Category: English

One in the morning, and a sobbing voice message from my best friend popped up on my phone. “Ella, his parents are forcing him to go on a blind date! He’s in so much pain. Can you please pretend to be his girlfriend and scare the other woman away?” I was in the middle of a game. “Mia, seriously? I have work tomorrow. I don’t have time for your melodrama.” A few minutes later, a video call came through. “He’s locked himself in his room, won’t eat or drink. He says you’re the only one who can talk him down. Please, you have to come.” My team was on the verge of winning. I hung up, annoyed. An hour after that, she showed up at my door, her boyfriend in tow. “We can’t do this without you, Ella! How about the three of us get together? That way his parents can’t force him to do anything!” I fought the urge to slap her. “Mia, have you completely lost your mind? I’m your best friend, not your romantic rival! And besides, I have a boyfriend!” I slammed the door shut, figuring they’d give up once they’d exhausted their crazy. The next morning, I turned on my phone to find a gallery of them in bed together and over 99 messages, all variations of the same thing: “Just waiting for you to join us.” 1 A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. Worried about what these two lunatics might do next, I took a deep breath and called Mia. She picked up instantly. Her shrieking, tear-filled voice exploded in my ear. “Ella! Why did you shut the door on me yesterday? Why didn’t you answer my calls or texts this morning?” “How could you be so heartless! You just want to see us break up, don’t you? You want to see Nathan driven to his death!” I held the phone away from my ear, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Mia, I pulled an all-nighter gaming. It’s normal for me to turn my phone off to catch up on sleep.” “Normal? Nathan is on a hunger strike for me! He was in agony all night, couldn’t sleep a wink, and you were just sleeping?” Nathan again. Ever since she’d started dating this guy six months ago, my life had known no peace. Her voice turned demanding. “You need to come to my place. Right now. Nathan said he only wants to see you. If you talk to him, he’ll eat!” I sighed, exasperated. “Mia, I’ve told you a million times, I have a boyfriend. It is not appropriate for me to go comfort your boyfriend who threatens to die every five minutes.” I couldn’t stand the guy. Nathan always had this perpetually melancholic look on his face, and the way his eyes lingered on me was slimy. It made my skin crawl. “What damn boyfriend?” Mia’s tone turned vicious. “A project manager who’s out of town all the time? How many times a year do you even see him?” “What can a guy like that give you? Does he get you? Does he love you half as much as Nathan does? I’m telling you, Ella, I’m doing this for your own good. Don’t be so ungrateful!” “Have you forgotten? We used to shower together in college, we even scrubbed each other’s backs! Why can’t we share a man?” “Nathan genuinely sees you as one of us! We’re facing a huge crisis, and all you have to do is join us. If the three of us are together forever, his parents will have no excuse to force him into anything!” Her logic was so outrageously warped it made my head spin. “My relationship is my business. If you keep spewing this nonsense, I’m blocking you.” “You wouldn’t dare—” I was already late for work. I hung up and rushed to the office. I’d just reached the entrance when my phone vibrated violently again. I answered, my patience gone. “Mia, I am at work. Whatever it is, it can wait until I’m off!” But the voice on the other end was familiar, and laced with smug satisfaction. “Hello, Ella. It’s Mark Harris, our old class president.” “A few of us from college are having a reunion nearby. Mia’s here with us, and she’s… very upset. She’s telling everyone you’re trying to steal her boyfriend and that you’ve been manipulating her, treating her like your personal servant.” “You should probably get over here. Everyone’s waiting for an explanation.” My head was pounding. I had no choice but to take the day off and rush to the restaurant. The door to the private room was slightly ajar. Before I even entered, I could hear Mia’s heart-wrenching sobs. “Sob… You guys have no idea how horrible she’s been to me!” “I treated her like a sister, I thought of her in everything I did, but her? She’s jealous of me! She can’t stand to see me happy!” “She saw how good my boyfriend Nathan was to me, and she decided she had to steal him! She sends him suggestive texts every day, hotel room numbers… she even said… she said she wants to be with him and that I should just let them be together!” She was twisting the truth, painting me as a conniving homewrecker. Mark Harris, the class president, was putting on a show of consoling her. “Mia, don’t cry. We believe you. Ella wouldn’t do something like that, right? There must be some misunderstanding.” “I don’t care! She’s blinded by jealousy!” Mia slammed her hand on the table, throwing a full-blown tantrum. “If you all don’t help me get justice today, if you don’t make her stay away from my boyfriend, I’ll… I’ll die right here!” The room swam before my eyes. I leaned against the cool wall to steady myself. I pushed the door open, forcing a stiff smile onto my face. “Mia, stop it. When did I ever say I wanted to steal your boyfriend? Why don’t you show everyone our group chat history, if you’re so sure?” I turned to Mark and the others apologetically. “Sorry to drag you all into this. Mia just loves her boyfriend a little too much and her imagination is running wild…” As I was trying to explain, Mia lunged at me like a wild animal and snatched my phone. “See! Look at her! She’s guilty! She’s trying to delete the evidence!” “Mia! Give that back!” I was furious, scrambling to get it back from her. She dodged me, her fingers flying across the screen—she had tricked me into giving her all my passwords ages ago. She opened my messaging app. Pinned to the top was my chat with my boyfriend, Liam. All our sweet, private nicknames and intimate conversations were suddenly on display for everyone to see. “Well, well, Ella. Didn’t know you had it in you,” one of the guys snickered. “Ugh, so gross. No shame,” a girl muttered. The next second, Mia tapped on Liam’s profile picture and hit the video call button. He answered. Mia shoved her face up to the camera. “Hey! You must be Liam, right? Stop bothering our Ella! The person she loves is Nathan! The three of us have been together for a while now! A broke-ass project manager like you doesn’t deserve her!” “You’re insane!” I shrieked, humiliation overwhelming all reason. I lunged forward and finally, with all my strength, wrestled the phone back. The call had already ended. I stared at her, my entire body shaking with rage, tears streaming down my face. “Why? Why would you do this to me? I thought we were best friends!” Mia’s eyes were red too, but her justification was bizarre. “I just love Nathan so much! I can’t live without him! I’ll do anything to make him happy and keep him by my side!” There it was again. That damned, selfish, twisted definition of “love.” It reminded me of college. I had saved up my scholarship money for six months to pay for a crucial certification exam. Mia came to me in tears, saying she’d fallen in love with a limited-edition handbag but couldn’t afford it. “Ella, you’re the best,” she’d pleaded, clinging to my arm. “Just lend me the money. I’ll pay you back next month, I promise.” My heart softened, and I lent her my exam fee. She carried the bag for less than a week before tossing it aside. She never mentioned the money again. Later, my father got seriously ill and needed money for an emergency surgery. Desperate, I had to swallow my pride and ask her for the money back. She looked troubled. “Geez, it’s just a few thousand bucks, do you have to be so pushy? I’m a little tight on cash myself right now. Maybe you can figure something else out?” In the end, my father missed the optimal window for treatment and was left with permanent health complications. His illness became a thorn in my heart that I could never remove. My hands trembled as I tried to call Liam back to explain. The phone rang and rang. He didn’t pick up. Looking at this unreasonable woman, so lost in her own self-righteous drama, my heart felt like a dead, empty space. My voice was almost numb. “Mia, you need to calm down. Let me… let me think about it.” For days, I was a nervous wreck. Liam never returned my call. He didn’t reply to any of my texts. Filled with a gnawing dread, I dragged myself through the work week. When I got back to my apartment building after work, I glanced up and my heart stopped. The light in my kitchen was on. I tiptoed up the stairs and took out my key, only to find the door was unlocked, just slightly ajar. I pushed it open. The scene inside made me gasp. Mia was in my kitchen, wearing my apron, bustling around my stove. And sitting at my dining table, playing the game I was halfway through on my Switch, was that gloomy bastard, Nathan. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. Mia saw me and, without a trace of guilt, beamed. “You’re back! Perfect timing. Go wash up, I made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs.” “I asked you,” my voice trembled, “how you got a key to my apartment!” “We’re best friends, silly,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I just quietly made a copy last time I was here.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Even if you wanted to come over, you should have called first!” “Oh, I wanted to surprise you.” Mia came out of the kitchen with a platter of food and linked her arm through mine. “See? Don’t the three of us look like a perfect little family?” Her face was glowing with a deranged, saintly light. “Nathan gets into his head when he’s alone. I figured you have a spare room here, so I had him move in with you. You can help cheer him up.” “Besides,” she added, “we’re going to be a family sooner or later anyway.” Just then, Nathan put down the game console. He turned, and his dark, predatory eyes scanned me from head to toe, like I was a prize he was about to claim. A chill ran down my spine. I vaguely remembered Mia’s family being a normal, working-class household. I couldn’t fathom how they had raised a daughter so clueless, so utterly insane. I fought back the fear and disgust. “I said I’d think about it. I never agreed! Now, I want both of you out of my apartment. Immediately!” Mia’s face fell. “What is wrong with you?” “I’ve already made the decision for you! Don’t be so ungrateful! The three of us, together, taking care of each other. And he has a lot of energy, neither of us will ever be neglected! Why can’t you just accept it? Are you still thinking about that Liam guy?” “You don’t get to make decisions for me! I am your best friend, not your property!” My emotions finally exploded. “Get your man and your stuff and get out! If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!” “You wouldn’t dare!” she shrieked, pointing a finger at my nose. “You’d call the cops on your best friend for some guy you barely know? Ella, have you no conscience?” “That’s right! I have no conscience! I’m not as ‘selfless’ as you!” I screamed back, pulling out my phone and dialing 911 without a second of hesitation. Mia froze, shocked that I’d actually done it. The police arrived quickly. After getting the story, even they were speechless at the sheer insanity of this forced “family unit.” They gave Mia and Nathan a stern lecture. Under the officers’ supervision, they grudgingly began to pack their things. As she was leaving, Mia stood at the door and screamed at me, calling me an ungrateful, heartless snake. And Nathan, as he passed me, paused and leaned in close, his voice a low, chilling whisper in my ear. “You’re hot when you’re angry. I’m getting hard.” His voice was cold and slimy, like a caterpillar crawling into my ear. I flinched back, horrified. He just smiled, a cruel, confident smirk that promised this wasn’t over. I collapsed to the floor after they left, drenched in a cold sweat. I couldn’t stay here. I had to move, immediately. I had to get as far away from those two psychos as possible. I found a new place at lightning speed, packed through the night, and was gone the next day. For two weeks, there was silence. Mia didn’t find me. Nathan seemed to have vanished from my life. And Liam finally called back. After I tearfully explained everything, his voice was gentle. “You silly girl, why would I ever believe that stuff? I just had something important I had to take care of, that’s all.” What could be so important that he couldn’t even take a call? A seed of doubt was planted, but I chose to trust him. Friday afternoon, I was in the middle of a presentation for a VIP client. Halfway through, the conference room door was thrown open with a loud bang. Mia stood there, dragging Nathan behind her. Everyone in the room stared, stunned. The moment I saw them, my mind went blank, my blood ran cold. “Ella!” Mia’s voice boomed, capturing everyone’s attention. She pointed at me, her voice breaking with crocodile tears. “Everyone, take a good look! This is my ‘best friend’!” “She wishes me well to my face, but behind my back, she’s seducing my boyfriend, trying to destroy our relationship! And now she’s thrown us out on the street, leaving us homeless!” Nathan stood beside her, perfectly playing the part of the tragic, tormented hero caught between two women. Homeless? The room erupted in whispers. Everyone, including the incredibly important client sitting across from me, was staring with a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. I stood up, shaking with rage. “Mia! What are you talking about? When did I ever make you homeless?” “I’m not lying!” Mia milked the attention for all it was worth. “She promised she would be with us! The three of us were supposed to start a new family together! But now she’s latched onto someone better and wants to kick us to the curb!” “I had no other choice! I’m begging you all, please, help me get justice!” “If a person can’t even keep a simple promise, if her character is this corrupt, can you really trust her with your business?” I never imagined that the person I had called my best friend for over a decade would slander me so viciously in front of my boss and my clients. She wasn’t just trying to ruin my reputation. She was trying to ruin my entire future. Nathan stood behind her, head bowed, the picture of misery, playing his part to perfection. “Oh my god, a threesome? Kids these days are wild.” “You can’t judge a book by its cover. She seemed so professional.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust someone with such a chaotic personal life. Who knows what other secrets she’s keeping.” Mia turned to my boss. “Sir, I came here today to ask the company to make Ella honor her promise and come back to us! If she refuses, you should fire her! We can’t have our family’s name dragged through the mud like this!” The room was spinning. I thought I was going to faint. “Ella, care to explain?” My boss’s face was as dark as thunder. Just as I was about to be swallowed by the crushing weight of humiliation, a familiar voice cut through the chaos from the doorway. “This family you’re trying to build… it’s not going to happen.”

