Category: English

I woke up in a hospital, staring at a handsome stranger. He was rattling on about something, a stream of words that made no sense. My mind was a fog. It wasn’t until he said we’d have to postpone getting the license that my brain finally clicked back online. “What license?” I asked, my voice raspy. “The marriage license, Nora. Did you hit your head that hard?” He reached out to touch my forehead, the gesture unnervingly natural. Was he kidding me? I was a girl fresh out of high school, basking in the glory of my college acceptance letters. I wasn’t even old enough to legally marry. Who was this con artist? 1 “Doctor!” I shoved him away and craned my neck, shouting. “Doctor, help! There’s a creep in here!” A doctor rushed in, flanked by two nurses. Their presence was a shield. I ducked behind the kindly, white-haired doctor and pointed an accusing finger. “I don’t know this man! He’s trying to trick me into marrying him! He’s a kidnapper!” The handsome stranger just looked exasperated. “Nora, I know you’re upset. We’re just delaying the license, not canceling it. Isabella didn’t mean to hurt you, don’t hold it against her—” “My phone,” I cut him off, looking at the doctor. “I need to call my parents.” “Your parents?” The man frowned. “It’s not that serious. No need to worry them. It’s a long way from Riverbend, it’s not an easy trip for them.” My world tilted. “This… this isn’t Riverbend?” Now he looked as stunned as I felt. The doctor cleared his throat. “I was about to explain. The fall didn’t cause any serious external injuries, but she did hit her head. There’s some bruising that can affect memory.” “Affect memory?” I whispered. “Are you saying… I have amnesia?” The doctor nodded. “Yes. But don’t worry. As the bruising subsides, your memories should gradually return.” “How long will that take?” the stranger asked. “It’s hard to say. It could be a few months, or it could be a year or two.” I noticed the handsome stranger let out a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. After the doctor left, he picked up a woman’s handbag from a nearby chair, pulled out a phone, and handed it to me. “Since you’ve lost your memory, we can put the wedding on hold. But I really am your boyfriend. See for yourself. Check the photos on your phone.” I lit up the screen. The first thing I saw was the date, blazing in the center. 2025. My last memory was the dizzying excitement of checking my final grades after graduation. Six years had passed. 2 My gaze shifted to the lock screen photo. It was a close-up selfie of me and the stranger, our cheeks pressed together. I unlocked the phone and opened the photo gallery. It was filled with pictures of him. From the angles, most of them were candid shots, clearly taken without him knowing. There he was, mid-jump on a basketball court; his profile as he drank from a water bottle; his face peaceful as he slept, head down on a desk… “Wow, you took a lot of secret pictures of me,” he said, leaning over my shoulder with a smug tone. “See? Now do you believe we’re a couple?” I pushed him away, my face a blank mask. “I have zero memory of you. Stay away from me.” “Fine, let me introduce myself.” His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and a flicker of delight crossed his face. He started typing a reply, his attention glued to the screen as he spoke, his tone casual. “I’m Asher Vance. And you’re my girlfriend, the one who chased me relentlessly for a year before I finally gave in…” In a few short sentences, he painted a picture of my last few years. Apparently, the moment I stepped onto the campus of Northwood University, I’d set my sights on him, the resident rich boy, and became his pathetic shadow. I followed him everywhere, immune to his attempts to brush me off. I hung on his every word. My pursuit was loud, bold, and shameless. Everyone at Northwood knew who I was. After more than a year of this obsessive chase, it actually worked. Asher, the campus playboy, after a string of short-lived flings and a trail of broken hearts, had finally agreed to be my boyfriend. The entire student body placed bets on how long it would take for him to dump me. But a month passed. Then a year, and another. We graduated, and we were still together. In fact, just recently, after I’d finished my master’s degree, Asher had accepted my marriage proposal. He, who never posted anything personal, had made a grand announcement on his social media about us getting our marriage license. Yesterday, we’d gone to City Hall. Right at the entrance, someone had called his name. It was his childhood friend, Isabella, who had been studying abroad for years. She’d bitten her lip, tugging on his arm. “Asher, please, can you not get married?” I’d gotten angry. We argued. In the ensuing scuffle, she tripped me. My head slammed against the stone steps, and I blacked out. When I came to, I was this new, memory-wiped version of myself. Asher was still engrossed in his phone, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Isabella didn’t do it on purpose. And you’re fine, just a little amnesia. No need to be so dramatic.” “She’s coming to visit you later, so be nice. Try to be a bigger person.” “And for the record, we just grew up together. She’s like a sister to me, so stop being so jealous all the time.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Did you forget? I have amnesia.” “Right now, you’re a complete stranger to me. Why on earth would I be jealous?” Asher pocketed his phone and leaned in close, his eyes full of arrogant certainty. “You fell for me at first sight. You told me my face was sculpted exactly to your tastes.” “So don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’ll fall in love with me all over again.” 3 I stared at the face so close to mine. Sharp, almond-shaped eyes, a high-bridged nose, thin lips, and a jawline that could cut glass. A rebellious glint in his eyes. He looked like a bad boy straight out of a graphic novel. He was definitely handsome. But “sculpted exactly to my tastes”? That was a stretch. He fit my aesthetic, sure. He was a good-looking guy. But my taste in men wasn’t a monolith. I liked sharp eyes, but I also liked playful, fox-like eyes. Strong brows and big eyes were great, but so were the intense gazes of men with monolids. I found fair-skinned, boy-next-door types charming, but I also had a thing for rugged men with sun-kissed skin. There was no way I would become some obsessed fangirl just because of Asher’s looks. I knew, deep down, that his face alone wasn’t powerful enough to captivate me like that. As I was lost in thought, studying his features, a melodic voice floated from the doorway. “What are you two doing?” I snapped back to reality. Asher immediately straightened up, taking two quick steps back, putting a careful distance between us. He turned to the door. “Isabella! You’re here.” He took the fruit basket from her hands and placed it on the bedside table. “See, Nora? Isabella even brought you fruit. Stop being so petty.” The girl, Isabella, wore a floral sundress that highlighted her tall, slender frame. Her wavy hair cascaded down to her waist, her makeup was flawless, and a pair of rimless glasses gave her an air of elegant intelligence. “Nora, I’m so sorry. Yesterday was all my fault. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” She gracefully glided to my bedside on her stiletto heels. Before I could say a word, she continued, her voice a soft, concerned murmur. “I really didn’t mean to. I was just in a panic. I didn’t want to ruin your marriage, but my godmother specifically asked me to stop you.” “You have to understand her position. The Vance family is incredibly influential. There are always people trying to get close for the wrong reasons. She’s just worried you’re only with Asher for his money.” “I didn’t want you to get married yet either, but for a different reason,” she went on, a model of reason and grace. “Marriage is a serious commitment. At the very least, your parents should meet, don’t you think? Rushing off to City Hall without involving your families feels a bit… childish, doesn’t it?” “And Nora, I know his mother refuses to meet you, but for Asher’s sake, you should really try harder to win her approval. There’s no shame in humbling yourself for love, in trying to win over your future mother-in-law.” “How could you not even try, and just convince Asher to elope like that?” “And one more thing, I need to be clear. Even though my godmother has tried to set me up with Asher more than once, I only see him as a little brother. I have no other feelings for him.” I swallowed hard. Holy crap. That was a lot of information to unpack. 4 My mind raced, filtering through the layers of Isabella’s speech. First: Asher wasn’t just some rich kid. His family was loaded. Rich enough to create a class divide between them and my middle-class family. Second: Our relationship didn’t have the blessing of either set of parents. His mother, in particular, suspected I was a gold digger and had actively refused to meet me. Finally: Isabella was subtly flaunting her special connection to the Vance family. She and Asher were childhood friends, likely from similar, wealthy backgrounds. Most importantly, Asher’s mother was her godmother. They were close. Mrs. Vance had always wanted Isabella for a daughter-in-law. In just a few sentences, she’d managed to issue a challenge and broadcast her superiority. This Isabella was no simple girl. “Don’t worry, Isabella. She has amnesia now. She doesn’t even remember who I am. We won’t be getting married anytime soon,” Asher said, his eyes fixed on Isabella, drinking her in as if he couldn’t get enough. Isabella shot him a playful glare. “I’ve told you a million times, call me Bella. I’m older than you!” “By a few months, who cares?” Asher grinned. “I’m gonna call you Isabella. What are you gonna do about it?” It was like watching a puppy fawning over its owner. Usually, I loved watching couples flirt, but this just made my skin crawl. Right now, all I wanted was for both of them to get out of my sight. “I need to rest. You should both go,” I said, making it clear they should leave. Isabella’s lip trembled. “Nora, do you dislike me? If you do, I’ll leave right now.” Asher grabbed her arm as she turned. “You’re overthinking it. She’s probably just tired. We’ll let her sleep.” Without another word to me, his supposed girlfriend, he led his childhood friend out of the room. As if I could possibly sleep after being unconscious for over ten hours. Still, their departure was exactly what I wanted. I picked up my phone, determined to figure out what was really going on. Because I didn’t believe a single word Asher had said. I’d quickly scrolled through the photos earlier. Most were pictures I’d taken of him, but there were a few of us together. In every single one, including the selfie on the lock screen, I was smiling. And that was the problem. I never just smiled for photos. I grinned. A wide, toothy, unapologetic grin. The one person who knew me best was myself. And looking at those photos, I could see it. Those smiles weren’t real. They were forced. I was putting on a performance. I was acting happy for someone else’s benefit. 5 And there was one more thing. The most important thing. I was already in love with someone. Asher had his childhood friend, Isabella. And I had my own. Justin Hayes. He was the boy I grew up with. My partner-in-crime, my big brother, my best friend. My entire life was woven with threads of him. He was the genius, the straight-A student, the kid all the parents compared theirs to. He was the star that shone brightly wherever he went, the one you could spot instantly in any crowd. He was the one who patiently tutored me until I aced my final exams. He was the boy I’d started falling for the moment my heart learned how. And he loved me back. We had a plan. We were going to the same university. The moment we got there, we would finally, freely, be together. With someone like him illuminating my entire youth, how could I possibly have fallen for anyone else? I took the phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. A recorded voice answered: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” Impossible. Like a madwoman, I dialed it again. And again. And again. Each time, the same mechanical voice met my frantic hope. How could it be? The number I’d called a thousand times, the number etched into my soul, was gone? I went back to the photo gallery, scrolling through every single picture from the past six years. Nothing but that stranger, Asher. I checked my notes, my calendar, the university network, every messaging app I could find. Starting from my freshman year, six years ago, my life was completely dominated by Asher Vance. There was no trace of Justin Hayes. It was as if my brilliant, wonderful Justin had simply vanished from existence. Right. My parents. I called my mom. “Nora? Honey, did you get all your graduation paperwork sorted? When are you coming home?” Thank god. It was her familiar, comforting voice. Before I could answer, she kept talking. “If you haven’t found a job yet, don’t rush it. Come home, relax for a while, then you can start looking.” “And that boyfriend of yours… you’ve been together a few years now, right? You should bring him home to meet us sometime.” “We’ve asked a few times, but you always have an excuse. What’s the deal? Is he not willing to come visit?” So, after years together, neither of us had met the other’s parents. His parents looked down on me, and either Asher didn’t want to meet mine, or… I didn’t want him to. My mom was still on the line, asking if I was okay, if I’d lost more weight, telling me to stop dieting. “Mom,” I interrupted suddenly. “Where did Justin go?” The chatter on the other end of the line stopped cold. 6 After a long pause, my mom finally seemed to place the name. “Justin? Why are you suddenly asking about him? Didn’t his whole family move abroad?” “The Hayes were always like that. They move overseas and it’s like they fell off the face of the earth. They haven’t been back to visit in years.” “We’ve completely lost touch.” “You know, when you were kids, you and Justin were inseparable. We all thought you two would end up together.” “Then you went off to college and fell for someone else, and the Hayes family just packed up and left.” “It’s such a shame. I always really liked Justin. If he were my son-in-law, I’d be a hundred percent happy.” So, my mom didn’t know what happened between us either. I mumbled a few absentminded words and hung up. Lying in the hospital bed, I tried to piece together the last few years. The day my final grades were posted, I was ecstatic. I ran to find Justin, to tell him we could go to the same university. My memory ends on the street leading to his house. The next thing I know, it’s six years later. I have a master’s degree. And apparently, from the moment I started college, I fell head over heels for a guy named Asher Vance, acting like a crazy person for him. I shamelessly chased him for a year until he became my boyfriend. Judging by Asher’s condescending tone, I was clearly the one in the subordinate position in our relationship. I couldn’t understand it. Even if I had moved on from Justin, my brain was still intact. Why would I do something so stupid? What happened six years ago to turn me into… this? Could someone have… body-swapped with me? No, that didn’t make sense. I’d seen handwritten class notes in my phone’s photo gallery. The handwriting was identical to mine. The way I used different colored highlighters for different topics—that was my habit. It was clear I’d taken my graduate studies seriously; I hadn’t let my supposed love life derail my education. My chat history with my thesis advisor was full of praise for my work. That, at least, was a relief. But if I ruled out something as absurd as a body-swap, how else could I explain the madness of the last six years? Just then, I needed to use the restroom. I got up and walked into the small bathroom. The first thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I froze. The face was mine, but why was I so thin? No wonder my mom had asked if I’d lost more weight. She used to be the one telling me to eat less, that I was getting chubby. I’d never been fat, but I was never skinny either. I had a round face with baby fat. My skin was fair, my cheeks rosy. Justin used to say my face looked like a peeled, hard-boiled egg—smooth and bouncy. But now? My cheeks were sunken. My arms were like twigs. Did Asher like skinny girls? Did I lose all this weight for him? The willpower that would have taken… I couldn’t imagine it. I’d always been a foodie. I loved snacks, barbecue, cake, desserts, and bubble tea. Could I really have given all that up for Asher? It was insane. I couldn’t believe I was capable of that. I walked over to the toilet and pulled down my pajama pants. Looking at my thighs, I froze again. This wasn’t just about weight loss. My thighs were a roadmap of scars, old and new, crisscrossing in a pattern of forgotten pain. I’d been self-harming. 7 “Miss Lynn, you can’t be discharged yet! You have an IV drip scheduled for this afternoon!” a young nurse called out, chasing after me. “I have something important to do, I’ll be back later!” I waved back at her as I ran. My phone’s shopping apps had my address saved. I’d been renting an apartment on the Northwood campus. Even though I’d graduated, a recent order was still being sent there, so I knew I hadn’t moved out yet. I hailed a cab and headed straight there. The keys were in my purse. The moment I walked in, I knew it was my place. The decor, the potted plants, the stuffed animals, the snacks in the fridge—they were all my favorites. The clothes in the closet were all styles I would choose. It was more proof. For the past six years, that person had been me. No body-swapping. I went to my desk and, following my old organizing habits, started searching through the drawers. Finally, inside a file folder, I found it: a stack of medical records. Over the past few years, I’d been seeing a therapist. More than one, actually. The diagnosis was moderate depression and self-harm tendencies. The doctor’s notes concluded: Patient is uncooperative and refuses to discuss the root of her issues, making a definitive cause for her condition impossible to determine. So, I was depressed, I was hurting myself, and I knew something was wrong enough to seek professional help. But when I was face-to-face with a doctor, I clammed up. I refused to talk, preventing them from diagnosing me properly, which meant they couldn’t treat me effectively. It was a contradiction. If I was going to a therapist, I must have wanted to save myself. Why wouldn’t I tell them everything? Was someone… or something… stopping me from talking? I had to find out what happened over these last six years. I called my mom and asked her to take pictures of every page of my high school yearbook and send them to me. Back at the hospital, I sat on my bed and started calling my old high school classmates, one by one. I asked if any of them were in touch with Justin Hayes. I even called my old homeroom teacher and all my other teachers. But it was a dead end. No one knew where he was. That evening, Asher called. He said he was busy but had arranged for his family’s housekeeper to bring me dinner. He didn’t show up for the next two days. But like clockwork, three meals a day were delivered to my room. By the time I was discharged, I still hadn’t seen him again. Back at my apartment near Northwood, I spent a whole day wandering the campus. This was the place Justin and I were supposed to come to together. We’d promised each other we’d both get in, and then we’d finally start our life as a couple. But in the end, I was the only one who came. Why didn’t he keep his promise? If he didn’t come to Northwood, why did he have to go abroad? Why did he just disappear? What had happened to him?

