed the arranged marriage. In front of everyone, I nodded and agreed. But the man who was usually so careless and indifferent suddenly lost his mind. 01 “Marriage is a huge milestone. It just so happens that Chloe’s uncle, Logan, has returned from abroad and will be here shortly. We should hear his thoughts too.” At those words, my head snapped up and I looked at my grandmother. Logan Sterling came back early? I remembered my past life incredibly clearly. My grandmother had only called Logan to ask for his opinion. And that man had rejected it with his usual, chillingly indifferent tone. “The New York branch is too busy, I can’t make it back.” “Whoever she marries has nothing to do with me.” But this time… why was it different? The next second, the sound of the private dining room door opening pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up, making eye contact across the room with the travel-worn man standing in the doorway. 02 “Logan, what are your thoughts on Chloe marrying into the Miller family?” Perhaps because I couldn’t bear to hear Logan’s piercing sarcasm again, I immediately cut my grandmother off. “Grandma, I’m an adult now. I can make these kinds of decisions for myself.” The man across the table let out a soft laugh, his long fingers casually tapping against the tabletop. “Then let’s hear what she has to say.” Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the room, I took a deep breath. My tone was absolute. “I am willing to marry Ethan.” Ethan Miller was the childhood best friend I grew up with. The moment the words left my mouth, the tapping of fingers against the table abruptly stopped. Logan stared at me, unblinking. My grandmother spoke up right on cue: “Well, since you also like your dear Ethan, I won’t stand in the way.” I ignored Logan’s intense gaze and nodded politely to my grandmother and the other elders. “Ethan just texted me that he’s waiting outside. I’ll take my leave first.” “Stop.” Logan, who had been dead silent, suddenly spoke. Ignoring the strange looks from everyone else, he walked straight up to me. He looked down into my eyes. “Do you even like him? And you’re just going to marry him?” My voice was flat. “Whether I like him right now isn’t important.” “Uncle Logan, even if I don’t have romantic feelings for him right now, we have a lifetime to build them. After all, we’ll be husband and wife soon.” Logan narrowed his eyes, his tone dangerously low. “What did you just call me?” Back when I was in love with Logan, I had always called him by his full name. This was the first time I had ever called him ‘Uncle Logan.’ He let out a sharp, angry laugh. Completely ignoring the elders in the room, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out. “Let go of me!” I was dragged all the way to the parking garage. Logan sneered, his grip iron-tight. “Let you go so you can run to your little fiancé?” I found his reaction completely bizarre. “Even if I did, that’s none of your business, Uncle Logan.” I deliberately put heavy emphasis on the last two words. Hearing that, Logan actually stopped in his tracks. His jaw clenched tight. He lit a cigarette, seemingly trying to calm himself down. “Either you get in the car with me right now so we can talk.” “Or I go straight to your precious Ethan and talk to him.” I didn’t know if it was just my imagination, but it felt like Logan’s temper was significantly worse in this lifetime. Eventually, I got into his car. 03 “You are not marrying Ethan.” Logan stared straight ahead at the steering wheel, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for argument. I gave a dry laugh and was just about to argue back… When someone knocked on the driver’s side window. This was a public parking garage underneath a massive shopping mall. “Logan? Are you here shopping too?” The exquisitely dressed woman standing outside was Logan’s fiancée from my past life—Victoria. But at this point in the timeline, she hadn’t officially met me yet. Her gaze shifted past Logan, looking at me with hesitation. “And who is this…?” I met her gaze openly and gave a polite smile. “He’s my uncle.” “Miss, did you want to speak with my uncle privately? I can leave.” As I spoke, I reached to unbuckle my seatbelt. Victoria’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Thank you so much.” Logan’s abnormal behavior earlier had me slightly dazed, but Victoria’s appearance instantly snapped me back to reality. This was Logan’s destined leading lady. “Who said you could leave?” With a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes, Logan grabbed my wrist, stopping my movement. I reflexively looked up at him. Suddenly, my entire world flipped upside down. Logan had effortlessly pulled me across the center console and directly onto his lap. He lifted a hand to trace the side of my face, his warm palm sliding down to cup my chin. His smile was lazy and dangerous. “What is this? Are we roleplaying ‘uncle and niece’ now?” The man leaned down, his breath ghosting over my jawline. His deep voice was thick with heavy, undeniable intimacy. “Little niece, I didn’t know you had this kind of kink.” I completely froze. My mind went blank, leaving me utterly speechless as I let Logan spin this