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1 I was five months pregnant when my husband’s old flame set my house on fire. I didn’t call him. I just wet a towel, pressed it over my nose and mouth, and waited. I didn’t call him, because in my last life, I did. I screamed for him to save me. He was a fire captain. He came. He got me out, and the baby was saved. But Chloe—his “one that got away”—was still inside. By the time he went back for her, it was too late. She burned to death. He told me it wasn’t my fault. He told me to rest, to focus on the baby. He even took a leave of absence to take care of me. Then, the day I gave birth, he took me to Chloe’s grave. And right there, in the dirt, he cut our newborn son’s throat. The blood splattered his face. “Do you know what it feels like to burn alive, Elara?” he’d hissed, his eyes red. “I want you to feel everything she felt.” He doused me and the baby in gasoline and lit the match. As the flames ate me, I saw his face. “You set that fire,” he screamed. “You thought you could play the victim? You’re paying for what you did!” Now, I opened my eyes. The smoke was thick, and I was back. 2 The acrid smoke choked me, and the pain in my lungs snapped me back to the present. I grabbed my phone. This time, I didn’t call his personal number. I dialed 911. I heard the sirens. I saw his truck, Engine 12. I saw him, Owen, my husband, in full gear. He ran into the burning building. I watched as he carried Chloe out, bridal style. Only then, when she was safe, did I crawl to the hallway and call for help. His crew saw me. They thought I was joking. “Seriously, Mrs. Thorne?” one of them snapped. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” A piece of the ceiling, a heavy light fixture, broke free and slammed onto my stomach. I spat out a mouthful of blood. They just… watched. I gritted my teeth, dragging myself through the smoke and debris, and collapsed on the lawn. Every oxygen tank, every cold compress, every paramedic was focused on Chloe. Owen didn’t even look at me. “You got what you deserved,” he spat. I was soaked in sweat and blood. I could feel the baby… I could feel it slipping away. In the last life, Chloe and I had both called him. He chose me. He chose the baby. He went back for her, but the roof collapsed. He’d told me he was fine. He’d comforted me. And all of it, all that care, was just a long, slow-burning revenge. Now, he wouldn’t even give me a bottle of water. I saw the pool of blood forming beneath me. “Help… my baby…” I rasped. “Please…” The firefighter closest to me, his friend, finally turned. His face was a mask of contempt. He nudged me with his boot. “Stop faking, Elara. Everyone at the station knows you hate Chloe. Jesus, you’re pathetic. You set a fire while pregnant just to get his attention? Well, he’s busy. You’d better pray she’s okay, or he’ll divorce your crazy ass.” I knew Owen didn’t love me. I didn’t know his entire crew hated me, too. A violent contraction seized me. I couldn’t breathe. My skin was blistering from the heat. No one helped. Finally, I heard a different voice. “Hey… that’s… that’s a lot of blood. Is she… is she really hurt?” “Nah,” the first guy said. “It’s a prop. She’s just trying to get the Captain to look at her. Fine. I’ll get him.” I didn’t get his concern. I got his rage. His gloved hand cracked across my face. “Elara! Get up! Stop pretending!” “Are you insane?” he roared. “Setting a fire and getting yourself trapped in it? You’re pathetic!” I tried to explain. My throat was too dry. My stomach was cramping so hard I saw stars. I just grabbed his sleeve. Help me. He hesitated. For one second. Then he pressed his hand, hard, down onto my pregnant stomach. “Nice try. Chloe already told me you’d be hiding somewhere, pretending to be a victim. I believed her.” He turned to leave. “Captain!” one of his men yelled. “She’s… she’s really bleeding!” “It’s fake, dumbass,” Owen shouted back, not even turning. “She’s five months along. You can’t miscarry that easily. If she wants to play dead, let her.” The pain became a solid, black wall. I fell into it. I dreamed of him. The cold, brilliant guest lecturer I’d had a crush on. I’d pursued him relentlessly. Flowers, coffee, basketball games. He finally agreed. I thought it was the start of my life. It was the start of my nightmare. The dates he’d cancel. The “emergency calls” that pulled him away. I found out the truth on our wedding day. An anonymous email. A ten-year email chain between him and Chloe. He’d been with her the whole time. I was… I was the other woman. And I’d won. I was so afraid of losing him, I never even confronted him. When Chloe “died” in the first life, I was… relieved. He’d been so kind. He’d bought out every baby store in the city. All of it… all that “love”… was just a performance. To make sure I was happy and healthy, right up until the moment he could destroy me. 3 When I woke up, I wasn’t in the flames. I was in a hospital. It wasn’t Owen. It was a man I didn’t know. “You’re awake? I’m your downstairs neighbor. I ran up to check the smoke, found you on the floor. I… I’m so sorry. The doctors… they said the baby…” I managed a smile. “It’s… not your fault. I know. Thank you.” A stranger. A stranger saw I was dying, and my own husband… “What is wrong with those firefighters?” the neighbor fumed. “They just left you! I already filed a formal complaint. It’s all over the neighborhood forums.” I shook my head. “My… husband… he’s dead.” The look of pity on his face was all I needed. I paid him back for the hospital fees and sent him on his way. The “forums” were more than I expected. #FireCaptainLetsPregnantWifeBurn. It was on Twitter. It was on TikTok. The video my neighbor took of me, bloody and unconscious on the lawn, was everywhere. The department was in full-blown crisis mode. I was about to text Owen the divorce papers when a message from Chloe came through. She was in the same hospital. Two floors down. It was a picture of Owen, spoon-feeding her broth. I closed the app and called him. It took five tries. “What?” he snarled. “Do you want? To see if Chloe’s dead? Sorry to disappoint you. I saved her. She’s fine.” “Elara, I can’t believe what you did. You tried to kill her. You have one hour to get down to her room and apologize. Or we’re done.” Before I could speak, I heard her whimpering. “Owen, no… don’t be mad at her. It’s my fault… If she says I set the fire, just… just agree with her. A pregnant woman can’t be stressed…” “See?” he barked into the phone. “She’s a saint, and you’re a monster. I’m handling this.” “Fine,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce. I’ll email the papers.” I hung up. The texts started instantly. [Where are you? Are you crazy?] [You think I’m scared to divorce you? You’re pregnant! You’ll be on your knees begging me to sign that birth certificate!] [Get that shit offline, Elara. NOW. Don’t make me tell the world what you really are.] I blocked his number. The nurses on my floor were all whispering. “Did you see the guy in 305? So hot. And he’s so devoted to his girlfriend.” “I heard he’s cooking for her. In the hospital cafeteria! He rented out a kitchen!” I just stared at my IV. That night, the doctor told me the smoke inhalation and the blunt-force trauma to my abdomen had scarred my uterus. I would never be able to have another child. My first reaction… was relief. 4 The backlash was so bad the Fire Commissioner had to give a press conference. He threw me under the bus. “This fire was the result of a tragic domestic dispute,” he said, reading from a script. “The arsonist, Mrs. Elara Thorne, acted out of jealousy.” To “prove” it, Owen’s personal account posted a photo of our marriage license. The narrative flipped. Instantly. My name, my face, my old social media accounts were everywhere. #ArsonistWife. #ElaraThePsycho. My phone was just a stream of death threats. The hospital staff started treating me like a prisoner. I didn’t say a word. I just waited. The day I was discharged, I sent Owen one text from a new number. “Tomorrow. 9 AM. Courthouse. Be there.” He called immediately. “Finally,” he sneered. “Decided to crawl out of your hole? I gave you a chance. You didn’t take it. You want a divorce? Fine. But don’t think you’re getting the kid. You’re an unfit, psychotic mother!” I hung up. I opened the home security app on my phone. And I downloaded the footage from the living room camera, two days before the fire. The footage of Chloe, walking in with a can of gasoline.

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The day after my mom’s latest marriage ultimatum, I dumped my boyfriend of five years and, armed with my resume, stormed the park’s matchmaking corner. My best friend was baffled. “I thought you said Alex was your rock? Why wouldn’t you marry him?” I scanned the single men’s profiles, not even looking up. “That rock is only steady for the new girl. As his ex, I’m just old news.” A second later, Alex caught up to me, his voice tight with anger. “I told you I just see her as a little sister. You’re breaking up with me over this?” 1 I ignored him, reaching for the resume in his hand. It was the only “normal” one I’d found after two hours of searching. 32 years old, university professor, no bad habits, stable family, and most importantly: an only child. No little sister in need of constant emotional support. Alex lifted his hand just out of my reach. The silver cufflinks on his wrist were a birthday gift from me last year. “Nora, stop messing around.” His jaw was clenched, a clear sign he was reining in his temper. I smiled, pointing to the park’s entrance sign. “Mr. Hayes, this is a matchmaking event. It’s all about first impressions and efficiency. You’re scaring off my future husband.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the thin sheet of paper. “You’d throw away five years for a man you don’t even know?” “It’s not for him. It’s for me.” My smile vanished. I looked at him calmly. “Alex, I’m done getting 3 AM calls because Kathy got harassed at a bar again and needs you to come ‘rescue’ her.” “I’m done with you ditching me at a restaurant on our anniversary to go comfort a heartbroken Kathy.” “And I’m especially done hearing you say, over and over, that she’s just a sister, that she’s fragile, that you’re all she has.” The color drained from Alex’s face. He opened his mouth, his throat working, but no words came out. A few of the older folks nearby had already pulled out their phones, whispering amongst themselves. “Such a handsome young man. What’s wrong with him that his girlfriend is leaving?” “Girls these days have such high standards.” Alex’s fist tightened. He valued his reputation above all else. And I wanted him to taste what it felt like to lose it, right here, where it mattered most to him. “Nora, let’s talk about this at home.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. I didn’t fight him. I just looked past him. A girl in a white dress was running toward us, her eyes red and puffy with tears. “Alex, don’t be mad at Nora! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have called you again!” Kathy had arrived. The switch for Alex’s “emotional stability” was flipped. He let go of me instantly, turning to steady her. “What’s wrong? I told you to wait for me at home.” “I was worried you and Nora would fight.” Kathy lowered her head, her voice choked with sobs, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault.” As she spoke, she shot a glance at me from the corner of her eye. There was no apology in it. Only victory. I crossed my arms, a cold spectator to this masterclass in manipulative sisterly affection. Alex didn’t disappoint. He patted Kathy’s back gently, his voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it in five years. “It has nothing to do with you. This is between her and me.” He didn’t even look at me again before turning and leading Kathy away. The resume of the “normal man” was crumpled in his fist and tossed into a nearby trash can. Just like our five years together. 2 My best friend’s call came while I was supervising a locksmith. “You’re seriously changing the locks? Aren’t you afraid Alex’s going to lose his mind when he gets back?” “He has a home, and a sister who needs her emotions stabilized. Why would he come back here?” I said into the phone, then to the locksmith, “Change everything—the keypad, the deadbolt, the whole system. I don’t want so much as a fly getting in here from now on.” The line was silent for a moment. “Nora, are you sure about this? It’s been five years…” I watched the locksmith remove the old cylinder, a sense of calm settling over me. Five years? What finally broke me wasn’t the length of our relationship. It was a night two weeks ago when my fever hit 102 degrees. I’d gotten food poisoning from some bad takeout. I was completely drained, vomiting, and felt like my brain was boiling. Shaking, I called Alex, my voice trembling. “Alex, I feel awful. I have a fever. Can you please take me to the hospital?” He was quick to agree. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there. Leave the door unlocked for me.” I used my last ounce of strength to wait for him on the sofa. Just as I was about to pass out, my phone rang. It was Alex. Thinking he had arrived, I answered eagerly, only to be met with his apologetic tone. “Nora, listen… something’s come up with Kathy. She was watching a horror movie alone and got terrified. There’s a thunderstorm, and she called me, crying so hard she could barely breathe. You know how scared she gets.” In that moment, my heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, freezing over inch by inch. “And?” I heard myself ask, my voice eerily calm and foreign. “I have to go check on her. I can’t leave her alone like that.” He paused, then said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “You need to be strong. Can you just grab a cab to the ER and check in? I’ll come find you as soon as she’s settled.” Be strong. Those two words were like a poisoned dagger, twisting deep into my heart. I hung up without another word. That night, I took a cab to the hospital alone, waited in line to register alone, and sat in the cold, sterile infusion room alone, watching the IV fluid drip, drip, drip. I was surrounded by patients with family and friends. I was the only one on my own. Alex never showed up. The next morning, a text finally arrived, accompanied by a picture of Kathy, sleeping peacefully. “Hey babe, Kathy was a wreck last night. I stayed with her to calm her down, just got her to sleep. How are you? Still at the hospital?” Staring at the screen, a new kind of clarity washed over me. Five years, and I was the one who always had to “be strong.” Kathy, on the other hand, was the fragile one who deserved unconditional comfort and care. My mother’s pressure to get married was just the spark. The bomb that obliterated every last fantasy and lingering attachment was that long, cold, six-hour night I spent alone in the hospital. “Nora? Are you still there?” my friend’s voice pulled me back. I snapped a picture of the old lock cylinder, posted it online with the caption: Out with the old, in with the new. Then I spoke into the phone. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I put the phone on speaker and started gathering Alex’s things: his toothbrush, his towel, a few changes of clothes, and the cufflinks he was wearing yesterday. I stuffed everything into a black trash bag. Whether he did it on purpose or not didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that I had chosen myself. That was enough. The doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. Alex was standing there, with a tear-streaked Kathy by his side. I didn’t open the door. Alex started punching in the passcode. The electronic lock beeped, “INCORRECT CODE,” over and over. His face grew darker with each failed attempt. Finally, he started pounding on the door. “Nora! Open the door! What the hell did you do to the lock?” I started recording a video through the peephole. Kathy pulled at his arm, crying. “Alex, don’t do this! She’s just angry. Let’s go for now.” “Go? She threw my stuff out! She’s trying to cut me off for good?” Alex kicked the door, the sound echoing through the hall. I calmly walked to the door and spoke through it. “Mr. Hayes, one more kick and I’m sending this video to your company’s HR department. I’ve even thought of a title: Rising Star Throws Public Tantrum. What’s the Story?” He froze. Silence. A few seconds later, Kathy’s tearful voice came through. “Nora, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at Alex. He just cares about you so much. I… I made you some homemade soup. I’ll just leave it here for you.” Their footsteps faded away. I opened the door. A thermos sat on the mat with a sticky note attached. Nora, five years is a long time. Don’t give up so easily. —Kathy Her handwriting was delicate, radiating a sweet, cloying scent of manipulation. I picked up the thermos, walked to the window, and opened it. I aimed for the dumpster below and let go. It soared in a perfect arc. Bullseye. Done. I dusted off my hands and went to take a shower. As the hot water washed over me, my phone buzzed incessantly on the counter. I didn’t need to look to know it was Alex. I let it ring. When I came out, toweling my hair, there were over twenty missed calls. The latest message was from Kathy. “Nora, how could you throw out the soup? It took me three hours to make. I know you don’t like me, but you can’t just trample on my feelings like that. Alex saw, and he’s really upset.” I stared at the message and laughed. Of course he was upset. I’d just destroyed the evidence he was going to use to prove his “innocence.” I didn’t reply. I just blocked both of them. And just like that, the world was quiet again. 