Category: English

For five years, I was married to my stepbrother. Then, he killed himself. The only thing he left me was half a piece of paper with three words written on it: I hate you. And he should have. I’d repaid his family’s kindness by drugging him, climbing into his bed, and forcing him to break up with the woman he loved. I knew he didn’t love me, but I couldn’t let him go. I suffocated him until he chose death. And then, I died in a car crash on the way to his funeral. I thought that was it. Then I woke up, back on the night I drugged him. 1. Ethan was dead. I got the news while I was at a cafe, finalizing the divorce papers with my lawyer. “He can have the money. He can have the house, all of it.” My lawyer looked stunned. “Ms. Miller, you’re planning on walking away with nothing?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “From what I understand, Mr. Thorne was the one who initiated the separation. Legally, you are the aggrieved party…” I held up a hand. “Just write it up that way, please.” It was all his, anyway. I’d already poisoned his life for years; I wasn’t going to steal his assets, too. “Well,” the lawyer said, “I’ve handled hundreds of divorces, and you are by far the most generous client I’ve ever had.” I gave him a bitter smile. If he knew what I’d done, “generous” isn’t the word he’d use. “Crazy” was the one Ethan’s friends preferred. The psycho who’d trapped her own stepbrother. “If you’ll just review this and sign here…” My hand was shaking. I’d just written the first letter of my name when my phone buzzed. “Is this Chloe Miller? This is City General Hospital. Your husband, Ethan Thorne, has been admitted…” The pen clattered to the floor. I hadn’t seen him in six months. Not since he’d finally asked for a divorce. “Isabella’s back,” he’d said, looking out the window. “After all this time, I never forgot her.” He looked away. “Name your terms, Chloe. I’ll give you anything. Just sign the papers.” I’d lost it. I smashed everything in the living room, screaming at him. “A divorce? Don’t even think about it, Ethan! The only way you’re leaving me is in a body bag!” He didn’t say anything. He just silently started cleaning up the broken glass, the way he always did. I thought I’d won. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. His clothes, his pictures, his toothbrush. Like he’d never existed. And now, he’d made my words come true. I was finally a widow. 2. By the time I got to the funeral home, he was already an urn of ashes. The moment she saw me, his grandmother slapped me across the face. “You evil girl,” she sobbed. “How dare you show your face here?” I just stared at his black-and-white photo. His grandmother shoved me out. I tried to push back in, and she threw a folded piece of paper at my chest. “Read it! This is all he left! This is what he thought of you!” I picked it up. And I saw the three words in his familiar, sharp handwriting. I hate you. 3. I waited outside the funeral home all night. When his family left in the morning, I got in my car and followed them. It was raining, and the winding canyon road was slick. Just let me see him buried, I prayed. Just let me get through this, and I’ll do anything. As if in answer, a boulder, loosened by the rain, broke free from the hillside. It came crashing down right on top of my car. The last thing I saw was that half-sheet of paper, fluttering onto my lap. I hate you. He really didn’t want me at his funeral. As the world went dark, I made one last promise. “Ethan. If there’s a next time, I swear, I’ll leave you alone.” 4. “Chloe, are you insane?” “I’m your brother! And you drugged me?” The voice was rough, familiar, and… alive. “I’m sorry,” I whispered automatically. The words were barely out of my mouth when a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against a hot, tense body. “A little late for sorry, isn’t it?” I snapped my eyes open. Ethan. He was alive. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide. “Ethan?” I scrambled away from him, my hand flying to my own face. Slap. The stinging pain proved it was real. I burst into tears, a relief so profound it buckled my knees. “I’m not mad at you. Why did you hit yourself?” he slurred, pulling me back. The guilt was suffocating. This was just like last time. Even drugged and confused, his first instinct was to worry about me. Last time, I’d taken advantage of that. He’d woken up, full of shame, and taken all the blame. His fiancée, Isabella, broke it off. His grandmother was furious. And he never once told them what I’d done. I tore myself out of his arms. “Ethan, I’m so sorry! I… I was just testing it! I didn’t know if it worked! I’ll call 911!” I fumbled for my phone, but he grabbed my wrist. His voice was a low growl. “You… tested it on me?” His eyes narrowed. “Who were you planning to use it on?” It was a stupid lie, but it was an exit. And maybe, if he thought I loved someone else, it would be the clean break we both needed. I forced a blush. “Lucas. From the architecture department. I’ve had a crush on him for months.” His grip on my wrist tightened until it hurt. “You’d drug a man, Chloe?” “He’s the love of my life,” I whispered, staring at the floor, terrified he’d see the lie in my eyes. “I’d do anything for him.” He let me go. “You’re unbelievable. You’d better hope it’s worth it.” He threw me out of his hotel room and slammed the door. “Ethan, wait!” I knocked. “It’s a strong dose! Do you want me to call an ambulance?” No answer. I was about to call security when the elevator dinged. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” Isabella. She held up a small pharmacy bag and smiled. “Here to see Ethan. I’m guessing you are too?” The door behind me opened. Ethan was standing there in a bathrobe, his hair wet. He looked exhausted. He frowned when he saw me. “Why are you still here?” He called her. The realization was a punch to the gut. Of course he did. He loved her. This was his chance. This was good. This was what I wanted. “I… I was just leaving. You two… have a good night.” I ran.

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On a stormy night, my next-door neighbor suddenly went into labor. I drove her through the floodwaters to the maternity hospital. After she was discharged, she reported me for running an illegal taxi service to make a quick buck. I didn’t say a word. I paid the $5,000 fine, and my car was impounded. She posted a voice message in our building’s residents’ group chat: “Even with friends, business is business. If you break the law, you pay the price!” A month later, her younger son had a seizure from a high fever. She couldn’t get a cab in the middle of the night. She called me, crying, begging me to drive them to the hospital. Holding my phone, I said calmly, “That’s illegal. You could go to jail for that. You should probably wait for an ambulance.” 1 “Tim! Are you even human? This is a child’s life we’re talking about!” “If my son ends up with brain damage, I’ll never let you hear the end of it! You’re a murderer!” I held the phone away from my ear and hung up. Outside, thunder rattled the windows. Another storm was raging. The last one had lasted for three whole days. The building’s underground garage was completely flooded. Luckily, I’d had the foresight to move my new Audi A6 to higher ground. That car was my calling card for my business; I practically polished it three times a day. At 2 a.m., when the rain was at its heaviest, a thunderous banging shook my front door. I looked through the peephole and saw my neighbor, Mark, soaked to the bone. The moment I opened the door, he dropped to his knees. “Tim! Help me! My wife’s in labor! Her water broke!” In this weather, even a tank would have trouble getting through, let alone an ambulance. The roads outside the complex were cut off, the water rising to thigh-level in the deepest spots. “Have you called 911?” I asked, throwing on some clothes. “We did! There’s a huge queue! Everyone’s waiting! But Sarah can’t wait, she’s on the floor, screaming in pain, and she’s bleeding!” Mark, a grown man, was a mess of tears and snot, his forehead hitting the floor tiles with a dull thud. “Tim, I know you have a good car, high clearance. Please, save my wife and baby! If we’re too late, they could both die!” Lives were on the line. I stared out at the rain pouring down like a waterfall and gritted my teeth. “Let’s go.” I’d never driven in such treacherous conditions. Waves of floodwater crashed over the hood, and the wipers on their highest setting could barely clear the windshield. I had to crawl through the “river” that was our street, hazard lights flashing. In the car, Sarah’s screams were agonizing. Her nails clawed deep gouges into my leather seats. I winced at the damage but didn’t dare say a word, my focus entirely on the road ahead. The engine sputtered ominously several times. My palms were slick with sweat. If we stalled here, we’d all be trapped. A drive that normally took twenty minutes stretched into an hour and a half. The moment I pulled up to the maternity hospital entrance, medics rushed out with a gurney. As they lifted Sarah out, a mixture of amniotic fluid and blood soaked my backseat. Mark followed behind them, stammering his endless thanks. I collapsed into the driver’s seat, exhausted, my hands still shaking. The trip had half-wrecked my car. The engine had probably taken on water, and the interior would need a complete overhaul. But at that moment, all I could think was: I saved two lives. It was worth it. The next afternoon, I was at the auto shop, grimacing at the sight of my dismantled engine. Mark sent me a text: a healthy baby boy, mother and child were doing fine. I sent him back a generous gift of cash through a payment app. A little while later, Mark showed up at the shop and insisted on stuffing five hundred dollars in cash into my hand. “Tim, this is for gas and a car wash. You have to take it! Sarah would feel terrible otherwise!” I tried to refuse. “We’re neighbors. Don’t be a stranger. As long as the baby’s okay, that’s all that matters.” “No! Even with friends, business is business. If you don’t take this, you’re looking down on me!” He shoved the money into my pocket and ran off before I could protest further. Holding the five hundred dollars, I thought to myself that they were a decent, considerate family. I never imagined that five hundred dollars would be the beginning of my nightmare. Three days later, I was in a meeting at work when several uniformed officers from Traffic Enforcement walked right in. “Are you Tim Wallace? The owner of the vehicle with license plate 66888?” I froze. “Yes, that’s me. What’s wrong?” “We’ve received a formal complaint against you for operating an illegal taxi service. The evidence is conclusive. You need to come with us.” At their headquarters, when they showed me the file, my world went cold. The complainant: Sarah Miller. The evidence included the complete dashcam footage from the night I drove her to the hospital, and a photo of Mark forcing the five hundred dollars into my hand. There was even a recording. It was Sarah’s voice, sounding weak, yet shrewd: “Yes, I took his illegal taxi. The rain was too heavy to get a ride, so he jacked up the price to five hundred dollars. People like him, who profit from a crisis, must be punished.” I trembled as I listened to the recording. I thought of the heart-pounding terror of that drive. I thought of the bloodstains on my leather seats. I thought of the thousands of dollars I had paid out of pocket for repairs. “Bullshit!” I slammed my fist on the table. “This is slander! I was taking her to the hospital to give birth! Her husband forced that money on me for gas!” The officer’s face was impassive. “We only look at the evidence. You don’t have a commercial driver’s license, yet you accepted payment. The facts are clear.” “According to regulations, the fine is five thousand dollars, and the vehicle will be impounded.” Five thousand dollars. For me, with my business already facing a cash flow crunch, it was like pouring salt on a wound. Worse, with my car impounded, how was I supposed to meet my clients? I slumped into the chair, the cold penalty notice clenched in my fist. In that moment, something inside of me simply died. 2 My heart bled as I drove my car out of the impound lot. The tow truck had cracked the bumper, and the body was caked in mud. Just like my life at that moment—a complete mess. I drove straight to the hospital. In the hospital room, Sarah was propped up in bed, sipping on some expensive broth. Her cheeks were rosy; she looked nothing like the woman who had been at death’s door that night. Mark was peeling an apple beside her. When he saw me, his hand flinched, the knife nearly slicing his finger. “Well, well, look who it is. Our hero,” Sarah said, her voice dripping with sarcasm after swallowing a mouthful of broth. I threw the penalty notice onto her blanket. “Why?” It was the only word I could manage. Sarah glanced at the amount on the paper and smirked. “Don’t blame me, Tim. The city offers a reward for reporting illegal taxis, up to three hundred bucks.