insane lie. Only then did he casually glance out the window at the petrified Victoria. “Did you need something, Miss Victoria?” “Does it have to be right now? As you can see, I’m a bit tied up.” Saying that, he kept me firmly on his lap and reached down to recline the driver’s seat. The implication couldn’t have been more blatant. Victoria’s face drained of color, and she took two steps back. “Logan… how could you be holding another woman… you know I love you…” Logan turned his head and scoffed. He seemed to find her words utterly ridiculous. “Listen to me, Victoria. You liking me has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “Stop buzzing around me like an annoying fly. Please.” He put heavy emphasis on the “please,” putting his intense disgust for her on full, public display. I finally snapped out of my daze. This was very wrong. Even if Logan absolutely loathed a woman, he would never intentionally humiliate her so brutally in public. Especially not the woman who had been his fiancée in his past life. While I was trying to process this, Victoria had already turned and run away in tears. “Uncle Logan, can you let me go now?” I just assumed he was using me as a human shield. Logan’s phone suddenly started ringing. He didn’t let go of me. In fact, his arm tightened around my waist as he used his free hand to answer the call. My grandmother’s voice came through the speaker: “Logan? What’s going on with you and Chloe? Where did you take her?” Logan didn’t rush to answer. Instead, he glanced down at me, slowly raising one eyebrow. “What did you just say? You want to get off my lap?” I instantly held my breath and frantically shook my head at him. Don’t you dare say that to her. My grandmother didn’t hear him clearly. “What did you say?” Logan stayed silent, just watching me with a highly amused, predatory look. I squeezed my eyes shut, gritted my teeth, and leaned my upper body fully against his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck. Logan instantly wrapped both arms around me. “Nothing, Mom.” “Chloe and I just had some private matters to resolve.” My grandmother didn’t pry any further. She gave a few passing instructions and hung up the phone. The air inside the car instantly went dead silent. Logan clamped a hand down, stopping me from pulling away. He leaned close to my ear. “This is the reason you cannot marry Ethan.” I tilted my head up slightly, looking straight into his eyes. “But you told me yourself… you don’t like me.” Logan turned his head, clicking his tongue lightly. “I never said such absolute garbage.” He absolutely did. I refused to believe him. Struggling awkwardly, I climbed off his lap and back into the passenger seat, reaching for the door handle. But the next second, the engine roared to life, and he locked the doors. 04 I rested my elbow on the window frame, bored out of my mind, counting the cars zooming past us on the highway. I was deep in thought, trying to analyze Logan’s incredibly bizarre behavior. Suddenly, the car slammed on the brakes. The momentum threw me forward against my seatbelt. A sleek black Porsche Cayenne had cut us off, blocking our path. Ethan stepped out of the car. His face was completely ice-cold. “Chloe, get out. I’m taking you home.” I reflexively glanced at Logan. His thumb was casually tapping the steering wheel as he stared at the young man outside with deep amusement. “Did you call him?” “No…” Out of nowhere, an intense, suffocating aura filled the car. Logan lit a cigarette, holding it between his teeth, and let out a dark chuckle. “Well, your little fiancé tracked us down. I can’t just pretend he isn’t there.” Saying that, he kicked his door open and stepped out, making sure to lock my door from the outside. In the freezing evening wind, the two men stood facing each other. “Please let Chloe out of the car.” “I’m not letting her out. What are you going to do about it?” Ethan didn’t waste time arguing. He walked straight toward my passenger door. But the second he got close, Logan grabbed him by the arm. Ethan was slightly shorter and less built than Logan. He was instantly overpowered. Logan shoved him backward, slamming him hard against the hood of the Porsche. His hand clamped viciously around Ethan’s throat. “What do you want to do to Chloe?” Ethan choked out, struggling to breathe. Taking his time, Logan used his free hand to flick the ash off his cigarette, then casually crushed the butt out against the hood of Ethan’s expensive car. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before. Stay the hell away from her.” “This is your final warning. She is mine.” “She belongs to herself!” Ethan spat out, syllable by syllable. Logan let out a low laugh, his fingers tightening their crushing grip on Ethan’s throat. I finally found the spare key fob tucked in the center console. I unlocked the door and frantically scrambled out. “Uncle Logan, let him go!” I shouted, trying to pry his iron-like fingers off Ethan’s neck. But the man wouldn’t budge an inch. Ethan was starting to lose consciousness. In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of—I bit down hard on Logan’s wrist. He finally let go. I quickly helped Ethan stand up. “Does your heart really ache for him that much?” Logan’s voice came from behind me, completely stripped of any emotion. “I’m bleeding too. Can’t you see that? Hmm?” I froze. Just as I turned my head, he violently scooped me up into his arms. He threw me into the back seat of his car. He climbed into the driver’s seat immediately. Just as he was about to hit the gas, I started struggling wildly. “What are you doing, Logan?! Can’t you see Ethan is already—” The engine revved with a deep, furious roar. Logan held the steering wheel with one hand, letting out a lazy, chilling laugh. “Do you want to bet? Mention his name one more time, and I will drive this car straight over him.” Through the rearview mirror, my eyes met Logan’s. In the shadows of the back seat, my hands gripped the leather upholstery tight. “Logan, murder is a felony.” “Are you completely legally illiterate?” Logan leaned back casually against the headrest, his eyes brimming with dark amusement. “You make a fair point. So I’ll just drive over his legs instead. How does that sound?” “The Miller family has more than one son. Not to mention, Ethan’s father is currently begging my company for a massive joint venture.” “Tell me, does the Miller family want a project that will solidify their entire corporate empire… or do they want their son to keep his legs?” He laid out the ruthless reality right in front of me, forcing me to make a choice. I couldn’t abandon Ethan. In my past life, when everyone called me a shameless disgrace for falling in love with my adoptive uncle, Ethan was the only one who defended me, time and time again. “Uncle Logan. I’m sorry.” In this completely rigged game, I had no choice but to surrender. Logan didn’t move. The front of his car was still aimed dead center at Ethan. “Mhm. So how are you going to behave from now on?” I lowered my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “I won’t contact him anymore.” Logan’s tone softened slightly. “Get in the front seat.” I obediently did as I was told. The man leaned over me, pulling the seatbelt across my chest and clicking it into place. The pad of his thumb gently rubbed my earlobe. “Such a good girl.” Only then did Logan put the car in drive and pull away. I gripped my seatbelt tightly, staring straight ahead. Acting as if I couldn’t hear Ethan screaming my name as we drove off into the night. 05 Logan took me back to his sprawling mansion in the suburbs. I stood numbly in the foyer, watching him walk over to his liquor cabinet, pour himself a glass of whiskey, and down it in one gulp. He crunched on an ice cube and looked up at me. “Why the long face?” The sound of him crushing the ice, combined with his slow, predatory steps toward me, made me shudder involuntarily. Logan stopped right in front of me, staring intensely into my eyes. “Because of Ethan?” “What exactly do you want?” My voice betrayed a slight tremor, thick with unshed tears. “Chloe, stop playing dumb with me.” I sniffled. “Logan, if you really like me, why do you have to force me into a corner like this?” Logan didn’t seem to think he was doing anything wrong at all. He gently ruffled my hair. “Because you aren’t being obedient enough.” Every argument I had prepared died in my throat. When my grandmother called Logan’s phone again, I couldn’t help but let out a massive sigh of relief. The only person who could possibly save me had finally called. “Logan, when are you going to come over? We need to finalize the details of Chloe’s wedding.” Logan looked down at me with heavy-lidded eyes, his tone completely nonchalant. “I almost forgot to tell you.” “Tell me what?” “Chloe’s wedding is canceled.” My eyes widened in absolute shock. My grandmother sounded incredibly confused. “What? Why?” I had a terrible feeling. Logan kept his eyes locked on me, but his words were spoken into the phone. He dragged out his words, but his tone was absolute and undeniable. “Because she is going to marry me.” “From now on, I suggest you stay out of my business with her.” With that, he hung up the phone. “Logan, are you completely insane?” I felt like I was at the absolute breaking point. “Why would you say that garbage to Grandma?! Are you trying to kill me?!” Logan tossed his phone onto the coffee table, reached down, and scooped me up into his arms. A second later, he dropped me onto the sofa, pressing his body over mine. He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath. “Weren’t you the one who said it? You love me. You only want to marry me.” I couldn’t break free from his grip, so I turned my head away. “That was in the past.” Logan grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Then learn to love me again.” “Chloe, as long as you stay obediently by my side, I have all the time in the world to wait.” His gaze dropped down to the side of my neck. He leaned in. The next second, I felt his lips press against my skin. My entire body went rigid. And Logan showed no signs of stopping. “Don’t…” I struggled to find my voice. The man paused. After a long moment, he used his arms to push himself up slightly, hovering just above me. “Uncle Logan, can you please just let this go…” Logan kept smiling, but his eyes were filled with ice. He placed a single fingertip against my lips, tracing them gently. The silent threat was deafening. The rest of the words died in my throat, swallowed down in terror. 