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My husband’s childhood sweetheart has “autumn melancholy syndrome.” Every year, when autumn arrives, she becomes despondent and suicidal. For her, he cancels three months of his life to travel abroad and keep her company. “Molly, she’s in a fragile state. Don’t overthink it.” I gradually grew accustomed to his annual three-month disappearance. Until, on a business trip to France, I saw him with a five-year-old girl by his side. “Daddy, why do you only spend three months with Mommy and me? I want you for longer, much longer.” My husband picked her up in a doting embrace, then took the hand of his childhood friend standing beside them. “Daddy’s situation is special, Aria. Be a good girl. When you turn eighteen, I’ll bring you home to meet Grandma and Grandpa.” In silence, I arranged everything, then left, pretending I knew nothing. Autumn faded into winter, and my husband called. “Serena’s condition has stabilized. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I looked at the coffin and the signed promissory note I had prepared, a cold smile touching my lips. “Good. I’ll throw you a welcome home party.” 1. It was an early autumn afternoon in Paris. I stared, frozen, at the three figures in the square. My husband, Jacob Thorne, was feeding pigeons with a little girl. “Daddy, why do you only spend three months with Mommy and me? I want you for longer, much longer.” A roar filled my head. Since when did Jacob have a child? I must have misheard. Or… he was so fond of Serena’s daughter that he’d made her his goddaughter, and the child, in her innocence, had simply misspoken. Serena leaned against Jacob’s shoulder, her voice a mixture of grievance and coquettishness. “Jacob, I’ve been with you for seven years without a name to my title. Aria is five years old now. Are you really going to make us wait another thirteen years?” Jacob sighed, a note of helplessness in his voice. “I have no choice, Serena. The Thornes and the Leroys have a generational marriage alliance. Marrying Molly was a duty. She will always be Mrs. Thorne in name. If she ever found out about you two, the Leroys would stop at nothing to harm you.” He paused, his tone becoming firm. “But don’t worry. According to Thorne family tradition, a child gains their inheritance rights at eighteen. As my blood, Aria will have the right to officially inherit the Thorne fortune. By then, it will be a done deal. Even if Molly finds out, she won’t be able to do anything.” Serena seemed convinced. She sighed softly and rested a hand on her stomach. “Alright. But you can’t have children with her. Otherwise, my Aria and the baby in my belly will be bullied in the future.” Jacob gently stroked Serena’s still-flat stomach. “Don’t worry. Aria and this son will be more than enough for me.” His voice dropped lower. “As for Molly, I’ve been secretly drugging her. She’ll never get pregnant. The Thorne family has no desire to be further entangled with the Leroys. This cursed bond ends with me.” Boom. The tightly wound string in my mind snapped. So that was it. Six years of a childless marriage. I had been checked by doctors; I was perfectly healthy, but I could never conceive. Jacob’s grandmother had even comforted me with kind words. “These things take time, my dear. A child is a gift of fate.” It turned out he was the one pulling the strings of my fate. Rage replaced the initial shock and heartache. My trembling hands clenched into fists as I pulled out my phone. “Aunt Genevieve, Jacob is cheating. I’m enacting the Leroy family code.” “And have a custom coffin made. One large enough for a family of three.” The next afternoon, I “coincidentally” appeared on the Champs-Élysées, a street they frequented. The moment Jacob saw me, the smile on his face froze, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic. “Molly? What are you doing here?” My own smile never wavered as I walked forward and linked my arm through his. “I’m in Paris on business. I knew you were here, so I thought I’d give you a little surprise.” Jacob forced a laugh. “It’s certainly a surprise…” Just then, a timid voice called out. “Honey…” Serena walked over, holding two ice cream cones. When she saw me, she froze, the color draining from her face. My gaze shifted to her, a playful smirk on my lips. “Who are you calling ‘honey’?” Serena flinched, shaking her head frantically, her eyes darting away. “No, Miss Leroy, you misheard. I was calling him by a nickname, ‘Jules’.” She was so flustered that a hint of a provincial accent slipped out. I chuckled, my eyes fixed on her rosy cheeks. “It seems Paris agrees with you, Miss Frost. You’re glowing. I take it your ‘autumn melancholy’ has greatly improved?” Serena gave a tight, awkward smile. “The weather has been lovely lately… my condition has stabilized.” At that moment, the little girl fluttered over like a butterfly and hugged Jacob’s leg, looking up and chirping, “Daddy!” That single word seemed to freeze the very air around us. Jacob’s face went pale. He quickly bent down. “Aria, you said it wrong. You’re supposed to call me ‘Godfather’!” The little girl pouted, about to argue, but Serena lunged forward and shoved one of the ice cream cones into her daughter’s mouth. “Here! Go eat this over there, don’t bother the grown-ups!” The girl winced from the cold. “Mommy, I don’t like vanilla! That’s Daddy’s favorite!” The last traces of color vanished from Serena’s face. She fumbled, trying to swap it with the chocolate cone. “Go, go, let’s eat over there…” “Stop.” My voice was quiet, but it halted them in their tracks. Serena’s back was trembling. I slowly walked towards them, unclasping the necklace from my own neck and offering it to the little girl. “It’s the first time we’ve met, Auntie didn’t bring a gift. This is for you.” The girl looked at the pendant curiously. “It looks like… a bullet.” “You have a good eye,” I said with a nod of approval, my voice calm. “That’s exactly what it is. Someone tried to rob your godfather once. I took a bullet for him. This was extracted from my arm.” The girl’s eyes widened with the kind of awe children reserve for heroes. “Wow, Auntie, you’re so cool! You can block bullets!” Hearing the story, a flicker of something—perhaps a distant memory of gratitude—crossed Jacob’s face. He finally spoke, his voice strained with forced composure. “Molly, that’s a keepsake between us. It has a special meaning. Giving it to a child… isn’t that inappropriate?” I turned to face him, my smile deepening. “What’s inappropriate about it? She calls you ‘Godfather,’ doesn’t she? By that logic, she should call me ‘Godmother.’ A gift for my goddaughter is perfectly reasonable, wouldn’t you say?” My gaze shifted to Serena, whose face was now ashen. “Right, Miss Frost?” Serena’s lips trembled as she forced a smile that was uglier than a grimace. Just then, the little girl rummaged in her small backpack and pulled out a bracelet, holding it out to me. “Auntie, this is for you!” My pupils contracted. My expression hardened instantly. It was a jade bracelet, inlaid with a small gold charm engraved with the secret Leroy family crest. It was one of my mother’s heirlooms, my dowry, passed down through generations of Leroy women. It had vanished without a trace last year. I had used all my connections, even filed a police report, but it was never found. And all this time, he had stolen it to give to his illegitimate daughter. The moment Jacob saw the bracelet, his face contorted. “Molly, listen to me, it’s a fake! It’s not the one you lost! I just liked the design, so I had a copy made for the kid to play with…” He shot Aria a venomous glare. “Aria, give that back! It’s not worth anything, Auntie won’t want it!” He reached out to snatch it back. I was faster. I grabbed the bracelet from the girl’s hand. “No, I love it.” Watching the color drain from both his and Serena’s faces, I added slowly, “The one my mother gave me is gone. This replica will be a nice memento, don’t you think?” I pretended to examine it closely, then let out a small laugh. “The color of this jade… it’s almost convincing. But the craftsmanship, the engraving is so blurred… a fake is a fake. It can never be the real thing.” Jacob’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly. He let out a quiet breath of relief. “Of course. It could never compare to yours.” Serena, however, looked ill. She pressed a hand to her forehead and swayed, collapsing weakly against Jacob. “Jules, I feel dizzy… so sick…” I watched her clumsy performance with cold, impassive eyes. Jacob, however, was a flurry of concern. He pushed me aside, scooped Serena into his arms, and shot me a reproachful look. “I’m taking Serena to rest. Her health is fragile! You… just stay away!” I stood motionless as the three of them hurried away and disappeared around the corner. I looked down at the bracelet in my palm. How many other secrets had Jacob kept from me all these years? I took out my phone and called a contact at a local French conglomerate. “Ethan, it’s me. Get me the best private investigator in Paris…” After securing the company’s contracts, I flew back home. That evening, Jacob’s video call came through right on schedule. Seeing me at home, he visibly relaxed. “Molly, Serena’s condition is getting worse. I really can’t leave… I’m so sorry you have to spend your birthday alone again.” I managed a “tolerant” smile. “It’s alright. Her health is what’s important. I understand.” “I had your gift sent over,” he said quickly, as if presenting a prize. “It should be there soon. I know you’ll love it.” I glanced at the trash can in the corner of the living room, stuffed with 999 red roses and a cloyingly sweet black truffle cake. The same as every other year. Utterly uninspired. I used jet lag as an excuse and ended the call. A message from the private investigator arrived. I opened it. It was a photo of Jacob, Serena, and Aria setting off fireworks, celebrating their “Happy 7th Anniversary.” A wave of nausea washed over me. Was I the other woman? They had been together for seven years. We had been married for six. For six years, I had spent every one of my birthdays alone. “Molly, Serena’s ‘autumn melancholy’ is very serious. She’s an orphan. If I don’t take care of her, no one will.” “Molly, you’re the most generous and kind person I know. Please, forgive her. She’s not well.” He had lied to me for six years while he was with her for six years. What a monumental fool I had been. My phone vibrated again. It was Ethan. “Molly, I’ve seen the ‘scenery’ here in France. Is there anything you need my people to do? Teach him a little lesson, or perhaps make Miss Frost…” He didn’t finish, but his meaning was clear. My eyes turned to ice. “No. When the time is right, I’ll buy you a drink.” Ethan chuckled softly. “What kind of drink?” “A drink at my husband’s funeral.” His laughter grew louder, but there was no surprise in it. “In that case, I’ll be there. And I’ll send the biggest wreath.” After hanging up, a sense of profound exhaustion and absurdity washed over me. I once thought Jacob and I were destined to be together. The Vance family had also proposed a marriage alliance back then, but I had refused without hesitation. All because of that day in America, when we were robbed at gunpoint. I took a bullet for him, and he took three knife wounds protecting me. In the hospital, he looked at my bandaged arm, I looked at his swaddled torso, and we both smiled. “Jacob Thorne,” I had said, “I think we can call this a bond forged in blood. It must be fate.” Now, it seemed it was just another one of life’s cruel jokes. Ding-dong. The doorbell rang. It was my aunt, Genevieve Leroy. After reviewing the investigator’s file, she frowned. “The Thornes and the Leroys. A generational alliance.” “I was married to Jacob’s uncle, Marcus Thorne, for ten years. In the end, it was nothing but a mess of broken pieces. I divorced him.” She looked at me, her gaze deep. “And now, you and Jacob… are no exception. Perhaps the Thorne family is rotten, from the roots to the leaves.” “But Molly, be sure. Once you make your move, there’s no turning back. Are you truly prepared to be this ruthless?” I lifted my head to meet her gaze and nodded firmly. “He wants to have it all, the wife and the mistress. He can’t have his cake and eat it too.” “When he married me, he knelt in the Leroy family chapel and swore an oath. If he ever betrayed Molly Leroy, he would suffer a terrible death and be subject to my judgment. The reckoning has come. If heaven won’t take him, I will.” My aunt studied me for a long moment, then clapped me firmly on the shoulder. “Alright. Since you’ve made up your mind, I’ll help you clean up the mess.” I knew she had the power to do it. Marcus Thorne had been a notorious womanizer. She had dealt with his first two mistresses quietly, without a trace. It was only the third time that she chose the most dramatic path. At a Thorne family banquet, she had publicly whipped him thirty times with a horsewhip, leaving him bloody and humiliated, and used the scandal to force the Thorne matriarch to strip him of his inheritance rights. Then, she had coolly returned to the Leroy family with her children, changing their surname to Leroy. My aunt gave Marcus three chances. I would not. In six years, Jacob had countless opportunities to turn back. He didn’t take a single one. My patience had run out. Forensic specialists turned our home upside down and finally found the substance Jacob had been using to poison me. I stared at the swapped-out vitamin bottle and gave a bitter laugh. For six years, except for the three months he was away, he would prepare my vitamins and a glass of warm water for me every single night. I used to think he was so thoughtful and considerate. It was all a lie. The consideration was fake; the poison was real. He had gone to such great lengths to ensure I would never get pregnant. Just then, another update came from the PI. Jacob and Serena had been spotted at a top-tier auction house in Paris. I glanced at the calendar. Today was Serena’s birthday. My birthday gifts were always roses and cake, but for Serena, he went to an auction house. Hah. Trying to win the lady’s favor? How could I not help him? I immediately contacted my art consultant in France. “Keep your eyes on Jacob Thorne. Whatever he bids on, you follow. The only goal is to drive the final price up to a level that will make him bleed.” “Understood, Ms. Leroy.” Serena had her eye on a piece of ancient jade, one that symbolized “eternal love.” Jacob raised his paddle again and again. My consultant shadowed his every move. The price skyrocketed. Jacob’s face grew darker and darker. Finally, after another bid, he could no longer contain himself. He turned and yelled at my consultant across the crowded room. “Sir, are you deliberately trying to cross me? Do you know who I am? I am Jacob Thorne, head of the Thorne family and son-in-law to the powerhouse Leroy family!” The consultant offered a professional, placid smile. “My apologies, sir. This is France. I don’t know you.” Jacob was visibly enraged. He gritted his teeth and, with a burst of reckless bravado, shouted a final, staggering bid. “Two hundred million!” The ancient jade was sold to Jacob Thorne for an astronomical price. I knew his personal liquid assets were nowhere near enough to cover that figure. Sure enough, my phone rang soon after. “Molly, we have an urgent project at the company that needs a bit of a cash injection for turnover. I was wondering…” I let out a silent, cold laugh, but my voice was full of concern. “How much do you need?” “One hundred and fifty million.” “Alright.” I agreed readily, then immediately changed my tune. “But I’ll need you to use your equivalent shares in the Thorne Group as collateral.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. After several seconds, he spoke, his voice laced with disbelief. “Molly? Do we… really need to do things this way between us?” His tone was that of a man who had been deeply wronged. I scoffed. “Fine, then. Go ask your parents for the money.” Sensing I wouldn’t budge, he immediately caved. “Alright. Fine.” I emailed him the digital collateral agreement and received his signed copy moments later. I was curious to see just how deep his love for Serena ran. When faced with a choice between power and love, between his status and his children, what would he choose? The show was about to begin. For over two months, the PI sent me a steady stream of information, enough to make a feature film. Autumn faded into winter, and Jacob called. “Molly, Serena’s condition has stabilized. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I looked at the coffin and the signed promissory note I had prepared, a cold smile touching my lips. “Good. I’ll throw you a welcome home party.”