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, her tone matter-of-fact. “If I didn’t report you, someone else would have. Might as well keep it in the neighborhood. Three hundred dollars is enough for a month of Toby’s formula.” I stared at her in disbelief. “For three hundred dollars? I saved your life! And your son’s! My car repairs cost over a thousand! Now I’ve been fined five thousand!” I roared, my eyes turning red. Mark shrank into himself, not saying a word, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “You did that willingly. I didn’t ask you to,” Sarah said with an eye-roll. “Besides, you drive such a nice car. What’s a little money to you? For poor people like us, every penny counts.” “This is betrayal! I helped you!” “Don’t you dare get on your high horse with me! The law says you were operating illegally, and that’s that! Where there’s smoke, there’s fire!” Sarah’s voice suddenly shot up, drawing the attention of the other patients and their families in the ward. She immediately switched into victim mode, pointing at me and shouting, “Everyone, come and judge for yourselves! This man runs an illegal taxi in the rain, preying on pregnant women! Now that he’s been fined, he’s come to the hospital to threaten us! Is there no justice?” People who didn’t know the story started whispering and pointing at me. “He looks so respectable, but he does such vile things.” “Scamming a pregnant woman… he has no heart.” I was speechless, unable to defend myself. Looking at Sarah’s triumphant, smug face, I suddenly realized that arguing with someone like her was the height of foolishness. I shot a cold glance at Mark. “You’re just going to let your wife run wild like this?” Mark looked down, mumbling, “Tim, in our house… Sarah calls the shots…” Fine. Just fine. I turned and walked out of the room, Sarah’s victorious sneer following me down the hall. When I got home, an even bigger storm was waiting. To get her hands on that $300 reward, Sarah had publicly tagged me in the 500-member residents’ group chat. “@TimWallace You can’t judge a book by its cover. Everyone, be careful not to take his car! He scams his neighbors during storms, preying on people he knows!” She even posted a pixelated photo of my fine notice, painting herself as a brave victim fighting for her rights. The chat exploded. The same neighbors who used to greet me respectfully as “Mr. Wallace” completely changed their tune. “I never would have thought he was that kind of person.” “Stay away from him. He’s a real shark.” Even my own parents were accosted by others in the building when they went out for groceries, told they had failed in raising their son. The stress caused my mom’s blood pressure to spike, and she ended up in the hospital for three days. Because my car was impounded for two weeks, I missed meetings with two major clients. My company’s cash flow completely dried up. I had to swallow my pride and borrow money from relatives, enduring their condescending looks. Friends who’d once clapped me on the back now sent my calls straight to voicemail. During that time, I was sleeping three hours a night, my hair falling out in clumps. Countless times, I stood on my balcony, staring at the lights on in Sarah’s apartment downstairs, wanting to charge down there and end it all. But I held back. I couldn’t throw my life away over someone so worthless. I sold everything of value I owned to plug the holes in my company’s finances. Life had to go on, but I was no longer the same warm-hearted Tim. I spent a small fortune installing high-definition, front-and-rear dashcams with audio recording in my car. I also set up a panoramic surveillance camera at my front door, covering every angle, 24/7. I swore to myself, if I ever meddled in someone else’s business again, I was less than human. From then on, I kept to myself in the building. If I saw an elderly person fall, I’d walk the other way. If I heard a child crying, I’d put on my headphones. My world became quiet, and my heart grew cold, hard as iron. Then, a month later. A brutal flu swept through the city.

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Late one night, scrolling through my phone, I stumbled upon an anonymous post. [My sister-in-law is in love with me. Should I be with her?] It had only been up for half an hour, but the comment section was already a dumpster fire with over a thousand replies. One user called it out: [Another rage-bait post. You’re really using incest-lite as a gimmick to farm karma? Does your sister-in-law know you’re spreading this crap about her?] The original poster (OP) shot back immediately: [Spreading crap? After the way she acts around me?!] [What way? Seducing you?] someone pressed. [Not seducing, exactly. But she warms up milk for me every morning. She takes me out to dinner when I get off work. When I fight with my brother, she’s always the first one to comfort me.] [My brother’s out of town for a few days, so I’ve been dressing… lighter. And it’s working. After dinner tonight, she went straight to her room. She’s afraid that if we’re alone together, she won’t be able to control her feelings for me.] [Besides, I’m younger than my brother, in better shape, and I know how to treat a woman. If she had met me first, my brother never would have stood a chance.] The comment section was a sea of ellipses. […I don’t know if your sister-in-law is into you, but I know for a fact you’ve got a massive, unrequited crush on her.] [OP, please go see a therapist. It sounds like your sister-in-law is just being nice to you, like you’re her little brother.] [You guys don’t believe me?] OP was getting pissed. [I’m going to go ask her right now!] I was curled up in bed, thoroughly entertained by the drama. The next second, a knock came at my bedroom door. My brother-in-law’s voice drifted through the wood. “Maya? You asleep?” 1 I glanced at my phone, then at the door. I didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. A few seconds later, a new notification popped up from the post. [I think she’s asleep.] A chorus of digital jeers followed. [OP chickened out, didn’t he?] [Just go to bed, dude. Your sister-in-law only has eyes for your brother. She’s not into you.] [Seriously, OP. Go see a doctor.] [Heh, how did you know my sister-in-law is a doctor? You’re right. I should book an appointment with her so I can see her more often. Maybe it’ll give her the courage to finally confess her feelings for me.] Reading that, I went cold. I was now certain. The original poster was my brother-in-law, Ethan. And the sister-in-law he claimed was secretly in love with him… was me. I took a deep, shaky breath and rolled over, feeling a wave of exhaustion. My phone lit up again. An update from Ethan: [She’s definitely not asleep. I heard her move. She’s just too shy to open the door for me.] I held my breath, frozen. The comments immediately lit up. [Lmao. The self-delusion is lethal.] [OP, you should record a video when you ask her. We all want to see her reaction.] Ethan replied: [No, I can’t film her. She’s shy.] A user shot back: [Is she shy, or are you scared?] [You don’t get it. She’s beautiful even when she’s embarrassed. At the wedding, my brother just kissed her on the cheek in front of everyone, and she blushed so hard she couldn’t even speak. It was adorable.] [I’m not the coward. My brother is. He only dared to kiss her cheek. If it were me, I would have kissed her on the lips. Her lips are so soft. They look so… kissable.] I covered my face, unable to look at the screen anymore. Ethan, who always seemed so normal, so straight-laced, was coming off like a total creep. A new comment appeared: [OP, is your brother not good to you?] Ethan’s reply was instant: [My brother’s great. But she’s better. My stomach was killing me last week, and she made me soup and stayed with me.] [And then?] Ethan: [And then my brother came home, and she went to take care of him.] [But I get it. She has to put on a show in front of my brother. I don’t have a right to her yet, but I’m working on it. I’ll earn my place.] What was I even reading? A sigh escaped my lips. That soup was originally for Leo. He had to work late, so I gave it to Ethan instead. I couldn’t help myself. I typed a reply in the comments: [Is it possible she just sees you as a little brother?] [No way,] Ethan wrote. [I know she cares about me. It was raining today, and she sent me a text reminding me to bring an umbrella.] I pressed my fingers to my forehead. I’d sent that text to my entire family’s group chat. I heard a soft shuffling sound from the hallway. It sounded like Ethan had sat down, his back against my door. He posted another update. [If she doesn’t like me, why has she been avoiding me these last few days?] [She won’t even meet my eyes. You know what they say, eye contact is a spiritual kiss without the carnality. She must want to kiss me for real but is too afraid.] One user replied: [Okay, that actually makes a little sense. If she’s suddenly avoiding you, she must be hiding something.] [But based on what you said earlier about ‘dressing lighter’… what exactly were you wearing?] [A lacy butler costume,] Ethan wrote. The comment section fell silent. A hot blush crept up my neck as images of Ethan’s outfits from the past few days flashed through my mind. Leo had only been gone for three days, and in that time, Ethan had already paraded around in six different “light” outfits. Sheer shirts, tops with strategic cutouts, a pearl body chain… I hadn’t just been avoiding eye contact; I’d wanted to claw my own eyes out and scream indecent exposure. I had assumed Ethan just had some… unique hobbies. Now I realized he was wearing those things for me. I would have preferred the unique hobbies. A new comment voiced my exact thoughts: [Dude, you’re probably scaring the hell out of her.] I bit down on my duvet, nodding furiously. I’d been so terrified I’d barely looked up all week. Ethan refused to believe it. [No way. The way she looks at me is different.] [I’ve made up my mind. I’m telling her how I feel tomorrow.] [Love is something you fight for, not something you wait for. Instead of waiting for her to work through her feelings, I’m going to make the first move. While my brother’s out of town, I’m going to make her mine.] The comments erupted. [Don’t do it… I really don’t think your sister-in-law feels the way you think she does.] [OP, do you have good insurance? I can get you a referral to a great psychiatrist. Let’s get you healthy before you confess anything, okay?] [Your brother is going to kill you.] Ethan: [For her, it’s worth it.] I took a deep breath and typed one last comment. [I suggest you don’t confess. Otherwise, you might not even have a family left to come home to.] Just then, a video call from Leo popped up on my screen. Outside my door, I heard Ethan scramble to his feet, followed by the notification of his final, hurried update: [Gotta go. My brother is calling to check up on his wife. He’s so damn insecure, calls her every single day. So annoying.] 