3 The next day, with an updated personal profile in hand, I returned to the matchmaking corner. Alex had destroyed the professor’s resume, so today, I had to find someone even better. A man with gold-rimmed glasses and a gentle demeanor stopped me. “Excuse me, are you Nora Croft?” I nodded. “Hello, my name is Miles Archer. I was the, uh… the university professor whose resume was destroyed yesterday.” He gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “After I left, I got your number from Mrs. Gable, the event organizer, but my calls wouldn’t go through.” I remembered then that in my effort to avoid Alex, I had blocked all unknown numbers. “Oh, I’m sorry about that.” “It’s alright.” Miles’s gaze fell to the paper in my hand. “Back for another try?” I waved the sheet. “Looking for an efficient exit from singledom. Serious inquiries only.” He laughed. “Funny, so am I.” He gestured to a nearby café. “Would you mind talking in there? I have to admit, standing out here is making me a little nervous.” I saw the tips of his ears turn red and smiled. “Sure.” Miles was fascinating. He taught classical literature and spoke with a calm, measured cadence, but he had a way of saying things that hit my funny bone perfectly. We talked about everything from poetry to the philosophy of life, and it wasn’t awkward at all. “I get it, you know,” he said with a sigh when we got on the topic of the matchmaking event. “My family’s been pushing me too. Coming here myself is just more efficient.” He continued with a self-deprecating smile, “The last woman my mother set me up with insisted she was a ‘demure, traditional lady.’ When we met, she brought her entire extended family to ‘interview’ me.” “We’d barely spoken for two minutes before her aunt asked if I’d be willing to hand over my paycheck, and her cousin asked where I was planning to buy a house in the best school district.” “It felt like an interrogation. At the end, the ‘demure lady’ concluded that I was a nice guy, but my only flaw was that I seemed too quiet, and she was worried I wouldn’t be able to ‘keep her troublemaker brother in line’.” He mimicked their tones perfectly, making me laugh out loud. His story made him feel less like a set of qualifications on paper and more like a real person. We were both just two people, worn down by the bizarre logic of the modern dating world, trying to find a kindred spirit in the most direct way possible. My phone vibrated. I glanced at it. It was a picture message from an unknown number. It was a photo of Alex in a hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, his face pale. Kathy was sitting beside him, dutifully peeling an apple. A picture of domestic harmony. Beneath it was a line of text. “Nora, Alex was distracted looking for you and got into a car accident. The doctor said his arm is broken. Can you please come see him?” My face remained blank as I placed the phone screen-down on the table. Miles noticed the change in my expression. “Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing. Just spam.” I took a sip of my coffee, hiding the cold fury in my eyes. Alex, you really outdid yourself. You’d resort to faking an injury just to guilt me into coming back. “Miss Croft,” Miles said suddenly. “This may be forward of me, but I get the sense that you’re under a dark cloud right now.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I can see you’re not happy.” His gaze was sincere. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.” A warmth spread through my chest. Unlike Alex’s overbearing “I’ll fix this for you” attitude, Miles offered respect and equality. “Thank you, Miles,” I said, and I meant it. “But don’t worry. That cloud is about to disappear.” I was going to rip it apart myself. We talked until the café was about to close. Miles walked me to the entrance of my apartment complex. “I had a really wonderful time talking with you today,” he said, his figure elongated by the streetlight. “Me too.” “So… could we perhaps see each other again tomorrow?” he asked, a hopeful hesitation in his voice. I nodded. “Of course.” After saying goodbye, I turned and walked into the complex. Just as I reached my building, a dark figure lunged from the shadows and grabbed my arm. It was Alex. His right hand gripped me tightly, while his left was, indeed, in a cast, held in a sling around his neck. “Nora, you’ve really grown some claws,” he hissed, his eyes bloodshot. “I get in a car crash for you, and you’re out on a date with another man?”

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I’m a B-list actress with a benefactor. And recently, my benefactor ran into a little trouble. He was outed as the wrong baby, swapped at birth—a fake heir to a fortune. The day the news broke, his adoptive parents kicked him out. He had to move in with his biological family. Seeing him so lost, I couldn’t stand it. In a moment of grand, heartfelt impulse, I threw my arms wide and declared, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Later, after I’d graduated from benefactor-protégée to actual girlfriend, I went with him to meet his parents. That’s when I finally understood what “moving” meant for him. It meant leaving his adoptive father’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills… for his biological parents’ sprawling, gated estate in Montecito. That son of a bitch. He played me. 1 I first saw the news about Ethan being switched at birth where everyone sees everything: online. The gossip blogs were ruthless, claiming in breathless, self-assured posts that Ethan Prescott, the “fake heir,” had been cast out of the family, left with nothing. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I waited at home until late, and when Ethan finally walked through the door, the exhaustion was written all over him. He moved like a man carrying an invisible weight, his usual confidence replaced by a hollowed-out look in his eyes. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I softened my voice. “What’s wrong? Rough day?” He folded onto the couch beside me and leaned his head on my shoulder. It was a gesture of pure vulnerability, a silent plea for support I had never, not once, seen from him before. “I moved,” he said, his voice flat. Those two words were all the confirmation I needed. The tabloid headlines flashed in my mind. “Is it true?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What they’re saying online… about the mix-up at the hospital?” “Yeah,” he murmured into my shoulder. “I guess my last name is Hayes now.” His voice was so deflated, so unlike him. I could feel the blow this had dealt to his entire world. And who could blame him? The people who had raised you for over two decades suddenly weren’t your parents. It was a seismic shift that would shatter anyone. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, trying to offer some small comfort. “You know,” I said, forcing a light tone, “Ethan Hayes has a nice ring to it. Maybe even better than Ethan Prescott.” He managed a weak, fleeting smile. “Maybe.” Seeing him struggle to keep it together, I swallowed the hundred other questions I wanted to ask. It wasn’t the time. “Go get some sleep,” I said softly. “Try not to think about it too much.” Ethan nodded and pushed himself up, heading for the bedroom. But after a few steps, he stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of a raw uncertainty. “Chloe,” he said. “Can you… stay with me?” “Of course.” I crossed the room in a heartbeat. He took my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine, and led me into the bedroom. 2 Ethan likes to hold me when he sleeps. Tonight was no different. Except it was. Tonight, he held me tighter, with a desperation that felt like he was trying to meld me into his own body, as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid thing in a world that had turned to liquid. My face was pressed against his chest, the familiar scent of him all around me. On any other night, I would have been blissfully nuzzling into him, drunk on the closeness. But tonight, I just wrapped my arms around his waist and gently patted his back, trying to soothe him into sleep. I understood. His life had been upended. He needed comfort, a pillar to lean on. And seeing him in so much pain made my own heart ache. Which was a problem. He was my benefactor, not my boyfriend. He was now the “fake heir.” The smart thing to do would be to worry about my career in this cutthroat town, not his emotional state. My future in Hollywood, which he had so carefully paved, was now a dead end. That’s what I should have been thinking. But instead, I found myself gently smoothing the frown lines from his forehead with my thumb. My career was built on Ethan’s influence—I’ll be the first to admit it. Yes, I worked hard. I’m tenacious and I don’t give up. But Hollywood is a place where hard work alone gets you nowhere. You need opportunities. You need luck. And if you don’t have those, you need a powerful patron. When I started, I had nothing but raw energy and a burning ambition. Then, at the wrap party for some forgettable film, someone with a grudge slipped something into my drink. The next thing I knew, I was being led into the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel—Ethan’s suite. I was dizzy, my limbs felt like lead. A single, foggy thought, It’s over, drifted through my mind, but I was powerless to fight it. Sometime later, Ethan came back to his room. As fate would have it, he was drunk too. He apparently mistook me for a body pillow and slept soundly, holding me all night. The next morning, I woke up in the arms of a strange man and nearly screamed the hotel down. But before the scream could escape, I was struck by the impossibly handsome face just inches from mine. Well… damn. It wasn’t that I was opposed to him, specifically. I was just, you know, morally against the whole predatory casting-couch culture of the industry. I studied his face. His eyes were closed, framed by impossibly long lashes. That strong jawline, that perfect nose… how did all the best features end up on one person? As I was lost in my critical analysis, his eyelashes fluttered. A moment later, his eyes opened, meeting mine directly. My heart stopped. 3 Ethan sat up, rubbing his temples. He seemed to be replaying the night, and after a moment, he said with absolute certainty, “I was drunk. I wouldn’t have… done anything.” I looked at his wrinkled shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth skin of his chest and the faint outline of abs beneath. I nodded. “I know. You just held me all night.” We showered separately and then sat on opposite ends of the sofa, observing each other in the quiet morning light. With his hair still damp and dressed in fresh clothes, he looked sharp and serious. He broke the silence. “I’ll find out who was behind last night. As for us… I’m sorry. I’d like to offer you some form of compensation for the trouble.” “It’s okay if it’s not long,” I blurted out. Ethan just stared at me. “?” My brain caught up with my mouth. “Oh! Compensation. Right.” To be fair, Ethan was blameless in this. He was just a drunk guy who came back to his own room to sleep. I was the one who shouldn’t have been there, even if it wasn’t my choice. But he felt he had wronged me and wanted to make it right. Who was I to refuse a helping hand? Sometimes, the right stepping stone is worth more than a thousand steps taken on your own. I thought for a moment. “There’s a TV series I want to audition for.” 4 I told him the name of the show and the director. Ethan was efficient. “That’s easy. I’ll call the director.” And just like that, I was on the cast list. I wasn’t even a top-three character, but I was ecstatic. I packed my bags and moved onto the set, ready to work. Ethan, probably worried I was just some freeloader wasting his recommendation, started showing up on set to “supervise.” He’d ask the director how my performance was, if I was being cooperative. He’d ask me if I was surviving the director’s notoriously tough style. Terrified he’d change his mind and have me replaced, my answers were always a variation of, “The set is great, the director is great, and the director says I’m great, too!” I’d put extra emphasis on that last part. Ethan would just give a little “hmph” and say, “Keep it up.” It was only later that I found out he was the show’s executive producer. During that shoot, Ethan’s visits became more frequent, and his attitude toward me softened. He started asking about my day, sent flowers and a gift for my birthday, and even started driving me home after late-night shoots. I knew this wasn’t just about making sure I was working hard. He wanted to make me his mistress. His kept woman. So, being me, I decided to just ask him. Ethan was silent for a long time, then looked at me with a baffled expression. “Is that what you think this is?” “Just tell me if I’m right or wrong.” I was so sure of my own deduction that I didn’t even wait for his answer. “Look, I’m not that kind of girl… unless you let me feel them first.” Ethan looked completely lost. “?” He smirked, a real smile finally breaking through his serious exterior. “Feel what?” “Your abs, obviously. Got to inspect the goods first.” He actually laughed, a real, throaty laugh. “I have to say, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a benefactor having to pass a physical inspection.” But even as he said it, he took my hand and guided it to his stomach, pressing it against his shirt. The sudden warmth and hardness of the muscle beneath the fabric made my hand tremble. I was all talk; when it came to actually doing anything, I was a complete coward. He took a slow breath, his voice dropping low. “Well? Are you satisfied?” I gave a tentative press and nodded wildly. “Very satisfied. We’re good.” I mean, look, I’m a person of principle. I can’t be bought with money or swayed by power. But. Everyone has their exceptions. And apparently, mine were a killer set of abs and a handsome face. 5 Ethan was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. He meticulously planned my career path, guiding me from an unknown nobody to a solid B-lister. I wasn’t a viral sensation, but I was a working actress who never lacked for quality roles. It was only after I was with him that I realized what it was like to be treated fairly, to not have to constantly fight off petty attacks or backhanded sabotage. For the first time, I was filled with a genuine confidence, a hope for the future. I even started to believe I could make a real run for an Oscar someday. And then, just as I was getting ready to really hit my stride, my foundation crumbled. My Oscar dream shattered with a silent, sickening crack. 6 Mourning the death of my Oscar dream, I eventually drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, Ethan was already out of bed. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, another one ruffling his dark hair. God, he was beautiful. That body, that face. Lying there on my side, watching him, I realized with a jolt that I had no desire to cut him loose and save myself. So I said it. “Ethan… from now on, let me take care of you.” He froze, towel in hand. “What?” “I said, I’ll take care of you,” I repeated, sitting up and making a grand, sweeping gesture. “So what if you’re not a Prescott anymore? So what if you’re broke? Don’t be scared. I can make money. I’ll support you!” Ethan just stood there, silent. He was probably overwhelmed with emotion, touched by my loyalty. Finally, after a long moment, he raised an eyebrow. “You’ll support me?” he asked, a strange glint in his eye. “You’re sure you don’t want to break up with me? After all, I’m just your benefactor. Not your boyfriend.” My eyes darted away. Okay, so maybe the thought had crossed my mind for a second. To cover my guilt, I raised my voice. “What kind of question is that? I’ll have you know, Ethan Hayes, you are seriously underestimating me! I’m not the kind of person who only sticks around for the good times!” A slow smile spread across his face. “So?” “So! From now on, I’ll be out there making a living, and you can stay home and be beautiful!” He tossed the towel aside and walked toward me. In one smooth motion, he lifted me out of the bed and settled me onto his lap, so I was straddling him. He peppered my face with soft kisses—my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. “You’re really something,” he murmured against my skin. “Like a princess from a fairy tale. How could I ever repay you?” I was genuinely trying to think of what I wanted in return, but his lips found mine again, deep and consuming. He kissed my eyes, the tip of my nose, and returned to my mouth. His hand tangled in my hair, giving a gentle tug that made me tilt my head back, surrendering completely to the kiss. By the time he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my face flushed and my eyelashes damp with involuntary tears. Through the haze, I heard him whisper with a low chuckle. “My good, kind-hearted girl. How about I offer myself in return, hmm?” 7 After breakfast, I transferred one hundred thousand dollars to Ethan’s account. My heart ached with every zero. It wasn’t that I wanted to give him that much. But when I thought about everything he’d done for me—the roles, the jewelry, the designer dresses—it was the least I could do. He had been generous with me, and I couldn’t be stingy with him now. Still, it hurt. “You have to be careful with this,” I lectured, channeling my inner financial advisor. “You know I’m a very frugal person. From now on, we need to spend wisely.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “Those old friends of yours, the ones who still treat you like a brother? Take them out for a decent meal, keep those connections alive. You never know who might be able to help you down the line. But the ones who ghosted you, who kicked you when you were down? Forget them. You got that?” I was trying to think of what other sage advice I could offer when he leaned in and kissed me again, cutting me off mid-sentence. I went still, my brain short-circuiting. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Hey—mmph—you need to listen to me.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression utterly sincere. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re earnestly planning my future. I couldn’t help myself.” I… damn it. He was a cunning bastard. He knew I was a shallow creature, that a single piece of praise could turn my brain to mush. I tried to look stern. “Even if you say that, I’m still going to be a little bit mad at you.” A girl had to maintain her authority as head of the household, after all. 8 Even though I was pretending to be mad, seeing the familiar light back in Ethan’s eyes made me genuinely happy. With his mood lifted, I could head to work without worrying. I was currently filming a major historical drama. The director was a legend in his late fifties, at the peak of his creative powers. There are no secrets on a film set. Everyone more or less knew about my connection to Ethan. He’d never tried to hide it, visiting me openly on set before. But because he was so young and handsome, no one was quite sure what our relationship was. Some guessed we were dating, others thought we might be cousins. The ones who guessed correctly—that I was a gold-digger who’d landed a powerful benefactor—kept it to themselves. Whatever they thought, they had always treated me with a polite, professional distance. But now, with the scandal swirling around Ethan, the whispers were getting louder. As soon as I arrived on set, I heard them. “Is it really true? I saw the story trending and then it just… vanished.” “The Prescotts must have killed it. A family like that controls the narrative.” “I wonder what’s happening with Ethan now.” “It’s Ethan Hayes now. And what do you think is happening? He got kicked to the curb, obviously.” “My money’s on Chloe dumping him by the end of the week.” I pretended not to hear, walking past with my head held high. But inside, I was fuming. Why did everyone assume the worst of me? Not only had I not dumped him, I had pledged to support him! Ethan himself said I was like a fairy-tale princess! Just as I was mentally defending my honor, a particularly sharp voice cut through the chatter. “Well, well. So the golden boy of Hollywood turns out to be a cheap knock-off.” I stopped and looked up. Rick Donovan. In all my years in the industry, I’d lived by a simple code: don’t start trouble, and always be polite. I didn’t have many enemies. Except for one. Rick Donovan. 10 The year I broke into the business, I landed the fourth female lead in a fantasy series. “Fourth lead” was a generous title; I was basically a glorified extra. Rick, a veteran actor, was playing the main villain. He had a decent reputation—good actor, no scandals. Since we had scenes together, we got to know each other. At first, he was kind, like a mentor. He gave me tips on finding my light and connecting with the camera. I respected him and saw him as a kind-hearted senior colleague. Toward the end of the shoot, we had a stunt scene on wires. My character, a reformed demoness, was supposed to die with his villain. The script called for us to fall from a height onto a crash pad below. The visual effects team would handle the “souls dissipating” part in post. But as we fell, just as we hit the mat, Rick’s hands squeezed me. Twice. On my lower back, just above my ass. Our costumes were bulky, and he must have thought no one would see. But I felt it. Crystal clear. I’ve always had a short fuse, and back then, I was young and reckless. In a flash of pure humiliation and rage, I shot up from the mat and swung my arm, slapping him square across the face. The crack echoed through the suddenly silent set. Rick, utterly humiliated, has held a grudge against me ever since. Funny. I never even complained that he made me hurt my hand on his thick-skinned face. Later, I found out he was the one who had me drugged and sent to Ethan’s room. He probably thought someone of Ethan’s status would ruin me for the intrusion. He never imagined I’d grab onto that golden branch and soar. Instead, his own career nosedived. His roles dried up, his fame faded. Now, he was stuck taking bit parts in other people’s projects, like this one. I knew Ethan was behind it. He was a fiercely protective man. If someone tried to screw me over like that and he did nothing… he’d have to be possessed. 11 I hadn’t seen Rick in years before starting this film. It never even occurred to me we’d end up on the same set. Here, he was playing a minor character who gets killed off in a few episodes. I get it. Directors don’t usually care about actors’ personal beefs as long as they can do the job. And I didn’t care either. Now, my name carried more weight than his. I wasn’t afraid. And in our history, he was the one in the wrong. I had the moral high ground. If anyone was going to be forced out, it shouldn’t be me. He wasn’t scared, so why should I be? So we coexisted on set, ignoring each other. It was a kind of cold peace. But now he was insulting Ethan, and that, I could not tolerate. I stared him down, my voice laced with ice. “It’s always the dogs in the cheapest kennels that bark the loudest.” Rick blinked, then his face flushed with anger. “What did you just say?” I clicked my tongue. “I’m talking to you. Who else? Have you really fallen so far that the only way you can feel good about yourself is by mocking someone else? That’s just sad.” That shut him up. 12 Seeing Rick speechless put me in a great mood. I had a fantastic day of shooting, and even went out for amazing Korean barbecue with Ava, the actress playing the female lead. When I got home that night, Ethan had already cooked dinner. After washing my hands, I sat down at the table and saw all my favorite dishes laid out. I couldn’t help but tease him. “So this is the life of a kept man? Do you actually know how to cook all this? Or is it just fancy takeout? It’s not poisoned, is it?” Ethan placed a glass of warm milk in front of me. “One hundred percent homemade, organic, and gluten-free. Care to try?” I cautiously picked up a piece of slow-braised short rib. After a few chews, I gave him a big thumbs-up. “Delicious!” After a long day at work, coming home to a delicious meal served by a handsome man was exactly what I deserved. As I ate, I asked, “So, what did you do all day?” “Checking up on me?” Ethan smirked. It had been a casual question, but his response made me feel a flicker of benefactor-like power. “Yep!” I said, getting into the role. “I’m exercising my rights as your provider. Report on your daily activities, stat!” Ethan laughed. “Alright, here’s the summary. I met with Liam Prescott.” “Liam Prescott?” “The real Prescott son.” I immediately tensed up. “He asked to see you? What did you guys do? He didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” Ethan propped his chin on his hand, a playful smile on his lips. “And if he did? What would you do?” 12 I was baffled. What kind of question was that? “What else could I do? Swallow my pride and take it, of course.” Ethan just stared at me. “?” “I mean, we can’t afford to make enemies with people like that right now,” I explained reasonably. “If he looks down on you, you just have to… look down at the floor and walk away.” Not wanting to crush his spirit entirely, I added, “Revenge is a dish best served cold, you know.” Seeing the frustrated look on his face, I circled back to the original question. “So, what did you and Liam talk about?” “Just… family stuff,” Ethan said. “I wanted to get a better sense of my biological parents, to make it easier to fit in with the new family.” “And did you? Have you met them yet? What are they like? Are they easy to get along with?” Ethan seemed unsure. “They seem… okay? My father is very serious, doesn’t say much. My mother is more of a politician, very smooth. Every word is carefully chosen.” They both sounded like a handful. I couldn’t help but worry. “You need to be on your best behavior with them. Keep that temper of yours in check, you hear me? But if they’re not good to you, don’t force it. You still have me,” I said, patting my chest proudly. “If you get tired, you can always rest on my broad, supportive bosom.” 13 I finished my speech and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to praise my beautiful, kind soul. But that idiot Ethan completely missed the point. He raised an eyebrow. “Keep my temper in check? What temper, exactly?” I started to think. What temper did Ethan have? I honestly couldn’t think of anything. I chewed on my fork, racking my brain. The only scenarios that came to mind were the ones in bed where I’d end up cursing at him and kicking him away playfully. Or the countless nights he’d driven to pick me up from the airport or a remote set in the middle of the night. Or that one time I’d tried to cook for him and ended up breaking three plates and two bowls, and he just cleaned up the mess without a word of complaint. The more I thought about it, the more shocked I was. How was this possible? I couldn’t remember him having a temper, but I could suddenly recall plenty of instances of my own. This was not how the power dynamic was supposed to work! Feeling a wave of guilt, I shot him a few sheepish glances. “You know what? Let’s just drop it,” I said, my voice suddenly much smaller. “I’ll save you the embarrassment. Let’s just eat.” Ethan just smiled and, with a swift move of his fork, stole the last piece of my favorite short rib. 14 That weekend, I had to attend a gala hosted by my agency’s CEO. At these kinds of events, swarming with industry moguls and investors, actors and pop stars aren’t the main characters. We’re just part of the decor, adding a bit of color to an otherwise boring affair. As far as I could tell, I had about as much functional purpose as the floral arrangements at the entrance. I couldn’t participate in the conversations about investments, market trends, or IPOs, nor could I just relax and enjoy the food. All I could do was stand there, holding a glass of champagne with my back straight, drifting through the crowd and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with familiar faces. After a few rounds of forced small talk, I found a quiet corner to hide in and texted Ethan. “Everyone here is talking about such complicated stuff. I don’t get any of it, but I can’t leave. I’m so bored.” He replied almost instantly. “Seriously. Don’t they know that a princess has to shower, do her makeup, curl her hair, and pick out a gown? Such a boring party is hardly worth all of Princess Chloe’s effort.” I frowned at the screen. That was a weird thing to say. It felt… sarcastic. Was he making fun of me for being high-maintenance? I sent back a GIF of a cat throwing punches. “I’m docking your allowance!” Ethan: “?” Ethan: “What time can you leave? I’ll come pick you up.” I estimated the time. “Another hour, maybe.” 15 I kept checking my phone, and after about an hour, people started to trickle out. Figuring Ethan must be close, I started walking toward the exit. Just as I neared the ballroom doors, a foot shot out from the side. My long dress blocked my view, and my high heels made me unsteady. Before I could even register what was happening, I was crashing to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot through my knee and elbow. The only saving grace was the thin carpet covering the floor, which probably saved me from a broken bone. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, but I looked up, my voice fierce. “Who the hell did that?” Rick and his manager, Angela, were standing over me, covering their mouths as they snickered. “Oh my, what a klutz,” Angela said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Did you hurt yourself?” Angela was a middle-aged woman who had been with Rick since the beginning of his career. I used to admire her loyalty for sticking with him through his decline. It’s easy to find people who will celebrate with you, but hard to find those who will weather the storm. But tonight, that same woman had just tripped me and was now taunting me. I blinked back the tears and spat back, “What bad luck. Feels like I just stepped in something nasty.” 16 Rick’s face contorted with rage. “What did you just say?” Angela put a restraining hand on his arm. In the process, her wine glass “accidentally” tilted, spilling red wine all over my dress. “Chloe, this isn’t the place for you to throw a tantrum,” she said coolly. “This may look like a big party, but there’s only one person who really matters here tonight: Liam Prescott.” She gestured around the room. “Since taking over the Prescott empire, he’s been managing some massive projects. Everyone here tonight is trying to get on his good side, hoping for a piece of the pie. And you, who’s been playing house with the fake heir, have the nerve to show your face here?” She looked down at my stained dress and laughed. “Look at her, Rick. She’s a mess.” I’m not a patient person by nature. I’m impulsive and I hold grudges. Being with Ethan, who constantly coddled and praised me, had only made my temper worse. And okay, maybe Ethan wasn’t a powerful heir anymore. But I was still a B-list actress, wasn’t I? Did they think they could humiliate me like this without consequences? Normally, after a fall like that, I would have just stayed on the floor and waited for Ethan to come rescue me. It really, really hurt. But I couldn’t let them get away with this. In my book, the headline “Actress Gets in Fight at Gala” was ten times better than “Actress Gets Bullied at Gala.” Fueled by pure rage, I forced myself to my feet. I walked right up to Rick and Angela and, with all my strength, slapped each of them across the face. “You’re nothing,” I seethed. “But you sure act like you’re something special. I was trying to ignore you, but you just had to push it. You’re trash. You should try being decent people for a change. You wouldn’t want your bad karma passed down to your kids, would you?” Angela, clutching her cheek, lunged at me. But Rick held her back, his face a mask of fury, his voice low and menacing. “Chloe, this is Liam Prescott’s event. Don’t push your luck. Get out of here while you still can, before Mr. Prescott has security throw you out.” His words grated on me. I opened my mouth to fire back, but a calm voice cut in from behind me. “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