06 While Logan was still hovering over me, the heavy front doors were suddenly shoved open. A sliver of bright light flooded the room, making me squint. “What the hell are you doing?!” Victoria stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and bloodshot with rage. Logan’s expression darkened instantly. He stood up. “You tracked me?” “If I didn’t track you, would I have seen this?!” The veins on her forehead bulged visibly. “She seduced you, didn’t she, Logan?” “Tell me that’s what happened. Tell me it’s true!” Victoria’s eyes burned with sheer, unhinged madness. Logan didn’t say a word. He just picked up his phone to call estate security. Taking advantage of the distraction, Victoria suddenly lunged forward. Before I could even process what was happening, she pulled a hidden razor blade from her pocket and slashed it directly at my face. I didn’t have time to dodge. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the searing pain I expected never came. “Logan…” I opened my eyes. Logan’s forearm was thrown up, blocking the blade. Bright red blood poured from the deep gash, dripping one drop at a time onto my jeans, blooming into dark stains. Logan didn’t even flinch. He grabbed Victoria’s arm and violently twisted it backward. The razor blade in her hand was forced upward, pressing directly against her own throat. “Why are you so pathetic, huh?” “A few hours ago, I rejected you to your face, and you still tracked me down like a stalker.” “Is it a crime for me to love you?!” Victoria was forced to step backward under his crushing grip. The razor blade was pressing hard enough to leave a bloody line on her neck. “You’re about to find out exactly how much of a crime it is.” Logan gave a dark, cruel laugh and threw her aside. I could hear the sound of heavy boots running toward us. Security arrived, apologizing profusely as they dragged Victoria away. She looked completely deranged, sobbing hysterically while staring at Logan. “Did she scare you?” Logan dropped his usual careless, arrogant demeanor. He looked incredibly serious. “Did she manage to cut you?” I stared blankly at the man kneeling in front of me, looking so deeply worried. I spoke slowly, my voice dull. “You’re the one who got stabbed.” It was as if he hadn’t even noticed his own wound until I pointed it out. … Half an hour later, the private doctor finished wrapping the wound and left. I opened my mouth, my emotions an absolute tangled mess. “Thank you. Uncle Logan.” The deep gash on his arm didn’t seem to bother him at all. He pulled out a cigarette, held it between his lips, and lit it. His voice carried a slow, mocking smile. “You already hate me enough as it is. If you got scarred because of me, you’d despise me for the rest of your life.” “How could I possibly give you that excuse?” I ignored his twisted, backwards logic. I just stared at the white bandages on his arm, and memories from the past came rushing back. The only reason I had fallen in love with Logan in the first place was because he was so incredibly good to me. When I was in high school, a group of local thugs kept cornering me to deliver love letters. Logan waited outside my school for a week, tracked them down in an alley, and beat them so badly they never looked at me again. In college, when a corrupt professor gave my hard-earned scholarship to a wealthy donor’s kid, Logan didn’t say, “It’s not that much money anyway, I’ll just give you ten times that.” Instead, he personally went to the university board, exposed the corruption, and made sure I got my scholarship back. The atmosphere in the room had finally softened. I was just about to use the moment to beg him to let me go… When I accidentally glanced at his phone sitting on the coffee table. The screen was lighting up with rapid notifications. “Ethan: Chloe, I just got home and fixed my phone. Are you okay?” “Ethan: Logan just announced to the press that you two are getting married. He forced you into this, didn’t he?” Logan had already announced it…? I had assumed he was just saying it to shut my grandmother up. I mechanically turned to look at the man sitting next to me. “Logan, what are you doing?” He didn’t even look up from his phone, answering casually. “Talking to the wedding planners.” “When did I ever agree to marry you?” The white light of his phone screen illuminated his face. He stopped typing. He waited until the screen automatically went black before tossing the phone aside and stepping closer to me. “From the moment you agreed to marry Ethan today, I lost all my patience.” “Stop testing me, Chloe.” “We are the only two people in this entire mansion. You really don’t want me to accelerate this process, do you?” His gentle tone masked the most lethal, terrifying warning. I think… it was exactly in that moment. Every last ounce of affection I had ever felt for him turned to ash.