2 I waited until I was sure Ethan was gone before I answered the call. Leo’s face filled the screen. He had deep-set eyes, a strong nose, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. They were brothers, but where Ethan was a charming, boyish kind of handsome, Leo possessed a magnetism that was both intense and commanding. It was that look that had stolen my breath at a friend’s wedding three years ago, compelling me to walk right up and ask for his number. “Why’d it take you so long to answer?” he asked. His voice, low and rich, rumbled through the phone. I opened my mouth, Ethan’s delusional words swirling on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back down. It wasn’t about protecting Ethan; it was about preventing Leo from flying home and breaking both his legs. “I was asleep,” I lied. Leo studied me, his gaze sharp and unwavering for a couple of seconds. “Really?” “Mhm.” His expression softened, the hard lines of his face relaxing. “The project isn’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I might have to stay a few more days.” “It’s okay,” I said, my smile feeling a little tight. No big deal. I’d just have to get better at avoiding Ethan. He asked casually, “Ethan hasn’t been giving you any trouble, has he?” My fingers tightened on my phone. I kept my face neutral. “He’s been quiet. Just… likes to, uh… change his clothes a lot.” On the other end of the line, Leo scoffed. “He better be quiet.” “But still… keep your distance,” he added. “He’s an adult now.” I nodded quickly. “I will.” Leo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “How come you’re so agreeable this time?” I looked down, avoiding his gaze. I couldn’t exactly say, Because I just found out your brother has a massive, creepy crush on me. “Didn’t you used to say he was just a kid?” he pressed, his tone probing. “He’s twenty-two. That’s not a kid,” I said softly. Thinking about how my kindness had been so horribly misinterpreted made my ears burn. Leo watched me for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face, but in the end, all he said was, “Remember to lock your door.” After we hung up, I refreshed the post and saw Ethan’s latest update: [Tomorrow, I’m making a candlelight dinner. When she’s moved by the gesture, I’ll tell her everything.] Users were begging him to calm down. Ethan replied: [She’s so good to me. There’s no way she’ll say no.] I silently turned my phone off. It was clear that just keeping my distance wasn’t going to be enough. 3 Five in the morning, before the sun was up. I tiptoed out of my bedroom, shoes in hand, holding my breath as I passed Ethan’s door. I didn’t exhale until I had softly clicked the front door shut behind me. After finishing a long surgery, I checked the post again. Ethan had been posting nonstop since seven a.m. [My sister-in-law is gone. No warm milk this morning…] [I bet my damn brother said something to her behind my back.] [I can’t give up. I have to rescue her from him!] The comment section was on fire. [OP, has it ever occurred to you that the milk was basic hospitality, taking you to dinner was to keep you from starving, and comforting you was to maintain peace in the family? You’re not special to her. Stop being delusional.] [Why’d you delete my comment, OP? You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.] [Dude, stop trying to reason with him. This kid is a lost cause. Just let his brother beat him up.] I rubbed my temples and closed the tab. At seven p.m., Ethan updated again. He posted a picture: a dining table draped in a white cloth, set with steak, candles, and even rose petals. [Candlelight dinner is ready. Just waiting for my angel to come home. She’s going to be so touched when she sees this.] The comments exploded. [He’s actually doing it? I’ll bet five hundred bucks she turns you down flat.] [I’ll raise you a thousand and bet your brother comes home and rearranges your face.] Ethan shot back: [She won’t say no.] [And my brother won’t hit me. He always wants the best for her, and I’m the best. He should be happy to see us together.] The comment section was flooded with question marks. [???] [That logic… does your brother know you think that way?] [Does your SISTER-IN-LAW know you think that way?] [I honestly don’t even know where to begin with this.] I silently upvoted that last one. Checking the time, I put my phone down and went back to my patient charts. It wasn’t until the charge nurse reminded me my shift was over that I realized it was already 10:30 p.m. When I got to my front door, the lights were still on. Through the window, I could see Ethan sitting at the dining table, glancing at the door every few seconds. I turned around and walked to a 24-hour CVS. I lingered in the aisles until 11:30, figuring he would have given up and gone to bed by then. When I pushed the door open, only a small nightlight glowed in the living room. Ethan was asleep on the sofa, a bouquet of roses resting near his hand. The steak was cold, the candles burned down to melted stumps. As quietly as possible, I cleared the dishes into the kitchen, scraping the food into the trash. Even the roses and the card tucked inside them went into the bag. After cleaning everything up, I went to my room, and left the house again before dawn. Walking down the empty street, I felt like a fugitive. 4 The next morning, I got a text from Ethan: [Maya, did you come home last night?] I paused from typing up my notes and simply replied: [What’s up?] The little bubbles indicating he was typing appeared for a long time before he finally sent back two words: [Nothing.] His cold tone was a relief. It seemed he’d finally gotten my hint. Coming home late was my way of saying it was never going to happen, and cleaning everything up while he slept was my way of saying we should pretend it never happened. Ethan was smart; he had to have understood. It wasn’t until I opened the post again that I realized how naive I’d been. Ethan was on a posting spree: [WTF! The candlelight dinner vanished into thin air.] [I know I fell asleep in the living room waiting, and when I woke up, everything was gone. Cleaned up.] [I didn’t see my sister-in-law, just a ghost. I asked if she came home, and she never answered.] The comments were full of laughing emojis. [Maybe you cleaned it up in your sleep?] [She definitely came home, saw it, and got rid of it all.] [My guess is she’s figured you out, and this is her way of gently rejecting you.] I silently upvoted that comment. Beneath it, Ethan replied hesitantly: [Really…? But if she knows how I feel, why won’t she just say something?] [I thought we both felt the same way…] The replies were brutal. [Are you sure it’s mutual and not just you projecting?] [Dude, the person she loves is your brother. Not you.] Ethan immediately fired back: [You don’t know anything. My brother tricked her into marrying him. She doesn’t actually love him.] [Do tell.] Ethan’s reply came quickly: [My brother fell for her at first sight. He found out she was a bridesmaid at his employee’s wedding and went specifically for her, dressed to the nines. He knew what he was doing, using his face to get her attention.] [Then one time she got drunk, and I told my brother to unbutton his shirt a little while he took care of her. With his face and that body, who wouldn’t get flustered? She basically forced herself on him.] [Another time, he wanted to buy her a purse, but I told him to get her a custom set of surgical scalpels instead. Her eyes lit up when she saw them. The next day, she said yes to his proposal.] [There’s nothing between them but manipulation. I’m different. My feelings for her are real.] The comments were in an uproar. [Wait, so your brother’s entire successful courtship was orchestrated by YOU?] [OP, I’m confused. If you like your sister-in-law so much, why did you push her toward your brother?] Ethan replied, indignant: [I had never even met her back then! My brother guarded her from me like I was a thief. If I’d seen her first, we’d probably have kids by now.] One comment hit the nail on the head: [Your brother probably saw this coming a mile away. That’s why he kept you two apart.] [Brothers with the same taste. He was afraid you’d try to steal his girl.] Reading that, it suddenly clicked. I finally understood why Leo had always been so subtly, deliberately keeping Ethan and me at arm’s length. I used to think he was overreacting. Now, I realized he was afraid Ethan would develop feelings for me. But Leo really did play his cards close to his chest. I had always believed our first meeting was at that wedding, and that I had been the one to pursue him. Now, it seemed Leo had known who I was long before that. And he had intentionally used that handsome face of his to catch my eye. What bothered me more was the memory of that night. I was drunk, and Leo was taking care of me, his shirt collar slightly open, his breathing ragged but restrained. I’d thought I was the one who initiated things, but looking back now, his every subtle reaction was perfectly calibrated. Even his suppressed groans had a faint, alluring quality. I should have been angry, but instead, my cheeks were burning. To think that Leo had been watching me for so long. That he had been the one to fall first. As I was lost in thought, Ethan posted another update: [My brother’s coming back soon. I’ve decided to lay my cards on the table before he gets here. When it comes to winning someone’s heart, I’m a pro!] I immediately closed the page and sent a text to Leo. [When exactly did we first meet?] And then: [And you better get home soon. Someone’s trying to wreck it.] 5 The next day at noon, just as I stepped out of the exam room, Ethan was there, blocking my path in the hallway. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked at me, his expression pitiful. “Maya… have you been avoiding me?” I sighed internally. The moment I’d been dreading was finally here. “Ethan, the flowers and the card from the other night—I threw them away. You should know what that means.” I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “I have something to say to you.” Without another word, he pulled me into a deserted stairwell, the heavy door clicking shut and sealing us off from the rest of the hospital. Before he could speak, I cut in. “Ethan, I’ve always seen you as my own little brother.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Really? Closer than you are with Leo?” I was speechless, momentarily stunned by his bizarre interpretation. “That’s not what I…” I tried to explain, but he took a deep breath and interrupted me. “Maya,” he said, his voice dropping, the tips of his ears turning red. “I know… I know you like me, too. You’re just worried about what people will think, and you’re shy, so you keep trying to run away from me.” He paused, as if gathering his courage. “So… so I decided I can’t wait anymore. I have to be the one to make a move. Maya, I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.” He stumbled over the words, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He looked like any other young man experiencing his first crush. “Ethan,” I said, keeping my voice as gentle as possible. “You’ve misunderstood. My feelings for you have only ever been familial. Nothing more.” The color drained from his face. “Is it because of Leo?” he asked urgently. “Did he force you to say that? He’s so cold and rigid, he doesn’t know how to be gentle. He’s manipulative! He doesn’t deserve you! He…” He launched into a tirade, listing all of Leo’s supposed flaws, his voice growing more agitated. I listened quietly until he ran out of steam, then shook my head. “This isn’t about him. You can’t force these things. I don’t have romantic feelings for you. You’re a great guy, and you’ll find someone who is right for you.” Ethan’s eyes welled up, and without warning, tears began to roll down his cheeks. Seeing him cry made my chest ache. My voice softened. “Don’t be like this, Ethan…” Just then, he suddenly grabbed my hand. With his other, he lifted the hem of his t-shirt, revealing the black lace lingerie wrapped around his waist. “Just… just touch it, Maya.” His voice was choked with tears as he stubbornly tried to press my hand against his stomach. “My body is way better than my brother’s. Please, just give me a chance…” I was so shocked I could barely move. My fingers were inches from the lace when a cold, sharp voice cut through the air. “What the hell are you two doing?”