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I woke up as the villain in someone else’s love story. The plot was supposed to be simple, really. A tragedy wrapped in romance. The devoted husband, Ethan, loved his wife, my sister, Lydia. But Lydia was sick, a fragile beauty with a failing heart, and she wasn’t long for this world. This is where I, or rather, the original owner of this body, was supposed to make her grand, ruinous entrance. She was to crawl into her brother-in-law’s bed in a moment of weakness. And Lydia, ever the saint, wouldn’t just forgive her little sister. No, she would make Ethan promise to marry her after she was gone. A dying wish. An inescapable trap. Of course, all of that was just the prologue to the real story. The main event was a new woman arriving in Ethan’s life, a vibrant soul who would teach him to open his heart again, to heal from the grief. They would get their happy ending. As for the inconvenient placeholder wife? She would be driven to suicide by public humiliation and her husband’s cold shoulder, conveniently clearing the stage for the true heroine. 1 And the timing of my arrival? Just perfect. I came to consciousness on my sister and brother-in-law’s bed, arranged like a sacrifice waiting for the slaughter. But it was the fire raging under my skin, a thick, chemical heat, that told me this wasn’t part of the original script. I tried to push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the plush carpet, a jolt of something sharp and ugly shooting up my spine. My purse had been tossed near the bed. Inside, among the usual clutter, was my phone and, surprisingly, a digital voice recorder. Fighting the rising tide of heat and nausea, I flicked the recorder on, slid it under the lip of the nightstand, and stumbled toward the bathroom, my phone clutched in a sweaty palm. I locked the door behind me. A woman about to seduce her brother-in-law wouldn’t drug herself. She wouldn’t need to. This was sabotage. The question was, who was the saboteur? My fingers felt like sausages as I dialed. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Someone drugged me,” I rasped, my voice cracking. “I think… I think they’re going to try and rape me. Please, you have to get here. Now.” Next, my mother. “Mom,” I whispered, the effort immense. “Can you come get me? I feel… really sick. I don’t want to worry Lydia.” I hung up before she could ask too many questions. My consciousness was fraying at the edges. I turned on the tub, fumbling with the faucet, and collapsed into the basin before it was even a quarter full. The shock of the ice-cold water was a brutal, welcome relief, a temporary dam against the inferno inside me. God, this was a mess. My memory of what happened next is a collage of broken sounds. Someone shouting my name. “Audrey? Audrey, where are you?” The heavy thud of a shoulder hitting the bathroom door. Raised, frantic voices. And then, nothing. Just the silent, welcoming dark. 2 Things got interesting. Apparently, my picture-perfect sister and her doting husband had been invited downtown for a little chat with the police. Their story was smooth. After dinner, they realized I was missing. Worried, they started searching. They found my bedroom empty and their own master bathroom locked from the inside. They had no idea why I would be in their room, and fearing the worst, they tried to break down the door. A date-rape drug? What was that? They had no idea. With no cameras in the bedroom and no witnesses, it was their word against… well, no one’s. “We’re tracing the source of the drug,” the detective told me, his voice a low rumble. “You just rest. Don’t worry.” His name was Ryan, and he’d been here since I woke up. He watched me with a focused, analytical gaze that felt like it could see right through my skin. A cop’s sixth sense, maybe. “I left a voice recorder by the bed in the master bedroom,” I said, my own voice still hoarse. “Maybe it picked up something useful.” Ryan gave a curt nod. “Got it. I’ll have someone check.” He turned to my mother. “Ma’am, you should stay with Audrey. I’ll check back in later tonight.” “You go on, Ryan. You have work to do. I’ll be here with her. Don’t you worry.” After Ryan left, my mother’s face crumpled with anxiety. “Do you think he’s angry?” Oh, right. Ryan was my boyfriend. We were supposed to get married at the end of the year. I raised an eyebrow. “Angry? About what? That I was drugged?” “How could this happen?” she lamented, her hands twisting in her lap. “How could something like this happen?” “You should ask Lydia,” I said flatly. Her head snapped up, her expression instantly defensive. “That’s impossible. Your sister would never do something like that.” “The three of us ate the same dinner,” I reasoned, keeping my tone level. “The only difference was the glass of milk Lydia handed me afterward. Unless the milk itself was poisonous, that’s our variable.” I held up a hand to stop her protest. “Look, I’m not accusing her in a court of law. I don’t have proof. But some things are obvious to anyone who isn’t willfully blind. Even if Lydia didn’t physically put the pill in the glass, she knew about it.” My mother stared at me, her mind clearly reeling. “Then… why did you tell me you were just feeling sick? Why did you say you didn’t want to worry her?” I shrugged. “What was the alternative? Calling you and screaming that Lydia drugged me? What would have been the first thing you did?” Silence. I answered for her. “You would have called Lydia to ask if it was true. You would have walked me right into the fire. Sometimes, a well-placed lie is a lifeline.” My mother wasn’t the type to play favorites. Even with Lydia’s congenital heart condition, she had always been fair to her younger daughter. In the original story, my mother was one of the witnesses who found me in Ethan’s bed. She had slapped me, dragged me home, and only relented to the marriage because of Lydia’s tearful begging. When I—the original me—had finally jumped from that building, my mother’s grief was the most profound. As the shock began to subside, she reached out and brushed the hair from my forehead. Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a new, steely resolve. “I will not let you suffer this injustice, Audrey. I promise you.” 3 They found the recorder. The contents were, to put it mildly, explosive. Lydia: What happened? I put her on the bed. Where did she go? Ethan: Maybe she woke up and went back to her room. Lydia: I’ll go check. … Lydia: She’s not there. I’ve looked everywhere. She’s gone. Ethan: The bathroom. Lydia: It’s locked. A sharp rapping sound. Lydia: Audrey? Audrey, are you in there? Are you not feeling well? Open the door, sweetie. Let me in. Ethan: She must have passed out. Lydia: Break it down. Ethan: Lydia, let’s just stop. This is crazy. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Lydia: But I’m dying! What will you do when I’m gone? What about Leo? The only person in the world who could love Leo like her own son is Audrey. Ethan: But she clearly knows something’s wrong, or she wouldn’t have hidden. Lydia: It doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ll be the victim. Everyone will believe me. And Audrey… she’d never do anything to jeopardize my health. … Wow. That happy couple really showed me the sheer diversity of the human species. Ryan was watching me again, a deep frown line creasing his forehead. I cupped my face in my hands and gave him a small smile. “Like what you see?” His expression didn’t change as he dropped his gaze. My mother was the one who looked truly devastated. Her face was ashen, and she seemed to be swaying on her feet. “How could she?” she whispered. Whether she could or couldn’t, she did. “We’ve got a lead on the source of the drug,” Ryan said, his voice all business. “As it stands, this looks like a conspiracy between the two of them. Ethan’s lawyer wants to speak with you. He’s hoping you’ll sign a settlement agreement and drop the charges.” “Never!” my mother snapped. “I’ll do it,” I said. They both looked at me. My mother’s eyes filled with pain. “Audrey, you don’t have to consider my feelings. From this day forward, I don’t have that daughter.” I wasn’t planning on being a saint. Lydia was on death’s door, and Ethan’s family had deep pockets. He probably wouldn’t see much jail time anyway. Besides, for a crime like this, you don’t just want justice. You want to destroy the soul. “Is there really no cure for Lydia’s condition?” I asked. My mother shook her head. Her congenital heart disease meant she was never meant to live a long life. But she had tempted fate. Against all medical advice, she had insisted on having a child for the great love of her life. She’d barely survived giving birth to Leo, and her body had paid the price. For the last six months, her heart failure had been getting progressively worse. She was practically living at the hospital. Her doctors had already told her to get her affairs in order. She was dying. What a shame. If only she could live another couple of years, she could meet her husband’s real true love face-to-face. Now that would be a spectacle. I was genuinely disappointed to miss it. I turned back to Ryan. “I’m willing to drop the charges, but on one condition. They both have to get on their knees and apologize to me.” The woman whose life I now inhabited, Audrey, had been drowned in shame and abandoned by everyone she knew. She only survived a year after Lydia’s death. It was a year of pure, unadulterated agony that ended with a final, desperate leap. That couple owed her an apology. Ryan nodded once, his face unreadable. He turned and left without another word. Watching his strong, steady back, I remembered his fate in the original story. When the whole world had turned on Audrey, Ryan was the only one who believed her. But she, broken and ashamed, felt she was no longer worthy of him. She ended their engagement. A month later, Ryan died during a high-risk operation. Audrey secretly attended his funeral. She overheard his captain saying, “He wasn’t even supposed to be on that mission. He volunteered, insisted on it. He hadn’t been himself lately, so much anger bottled up inside him. It’s my fault. I never should have approved it.” Boom. Audrey’s world shattered. From that day on, she was just a walking corpse.

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My little brother, Leo, had a thing for secrets. In ninth grade, he found out our cousin Brandon was gay. He was about to blast it in the family group chat. I stopped him. A year later, he found out our Aunt Jenna was cheating. He was about to tell her husband. I snatched his phone. Then, he live-streamed our parents having sex. I called the cops. I told them he was a minor being coerced. I thought I was saving him. Five years later, he got out of juvie. I got him a good, high-paying job. At his welcome-home dinner, he stabbed me. “You stupid bitch,” he hissed, twisting the knife. “You just had to interfere. You cost me five years.” I was dying. I begged my cousin, my aunt, my parents to help me. They just backed away, hands up. “Leo, please,” my aunt whimpered. “If you kill her, you don’t have to kill us, right?” I blacked out. And woke up, back in the private room of a noisy restaurant. In ninth grade. Leo was jiggling his leg, his eyes wide and manic. He held up his phone. “Nora! You are not gonna believe this! Brandon is gay!” … The AC was blasting, but I was sweating. When I didn’t respond, Leo pinched me, hard. “Did you hear me?” The sharp pain on my arm was real. I wasn’t dead. I was back. I forced down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, Leo. I heard you.” He let go, a nasty smirk on his face as he looked across the table. “Just one spot in the magnet school. That’s all we’re asking. And they’re acting like this. Fucking assholes. Serves them right their son’s a…” I looked up. My Uncle Rob was red-faced, jabbing a finger at my dad. “I’m not saying you’re a bad guy, but look at your family. My sister married you, and what’s she got to show for it? You’re all wearing clothes from Walmart. Is that whole outfit even fifty bucks?” Aunt Cindy, his wife, giggled. “And Leo’s grades… two hundred on his pre-SATs? You seriously think you can buy your way into prep school with that?” My parents just sat there, smiling, their backs bent. “We just really appreciate you looking into it, Rob.” Leo seethed. “He thinks he’s so high and mighty. Well, his precious family line is about to end.” His thumb was moving, fast. Tap. Tap. Snap. Last time, I stopped him. I begged him. “We need them right now. Just let it go. Do you want to end up flipping burgers for the rest of your life?” I’d argued until my throat was raw. He finally agreed. He got into the school, hated it, flunked, and blamed me for “forcing” him to be a failure. When he stabbed me, his first words were, “If you’d just let me be, I’d be famous on TikTok by now, driving a Lambo.” So this time, I didn’t say a word. I just quietly ate my stale bread roll. Then came the shouting. “What the hell?” Brandon, my cousin, had thrown his napkin on the floor. “Are you blind? You got sauce on me!” The young waitress was terrified. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’ll get a cloth—” “A cloth? This is a three-thousand-dollar shirt! You’ll pay for it! You know what? You couldn’t even make three grand if you sold yourself on the street.” No one said a word. Aunt Cindy was taking photos of her new nails. I couldn’t help it. “Brandon, chill. It’s a drop of soy sauce.” He sneered at me. “Who are you? You’re just the down payment for your brother’s college tuition. A breeding machine.” He shoved the waitress away. “Don’t touch me! You’re filthy!” The table was silent. Then, suddenly, a cascade of dings. Ping. Ping. Pingpingping. The family group chat. I looked at Leo. His eyes were bright red, a sick, happy red. “Jesus,” Uncle Rob said, pulling out his phone. “The family chat’s been dead for months. What is this?” My parents, always following, pulled out their phones, too. Brandon, looking bored, took out his. The smile melted off his face. The photos were… graphic. Brandon and his boyfriend. The angles were… creative. CRASH. The whole table flipped. Hot soup and glass showered down, covering the stain on Brandon’s shirt. He screamed, “Dad! Are you crazy?” Uncle Rob was hyperventilating, his finger shaking at the phone. “You… you abomination! What is this?!” I just smiled. Leo couldn’t hold it in. “Wow, Uncle Rob. Guess I finally know why Brandon never brings a girlfriend home.” Aunt Cindy spun around and slapped Leo, hard. “You little bastard! You posted that?” “Cindy!” My dad shot up. “We’re family, don’t hit my kid!” She slapped my dad, too. “Family? After this? You’ll be lucky if you ever work in this city again!” Leo jumped up and kicked Aunt Cindy in the shins. “You don’t get to hit my dad!” He was high on the chaos. “You think that’s bad? I’ve got his other account. The stuff on there… you wanna see?” The blood drained from Aunt Cindy’s face. Brandon, in a blind rage, grabbed a chair and smashed it over Leo’s leg. “I’LL KILL YOU! YOU LITTLE PEST! YOU THINK YOU’RE PART OF THIS FAMILY?” Leo screamed. My parents tried to grab Brandon, but Uncle Rob and Aunt Cindy held them back. It was chaos. I just stood by a pillar, watching. Leo was on the ground, spitting blood. He saw me. “Nora! Help me! Nora!” Not this time. The restaurant manager finally called the police. It was too late. Leo’s leg was broken. At the hospital, Mom cried. Dad smoked. “If we sue, he’ll never get into that school.” Mom snapped. “He just posted those pictures! You think they’re gonna let him in anyway?” They both turned on me. Smack. Dad’s handprint stung my face. “You’re the older sister! Why didn’t you stop him? What good are you?” Mom just said, “Peel him a grape. That’s all you’re useful for.” I just stood there. “Do you want your high school allowance or not?” Dad threatened. I took the grape.