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My husband tricked me into a divorce because his little intern was pregnant. I stared at the papers in my hand—a liver cancer diagnosis and a positive pregnancy test—and finally, I could breathe. The cancer was my husband’s. The baby was his best friend’s. To make sure I wouldn’t suspect a thing, my husband, Liam, had given me the house and all our savings. I looked at him, my heart swelling with a strange, sharp pity. “Aren’t you worried I’ll take this for real, Liam?” He gave me that gentle smile, the one that used to make my knees weak. “Then I guess I’ll have to live with that.” I just shook my head. You poor, stupid man. The ink on our divorce papers was barely dry when I married his best friend. Liam’s disbelief was a sight to behold. “Audrey? Don’t you love me anymore?” I clutched my purse to my chest. “Let’s not get confused,” I said. “I’m not your wife. And I am definitely not your nurse.” 1 My husband, Liam, was the perfect man. Thoughtful, kind, and ridiculously good to me. That didn’t stop him from sleeping with Chloe, the fresh-out-of-college intern from his office. The moment I found out, my world tilted on its axis. But Liam worked in investment banking, pulling in over twenty grand a month. He was my winning lottery ticket. I couldn’t just throw him away. And then there was his best friend, Leo. A trust fund kid who’d slummed it in finance for fun. He was handsome, charming, with the kind of old-money politeness that felt like a weapon. I had a thing for him. A secret, stupid little crush. Being married to Liam, it was something I kept locked away. But after I found out about the affair? The lock didn’t feel so strong anymore. 2 Leo was Liam’s colleague. He was the one who always brought my husband home after a client dinner went too long or a celebration got out of hand. He was also the one who told me. He’d helped me get a dead-drunk Liam onto our bed one night. As he was leaving, he paused at the door, his expression unreadable. “You know, Audrey,” he said, his voice low and laced with something I couldn’t quite name. “You should really come out to these things more often. It’s hard to keep a man on a leash if you’re not holding it.” After settling Liam, I rushed back to the living room. “What is that supposed to mean? Tell me.” Leo looked almost pained. He pulled out his phone and, with a heavy sigh, showed me a picture. Liam, with his arm wrapped tight around a girl—Chloe. Her smile was pure poison. She was the same girl who’d been orbiting him since her university days, a classic office predator. Liam had always been so firm about us, so I’d never given her a second thought. 3 I went through Liam’s phone. His main account was clean, meticulously so. But he had a burner account, hidden deep within a folder of useless apps. It was a digital shrine to their affair. Explicit photos, secret messages. I screen-recorded everything. My first instinct was to build a magnificent PowerPoint presentation, a corporate-style takedown, and email it to his entire company. But that felt too easy. Too quick. And honestly, a man who could generate that much income was an asset I wasn’t ready to liquidate. That was two months ago. I’d been dragging my feet, marinating in my anger. In that time, Leo’s attention toward me had shifted from casual concern to something much more… focused. 4 One night, he brought Liam home again, completely wasted. We managed to haul him onto the bed, and I was struggling to unbutton his shirt when I felt it. A hand, warm and firm, on the small of my back. A moment later, a solid chest was pressed against me. I froze, my voice a strangled whisper. “What are you doing?” Leo’s arms wrapped around me. “Don’t you know, Audrey?” he murmured into my hair. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” “Let go of me,” I hissed, trying to pull away. “Why are you still with him? He’s already checked out,” Leo’s voice was a low thrum against my back. “I’m younger. I have more money. And I wouldn’t cheat on you. Be with me, Audrey. I’ll treat you right. Better than him.” Just as I was about to refuse, he kissed me. 5 It had been three years. The number of times Liam and I had sex had dwindled to maybe once a month. Kissing was practically off the table. I used to think his high-stress job had drained him. Now I knew it was Chloe. Leo’s kiss was wet and hot and hungry, and it woke something up in me. With my husband passed out just inches away, the thrill of it was a jolt to my system. But I still found the strength to pull back and slap him. Hard. “Get. Out.” He touched his cheek, a flush creeping up his neck, and left without another word. 6 That weekend, someone new moved into the apartment upstairs. It was Leo. He came by, all bright smiles and neighborly charm, to let us know. Liam, oblivious as ever, saw nothing strange about it. A few minutes later, Liam announced he had to go back to the office to “handle some things.” The moment his car was out of the garage, there was a knock on my door. It was Leo. “He went to see Chloe,” he said, no preamble. “How do you know?” He made a tsking sound and showed me his phone. It was a screenshot of a text from Chloe herself. “Why would she text you?” “She invited me over for a drink. I said no,” he smirked. “So she had to prove she wasn’t lacking for male attention.” 7 I rolled my eyes and tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his foot and slipped inside, backing me against the wall. His arms came up on either side of my head, caging me in. My heart hammered against my ribs. “He betrayed you, Audrey,” he whispered, his face close to mine. “Why are you still playing the loyal wife?” “What do you want?” I said, my hands pressed against his chest. “I’ll call the cops.” “Don’t tell me you feel nothing. Why else have you been stealing glances at me for the past year?” I bit my lip. “How do I know this isn’t some twisted game? That Liam didn’t put you up to this, to catch me cheating so he could divorce me without losing a dime?” A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his handsome face, then he laughed, a low, throaty sound. “You think you’re in a movie, sweetheart?” 8 And then he was on me, lifting me up and carrying me to the sofa. He pinned my wrists above my head, his body a heavy, welcome weight. “How about this,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I’ll give you all the leverage. When we’re done, you can go to the police. Tell them I forced you. How does that sound?” He started kissing me again, and this time, my struggles were half-hearted at best. He paused, his breath hot on my neck. “You don’t have any security cameras in here, do you?” I shook my head. Probably not. Still, he got up, pulled out his phone, and used some app to sweep the room for listening devices. I just watched him, my clothes in disarray, my face flushed. I wanted this. It had been so long since I’d felt wanted. I was barely thirty, but I felt like I was living in a convent. The needs were still there. 9 The scan finished. He lunged. As his hands went to the waistband of my pants, I stopped him. He seemed to think it was part of the game. “Do you have your latest health records?” I asked. The mood shattered. He froze, then let out a sharp “Fuck.” He sat up, fumbled for his phone again, and pulled up a full medical report. It was a month old. I wasn’t convinced. He left, promising to go to a clinic first thing in the morning. He seemed more desperate to get laid than my husband ever had. 10 All I could think about was his face, the heat of his breath, the feel of his lips on my skin. I went and changed my underwear. I was starting to understand Liam. This felt good. After three years of passionless routine, this raw excitement was a drug. That afternoon, Leo returned, dressed in a sharp suit. As I reviewed the brand-new, time-stamped medical report, he casually loosened his tie, and before I knew it, he was using it to bind my wrists together. He kissed me, his voice a low growl. “Is this better, Audrey? Feel safe now?” My protest was a weak, breathy, “No…” His eyes went dark, like he’d just been shot up with adrenaline. 11 Afterward, he held me in our marital bed. “What if Liam comes back?” I whispered, a thread of panic weaving through my post-coital haze. He glanced at his phone. “He won’t. They’re at a spa upstate.” “Oh.” I started kissing him again. I wanted more. I’d been starving for too long. 12 When Liam finally came home, he looked exhausted. “You look awful, honey,” I said, all wifely concern. “Are you feeling okay?” I’d seen the texts Chloe had sent to Leo. To keep up with her, Liam had been relying on a steady diet of performance-enhancing drugs. That explained why he was useless at home, why our monthly encounters felt like a mandatory, joyless chore. His expression flickered. “Just… tired. A lot of late nights at the office.” “You need to rest.” I brought him a glass of water. Then I went to the laundry room and stripped the bed, tossing the evidence of my afternoon into the washing machine. You couldn’t be too careful. 13 Liam’s life fell back into its rhythm of work and client dinners. He was out drinking three, sometimes four nights a week, always coming home completely obliterated. And Leo was always the one to bring him. While I unbuttoned Liam’s shirt, Leo would be unbuttoning mine. Sometimes, I’d watch my husband’s sleeping face, my heart pounding with terror. The fear only seemed to make Leo more excited. I was developing a taste for it. Then, Liam announced he was going out of town for two weeks for a big project. This was normal. 14 The moment he was gone, I moved in with Leo. It was just an elevator ride away. During those two weeks, a strange thing happened. My rage at Liam began to cool. I had hated him for his betrayal, but now… now I understood. Marriage could be profoundly boring. And life is too short to be tied to one person. If I had a husband and a lover, my energy was divided. Liam would no longer suffocate under the weight of my undivided attention and love. It was a win-win-win situation. Liam probably felt the same way. After all, his paycheck was still direct-deposited into our joint account—an account that was solely in my name. 15 Another two months passed. Liam looked worse and worse, his skin sallow and his eyes hollow. It was like he was running himself into the ground for fun. My best friend, Maya, gave me a voucher for a full executive health screening. I figured even if we weren’t sleeping together, with the way he was playing around, it was better to be safe. I made him go. Before the results were even back, my phone buzzed. It was a screenshot from Leo. A text from Chloe: [Wanna see what it’s like with a pregnant woman? Because I am.] I started chewing on my thumbnail. She was pregnant? This complicated things. 16 A money tree like Liam was hard to find. A guy like Leo was fun, but he wasn’t the type to stick around. If Chloe was pregnant, would Liam actually divorce me? Before I could even start strategizing, the hospital called. Liam’s results were, in their words, “concerning.” I rushed over to pick them up. Suspected liver cancer. It needed more tests for a final confirmation, but as Maya said, it was almost certainly a done deal. Given his lifestyle—the constant drinking, the smoking, the stress—it made a grim kind of sense. 17 I looked at the report and felt a wave of nausea. Maya looked at me with pity. “God, Audrey. Don’t tell me he’s got cancer and you’re pregnant.” I frowned, then drove to a pharmacy and bought a test. Positive.

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I’ve been officially “dead” for five years. And Julian, the guy I grew up with, the boy I loved, has supposedly been visiting my grave every single year. Which is rich, considering he was the one who told me, five years ago, to get lost and never contact him again. Then I came home. We ran into each other at a club. Before I could even say hello, his bodyguards slammed me against the wall. Julian stared at me, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen them. “Who,” he whispered, “gave you permission to get her face?” He looked at his men. “Ruin her.” Seriously? Did everyone just forget how laws work while I was gone? 1 The second I cleared baggage claim, a black-clad missile hit me. “Zoe! I thought you’d never come back!” It was Maya, my best friend. After five years, I could barely breathe, and not just because she was squeezing my ribs. “Maya,” I gasped. “Air.” “Right. Sorry.” She pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “So, you’re back for good?” I nodded. “Back for good.” A wicked grin spread across her face. “Oh, I can’t wait to see Julian’s face. He’s going to think he’s seeing a ghost.” Julian. My childhood sweetheart. The only person I’d ever loved. Maya had kept me updated. He wasn’t the same guy I’d left. He’d finally taken his seat at the head of his family’s empire. And me? I’d spent five years in hiding, just trying to stay alive. “You didn’t tell him I was coming, did you?” I asked. “And spoil the fun?” Maya scoffed. “No way. Not after how he treated you.” Back then… My mind drifted. We were supposed to get married right after graduation. Then my father’s terminal diagnosis came, and with it, the vultures—the half-siblings I never even knew I had. They planned to cut me out of the inheritance, permanently. A “man-made” car accident left me clinging to life. That’s when my mom shipped me out of the country with Elena, her most trusted advisor. Right before I left, I called him. I told him I was leaving, but I was too scared to tell him about the crash. He didn’t take it well. “Why are you going? I told you I’d help you fight them!” “Or do you not think I can?” I never doubted him. But we were kids. We didn’t have the power. I couldn’t let him get caught in the crossfire. I didn’t even know if I’d survive. So I broke his heart. “My mind is made up.” His voice cracked. “Zoe. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.” I clutched the phone, my whole body aching. “I’m sorry, Julian.” He was quiet for a second. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. This is the first and last time I will ever beg anyone for anything. If you walk away, we’re strangers. Don’t ever contact me again.” He hung up. The second the call ended, the world went black. 2 I woke up twenty days later on a different continent. The first thing I learned was that, back home, I was dead. Elena explained it. “The moment our jet touched down, your father’s other children leaked the ‘news’ of your tragic death. They wanted to use the press to fast-track the inheritance.” “Your mother,” she said, “decided to let them. She confirmed the story. It’s the only way to keep them off your back while she cleans house.” I understood. But it meant I had to stay hidden. My injuries were… extensive. Especially my face. Mom hired the best surgical team in the world, but I’m not the girl I was. Maya only recognized me instantly because we’ve spent the last five years on FaceTime. I linked my arm through hers. “Good. Let him be surprised.” No one waits for five years. The past should stay buried. 3 First, Maya dragged me to the cemetery. She pointed to a pristine gravestone with my name on it. “He’s a real piece of work, this one,” she said, trying not to laugh. “He says he hates your guts, but he’s been here every year on your ‘anniversary,’ regular as clockwork.” She rolled her eyes. “And then he spends the other 364 days parading around with Claire Vanderbilt. Word is they’re engaged. Don’t worry, I’ll crash the wedding and get you some cake.” I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the bouquet of fresh hyacinths at the base of the stone. They used to be my favorite. This whole charade. The only person we’d fooled was him. What did he think, when he heard I’d died? I shook my head. He has a new life. A fiancée. Claire Vanderbilt. She’s probably perfect. “You’ve been out of the game for five years,” Maya said, pulling me into a cab. “Tonight, I’m finding you some high-quality eye candy.” I started to object. “Relax,” she said, seeing my face. “It’s just drinks. I’m not stupid enough to fall for that ‘true love’ crap anymore.” 4 Maya, true to her word, was an expert flirt. She had two guys wrapped around her finger in minutes. I was worried she’d get too drunk, so I kept my own intake low and made a quick run to the bathroom. Coming out, I was moving too fast and slammed right into a solid, human wall. “Oof. Sorry, man, your chest is like—” I looked up. And froze. Julian. He stared at me. His eyes went wide. He grabbed my wrist, his voice rough. “Zoe?” He recognized me. After all this time, all the surgery, he— THWACK. He shoved me so hard I hit the floor. The shock was colder than the tile. He looked down, his face a mask of pure ice. “Who gave you permission to get her face? Did Claire send you? Is this a test?” He snapped his fingers at the two bodyguards I hadn’t even noticed. “Ruin her.” One of the men pulled a small, gleaming knife. My blood ran cold. This wasn’t Julian. This was a monster. I couldn’t move. I just stared up at him. As the man with the knife reached for me, Julian’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes. “Stop.” The man froze. Julian opened his eyes, the coldness back, but now laced with something else. Disgust. “Get out of here,” he spat at me. “If I ever see your face again, you won’t be this lucky.” His crew swept past me and was gone. I sat there for a second, my heart hammering. Then I pulled out my phone. “911? Yes, I’d like to report an assault and a death threat.”

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My boyfriend let his new ‘little sister’ submit an application to transfer me hundreds of miles away. He called it a prank. I called it a reason to leave. So I packed my bags, boarded the plane, and started a new life without him in it. 1 The day before the transfer deadline, I saw my name on the student exchange list for the university’s satellite campus, hundreds of miles away. The applicant was Liam, my boyfriend. My fingers trembled as I dialed his number. His voice was casual, light. “Oh, that? Maya submitted it for me. She said it would be a funny prank to play on you.” He added, “You just have to go in and withdraw the application. No big deal.” Maya. The freshman who had insisted on becoming Liam’s “little sister.” I held the phone, silent, for a full minute before hanging up. I realized then that the four years of my life, the future I had so carefully planned, was nothing more than a joke to him. I didn’t argue. I packed my books, my laptop, my life. And when the time came, I boarded the plane. Halfway through the flight, my phone vibrated. It was Liam, his voice frantic. “I told you to withdraw the application! You didn’t withdraw it, did you?” “No,” I said. When I first saw my name on that exchange list, I froze. I was staring at the laptop screen, but the words blurred into nonsense. Liam and I had a plan. We’d both agreed to stay at the main campus this semester, to focus on prepping for the national academic competition. It was a goal we’d set together two years ago. But now, the system showed I was slated to go alone to the southern campus. If I hadn’t checked it on a whim, I wouldn’t have even had the chance to withdraw. I took a deep breath and called him. He was so nonchalant, like he was talking about the weather. “Oh, that. Maya thought it would be funny, you know? A little prank to see if you’d notice before you got shipped off.” He laughed. A small, airy sound. “The deadline hasn’t passed yet. Just remember to go cancel it.” Liam’s words were light, but each one landed like a shard of ice in my chest. “So,” I began, my voice trembling with a weakness I hated, “you think this is… just a small thing?” “Here we go,” he sighed, the impatience sharp in his tone. “Are you really going to make a big deal out of this? Just withdraw it and it’s over. Maya’s just… energetic. She was playing around.” I stared at the transfer notification on my screen. My throat felt thick, clogged with wet cotton. It took me a moment to find my voice. “What if I hadn’t noticed in time? Maya used my student ID and password. I could report her to the dean’s office for this.” Liam’s voice went cold instantly. “Ava, you are becoming seriously unreasonable.” “It was a joke. And you want to report her? When are you going to cut her some slack?” He was getting worked up now, his voice rising. “I’ve told you a million times, she’s a freshman, she just transferred here, she doesn’t know anyone. I’m like her campus big brother. What’s wrong with me looking out for her?” He finished with a sharp, final blow. “You know what? If you report her, you might as well report me, too.” The line went dead. The dial tone was a high, piercing whine that drilled into my ear, pinning me to my chair. I held the phone, my own shocked face reflected in the dark screen. The sounds of the library around me faded into a distorted silence. High school to college. I’d known Liam for five years, dated him for four. He was my boyfriend, the upperclassman who had guided me through the confusing first days on campus. I thought back to freshman year of high school, when I’d hidden in a library carrel, crying because I was homesick. He’d found me, sat with me, and talked me through it with a gentleness that soothed the ache in my chest. I remembered the homecoming dance our sophomore year, when a senior girl wouldn’t leave him alone. I’d walked right up and looped my arm through his, claiming him. The way he’d looked down at me then, his eyes crinkling with a smile. After the dance, walking me back to my dorm, he’d asked me to be his girlfriend under a sliver of a moon. Five years had woven him into the very fabric of my life. Everyone said we were the campus golden couple, destined to walk the same path. We’d already planned it all out: after graduation, we’d stay in this city, get an apartment, adopt a cat. We were going to carefully transplant our student love into the real world and watch it grow. Everything was supposed to run on its designated track, smooth and steady, toward a bright future. But now, I was staring at a cold, digital notification that felt like a punchline to a joke I wasn’t in on. The mouse cursor hovered over the “Withdraw” button, separated from it by an invisible chasm. All it would take was one click. One tiny movement, and the turbulence would smooth out, life would return to its familiar orbit. But his voice echoed in my ears, light and dismissive. She was just playing around. Are you really going to make a big deal out of this? It was the straw that broke something deep inside me. A profound, bone-deep weariness washed up from the soles of my feet, drowning everything else. Suddenly, none of it seemed to matter anymore. I didn’t even have the strength to lift my finger and click the button that was right there, waiting. A soft tap on the glass of the study room door broke my trance. I looked up, dazed, to see Maya standing there. When she caught my eye, she tapped again, motioning for me to come out. I pushed the door open, a cool draft from the hallway hitting my face. She took a half-step toward me, her voice syrupy sweet. “Ava, hey! Hope I’m not bothering you?” She tilted her head, her expression a careful performance of innocence. “I was just talking to Liam about me joining the student government, and he seemed a little down. Said he needed to get some air.” She paused, watching my reaction, a subtle curve to her lips. Her voice grew even more earnest. “So I wanted to ask you… is it okay if I go with him?” She said it so directly, her words chosen to sound considerate and respectful, as if she were truly asking for my permission. But the triumphant glint in her eyes, a light she could barely contain, was a tiny needle that punctured the whole facade. For the past six months, it had always been like this. She’d wear this mask of innocence in front of me, acting out these little dramas, pretending to hide her intentions while letting her smug satisfaction leak out at the edges. I just stared at her, my gaze sweeping over her perfectly crafted innocent face. I felt a coldness spread through my chest, like I was slowly sinking into an icy lake. Liam. When did he change? Why would he fall for this girl, who was so transparently artificial? At first, Liam had been openly annoyed by Maya’s attention. He’d called her clingy and exhausting. That all changed after the inter-university basketball tournament. He’d gone up for a rebound and landed wrong, twisting his ankle. It swelled up instantly. I was out of town at a crucial, intensive training camp for the academic competition. We weren’t even allowed to have our phones on most of the time. Later, I heard that Maya, who had been watching from the sidelines, burst into tears on the spot. But she hadn’t just stood there crying. With red-rimmed eyes, she had scrambled to follow him to the campus clinic, handling his registration, getting his prescription, clumsily but persistently taking care of everything. Even more surprisingly, for the entire next week, she got up an hour early every single day to meet him at his dorm, letting him lean on her as they slowly made their way to class. At the end of the day, she would do the same thing in reverse. For seven whole days. After that, their relationship warmed at a speed visible to the naked eye. Maya started calling him her “Big Brother Liam,” a title she announced half-jokingly, half-seriously, at a crowded party. And Liam… he didn’t stop her. The story spread like wildfire across campus. The brilliant, kind-but-reserved Student Government President, Liam, had an inseparable “little sister.” And as his actual girlfriend, I was given a matching, painfully awkward nickname in all the whispers and jokes: the “Official Sister-in-Law.” Every time I heard it, my stomach would clench. It just felt… wrong. But Liam would just laugh and ruffle my hair. “Don’t listen to them. You know you’re the only one for me.” Now, looking at Maya’s triumphant smile, I wondered if he could still say that and mean it. I pulled the corner of my mouth into a sarcastic smile. She kept her sweet expression perfectly in place. “Ava, are you mad at me?” Before I could answer, Liam strode up behind her. “Maya, I told you to wait for me in the library. Why’d you come all the way over here?” “I… I wasn’t sure if I should say yes to going for a walk with you…” Maya twisted the hem of her shirt, feigning anxiety. “So I wanted to ask Ava’s opinion.” Liam’s expression softened immediately. “I want you to keep me company. Why would you need someone else’s permission for that?” “But…” Maya looked down, the corner of her mouth twitching into a fleeting smile, though she held her hesitant pose. Liam’s gaze snapped to me. His eyes were full of impatience. “Maya is being more than respectful, don’t you think? She’s coming to you for permission just to take a walk with me. And you? You can’t even take a simple joke.” He still thought it was a joke. A harmless, insignificant prank. And I was the one who was being difficult. But why? Why should I have to accept a joke like that? A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Respectful? Are you really so blind you can’t see the game she’s been playing with you for the last six months?” I turned my attention fully on him. “Leaving you breakfast with little notes in front of your whole class, clinging to you and playing cute… you think that’s respectful? Pestering you until you let her call you her ‘brother’? It’s not just awkward, it’s pathetic. Can’t you see how fake this all is?” The color drained from Maya’s face. Her shoulders started to tremble as tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Liam’s face hardened. “Ava, why are you being so cruel?” He let out a short, sharp laugh, full of scorn. “An attitude like that? You’re not just a bad girlfriend, you can’t even be a decent friend.” It felt like a pair of shears had been driven straight into my chest, a deep, dull ache spreading outward. I never thought Liam, my Liam, could say something so humiliating to me. What did he think I was? A disposable part of his life? A bad girlfriend? Was he breaking up with me? I stared at him, unblinking. For a second, his expression wavered, and he looked away. I knew he was thinking of our life together, just like I was. All those years, we had been each other’s rock. We had never tried to truly hurt one another. But he had changed. His loyalty, his heart… it had shifted completely to Maya. “Maya is a good person. She won’t take this to heart,” he said, his voice clipped. “Just apologize to her, and we can move on from this.” That one sentence. In that one moment, five years of trust and intimacy shattered. I shook my head calmly. “I’m not apologizing.” His tone turned menacing. “Ava, are you really going to be like this?” Like what? I didn’t understand. Everything he was saying felt absurd. Suddenly, the will to fight, to argue, to even speak, vanished. “This is who I’ve always been,” I said. Then I turned, walked back into the study room, and shut the door behind me with a decisive click. Back at my desk, I stared at the student exchange portal again. One hour left. In one hour, the application would be irreversible. I would be leaving the city I had lived in for years, heading for a new life at the southern campus. I still didn’t click “Withdraw.” I just looked at the screen for a long time. Then I started Googling the satellite campus, reading about its programs, its dorms, its weather. Time slipped by. The application deadline passed. The status on my screen changed from “Submitted” to “Confirmed.” I let out a slow breath. Leaving Liam… it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. In fact, what I felt most was a sense of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted. My phone screen lit up. It was my best friend, Jess. A string of furious texts appeared. “AVA! I’M AT O’MALLEY’S AND YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.” “LIAM IS HERE! AND THAT MAYA GIRL! WITH A BUNCH OF PEOPLE FROM STUDENT GOVERNMENT.” “THEY’RE DOING KARAOKE AND EVERYONE IS CHEERING FOR HIM AND MAYA TO SING A DUET! MY GOD, SHE’S PRACTICALLY DRAPED OVER HIM!” A shaky video followed. The image was blurry, the bar lighting dim and intimate. Liam was in the center of a circle of people, his collar unbuttoned, a smile on his face. Maya was pressed up against his side, her cheeks flushed. She was looking down shyly as people hollered, but she made no move to pull away. A voice yelled over the noise, “Come on, Prez! You know the rules! You lose the drinking game, you either sing a love song with a partner of our choice, or you call Ava and have her come pick you up! Your choice!” “YEAH! Call her! Let’s see if Ava will grace us with her presence!” The energy in the room peaked. Everyone knew we were fighting. And nothing fuels a crowd like drama. At the suggestion, Maya looked up at Liam, her eyes full of hopeful expectation. Liam frowned, clearly annoyed by the spectacle. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he pulled out his phone. Maya’s face fell. The call connected. His voice was stiff. “I was out of line earlier. I’ve cooled down now.” A pause. “Come over to O’Malley’s. Apologize to Maya in person, and we’ll pretend today never happened.” I said nothing. His patience evaporated. “Did you hear me? Is it really that hard for you to just say you’re sorry?” “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “The only way I’m apologizing is if I’m dead.” “Fine! Ava, you want to be stubborn? Fine!” His anger exploded through the speaker. “Then you can stay on the line and listen to me sing a love song with someone else!” I hung up. Instantly, a new video from Jess came through. The scene was chaotic. Liam had thrown the microphone to the ground. Maya’s voice trembled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Liam, we don’t have to sing. Please don’t be angry…” “Who said I’m not singing?” Liam’s head snapped up, his eyes finding the camera, finding Jess. He knew she was filming. “What are you hiding for? Keep recording! Make sure your precious best friend gets a good look at who I’m with now!” He grabbed Maya’s hand. As their friends gasped and cheered, he laced his fingers through hers and began to sing. Seeing that, a sharp, involuntary pang went through my heart. But the pain was fleeting. It came and went in a flash. I closed the video. And I went back to packing my suitcase. A few minutes later, I sent a text to Jess. “Hey, can you help me shop for some summer clothes tomorrow? It’s warm down south.”

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It was Black Friday, the biggest livestream sales event of the year, and my husband’s bubble-headed secretary had eagerly volunteered for the most critical job. “Oh, Mr. Forrester, please trust me! I promise I can handle it this time!” My husband, completely charmed, insisted on putting her in the control room to manage the central console. Our team of seasoned hosts stood ready, their energy electric, each one poised to passionately pitch their products. The clock struck 11:11 PM. On cue, every host across every channel shouted in unison, “The deals are live!” A split second later, a product originally priced at $999 was listed at $9.99—and sold out a million times over. And just like that, I knew. My husband’s company was finished. 1 The last time this happened, I fought tooth and nail to keep Tina out of the control room. I ignored my husband Benjamin’s repeated warnings and threats, physically blocking her from the console. Our sales that night shattered records, topping a hundred million. But instead of celebrating, Benjamin furiously handed me divorce papers. “It was a perfect chance for a rookie to get some experience! Why did you have to stick your nose in it?” I tried to explain that I’d personally seen Tina change the price tag to $9.99, but he just shoved me to the floor. The company’s veteran hosts stood up for me, presenting a mountain of evidence of Tina’s past mistakes—wrong products, incorrect prices, botched links. The board of directors saw the proof and ordered the legal department to recoup the three million dollars in potential losses she had almost caused. Unable to pay it back, Tina leaped from the roof of the company building. To avenge her, Benjamin locked me in the warehouse’s walk-in freezer and left me to die. “Alice!” he’d screamed, his voice echoing in the frigid darkness. “It was only three million dollars! You used to burn through that much on fan giveaways without batting an eye, so why did you have to target her?” “Since you care so much about this merchandise, you can be buried with it! Let’s see who wants to buy products that have been sitting next to a corpse!” I froze to death in that dark, steel box, my body turning a bruised, ugly purple. My last breath was a vow: if I had another chance, I would never, ever stop Tina from changing that price. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the day of the Black Friday livestream. “Alice,” one of my senior managers whispered, her face tight with worry. “Mr. Forrester is insisting that Tina be on the console. We’re talking about billions in potential traffic today. Maybe you should be the one to make the call… and keep her out.” I glanced through the glass door of the control room. Tina was outside, peering in with wide, curious eyes. A tremor of ice-cold memory shot through me. Our eyes met. She beamed and pushed the door open. “Alice, I knew you wouldn’t defy Mr. Forrester! He said if I do a great job managing the console tonight, it’ll be amazing for my resume. A promotion and a raise could be right around the corner!” Before I could say a word, she held up her phone, which was on a video call. “Mr. Forrester! See? I told you Alice wasn’t as heartless as you said! I might be a little clumsy, but I’ll try my absolute best!” My colleague beside me winced. “Alice…” But Tina was already turning the phone around, shoving Benjamin’s furious face into my view. “Alice, drop the act,” he snarled through the speaker. “You’re not getting credit for this one. The rookies deserve a shot on Black Friday, and that’s final.” I stayed silent. Tina, however, leaned in close to the screen, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Mr. Forrester, you’re so right! You have to give us newbies a chance to shine! I know Alice has a habit of holding new talent down, but with you in charge, I’m sure she won’t dare.” Even some of the new hosts waiting in the wings nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Alice. Mr. Forrester said to give the new people a chance. Black Friday is the best time to rack up sales and build our careers. You can’t just give all the opportunities to your veteran crew!” Tina shot a playful little tongue-stick-out at the screen, and at that exact moment, a notification buzzed on everyone’s phone. It was a company-wide memo. Black Friday Livestream Host Changes. Of the twenty-seven concurrent streams, only the five run by my veteran team remained untouched. All the others had been replaced. The new hosts erupted in cheers. As they rushed to their respective studios, they shot Tina big, heart-shaped hand gestures. Tina smugly squeezed past my colleague, shrugging her shoulders as she settled into the chair in front of the master control console. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. But I forced myself to swallow the rage, saying nothing. I couldn’t wait to see if their smiles would still be so bright when a hundred-million-dollar profit turned into a billion-dollar loss. 2 When she noticed my silence, Tina pouted. “You know, Alice, you used to be so against me being in the control room. Every time I came near, you’d start shrieking like a banshee. It’s almost… weird without the noise today.” She propped her face in her hands, her elbow accidentally pressing the all-channel broadcast button. In the monitors, I could see hosts struggling to suppress their smirks on camera. But Tina, oblivious, just kept talking, her voice now piped into every host’s earpiece and broadcast live to millions. “I heard you got your start as a streamer, Alice! Mr. Forrester told me you used to do anything to go viral… like eating that cow-dung hotpot, and washing it down with surströmming soup!” She giggled. “Your mouth must have smelled like a sewer! I bet when you came home at night, Mr. Forrester slept on the other side of a king-sized bed, like, a mile away! Hahahaha!” “No wonder they say CEOs need huge beds! It was probably to get away from the stench of crap on you! But I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore, right? I mean, Mr. Forrester hasn’t been home in, what, six months?” She feigned a look of innocent realization, but on the monitors, a few of the rookie hosts were now openly howling with laughter in front of their live audiences. Benjamin hadn’t been home in six months. Tina had been hired six months ago. I had seen them flirting around the office, but I’d always bitten my tongue for the sake of the company’s reputation. I never imagined that the sacrifices I’d made—playing the clown to build this company from the ground up—had become nothing more than a punchline he shared with his new pet. The laughter from the earpiece grew louder. Tina finally noticed and jerked her arm off the console. “Oh, my gosh! Was that broadcasting to all channels?” she gasped with fake horror. “I’m so, so sorry! It’s just my first time handling a huge event like Black Friday!” My face was a mask of ice. I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response. A timer on the desk beeped, signaling the official start of the broadcast. Without a word of warning to the hosts, Tina slammed the master “Go Live” switch. My veteran hosts, though startled, scrambled to adjust and were professional within seconds. The rest of the newbies, however, continued to goof off, laughing and making silly faces at the camera before realizing they were live. I pulled out my phone. Staring at Benjamin’s staff reassignment memo, my fingers moved swiftly. I went into the HR portal and marked myself, and every single one of my veteran hosts, as “On Leave.” A moment later, a notification popped up. Benjamin had approved all the requests instantly. Then, in a final act of petty revenge, he changed my status from “On Leave” to “Absent,” screenshotted it, and posted it in the company-wide group chat. His message followed: “Behavior like Alice’s—throwing tantrums, shirking responsibility, and suppressing new talent—will be dealt with harshly. For the remainder of the Black Friday event, all control room decisions will be made by the acting director, Tina Vance.” Bestowed with this new power, Tina replied in the chat with a cloying, high-pitched tone. “Thank you for your trust, Mr. Forrester! I won’t let you down! I’ll do everything in my power to make lots and lots of money for you!” A wave of nausea washed over me. I glanced at my “Absent” status on my phone, then settled back into a chair in the corner of the control room. A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. The veteran hosts, now officially on leave, wasted no time. They walked out of their studios, their faces a mixture of relief and disbelief. “Alice, you’re a lifesaver!” one of them whispered as they gathered around me. “I don’t even care about missing the commission. If this night turns into a total train wreck, I can’t imagine how much we’d have to pay in damages!” I looked at the monitors, now filled exclusively with the new, inexperienced crew. A smirk played on my lips. Last time, my intervention prevented a three-million-dollar disaster. This time, without me in the way, Tina was on track to create a catastrophe worth billions. And I was dying to find out if Benjamin’s affection for her was strong enough to survive a billion-dollar debt. 3 As the minutes ticked by, the broadcast devolved into chaos. A product that was supposed to have a five-minute feature was still being stammered through fifteen minutes later. Meanwhile, a high-end item from a brand that had paid a fortune for a primetime slot was glossed over in a few mumbled sentences because the new host couldn’t remember the talking points. The viewer count in our main channel, once pre-hyped to over a hundred thousand, plummeted to less than ten thousand. The comment sections were a bloodbath. “LOL, he’s promoting paper towels by talking about how ancient paper was made from rotten fishing nets? Does this guy have a brain?” “Wow. He’s selling soda and then sneering that ‘fat people should drink less.’ Hey buddy, it’s our fat money paying your salary, you don’t get to lecture us!” I sat back and watched as Tina frantically tried to manage the disaster from the console. Her phone began ringing off the hook—furious calls from brand representatives. In a desperate bid to stabilize the viewership numbers, I watched her dump the entire promotional ad budget into the lowest-performing channels, a move akin to setting a pile of cash on fire. Benjamin tried calling her, but her line was busy. So he called me. Remembering his decree to give the rookies space to learn, I simply turned my phone off. Only after the viewer numbers had temporarily stabilized did Tina dare to pick up her phone. Faced with a screaming brand manager, she didn’t apologize or try to fix the situation. Instead, she burst into tears. “It’s not my fault!” she wailed into the phone. “I’m new at this! Can’t you people have a little more compassion for a rookie?” The manager on the other end exploded. “We spent tens of millions on this Black Friday campaign! We give you compassion, who gives us our money back? Are you going to cover our losses?” Offended by his tone, Tina simply hung up on him. She then tried to call Benjamin, but for some reason, her calls wouldn’t go through. Defeated, she slumped over the console and began to sob. Just then, one of my colleagues gasped. “They’re pulling out! Alice, brands are pulling their products! All the low-margin, high-volume items that were supposed to draw traffic… they’re all gone!” “She’s right,” another added, her face pale. “Alice, you should probably turn your phone on. Mr. Forrester is… he’s losing it in the group chat.” My team exchanged grim looks, but I just waved a dismissive hand. I didn’t care how vile Benjamin’s messages were. I’d heard far worse from him the last time, when I’d dared to save his company from Tina. I wrapped an arm around my veteran hosts’ shoulders, completely ignoring the sound of Tina’s escalating sobs. “Well, since our all-nighter just turned into a holiday, what do you say I treat you all to some coffee?” Our cheerful departure was a stark contrast to the misery in the control room. It was only after we were settled in a nearby café, bored, that I finally switched my phone back on. Benjamin had created a new group chat with all the brand representatives. Tina wasn’t in it. His first message was an @ to me. “Alice! As the head of the livestreaming department, you bear undeniable responsibility for this disaster! You need to give our brand partners a viable solution. Now!” 4 The brands, not caring about the internal politics, immediately piled on, all of them tagging me. “You’re the head of the department? Do you have any idea how important Black Friday is for us? You put a bunch of incompetent fools on screen who can’t even read a damn script. What did you do with our hundred-thousand-dollar placement fee, use it to pay for your staff’s lobotomies?” One particularly enraged manager sent a 60-second voice memo, his voice screaming through the phone’s tiny speaker. “What the hell is wrong with your company? Your host tells customers my $89 eyeliner isn’t expensive and then dares them to buy it if they can afford it! Are you people blind? Are you actively trying to sabotage us just to ruin our sales?!” Facing the barrage of messages, I, as a group administrator, simply enabled Mute All. Then, I posted the screenshot of Benjamin’s earlier announcement—the one where he’d stripped me of my authority. “My apologies,” I typed. “I actually have no idea what’s happening in the control room. Mr. Forrester, you personally put someone else in charge of tonight’s event. You can’t just shift the blame to me when things go wrong.” I paused, then added one more message. “And by the way, Benjamin, I don’t care if you want to burn down your own company for Tina. But the divorce papers are on your desk. I suggest you sign them.” I unmuted the chat. The group chat fell into a dead silence. Benjamin’s call came faster than I expected. I answered and immediately held the phone an arm’s length away from my ear. “ALICE! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?” he roared. “I just wanted you to cover for Tina for a bit! You’re the head of the department, she’s just a rookie! Are you telling me you have zero responsibility here?” “And what the hell is this about a divorce? You’re bringing this up now, in a chat full of our biggest partners? Are you trying to ruin me?” I waited until he’d sputtered to a stop before bringing the phone back to my ear. “Benjamin, I suggest you sign it. The terms are very favorable to you. All I want is the house in Aspen Hills. Sign it now, before I start revealing things that will make you wish this was all you had to worry about.”

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We were on the subway when four security guards carried a girl past us. They had her by the arms and legs, spread-eagled. Her skirt was thrown up over her face, and from the neck down, she was completely naked. They were dumping her out of the car. My boyfriend, Mark, shoved closer. He lifted his phone and started a TikTok Live. “Y’all, this is insane,” he narrated, his voice giddy. “Subway chick stripped bare. She’s got an amazing body, super pale, super smooth. You don’t want to miss this. Smash that follow button, show your boy some love…” The stream was blowing up. Ten thousand viewers. I finally snapped. “Are you insane? You can’t stream this!” I grabbed his phone, swiped the live feed off. As I was about to rush forward to help the girl, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back. “You’re the crazy one! That’s money! Give me back my phone!” I couldn’t break free. I could only watch as they threw her onto the platform. More people swarmed in. Mark slapped me, hard, across the face. “You bitch. And you’re crying? Do you have any idea how much money you just lost me?” I didn’t know how much he’d lost. But I knew that girl… she could have been his own sister, the one his family worshiped. 01 It was Thanksgiving weekend. After six months of him begging, I’d finally agreed to go home with him to meet his parents. It wasn’t even a big trip. Just a thirty-minute subway ride from my place to theirs. As we waited on the platform, Mark held my hand, lifting his phone for a selfie, looking smug. “Babe, that outfit is perfect for the camera. You look amazing,” he said. “How about we go live right now? With our looks? Total power couple. We’d go viral for sure.” I didn’t say no. I’d spent a lot of time on this outfit. My hair alone took four hours last night. The look was “gentle and smart,” but still “sweet and obedient.” Paired with my job as a college instructor, I was the perfect daughter-in-law package. Mark was a fitness coach, but his “real” job was his influencer brand. He was always editing workout videos, occasionally going live to shill some protein powder. He had just opened the TikTok app when the subway doors opened. A wave of chaos spilled out. Screaming, crying, laughing. It was a mess. 02 That’s when I saw her. Skirt over her face. Bra gone. Panties tangled around one ankle. Four guards carrying her, ready to toss her. The memory, the one I’d buried for four years, slammed into me. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I couldn’t breathe. My hand tightened on Mark’s, my last lifeline. But he pulled his hand away. My support was gone. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the ground, my knee cracking against the tile. A sharp pain shot up my leg. I just stared, numb, as Mark pushed right up to the girl’s legs, phone high, camera aimed directly at her private parts. “Guys, this is wild. Subway girl stripped bare. Amazing body, pale and smooth. Don’t miss this, smash that follow… Location is Northgate Station…” Rage flooded my system, clearing the fog. I staggered up, ignoring my knee, and lunged for his phone. The viewer count was already past ten thousand. “Are you crazy?” I screamed. “You’re livestreaming this?” 03 Before he could react, I killed the stream and stuffed his phone deep into my purse. The girl’s sobs were right there. “Please, stop… I won’t do it again… please, just give me a piece of clothing…” “Don’t look… please, don’t film me… please…” “Help… somebody, please help me…” Her screams were knives in my chest. Four years ago, I was her. Helpless. No one would help. Everyone just… watched. They wouldn’t let their entertainment be interrupted. I tried to push forward. “Claire, what the hell are you doing!” His voice was a snarl. My scalp exploded in pain. He had me by the hair, forcing my head back. “Mark, let go! Let go! I have to help her!” I clawed at his hands, trying to break his grip. But I stood no chance against his gym-built muscles. “Help her? Why? You know her? Everyone’s watching, what makes you so special? Stop being such a goddamn bleeding heart!” The pain in my scalp was blinding. “Let me go, please, Mark, I’m begging you… I have to help her…” He just sneered. “Give me back my phone!” I couldn’t get free. I fumbled in my bag, grabbed his phone, and threw it on the floor. “Take it! Just let me go!” He finally released me. But it was too late. The guards threw her, hard, onto the cold platform. A crowd instantly swarmed her. I couldn’t get through. Mark, enraged, slapped me across the face. “You bitch. And you’re crying? Do you know how much money you just lost me?” The force knocked me down again. I just lay there, my hand splayed out as people stepped on my fingers. Through a forest of legs, I saw her. Curled up, frantically trying to pull the skirt down from her face to cover herself. “Please, stop filming… please… Let me go, please… I’ll never refuse to give up my seat again, I promise…” She was on her knees, kowtowing to the crowd, her face a swollen, purple mess of finger marks. The four security guards stood over her, laughing. “Yeah, sorry now, aren’t you? You were pretty cocky in the car.” “What was it? Your period? Who gives a shit about your period? That man was seventy years old! He needed the seat more than you!” “A woman on her period should stay home, not be out here asking for it.” “Disrespectful bitch. You deserved it. Bet you’ll give up your seat next time.” Their eyes were glinting with a sick, ugly satisfaction. 04 My palm felt wet. I looked. Blood. Bright red. I looked back. A small, dark trail on the floor. Her period… A bitter wave of nausea hit me. The irony… this was the priority seating area. A girl, sick on her period, forced to give up her seat to an old man who looked healthier than most of the 9-to-5 zombies in the car. Just because he was old. And if she refused, she deserved… this. The world had gone completely insane. “Claire, are you coming or not?” Mark’s voice was sharp. I looked up. The light was behind him; I couldn’t see his face. Looking back at what just happened, I realized I’d never seen his face. Not really. I didn’t answer. He bent down, annoyed, to pull me up. I flinched away. His patience snapped. “What’s with the attitude? My parents are already texting. My sister, Maya, literally changed her travel plans just to come home and meet you. And now you’re covered in filth. We have to go buy you new clothes. More money. God, you’re annoying. Get up!” His complaints… My heart felt like a block of ice. This was the man I was going to marry? A family that raised this… was that a family I wanted to meet? I didn’t want to go anymore. I opened my mouth to tell him it was over, but I glanced back at the girl in the crowd. The dress. It was familiar. I looked closer. The swollen face… even distorted, it was familiar. I searched my memory. A flash. Oh, my God. That girl… was Mark’s sister. Maya. The one his family worshiped. The one who just got into Yale. That dress… I’d picked it out myself, had Mark mail it to her.

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To get my brother, my grandmother drowned seven of my sisters. When my brother was finally born, he was more beautiful than any girl. Growing up, he was convinced he was a girl. He stole dresses to dance in. He wrote love letters to his handsome, broad-shouldered high school teacher. The folks in our small town said it was a curse, the revenge of the dead girls. Only I knew the truth. This was all my doing. The Miller family line was always destined to end. 1 I guess I was just born bad. My brother, Caleb, looked like a porcelain doll from the day he was born. Mom held him, her eyes crinkling until they vanished. “They say the last child is always the prettiest! It’s true!” Her eyes slid over to my older sister, Beth, washing diapers by the sink, and then to me, scraping an apple into mush with a spoon. We were the counter-evidence. Beth and I were plain, maybe even ugly. We both got Mom’s thin lips and sallow skin, and Dad’s wide, heavy bone structure. But Caleb won the genetic lottery. He got Dad’s long lashes, big eyes, and pale skin, and Mom’s slender frame. Between Caleb and me, there were seven sisters. Or rather, seven ghosts. Each one was born, then immediately plunged head-first into a slop bucket. At night, my grandmother would take the bundle, dump it in the backwoods, and let the coyotes erase the evidence. “Two girls is enough for chores,” Dad said. “Two dowries. That’s it. We can’t afford more.” Every time, Mom would have a huge crying fit. But never in front of Dad or Grandma. She’d lock her bedroom door, and while she cried, she’d pinch me. Hard. On the soft skin of my inner thighs. Purple welts would instantly rise. I’d just bite my lip. I learned young not to feel pain. When she was done, she’d shove me away. “Get out! You useless block of wood!” I was happy to be a block of wood. If I cried, she pinched harder. In college, I learned in Psych 101 that this was a subconscious defense: zero feedback. It robs the abuser of their satisfaction. Caleb was in my arms until he was three. I was a sly kid. I figured out fast that “babysitting” got me out of the heavier farm chores. And when I was holding Caleb, I never got hit. Mom wouldn’t swing the rolling pin at my head. Dad wouldn’t kick me in the stomach. They were terrified of hitting their precious boy. I got a lot of perks. When Dad brought back expensive formula from town, I’d secretly eat a scoop of the dry powder every time I made Caleb a bottle. The man who invented formula was a genius. One scoop and I wouldn’t feel hungry all day. To this day, I still eat powdered formula. When I’m stressed, I’ll buy a can and just eat it by the spoonful. It’s better than any antidepressant. We were poor, but not that poor. My parents were just farmers, and their entire existence revolved around one single, high-priority goal: having a son. Dad had to eat well so he could “plant the seed.” Mom had to eat well so the “soil” was fertile. Grandma was the elder. She ate well. Beth and I? We just had to “not starve.” My sister Beth was like a starved cow. She chose to eat less. She thought if she ate little and worked hard, Mom and Dad might finally love her. She never got that love, not even on the day she died. I never had that illusion. Being hungry just means you’re hungry. I stole everything I could. Mrs. Gable’s hollyhocks next door. The buds and the little green seed pods were edible. Tart, clean, and better than any organic “wild green” I’ve eaten since. I’d pick up Caleb, who was all soft, milky-smelling dough. “Come on, Cal. Let’s go pick flowers.” He’d giggle, patting my face, clueless. I’d slip along the fence line, put him down, and quickly snatch the fattest buds, shoving one in my mouth. The sweet juice was heaven. I’d stuff the rest in my pockets and hand him a flower petal to suck on. He was never hungry; for him, it was just a game. 2 “You little brat! Messin’ with my flowers again!” Mrs. Gable stormed out of her house, grabbing my arm. My heart jumped, but I moved faster. I pulled Caleb behind me, shielding him with my own body, and pitched my voice high and wailing, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “Hit me, Mrs. Gable! Don’t hit my brother! He’s just a baby! He wanted the flower, I had to get it for him! I had to!” Her angry expression faltered. She knew about my family. My mom came out, her face dark. “Annie! You lookin’ for a beatin’?” When she saw me, shielding her “golden boy,” she hesitated. Hitting the daughter who was protecting the son? Not a good look. Mrs. Gable spat on the ground. “You Millers. You look at this girl you raised! A damn thief! You people are rotten to the core. I can’t wait to see what kind of ‘son’ you end up with. Probably a curse!” “A curse.” That one word lit the fuse. Mom and Mrs. Gable had gotten married around the same time. Mrs. Gable popped out three sons, one after another. She owned this town. Mom’s face turned purple. “You shut your damn mouth! My Caleb is perfect! Better than those three pigs you call sons!” The two women were at each other’s throats. Mrs. Gable’s three boys, all teenagers, ran out and shoved my mom to the ground. She sat in the dirt, wailing. I’d already grabbed Caleb and retreated to our porch, watching the chaos. I patted his back. “Shh, Cal. It’s okay.” My eyes were fixed on Mrs. Gable. She was winning, and she knew it. “Yeah, you cry! It’s karma! You wait! Your precious Caleb… he’s gonna turn out just like ‘Freaky’ Frank down on the highway!” “Freaky” Frank. His name hung in the air like a disease. Frank was the town pariah, the “monster” who liked men. His wife had caught him, and the story was legendary. She’d left, his own son disowned him. He was filth. This was the most venomous curse you could cast in our town. Mom’s wailing stopped. She scrambled up, her eyes red, and ran back inside. I knew what she was going for. The big butcher knife. “Your line is ending!” Mrs. Gable was still screaming. “The Millers are done! Freaky Frank at least had a kid! Your boy’s gonna be worse than him! You’ll have no grandchildren! You’re gonna die out!” Mom burst back out, the knife gleaming. Beth ran out and threw herself in front of Mom, taking the brunt of the boys’ punches. The fight finally broke up when the sheriff pulled in. Mom and Mrs. Gable were both bloody and disheveled. Beth was bleeding from her temple. Mom, still furious, slapped Beth. “Useless! You can’t even fight right!” And me? I just stood in the shadows, holding my brother. My heart was calm. “Your line is ending.” “Done.” “No grandchildren.” Mrs. Gable’s words had a certain… appeal. I looked down at Caleb. I leaned in, my voice as sweet as honey. “It’s okay, baby. Big sister scared the bad lady away.” He hugged my neck. “Sissy.” I held him tight. Destroying this family. That sounded… nice. 3 Freaky Frank’s son was named Jesse. The whole town already knew he’d “end up like his dad.” I saw him in the woods, wearing a skirt, dancing on his toes. He had a scarf around his neck that flew in the wind. He saw me, and he’d just smile, this shy, pretty smile. I started taking Caleb to the woods. “Look,” I’d whisper. “Isn’t that pretty?” Caleb would nod, his eyes wide. “Want to try?” He’d shake his head, scared. I wasn’t in a hurry. I started braiding Caleb’s hair. His hair was long—Mom and Dad were superstitious about cutting their “miracle” baby’s hair. He loved it. We walked past Mrs. Gable’s yard. She had a pink, frilly dress hanging on the line for her granddaughter. Caleb looked at it. I looked at him. I snatched it off the line. We ran to the woods. I put it on him. It was a little small, but it worked. He danced. He spun and spun until he was dizzy and sweating. I clapped. When he was done, I buried the dress. That night, Mrs. Gable was on her porch, cussing out the “thief” for hours. Caleb was terrified. “Sissy… should we give it back?” “No! Cal, do you want to get me killed?” “No! I won’t tell! I promise!” The next time I saw Jesse, he was sitting on a rock, his head covered in dried blood. He just smiled and offered me half a stale biscuit. “I saw your brother, Annie,” he said, his voice soft. “He’s a good dancer.” I froze. “Everyone needs an audience, Annie,” he said, still smiling. “Everyone except you. Because what you’re doing… you can’t have an audience.” The biscuit turned to ash in my mouth. He pulled the pink dress from behind his back. It was clean. “It’s a shame to only wear it once,” he said. “I’ll hide it in this hollow tree. I’ll… I’ll wash it for you.” When I put it on Caleb again, the ripped seam in the back had been fixed with a neat, elastic stitch. Caleb loved dancing. Soon, he and Jesse were dancing together. I stole more dresses. Jesse altered them. Caleb’s hair was down to his shoulders. When we were in the woods, I’d undo his braids. He looked just like a girl. He and Jesse would fight over who got to be the Swan Princess. I was always the evil vulture. 4 Caleb started elementary school. He still refused to cut his hair. “He’s… sensitive,” my parents told the teacher. The teacher just sighed and put him in the back, next to the trash cans. His deskmate, a big girl named Molly, pulled his hair on the first day. I stormed into the first-grade classroom, jumped on Molly’s back, and bit her hand until she bled. I screamed, “He’s the only son! You touch him again and I’ll kill you!” Caleb looked at me like I was a superhero. That night, Dad gave me two hard-boiled eggs. I gave them both to Caleb. No one messed with Caleb after that. No one talked to him, either. I didn’t care. We had Jesse. We’d read, we’d dance. “I’m never going to be fat and ugly like Molly,” Caleb would say. Jesse and I would just look at each other. He already knew our family was the one who’d snitched on his dad. He hated us, too. “Of course not,” Jesse would say, “You’re prettier than all of them, Kiki.” Kiki. That was the name of a princess from a cartoon. It was Caleb’s name for himself. One day, Mrs. Gable caught us. She’d followed me. She stood at the edge of the clearing, her mouth open, watching Caleb—her granddaughter’s dress, his hair flowing—dancing with Jesse. She watched for a full minute. Then she turned and walked away. That night, I didn’t sleep. But she never came. She never said a word.

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1 My husband was adamant: no children. So, on the day we married, I made a sacrifice for him. I had my tubes tied. Twenty years later, a stock agreement for Lockwood Industries landed on my desk. And on it were the names of two children: Hank and Lily. A quiet, thorough investigation revealed the crushing truth. They were my husband’s twins, born ten years ago. And my retired in-laws, who were supposedly living out their golden years abroad, had been by their side all along. The revelation struck me like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky. I confronted him, my voice trembling with rage. “Why?” He answered with a chilling calm. “It was for Jessica. To honor her parents.” My vision blurred with tears as I stared at him, the argument that followed tearing our world apart. Friends and family rushed to his defense, their words like salt in an open wound. “You’ve been married for twenty years,” they’d say. “Is it really worth throwing away over a couple of kids? Stephen still loves you, or he wouldn’t have hidden it from you for so long.” “And think about it, Julia. With your poor health all these years, he never once complained. Lockwood Industries is a massive company; it needs an heir.” I looked at Stephen, my heart aching. He stood there, silent. Even in his forties, he was as handsome and imposing as ever, his posture perfect, his hair still a deep, solid black. “If you promise never to see them again,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth, “I won’t file for divorce. That’s the most I can offer.” Stephen stood up and slowly, deliberately, slid the wedding band from his finger. “They’re my family, Julia. My children. I can’t abandon them.” He looked at me without a trace of guilt, his eyes clear and steady. “If you can’t let this go, then maybe it’s best if I move out for a while.” My hands clenched into fists, the last remnants of hope dying within me. “Stephen,” I said, my voice finally steady. “Let’s get a divorce.” Before he could answer, my father’s hand cracked across my face. “Stephen is a wonderful husband! How dare you ask for a divorce? I’ll break your legs!” My cousin chimed in, his voice frantic. “Julia, think about how much he’s done for our family! They’re just kids! You don’t even have to raise them. You’d throw everything away for something so small?” A chorus of persuasion erupted around me. Stephen’s expression hardened, a deep frown creasing his brow. “Julia… that’s not what I meant.” A tight, sharp pain seized my chest. I tilted my head back, forcing back the burning tears. “What you meant doesn’t matter anymore, Stephen. You broke our vow.” A shadow fell over his features, obscuring his emotions. “Julia, we’re not young anymore. We’ve been through so much together. I thought you, of all people, would understand.” “I was just keeping a promise to Jessica,” he continued, his tone laced with a sense of weary justification. “It was about responsibility, not love. Why are you making this into something it’s not?” He spoke of his own difficult position, gently chiding me for my narrow-mindedness. But to me, his words were a bitter poison. My years of understanding and sacrifice had only taught him that he could betray me without consequence. I closed my eyes. Twenty years ago, back in college, I was falsely accused and ostracized. It was Stephen who stood up for me, the noble, righteous man who captured my heart. I never thought our paths would truly cross. A year after graduation, his family’s company was on the brink of collapse. His half-brother had colluded with a rival to forge contracts and embezzle company funds. As Lockwood Industries teetered on the edge of bankruptcy, I quit my job and poured everything I had into helping him. We begged for help, swallowing our pride and countless glasses of cheap liquor to secure deals. For five grueling years, we fought tooth and nail to bring his company back from the dead. On our wedding night, he told me he never wanted children, that the betrayal from his brother had soured him on the idea of family. Without a second thought, I had the procedure. A year later, when our parents started pressuring us, I weathered the storm of gossip and presented them with forged medical reports stating I was infertile. After that, a river of foul-tasting herbal remedies was forced down my throat. Stephen would hold me, his voice thick with guilt. “Julia, let’s just tell them the truth. This is going to make you sick.” I looked him in the eyes. “Are you sure you can handle the pressure? There’s a world of difference between not wanting kids and not being able to have them.” I held his gaze. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.” He hesitated. I told him then that if he ever changed his mind, if the fear subsided and he wanted a child, I would reverse the surgery. We would have a baby of our own. He nodded, agreeing. Ten years ago, the pressure from his parents suddenly stopped. My mother-in-law ceased her daily ritual of forcing bitter concoctions on me with a resentful glare. They announced they were retiring abroad, leaving the house and their lives in our hands. I thought they had finally accepted our situation. The truth was, Lockwood Industries already had its heirs. Twins. I realized then that Stephen’s frequent “business trips” overseas weren’t for business at all. He was with Jessica and their children. Swallowing the suffocating lump in my throat, I asked him, “Stephen, do you even know the difference between responsibility and love? Don’t you see how pathetic this makes me look? Like a complete fool?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face as he saw the raw pain in my eyes. “I’m sorry, Julia. I truly am. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through another painful surgery. I just wanted to know what it felt like to be a father.” “Look,” he pleaded, “they won’t interfere with our lives. I’ve fulfilled my duty to Jessica, and if you’re willing, the children will respect you as their mother.” A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “So, my husband cheats on me, has a secret family, and I’m supposed to be grateful that he’s given me children to look after in my old age? So I don’t die a lonely old woman?” His face flushed with embarrassment, his voice rising. “Why do you have to put it like that, Julia? It wasn’t cheating!” “Jessica and I… it only happened once. And it was just so that…” He trailed off, perhaps too ashamed to finish the sentence. He dismissed everyone from the room, leaving us alone. “Julia, I know you’re angry. But try to see it from my perspective. I’m forty-two years old. I just didn’t want to have any regrets.” “If you really love me,” he said, his voice softening, “you’ll accept the children. Jessica has done a wonderful job raising them. You won’t have to lift a finger. Isn’t that a good thing?” I stared at him, a long silence stretching between us. Finally, I spoke, my voice a raw whisper. “And if I don’t accept?” “Julia, I know this is a shock. It’s okay… I’ll give you time.” He paused, his next words a final, devastating blow. “But I won’t stop seeing them. They’re my children.” “Next week is my father’s seventieth birthday. Jessica is bringing them. Once you meet them, I know you’ll love them.” With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. I sat in the silence, my hand trembling as I opened my phone. The file from the private investigator was still there—tens of thousands of photos and videos, a meticulous chronicle of Stephen’s secret life. Him accompanying Jessica to her prenatal checkups, the birth of the twins, every milestone of their lives. And, of course, a copy of the stock transfer agreement. Twenty years of marriage. And for half of it, his extended “business trips” were a lie. He was playing house with his other family. And I, the fool, had never once suspected a thing. A portrait of a happy family—Stephen, Jessica, Hank, and Lily—burned itself into my memory, the sight of his blissful smile a knife in my heart. I had given up everything for him, for us. I became the woman behind the man, stood by him through hell and high water, only to discover I was merely a placeholder. My heart a cold, dead weight in my chest, I closed my phone and made a call. “I’ll take the job. The one developing the new market in the Northwest.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “And find me the best divorce lawyer you know.” At my father-in-law’s birthday party, Jessica arrived looking radiant. Dressed in a bespoke gown, her face flawlessly maintained, she looked vibrant and young. She said something that made my in-laws roar with laughter. The twins, a boy and a girl, were adorable in matching crimson outfits, looking festive and bright. My mother-in-law cooed over them, her eyes shining with a love she had never shown me. She had a servant follow them with a tray of exquisite pastries from a five-star hotel, terrified they might get hungry or thirsty. When she saw me, she offered a curt nod and tossed the gift I brought onto the growing pile without a second glance. She’d always looked down on me, believing I was beneath her son. A barren hen. Jessica, meanwhile, presented her with a jade bracelet. My mother-in-law’s face lit up. She slid it onto her wrist immediately, beaming. “Oh, Jessica, you’re so thoughtful! I’ve always loved jade; they say it nurtures the soul.” She shot a pointed look in my direction. “Unlike some people, who bring nothing but bad luck with their long faces.” The moment Stephen saw the children, his hand slipped from my arm as he rushed towards them. “Hank! Lily! Did you miss Daddy?” he crooned, crouching down to pull them into a tight embrace. Jessica watched them with a serene smile, then walked over and, as if she were his wife, casually straightened his collar and kissed him on the cheek. “Was the flight tiring?” he asked her softly, brushing a stray hair from his temple. “Were the little ones any trouble?” As if suddenly remembering I existed, he guided the little boy over to me. “Julia, this is Hank. He’s the older brother.” The boy’s face was a mirror of Jessica’s, with only Stephen’s thin lips and almond-shaped eyes to mark him as his son. He glanced at me with disdain. “You’re ugly. Not pretty like my mommy.” Then, he turned to Stephen, his voice a spoiled whine. “Daddy, you said you had a big present for my tenth birthday. What is it?” Stephen’s smile was strained. “I do, but that’s no way to speak to someone. This is Aunt Julia. Say hello.” The boy looked at me with smug defiance. “I know who you are. You’re the horrible woman who stole our daddy. We don’t like you. Go away.” Stephen froze, about to scold him, but Jessica intervened smoothly. “Oh, Stephen, don’t be harsh. He’s just a child. He misses you terribly; of course, he’s going to act out.” Guilt washed over Stephen’s face. He knelt to soothe the boy. “It’s okay, Hank. Daddy will be around a lot more from now on.” He then stood and clapped his hands. Several waiters appeared, each carrying a gift on a velvet tray. “Jessica,” he announced, “this is for you and the children. A new house. There’s no need for you to go back.” He unveiled the second gift: the keys and title to a brand-new Rolls-Royce Cullinan. “To make getting around easier.” The third was an exclusive, unlimited black card for a private couturier. From watches to jewelry to fine dining, I never knew Stephen could be so meticulous, so thoughtful. The birthday party had become his stage. Beaming at his happy new family, Stephen turned and nodded to his lawyer, who stepped forward with a microphone. “On behalf of Mr. Stephen Lockwood, I would like to make an announcement. Forty percent of the shares of Lockwood Industries will be gifted to Mr. Hank Lockwood and Miss Lily Lockwood, respectively. An additional ten percent will be gifted to Ms. Jessica Hale. This agreement has been notarized and is effective immediately.” A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the crowd. Fifty percent of Lockwood Industries. It was a fortune measured in billions. I could only watch with a bitter, silent laugh as guests swarmed Jessica, offering their congratulations. How utterly absurd. I had bled for that company for two decades, and he had never once offered me a single share. Yet he had already secured Jessica’s future, ensuring she would never have to worry. The difference between being valued and being disposable was crystal clear. Stephen finally seemed to notice me standing alone, a cold statue amidst the celebration. “Julia, don’t overthink this. The shares are for the kids’ future.” “You’re my wife,” he added, as if it were a consolation. “When they’re older, they’ll take care of you, just like they’ll take care of me. What do you need shares for, anyway?” Before I could respond, Jessica glided to his side and took his arm. “Stephen, darling, there are some elders here I haven’t met. Could you introduce me?” As she led him away into the crowd, she glanced back at me, her eyes filled with triumphant mockery. His parents called for a family photo. I quietly slipped away. When Stephen finally found me, I was sitting on the floor in a quiet corner, drunk, the world a blurry mess of tears. He knelt beside me, his expression full of apology, the scent of another woman’s perfume clinging to him. He brought me water, gently wiped my face, and helped me drink. For a fleeting moment, it was like we were twenty years younger, back when our love was the only thing that mattered. Back when the company had nothing, and we were desperate for a loan. I’d secured a million-dollar loan by drinking with a bank manager, ten thousand dollars for every shot I took. I drank until I threw up blood, and Stephen held me all night, wiping my face, his own tears mingling with mine. He had begged me to give up then, his voice breaking. “We’re going to lose everything, Julia. We’ll be destroyed.” I had clung to him, kissing his tears away. “I will get your company back for you, Stephen. I swear it. I’ll make the people who hurt you kneel at your feet.” He held me, kissing my hair, his voice choked with guilt and tears. “I’ll never leave you, Julia. Never.” “I just didn’t want you to go through the surgery,” he whispered now, his tears falling onto my face. “But I hurt you anyway.” Our tears mixed again, but this time, there was no sweetness, only the bitter taste of betrayal. “Stephen,” I begged, my voice cracking, “send them away. Tell them to go back and never return. Please.” “You want a child? I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow. We can have our own. Please, just come back to me. I’ll do anything…” His body went rigid. The spell was broken. I was sober. “Stephen, why?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “When you finally decided you wanted children… why didn’t you come to me?” The marble coffee table spiderwebbed with cracks under my fist. Blood dripped from my knuckles onto the polished floor, each drop a punctuation mark to our ruined marriage. The next day, Stephen brought Hank and Lily to our home. “Hank, Lily, this is Aunt Julia. Say hello.” He pushed them gently towards me. “Get to know each other. I know you’ll love them.” He then knelt down, his voice filled with the same doting affection he showed Jessica. “You two be good for Aunt Julia today, okay? Daddy has to go to the office for a bit.” Hank, a clever little actor, replied loudly, “Okay, Daddy! We’ll be good. Mommy already told us what to do.” Stephen smiled, satisfied. As he reached the door, he turned and gave us a cheerful wave. The moment he was gone, Hank leaned in close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Daddy’s gone to see Mommy. Mommy says you’re a pathetic loser. You can’t even have your own babies, so you’re trying to steal us.” “This is our daddy’s house. We don’t like you,” he sneered. “Why are you still here?” My throat tightened, a chilling cold spreading through my veins. I stared blankly at the front door. How could he lie to me so casually? Was he trying to rip my heart out? I sank onto the sofa, watching the two children tear through the house like a storm. When I reached for my phone to call Stephen, Hank snatched it and smashed it on the floor, his small face contorted with a vicious snarl. “No! You can’t call him! He’s on a date with Mommy!” “You’re not going to ruin it! You’re useless! Daddy only keeps you around because he pities you!” He stuck out his tongue, making a grotesque face at me. My breath hitched. Even the children knew. I was useless, a charity case kept by my husband. No wonder no one condemned him for his affair. Suddenly, Hank grabbed a piece of the shattered phone, and his hand started bleeding. Lily immediately dialed a number. Stephen and Jessica arrived with astonishing speed. Jessica rushed to Hank, cradling his hand, her voice frantic with worry. Hank sobbed dramatically. “It was her! She got mad and threw the phone! I tried to pick it up for her, and she… she called me a bastard and told me to get out!” Lily clung to Jessica’s leg, her face a mask of terror. “Mommy, I’m scared! I want to go home!” Jessica turned to me, her eyes red-rimmed. “Julia, I know this is all my fault. I never should have fallen for Stephen. We’ve stayed away for all these years, trying not to disturb you. But Hank is just a child! If you’re angry, take it out on me. Hit me, yell at me, I’ll take it.” A profound sense of helplessness washed over me. I opened my mouth to explain, but it was too late. Stephen’s palm cracked against my cheek. His face was a mask of cold fury, an expression I had never seen before. “I know you’re upset,” he hissed, his voice like ice, “but I never imagined you would take it out on a child.” He stared down at me, his words a thousand tiny daggers piercing my heart. “This is a Lockwood house, Julia. Hank is a Lockwood. Who the hell are you to call him a bastard and tell him to get out?” I stood there, speechless, as he tenderly scooped up both children and walked out the door without a backward glance. The villa was suddenly vast and silent. A bitter, acidic taste filled my mouth. After a long time, I took the divorce agreement out of my drawer and placed it on the coffee table. As I was leaving with my packed suitcase, I paused. I pulled up the security footage from the living room, sent the video file to Stephen, and then blocked his number. “Alex,” I said into my phone. “I’m ready. Come and get me.”

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Four months after we broke up, I called Leo. “I’m pregnant. Do you want this baby?” Leo was quick to distance himself. “We used protection every single time. Don’t you dare pin this on me.” I asked one more time, just to be sure. “So you’re positive you don’t want this child, right?” “Do whatever you want. I don’t want it.” I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about a custody battle. I had the baby on my own. Raised her on my own. When she was six, I spent most of my savings on a house in the city center to get her into a top-tier school district. On her first day of school, she brought a man home. “Mom, he keeps saying he’s my dad and wants to fight you for custody.” My daughter, Zoe, looked completely exasperated. “What’s the deal? You never told me my dad was an idiot.” 1 It was the first time I’d seen Leo in six years. To be fair, he hadn’t changed much. He was still dressed like he’d just walked out of a magazine, not looking a day over thirty. He was scowling at me like I was his mortal enemy. “Mom, I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?” Zoe rubbed her stomach. “Yep.” I went into the kitchen and got her a slice of the coffee cake I’d baked. Leo just stood in the doorway, motionless, as if he planned to stand there until the end of time if I didn’t invite him in. Zoe finished her cake, then turned to look at Leo and sighed dramatically. “Mom, maybe you two should talk? I have homework to do.” She picked up her little backpack. “But just so we’re clear, my custody is non-negotiable.” The word “custody” finally struck a nerve. Leo glared at me, his voice rising. “Zara, you’ve got some nerve, having my kid without telling me—” “Stop!” I held up a hand. “You’re a grown man. Can you please get your emotions in check?” “You secretly had my child and you’re telling me to be emotional?” He stared at me, dumbfounded. I glanced at Zoe’s closed bedroom door. She was mature for her age, but this wasn’t a conversation for her to overhear. Worried the walls were too thin, I walked out of the apartment and led Leo to the stairwell. “Zara, don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You saw my family’s money and thought you could have a baby to get a piece of it, right?” Leo sneered. “Well, I’m telling you, it’s not that easy!” I pulled out my phone and played a six-year-old recording. “I’m pregnant. Do you want this baby?” “We used protection every single time. Don’t you dare pin this on me.” “So you’re positive you don’t want this child, right?” “Do whatever you want. I don’t want it.” When it finished, I played it again, just in case he hadn’t heard clearly. He looked like a duck with its neck wrung, his accusations dying in his throat. “I knew this day might come, so I kept the evidence.” I crossed my arms, looking him up and down. “Still just a trust fund kid after all these years. Looks like your parents know your limits, not even letting you touch the family business.” I leaned in. “You should take good care of that face. If you ever manage to bankrupt your family, you can still trade on your looks.” “She’s my daughter. Past, present, and future, she has absolutely nothing to do with you.” “You want to fight me for custody? Who do you think you are?” Furious, Leo punched the wall. The move might have had a certain angsty, teen-movie charm if he were seventeen. On a thirty-year-old man, it was just pathetic. I patted his shoulder. “If you have issues, get help. And I’m warning you, stay away from my daughter, or I’ll call the cops and report a kidnapping.” “On what grounds? I’m her father!” “Oh? And your proof?” “I can get a paternity test!” “Buddy, open your eyes.” I gave him a pitying look. “A DNA test after six years of silence doesn’t magically grant you rights.” 2 Leo left, reluctantly. At dinner that night, Zoe was sighing dramatically. I put a spoonful of broccoli on her plate, which only made her face scrunch up more. “Mom, why weren’t you more careful when you were picking out a dad for me?” she grumbled, poking at her food. “Did you only care about his face?” “I was young and wasn’t thinking clearly,” I said, reflecting on my past choices. “Is he going to keep bothering me?” “Hard to say,” I mused. “He definitely didn’t want a kid back then, but people change when they get older.” “He just doesn’t seem very bright. I’m worried my friends at school will see us together and ask who he is.” I thought her concern was a bit misplaced. Kids are way more focused on looks than adults. Leo was still as handsome as ever. With that face, he could be a complete moron and some kind-hearted first-grader would still think he was the coolest. “But how did you even run into him? And how was he so sure you were his daughter?” That was the part I couldn’t figure out. Our social circles didn’t overlap at all. If we passed on the street, I doubted he’d even recognize me. “After school today, I saw him talking to our principal,” Zoe said, not looking up. “I guess they know each other?” I thought about it but couldn’t connect the dots. Oh well. It wasn’t important. 3 The next day, after dropping Zoe at school, I drove to my shop. When Zoe was little, I ran a small baking business from home so I could look after her. After she got a bit older, and I won a fairly prestigious international baking award, I opened my own patisserie. Business had been good, and I was even thinking about opening a second location. Not long after I arrived, a customer came in. She wanted to order a five-tier cake for a birthday celebration. “Of course,” I said, smiling as we sat down to discuss the details. She was an elegant woman in a green dress, impeccably maintained, with a warm smile. But having met all sorts of people, I felt her smile was a little… eager. As we chatted, she mentioned her “good-for-nothing” son who refused to get married or have kids, causing her endless worry. “You know how it is, they have their own paths. Maybe the right person just hasn’t come along yet,” I offered politely. “I have a friend who was single until she was 34, then suddenly met the one, got married, and just had a baby last month.” “Oh, I’ve given up on him,” she said. “I was just hoping that while his father and I still have some energy, we could help raise a child. He’s such a waste, I’m afraid my granddaughter will turn out just like him.” “You don’t even know if you’ll have a granddaughter,” I laughed. “It’s a gut feeling, you know? A really strong one.” She grabbed my hand enthusiastically. “And we’re not one of those families that prefers boys! We’d cherish a grandson or a granddaughter all the same! Even though my son is useless, our family values are very strong. If we had a sweet grandbaby, the whole family would rally to support her!” I looked at her overly bright smile and hesitated. “Excuse me for asking, but do you know Leo?” “Oh, heavens, I’m his mother! Daughter-in-law, so nice to finally meet you! This is a little something for you!” It was like she was just waiting for me to ask. She eagerly pulled a stunningly clear jade bracelet from her purse and tried to slide it onto my wrist. My heart sank. That bastard, Leo. He knew he couldn’t win, so he sent his mother. Was he taking advantage of the fact that my own mother was no longer around? 4 Leo’s mother was gracious the entire time. To ensure I didn’t mistake her intentions, she quickly clarified that she just wanted to be close to the child, not fight for custody. “I won’t lie to you, Leo is a disappointment. He only holds a nominal position at our company; we wouldn’t dare give him any real power.” “But his father and I can’t work forever, can we?” “We’ve lost hope in Leo, but you’ve raised your daughter so well. Zoe is brilliant! The sky’s the limit for her!” “And it’s always easier when more people are there to support a child, don’t you think?” I wasn’t naive enough to believe she was as benevolent as she appeared. This was a formidable woman who had navigated the business world for decades. The family must have already done a private DNA test and confirmed Zoe was Leo’s daughter. They’d probably also consulted a lawyer and found out their chances of winning a custody case were slim. So, they settled for the next best thing: shared parenting. But if Leo ever got married and had another child, I wondered if they would still be this accommodating. “Ma’am, I respect my daughter’s wishes,” I said with a smile. “As long as she is willing to be close to you, I have no objections.” I knew my daughter. Her motto was “never turn down a free lunch.” Her other motto was “take the sugar coating, then fire back the cannonball.” I could already picture how frustrated the Jiang family was going to be. 5 With my approval, the family was eager to schedule a formal dinner to introduce themselves to Zoe. I told them I needed to talk to her first. “Of course. We’ll wait to hear from you.” After we exchanged numbers, she beamed and made a phone call. “You can come in now. Apologize properly to Ms. Hayes, and thank her.” A moment later, an awkward-looking Leo pushed open the door. He’d clearly been waiting in the car. He shot me a triumphant look, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. “You said she was your daughter alone, but in the end, you had to admit I’m her dad!” I gave a subtle eye-roll. A thirty-year-old man who still needed his parents to solve his problems and give him an allowance. What a man-child. Thank God Zoe didn’t inherit his brains.

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