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I found a new streamer to watch. I’d spend my nights helping him win donation battles and boosting his subscriber count. He had a great voice. The only problem was, there was this one song I really wanted to hear, and he wouldn’t sing it. He wouldn’t even learn it. I dropped a “Lion” (the top-tier gift) in his chat. He just nodded at the camera. “Thanks, Lyra. But I have my principles. I don’t sing songs I don’t like.” I figured he was just one of those ‘serious artist’ types. Until I accidentally overheard him on a hot mic, cooing to his second-biggest donor: “Baby Bear, you know I’d learn anything for you… just one ‘Sports Car’ gift and it’s all yours~” So, he has principles. They just don’t apply to me. Got it. I took my money next door. I dropped a Lion in a random new streamer’s chat, and through the cascade of celebratory animations, I heard the new guy gasp, “Oh my god—sister, hold on! Give me thirty minutes, I’ll learn this song right now!” At the same time, my phone buzzed. A DM from my “principled” streamer. He was… not happy. 1 Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for a good voice. It’s a chemical reaction. A cat with catnip. My brain just shuts off. So, when “Rhys,” the streamer I’d been simping for, refused to sing “Princess,” I was annoyed, but not that annoyed. He seemed to sense my vibe shift and quickly explained, “I have my principles, Lyra. I don’t sing songs I don’t like. It feels fake.” On screen, his face was all sharp angles and artistically messy hair. He had that detached, too-cool-for-this vibe. I just stared at my screen. My status as his #1 donor suddenly felt… awkward. He must have felt the tension, because his voice softened. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I see you as a friend, not just a wallet. I’d rather be honest with you than just… perform. Please don’t be mad. It makes me feel like crap.” It worked. I melted. He was right. He was different. He wasn’t like those other streamers who would do anything for a donation. He was authentic. I dropped a few more Lions to show there were no hard feelings. Rhys just gave a small “Mhm” of acknowledgment, as if the $1,500 in animations was just… expected. I was about to type that he could just sing whatever he wanted, when a flashy entrance notification rolled across the screen: [—Monthly #2 Donor ‘BabyBear’ has entered the chat—] “Hey, Bear!” Rhys’s voice instantly changed. It was warmer. “I learned that song you asked for. Want to hear it?” I’d noticed this before. He was always… friendlier… to BabyBear. When I’d asked him about it, he’d said, “Because I see you as a real friend. She’s just a ‘client.’” I watched her “Bear” emoji pop up in the chat, and I quietly logged off. He was just working. I get it. To make sure I didn’t accidentally click back into his stream, I swapped to an old alt account I barely used. The account had five unread DMs. All from someone named “Ren.” Ren: [Thank you so much for the follow, sister! (#^.^#) This is Ren, I’m a singer! Welcome!] Ren: [Signing off! Thanks again for the support tonight, I’ll work really hard! (#bow#)] Ren: [Hey, sister, been busy? I learned some new songs if you want to come listen!] Ren: [Good morning! Another great day to practice singing!] The most recent one was from one minute ago. Ren: [Long time no see, sister! Welcome back anytime! ~] It took me a second to remember who “Ren” was. A month ago, I was trying to help Rhys win a “Hype War.” The platform rules said one account could only contribute 100 “Hype” points. I’d made this alt account to give him an extra 100. While searching for Rhys’s stream, I’d misclicked and ended up in Ren’s. “Welcome, ‘CocoaMilk’! Welcome, ‘New-Sister-Who-Just-Joined’!” his voice had said. It was… different. Clear, warm, like a mountain stream. It wasn’t the gravelly, “trying-too-hard” baritone Rhys used. Ren’s voice was natural, and a little nervous. I’d hit “follow” and tossed him a few cheap gifts. He’d completely frozen. “Oh—wow—thank you! Thank you so much! I… wow!” The joy in his voice was so genuine it almost made me uncomfortable. I left after a minute and went to Rhys’s stream. I’d forgotten Ren, and this account, entirely. I never realized that, in the corner I’d forgotten, someone had been this grateful for a random, throwaway click. 2 I clicked into Ren’s stream. He had his camera on this time. He was just a kid, maybe college-aged, in a plain white t-shirt. He had fluffy hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a look of… pure, unfiltered himbo. When he saw my username, his eyes lit up. “Sister! You’re back! Good evening!” He smiled, and he had dimples. I typed: [You remember me?] He blushed. “Of course! You were the first person who ever gave me a gift on this platform. It sounds cheesy, but… you’re like, my original patron. Thank you for taking a chance on me.” I glanced at his stats. “Viewers: 7.” His contribution list was… sad. The top three combined didn’t break $20. I felt a pang of pity. I sent him a few “Hype” gifts. He looked shocked. “Thank you! Oh, wow, thank you. Sister, is there anything I can do? A song? A voice line? Anything?” [No, it’s fine. You’re doing great. Keep it up.] I left. I figured the Lions I’d sent to Rhys earlier were probably pulling in new traffic for him. I might as well go help him secure his ranking. I clicked on Rhys’s channel. And I froze. He was singing “Princess.” The song I’d begged for. The song he’d refused to learn. He finished with a flourish, his voice dropping into that fake-intimate register. “That was a song someone asked for a long time ago. I never sang it. But I’m singing it now… just for you, my Princess Bear.” A “Sports Car” animation ($100) immediately filled the screen. BabyBear: [If you already knew it, why didn’t you sing it for Lyra? She’s your #1. She would have dropped a ton of Lions.] Rhys let out a short, ugly laugh. “Her? God, no. I wish she’d leave. She’s so needy. ‘Emotional value,’ ‘reciprocation’… she thinks just because she throws money at me, she owns me. So desperate.” BabyBear: [Aren’t you afraid she’ll stop paying?] “Please. She’s easy. If she gets mad, I just ignore her for a few days. She always comes crawling back, apologizing. Total simp.” BabyBear: [Wow. My King.] Rhys chuckled. “Anyway… anyone else want a song? A ‘Hot Air Balloon’ for a request, a ‘Sports Car’ to learn a new one. Invest in Rhys. You won’t regret it.” My… my streamer. He’d… collapsed. I thought I was his patron. He thought I was his doormat. And his “principles?” What a joke. I was so angry, I typed in the chat: [Talking shit about your #1 donor? Bold move. What if she finds out?] A red message appeared. [You have been permanently banned from this channel.] Rhys looked at the camera with a sneer. “Some random alt account, trying to start drama. Get out of here. My fans and I know our vibe.” A second later: [You have been kicked from the channel.] I… I just started to laugh.

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On my wedding day, my enemy Silas Blackwood hung my fiancé Joey’s head from the cathedral spire. As blood dripped down the cross, Silas approached and whispered that a traitor never deserved me. The guests fled, but I smiled. Three years ago, Joey had sworn to protect me after my family took him in. But last week, I learned he was betraying me with my cousin Maya and leaking company secrets. I’d planned to expose him today—but Silas acted first. We married right there in the bloodshed. He treated me like a queen, until my birthday, when I found his secret house filled with photos of him and Maya. That night, he asked what I wanted. I looked straight at him and said, “I want you to kill Maya for me.” 1 The moment the words “kill Maya” left my lips, the smile on Silas Blackwood’s face froze. “Seraphina, don’t be ridiculous.” He stepped forward to take my hand, but I snatched it away the instant his fingers brushed my wrist. “Ridiculous?” A bitter smile twisted my lips. I pulled a stack of printed photographs from my purse and threw them at his feet. In the pictures, Maya was lounging in his study’s leather armchair, wearing his favorite silk nightgown. “Silas, look closely,” I hissed. “Does this look ridiculous to you?” He bent to pick them up, his movements suddenly hesitant. “She must have snuck in and taken those when I wasn’t home. I only found out today, I swear…” “Oh?” I cut him off, unlocking my phone and shoving the screen in his face. It displayed the address of a secluded villa on the outskirts of the city. “And what about this? The security code is my birthday, yet the walls inside are covered with her pictures. Her clothes are in the closets. Are you going to tell me she picked the lock and moved herself in?” The color finally drained from his face. He lunged for my phone. I took a step back, my back hitting the cold wall. “Silas, you’ve always been so good at playing the devoted husband, haven’t you?” I opened up the social media app. The top trending topic was already exploding. #SilasBlackwoodSecretVilla #TheRealMrsBlackwoodMaya, followed by a bright red “VIRAL” tag. Beneath it was the nine-photo grid I had posted that afternoon. The caption was simple: “Happy birthday to me.” “Look. The whole world knows now. Your perfect, loving husband act? It’s shattered. There’s not even dust left.” He ripped the phone from my hand, his fingers flying as he dialed his PR team. His voice was laced with a panic I had never heard before. “Kill the story! Now! Delete every single photo! If anyone posts it again, I’ll make sure they never work in this city again!” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes a maelstrom of conflict. “Seraphina, there’s nothing between me and Maya. The photos are a misunderstanding, you have to believe me…” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed, but the sound was choked by a sudden surge of tears. “Three years ago, when Joey betrayed me, you killed him for me. I thought you were the one person who would never betray me. But you? You played me for a fool! Tell me, Silas, can’t you bring yourself to kill her?” “Is it because she’s my cousin? Or is it because… you’ve fallen in love with her?” He opened his mouth, but no defense came. Seeing him stand there, utterly speechless, the last flicker of warmth in my heart went cold. All these years, everything he had done was a lie. The devotion, the passion… it was all a performance. 