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1 The night I finished my graduate thesis defense, I told Claire we were done. “Because I helped Leo with his resume and not you?” She stirred her coffee, a small, amused smile on her face. “Yes.” “Fine.” She shrugged. “Don’t come crawling back.” We’d met when we were five. We were inseparable. We were us. She was completely, utterly convinced I couldn’t live without her. She didn’t know I’d already polished my own resume. She didn’t know I’d already landed a job. She didn’t know it was in Boston. This time, I was actually leaving. … “Seriously, Alex? All this, just because I looked at his resume?” The afternoon sun cut across the café table, highlighting the perfect, bored indifference on Claire’s face. “Yes,” I said. “I’m serious. We’re breaking up.” She propped her chin on her hand, that familiar, indulgent look in her eyes. “What number is this? The eighth time you’ve broken up with me? Ninth?” I flinched. She leaned back. “Tenth? Alex, stop it. It’s been eighteen years. You can’t leave me.” “I can,” I said. “People leave people. We’ll both be fine.” “Okay.” She nodded, still smiling. “Fine. Don’t regret it.” “I won’t.” I stood up and nearly collided with Leo. He was clutching a manila envelope to his chest. “Claire, I got the callback from Bain!” he said, his eyes wide. “I… I’m really worried about the case study round. Do you think… could you just… look at my strategy…?” Claire didn’t answer, her gaze fixed on me. The old Alex would have snapped. The old Alex would have said, “What the hell does she have to do with your interview?” But I was just… tired. I turned to leave. Leo physically stepped in my way. “Alex, wait. It’s not what you think. Claire and I are just friends.” He bit his lip, mastering that look of wounded innocence. “My family… they don’t know about this stuff. This job is everything for a guy like me. You can’t be mad at her for this. She’s been up until midnight all week doing mock interviews with me. Her voice is completely shot…” I snapped. “Oh, just ‘friends’? Are ‘friends’ the ones you call to take you to urgent care when you have a 101-degree fever? Are ‘friends’ the people you text photos of new ties to, asking which one she likes better? Are ‘friends’ the ones who are magically having a crisis every single time she and I have a date night?” “Are you an orphan, Leo? Do you have no other human contacts? You know you’re not her boyfriend. You’re the son of her family’s driver. Don’t you understand what ‘boundaries’ are, or do you just not care?” He froze. His face crumpled, and his eyes immediately filled with tears. He hung his head, his shoulders starting to shake. “Alex.” Claire’s voice was sharp. She was on her feet, handing him a napkin. “I know you have a mean streak, but don’t take it out on him. He’s a nice guy.” A single tear splashed onto the table. The café was silent. I suddenly felt nothing. I was hollowed out. I walked out, leaving the two of them in that suffocating cloud of his “helplessness.” 2 I went home and slept for twelve hours. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a new post on Leo’s Instagram. “Feeling a little down, so they took me to my first-ever poker night. So out of my element! Thanks for being so patient and not minding that I’m just a poor kid who only knows how to study. Guess the poker table is a different kind of education.” The photo was a close-up of the table. A small hand giving a “V” sign (his), next to a stack of chips being pushed forward by another, more elegant hand. On the wrist of that elegant hand was the limited-edition Patek Philippe I’d saved for a year to buy Claire for her 25th birthday. My phone buzzed. A text from Claire. “Send me your resume. I have a minute now. I’ll look it over.” It had been five hours. Five hours since she’d left the café, gone to a poker game with him, and only now was she remembering me. I stared at her contact photo. Me, at the base of a ski lift, laughing. She’d used it for years. I held my thumb over the screen. Then I went into settings, and I blocked her. Half an hour later, I was downstairs. My uncle (I’ve lived with him since my parents died) was watching the game. “Eyes are red, kid. You okay?” “Slept too long,” I mumbled. “You earned a rest,” he said, sliding a beer over. “You should be proud. But I gotta say, Claire’s got it easy. Her family just… placed her at Astra. Right in the executive training program.” “Meanwhile, you’re killing yourself to get a local offer just to be in the same city as her. I see you, Alex. Up all night.” I put the bottle down. “I’m not taking the local offer. I already accepted one. Top-tier consulting. In Boston.” He muted the TV. “Boston? That’s… what about Claire?” “I’m done trying to split myself in two, Uncle Joe.” I said. “It’s a huge opportunity. If the background check clears, I’m gone next week.” He just nodded. My phone buzzed again. My buddy, Ben, hitting me up for a grad-night party. “Go,” my uncle said, turning the volume back up. “Go be a kid.” 3 The club was packed. Ben told me to grab the first round. I was at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention, when I heard her voice from a VIP booth right behind me. “Claire, you’ve been staring at your phone for an hour. What’s up?” “He blocked me.” Claire’s voice. Bored. A little annoyed. “Who? Who’s got the balls to block you?” “Who do you think? My own personal pain-in-the-ass.” “Alex?” The friend sounded shocked. “Honestly, Claire, besides you, who could even put up with his temper?” Claire laughed. A low, smoky sound. “I’m the one who spoiled him. What can I do? It’s my cross to bear.” “What’d he do this time?” “Got mad because I helped Leo with his resume.” “That’s it?” The friend was incredulous. “Jesus. But seriously, though… we were all talking. We all need a guy like Leo. Sweet, thoughtful, polite. Always thinking of others…” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I got the drinks and went back to our table. And, of course, Leo was there. In a server’s uniform. Ben was already pissed. “We ordered Black Label. This is Jack Daniel’s. Alex is allergic to Jack. He can’t drink this.” Leo’s face flushed. “I’m sorry, it’s… it’s been so busy, I must have mixed up the order.” “So go fix it,” Ben said. “I… I can’t. I’ve already voided two checks tonight. If I void another, I’ll be fired. And… and my manager is gone.” He looked at me, his eyes wide and pleading. “Alex, please. It was my mistake. But… it’s just one bottle. You guys… you can afford it. Just this once, could you help me out?” I sat down. “Let me get this straight. You screwed up. And I have to pay for it? And I don’t even get a drink?” “It’s only, like, sixty bucks,” he whispered, “It’s just… I really need this job. I have to save up for my apartment deposit…” “And if you need your job so bad, why aren’t you better at it?” I said. “If Ben hadn’t noticed and I’d taken a sip of that, I’d be in an ambulance right now. And you want me to pay you for the privilege?” Ben chimed in. “He’s right, man. That’s a messed-up ask.” It was, objectively, his fault. But he just stood there, his face crumbling, as if we were the bullies. “You… you rich kids…” he choked out. “You just… you love looking down on people, don’t you?” He grabbed the tray, tears streaming down his face, and bolted. He ran right into Claire, who was on her way over. “Leo? What’s wrong? Who did this?” She saw us. “He brought the wrong order,” Ben said, standing up. “Jack instead of Black Label. Alex is allergic. And then he tried to make us pay for his mistake.” “It was an accident,” Leo mumbled, hiding behind her. “Claire, it’s not a big deal,” one of her friends said, following her. “They’re just rich kids pulling rank.” “It is a big deal,” Ben shot back. “Alex’s allergy is serious. He was in the ICU last year.” Claire looked at me. Her brow furrowed. “Did you drink any?” I scoffed. “Do you want me to? Would that make this more exciting for you?” She walked over, her voice low. “Alex, stop it. You didn’t drink it. He made a mistake. He’s new. He’s under pressure. Don’t take your bad mood about me out on him. It’s not easy for him.” “You think… you think I’m doing this because of you?” I laughed. “You think you’re the center of the universe. He’s the one who screwed up, and he’s the victim? Is your head on straight?” “Claire, it’s fine,” Leo whispered, tugging on her sleeve. “I’ll… I’ll pay for it. I just won’t eat this week. Don’t fight…” I was going to be sick. “Oh, save the martyr act. You did this, now you’re playing the saint? You’re pathetic.” “Alex.” Claire’s voice went cold. “That’s enough.” She turned to Leo. “Put the Jack on our tab. Get them a new bottle of Black Label, and put that on my tab, too.” “Forget it,” I said, grabbing my jacket. “I’m out. Ben, let’s go.” I heard someone from her booth mutter as I left. “God, what a drama queen.” 4 “Sorry, man,” Ben said as we hit the street. “I should have just bought a new bottle. I just… I hate that guy.” “It’s not your fault,” I said. “Why should we pay for him to be a victim?” I stopped walking. “I wasn’t lying, Ben. I broke up with her this afternoon.” He just watched me. “You don’t believe me.” He sighed. “Alex, no one believes you’ll ever really leave her. Can you? Honestly?” Can I? I let him get in his Uber and told my driver to drop me a few blocks from my uncle’s house. I needed to walk. This was the street. The one where I first met her. I was five. My parents had just died. They were speeding home for my birthday, and a truck… I was staying with my uncle, and the neighborhood kids whispered. “That’s him. The kid who made his parents drive in the storm.” “He killed them.” I… I didn’t want to be here. I went to the pond in the park. I just… walked in. And she pulled me out. This little girl with a fierce scowl and a scraped knee. She followed me home. She followed me everywhere. She said she was my knight. She was going to protect me. My parents’ death made me… mean. I hated myself, so I hated everyone else. I threw rocks at her. I told her to go away. She wouldn’t. When the kids called me an orphan, she tackled the biggest one. She got a black eye. “I’m his family now!” she yelled. When they left, I just stared at her. “You’re not my family.” “I will be,” she said, spitting out a little blood. “You just have to marry me. Then my parents will be your parents.” I think that was it. That was the moment. I pulled her to her feet. We were five years old. And we held hands. And we didn’t let go for eighteen years. Until Leo. It was our first year of grad school. He was the son of her family’s longtime driver. Smart, got a scholarship, and was staying in their guest house. The first time I felt it… it was Claire’s birthday. I was hiding in her closet to surprise her. She came in, but she wasn’t alone. It was Leo. “Happy birthday, Claire. I… I made this for you. It’s a model of your family’s beach house.” He sounded so shy. “It’s not… it’s not expensive, like what Alex gets you. But I… I stayed up all week working on it.” “It’s beautiful, Leo,” she said. “A gift you make is the most precious.” I stepped out of the closet. “What’s that supposed to mean? My gifts aren’t ‘precious’ because I buy them?” He jumped. “No! I didn’t mean…” Claire shooed him out. “Alex, what is wrong with you?” “I don’t like him.” “His mom is sick. His dad’s salary is all they have. He’s brilliant, but he’s drowning. My dad just asked me to… to look out for him.” It was only supposed to be for a little while. But he was… always… there. He’d show up at her apartment when I was there, needing help with a paper. He’d have a “crisis” when we were supposed to be celebrating. A burst pipe. A lost wallet. He’d text her, constantly, while she and I were at dinner. And if I got mad, he’d just… look down. He’d get quiet. He’d make me the bully. Even Claire… “Alex, it’s just… it’s nothing. I’m just helping him. He’s not you. Why are you so jealous?” I hated him. I hated that he made me the bad guy. I hated that she let him. I tried. I broke up with her. I’d storm off. And then I’d… I’d miss her. The real her. My knight. The girl who held my hand. And I’d go back. Ben was right. I couldn’t leave her. It was like tearing my own arm off. Until last month. My capstone project… the one I’d worked on for a year… was imploding. A rival team was trying to poach my data. I was up for 72 hours, drowning. I needed her. I needed my partner. I called. Ten times. Straight to voicemail. I finally fixed it. At 4 AM. Alone. I found out later where she was. She was at the library… helping Leo practice for a mid-term interview. A mid-term. Not even a final. She never even knew I was in trouble. That’s when I knew. Leaving… it wasn’t going to hurt at all.