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1 I stood frozen outside the breakroom. Blood still seeped through the gauze on my cheek, but the tears fell faster. Roger’s voice carried through the door, cold and clinical. It was a blade that cut apart every shred of faith I had clung to for three years. “The moment I paid her mother’s hospital bills, I started the clock,” he said. His tone was unrecognizable from the man who once swore he loved me. “Jona needs that overseas commendation. Bianca is tough. And she is naive enough to take the blame.” So that was it. I was not a partner. I was a tool. A stepping stone. “Once she returns, I will convince her to transfer her combat medic merits to Jona. In exchange, I marry Bianca. It is a fair trade.” Fair? I spent three years dodging shrapnel, stitching wounds, bleeding for that commendation, all to clear a path for his favorite colleague. That was his idea of fair. His colleague slammed his coffee mug down and stormed out. He froze when he saw me in the hallway. Roger looked up. His eyes met mine, and his pupils tightened. My mind shot back three years. He had held my hands, looked into my eyes, and told me he loved me. But he said I had to serve three years as a combat surgeon to prove my devotion. Come back, and I will marry you. For three years, bullets grazed my head. Mortar fire damaged my hearing. I operated with insurgent rifles at my back. Every time I was near death, I told myself it would be worth it. Survive, and I could marry Roger. Everyone knew Roger was a genius with severe affective detachment. He could not feel emotions. But during the darkest year of my life, he took out his checkbook and operated on my dying mother himself. I thought he was my savior. I did not know he was leading me into another hell. “Roger, we are done.” My voice was terrifyingly calm. It felt as if those three words had drained the last life from my veins. … Roger frowned, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “Bianca, eavesdropping is incredibly unprofessional.” He stood up, adjusting his pristine white coat. “But since you heard it, it saves me the trouble of drafting a cover story. Come to the chief of surgery’s office with me this afternoon and sign the merit transfer over to Jona. Tomorrow morning, we go to the courthouse and get married.” I stood perfectly still, staring directly into his eyes. There was absolutely no warmth there. Just a barren, calculated wasteland. He didn’t even have the basic human decency to look guilty about getting caught in a lie. The veil finally dropped. He wasn’t terrified of losing me. He never loved me at all. “Let me repeat myself, Roger. We are breaking up.” “I am not giving my commendations to Jona. And I am absolutely not marrying you.” I spun on my heel and walked away. Roger lunged forward, his long fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice. I could hear the forced patience in his voice, masking a bubbling irritation. “Bianca, stop being irrational.” “You serve three years in a combat zone, and I marry you when you get back. That was the transaction we agreed upon from day one. Why are you suddenly backing out of the deal?” A transaction. The love I had literally risked my life to prove was just a line item on a ledger to him. I looked back at him, a bitter, broken smile twisting my lips. “Because you lied to me.” Roger blinked, genuine confusion washing over his handsome face. “You told me you loved me,” I whispered. “I would never put my life on the line for a man who was just using me.” He stared at me, totally lost. His emotional detachment meant the concept of “love” was like a foreign language he had never bothered to study. But for some reason, hearing me say those words made his chest tighten. His gaze flicked down to the fresh, bloody scrape on my cheek and my red, swollen eyes. A strange, suffocating pressure built in his lungs. He honestly wondered if he needed to schedule a psych evaluation. Something inside him felt medically wrong. While he was distracted, I ripped my arm out of his grip and kept walking. I hadn’t even made it past the outpatient corner when a chaotic scream ripped through the corridor. Before I could process what was happening, a hysterical middle-aged woman tackled a nurse against the drywall. She had a hunting knife pressed tight against the nurse’s carotid artery, twisting a fistful of her hair. “You worthless bitch! You gave me the wrong meds and killed my baby! You’re paying for my child’s life with yours!” I recognized the sobbing nurse instantly. It was Jona. Instinct overrode my trauma. My combat training kicked in, and I took a slow, calculated step forward to de-escalate. “Ma’am, I need you to breathe. Look at me.” “Do you know who I am? My name is Dr. Bianca. I’m a combat surgeon, you might have seen me on the local news. Just lower the knife, and we can figure this out.” The woman locked her wild eyes on me for a few agonizing seconds. She seemed to recognize my face. She pulled the blade a fraction of an inch away from Jona’s throat, swinging it erratically in my direction. “Figure what out?!” she shrieked. “Do you know how many rounds of IVF I went through?! I finally got pregnant, and this stupid slut mixed up my prescription! My baby is gone! And she had the nerve to tell me I was just genetically defective and deserved the miscarriage!” I took a deep, steadying breath, closing the distance inch by inch. “She was entirely out of line, and I am so sorry she said that to you. Listen to me. I went to med school with one of the best fertility specialists in the country. Her success rates are incredible. I will personally introduce you to her. You’re still young. You have so much hope left to start a family.” The woman’s crazed expression wavered. The hand gripping the knife began to tremble. She was breaking down. She was just about to drop the weapon. Suddenly, two hands slammed violently into the center of my back. I was shoved hard, launching directly into the woman. The sickening sound of tearing flesh filled my ears. The hunting knife buried itself straight to the hilt in my abdomen. Agony exploded through my nervous system like a live wire. The waiting room erupted into terrified shrieks. The grieving mother went pale, dropping the handle of the knife like it burned her. Hospital security rushed in, tackling her to the linoleum. Hot, thick blood pulsed out of my stomach, pooling rapidly onto the pristine white tiles. I clamped both hands over the wound, fighting the darkness closing in on my vision, and weakly turned my head to see who pushed me. It was Roger. He was the one who threw me onto the blade. 2 My vision blurred, but the sheer disbelief anchored me to consciousness. Roger was standing at the edge of the crowd. He looked down at me, doing a rapid, clinical visual assessment of my blood loss to calculate if the wound was fatal. Once he was satisfied I wasn’t bleeding out fast enough to die on the spot, his face went completely blank. He wrapped a protective arm around a trembling, crying Jona and walked away. I collapsed into the growing puddle of my own blood and let the darkness take me. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh scent of antiseptic and sweet fruit filled my nose. I was in a private recovery suite. Roger was sitting in a chair beside my bed, meticulously peeling an apple with a surgical scalpel. “You’re awake,” he said smoothly. “I apologize. My psychiatrist informed me that my actions in the lobby were socially unacceptable.” “He said I shouldn’t have based my decision purely on the triage of survival probabilities. But looking at the variables, if that woman twitched, Jona’s carotid artery would have been severed. Immediate exsanguination. Zero chance of survival. By pushing you into the blade, I ensured you took the hit to the lower abdomen. Highly painful, but statistically non-lethal.” He finished the peel in one continuous ribbon and offered the apple to me. “From a purely mathematical standpoint, I made the correct choice.” “Let’s renegotiate our deal, Bianca.” I didn’t take the fruit. I slowly turned my head to stare at the wall. “Get the hell out of my room,” I rasped. Roger paused, clearly confused by my hostility. He tried again. “I recognize that your emotional state is volatile right now. Fine. You can keep your combat commendations. Consider this a trade for saving Jona’s life today.” “We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow.” Another transaction. He was bargaining with my life like I was a used car on a lot. A wave of absolute, sickening revulsion crashed over me. I pushed through the searing pain in my stitches, threw my torso forward, and swung my arm. Crack. My palm connected violently with his cheek. But when I opened my mouth, a pathetic, broken sob tore out of my throat instead of a scream. “Stop treating me like an animal, Roger!” “You’re a brilliant surgeon! You know the anatomy! The blade missed my inferior vena cava by literally a fraction of an inch! If it had severed that vein, the mortality rate is one hundred percent!” “What if I had died right there on the floor?!” Roger froze entirely. For the absolute first time in my life, I saw something fracture behind his eyes. It was raw, unadulterated terror. He slowly lowered his head, his voice dropping to a hollow, tight whisper. “I’m sorry. I’ll take my cognitive therapy more seriously. I will learn how to protect you properly.” “Just… please don’t die, Bianca.” The room fell into a suffocating, heavy silence. When he realized I wasn’t going to look at him or speak another word, he set the apple on the nightstand and quietly walked out of the room. A second later, my phone buzzed on the table. I answered it. A deep, steady voice came through the speaker, grounding me instantly. “Bianca. I’m on a military transport plane heading your way. I’ll be touching down soon.” “Pack your things and come with me. That man doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even possess the biological capacity to understand what love is.” Tears spilled over my eyelashes, soaking into my hospital pillow. I felt like an idiot. A tragic, pathetic cliché holding onto a ghost. “But Wyatt,” I cried softly, “he saved my mom. He promised he was going to learn how to keep me safe.” “Let me be stupid just one last time.” Wyatt let out a heavy, frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. “And what happens if he’s just playing you again?” I closed my eyes, letting the last thread of my naive hope snap. “If he’s lying to me again, I’ll pack my bags and leave with you.” “And I will never, ever forgive Roger as long as I live.” 3 The next morning, I ate the apple Roger had left for me. We got back together. He visited my room every single day. Sometimes he brought fresh fruit. Sometimes he just sat in the armchair, quietly reviewing my chart and checking my surgical drains. He would awkwardly force himself to make small talk, trying to mimic what he thought a normal, loving boyfriend sounded like. His cognitive behavioral therapy was clearly making a dent. He was trying. But he was also the chief of cardiothoracic surgery. His schedule was brutal. On the Friday afternoon we were finally supposed to go get our marriage license, two emergency trauma surgeries got dumped on his lap. He rescheduled for the following week. But when the next week rolled around, a massive pile-up on the interstate flooded the ER. “Bianca, I’m so sorry. I can’t scrub out right now. Next week. I promise I will clear my entire afternoon next week.” “It’s fine,” I told him over the phone. “Save lives. Drink some coffee.” I was a doctor too. I understood the triage. I took the bitter disappointment swelling in my chest and locked it in a box. It was just another week. I survived three years of artillery fire; I could survive a few more days of waiting. Later that month, the hospital administration held a mandatory all-staff assembly. After the Chief of Medicine droned on about budget cuts, he switched gears. “Additionally, HR is rolling out a massive update to our internal benefits and payroll software. We need to update our dependent and marital status records.” “If anyone here has recently gotten married, please raise your hand so we can get a preliminary headcount.” A ripple of low chuckles went through the auditorium. Everyone knew this was the Chief’s way of publicly teasing the staff. I glanced to my right. Beside me, Roger slowly raised his hand. Immediately, a chorus of catcalls and whistles erupted from our department’s seating section. “Oh, come on, Dr. Roger! The whole hospital knows you’re dying to put a ring on Dr. Bianca, but raising your hand before the ink is dry doesn’t count!” “Seriously man, you two are making us sick with the lovesick puppy routine! Give us a date already so we know when the open bar is!” “Put your arm down, Chief, she’s not going anywhere! Just make sure you get the good champagne!” The good-natured teasing made my face burn. I smiled, a warm flutter in my chest, and gently tugged on the sleeve of his white coat. “Put your hand down, you idiot,” I whispered playfully. “He asked for people who are already legally married.” But as I looked across the aisle, my stomach dropped. Jona had her hand raised too. And she was staring directly at me, a vicious, triumphant smirk plastered across her face. Every alarm bell in my nervous system went off at once. A second later, Jona stood up. Her voice carried clearly through the massive room. “You guys have it all wrong.” “I’m the one who married Dr. Roger.” Dead silence. And then, absolute chaos. The auditorium exploded like a grenade had been dropped in the center aisle. Hundreds of eyes darted frantically between me, Roger, and Jona. The whispers morphed into a deafening roar of shock and aggressive gossip. The Chief of Medicine froze at the podium, completely blindsided. It took him a solid ten seconds to recover. “Alright, settle down! Shut it down! This is a professional environment, not a tabloid! Assembly dismissed! Everyone back to your wards!” I couldn’t hear the rest of his speech. It felt like a mortar shell had gone off right next to my head. The ringing in my ears was absolute. My entire body went numb. I stood up and moved like a ghost, letting the current of the exiting crowd carry me toward the hallway. Roger caught up to me in a deserted stairwell, grabbing my arm. He looked incredibly guilty. “Bianca, please let me explain.” “Jona’s father was my mentor in med school. He practically raised me. He has stage four pancreatic cancer. His dying wish was to see his daughter married to someone who could take care of her. We made an arrangement. I used this marriage to repay my life debt to him.” “But Jona and I already have a contract. The second her father passes away, we file for an annulment. Then I marry you. I swear.” I stared at his perfectly symmetrical face. My chest felt hollowed out, like someone had taken an ice scoop to my ribs. The cold draft howling through my empty chest was unbearable. “When exactly did you two go to the courthouse?” My voice sounded like crushed glass. Roger flinched. He dropped his gaze to the concrete floor. “It was… the first Friday afternoon we were supposed to go.” “Then why did you keep telling me ‘next week’?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Bigamy is a felony, Roger.” He stared at his shoes, his voice laced with heavy, genuine remorse. “I’m sorry. I lied to you again. I just thought I could stall you long enough until my mentor passed.” The chill seeped all the way into my bone marrow. “Roger,” I whispered. “I am never, ever going to forgive you.” 4 I walked straight to the HR department and put in for an indefinite leave of absence. Given the spectacular public humiliation I had just endured, the HR director didn’t ask a single question. She just stamped my paperwork with a look of deep pity. As I walked out of the hospital’s main glass doors, someone stepped into my path. Jona. Her chin was tilted up, radiating the smug arrogance of a victor standing over a corpse. “Giving up already?” she sneered. “If Roger hadn’t promised me your combat commendations, I wouldn’t have even let you stick around to play his pathetic little side piece. But we’re legally bound now. If you keep throwing yourself at my husband…” “You’re nothing but a cheap, homewrecking whore.” Her insults didn’t even register. I was just exhausted. “You have zero class, Jona. You’re a disgrace to your father’s reputation,” I said coldly. “And regardless of your pathetic jealousy, you shouldn’t speak to the person who took a knife for you like that.” I don’t know which button I pushed, but Jona instantly lost her mind. “Took a knife for me?!” she shrieked, her face turning ugly. “That psycho bitch lost her kid because she was genetically weak! Her body was trash! It had nothing to do with me mixing up some stupid pills! And then she had the nerve to go slit her wrists at my house?! My family had to pay out a massive settlement to her gross husband!” “She should have just died quieter! Fucking white-trash parasites!” My expression darkened instantly. As a medical professional, her lack of empathy was horrifying. Mixing up a patient’s prescription was a catastrophic, lethal error. Instead of remorse, she was spitting on a dead woman’s grave. I opened my mouth to verbally tear her apart, but a blur of motion caught my eye. A middle-aged man in a filthy jacket was sprinting toward us from the parking lot, a massive meat cleaver gripped in his fist. Jona saw him. All the blood drained from her face. She let out a bloodcurdling scream and scrambled backward. The man swung the heavy blade wildly, catching Jona on the upper arm. She screamed again as he chased her toward the glass doors, roaring like a wounded animal. “My wife killed herself because of you, and you’re still out here running your filthy mouth! My family is dead! I have nothing left to lose! I’m sending you straight to hell, you murdering bitch!” Jona tripped over the curb and crawled frantically toward the hospital lobby. Patients and nurses in the atrium began screaming, scattering in total panic. My combat instincts took over. If an active shooter or a maniac with a blade got loose in a crowded hospital lobby, it would be an absolute bloodbath. I spun around and sprinted toward the danger. The man grabbed a heavy metal trash can and hurled it at Jona’s back. She went down hard, sprawling flat on the concrete. Before she could get up, he grabbed her by her hair, yanked her head back, and pressed the edge of the cleaver against her throat. “Run! Keep running, you piece of shit! I’m going to carve you up!” “Stop!” I yelled, skidding to a halt a few feet away, my chest heaving. “Don’t do this!” I pleaded. “Do you remember me? I’m Dr. Bianca! I signed the forgiveness waiver for your wife when she stabbed me!” The man glared at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His grip on the cleaver tightened. “Back off! I don’t kill innocent people!” “You’re a good person, Doc. But if you’re trying to save her—forget it!” Security guards began slowly circling us, drawing their batons. The man’s jaw set. He was fully prepared for suicide by cop. “I’m trying to save you!” I screamed, desperate to break through his psychosis. “You and your wife adopted a little girl, right? Lily! She’s eight! When I went to your house to drop off the legal waivers, I met her. She’s so smart! She already lost her mom; she cannot lose her dad today!” “If you die here, or rot in a cell, she goes into the foster system! They’ll tear her apart!” The man’s lower lip began to tremble. He stared into space, unconsciously whispering his daughter’s name. “Lily…” The cleaver shook against Jona’s skin. A raw, guttural sob ripped from his throat. “But I crossed the line! I don’t have a way back!” “Doc… please. Call social services. Tell them I’m sorry. I failed her…” Tears flooded his eyes. When a person cries heavily, their vision blurs for a fraction of a second. Their adrenaline spikes, then dips. It’s the ultimate tactical blind spot. This was my window. I shifted my weight, preparing to lunge forward and secure his wrist. Just wait for the blink. Now—! Suddenly, a violent force slammed into my spine. I was shoved hard from behind. I stumbled forward, completely losing my footing, crashing directly into the man holding the cleaver. The blade didn’t hit Jona. It went straight into my stomach. It slid perfectly into the exact same, partially healed surgical wound from a month ago. Except this time, the blade was wider, heavier, and it went so deep the steel tore through my back. A horrific fountain of arterial blood exploded from my torso, painting the concrete red. I collapsed to my knees, choking on copper, and slowly turned my head. I didn’t even need to guess. It was Roger. Bianca, my fading mind whispered to itself. You got played again. I hit the pavement, completely submerged in a pool of my own blood, and the world went totally black.

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