2 That night, I locked myself in the guest room. Sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was a whirlwind of the past. Three years ago, before the Preston family’s ruin. Joey Preston was known as the darling of Veridia City. He brought me breakfast every morning. He would brew me ginger tea when I had my period, holding my hands and whispering, “Seraphina, the day I graduate, I’m going to make you my wife.” Back then, Silas Blackwood was the monster no one dared to cross. He was the Blackwood family’s illegitimate son, raised abroad, a dark secret. When he returned, he carried an air of brutal intensity. I first met him at a Preston family gala. He beat a trust-fund brat who was harassing me half to death, then strode over to me, looking down his nose at me. “Seraphina Meng,” he’d said, his voice laced with contempt. “Joey Preston can’t protect you. You’d be better off with me.” I despised him then. I saw him as a brute who solved every problem with his fists. Until the Prestons fell. Joey’s father was investigated for embezzlement, and their empire collapsed overnight. Looking back, the “evidence” was almost laughably obvious. The signature on the ledger was a clumsy scrawl, nothing like the elder Mr. Preston’s elegant script. But I was blinded by grief and chaos, desperate to salvage what little was left of their family. I never stopped to question the convenient timing or the glaring inconsistencies. It never occurred to me that Joey’s family had been framed. And that was when Silas started circling me, relentlessly, telling me to forget Joey, to marry him instead. But I was devoted to Joey. Watching him fall from grace into ruin broke my heart. I begged my grandfather to have the Sterling family step in, to offer him a lifeline. He knelt before me, his forehead pressed to the toe of my shoe, his voice thick with emotion. “Seraphina, thank you. I’ll never forget this. I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” And I believed him. I never imagined that he would immediately turn around and fall into bed with my cousin, Maya. I was overseas for a business deal when I discovered their affair. It was a video. Joey was holding Maya, their faces close, about to kiss. “Once I get the Sterling data,” Joey was saying, “I’ll ditch that fool Seraphina. Then we can finally be together, out in the open.” Maya smiled and kissed him. “Don’t go soft on me, Joey,” she purred. “That bitch should have been dead years ago.” In that moment, I was consumed by a tidal wave of betrayal and rage. I booked the first flight back, planning to confront him at the altar. If it was true, I would kill him with my own hands. But Silas beat me to it. He hung Joey’s head from the cathedral spire. Then he came to me, his voice as gentle as if he were soothing a child. “Seraphina, a traitor like that doesn’t deserve you.” I thought then that he and I were the same. We were both monsters. We both had no tolerance for betrayal. Now, I see how catastrophically wrong I was. Joey’s affair had driven me mad with rage, and I had blindly accepted the “evidence” Silas and others had fed me. Only now do I realize it. The affair, the evidence, the seduction… It was all a meticulously crafted trap, set by Silas and Maya. Thinking back, Silas’s intentions were never pure. He didn’t want me; he wanted the Sterling family’s resources and influence. And Maya… she had been jealous of me her whole life. She always whined about how unfair it was that I was born the Sterling heiress, that everyone seemed to love me so effortlessly. Seducing Joey wasn’t just about hurting me. It was about using him to get her hands on Sterling Corp’s core data. To help Silas seize control of my family’s empire even faster. They were in it together from the start. A perfectly orchestrated performance, slowly devouring the foundations of the Sterling legacy. He took personal control of our most important projects. He replaced the heads of our core departments with his own people. Even my personal assistant became his spy. I was a figurehead, a puppet queen in my own kingdom, about to lose any real power I had left. The more I thought about it, the more the hatred burned. Hatred for my own stupidity, for being deceived by his charade for so long. But there was no turning back. Maya and Silas… they would pay for what they had done. 3 The next morning, I checked my phone. The trending topic had been pushed down, but the story was still spreading like wildfire. #SilasBlackwoodPRDisaster #MayaTheMistress #SeraphinaTheScornedWife. The headlines dominated the top twenty. The comment sections were a warzone. Some called me a bitter, scorned wife, posting pictures for sympathy. Others called Maya a conniving snake who had been with Silas all along. Someone even dug up the story about Joey Preston from three years ago, claiming the Blackwoods were nothing but a crime family who treated human life as disposable. Silas’s PR team issued a statement. They claimed the photos were doctored, that the villa was a business investment, and that Maya was simply helping manage the property. They even produced so-called “evidence.” A purchase contract for the villa, and a work contract for Maya. But the public wasn’t buying it. Someone unearthed security footage of Maya coming and going from the villa at all hours. Another noticed that the jewelry Maya was wearing in her own social media posts was identical to a set Silas had gifted me. The most laughable part? Maya posted on her own account. A picture of herself with red, tear-swollen eyes. The caption read: “Silas and I are just friends. Seraphina, why would you spread such vicious lies? I know you’re still upset about Joey, but you can’t take it out on me.” That post poured gasoline on the fire. The comments turned on me. I was petty. I was cruel. Poor, innocent Maya. I stared at the screen, a mixture of fury and derisive laughter bubbling in my chest. She had perfected the art of playing the victim. Just then, the door opened. Silas came in. His eyes were shot with red; he clearly hadn’t slept. “Seraphina, stop this. The PR team is handling it. If this continues, it will damage the Blackwood family’s reputation.” He came to my side, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Stop this?” I looked up at him. “Am I the one who started this, Silas? You and Maya betrayed me first! Now she’s playing the victim to win public sympathy, and you’re not only failing to defend me, you’re blaming me for making a scene?” “That’s not what I meant,” he sighed. “Maya is still your cousin. Blowing this up doesn’t do anyone any good.” “No good for who?” I sneered. “It’s good for you. It’s good for Maya. It’s only me who gets hurt! Silas, have you forgotten? I am your wife!” He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a black credit card from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. “Seraphina, don’t be angry. Take this. Buy whatever you want. Or if you want to go abroad for a while to clear your head, I’ll arrange it immediately.” I looked at the card, the irony a bitter taste in my mouth. Did he really think he could buy my silence? My forgiveness? “Silas, I don’t want your money. I want Maya dead.” I pushed the card back toward him, my gaze unwavering. “If you can’t bring yourself to do it, then stay out of my way.” His face hardened. “Seraphina, don’t push me.” “You’re the one pushing me.” I stood and walked to the door. “From this day forward, I’m done with you and Maya. But don’t you dare try to interfere with me.” With that, I slammed the door and left. As I walked out of the villa, I saw Maya’s car parked at the gate.

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01 The bet was a penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. The target was me, the scholarship kid from the slums. The objective, set by Kaden Thorne, the king of Heston University’s trust-fund elite, was to get me into his bed within thirty days. So, after his very loud, very public declaration of “love” in the middle of the quad, I took the ridiculously large bouquet of roses he was holding, and dumped it in the nearest trash can. Then, I started lying. “Sorry, Kaden. One of your ‘brothers’ already told me the truth about the bet.” I saw his face tighten. “And honestly?” I added, “If you spent less time being mad that a ‘charity case’ like me stole your spot on the Dean’s List, maybe you’d actually pass a class.” Then, I turned to the circle of smirking heirs watching the show. “And as for the rest of you… I know you were just trying to get on my good side, telling me all those nasty secrets about him behind his back, but…” I shrugged. “I’m just not into men who sell out their friends. Sorry.” As I walked away, I watched the chaos erupt. Every single one of them, who had been laughing a second before, was now looking at his “brothers” with pure, unadulterated suspicion. I smiled to myself. Oh, you privileged little boys. You think you’re the players? You just walked into my game. 02 The truth is, I noticed them long before they ever noticed me. You can’t not notice them. Their entire lives are a performance of being rich. I’d spend hours hate-stalking their Instagrams, getting physically ill from the casual display of wealth, just writhing in my cheap dorm bed, consumed by pure, uncut jealousy. So, when Kaden Thorne himself, the king of the pricks, suddenly approached me, fresh off his McLaren, saying he was “in love” with me? That I was the “one pure, untouched, beautiful thing” in his world? My deep-seated hatred of the rich kept me perfectly clear-headed. I knew it was a scam. And digging through their social media, I figured it out pretty fast. These arrogant, spoiled brats weren’t just playing with my feelings. They weren’t even planning on spending any money to do it. That, more than anything, was what pissed me off. Fine. You want to be cheap? Then you can’t blame me for turning your “brotherhood” into a public dogfight. 03 Unfortunately, being right doesn’t pay the bills. I didn’t have time to savor the victory. I had to run to my shift at the diner. I was halfway through wiping tables when one of them found me. Alex Chen. The one who’d just publicly declared I was a “filthy scholarship rat.” He was furious, demanding I go to Kaden and clear his name. I just looked at him and shook my head. “No.” “I never spoke to you,” he snapped. “Why can’t you just tell him that?” I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, my expression flat. “Because we ‘filthy rats’ have pride, too. Why would I ever help someone who insults me?” “Ha,” he sneered. “Pride. How much is your pride worth?” I gave him a look. “More than you can afford.” He scoffed and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and shoved it in my face. It was his banking app. The balance had eight figures. “Go clear my name,” he said, “and you can have whatever you want from that account.” I stared at the numbers. I’d never even seen that many zeroes in one place. My mind went blank, filled with visions of…central heating. Of a new laptop. Of three meals a day. Then I heard his laugh. A low, contemptuous sound. “Pride’s pretty expensive, huh?” he mocked. “Thought you said I couldn’t afford it.” I snapped back to reality. Back to the plan. “You can’t,” I said, turning back to my tables. “Fine,” he said, his voice casual. “The owner of this diner is my dad’s golf buddy. You’re fired.” I froze. I turned back to him. “You’re disgusting.” “I just hate fakes,” he shrugged. “I’m giving you one more chance. Take the money, do the job. Yes or no?” I was silent for a long time. Then I nodded. “Okay. I don’t know how this works. You can just… Venmo me. I just need forty-five hundred.” Alex looked at me like I was an alien. “What, are you afraid I’ll report you for extortion? Forty-five hundred? What the hell is that?” I met his eyes for the first time. “It’s for a hearing aid for my grandmother. I was saving up from this job. But since I’m fired, I guess I have no other way.” He stared at me, his arrogant expression faltering. I kept going. “My grandma raised me. She used to collect cans to pay for my schoolbooks. One of my classmates saw her and told everyone. This kid, this real asshole, brought a bag of chips to school. He held it out and told me I could have it if I barked like a dog. I didn’t, of course… but I was so hungry. I’d never had barbecue chips before. I couldn’t help but swallow, just once. He saw it. He and his friends laughed so hard…” “I’ve never, ever forgotten that. That feeling of… shame.” I took a shaky breath, forcing down the fake tears, making my voice tremble just right. “I thought if I just worked hard, if I got the scholarship, it would all be different. But here I am, all these years later, and you’re doing the same thing. You’re right. I am fake. I’m just a pathetic, hungry girl, always swallowing my pride over things I can’t have.” “But please… just send the money. My grandma doesn’t have much time left. I just want her to hear my voice one more time.” Alex was completely thrown. “I… wait… I’m not…” I just let the tears fall, big, silent drops. I wiped them away, my expression still, looking at him with red, swollen eyes. “I’m sorry I’m ‘fake.’ Please, just leave me alone.” I bowed my head slightly and walked out of the diner, leaving my apron on the counter. 04 I walked out, turned the corner, and went straight to McDonald’s for a McFlurry. Mmm. Delicious. That $4,500 was going straight into my savings. My grandma, bless her heart, has been dead for thirty years. She doesn’t need a hearing aid. Alex Chen. You want to play mind games with me? You’re an amateur. You know that kid who tried to make me bark for chips? By the time we were in high school, he was so obsessed with me he asked me to prom by kneeling in the cafeteria. He’s still in my DMs, using burner accounts. I am a master of this game.

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My family is perfect. My dad is a computer science Ph.D. from Harvard. My mom is a professor of medicine at Stanford. My older brother is an International Math Olympiad champion. And then there’s me. I scored a 60 on my math final. My brother was so furious he stayed up all night writing three mock math exams just for me. “You are such an idiot,” he spat. “You’re a disgrace to me and Mom and Dad!” “Until you finish these tests, don’t even think about leaving this house. You’re not going out there to embarrass us again!” Mom shoved a “Smart Pill” she’d developed down my throat, ignoring how I gagged and my eyes rolled back. “Don’t give me any excuses about being tired or sleepy,” she snapped. “This pill will keep you awake for twenty-four hours. That’s plenty of time to finish the tests!” Then Dad activated “Strict Mode” on the smart home system he built. “Don’t even think about sneaking out or calling for help,” he said coldly. “I’m locking the house down and jamming the signal. If you don’t finish those tests, no one will come for you, even if you die in here!” With that, the three of them left for their vacation in Hawaii. As the front door slammed shut, a vase full of water on the shelf rattled and crashed onto the smart home control panel. I was choking on the pill, gasping for air, pounding on the door for help. The malfunctioning panel just repeated, over and over: “Student, please complete your exam on time. Study hard. Be a good child.” “Study hard. Be a good child…” “Study hard. Be a good child…” I clutched the exam paper in my hand, pain searing through my chest. My last thought was: Is this answer good enough for you? Is my life enough? 1 The pill Mom fed me was lodged in my windpipe. I couldn’t cough. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe! The smart home Dad built had sealed every exit. I pounded on the door until I felt the bones in my hand crack, but it didn’t budge. It felt like a boulder was crushing my chest. Soon, my strength gave out, and I slid to the floor by the door. As my consciousness faded, I prayed silently. Mom, Dad, please come back and save me! I’m scared. Nina is dying. Nina doesn’t want to die all alone. Please don’t leave me! Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, answered only by the cold, mechanical voice. “Student, please study hard. Be a good child.” “Be a good child…” But Nina is about to be a dead child. I’ll never be good again. I closed my eyes in despair. Just then, the smart speaker crackled to life, broadcasting a voice call from Mom. “Nina, have you started the test?” “Hmm? Why aren’t you answering? Oh, so you’re giving us the silent treatment now?” I shook my head weakly. No, Mom! Think! If Nina isn’t talking, something is wrong! Your Nina is dying! But Dad’s cold voice cut in. “Whatever. I set the Smart Butler. If she doesn’t finish the test, the kitchen and fridge stay locked. No food for her!” “She wants to be stubborn? Let’s see how long she lasts!” Tears streamed down my face. The mirror reflected my turning blue, the life draining from my eyes. No, I’m not being stubborn! Nina is a good girl. You told me to take the test, and I was going to take the test. My brother’s impatient voice chimed in. “Come on, get in the car. Let’s go have fun in Hawaii. Stupid Nina can just stay home and be jealous!” The car door slammed shut. Silence. I listened to my own heartbeat slowing down. Thump… thump… Until finally… Thump! My heart sank like a stone into a frozen lake. No more echoes. … When I opened my eyes again, I was in a bustling airport terminal. Mom and Dad were chatting and laughing. My brother was playing a game on his phone. I used to want to play with him, but he’d always tell me to get lost and go do my homework. He said playing was a privilege for honor students. But now, I floated over to watch him play, and he didn’t chase me away. It was nice. As if sensing something, my brother suddenly put down his phone. “Nina is so dumb. She got a 60 in math. She won’t cause trouble at home, will she?” Mom’s smile instantly vanished. “What trouble can she cause? Just throwing a tantrum! That dead child, never studies properly, always up to no good!” She bit her lip. “Fine, I’ll bring her back some cookies from Hawaii. She loves junk food anyway.” “Honey, you tell her. Only good children get rewards!” Dad pulled up the home surveillance feed on his phone. But the camera showed the last frame before the smart panel malfunctioned—me, choking, clutching the exam paper in agony. Dad flew into a rage. “She tore the test! That little brat, does she think she can fight us?” He immediately called the Smart Butler. “Smarty, change of plans. No food for Nina Bell for three days. If she’s thirsty, she can drink from the toilet!” Mom was furious too. “We’re an Ivy League Ph.D. and a Professor! Do you know how much effort we put into raising that little piece of trash? And she doesn’t even try! She makes me a laughingstock among my colleagues!” I tried to grab them, to explain, but my brother told them to stop. “Quit yelling, people are staring. Honestly, you guys shouldn’t have had a second kid. She’s the shame of this family. She should have just died at birth!” My fingers passed right through their arms. I watched them nod in agreement. They regretted having me. I smiled bitterly. Okay then. Now that I’m really dead and can’t embarrass you anymore, will you and Alex be happier? 2 I watched them fly to Hawaii. I watched Mom and Dad put on wetsuits, and Alex wax his surfboard. The sun warmed the sandy beach. My body was still lying on the cold floor back home. Dad looked in the direction of home and gripped his phone. “That little waste of space is probably crying from hunger by now.” Mom smirked. “Good! Unless she copies that torn test a hundred times, I’m not letting her off the hook!” But Mom, dead kids can’t write tests. I’m sorry… Alex clicked his tongue in annoyance, just like always. “Guys, you forget she’s an idiot! If she gets too hungry and dizzy, I’m worried she might accidentally burn the house down. Ugh, so annoying! Better check on her.” Dad must have thought I was an idiot too, because he quickly opened the app. Mom frowned at the screen. She looked ready to scream. I panicked and tried to block the screen. If they saw the glitch, they’d know Nina was dead! If I died and made a mess of the house, Mom and Dad would hate me even more! I was sobbing, trembling all over. Dad gasped at the screen. “What?!” The feed glitched and switched to the living room. It was a disaster zone! Trash everywhere! It’s all because Nina didn’t study properly. And she fell on the floor and got in the way. The Smart Butler had decided Nina was “trash” that needed to be removed. It was controlling the Roomba, which was ramming into everything. Vases shattered. Chairs were overturned. Dad was livid. “Nina Bell! You dare trash the house?! You stupid, evil thing, why don’t you just go die!” Mom screamed, “You think throwing a fit will get you out of this? Three days isn’t enough? Fine, ten days! I’ll lock you in there until you learn!” “Buzzkill… Smarty! Clean up the living room!” Dad threw his phone aside in disgust. He didn’t see the Roomba crashing into the walls. Its casing shattered, becoming sharp and jagged. It picked up porcelain shards from the floor and charged at my body. Like a knife, cutting into flesh. My body became a bloody mess. I cried and threw myself at their feet, begging them to stop it. I’m already dead. Why do you have to destroy the last chance for us to see each other? I looked pleadingly at Alex. He sneered. “That damn idiot touched my stuff?” I realized with horror that there were pieces of a model on the floor. Alex’s battleship model that took him a month to build! I shook my head frantically. [Alex, believe me!] Nina is dumb, but she knows to protect Alex’s things. Nina held onto the test Alex wrote until she died. I’m waiting for you to come back. When you see it… You’ll forgive me, right? Suddenly, a cheerful voice piped up. “Alex! You guys are vacationing here too?” It was Chloe, my desk mate and neighbor. The “good kid” Mom and Dad always compared me to. The one who put gum in my hair. The one who told boys to put a dead rat in my backpack. Because I had bad grades, because I was a “bad student,” she said the teachers wouldn’t listen even if I told on her. She feigned surprise. “Where’s Nina?” Alex, blinded by anger, snapped, “Why would we bring a retard? Chloe, I really wish you were my sister!” My heart seized. A heart that should have been dead hurt so much I couldn’t breathe. They can hit me, scold me, but please, don’t throw me away! But Mom and Dad laughed. “Chloe, your grades are so good. We wish we could trade our trash for you.” “Exactly. You’re much easier on the eyes than that idiot!” I watched helplessly. My parents praised the bully who tormented me. My brother told me to learn from her. 3 Chloe looked at them like they were idiots. But why? My parents and brother are geniuses. Nina was so proud of them. That’s why I never let anyone bully them! I tried to push her away, but Mom spoke up, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Chloe, are you hungry? Have some cookies…” But Mom, those were the cookies you promised me! Even though I can’t eat them anymore. How could you reward the bad person who hurt your daughter? Tears fell from my eyes. It felt like a hole had been punched in my chest, bleeding endlessly. Someone spoke up. “Who wants your cookies? Your crazy daughter will just get mad and say Chloe bullied her again!” It was Principal Tao, Chloe’s dad. He stood protectively in front of her, looking smug. When I tried to report the bullying, he was the one who threatened to expel me! But Mom bowed her head and apologized! “I’m sorry. It’s all because that little liar makes things up!” She took off her jade Guan Yin necklace and shoved it into Chloe’s hands. “Take this as an apology. My idiot daughter has been eyeing this for ages. Chloe, you wear it. Let her be jealous!” I stared at the pendant Mom put on Chloe. Grandma gave that to Mom. Mom said she would give it to me one day. She said the Goddess of Mercy would protect Nina and keep her healthy and happy forever! But Nina is dead. The necklace is gone. Mom’s love is gone too. Principal Tao huffed, satisfied. “Your daughter is rotten! Slandering me, saying I’m biased? You better put out a statement clearing this up!” My furious parents didn’t hesitate. They posted on Facebook and Twitter, saying I was jealous of my classmate and made up lies! They were fair and just parents. Only Nina was the bad child! Relatives commented, criticizing me. [I always wondered why her parents are so smart but she’s so dumb. Turns out she spends all her energy being devious!] [A leopard can’t change its spots. This kid has no future!] Suffocation washed over me again. But Mom and Dad played happily with Chloe’s family. My parents, who were always “too busy with work,” went snorkeling with Chloe to see the coral reefs. My brother, who “hated idiots,” patiently taught her how to surf. Tired from playing, Chloe snuggled into my mother’s arms. She faked sweetness. “Auntie, you guys are so nice to me! If my mom was still alive, I bet she’d be just like you…” Mom hugged her tight, heartbroken. “From now on, you can be my daughter!” Then what am I? Dad laughed. “Why don’t you come stay with us for a while, Chloe? Let me think which room…” Alex suggested, “Kick the idiot out of her room. Send her to a boarding cram school. Don’t want her upsetting Chloe!” I listened as my family planned how to abandon me. To make room for my bully. For the next five days, they didn’t think of me once. Until a neighbor called. “Mr. Bell? I called the police.” “I noticed the three of you left for vacation, but I haven’t seen your youngest daughter. And now… there’s a terrible smell coming from your house. Like… something dead.”

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I was in my third month at the hospital when, in a rush, I accidentally sent a photo of my car meant for the dealership to my work group chat instead. The new intern, a sharp-tongued girl named Dabby, immediately called me out. “Dr. Hayes, why are you posting a picture of my car? Are you that desperate for clout?” Stunned, I asked if she was mistaken. It was my car. But she just spammed the chat with a series of photos and videos of herself driving a G-Wagon, her hand casually on the wheel, proving it was hers. Her messages dripped with condescension. “Some people are just shameless. They’ll do anything to feel important. You think posting one sneaky picture of a car makes you the new Mrs. Fuchs?” I frowned and turned to my husband, who was sitting beside me. “Is there a second Mrs. Fuchs I should know about?” 1 In my haste to get to work, I’d sent the photo to the group chat for the interns I was supervising. Before I could delete it, they saw it, and the chat exploded. “Whoa! A G-Wagon with a starlight headliner? The customization alone must have cost a fortune! Dr. Hayes is loaded!” “I had no idea our supervising doctor was a secret heiress! My apologies for ever thinking otherwise!” “Dr. Hayes, what do your parents do? That car must be worth half a million, easy.” Dozens of messages flooded in, all prying into my family’s business. A few of the male interns even slid into my DMs, asking me out to dinner. I sighed. “I’m not an heiress,” I typed back. “It was just a birthday gift from my husband. Now, can we please focus on work…” Before I could finish, the new intern, Dabby, jumped in. “Dr. Hayes, why are you posting a picture of my car? Are you that jealous you have to leech off my life for attention?” “‘A gift from your husband’? Don’t tell me you’re trying to pass yourself off as some billionaire’s wife.” “I knew I shouldn’t have driven it to the hospital. Now I have people like you taking pictures of it to flex online. So tacky.” The barrage of accusations left me speechless. “Are you talking to me?” I typed, confused. “Dabby, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Maybe our cars just look similar?” She went silent for a few seconds, then began flooding the chat with selfies in and around the G-Wagon, including videos of her behind the wheel. Her tone grew even more mocking. “This G-Wagon, with this starlight headliner, is a one-of-a-kind custom job. How could a broke doctor like you possibly have one that looks ‘similar’?” “You snap one photo of my car and claim it’s yours? Why don’t you go take a selfie in front of the White House and claim you own that, too?” Her blatant ridicule instantly swayed the other interns. Their tone shifted on a dime. “Uh, Dr. Hayes, this is a little cringe… So awkward.” “It’s okay if you don’t have a nice car. No one would’ve said anything. But this is just… low. And getting called out by Dabby like this? Yikes.” “Wow, I didn’t know we had such a poser at this hospital. And she’s supposed to be teaching us? Hope she doesn’t teach us all how to be pathological liars, lmao.” Another flood of snide comments followed. Someone even tagged me, telling me to apologize to Dabby. I frowned and tagged her directly. “What is going on? Why are you in my car? And when did you take those videos?” I had helped design the starlight headliner myself. It was unique. The second I saw her pictures, I knew it was my car. Dabby shot back: Have you no shame? Still trying to lie your way out of this? Do I have to drive the car right up to you and rub your face in it before you finally give up? “If it’s really your car,” I typed, “tell me what color the interior is right now.” “Gray,” I said to myself, confident. I’d just had the dealership change it a few days ago. A second later, Dabby posted a new selfie from inside the car. The interior was now a vibrant, custom pink. She laughed triumphantly in the chat. “Spoken like a true wannabe! You’re caught! The interior was gray when you took your little spy photo, but I had it changed to pink yesterday!” “What’s wrong? Couldn’t steal a new picture in time, Dr. Poser?” That sealed it for the rest of the group. They were convinced the car was Dabby’s and began dogpiling on me. “She acts so aloof, but she’s just as obsessed with status as anyone. We’re so unlucky to have her as our supervisor.” “Seriously. Seeing someone else’s luxury car and trying to pass it off as your own? Getting exposed like this is just pathetic.” “She lies so easily. Makes you wonder if her academic achievements are fake, too. You hear about female doctors sleeping their way to the top, trading favors with old professors to get published…” The rumors grew wilder, escalating into outright slander. I was furious and about to fire back when a colleague burst in. There was an emergency surgery, and they needed me immediately. There was no time to deal with a bunch of interns. I dropped my phone and ran. 2 It was late afternoon by the time I scrubbed out of surgery. As I walked through the main lobby, a delivery guy came in carrying a massive bouquet of yellow roses. “I have a delivery for a Mrs. Fuchs!” he called out. “From a Mr. Fuchs!” A smile tugged at my lips. My husband, Julian, and I had a small argument that morning as I was leaving. We’d been giving each other the silent treatment all day. But yellow roses were his way of apologizing. Trying to hide my grin, I stepped forward. “Those are for me. I’m Mrs. Van—” “Don’t you touch my flowers!” Before I could take the bouquet, Dabby darted out from across the lobby, shoved me aside, and glared at me with pure contempt. “Ava, do you have any self-respect? First, you try to claim my car, and now you’re trying to steal my flowers? Have you no shame?” I stumbled back, the last of my patience evaporating. “Are you out of your mind?” I snapped. “Those are my flowers!” “Hahahaha!” The little clique of interns standing with Dabby burst out laughing. “Dr. Hayes, you really need to give up the act,” one of them sneered. “A bouquet this huge? Only a man from a family like Dabby’s fiancé could afford this. Who do you think would send something like this to a nobody like you?” “Exactly! I’ve never seen someone so desperate. It’s physically painful to watch you embarrass yourself over a bunch of flowers!” “You’re lucky Dabby is so classy and forgiving. If it were me, I’d have called security by now!” Dabby, meanwhile, put on a show of blushing modesty. “Oh, stop it, you guys! I told you I wanted to keep my identity a secret. You weren’t supposed to tell everyone!” She preened under their fawning. “My fiancé is the heir to a massive fortune. His family is incredibly powerful. So many people are trying to get his attention, and I just don’t want to deal with all that drama every day.” The others cooed, showering her with praise and envious looks. I was so dumbfounded by their performance I could barely think straight. “Your amazing fiancé lets you drive other people’s cars and steal other people’s flowers?” I scoffed. “And if you’re such a wealthy heiress, why are you even working as an intern? Shouldn’t you be at home, lounging by a pool?” “It’s called being self-sufficient! Something you wouldn’t understand!” Dabby shot back, her face flushing, clearly hitting a nerve. “I could say my fiancé’s name and it would blow your mind. He’s the heir to the Fuchs Corporation!” I blinked, processing what she’d just said. I frowned. “You don’t mean… Julian Fuchs, do you?” “Excuse me? You don’t get to use his first name!” Dabby snapped, her eyes flashing with arrogance. I was completely baffled. “Did Julian Fuchs marry you in your dreams?” “How dare you insult me?” Her face twisted in rage. “My fiancé will not let you get away with this—” I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t know about your fiancé, but I can tell you this: the real Julian Fuchs will not let you get away with parading around town, impersonating his wife.” I’d never seen someone so bold as to impersonate me, to my face. It was a new level of audacity. Dabby’s face turned crimson. “How dare you say I’m an imposter? I am Julian Fuchs’s wife!” “Prove it,” I said, my gaze steady. “Talk is cheap. Why should I believe you’re Mrs. Fuchs?” “I’ll… I’ll call my fiancé right now! I’ll have him come down here and deal with you!” She whipped out her phone and dialed, her voice instantly turning sugary sweet. “Honey, you have to come to the hospital! There’s this crazy bitch here who doesn’t believe who you are, and she won’t stop bullying me…” A man’s voice, recognizably Julian’s, came through the speaker. “Who has the nerve to bully Julian Fuchs’s woman? I’m on my way.” Hearing this, Dabby’s confidence surged. She shot a triumphant look at the crowd. “Nobody leave! Just you wait until my fiancé gets here. He’s going to destroy this pathetic liar!” I stared at her, utterly bewildered by her conviction. If her husband was Julian Fuchs, then who was mine? Taking my chance, I sent a quick text to my Julian, asking him to pick me up from the hospital. He replied almost instantly with a simple “OK.” That settled my nerves. In fact, I started to look forward to the coming showdown: The Real vs. Fake Julian Fuchs. 3 While we waited, Dabby grew more and more smug. She hugged the yellow roses to her chest and sneered at me. “Ava, I get it. You come from nothing, so you’re desperate to feel important. But I can’t just let you get away with slandering me like this.” “You’re going to get on your knees and apologize,” she declared. “And you’ll promise to never try to ride my coattails again. Otherwise, I’ll have my fiancé ruin you.” I almost laughed in her face. Before I could speak, her sycophants chimed in. “Dabby, you’re too kind! After all the lies she’s told about you, all you’re asking for is an apology!” “Ava, the heir to the Fuchs Corporation is not a man to be trifled with. You should take her offer and get on your knees now, before he gets here and decides to make a real example out of you.” “Seriously! I heard Mr. Fuchs is extremely private and hates public appearances. The fact that he’s coming here today just for Dabby shows how serious this is. Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in?” It was true that Julian disliked the spotlight, but that was just his personality. It was absurd that they were twisting it into another weapon to use against me. A cold smile touched my lips. “We’ll see who ruins who.” This woman was out there impersonating me, driving my car, even changing its interior. I needed to get to the bottom of it. I couldn’t let her tarnish my name any longer. Dabby snorted. “Keep up the tough act. You’ll be singing a different tune when you see what my fiancé can do.” Just as she spoke, a commotion erupted at the hospital entrance. The hospital director and other senior staff were rushing to greet someone. “Mr. Fuchs! What a delightful surprise! If you had told us you were coming, I would have met you at the door myself!” “Mr. Fuchs, those three million dollars in medical equipment you donated solved so many of our problems. The entire hospital is eternally grateful to you!” I looked over and, sure enough, it was Julian. He was striding towards us, his expression calm and unreadable. One of Dabby’s friends, Tina, was the first to run up to him, a fawning smile on her face. “Mr. Fuchs, you’re such a devoted husband. Coming here the second you heard your wife was in trouble.” “Look, Mrs. Fuchs has been waiting for you!” she said, gesturing dramatically toward Dabby. Julian glanced at Dabby, then his gaze found mine. He spoke in a low, intimate voice that cut through the silence. “Honey, come over here.” The entire lobby seemed to hold its breath. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to Dabby, filled with envy and excitement.

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In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

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Yesterday, I spent eight hours on the phone with a girl who wanted to die. I talked her down, pinpointed her location, and saved her life. The next day, my request for comp time was denied, and the 200 hours of overtime I’d logged for the month were zeroed out. When I saw the internal memo that defined my work—the act of saving a human being—as ‘ineffective’ and ‘unauthorized overtime,’ I just had to laugh. My supervisor chewed me out in front of the entire team. “We’re an emergency line, not a crisis hotline! Stop wasting public resources!” I lowered my head and took it. Three days later, the city’s biggest investor called in a panic. His daughter had locked herself in their corporate data center and was threatening to wipe the servers clean. He demanded to speak with one person: “the dispatcher who saved my daughter’s life.” The alternative? He’d pull every dollar of his investment out of the city. The assignment popped up on my screen. I clicked ‘Decline.’ “Sorry. The company doesn’t approve that kind of overtime. I can’t take the assignment.” 1 The last words I said into my headset were, “Don’t be afraid. Our people are at the door now. They’ll protect you.” A faint sob came through the line from the other side, followed by the splintering crack of a door being forced open. The call, which had been my entire world for eight straight hours, was finally over. I pulled off the headset and the world tilted, a dizzying spin cycle of fluorescent lights and gray cubicle walls. An oxygen-starved ache throbbed behind my eyes. My name is Stella, and I’m a dispatcher at the Metro 911 Dispatch center. Eight hours ago, a girl named Millie Pierce had called, intent on ending her life. I had thrown every piece of training, every ounce of empathy I possessed, into that call—soothing, guiding, listening. Finally, in a moment when her emotional walls crumbled, I got the key piece of information, the address that allowed us to pinpoint her location. When the green “Rescue Successful” flag lit up on my screen, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for half a day. I slumped forward onto my desk, too exhausted to even lift a finger. At nine in the morning, after handing off my station, I dragged my lead-filled legs to my supervisor’s office and knocked on the door. “Report,” I said, my voice a croak. No answer. But I could clearly hear her voice from inside. Brenda, my supervisor, was on the phone, her tone light and breezy. “Oh my God, I finally snagged that new shade of nail polish. We should celebrate at that new Italian place downtown tonight, what do you say?” I stood there, waiting. A colleague walking by paused, shot me a look of pure pity, and then hurried away. Ten minutes later, the call ended. The door swung open and Brenda’s face, on seeing me, immediately soured, her eyebrows pinching together. “What is it? Don’t you know how busy I am? You need to make an appointment next time.” Her eyes radiated impatience. A tremor ran through my exhausted body. I placed a thick stack of overtime logs on her desk. “Brenda, I’ve logged over 200 hours of overtime this month,” I said, my voice flat. “I was on a call all night for eight hours. I’d like to request two comp days.” That stack of paper was a testament to a month of late nights and early mornings, a monument to my dedication. Brenda picked up the stack with two perfectly manicured fingers, as if it were something foul. Her face was a mask of disgust. “Two hundred hours? Stella, you’re supposed to be one of my top dispatchers. Is your efficiency really that low?” “These are all system-logged effective call times,” I said calmly. “They meet the requirements for overtime.” She let out a short, sharp laugh and flipped open the first page. “Let’s see. This one from last night. Call duration: eight hours and twenty-three minutes. For one case?” “Yes. A girl with active suicidal ideations. The situation was critical.” Brenda’s acrylic nails tapped a sharp rhythm on the desk, her expression dripping with disdain. “Eight hours? Stella, were you saving a life, or catching up with your long-distance boyfriend? We’re an emergency hotline, not a therapy clinic!” “You occupy a line for eight hours—do you have any idea how many real emergencies, people needing an ambulance or a fire truck, couldn’t get through because of you?” I tried to explain. “Brenda, saving a life, a person who is actively trying to die, is also our duty…” “Duty?” she cut me off, her voice rising sharply. “Your duty is to complete ‘information gathering’ and ‘dispatch assignment’ with maximum efficiency! Fifteen minutes per case, max! That’s your KPI!” She snatched a red pen and, right in front of me, began to scrawl across my logs. Next to the eight-hour entry, she wrote in piercing red ink: 【Serious violation. Ineffective communication. Creates risk of resource bottleneck.】 She flipped through a few more pages. “Consoling the family of a lost child, call duration 45 minutes?” 【Exceeded scope of work. Not your job.】 “Handling a caller panicking about a gas leak, call duration 1 hour 10 minutes?” 【Induced panic. Lacks capability.】 With every annotation, she would look up at me, the contempt in her eyes raw and undisguised. Finally, holding the stack of papers now covered in insulting red ink, she stood up. I thought she was going to throw it in the trash. No, she did something worse. She walked to her office door, grabbed a stapler, and with a loud thwack, she pinned my 200 hours of heart and soul to the bulletin board outside her office—the one reserved for displaying disciplinary cases. The “Notice Board of Shame,” as we called it. A public testament to my supposed failures for every single person to see. My heart sank with the percussive sound. She returned to her desk and pulled up my monthly timesheet on her monitor. In the “Overtime Hours” column, she typed a single, clean number. “0”. The digit felt like a physical blow. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I thought I might draw blood. “Brenda, you can’t do this! This is real work I did!” Brenda crossed her arms, a smug, “what-can-you-do-about-it” smile spreading across her face. “On what grounds? On the grounds that I’m your supervisor, and I’m the one who signs off on your KPIs.” “Stella, don’t be so petty. You’re young. You need to have some dedication, stop thinking only about yourself! Surely you don’t just come to work for the money, do you?” 2 Before I could even process the humiliation of that “0,” the intercom crackled to life. “Attention all staff, attention all staff. There will be an emergency team meeting in Conference Room One in ten minutes. Attendance is mandatory.” It was Brenda’s voice, sharp and absolute. I walked into the conference room on heavy feet. It was already full. My colleagues’ eyes fell on me, a mixture of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher: pity, curiosity, and a few glints of malicious glee. Tiffany, who was usually friendly with me, was now sitting as far away as possible, pointedly avoiding my gaze. Brenda strode in on her high heels, her eyes like lasers as they scanned the room and locked onto me. “I’ve called this meeting today for a very specific reason.” She paused for dramatic effect, her voice turning severe. “We are an emergency response center. Every single second of our public resources is invaluable.” “However, we have a member on our team whose priorities have become… misguided.” Every head in the room swiveled towards me. I dropped my gaze to the worn toes of my shoes. “One of our dispatchers seems to think this is an emotional chat line. She can spend eight hours on a single call!” Brenda’s tone was thick with sarcasm, drawing a few stifled snickers from the room. “Eight hours! Do you all understand what that means?” she continued, her voice rising. “It means a critical emergency line was rendered useless for eight hours! In that time, a heart attack victim, a child trapped in a fire, could have died because they couldn’t get through!” In her version of the story, I hadn’t saved a person who wanted to die; I had become a criminal who endangered countless others. My chest heaved, and I fought the urge to leap to my feet and scream. Just then, Tiffany raised her hand and stood up, an expression of earnest sincerity on her face. “Brenda, I think you’re absolutely right. We have to prioritize the greater good.” She turned to me, her face a mask of concern, but her words were daggers. “Stella, I know you have a good heart, but we’re professional dispatchers, not neighborhood gossips. Your actions, objectively, caused a massive waste of resources. That’s irresponsible to the rest of the city’s residents.” This “big picture” speech earned a nod of approval from Brenda. “Well said, Tiffany! That’s the kind of perspective and strategic thinking we need from a top dispatcher!” Brenda’s attention snapped back to me. “Stella, as a senior employee, for you to make such a rookie mistake is inexcusable. You should be severely disciplined.” “But, considering you put in the effort, even if it was useless, I’ll give you one chance to redeem yourself.” She looked down at me, her expression imperious. “Now, stand up, and give everyone here a thorough self-criticism. Promise it will never happen again.” All the blood in my body rushed to my head. A self-criticism? For doing my job, for meticulously saving a human life? I clenched my jaw and said nothing. The room was utterly silent. The tension was thick enough to choke on. Brenda’s face darkened. “What? Still defiant? Let me tell you something, Stella. Rules are rules!” She sneered. “And to ensure this serves as a lesson for everyone, I’m announcing a new regulation.” “Starting today, any non-dispatch-oriented call exceeding 30 minutes will be directly tied to your monthly performance review. For every minute over the limit, ten dollars will be deducted from your pay. No upper limit.” “Furthermore, any such call will be classified as an ‘Invalid Call’ and will not count towards your logged work hours!” She finished, her eyes fixed on me in a clear challenge. “Stella. Did you understand this new rule?” 3 The conference room door closed behind me, shutting out the storm of complicated stares. I walked back to my station feeling drained, my spirit hollowed out. Just then, a call came in. I took a deep breath, put on my headset, and forced myself back into work mode. “Metro 911, what’s your emergency?” “Help! My apartment’s on fire! The address is… Maple Creek Condos, Building 3…” As I started typing, Tiffany, at the next station, began talking loudly to another colleague. “You have to see the new purse I bought! It’s gorgeous! I’ll show you a picture in a sec!” Her voice was shrill, deliberately distracting. I frowned, pressing my hand over my free ear to block her out as I tried to confirm the details. “Sir, stay calm. Is that Maple Creek Condos, Building 3, apartment 203?” “What 203! It’s 302! 302!” the man on the other end screamed, frantic. A jolt of alarm shot through me, but before I could apologize, Tiffany had snatched the headset right off my head and put it on her own. “Sir, this is Dispatcher Tiffany. I’ve confirmed the address as Maple Creek Condos, Building 3, apartment 302. The fire department is on its way. Please remain calm.” She cooed a few more sweet, standard reassurances and then ended the call. Taking off the headset, she looked at me with a sickeningly fake expression of concern. “Stella, are you okay? You seem exhausted. Mishearing such crucial information… you almost sent the trucks to the wrong address. What if I hadn’t been listening? Could you handle that responsibility?” Without waiting for my response, she spun on her heel and marched straight toward Brenda’s office. I could hear her exaggerated voice loud and clear. “Brenda, I need to report something. Stella’s really not in a good state. We almost had a major incident…” That kind of backstabbing felt worse than if she had screamed a hundred insults at my face. I sat frozen at my desk, a cold dread washing over me. I don’t know how much time passed before I looked up to see a carton of warm milk and a small granola bar sitting on my desk. I blinked, confused. My eyes scanned the room and met the gaze of an older dispatcher from another team, a quiet man who rarely spoke. He gave me a silent, almost imperceptible nod before quickly looking away. That small, unspoken gesture of solidarity, as faint as it was, was a flicker of warmth in the suffocating darkness. I wasn’t completely alone. I couldn’t let them break me. I picked up the milk, and as I did, the name of the girl from last night flashed in my mind. Millie Pierce. I distinctly remembered a moment during our eight-hour marathon when she had screamed, sobbing hysterically. “My dad’s company is Veridian Dynamics! All he cares about is his stupid investments! He’s never cared if I live or die!” Veridian Dynamics… Arthur Pierce… A name clicked into place. I quickly grabbed my phone, opened the browser, and typed in the keywords. The headline that popped onto the screen made my breath catch in my throat. Billion-Dollar Investment Secured! Veridian Dynamics CEO Arthur Pierce Signs Strategic Partnership with City. In the accompanying photo, the man beaming at the signing table was the city’s biggest new investor. His project was tied to tens of thousands of jobs, a keystone for the entire region’s economic future. I had saved his daughter. My fingertips slid across the cold glass of the screen. A plan began to take shape, cold and clear, in the back of my mind. Brenda. Tiffany. You value KPIs and efficiency above all else, don’t you? You think my work is “ineffective”? Soon, you’re going to find out just how valuable my “ineffective” work really is. 4 For the next three days, I became a machine. An unfeeling dispatch automaton. Every call, I adhered strictly to the “15-minute” principle. My call-time records became flawlessly, brutally “efficient.” My average handling time plummeted from my usual 25 minutes to just under 8. Brenda praised me by name in the daily briefing, commending my “rapid improvement” and noting that I was “teachable after all.” Tiffany chimed in with a saccharine, backhanded compliment: “Looks like Stella’s finally figured out the secret to success.” I accepted it all with a blank expression. My heart grew harder and colder with every premature, impersonal disconnection. And then it happened. A piercing, urgent alarm blared through the entire dispatch center. Every monitor was instantly flooded with a flashing, blood-red pop-up. 【PRIORITY ONE ALERT: A-LEVEL URBAN PARTNERSHIP CRISIS】 My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the details. Millie Pierce, daughter of Arthur Pierce, had locked herself inside the central server room at the Veridian Dynamics headquarters. The very server room that housed the digital infrastructure for the city’s entire development plan for the second half of the year. The alert included a direct quote from a frantic Arthur Pierce: “Right now! Get the dispatcher who saved my daughter three days ago on the line with her! Only her! If you don’t, I will pull every dollar of my investment from this city and call a press conference to tell the world exactly why!” The entire hall fell into a dead, shocked silence. Every single eye in the room was fixed on me. A second later, a new window popped up on my personal terminal. It was bordered in gold, the color code for a non-negotiable, top-level directive. 【ASSIGNMENT: Immediately establish communication with target individual Millie Pierce and provide emotional support.】 Below the text, two large, flashing buttons pulsed. 【ACCEPT】 【DECLINE】 Slowly, deliberately, I moved my mouse cursor over the button on the right. And I clicked. On the screen, two words exploded in stark, crimson letters. 【ASSIGNMENT DECLINED】 In the exact same instant, my personal cell phone began to vibrate violently on my desk. The caller ID displayed a name I knew all too well. Brenda.

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