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I am Dr. Evelyn Reed, the nation’s foremost expert in heart transplant surgery. I cut short a research fellowship abroad for an emergency procedure, flying halfway across the world on a moment’s notice. But the second I stepped out of the airport, a mob of women ambushed me in the parking garage, brandishing a massive banner that read: “SHAME THE MISTRESS, SAVE THE MARRIAGE.” They screamed that I was a slut, a homewrecker. Then, they broke my right hand—my golden hand. The woman in charge ground her stiletto into my cheek, her voice a venomous hiss. “You little bitch! You thought you could seduce my billionaire husband? I’ll make sure you’re crippled for life, unable to spread your legs for anyone ever again!” With that, she swung a baseball bat and shattered my left hand too. What she didn’t know was that my hands, the very ones she’d just destroyed, were the only hands in the world that could save her husband’s life. 1 As I entered the underground parking garage, the first thing I saw was the banner: “SHAME THE MISTRESS, SAVE THE MARRIAGE.” The woman holding it, clearly the ringleader, was in the middle of a tearful livestream. “Everyone,” she sobbed, her voice thick with anguish, “I just found out I’m pregnant, and my husband… my husband has a mistress. And she’s not just any mistress. She had the audacity to send me intimate photos of them together!” Her voice cracked. “Because of her, my husband told me to get out of his life, to leave with nothing and never come back!” “I can’t take it anymore!” she wailed. “I just want to die!” She made a dramatic lunge toward a nearby car, but her entourage of friends quickly pulled her back, their faces masks of righteous fury. “Why should you be the one to die? It’s that homewrecker who deserves it, flaunting her nerve in front of the legal wife.” “Don’t be afraid, Isabelle. We’re all on your side. We’ll make that bitch pay!” The group erupted in a cacophony of vicious threats, each more vulgar than the last. I frowned, a flicker of curiosity tempting me to stay, but the emergency surgery was waiting. I had to go. I was scanning the lane numbers for my driver when the entire mob suddenly swarmed towards me. “There she is! We finally found the slut!” “So this is why Matthew has been flying abroad so often! Hiding his little whore in another country! I bet you rushed back to suck up to him for his surgery, didn’t you? Pathetic!” CRACK! Before I could process what was happening, a stinging pain exploded across my cheek. The woman—Isabelle—grabbed a fistful of my hair and began slapping me relentlessly. “You bitch! I’ve finally got you!” She yanked me to the ground, my medical files scattering across the concrete. Her friends egged her on. “Get her, Isabelle! Kill the damn dog! She deserves to be drawn and quartered for seducing another woman’s husband!” It finally clicked. I was the mistress they were talking about. But that was impossible. My life was a blur of labs and operating rooms; I barely had time to shake a man’s hand, let alone become a homewrecker. Fury surged through me. I struggled against Isabelle’s grip, shouting, “I’m not a mistress! You’ve made a mistake—” 2 My words were cut short as Isabelle, like a woman possessed, slammed my head against the ground again and again. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, their murmurs a toxic hum. “Homewreckers deserve whatever they get.” “She looks so clean-cut and proper, though. Why would a woman like that choose to be a mistress?” “Don’t fall for it! It’s all an act. Underneath, she’s just another calculating slut, always looking for a rich man to leech off of.” The world spun, the voices closing in. I thought I was going to vomit. “Stop!” I screamed, my voice raw. “I’m not who you think I am! What you’re doing is illegal!” My protests only fueled their rage. They saw it as defiance, and their blows grew harder. My vision started to blur, the warm stickiness of blood matting my hair. Finally, Isabelle released her grip slightly, sneering down at me. “My husband sent me your little photo shoot himself. You still dare to say you’re not his mistress?” She held up her phone for her livestream audience to see. On the screen was a picture of me in my white lab coat, leaning over the billionaire Matthew Flanagan, my hand placed gently on his lips. The photo had been filtered and cropped to oblivion, creating an image dripping with seductive intimacy. It was the ultimate uniform fetish fantasy. The livestream chat exploded. “OMG, her husband is so hot! No wonder this slut is after him. She should die!” “You can tell by the way she poses she’s a pro at this. Total trash.” “Her boobs are practically in his face! And she still denies it? Isabelle, rip that fox’s tail off!” A week ago, Matthew Flanagan had sought me out, begging me to perform his heart transplant. He suffered from a congenital heart defect and had spent his life searching for a compatible donor. He’d finally found one, but a recent scan revealed a complex tumor growing perilously close to his heart. The surgery to remove it and perform the transplant required a level of skill that, in this country, only I possessed. When he found me, Matthew was ecstatic. He promised me a lifetime of financial security, offering to fund all my future research projects if I would just save his life. I took the responsibility seriously, even flying abroad for a final conference to ensure I was at the absolute peak of my abilities for his procedure. The surgery was scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon. Now, because of some ridiculously manipulated photo, I was being beaten in a parking garage. I glanced at my watch. It was already ten. “That photo was taken during a stethoscope examination for Mr. Flanagan,” I explained, my voice tight with urgency. “There were several people in the room. It’s not what you think. His surgery is at 1 PM today, and I am the lead surgeon. Let me go now. If this surgery is delayed, no one can afford the consequences.” My serious tone gave Isabelle a moment’s pause. Just as I thought she might see reason, one of her friends leaned in and whispered, “Don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to get away. The second you let her go, she’ll run straight to your husband and play the victim.” Another chimed in, “Think about it, Isabelle. The top surgeon in the country? Do you really think it would be some woman who’s not even thirty? Besides, if she was so important, wouldn’t he have sent a private car and a security detail? He’s a billionaire, after all.” Matthew had offered a private car, but I’d refused. I’ve always been focused on my work, not the trappings of wealth. A one-hour ride from the airport to the hospital in a civilized society—what could possibly go wrong? I never imagined a soap opera cliché would be my undoing. I tried to explain, but Isabelle was no longer listening. “Stop trying to trick me! Who is that naive anymore? My husband is one of the richest men in the world. People line up to get a piece of him. No one refuses his generosity.” She leaned down, her voice dripping with scorn. “‘Mr. Flanagan’? ‘Stethoscope examination’? ‘Several people’?” With each phrase, she slapped me hard across the face. “You shameless little bitch. You really are something else, fresh from your trip abroad. So sophisticated, so… open.” “You like playing dress-up, huh?” she sneered. “A little cosplay fetish? Well, today, you’re going to play until you’ve had enough.” At her signal, her friends dragged me toward their van. I had a mild concussion, and my body was a canvas of pain. I was too weak to resist. Someone in the crowd tried to intervene. “Even if she is a mistress, this is against the law! Look at what you’ve done to her!” Isabelle shot the young woman a withering glare. “Look at you, all decked out in designer brands at your age. I bet you earned them on your back too. Sluts protecting sluts. Keep your mouth shut before someone decides to teach you a lesson.” The girl burst into tears and shrank back. No one else dared to speak up. Suddenly, my phone, which had fallen to the ground, began to ring. Isabelle snatched it up. The caller ID read “Davies.” Her face twisted into a mask of rage. She answered, and the frantic voice of Matthew’s assistant filled the air. “Dr. Reed, where are you? Mr. Flanagan is fading fast. He needs you urgently.” Before he could finish, Isabelle shrieked and smashed the phone on the ground, shattering it to pieces. “Oh, that’s just perfect! He won’t let me, his wife, be with him for a ‘minor procedure,’ but he specifically requests his little slut to be by his side to serve him.” “I’m carrying his child! What do you have?” Her rage escalating, Isabelle jumped into the back of the van and grabbed a rope. My eyes widened in terror. Those hands were meant to save Matthew’s life this afternoon. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. My fear only seemed to please her. Her friends held me down while Isabelle wrapped the rope around my wrists, pulling it brutally tight. A searing pain shot through my hands, and a primal instinct took over. A surgeon’s hands are their life. With a surge of adrenaline, I kicked out, driving my knee hard into Isabelle’s side. The space was cramped. She cried out in pain. “Agh! It hurts!” Her friends, panicked, immediately let go of me to tend to her. Seizing the opportunity, I scrambled out of the van and ran. I didn’t get more than a few yards before something slammed into my back with tremendous force. They had hit me with the van. I felt bones snap, a coppery taste filled my mouth. Every breath was agony. A hand grabbed my hair, and I was dragged back into the vehicle. 4 SMACK! Another blow landed on my face. Isabelle was pale, clutching her stomach, her features distorted with pain and fury. “You little bitch! You worthless piece of trash! You dared to hit me? I’ll make you wish you were never born!” I knew she was pregnant, so I had aimed for her side, not her abdomen, and had pulled my strength. But in her mind, I was trying to kill her baby to take her place. She began kicking and punching me wildly. I was fading, my breaths shallow. Then, from somewhere, she produced a long, thick steel needle. Its tip glinted in the dim light, and a cold dread washed over me. “I kicked you…” I rasped. “You’re not showing yet… a three or four-month fetus is unstable. You need to go to a hospital… now.” Isabelle just laughed, a horrifying, joyless sound. “Don’t you worry about me.” She leaned in close, her eyes glittering with malice. “Your hands are important to you, aren’t they? Then I’ll destroy them.” “No!” I begged, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please, I’m a surgeon at City General Hospital! You can call them and verify! I am not Matthew Flanagan’s mistress, I swear! Just call him, and you’ll know I’m not lying!” The path to becoming a surgeon had been grueling. Countless nights spent in the lab, running data until dawn. While others were dating, traveling, I was with lab rats and anatomy charts. Eight years of my life, the best years of my youth, dedicated to reaching this point. The sacrifices were unimaginable. I couldn’t lose the ability to hold a scalpel. Not like this. “If you’re still angry, please, stick the needle in my leg, or even my face, I don’t care! Just please, not my hands, I’m begging you…” I would have knelt if I could have moved. Isabelle sneered. “Don’t make it sound like I’m the bully here. You tried to murder my child. A needle in your thigh won’t teach you a lesson, will it?” With that, she pinned my hand down and drove the steel needle straight through the center of my palm. “AAAAAHHH!” A scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. My whole body convulsed. Blood welled up around the metal, blurring my vision with tears. It felt like the needle had pierced my very soul, planting a seed of absolute despair. Eight years. How many eight years does a person get in a lifetime? My faith, my perseverance, my hope for the future—all of it severed by a single steel needle. My hands were meant to fail on an operating table, after a long and storied career, not to be destroyed in a dirty van. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. The pain was so immense it became a dull, distant throb. My brain, shutting down, wrapped itself in a protective fog. Seeing that I was no longer screaming, just cradling my mangled hand and weeping silently, one of her friends grew nervous. “Isabelle… what if we killed her?” A cruel light flickered in Isabelle’s eyes. “What are you afraid of? I’ve never seen someone die from a hole in their hand.” She shoved me. “Stop faking. A little puncture like that will heal. Don’t be so dramatic.” Soon, they pulled up to a luxury hotel. Isabelle, clearly familiar with the place, got the key card to the top-floor presidential suite and her friends dragged me inside. “You like your uniform fantasies, don’t you? Well, today you’re going to get your fill!” she announced to her livestream. “Everyone, how about a little treat? Let’s make this bitch put on a show for us, shall we?” I lay limp on the floor, summoning my last ounce of strength to issue a final warning. “You keep breaking the law. Have you thought for a second about how this will end for you? Matthew Flanagan is still waiting for me to perform his surgery. If you let me go now, I can still guide another team through the procedure. There’s still a good chance of success.” Even then, the doctor in me was worried about my patient. Isabelle let out a cold, sharp laugh. “If you’re a doctor, then I’ll eat my own shit upside down. Stop pretending you’re some noble professional, you little slut. Take a good look at yourself.” Her friends returned with an armful of cheap, revealing lingerie and costumes. When I refused to put them on, they swarmed me, tearing at my clothes. My injured hands were useless. Blood smeared across my skin as they ripped my blouse, exposing me to their camera before forcing me into one degrading outfit after another. The viewer count on the livestream skyrocketed into the hundreds of thousands. “Damn, she’s got a good body. I can see why the billionaire fell for her.” “This is how you deal with mistresses. They have no shame. Now everyone can see what a pathetic whore she is. Let’s see her try to seduce another man after this.” “To all the white knights in the comments, let’s see how you feel when this bitch comes for your husband.” The vile comments were a second assault, a psychological torture that matched the physical. I bit my tongue until it bled, the sharp pain the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down. Just as they were about to force me into humiliating poses, Isabelle’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, and the rage on her face instantly melted into a soft, demure expression. She shot me a triumphant smirk and provocatively put the call on speaker. Before she could say a word, Matthew Flanagan’s furious voice erupted from the phone. “Did you, or did you not, abduct a woman from the airport?” Isabelle froze, the fury instantly returning to her eyes. “I didn’t abduct anyone,” she snapped. “I was just teaching a homewrecker a lesson.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a wave of incandescent rage. “Let her go. NOW.” “I’m on my way. If you’ve harmed her in any way, I swear to God, you’re dead.” Thump. The phone slipped from Isabelle’s hand. She swayed on her feet, barely able to stand. She knew Matthew well enough to know he never made empty threats. Her friends exchanged panicked glances, their hands falling away from me. “Isabelle, what’s going on?” one of them whispered, sweat beading on her forehead. “Why is he so angry?” Isabelle slapped the woman across the face. “How the hell should I know?!” She turned on me, her eyes wild with a new, terrifying madness. “You still say you’re not his mistress? I’ve never heard Matthew sound so worried about anyone!” She had completely lost it. She slapped me several more times, then grabbed a fruit knife from a nearby table. “What are you doing? Are you insane?” I scrambled backward, but it was no use. I had no strength left. Her friends were starting to panic. “Isabelle, if this goes any further… someone’s really going to get killed.” “I’m not an idiot,” Isabelle shot back. “I’m not going to jail for killing her. I’m just going to ruin that pretty little face of hers. Let’s see how she seduces Matthew after this!” She regained her confidence. “Besides, he would never let me die. I’m carrying his child, his own flesh and blood.” Her words seemed to erase any remaining doubt in her friends’ minds. A flicker of excitement, of vicarious cruelty, lit up their eyes. They pinned me to the floor. A cold, sharp pain seared across my cheek as the blade dragged through my skin. Blood welled up, filling my vision with a crimson haze. My heart turned to ash. Tears streamed from my eyes, mixing with the blood. “Let’s see you seduce another man now,” Isabelle said, clapping her hands together, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Just then, a call came from the front desk. Matthew Flanagan was on his way up, and he was furious. The thought of their unborn child being a shield was suddenly not so comforting. Panic washed over their faces. Isabelle’s mind raced. “Hide her,” she ordered. “We’ll tell him she’s not here.”

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There was a bakery near my office, “Sweet Bliss,” that was amazing and affordable. I loved it so much, I set them up as the vendor for our entire company’s daily afternoon snack break. On a day off, I was craving their stuff and saw they were on DoorDash. I was shocked when I got to the checkout. The total, after all the promos and a coupon, wasn’t just cheaper than our corporate rate—it was almost half the price. And the portions were bigger. I called the owner to ask why. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive and smaller than a single DoorDash delivery?” Her response? “You shouldn’t complain about a free meal.” “You don’t pay a dime for it, your boss does!” she snapped. “Your CEO isn’t whining, so why are you making a scene?” She was right, I’m not the CEO. The CEO’s my dad. And if DoorDash is cheaper and better? Fine. Let’s have the entire company order from DoorDash. 1 When I saw the total, I thought I’d messed up the order. Nope. Taro Boba and a Strawberry Swirl Cupcake. Same as always. But the price… it was $7 cheaper than our corporate rate. I checked the bakery’s page. There was a “30% off orders over $15” promo, plus a $5 “DashPass” coupon I had. My total came to $8. Our company pays $15 per person for the exact same items. I figured this must be the catch. Everyone knows delivery portions are a rip-off. It would probably be tiny and stale. But when the Dasher handed me the bag, I realized I was the one being played. 2 The boba was amazing. The cup was coated in a thick, purple taro puree. The ones at work? They had a sad, single-spoon smear at the bottom. And the cupcake. The ones at the office had a thin layer of frosting. This one was piled high with a three-layer swirl, studded with actual, visible chunks of strawberry. On top of that, they’d thrown in a free mango mochi. A little sticker on the mochi box read: “5-star review + pic = $3 off your next order!” I was confused. Did she make a mistake? Did she grab someone else’s deluxe order? Or… had she been intentionally ripping us off this whole time? I couldn’t let it go. I dialed the shop. The voice that answered was sickeningly sweet, “Hi! Thank you for calling Sweet Bliss Bakery, how can I help you today?” I tried to keep my cool. “Hi, I’m calling from Aura Cosmetics—” She cut me off. Her voice was suddenly sharp, like scraping a fork on a plate. “Ugh, you girls again. My husband just dropped off your order.” “You all need to put your requests in the notes. I don’t have time to deal with this every day. You’re all so high-maintenance. ‘Half-sweet,’ ‘no ice,’ ‘extra hot’… I’m not just serving your company, you know! I have delivery orders piling up!” Her rant floored me. Aura Cosmetics is a beauty startup, so yeah, 95% of our staff are women. A free coffee and a pastry in the afternoon is a small perk that keeps morale high. I took pride in setting it up. I’d been so happy to give Sweet Bliss the business. We guaranteed them 150 orders, every single day, at a $15 per-person budget. We paid our invoices weekly, on the dot. We’d been their biggest client for four months straight. 3 “And another thing,” she was still going, “you always call right at the lunch rush—” I cut her off. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive than a single DoorDash order?” The line went silent. “And why,” I continued, “are you so nice to a random customer, but so rude to your biggest client?” She coughed, trying to recover. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I’m just so swamped. I just… I feel like we’re so familiar, you know? I can be casual with you. Don’t take it personally.” “Familiar? Really? Then what’s my name?” She stammered. She couldn’t say it. “You don’t know who I am,” I said, my voice cold. “This isn’t ‘casual.’ This is taking us for granted.” “Now, answer my question. Why is the same order $7 cheaper on DoorDash, and it comes with a free mochi and a coupon?” “You said you were giving us your absolute rock-bottom price.” I expected her to apologize. Instead, she got defensive. “Look, you’re trying to have it both ways! You used a bunch of coupons. Those are platform promos! DoorDash pays for that, not me!” “That’s a lie,” I said. “I know how the platform works. The ‘30% off’ promo comes directly out of your margin. And DoorDash still takes its 25% commission. On my $8 order, you probably made $2. But you charge our company $15 for a worse product? You’re not just overcharging us. You’re robbing us.” She was still trying to gaslight me. “We do delivery for volume, not profit! I set the menu price at $15 for everyone. I even gave your company a 50-cent discount on that! What I do on DoorDash is my business!” I laughed. “Oh, really? So the watery boba and the dry cupcake we get are just ‘group discount’ quality?” 4 That finally broke her. She dropped the fake-sweet voice and went full-on nasty. “You’re just a little employee, mooching off a free perk, and you have the nerve to complain? Did you pay for it? No! It’s company money! Why are you so obsessed? You’re just a broke-ass brat.” “You freeload at the office all day, then go home and try to scam promos on DoorDash.” “I can’t stand girls like you, all dressed up in your nice clothes, but cheap as hell underneath.” I was stunned. “What do you mean, ‘mooching’?” I said. “It’s an employee benefit. We have a right to know what we’re actually paying for.” She let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. “Oh, honey, you really think you’re special, don’t you? You really think that company is your house?” “If you hate the corporate order, go ahead and buy your own. Oh, wait… you’d never do that. You’d never pass up a free handout.” “Our CEO hasn’t said a word. So who the hell do you think you are, making a scene?” “Why don’t you call me back when you’re the boss.” Click. She hung up on me. I was so angry I was shaking. But then, I just felt… cold. Why was she so confident? Why wasn’t she afraid I’d report her? I pulled up a map. Our office park is in a new, remote development. It’s cheap rent, but it’s a food desert. I checked the apps. Besides Sweet Bliss, there were three other options: a sad-looking deli, a Starbucks (where $15 wouldn’t even cover a drink and a pastry), and a tiny mom-and-pop place that couldn’t possibly handle 150 orders. Brenda knew she had a monopoly. She thought she had us. That was a big mistake. I opened our company-wide Slack. I sent a message to the general channel. [@everyone, Hi team. Quick update on the afternoon snack. We’re pausing the group order with Sweet Bliss. Instead, starting tomorrow, please order your own snack from the ‘Sweet Bliss Bakery’ on DoorDash. Here’s the fun part: Create a new DoorDash account to get the new-user promos. Stack all the coupons you can. The company budget is still $15 per person. You’ll be paid back on a reimbursement. Any money you save… is yours to keep. Let’s see who can get the best deal!] The channel exploded. Not only were they getting a better-quality snack, but they were also getting a cash bonus. My phone buzzed. It was Brenda.

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Because I drank a bottle of Coke, my parents tried to kill me. Summer break had just started. I’d just survived the long, sticky drive back to our old house in the mountains. The heat was suffocating, so I made a beeline for the fridge. Luckily, there was one last bottle of Coke inside. I twisted the cap and drained it in one go. The cold fizz was life-saving. That’s when my mom came out of the kitchen. She was all smiles. “Alex! You’re finally home! Your dad and I are prepping ribs, we’re gonna have a big barbecue…” I was smiling, about to answer. But my mom’s face suddenly changed. Her eyes locked onto the empty Coke bottle in my hand. The bright, welcoming expression vanished, replaced by something dark and terrifying. She hissed, “You! Did you drink that Coke!?” 1 I flinched. At that moment, I still hadn’t realized how serious this was. I just said, “Yeah… why? Did it… did it taste weird to you?” I thought maybe it was expired. It wasn’t. The next second, my mom lunged at me. I had no time to react. She slapped me, hard, across the face. I yelled out, stumbling back, my cheek on fire. My mom’s expression was savage, like she wanted to murder me on the spot. My head was spinning. I was too stunned to speak. Thankfully, my dad heard the noise and ran in from the kitchen. I looked at him, my voice cracking. “Dad! Mom… she’s crazy… she just hit me for no reason!” My dad started to yell at her, but she just shrieked: “He drank the Coke!” And then I watched it happen all over again. My dad’s angry eyes snapped to me. He lunged, too. He kicked me, hard, in the stomach. This time, I didn’t stay standing. I crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. All I could do was groan. Through my blurry vision, I saw them standing over me, their faces twisted in pure disgust. “Quick… lock him in the cellar.” 2 I didn’t come to until it was dark. My stomach was a knot of pain. I sat up and realized the cellar door was locked from the outside. My phone was gone. I could hear my parents walking around upstairs. I banged on the door, I yelled, but they ignored me. What was happening? No dinner, a brutal beating, and now I was a prisoner. Then, I heard them whispering. “…what are we going to do with him?” “…no choice… even if he’s our son…” “…I agree… but let’s wait. It’ll be less painful if he’s asleep…” I froze. My parents, who had doted on me my whole life, were planning to kill me. All because… I drank a bottle of Coke? What was in that bottle? I had to calm down. I had to get out. I suddenly remembered… when I was a kid, I used to play hide-and-seek in this cellar. I always hid behind the old woodpile. Not just because it was a good spot, but because in the corner, behind the pile, there was a hole in the foundation. It was blocked by a few loose bricks. I used to sneak in and out. The woodpile was gone now, replaced by junk. But in that corner… An old, rusty metal cabinet. I scrambled over and shoved it aside. Yes! The loose red bricks were still there. I kicked one, and it shifted. I knelt, pushing and pulling the bricks out one by one. A dark, narrow hole appeared. It took time, and my whole body ached, but I finally managed to squeeze through. I came out in the damp, cool dirt under the porch. I didn’t wait. I just ran. This was a rural town. No shops, no payphones. I instinctively ran to the closest house: my grandpa’s. But as I stood in front of his door… I hesitated. What if he was like them? Just then, a voice came from the darkness behind me. “So there you are.” 3 I jumped out of my skin and spun around. It was my grandpa, leaning on his cane. I relaxed, just a little. It wasn’t my dad. “Grandpa, I…” I opened my mouth, but how could I explain it? “My parents are trying to murder me over a soft drink”? Would he believe me? He seemed… normal. He chuckled. “Figured you’d come see your old grandpa, huh? Come on in, come on in…” He fumbled with his keys and started to open the door. He was acting completely normal. But as he pushed the door open and waved me inside… it hit me. I stopped. “Grandpa, why aren’t you surprised to see me? Did you know I was coming home for the summer?” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Of course I knew… It’s late, Alex. Get inside.” I didn’t move. “Who told you I was back? And… where are you just getting back from?” His smile froze. And my blood ran cold. My parents locked me in the cellar at dusk. Of course they would have told my grandpa. I had been so stupid. He wasn’t out. He was just coming back… from my house. I still clung to a last thread of hope. But then his face changed. The folksy charm vanished, replaced by a cold fury. He didn’t even bother to explain. He just raised his heavy wooden cane and swung it at my head. I was already backing away. I ducked, and I felt the whoosh of the cane as it smashed into the doorframe. He had put all his strength into it. My legs turned to jelly. I just ran. Behind me, I heard him yelling, “Damn it! Get back here, you little bastard!” The night air was cold. My heart was colder. What was in that Coke? 4 I ran until my lungs burned, and hid in a thicket of ferns. I was exhausted, but… I felt fine. My body wasn’t changing. I wasn’t growing scales or a third eye. It was just a normal Coke. But my family was treating me like I was a monster. I had to find out why. I couldn’t run forever. I couldn’t trust anyone. Except… maybe one person. My best friend, Josh. I had no money, no phone. I couldn’t even leave town without help. I cut through the dark woods to his house. I knew his room was on the ground floor. I crept up to the window. The light was on. I tapped on the glass. A second later, he appeared. I spoke before he could yell. “Josh! Don’t freak out! It’s me, Alex. I’m in serious trouble.” He let out a breath. “Dude! You scared the hell out of me! Why are you at the window? Come to the front door.” “Are your parents home?” I asked, my voice low. “No, they’re not. They got some weird call and just bolted out of here. Why?” My stomach tightened. It had to be about me. My parents knew Josh was my best friend. They must have found me gone. I was about to explain when Josh’s phone rang. 5 He answered it casually. “Hey, Dad? What’s up?” I stood frozen, listening. “Alex? Why are you looking for him?” Josh’s eyes shot to me, wide with confusion. He pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the speaker button. “No, I haven’t seen him. Why?” His dad’s voice was tense, urgent. “Because… because he drank a bottle of Coke! Son, I’m serious. If you see him, you call me or your mom immediately. Do you understand me? Don’t go near him.” Josh looked at me, completely baffled. “Uh… okay. Sure.” He hung up. “Dude,” he whispered, staring at me. “What the hell is going on? You drank a Coke, and my dad’s acting like you started a zombie apocalypse.” I finally felt a tiny bit of relief. He was normal. He hadn’t heard “he drank a Coke” and immediately turned on me. But his parents weren’t. They were part of it. Josh was smart. “My parents could be back any second,” he said, climbing out the window. “Let’s talk out here.” “My dad said your parents have the whole town out looking for you. This is insane. You didn’t just drink a Coke, did you? What did you really do?” It sounded crazy even to me. I told him everything that had happened since I got home. He listened, his expression growing more and more disturbed. When I finished, he was silent for a few seconds. “You know,” he said slowly, “my grandma used to tell this story… You’ve probably never heard it, since your family moved away for so long.” He told me the legend.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385744”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel