Category: English

A meteor, the color of a flash of cobalt, tore across the night sky with a magnificent, burning tail. I snapped the photo, my heart thrumming, and immediately sent it to Leo, a thousand miles away. He’s been my boyfriend for years, ever since we met during my semester abroad. Back when his family was still footing the bills, before the fall. Now, he was just another broke student in London trying to make it work. I texted: This one should sell for a good price. As soon as the payment hits, I’ll wire you the money. Get yourself a decent meal. Don’t starve. He replied with a single word: Okay. The next day, my meteor picture was everywhere online. I followed the digital breadcrumbs back to an Instagram account belonging to a girl in the UK. She was listed as the “original artist.” The account wasn’t just for photography. Sprinkled among the professional shots were glimpses of her life, a curated story in filtered squares: navigating a supermarket in dreary, gray London with a tall, slender man whose face was always just out of frame, hunting for discount vegetables; sharing a single scarf on a snowy walk down a city street; kissing on a blanket in the grass on a rare sunny day. It was so romantic. It would have been perfect, if the watch on his wrist wasn’t the exact one I’d given Leo. 1 My vision blurred as I scrolled back, my thumb moving frantically. I landed on a video. A girl’s sweet, playful voiceover. “Someone said he wanted to celebrate landing the project bonus, so he booked this place as a surprise! I’m so spoiled!” The camera panned to the man sitting across from her. Only his jawline and the hand cradling a wine glass were visible. On that wrist, the watch I’d bought him was a searing brand. He murmured a low “Mm,” and the sound was laced with a familiar, lazy smile. It was the tone he only used when he was in an exceptionally good mood. A project bonus? My mind flashed back a week. Leo had vaguely mentioned being part of some group project, that there might be a small stipend. I’d been so happy for him that I’d transferred him the eight hundred dollars I’d saved by eating ramen for a month straight. Buy yourself some supplements, I’d texted. Don’t work yourself to death. Now, the thought was a bitter pill. My money probably just covered the bouquet of flowers sitting on their romantic dinner table. At the end of the video, the girl cooed, “I love that watch. You wear it every time I see you.” The man’s voice was laced with a casual, indulgent affection. “It’s an old thing. But it felt right for tonight.” An old thing. Felt right for the occasion. Every word was a needle dipped in ice, piercing my eardrum, plunging straight into my heart. I’d spent three months taking on every freelance gig I could find, working until I was so exhausted I ended up in urgent care on an IV drip, just to save up for that watch. And he wore it to accessorize a romantic dinner with someone else. “Anya!” Mark, a guy from the university photography club, tapped my shoulder, pulling me from the screen. “You can’t wear that busted old coat to the desert next month. It’s literally got holes in it.” He gestured to my frayed parka. “It’s not professional, and it’s definitely not warm enough. You should get a real technical jacket.” I forced a smile. “No money.” He looked completely baffled. “How is that possible? Anya, your work is incredible. Magazines would kill for some of your shots. How are you always broke?” “The money I’ve earned the last few years? I fed it all to a dog.” I laughed, a hollow, self-mocking sound. My eyes dropped back to my phone. I dialed Leo’s number. “The meteor photo that’s all over the internet,” I said, my voice flat. “What’s going on?” He paused, then his voice turned cool. “You were going to sell it anyway, right? I just sold it to a classmate ahead of time.” “Where’s the money?” “I kept it. Saves you the trouble of wiring it back to me.” I took a deep breath, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Leo, are we still a couple?” His tone sharpened, turning dark. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you breaking up with me?” A raw, painful laugh escaped my lips. “I’m not the one who wants to let go. But I’m not so sure about you.” The line went silent. All I could hear was his breathing, each exhalation heavier than the last. The cool, self-possessed man I knew, the heir who never lost his composure, was finally angry with me. “Anya Ross,” he seethed, his voice tight with fury. “Say that again.” But before I could speak, he hung up. It was just like when his family’s fortune first collapsed. He couldn’t handle the loss of status, and he’d lash out just like this—angry outbursts, hung-up calls. And within a day, I’d be the one crawling back, apologizing, sending him money, waiting for him to graciously accept my apology. But not this time. Ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest, I opened an airline app, my face a mask of stone. Destination: London, United Kingdom. I confirmed the booking. My passport and visa were still valid from a trip we’d planned and canceled. The entire process was brutally fast. The flight was on the 23rd. Fine, Leo. If you don’t want to listen to what I have to say, I’ll just have to come show you the proof in person. 2 My fingertips were trembling, but I forced myself to keep digging through her account. The girl, Chloe, wasn’t just sharing her life; she was a well-known photography influencer on the platform. The Northern Lights, the Milky Way over snow-capped peaks, star trails in the desert… she had posted dozens of breathtaking, magnificent photos, earning her a legion of adoring fans. They called her a prodigy, a visual queen. Her latest post had just gone up. My favorite photo of the year. Come enjoy the cosmic fireworks with me~ The attached image: my meteor photo. Including that one, every single one of her posts with over a hundred thousand likes was a photo I had taken. I was the original artist. But I had no capital to prove it. Because I had sold them all. I’d sold them completely—usage rights, credit, everything. It was the only way to get a high price quickly, the only way I could make enough money to support Leo’s life abroad. I opened my message history with my regular buyer, a private account that went by “Mr. S.” Leo, is it fun using my photos to pave the way for your new girlfriend? A single question mark appeared in response. You’re a real piece of work. (This message could not be delivered. You have been blocked by this user.) Ha. Hahahaha! I clutched my stomach, laughter bubbling up and turning into gasping sobs that tore from my throat. I remembered, before he left the States, a crisp autumn day when Leo had driven me deep into the mountains to a forest of golden aspen trees. He was wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater, and his warm hand enveloped mine as we pressed the shutter button together. The proud, privileged man I knew had leaned in, for the first time, and whispered softly in my ear. “Anya,” he’d said. “I will always love the world I see through your camera.” He was the one who led me down this path, and then he was the one who bled me dry, sucking the marrow from my bones. All to elevate his bright, dazzling new love. I had become a ghost, a photographer with no name and no dignity. The irony was crushing. The moment I stepped into my dorm room, my roommate’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, look who it is. If it isn’t the great photographer Anya, always too busy for us mere mortals.” She rolled her eyes. “All that time shooting and not a single decent photo to your name. And you’re still president of the photo club…” She scoffed. “You’re not half the artist Chloe is.” I tilted my head. “Who’s Chloe?” That was all the invitation she needed. She shoved her phone in my face. Oh, I knew that face all too well. The girl who had built her fame on my work. “Her full name is Chloe Reed,” my roommate gushed. “Her family doesn’t have much, but she worked her ass off and got a full scholarship to study in London! She’s talented, beautiful, and she has a super hot boyfriend.” She pointed to the screen. “Look, this meteor shot that’s gone viral? She took it.” I pushed her hand away. “I took that picture,” I said, my voice low and heavy. I hadn’t signed a contract for that one. It was still mine. “Bullshit!” she snapped, instantly defensive. “Just because you can’t produce anything good yourself, you’re going to steal credit for someone else’s hard work?” My other roommate, who had been reading, looked up. “Seriously, have some self-respect.” I was about to argue, but the first roommate suddenly shrieked. “Oh my god, Chloe just posted again! She’s in such a good mood today, she put up a bunch of new pics with her boyfriend!” I immediately unlocked my own phone. A new post had just appeared on her feed. Waves and sand~ The photo was of her in a cute, sexy bikini, her chest pressed tightly against a man’s bare torso. There were faint, ambiguous red marks on her neck, her waist, even near her bikini line. Someone in the comments mentioned she must be rich. She replied instantly: Not me, but the people around me are! lol~ I think he comes from some big, important family. Even though all the signs had been pointing to the fact that Leo wasn’t as broke as I’d believed, seeing it laid out so clearly was like a punch to the gut. “Hey,” my roommate taunted, “I heard you have a boyfriend abroad too. How does he stack up against Chloe’s?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. My heart felt like it was being squeezed and torn apart. What could I possibly say? That my boyfriend had already been sleeping with someone else? That while he was working up a sweat in bed with Chloe Reed, I was wearing through the soles of my boots in the desert just to capture a landscape that would sell for a high price? I ate cheap bread and skipped meals, I wore clothes until they fell apart, all so I could send every last cent to him. In all these years, I could count the number of times he’d kissed me. But the number of times he’d been with that girl… it was probably more than the number of words he’d said to me all month. Anya Ross, how pathetic can you be? I pushed past them and dialed a number I kept buried deep in my contacts. “Hello?” A deep, commanding male voice answered. I picked at a hangnail. “I need to file a lawsuit. Someone stole my photography, and it’s getting a lot of attention. I need your help.” “Anya Ross?” The man’s voice softened, a note of lazy amusement creeping in. “Give me one good reason why I should help you.” “Because you’re in love with me.” 3 A stunned silence hung on the other end of the line. Finally, the man’s voice came back, tight and strained. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Do you really think I’m some dog you can keep on a leash? That you can just call whenever you feel like it?” My own voice was eerily calm. “You’re not a dog, Evan. You’re the only person I trust right now.” I could almost hear Evan Grant trying to suppress a smile. He adopted a strange, mocking tone. “What’s wrong? Why not ask Leo? Your precious boyfriend, the one you’ve poured your heart and soul into for all these years?” “He cheated on me. And he’s been lying to me for years, using my work to build a platform for the girl he’s sleeping with.” “…What?” Each word was clipped, precise. Evan’s voice had turned arctic. “That bastard. How dare he?” I didn’t say any more. I hung up and sent him a text. [I’ll send you the evidence and her account info later. I have something to take care of first.] [?? Where are you going?] [To catch a cheater.] On the morning of the 23rd, I boarded the plane. I didn’t sleep for a second during the ten-hour flight, and by the time we landed, my eyes were shot with red. Ding-dong. I rang the doorbell of Leo’s apartment. After a long moment, I heard the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching. A woman’s delicate, breathy voice came from behind the door. “Who is it?” She pulled it open. I was face to face with the girl I’d seen a thousand times on my phone. Chloe Reed, looking sweet and pretty, was wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, her lips suspiciously red and swollen. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin was covered in fading marks, and she had the languid, dazed look of someone who’d just been thoroughly fucked. From the bathroom a few feet away, I could hear the shower running. Leo’s voice, husky and satisfied, drifted out. “Chloe, baby, who’s at the door?” She tilted her head, looking at me with confusion. “Can I help you?” “Chloe Reed?” I asked, my voice flat. She nodded, frowning, and started to close the door. I jammed my foot in the opening and then kicked it hard. As she stumbled back, off-balance, I swung my arm in a wide arc and slapped her across the face. CRACK. “Ahh!” she screamed, a hand flying to her cheek where a red mark was already blooming. “Are you insane?!” Hearing the commotion, Leo rushed out, not even bothering to put on pants. He had a towel wrapped around his waist. “Chloe! What’s wrong?” When he saw me, his furious expression froze. He stared in disbelief, murmuring my name like a ghost. “Anya… Anya Ross?” I just looked at him, saying nothing. Hidden at my sides, my nails were digging so deep into my palms that I was sure I’d drawn blood. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, embarrassment, regret… Finally, he swept his damp hair back from his forehead, revealing his sharp, handsome features. His eyes, however, were filled with a thick, suffocating… disgust. “Following me all the way here,” he said coolly. “You’re really overplaying your hand.” I thought I’d misheard him. The blood in my veins turned to ice. “I’m overplaying my hand?” Chloe scrambled behind him, grabbing his arm timidly. “Leo, she just hit me. It really hurts…” His brow furrowed into a deep line. He nodded at me. “Apologize.” “Chloe! I got the mini-cupcakes you wanted!” A cheerful voice interrupted the standoff. It was my younger brother, Sam. The bright smile on his face vanished the second he saw me. “Anya.” He shoved past me, his voice full of complaint. “What are you doing here? You’re going to scare Chloe.” I grabbed his arm, my own voice tight and strained. “You’re my brother, Sam. Leo is cheating on me. Why didn’t you…” Why didn’t you tell me? He wrenched his arm away. “It’s not cheating! Chloe is amazing, and she and Leo are in love!” He glared at me. “Besides, don’t you think showing up here like this makes you look like a crazy, jealous wife?” A… crazy wife? I stared at my empty hand, numb. “Sam, don’t talk to your sister like that. You’ll hurt her feelings,” Chloe chided, pouting. But the look she shot me was pure, undisguised triumph. Sam rolled his eyes. “Who cares? She dresses like a slob, never wears makeup. It’s so trashy. I’m embarrassed to even admit she’s my sister when we’re in public.” “Enough!” Leo rubbed his temples. He strode forward, grabbed my hand, and yanked me into his arms. His fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. His tone was the same as always—arrogant, entitled. “I already told you I’m going to marry you. What I do for fun is none of your business.” My body was pressed against his bare chest. The thought of what he had just been doing with Chloe in this apartment made my stomach churn with nausea. Fighting the urge to vomit, I squeezed two words through my teeth. “We’re done.” Leo’s brow tightened. He didn’t believe me. “Stop playing hard to get. The position of Mrs. Maxwell will be yours eventually. All this drama is just annoying.” I screamed, my voice raw. “I SAID WE’RE DONE! YOU’RE A FILTHY ANIMAL WHO CAN’T KEEP IT IN HIS PANTS, AND THE THOUGHT OF YOU DISGUSTS ME!” His expression shuttered, the atmosphere around him turning dangerously cold. “Say that again.” He crushed my struggles, pinning me against him. I was burning with a helpless, bloody rage, completely unable to move. Suddenly, there was a sharp whistling sound through the air. THWACK! A fist connected with Leo’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. A familiar voice, cold and vicious, came from behind me. “She said let go. Didn’t you hear her?” It all happened in an instant. A long, strong hand landed on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The person leaned in close to my ear, his voice a low, teasing drawl. “Good thing I made it in time. Wouldn’t want our Anya getting bullied, now would we?” Tears instantly welled in my eyes. It was Evan. He was here.

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To escape a forced marriage, I pretended to be mute for six months. But I still ended up married to the crippled, gloomy tycoon of the Upper East Side—my father’s friend, the man I grew up calling “Uncle.” Because of his “disability,” I have to do everything myself in the bedroom. One night, exhausted and dizzy, I bit down hard on his shoulder to stifle a scream. Suddenly, floating text—like a live stream chat—appeared before my eyes. [LMAO, they are both faking it so hard.] [Girl, just scream at him already. Our billionaire loves dirty talk.] [The gloomy ghost’s legs have been fine for ages. The pervert just likes watching her do all the work.] I snapped. I looked him in the eye and yelled, “Silas Thorne, you are absolutely useless!” He paused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face as he rubbed his thumb over my lip. “Hmm? If I’m so useless, how did I just miraculously cure your voice?” 1 I am the villain of this story. Before I “awakened,” I tried to drug the male lead, Liam Sterling. But I failed. The one who succeeded was the innocent “white lotus” heroine. When Liam sobered up, he went on a warpath. He hunted me down socially and professionally. When he couldn’t catch me, he decimated my family’s business. The Vance empire was bleeding cash, and my dad, desperate to stop the hemorrhaging, started looking for a marriage alliance. But nobody wanted to touch the toxic waste that was our company, or me—the spoiled, notorious heiress Sloane Vance. So, my dad set his sights on Silas Thorne. Silas Thorne. The King of New York’s old money. Gloomy, cold, ruthless. He was my dad’s friend. I grew up calling him “Uncle Silas.” Back when I drugged Liam, Liam had choked me and forced the rest of the spiked drink down my throat. Silas was the one who rescued me. He took me to his estate, tied my hands with his silk tie, and made me kneel in his library. He disciplined me with a ruler, hitting my palms over and over. He was terrifying. But because of the drugs in my system, the pain felt… different. That night, right in front of the portraits of his ancestors, I assaulted him. I think I even broke a wheel off his wheelchair. 2 After that, I ran. The list of people hunting me now included Silas Thorne. Between being choked, drinking high-proof liquor, screaming for hours, and the sheer trauma, I lost my voice. Literally. I left a note for my parents and fled to Europe to “seek treatment.” Six months later, I was dragged out of a pounding nightclub in Ibiza and hauled back to New York. I pointed frantically at my throat, signaling to my dad: The Thorne family won’t accept a mute bride. My dad sighed. “Sloane, we’re broke. You’re mute. Silas is crippled. The only reason the board forced him to take this deal is because they think he can’t do any better. You being mute? It’s a feature, not a bug.” Me: ? 3 On my wedding night, I was shaking like a leaf. My dark, brooding “Uncle” rolled his wheelchair toward me. He gripped my chin, his thumb pressing against my throat. “Mute, are we?” I nodded, trembling under his touch. Rumor had it that anyone who crossed Silas Thorne disappeared. And I hadn’t just crossed him; I had molested him. And forced him into marriage. I was pretty sure he was going to kill me. “Good,” he murmured. “The soundproofing in here isn’t great.” Me: ? Silas patted my head and handed me a small box. “My legs don’t work, Sloane. You’ll have to help me.” I held the box like it was a live grenade. You pervert. Even though we aren’t blood related, I’m significantly younger than him. Was he really going to make me do this? “Scared?” I nodded, then shook my head. I am Sloane Vance, the Queen B of Manhattan. I don’t get scared. I knelt on the rug, my hands shaking as I reached out. Silas let out a heavy sigh, scooped me up, and placed me on his lap, facing him. He guided my hands. “Easy, Sloane. You’re a novice. Don’t rush.” “Sit still. Don’t fall.” “This is a custom-made titanium wheelchair. It’s sturdy. You can be bold.” … 4 Silas was truly useless. I had to do everything. Every time, I ended up exhausted, yet he forced me to keep going. A month later, I was so tired my eyelids were glued shut. I bit down on Silas’s shoulder, hard, just to stop myself from cursing him out. If he found out I’d been faking my muteness this whole time, God knows how he’d punish me. I rubbed my eyes, cursing him internally. Suddenly, glowing text appeared in the air in front of me. [LMAO. They are both faking it so hard. I can’t.] [Sloane, baby, just scream at him. Our Big Boss loves dirty talk.] [Actually, Silas is suffering too. He can’t move, he just has to watch her take the lead. He’s about to explode.] [The heiress definitely doesn’t know yet. The gloomy ghost’s legs healed ages ago, but this freak likes watching her do the work.] [Please, just call him a name. We want to hear it.] Me: … I turned my head to look at Silas. Sweat dripped from his temple onto my collarbone. His cold eyes were burning with desire, his breathing heavy and ragged. His hand gripped my waist so hard his knuckles were white. I tested my voice. It was dry and raspy. “Uncle Silas.” Silas froze. I let it rip. “Uncle Silas, you are really useless.” The hand on my waist tightened instantly. “Say that again?” My lips trembled as I unleashed a month’s worth of frustration. “What? Can’t hear me? Legs don’t work, ears don’t work either? Fine, listen closely. I said—” “You can’t do anything. You are a waste of space.” Silas brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. He looked at me, the mockery in his eyes undisguised. “Hmm?” The night grew darker. Silas rubbed his thumb over my lips. “If I’m a waste of space, how did I just cure your voice?” 5 “Bastard.” I cursed him as I threw on my clothes and locked the bedroom door. His legs were fine. He lied to me. But I didn’t dare confront him. If he got angry, he’d destroy me. The best strategy was to run. Bars, racing, golf, parties, horse riding, male models. As long as I kept moving, Silas couldn’t catch me. That weekend, I met up with my entourage for pool. They were surprised to see the new guy on my arm. “Done chasing Liam Sterling? You disappeared for six months; he was actually looking for you.” “Don’t like him anymore. Bored.” “Bored? Yeah right. But who’s the curly-haired kid? He’s cute.” The curly hair belonged to Leo, a model. My best friend was styling a shoot for the Van Der Woodsens and asked for my opinion. I didn’t like the clothes, but I liked the guy wearing them. [It’s the puppy dog! He only loves the villainess. He can be sweet or wild, gets jealous, has a great body. He becomes a famous actor later.] [Sloane grabbed him just to piss off the male lead, but the puppy fell in love for real.] [Is nobody worried about the Uncle? He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out she’s not partying with him. The four-way jealous showdown is going to be fire.] I shoved a pool cue into Leo’s hands. “Five shots. Ten grand for every ball you sink.” “Sloane, seriously? Your dad is stressing over the merger, and you’re burning cash?” Listen, in this life, I can do without love. But I cannot be ugly, poor, or embarrassed. “Daddy spoils me.” They didn’t know I was spending Silas’s money. Leo’s technique was average. I walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and covered his hands with mine. His ears turned bright red. “Hands this pretty, and you can’t sink a ball?” He lowered his eyes, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to lose too much money.” Kid knows how to talk. “Spending on you isn’t a loss.” Five shots later. I pinched his cheek. “Go have fun.” “You really over Liam? Weird.” “What’s Liam Sterling? Just a pastime.” “Ahem.” Someone winked at me frantically. I bent down to line up a shot. Suddenly, a warm chest pressed against my back. A sinister voice whispered in my ear. “Is that so? A pastime.” I jumped. It was Liam. His hand gripped my waist, thumb rubbing suggestively. “I wondered where you went for six months. Found a new toy?” [AHHH IT’S THE MALE LEAD! GET OFF HER! THE HEROINE IS GONNA BE MAD!] [This is the scene where the leads meet! Liam doesn’t love our girl yet.] [Major angst point: the male lead flirts with the villainess to make the heroine jealous. Crap, how is Sloane getting out of this?] Getting out of it the same way I get out of everything. I shoved Liam off me. “Obviously.” I flicked my earring. “After trying other flavors, I realized you’re pretty bland, Liam.” Liam grabbed my wrist. “You think you can just walk away? It doesn’t work like that.” He sneered. “Guess what? I have evidence of what you did to me. If I…” My heart skipped a beat. But then I remembered—my dad and Silas surely cleaned that mess up. And frankly, that was the plot’s fault. Current me would never roofie anyone. “Did what?” the crowd asked, hungry for gossip. Liam lit a cigarette, taking his time. “Something very bad.” “How bad? Did Sloane climb into your bed?” Liam blew smoke. “You do something bad, then run away. Not very polite, is it?” The smoke hit me, choking me. Slap. I backhanded him across the face. “Blow smoke in my face again and see what happens.” Liam licked the corner of his lip and smiled. A dark, cold look settled on me. If we weren’t in public, he would have strangled me. [Male lead is so hot… but Sloane is iconic. This toxicity is delicious.] [Do you guys have no morals? She drugged him!] [I’m here for the drama. Besides, blowing smoke in someone’s face is disgusting.] Leo suddenly appeared, shoving Liam back. Liam laughed. “You think she’s a prize? You’re that desperate?” Leo grabbed my wrist. “Sloane, let’s go.” “Sloane.” Liam called out. “Finish the game. You win, I leave your family alone.” “Deal.” Win or lose, it didn’t matter.

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The year I was completely gone for my boss, I secretly changed her contact name to “Wife.” The next day, she couldn’t find her phone and borrowed my new iPhone 17 Pro Max. “Siri, call—” Her voice was soft, gesturing for me to say the name. I froze, my mind going blank as I frantically tried to refuse. “James?” Ava Sterling looked at me, a flicker of confusion in her sharp eyes. Seeing my lips sealed tight, she pushed the phone closer to my mouth, repeating slowly, with a deliberate, knowing weight to her words, “Siri, call…” I wanted to cry. With no way out, I closed my eyes and yelled in utter desperation, “Wife.” … Liquid courage is a powerful thing. At a company dinner for upper management, the project director, her face flushed with wine, turned her attention to me. “James, you don’t have a girlfriend. How about you make do with me?” The table fell silent. “Are you seriously hitting on the CEO’s assistant?” someone whispered, tugging at her arm. That lecherous old woman. My boss, Ava, had a last-minute emergency tonight and sent me in her place. No one expected Director Evans to spew such nonsense. I bit back a sharp retort and offered a polite, strained smile. “It’s true I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said, “because I have a wife.” Her face fell. She pressed on, demanding proof. I glanced at her, then picked up my phone. With Ava absent, this was the perfect cover. “Siri, call Wife.” The call screen lit up, the name “Wife” displayed clearly for all to see. Director Evans stared, dumbfounded. Mission accomplished. I was about to hang up when a familiar ringtone blared from the doorway. My heart stopped. I whipped my head around in disbelief, my phone nearly slipping from my grasp. There she was, the cool, untouchable woman I’d worked for for three years, Ava Sterling, standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression. Everyone’s gaze followed mine, jaws practically hitting the floor. The screen of the phone in Ava’s hand was lit up, the call neither answered nor rejected. But that ringtone, a sound I knew better than my own heartbeat, exploded in the silent room like claps of thunder, turning my brain to static. …My world was ending. Ava said she wasn’t coming! Don’t tell me she heard me call her… wife! “James… you and Ms. Sterling! You two are…” someone stammered, too shocked to form a complete sentence. I slammed the end-call button, my mind scrambling for an excuse, any excuse at all. But Ava’s phone kept ringing. What? What was happening? Under the confused stares of everyone present, her famously icy gaze shifted, and she answered the call. …Someone else had called her, a split second faster than I had? I could have died from the scare. I let out a silent, shaky breath. I heard a crisp “Yes,” and then Ava’s eyes swept over the room, landing on me for a fraction of a second. She motioned for us to continue before turning and stepping out onto the terrace. Director Evans, now stone-cold sober, dabbed at her forehead with a trembling hand and wisely shut her mouth. The room slowly came back to life. “You scared the hell out of me! I really thought James was the CEO’s husband…” I forced a laugh, trying to play it off. But for the rest of the dinner, my mind was a blur. All I could think about was when, exactly, Ava had arrived at that door. I was lost in thought when she returned, her expression cold as ice. She took her seat at the head of the table, her sharp gaze locking onto Director Evans. My stomach dropped. Director Evans shrank under her stare, her face pale. “Ms. Sterling, I… I had too much to drink. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.” Ava watched her, her voice devoid of warmth. “No,” she said coldly. “You shouldn’t have.” My head snapped up. Everyone at the table stared, first at her, then at me, their eyes asking the same silent question: Are you two actually together? Before I could say a word, Ava placed her phone on the table and slid it into the center for everyone to see. One of the senior partners picked it up, and his expression immediately turned grim. Displayed on the screen was proof that Director Evans had been skimming from the company. The color drained from the director’s face. Before she could protest, Ava gestured, and security discreetly escorted her out. The rest of us sat in stunned silence, still reeling from the whiplash of events. Only I was breathing a sigh of relief. Thank god Ava hadn’t heard me call her wife. She hated workplace drama and was all about efficiency. If she knew I’d changed her contact name for my own pathetic fantasies, I’d be out on the street just as fast as Evans. That was too close. “You look pleased, James.” Ava’s voice cut through my thoughts, her gaze lingering on me. I composed myself, pulling on my standard professional smile. “You rooted out a problem, Ms. Sterling. As your assistant, I’m genuinely happy for you.” She gave me a long, unreadable look. “I see.” The next morning, the employee elevator was packed. My head was spinning. Last night’s emotional rollercoaster had wrecked my sleep. I’d spent the night dreaming of Ava almost discovering my secret. What can I say? I crave her, but I’m a total coward. I fought tooth and nail against countless competitors to land this job, just to get close to her. But in the end, all I dared to do was secretly change her contact name. She usually messages me, so the chances of her finding out were slim to none. Last night was a freak accident. From now on, no more using “Wife” as a shield. If I don’t use it, she’ll never find out, right? I forced myself to focus, pulling out my phone to double-check the schedule for Ava’s promotional photoshoot later today. A colleague next to me saw me yawn and elbowed me playfully. “Rough night?” I couldn’t exactly say I was up all night thinking about our boss, could I? I offered a weak smile. “You know how it is. Too many beautiful women online, not enough time.” He grinned knowingly. “Tell me about it. My digital crush changes seven times a day, but in real life? Single my whole life.” Speaking of digital crushes, I had a real-life one secretly stashed in my contacts. Ding. The elevator arrived at another floor. My colleague and I stepped out to let people off before getting back on. When I looked up, I saw her. Standing at the back of the now-emptier elevator was Ava Sterling herself. My blood ran cold. Did she hear my stupid lie? Wait… why am I so nervous? “Ms. Sterling…” we mumbled, our voices strained. My colleague whispered, “The executive elevator isn’t broken, is it? Why is she slumming it with us?” “I have no idea…” Ava’s eyes flickered towards me. “Get in,” she said, her brow furrowed. Did someone piss her off? She seemed to be in a perfectly fine mood when the party ended last night. As the elevator ascended, my phone buzzed. A text from my colleague. [The boss looks pissed. My floor’s next. Good luck, buddy.] Ding. He scurried out, leaving me alone with Ava. The enclosed space filled with a heavy silence. I was about to say something, anything, to break the tension when her cold voice sliced through the air. “James, spending your nights watching… unconstructive content can negatively impact your work performance.” She was warning me. “Right, boss. I’ll switch to watching during the day,” I replied instantly. Ava paused. Only then did I realize what I’d just said. “Wait, no, boss, that’s not—” The elevator doors opened. Ava gave me a flat, unimpressed look and strode out. “Beach photoshoot this afternoon. You’re coming with me.” Huh? I stood there, stunned. Ava’s photoshoots were always a ten-minute affair. She never needed me there. Why now? We arrived at the beach as the sun began to set. The moment Ava stepped out of the changing room, my eyes widened. She was wearing a sleek one-piece, partially covered by a translucent wrap that was as sheer as a dragonfly’s wing. Her collarbones were a delicate, alluring line… Was I really allowed to be seeing this? I blinked, trying to compose myself. Her figure was breathtaking, a work of art. And her face was, as always, stunning enough to command attention anywhere she went. She seemed a little uncomfortable, probably from showing more skin than usual, a slight frown creasing her brow. Just as she was about to look up, I snapped my gaze away. Better safe than sorry. She couldn’t find out I was lusting after her. But then I remembered she had specifically asked me to come today, and my mind started racing again. Could it be that Ava… felt the same way about me? “Ava!” The director’s excited voice boomed from behind me. “You finally listened to me!” …So much for that theory. Ava’s uncharacteristic choice of attire wasn’t for me; it was because the director, her best friend of many years, had finally nagged her into it. Chloe, the director, had always complained that Ava was wasting her incredible figure with her severe business wear. “Why didn’t you answer my call earlier?” Chloe teased, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you needed a thirty-minute pep talk just to put on a swimsuit.” Ava was just passing me. She paused, glanced at me, then frowned at the director. “Couldn’t find my phone,” she said, dismissing the guess. “Let’s just get this over with.” Once the shoot started, Chloe was in her element, sighing with admiration as her camera shutter clicked furiously. Then, she stopped. “Okay, Ms. CEO, lose the wrap,” Chloe instructed, making a gesture. Lose the wrap? My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Ava, and found her eyes already on me. Our gazes locked for a split second before she looked away. I understood instantly. It was one thing for her to wear a swimsuit in public. It was another to reveal even more in front of her subordinate. She was uncomfortable. I pretended to be engrossed in my phone, but my ears were practically twitching. If Ava actually agreed to take it off, I would be the first to look up. Seeing Ava hesitate, Chloe sighed and waved over her own assistant. “Go help her with that.” “My assistant will do it.” Ava’s voice was quiet, but firm. My head shot up. Me? She turned down the director’s assistant, but she wanted me to do it? I was completely bewildered. Was it because… after all these years, she was more comfortable with me handling her than a complete stranger? I was still in a daze when I stood before her. We had never been this close. I’d been craving her for a long time, sure. But now that I actually had to make a move, my courage failed me. My hands trembled as I carefully untied the wrap. “It’s not that fragile.” My hands froze, and a hot blush crept up my neck. So embarrassing. I bit my lip and clutched the gauzy fabric. With the wrap gone, the elegant line of her collarbones was fully exposed. I couldn’t help but steal a glance, my heart hammering in my chest. A woman this perfect… if only she really were my wife. As I lowered my hands, I heard Chloe shout from behind the camera. “Brush her hair back for her.” Startled, I looked up at Ava and found her watching me. Her expression was unreadable. “Do what the director says,” she said, her voice even. “Okay…” Steeling myself, I raised my hands again, my fingertips grazing the smooth, pale skin of her nape. The sea breeze was cool, but the air between us felt thick and heavy. I was too close to her, too afraid to look for too long. I started to step back, but Chloe’s voice, now buzzing with excitement, rang out again. “Perfect! Now take off the skirt, too.” What?! Take off her what? My hand froze in mid-air, but my eyes had already betrayed me, drifting downwards. The wind gently lifted the hem of her sarong, offering tantalizing glimpses of her long legs. But… this couldn’t be right. “Get your mind out of the gutter! She’s wearing a slip underneath!” Still… Ava shot Chloe a warning look, but then her eyes met mine. “Go ahead,” she said. Was this really happening? I stared at her, feeling like I was in a dream. It’s just for work, it’s just for work… I chanted the mantra in my head, but as I reached for the tie at her waist, she caught my wrist. “Stop shaking,” she murmured, her voice low. The warmth of her hand on my skin sent a jolt through me, making my heart race even faster. I could only nod, my throat tight. She let go. She had… held my hand. I retreated behind the camera, trying not to stare, but my eyes kept being drawn back to her. Bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun, she stood with an easy grace. She was like a painting, so beautiful that a single glance could make my heart ache for hours. After the shoot, Ava went to the changing room. A few moments later, she called me in. As I entered, I saw her searching frantically through a pile of clothes on the sofa. “Call my phone,” she said, standing up, her tone casual. I froze. Call her from my phone? Her contact name was still “Wife.” Calling her now, in front of her, was like volunteering to jump into a volcano. No. Absolutely not. “James?” Ava asked, looking at me with confusion. When I didn’t respond, her expression hardened. “Are you nervous about something, James?” she asked slowly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. My heart pounded. Her instincts were razor-sharp. She was onto me. “No, no… my phone’s dead. Let me go charge it.” I clutched the phone in a death grip, ready to bolt. “Is that so?” She closed the distance between us in a single step. “Siri.” “Yes?” my iPhone chirped instantly. I flinched. Before I could process what was happening, a slow, knowing smile spread across Ava’s face. Her eyes held mine, and her voice was smooth as silk as she spoke again. “Siri, call—” She paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank. I couldn’t say it. I would rather die. I shoved the phone behind my back, my jaw clenched. Ava’s brow furrowed. She leaned in, stalking me one step at a time. My face flushed, and I turned my head away. But she didn’t seem to notice, pressing closer still. “Siri, call—” Her voice was a predatory purr, and I swallowed hard. I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t. “Well?” she pressed, her aura of command leaving no room for escape. I squeezed my eyes shut and, in a voice of pure desperation, yelled, “Wife.”

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My husband has selective hearing. If I ask him to take in the laundry, he doesn’t hear me. If I ask him to do the dishes, he doesn’t hear me. When I finally scream at him in frustration, he just watches me silently, letting me lose my mind. Then, he never fails to add, “I never said I wouldn’t do it. What are you freaking out about?” I’ve finally had enough. I’m tired. So, I started to play his game, developing a selective hearing of my own. And this time, the one who’s going crazy is him. 1 After dinner, I took our son, Leo, for his bath. On my way to the bathroom, I specifically told my husband, Addison, to remember to do the dishes. He was glued to his phone and grunted an “uh-huh” without even looking up. But when I came out of the bathroom after getting Leo washed and ready for bed, the dinner table was still a disaster zone. Addison was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, letting out little snorts of laughter every now and then. “Addison, didn’t I ask you to do the dishes?” I asked, my voice tight as I fought to keep my anger in check. He still didn’t look up, his fingers flying across the screen. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t rush me.” Since he said that, I couldn’t really press the issue. After I tucked Leo into bed, I came back out to the living room. The dirty dishes were still sitting on the table, untouched. I glanced at Addison, who was still lost in his phone on the sofa, and thought, He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t need me to ask him three or four times to do a simple task. If I kept nagging, it might just make him dig his heels in even more. Swallowing the words that were about to burst out, I went back to our room and went to sleep. The next morning, I got up to make breakfast, only to find yesterday’s dishes exactly where I’d left them. Grease had congealed into a sticky, disgusting film on the table. After sitting out all night, it was hard and nauseating to scrub off. I remembered how I’d reminded him again and again last night to clean the table and do the dishes. And what did he do? He played on his phone from six o’clock until God knows when before finally stumbling into bed. Time for his phone, but no time for the dishes. A hot fury surged through me. I cleaned the table, washed the dishes, and then made breakfast. By the time Addison got up, I was already eating. “Oh,” he said, feigning surprise. “There’s breakfast?” He sat down across from me without another word and started digging in. “Addison.” I took a deep breath, trying to force down the inferno in my chest. “Didn’t I remind you twice yesterday to do the dishes? But when I got up this morning, they hadn’t moved an inch.” Addison didn’t say anything, just kept eating. I slammed my fork down on the table and glared at him. Sensing my anger, he finally looked up with a sheepish grin. “Oh, wow, I just forgot. Look at you, getting all worked up.” “Don’t worry,” he added, his tone far too cheerful. “I’ll get them next time. I promise!” Looking at his smug, carefree face, a profound sense of helplessness washed over me. 2 After breakfast, I got up to wake Leo. As I left the table, I told Addison to take the clothes out of the washing machine and hang them up to dry. This time, he nodded enthusiastically. “Mission accepted.” I figured that after what happened yesterday, and with me having just lost my temper, he’d actually do it. It wasn’t even a big deal—just a few items of clothing. It would take him five minutes, tops. I got Leo dressed and ready, and without even checking the laundry, I took him out the door. I dropped Leo off at daycare, then headed to work. When I got home that evening, I glanced instinctively toward the balcony. Seeing no clothes hanging there, my stomach dropped. I rushed over and threw open the lid of the washing machine. Just as I’d feared, this morning’s load of laundry was still sitting there in a damp, crumpled heap. After being sealed in the machine all day, a sour, mildewy smell hit me. There was nothing for it. I had to wash them all over again. The moment Addison got home, he flopped onto the sofa and pulled out his phone. Our living room connects to the balcony, and the washing machine isn’t exactly quiet, but he acted as if he couldn’t hear a thing. When the machine beeped, signaling the end of the cycle, I shouted from the kitchen. “Addison, the laundry’s done! Go hang it up!” Silence. I poked my head out of the kitchen and called out again, louder this time. “Addison, hang up the laundry!” Still nothing. Clutching my spatula, I stormed over to the sofa and kicked his foot. He slowly tore his eyes away from his phone, his expression full of annoyance. “I heard you, I heard you.” “I heard you the first time.” “It’s just hanging up some clothes. I’ll get to it.” That was it. I exploded. “You’ll get to it? Didn’t I ask you to do it this morning before I left? Did you do it then?” “I came home to find the clothes still in the washer, and they stank! Do you have any idea?” Addison just clicked his tongue. “So I forgot. You just wash them again. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know what you’re so mad about.” His casual, dismissive attitude made me feel like I was the one making a big deal out of nothing. I repeated myself one last time, my voice steely. “Remember to hang the clothes. I’m going back to cook.” 3 Addison didn’t respond. I went back to the kitchen to finish dinner. By the time I brought the food out, the clothes were still not hung up. Addison wasn’t on the sofa. I glanced around and saw the bathroom door was closed. Great. He was in the bathroom. I was done waiting for him. I went and hung the laundry myself. When Addison came out of the bathroom, the clothes were already drying on the line. He shot me a smirk but said nothing as he sat down at the table and started to eat. The sound from his video clips was blasting, the noise filling the small apartment as he ate and watched. Leo is only three, at that age where he’s curious about everything. He saw Addison eating with his phone and looked at me. “Mommy, why can Daddy watch his phone while he eats, but I can’t?” I know the best way to teach a child is by example. So I said quietly, “Addison, can you just eat your dinner? Put the phone away.” Addison didn’t react, his thumb continuing to scroll. I raised my voice. “Addison, put the phone away.” Still no response. I took a sharp breath and yelled, my voice ringing through the room. “Are you listening to me? Did you hear what I said?” “Put the phone away and eat your dinner!” Addison rolled his eyes at me, his face a mask of irritation. “I know, I know! God, you talk so much. You sound just like my mother.” He sneered. “Chloe, you’re not that old. Don’t go into early menopause on me.” I felt like I was going to explode. Ask him to do one simple thing, and he drags his feet. Talk to him, and it takes three tries before he even acknowledges me. Is he deaf? Are his legs broken? Or is there something wrong with his brain? 4 I didn’t want to fight in front of our son. So I tried to reason with him. “You’re eating and playing on your phone, and Leo is watching you. He’s going to copy everything you do.” Addison was completely unbothered. “He can eat and play on his phone too. I’m not stopping him.” A firestorm of rage was building inside me, but I had nowhere to direct it. “Addison, do you hear yourself?” “He’s three years old! You want him to pick up bad habits like this? What happens later?” Addison just shrugged. “Well, he’s not gonna starve.” I couldn’t stand to say another word to him. I fed Leo his dinner, and only then did I start to eat my own. After Addison finished, he went right back to his phone. “Addison, go give Leo his bath.” My plan was that while he bathed Leo, I could clean up the kitchen, and then I could read Leo a few stories before putting him to bed. Addison was still glued to his phone, laughing so hard his eyes disappeared into slits, but he didn’t answer me. I kicked him again, and he finally looked up at me. “What!” he snapped, his voice dripping with impatience. “I said, go give your son a bath! Are you deaf?” Addison let out an annoyed “tsk.” “Alright, alright. I got it.” “So much nagging.” I finished my dinner and went to do the dishes. When I came out of the kitchen, I found Addison lying in our bed playing on his phone, while Leo sat on the floor watching TV. The bath was still not done. “Addison, I asked you to give Leo a bath. When exactly were you planning on doing it?” He didn’t answer, just shifted his position on the bed, his eyes never leaving his phone. I was so tired. So incredibly tired. And in that moment, I finally understood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear me. He was pretending not to. Because he knew that if he just played dumb, played deaf, eventually I’d get fed up and do it myself. I couldn’t understand it. His mom had only been gone for three days. How did Addison turn into this person? 5 Addison and I met and fell in love on our own. We’d been dating for over a year when I got pregnant unexpectedly, so we got married. At the time, I had a good job and was on the fast track for a promotion. I didn’t want to quit because of the baby, so Addison asked his mom to come and help. My mother-in-law was a wonderful woman. When I was recovering from childbirth, she cooked me four different meals a day, never repeating a dish. She took amazing care of Leo, and I barely had to lift a finger. This year, Leo turned three and started preschool. His mom said she wanted to go back to her hometown; she wasn’t used to the big city. Honestly, I was sad to see her go. Her being here made our lives so much easier. But if she wanted to leave, I couldn’t stop her, so I agreed. I had forgotten that when his mom was around, Addison wouldn’t even get his own plate of food. She would serve him and bring it to him at the table. When had he ever done a single chore? So now that she was gone, he just assumed life would continue as it always had, with him being waited on hand and foot. But a good home requires effort from both people. When one person does too much, they’re bound to break. I decided it was time Addison got a taste of his own selective hearing. 6 I took Leo, gave him a bath, read him a picture book, and tucked him in for the night. The next day, I made breakfast just for Leo and me. After we ate, I woke Leo up and had him get ready. When Addison finally emerged from the bedroom, he found the kitchen empty. He asked me, “Where’s breakfast?” I didn’t answer him, just focused on packing Leo’s school bag. Addison asked again, his voice a little louder. “Where’s breakfast?” I just said, “Oh, we already ate.” “You didn’t make any for me?” Addison sounded annoyed. I shrugged. “You never asked me to.” “You!” Addison was so angry he just stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Ha. He couldn’t handle that? This was just the beginning. That evening, Addison said he had a work dinner and wouldn’t be home. I was perfectly happy with that. I picked Leo up from preschool and took him out for dinner. We even went to an indoor playground. By the time we got home, I gave him a quick bath, and he was so exhausted he fell asleep without me even having to read him a story. The third day, at breakfast, I once again told Addison to remember to hang up the laundry. I knew he wouldn’t do it, so I only put his clothes in the washing machine. Leo’s and my clothes had been washed and dried the night before. Sure enough, Addison didn’t hang up the laundry. When I got home from work, his clothes were still sitting in the washing machine. I didn’t touch them. They were his clothes, not mine. If he couldn’t be bothered to hang up his own clothes, why should I do it for him? It wasn’t until the next morning that Addison realized he had nothing clean to wear. His company requires a uniform for work. He has two sets. One was still sitting in the washer, and the other, which he wore yesterday, was already starting to smell. “Chloe, why didn’t you hang up my clothes?” he asked, his voice laced with anger. I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I ask you to hang them up yesterday morning? You didn’t do it?” Addison was speechless. He must have assumed that, like last time, I would see the unhung laundry, rewash it, and hang it up for him. He never expected that I would stop enabling him, that I’d just let his clothes sit in the washing machine for a day and a night. When Addison finally pulled the clothes out, the stench almost knocked him over. “Chloe, did you do this on purpose?” “Last time I forgot to hang the laundry, you noticed right away. This time, you deliberately let my clothes sit in there all day, didn’t you?” I’d never met anyone so shameless. “And you,” I shot back, “did you deliberately not hang them up?” “You figured that if you didn’t do it, I would, so you just decided not to bother.” Knowing he was in the wrong, Addison could only pull on yesterday’s dirty uniform and head to work. 7 I thought after these last couple of days, Addison might finally learn his lesson. But then, I overheard a conversation between Addison and one of his buddies. “Man, I’m so over it. It’s just a bunch of little things, and she’s constantly on my case about it.” “If she cooks, I have to do the dishes.” “If she does the dishes, I have to give our son a bath.” “If she puts the laundry in, I have to hang it up.” “Why?” “It’s such a small thing, does it really have to be me? Can’t she just do it herself?” “When my mom was here, she never asked me to do a single thing!” I couldn’t hear what his friend said on the other end, but whatever it was, it just made Addison angrier. “You think I haven’t tried that?” “I used to just drag my feet. Not do the dishes, not hang the laundry.” “And you know what happened?” “She stopped making me dinner. She only washes her own clothes and Leo’s.” “I’m serious, man. I’m so done.” “If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, you think I would’ve married her?” “I must’ve been cursed to end up with her!” I stood just outside the study door, hearing every single word of his rant. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. So that was it. The only reason he married me was because I was pregnant. And I was foolish enough to think it was for love. Especially with his mom being so wonderful, we never had any of the typical mother-in-law drama. So I just assumed that my relationship with my husband was fine, too. I never imagined this is how Addison truly felt about me. The truth is, he knew exactly what he was doing all along. He was doing it on purpose. If he despises me that much… then maybe it’s time to let go.

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A custom order arrived on our wedding anniversary. When I saw my husband’s name on the form, a knowing smile crossed my lips—another of his signature surprises. People try to trap forever in jewels, forgetting forever often changes. Just like now. One second, I was looking at photos of the anniversary venue Marc had set up. The next, a young woman with hopeful eyes walked into my office, shyly handing me a sketch. My pen dug sharply into the paper. That order… wasn’t from Marc after all. “Are you Sierra? I booked online,” she said. “I want to commission wedding rings. My boyfriend’s free at month’s end—I need them ready then.” I relaxed my clenched fist and gestured for her to go on. “His name’s Marc. I want it engraved inside the band,” she added, blushing softly. “Bellflowers are his favorite—they mean eternal love. Can you add them?” Staring at the familiar details, I let out a bitter laugh. I’d learned my own husband’s preferences from a stranger. Turns out, my anniversary surprise was designing wedding rings for him and his new love. 1 I set the sketch down, my gaze lingering on the girl across from me. She had a gentle, almost timid air about her—the complete opposite of my own bright, assertive presence. She was young, radiating a naive innocence that suggested she hadn’t yet been hardened by the world. And yet, she clearly had a grasp of right and wrong. When she mentioned the delivery date, her voice faltered, and her eyes flickered away, a clear sign she was wrestling with how to phrase what came next. Perhaps sensing my scrutiny, she rushed to explain, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. “Miss Hayes, please don’t get the wrong idea.” “My boyfriend… well, his situation is complicated. His ex-wife is in prison for financial crimes. He didn’t want to kick her while she was down, you know, being married and all, so he’s waited until now.” She spoke with such heartfelt sincerity, her every word dripping with adoration and sympathy for this man. Prison? What a convenient excuse. If it weren’t for the pity in her tone, I’d almost think she was mocking me. I nodded slowly, a cold smile tugging at my lips. “Miss… Chloe, was it? Would you mind telling me a bit about your love story?” She looked bewildered, clearly not understanding my request. I sighed internally. Was this what Marc liked? This doe-eyed, easily manipulated innocence? I tapped the drawing on my desk. “These elements alone will make for a rather generic design,” I explained, my voice smooth and professional. “If you can share some of your most cherished moments together, I can weave those personal touches into the rings.” Understanding finally dawned on Chloe’s face, followed by a shy smile. She began to recount her story, listing their memories like precious treasures. I listened, my face frozen in a professional mask, punishing myself with every word. “Tomorrow will be our two-year anniversary. We met at a police station. His family was in some trouble, and he was there filing a report, so nervous his hands were shaking. I just happened to be there and said a few words to calm him down.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the tip of it glowing red. “We ran into each other a couple more times after that. It felt like fate. Within a week, I confessed my feelings, and he said yes.” Her sweet memories were poison-tipped needles in my heart. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of when you met?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “How did you know?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. I lowered my gaze, hiding the raw pain that threatened to spill out. How could I not know? Two years ago, the day after my wedding anniversary, I was kidnapped on my way to the airport. While they were having their fated meeting, I was likely bound and gagged in some abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, engulfed in a darkness so profound it felt like it was eating me alive. Marc had made enemies—powerful, ruthless people who chose to take their revenge out on me. I barely survived. I lost the child I was carrying. My agony had become the romantic backdrop for their love story. My blood and tears were the water that nourished their precious bellflowers. My knuckles turned white from the force of my grip. I looked up at her. “Chloe, your story is very moving. But at that point, his wife wasn’t in prison yet, was she?” “Well…” Her smile froze for a split second before she rushed to defend herself. “No, but their relationship was already broken. They just hadn’t gotten around to the paperwork.” “Miss Hayes, you must understand. In love, the one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.” I forced my lips into a semblance of a smile. “Of course.” So, you’re not so innocent after all. My apparent agreement seemed to embolden her. “Besides,” she continued, her voice gaining confidence, “he’s always wanted children, but his wife… she couldn’t get pregnant.” “Can you imagine how selfish a woman has to be? To not be able to be a mother herself, but still cling to him, robbing him of his right to be a father. Thank goodness he has me now. I can finally give him the one thing he’s always dreamed of…” As she spoke, she instinctively cradled her stomach. My eyes were drawn to the gesture. “You’re pregnant?” I heard myself ask. She offered a bashful, triumphant smile. “You can tell? I’m two months along. Could you please keep it a secret? We want to wait until after the divorce is final to announce it. I don’t want my baby to be born with any… labels.” “Of course,” I replied smoothly, a chilling glint in my eyes. Marc and I were childhood sweethearts, betrothed from a young age, but we fought like cats and dogs. Just when our families had given up hope and were about to call off the engagement, we somehow, inexplicably, fell in love. We stumbled into marriage, much to everyone’s surprise. They all worried our forced union would end in disaster. But after the wedding, Marc transformed. He became the perfect husband: devoted, attentive, always putting me first. Our friends even joked that marriage had turned him into a completely whipped man. After the kidnapping, after the miscarriage left me unable to have children, Marc held me in his arms, his voice thick with emotion. “Sierra, we don’t need kids. Just the two of us, growing old together.” The words were a balm to my shattered soul, but I never truly believed them. Marc was the sole heir to his family’s fortune. But the next day, he went and had a vasectomy. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive, that I had truly found my soulmate. I never imagined that some things are a lie from the very beginning. It wasn’t that Marc didn’t want a child. He just didn’t want a child with me. With every ounce of strength I had, I pulled my lips into a passable smile. “Understood, Chloe. I have a clear picture of your needs now. The rings will be designed and crafted by your deadline.” She beamed at me. “Thank you so much, Sierra. But I have one more small request.” “Please don’t mention any of this to anyone. Even though my boyfriend is getting a divorce, it would just cause unnecessary trouble if our story got out before it’s official.” “From what he’s told me, his ex-wife is…” I cut her off with a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry.” As her figure disappeared down the hall, I pulled out my phone and dialed my best friend. She was a partner at a top-tier law firm and the legal counsel for my mother’s company. “Marc is cheating. I want a complete trace on his whereabouts for the past two years.” “And tell my mother to pull all funding from any project he’s involved with. Effective immediately.” Hanging up, I gently stroked the wedding band on my finger. Marc, you chose this betrayal. So don’t blame me for destroying everything you’ve worked so hard to build. 2 My best friend, Olivia, worked with terrifying efficiency. Less than three hours later, an encrypted file landed in my inbox. The subject line contained only two words: “Brace yourself.” I clicked it open. The first document was a log of Marc’s travel records for the past two years. My eyes scanned the dense list of flights and immediately locked onto a familiar date. Last Christmas. The record showed Marc had indeed flown out of state that day, but he had taken a return flight that same night. He had used a business trip as a cover to see another woman. On that very day, Chloe had posted a picture on her social media: a romantic, candle-lit dinner. The bouquet of roses decorating the wall in her photo was the same one he had given me the next day. The second file was a breakdown of his bank statements. Multiple large sums had been transferred under the guise of “project investments” to a studio named “Chloe’s Designs.” The owner of that studio was, of course, Chloe. The most bitter irony was the dates of these transfers. They corresponded perfectly with Valentine’s Day, my birthday, and even our wedding anniversary. So, after every celebration with me, he would turn around and wire money to his little mistress. The “future” he claimed to be investing in was never ours. A numbness spread through my chest. I emotionlessly clicked on the next file, a video. It was security footage. Marc was with Chloe in a high-end baby boutique. He was gently guiding her by the elbow, a look of tender adoration on his face that I had never seen before. I checked the date. It was the day I had a follow-up appointment at the hospital. Too busy with work to come with me, he had said. But not too busy to shop for baby clothes with her. The final document made my blood run cold. It was a copy of a high-risk venture capital agreement, signed with my name. The signature date was the day he told me the company needed a cash infusion and that he needed my signature to secure it. The “rough patch” he was navigating was actually him using my name to sign me onto a deal with catastrophic risk. If the project failed, I would be saddled with a nine-figure debt. He, meanwhile, had already been transferring his assets to Chloe, securing his own escape route. After all our years together, he had used my trust to weave this intricate web of deceit. What a brilliant plan. I closed the file and called Olivia. “Seen it? What’s your next move?” she asked, her voice tight. I watched the sun sink below the horizon, my own voice so calm it felt alien. “Compile all the evidence of his asset transfers. I’m planning a little surprise for him.” “And one more thing,” I added after a pause. “Dig into Chloe’s background. I need to know if she’s an unwitting pawn or if she was in on this from the start.” Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Marc. “Happy Anniversary, my love. A last-minute work dinner came up. I’ll be home late.” Attached was a photo from a swanky restaurant. I zoomed in. In the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could just make out a familiar figure. It was Chloe. Looking at the picture, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Thank you, Marc, for playing your part so convincingly. Since you’re so eager to remarry, how could I, your soon-to-be ex-wife, not prepare a lavish gift? This “wedding gift,” I promise, will be one you’ll never forget. 3 “Did you get the cake and flowers I sent over?” The notification snapped me back to the present. Marc was checking my location. I let out a cold laugh and typed back. “Just got them. They’re beautiful.” “By the way, the studio is organizing a landscape painting retreat. I’m heading out for a few days to find some inspiration.” He replied almost instantly: “That’s great, honey. I’ve been so busy lately, I feel terrible I can’t be with you. Be safe.” I had to give him plenty of room to perform. Over the next few days, he personally packed my bags for the “trip.” Watching his bustling, concerned act filled me with a wave of nausea. If I didn’t know the truth, I might have actually been moved by his touching display of affection. When he dropped me off at the airport, he barely waited for me to go through security before rushing off. I lowered my eyes to the new message on my phone. It was from Chloe. “Sierra, change of plans. We’re meeting his parents today for a small engagement party. Is there any way you could deliver the rings today?” The address she sent was for the most luxurious hotel in the city. My fingers hovered over the screen. “Of course,” I typed back smoothly. “I wouldn’t miss it. Glad I can be there to share in the joy.” I arrived at the hotel just in time to see Marc’s parents walking in. I pulled my hat down low and followed them at a distance. His mother pulled him into a corner, her voice laced with anxiety. “Marc, I don’t mind you finding someone to have a baby with, but a whole engagement party? This is too much.” “Her family and ours go back generations. There’s business involved. Burning this bridge won’t do anyone any good.” “I won’t let Sierra find out. Don’t worry, Mom.” Listening to their exchange, a storm of emotions churned inside me, finally settling into a quiet, bitter laugh. It was a laugh of self-mockery, of despair, of pure contempt. Growing up, Marc’s mother had treated me like her own daughter. I remembered her sitting by my bedside all night when I had a fever, her panic when I got a scar, greater even than my own mother’s. She never forgot to bring me a gift from her travels, and whenever Marc and I argued, she was always the first to scold him. My own mother used to joke, “Are you sure she’s my daughter and not yours? Maybe they got switched at the hospital.” Even my father, a man hardened by years in politics, had once said, “The Harts are good, loyal people. I feel safe entrusting Sierra to them.” And now, all she cared about was not “burning a bridge.” How utterly pathetic. Just then, Chloe came skipping over, and Marc’s mother’s face instantly transformed into one of warm concern. “You must be Chloe. What a lovely girl. My Marc is so lucky to have found you.” “Oh, my dear, you’re carrying precious cargo now. You must be extra careful when you walk.” Even Marc’s usually stoic father had a hint of a smile in his eyes. It was clear how much they valued an heir. All those previous assurances of “it doesn’t matter” and “we can always adopt” were just empty words to placate me. Chloe snuggled into Marc’s arms, a smug look of triumph she barely tried to hide. “The morning sickness was so bad, I was worried. But the doctor said it might be a boy, that the reaction is stronger with boys.” At this, Marc and his parents lit up, immediately ushering her toward the private dining room. His mother chattered on about the prenatal supplements and gifts she’d prepared, every detail meticulously planned. As they pushed open the door, I saw who was inside. The room was filled with familiar faces. Marc’s relatives, his closest friends, our business partners… Every single person in that room was connected to me, and almost all of them had benefited from my help at some point. They rose to their feet, offering congratulations. Marc’s cousin was holding Chloe’s hand affectionately. “Chloe, you’re so beautiful! You and Marc are a perfect match! How far along are you? You have to take care of yourself.” I had funded her failing salon. I had designed her wedding ring. One of our mutual friends clapped Marc on the shoulder. “Congratulations, man! Finally going to be a dad!” Last year, when his child was critically ill, I was the one who pulled strings to get him an appointment with the top pediatric specialist in the country. The room buzzed with cheerful chatter, but to me, it was a grating, hypocritical cacophony. The same faces that had looked at me with such sincerity when they accepted my help were now twisted into masks of flattery for another woman. After the greetings, Marc led Chloe to the center of the room. “Thank you all for coming. Today is a small, informal engagement ceremony for Chloe and me.” In the midst of the applause, his mother stood up, holding a gift box. It contained a jade bracelet. Identical to the one she had given me. “Chloe, this is a family heirloom, for our daughter-in-law.” “And now that you’re engaged, you can start calling me Mom.” Chloe blushed, shyly murmured “Mom” and “Dad,” and threw her arms around Marc. The atmosphere in the room hit its peak. I had seen enough. I shoved the door open. As every head turned and stared, a half-smile played on my lips. “Sorry I’m late.” “Chloe was in such a hurry for her engagement rings, I decided to deliver them myself.”

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I have a thing for villains. A serious thing. I’m basically a villain-groupie. So when he wanted to die after the finale, I was the only one who wouldn’t leave his side. “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” Leo said, his voice flat. “My mind’s made up.” Then he tipped a bottle of sleeping pills into his mouth, swallowed, and lay down on the bed, perfectly straight. Not three seconds later, he shot bolt upright, shoving me away as I was enthusiastically making out with his face. “What the hell are you doing?” I felt a little wounded. “You’re not going to be using it anymore. What’s the big deal if I get some use out of it?” 1 The villain had fallen. When the mighty tree falls, the monkeys scatter. All the people who had once clung to him, flattered him, were gone. In the hollowed-out mansion, he hung his head, his expression a perfect blank. “They all left. Why are you still here?” Because I haven’t gotten what I came for, obviously. And if I told him what that was, I was pretty sure he’d drop dead from sheer indignation on the spot. So I just stood there in silence. Not that Leo Hayes expected an answer from me. He pushed himself to his feet, a thick wave of self-loathing rolling off him. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing left for you to get from me.” He broke into a deep cough, his whole chest rattling with it. The blow he’d taken was devastating, extinguishing the fire that had always burned in him. He looked like a mushroom growing in a dark corner—damp and sullen. Somehow, this didn’t diminish his beauty one bit. In fact, it made him look even more delicious. My fingers twitched, desperate for a touch. Unlike everyone else who followed Leo, I never wanted his money. I wanted him. 2 I’ve been a connoisseur of beauty my whole life. A pretty face could stop me in my tracks. It only got worse as I grew up; my standards climbed higher and higher. The average handsome guy couldn’t even make my heart flutter anymore. Just when I thought I was destined to be alone forever, Leo Hayes appeared. One look was all it took. I knew he was the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. It was simple, really. Leo was breathtakingly, outrageously beautiful. You could search the whole world and never find another man like him. To have him, to be able to run my hands over those abs while he slept? I’d do anything. But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. This stunning creature, blessed with wealth and a face sculpted by angels, was the villain. Doomed to a miserable end. The golden boy who, just as the script demanded, lost everything to the hero. Utterly ruined. In the end, everyone around him fled. Except me. I wasn’t after his fortune. I was after him. Even knowing he was the villain, that his ending was tragic, I threw my lot in with him without a second thought. While my mind was wandering, Leo had already reached the top of the grand staircase, disappearing from view. Terrified he was about to do something stupid, I sprinted after him. The door was locked. He’d locked me out. I felt zero embarrassment about being so obviously unwanted. I pressed my face to the door, trying to peek through the crack. “Boss? Why’d you lock the door? I’m not in yet!” Silence. A terrifying, heavy silence from inside. I rubbed my nose, still not feeling awkward, and started digging through my purse. Finally, my fingers closed around a key. I slid it into the lock. Click. The door opened. Inside, Leo was leaning against the window, holding something. He saw me, then his eyes dropped to the key in my hand. A flicker of something—scrutiny—finally broke through his numb expression. “You copied my key?” I was a natural liar. “Arthur gave it to me,” I said smoothly. “So I could take better care of you.” This was, of course, a complete fabrication. I’d secretly copied it for those nights when my craving became unbearable, so I could sneak in for a little fix. Arthur’s original key was probably lost in a landfill by now. But with Arthur long gone, there was no one to contradict me. I could say whatever I wanted, and he’d never find the lie. 3 Not that Leo had the energy to investigate my claims. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. “I don’t need you to take care of me. You can go.” He was clearly annoyed, issuing a direct order for me to leave. But I hadn’t gotten what I wanted yet. I pretended I hadn’t heard a word, sidling up to him with a sycophantic grin. “Boss, are you hungry? How about some ramen? I’ll make it for you.” As I moved closer, I subtly kicked a fruit knife on the floor under the curtain. Nice try, I thought. He wasn’t dying until I got what I came for. My blatant refusal to follow the script was clearly getting to him. A flash of irritation crossed his perfect features, and his next words were sharp, cutting. “They all left. You’re the only one still here. Are you hoping for my big comeback?” He let out a bitter laugh. “A washed-up loser. A fool. You’re delusional.” I just… blinked. He could insult himself all he wanted, but why drag me into it? I may have gotten my job at his company through connections, but I had made significant contributions during my time with him. For instance, I “forgot” to tell him he hadn’t brought a change of clothes to the shower, just so I could be the one to bring them. I “accidentally” brushed his hand when I brought him coffee. My fingers “happened” to graze his chest and abs when I fixed his tie. They were small things, sure, but it was hard work! A labor of love! How could he be so cruel? I shot him a tiny, furious glare and stomped on his shadow. Just you wait, I vowed silently. Once I’ve had my way with you, we’ll see who the real fool is. I would endure. For now. 4 Leo had probably never met anyone as shameless as me. He wanted to die, but he just couldn’t manage it. He’d lock himself in a room, and a second later, I’d be there, key in hand, letting myself in. I’d just stand next to him, a silent, stubborn presence. Eventually, he stopped hiding. He glared at me, his face a mask of fury, and shoved a handful of sleeping pills into his mouth. I was ready. I pinched his jaw and dug them out with my fingers. He ended up gagging, spitting everything back out. After that, Leo fell silent. When he finally spoke again, his voice was laced with a calm sort of madness. “What is it you really want?” he asked, his voice strained. “Money? There’s fifty million in the safe. It’s all yours. Will you take it?” He was on the verge of breaking. “Take the money and go. Please?” “Just disappear from my sight. Please?” “How much longer are you going to stand there and laugh at me?” I watched him, my own silence unwavering. I realized then that his earlier calmness had been the last shred of dignity he was clinging to. And thanks to my interruptions, he couldn’t maintain it any longer. As Leo’s frantic gaze bore into me, I placed the key on the table and quietly backed out of the room. The mansion finally fell completely silent. Leo Hayes’s turbulent, brilliant life was about to end with the sloppy footnote of suicide. After I left, Leo remained frozen in place for a long time, until the last ray of sunlight sank below the horizon, plunging the room into darkness. Like a weary old man, he moved slowly, deliberately, to finish what he should have finished days ago. He pulled open a drawer. Inside was a bottle of sleeping pills—the one I’d been searching for for days. So that’s where he hid them. My eyes went wide with disbelief. I shrank further into the shadows where I was hiding, making myself smaller. “Don’t bother trying to stop me,” Leo said, not looking at me, but somehow knowing I was there. “My mind is made up.” I held my breath, hoping he was bluffing. I stayed curled up in my corner like a frightened quail. He didn’t say anything else. He just tipped the pills into his mouth like they were candy. In that same instant, I launched myself across the room, ready to repeat my earlier intervention. But this time, he caught my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. His eyes were clear and serious. “This is my choice. Don’t stop me. Please?” Stared at like that, my resolve wavered for a second, and my hand went limp. “Go do something you love,” he murmured, his voice softening. “Stop wasting your time on me.” Those were his last words. He fell back onto the bed, perfectly still. I wiped a tear from the corner of my mouth. “Okay.” 5 Leo lay there with his eyes closed, serene, like Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale. I stared at his face for a solid two seconds. Then, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I leaned down. Mwah. Mwah. Mwah. I’d barely gotten in a few good kisses when the body beneath me suddenly reanimated. He shoved me away with a violent push, his ears turning a shade of crimson so deep you could see it in the dim light. “What the hell are you doing?” He was so strong. I lost my balance and landed hard on my butt. I felt genuinely wronged. He was the one who told me to go do what I love. “You’re not going to be using it anymore!” I whined. “What’s the big deal if I get some use out of it?” Leo was practically trembling with rage. “Shameless,” he hissed. Even for a villain, he’d clearly never encountered a degenerate of my caliber. He glared at me, looking like he wanted nothing more than to strangle me. His chest was heaving. I was a little worried he might just keel over from pure fury. I wiped my mouth. “So… are you still planning on dying?” I asked tentatively. He didn’t answer, just stared at me with the kind of look you’d give something you found stuck to the bottom of your shoe. I was getting anxious. Was he dying or not? I needed a straight answer. Any longer and rigor mortis would set in. Ultimately, lust conquered all. I reached for the waistband of his pants. Just as my fingers were about to make contact, he grabbed my hand, his grip like iron. He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl of fury. “Get. Out.” I tried to wiggle my fingers free, batting my eyelashes at him. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like before you go?” He squeezed his eyes shut, his rage intensifying. “GET OUT!” It must have been a post-mortem surge of adrenaline. After a whole bottle of pills, not only was Leo not weak, he was freakishly strong. He lifted me like I was a sack of potatoes, tossed me out of the room, and confiscated every last key I had on me. He looked at me with pure disgust, then slammed the door in my face. Tsk. What kind of person did he take me for? Did he really think I was that desperate for him? I turned on my heel and— 6 —climbed in through the window. There was a slight complication. All the food Leo had skipped over the past few days had ended up in my stomach. The catering, it seemed, had been a little too good. I was stuck. I flailed like a beached fish, wriggling uselessly, unable to move an inch forward or backward. Well, this was awkward. The commotion drew Leo’s attention. He stared at me, his face a stony mask, but I could see a flicker of utter speechlessness in his dead eyes. It was clear he was officially out of ideas on how to handle me. I tried my best to ignore his gaze, affecting a casual air. “Ah, what a beautiful day!” I chirped. “The air is so fresh!” Leo’s voice was flat. “What do you want now?” I scrambled for an excuse. A brilliant idea struck me. “Those keys are my personal property! Do you know how much it costs to have a good key made? Give them back.” A cold, humorless laugh escaped him. “So you admit you copied them.” I… was speechless. Genuinely speechless. Leo just scoffed. “Hmph.” Then he turned and walked away, as if he’d made some final, irreversible decision. My pride is basically nonexistent, so I kept at it. “Boss, are you really mad?” “It was a joke! Come on, for old times’ sake? For all the hard work I did for you? Can you give me a hand?” “Help me.” “Help me!” “Go, team! Rah rah!” Leo didn’t even turn around. He just sat down at his computer. My heart ached. How could he just leave me here to die? Didn’t our time together mean anything? A wave of sorrow washed over me, and I couldn’t help but break into song. “It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now…” My tragic ballad had no effect on him. He was so unmoved, he even started watching a video. I immediately shut up and craned my neck to see what he was looking at. With my 20/20 vision, I realized he was pulling up security footage. Wait a second. Was he checking to see if I’d used my copied keys to sneak in and… do things to him? The nerve! I was deeply offended. What could I possibly have done? A sweet, innocent girl like me? All I did was maybe hold his hand… and touch his abs… and his other muscles… What else was there to do? I was heartbroken, sobbing uncontrollably. “Boss, how could you suspect me!” Leo fast-forwarded the footage to a clip of me standing outside his bedroom door with a positively lecherous grin on my face. I tried to salvage the situation. “Can’t we have a little more trust between us? Tell you what, I’ll give you fifty bucks to delete the video.” The video continued to play. There was Leo, drinking the glass of milk I’d prepared for him, falling into a deep, unsuspecting sleep. And there I was, closing his door and standing over his bed, giggling like a maniac. A bead of sweat trickled down my back. “I really didn’t do anything! There’s nothing to see here, trust me.” “Okay, fine! I admit I held your hand! Secretly!” “Please, I’m begging you, just stop watching.” Leo ignored me completely. He even turned up the volume. And so, my own, completely unfiltered voice echoed through the room.

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The System told me to save the villain. The original plan was a classic childhood-friends-to-lovers arc, but I messed up. I picked the wrong age. I chose twenty instead of ten. The System shrieked in my head, a burst of digital static. [MY GOD, HOW CAN ONE PERSON CAUSE SO MUCH DAMAGE?!] I stood calmly in front of the villain’s apartment, faced with a wary-looking little boy, and broke into a wide, delighted smile. “Well, look at you! All grown up! Your Auntie Ava used to hold you when you were just a baby!” The System: [?] The Villain: “?” 1 As I stood on the worn-out welcome mat in front of Leo Blackwood’s door, the System was still having a meltdown in my consciousness. [Oh my god, I look away for one second and the entire world collapses!] [How can you be so reckless?! Host, your job was to redeem the villain with love! Now you’re old enough to be his mother!] […] It went on and on, a frantic, buzzing commentary. I remained as steady as a rock. Just a short while ago, I’d been hit by a car. As I lay dying, the System bonded with me, telling me that if I could successfully redeem the story’s villain, I would be rewarded with a new life in this world. It painted a beautiful picture. I promised without hesitation, “Don’t worry. You can count on me. I’ve got this.” Then, with a slip of my finger, I selected the wrong age. The original setup was for me to be his childhood friend. I was supposed to help him in school, protect him from bullies, heal his wounds, and become the one pure, unforgettable love of his life. But now, I was just some “older woman.” It didn’t matter. There are a million ways to change a person’s life. Who says being his first love was the only path that would work? Ignoring the System’s frantic sputtering, I stepped forward and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door creaked open a few inches, revealing a small, sallow face. The boy was maybe seven or eight years old, rail-thin with messy black hair. A fresh bruise colored the corner of his mouth. His eyes, fixed on me, were full of undisguised suspicion. His voice was childish and soft as he asked, “Who are you?” The moment I saw him, my expression shifted, moving from assessment to surprise, and finally to pure joy. My voice rose with feigned delight. “You must be Leo, right?” “Honey, you’ve gotten so big! Your Auntie Ava used to hold you when you were just a baby!” The System: [?] Leo Blackwood: “?” 2 Hearing my words, the little boy, who had been on high alert, just stared, his eyes clouded with confusion. “Auntie?” The System’s digital CPU was about to fry. [Host, what kind of aunt are you supposed to be?] Without missing a beat, I spun the tale. “That’s right. I’m Ava Rose, your mother Eleanor’s long-lost sister. We found each other right after you were born. I’ve been living abroad all these years… I had no idea that she…” At this, I dug my nails hard into my thigh. The sharp pain brought a faint redness to my eyes. I knelt to his eye level, forcing a pained but gentle smile. “But my sister’s child is my child. From now on, Auntie Ava will take care of you.” I delivered the lines with heartfelt sincerity. Leo was stunned, listening with wide eyes. After a long moment, he murmured, “But… Mom never said she had a sister.” “She passed so suddenly, honey. And you were so little back then. It’s perfectly normal that you don’t remember me.” I seamlessly picked up his thread of doubt. Out in the world, you are who you say you are. In the original story, the villain didn’t come from a traditionally loveless home. On the contrary, his mother, Eleanor, had adored him. But when Leo was five, she got sick and needed money for treatment. She went to his wealthy biological father, who threw them out. In the end, Leo could only watch as his mother passed away in a hospital bed, her eyes full of tears. After that, young Leo survived by collecting scrap metal and bottles, enduring constant scorn and bullying. He grew up, fell in love with a girl he could never have, and spiraled into villainy, only to meet a tragic end. Afraid he still didn’t believe me, I started sharing stories about his mother—intimate little details that no stranger could possibly know. By the time I finished, the little boy’s gaze was shimmering, the corners of his eyes turning red. Dusk was settling, and it was getting close to dinnertime. I stood up and said warmly, “Alright, I’m going to go get some groceries. You be a good boy and wait here for me, okay?” He pressed his lips together, his dark eyes locked on me. Finally, he gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Okay.” I could see the suspicion and caution hadn’t completely vanished from his eyes, but I wasn’t bothered. A kid on his own needs to be careful. An hour later, I returned with bags of groceries. Before I even reached the stairs to his apartment, I felt a pair of eyes on me. But when I looked up, I saw nothing. It wasn’t until I was back at his door that I saw him standing in the exact same spot, his gaze flicking to the grocery bags in my hands. I saw his throat work as he swallowed. After a long pause, he stepped aside, a little stiffly, to let me in. “Come in.” His voice hadn’t changed yet; it was soft and high-pitched, sounding incredibly well-behaved. But I saw it. The hand hidden behind his back was gripping a wooden stick. I sighed internally. Okay. He believed me, but not that much. The System’s voice dripped with sarcasm in my mind. [Right. Because that story was so convincing.] I just shook my head. [No, you don’t get it. The fact that he let me inside is a sign of trust.] The System: […] 3 Thankfully, I’d lived alone for years and had become a decent cook. I made roasted chicken, creamy macaroni and cheese, a pot of corn chowder, and sautéed green beans. A proper meal. When I set the food on the table, Leo didn’t move at first. He just watched me cautiously from under his lashes. I calmly started eating, then gestured to him naturally. “Dinner’s ready.” Only after he saw me take a bite of every single dish did he finally start to eat. Even then, he only picked at the food around the very edge of the serving plates. I couldn’t stand to see it. I picked up the serving spoons and piled his plate high with food. Once his plate was overflowing, I went back to eating my own meal. In my peripheral vision, I saw the little boy stare silently at the mountain of food on his plate. His grip on his fork tightened, and he ducked his head so low his face was nearly buried in his plate as he ate. When we were finished, before I could even start clearing the table, a small hand reached out and took my empty plate. “I’ll… I’ll wash them!” With that, his small, thin figure rushed into the tiny kitchen, and there was no stopping him. I raised an eyebrow. Heh. A proud little guy, aren’t we? 4 The living room and kitchen were separated only by a single old, yellowed sliding door. His small frame was just a head taller than the kitchen counter. He stood on a little stool, washing the dishes with practiced efficiency. Over the sound of running water, I noticed his ears twitch slightly. Perhaps because he didn’t hear any movement from me, he couldn’t resist a slight turn of his head. He looked over his shoulder and met my smiling gaze directly. Caught in the act of peeking, the little boy froze. A second later, he whipped his head back around, a flustered look on his face. I chuckled to myself. The kid was actually pretty cute. I decided not to tease him anymore and stood up. “Leo.” He paused his washing, his hands still in the soapy water, and turned back to look at me, his dark eyes waiting for me to continue. I grabbed my purse and gave him a little wave. “It’s getting late. I should head home now.” With that, I turned and walked toward the door. Silence from behind me. I was almost at the threshold when a small, urgent voice called out. “Are… are you coming back?” I stopped, turning my head slightly. Leo was still standing by the sink, his hands covered in soap suds he hadn’t bothered to rinse off. He was staring at me, his small face tense, his eyes hiding a yearning he couldn’t quite conceal. He was still just a kid, not yet skilled at hiding his feelings, not yet the dark, brooding man he was supposed to become. I blinked, feigning a casual, adult tone as I put on my shoes. “What’s this, kid? Don’t you want me to come back? If I don’t, who’s going to cook for you? Don’t see me out, now! I live just around the corner!” Hearing this, Leo’s tense expression visibly relaxed. He turned his back to me and muttered a soft, “Oh.” But I could see it clearly. The tips of his small ears were slowly turning pink. Ha. Just you wait, kid. Get ready to be smothered by the heavy love of an elder. 5 With the System’s help, I’d moved into a building directly across the street from Leo’s a couple of days ago. As I left his apartment, the System’s snide voice returned. [He wasn’t going to see you out, you know.] I pulled his door closed, catching a final glimpse through the closing gap. Leo had already turned back to the sink, focused on washing the dishes. I let the door click shut, completely unbothered. [You don’t understand. That’s just something adults say. No kid actually takes it literally.] The System: […Whatever.] But just as I got back to my own apartment, before I could even sit down, the System let out a small gasp. [Huh?] [What is it?] I asked. There was a pause, then its tone turned strange. [Go look out your window.] Confused, I did as it said and walked to the window. Across the way, a window slid open. The room inside was dark, no lights on. At first glance, it was just a black square, but then I could clearly make out a small, thin silhouette. This part of town was full of old, run-down buildings. Families that had made some money had long since moved away, leaving the neighborhood feeling even more desolate at night. A single, dim yellow streetlight illuminated the narrow road below. I watched as Leo stood at his window, his gaze fixed on the end of the street, as if searching for something. The small figure stared at the empty road for a long, long time before finally closing the window. Realizing what he had been looking for, a warmth spread through my chest, and I couldn’t help but smile. That silly kid. I was long gone by the time he thought to see me off, wasn’t he? 6 Leo had school in the mornings. Usually, he would just buy a plain bun from a corner store for breakfast. But he didn’t expect that the next morning, as soon as he opened his door, he’d find me standing there with a bag of breakfast. He froze. The morning light fell on his face. Besides his large, dark eyes, his little face was thin from malnutrition. It took him a long moment to process. “You… you’re here,” he stammered. Well, at least he wasn’t carrying a stick today. Progress. I smiled and gently squeezed his cheek, placing the warm bag in his hands. “Yep. Eat up. When you’re done, Auntie Ava will take you to school.” The school was a long way from his apartment. In the original story, Leo ran the entire distance every day. Because it was so far, he was often late and punished by his teachers. The warmth of the breakfast seeped through the bag into his hands. Leo’s fingers twitched, and he glanced down. Inside the bag were breakfast sandwiches, a carton of milk, and a hard-boiled egg. He looked up at me, his expression gentle, his lips pressed into a tight line. Just as I thought he might thank me or get shy, he said, “You don’t have to. I can go by myself,” clutched the bag, and bolted. I watched, stunned, as Leo’s figure disappeared down the street, a question mark slowly forming over my head. “?” Wait. He just… ran? 7 I was utterly baffled. The next second, I broke into a dead sprint after him. Perhaps not expecting me to follow, Leo glanced back, did a double-take, and faltered for a second. I chased him for over a mile, panting, finally catching up to him. I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air like I’d just run a marathon. I looked up and saw him, not even flushed or out of breath. I fell silent. Kids these days are built different. Leo stared at me, his expression unreadable but complex. His tone was still flat. “Did you need something else? I’m going to be late for school.” I took a deep breath, fumbled in my pocket, and pulled out four dollars, pressing the coins into his hand. “Take the bus.” It was a four-mile trip. Running would take him over an hour. It was too much. The boy who had led me on a wild chase stared down at the coins in his palm, his pupils contracting slightly. “…” Just then, I saw a city bus approaching in the distance. I quickly asked the System for confirmation that it went to his school, and when it confirmed, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, there’s your bus! Quick, get on! I’ll watch you go.” Leo didn’t say a word as I gently pushed him toward the bus. Just as the doors hissed shut, he suddenly turned back. His eyes met mine, and his lips moved, as if he was trying to say something. But the bus engine rumbled to life, and I couldn’t hear him. I didn’t think much of it and turned to walk home. I didn’t know. The moment I turned away, the boy who had just found a seat scrambled to the window, his eyes staying on me until I was completely out of sight. 8 In the weeks that followed, I brought Leo breakfast every morning, rain or shine. He didn’t come home for lunch, so I called his homeroom teacher, paid for his school lunches for the rest of the semester, and made dinner for us every night. At first, Leo was still cautious and barely spoke. As time went on, he… still barely spoke. I sighed. The System couldn’t resist a jab. [Host, what is a kid supposed to talk about with an adult like you? If you were his age, growing up together, you could have had a perfect romance.] I scoffed, dismissing the idea. Who said redemption had to be about romance? Just as I was about to argue, my phone rang. I pulled it out, saw the caller ID, and answered. “Hello, Mr. Davison?” A polite voice came from the other end. “Hello, you’re Leo Blackwood’s aunt, correct? The school is holding parent-teacher conferences today. If you have time, we’d appreciate it if you could come.” Parent-teacher conferences? I frowned slightly. Leo hadn’t mentioned it. After a moment’s thought, I replied, “Of course. I’m on my way.” Every other kid would have a parent there. He would too. 9 Leo was in the fourth grade. Though he looked more like he was seven or eight, the System’s file said he was ten. I found Mr. Davison’s classroom, arriving just as the meeting was about to start. The room was packed with parents. I scanned the crowd and finally spotted Leo in a seat shoved into the corner, right next to the trash can. He was slumped over his desk, his face turned away, a look of pure boredom etched on his features. The other students were gathered around their parents, chattering excitedly. Someone noticed Leo. “Is Leo Blackwood’s family a no-show again?” “Didn’t you hear? His dad doesn’t want him. I overheard Mr. Davison on the phone with him once. His dad said he couldn’t make it and told the teacher to just unenroll Leo and send him to an orphanage.” “Leo’s so weird. I guess it makes sense nobody wants him…” The whispers reached my ears. Leo’s expression slowly darkened, and his hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into tight fists. But he didn’t say a word. Suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder. Leo looked up, annoyed. The moment he saw me, his eyes widened. He shot up from his seat, grabbed my sleeve, and started pulling me toward the door. His voice was uncharacteristically stubborn. “Why are you here? This stupid meeting is a waste of time.” “My grades are crap anyway!” I gently took hold of his arm, stopping him. He looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. I glanced around the room, meeting the curious stares of the other parents. I placed a hand on Leo’s shoulder and introduced myself loud and clear. “Hi everyone. I’m Leo’s aunt. I’m here for the conference.” With that, I calmly sat down in his seat. It was so close to the trash can I could smell something sour. The room fell silent for a moment. Then, a low voice, laced with a barely concealed tremor, reached my ear. “Don’t sit there. It’s dirty.”

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1 My boyfriend, Julian, kissed his childhood best friend at my birthday party. He turned to me, Chloe’s lipstick smeared at the corner of his mouth, his expression annoyed. “Can you not be like this?” “It’s just a game. Why do you always have to be such a buzzkill?” Everyone was staring. I was frozen, the humiliation washing over me. Julian always got weird whenever Chloe was around. But normally, he wouldn’t even say a harsh word to me. I tugged on his sleeve, trying to pull him aside. His friend, Chloe, just rolled her eyes. “This is so lame. I shouldn’t have even come.” She tossed her hair. “If she’s this upset over a little kiss, what would she do if she knew we used to sleep in the same bed?” I went rigid. That familiar, icy feeling of being the outsider crept up my spine. I balled my fists, but instead of running off in tears like I usually did, I looked right at Julian. “Since it’s just a game, that means I can play, too… right?” Julian stared at me, then shrugged dismissively. “Yeah. Go ahead. Play.” He was so confident. All the guys here were his friends. He knew none of them would dare make a move on me. And he was right. “C’mon, Ava, don’t be mad at Jules. It’s just a game,” one of his buddies said. “Yeah, we’ve all known each other forever. It’s purely platonic.” Just like that, they brushed it off. I could feel my eyes burning with angry tears. Julian grabbed my wrist. “That’s enough. Don’t be childish and embarrass me. Sit down…” Before he could finish, his twin brother, Liam—who had been silent in the corner all night—stood up. He walked over, sat right next to me, and held up the “Kiss” card that Chloe had drawn. “Are you game, Ava?” 2 The room went dead silent. I’d heard Julian had a twin, but this was the first time I’d ever met him. The face was identical to Julian’s. But up close, they were different. Julian’s eyes were cold, always looking down on people. Liam… Liam just looked polite. Almost sweet. When I didn’t answer, he leaned in, his polite expression still in place. “My brother was,” he added quietly. “He seemed pretty game.” The dig was so obvious that I felt Julian tense up beside me. And in that split second, a crazy thing happened. A little text bubble, like a caption, flashed over Liam’s head. [LOL, he’s not even pretending. Bro, turn around and look at your brother’s face.] [This is gold. The girl he’s been looking for for seven years becomes his sister-in-law, and his brother treats her like crap. He’s about to lose his mind.] [Ava, if you nod right now, tonight he’s going to be knocking on your door pretending to be his brother.] …What the hell? I glanced at Julian’s thunderous expression. On pure impulse, fueled by the captions and a sudden rush of spite, I nodded. 3 I admit, I was doing it to get back at Julian. I wanted him to feel that suffocating, helpless anger for a change. But I didn’t think Liam would actually do it. Not right in front of his brother. He leaned in. The room gasped. I stopped breathing. He got closer, his eyes locked on mine, and then… he stopped, just an inch away. He held my gaze for two long seconds, then pulled back. The spell was broken. Julian yanked Liam away from me by the collar and then grabbed my wrist, dragging me out of the room. The hallway was quiet, but he was radiating anger. “Are you done?” he hissed. “First you target Chloe, and now you’re using Liam just to make me mad?” The cold air from the hall hit my face. I looked up at him. “So you’re allowed to be upset, but I’m not? You can, but I can’t?” Julian sighed, rubbing his temples. “Chloe was right. I shouldn’t have brought you tonight.” My stomach dropped. “So this wasn’t a party for my birthday. This was just your regular get-together, and I was just… a tag-along.” It wasn’t a question. “Whatever,” Julian said, already pulling me back toward the room. “I’ll take you home.” “Don’t bother,” I said, yanking my hand away. “Go take Chloe home.” His face darkened. “Are you really going to do this tonight?” 4 I walked back into the room, grabbed my coat, and headed for the door. Julian was right behind me. But as I stepped out, Chloe’s voice, suddenly weak, called out. “Jules… can you take me home? I think…” She hunched over, wrapping her arms around her stomach. I turned and looked at Julian. “She’s calling you. Go.” “Can you stop talking to me like that?” he snapped. “I said I’d take you.” He started to get his phone out to call her an Uber, but she grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Jules… my pants,” she whispered, her voice full of shame. “I think I… I really messed up.” Julian froze. Three minutes later, Chloe was sitting in his passenger seat, wrapped in his jacket. He looked at me, his jaw tight. “I’ll be back. Quick.” He chose Chloe. Again. The car’s taillights disappeared into the night. I stood there in the cold, the reality of it settling over me. I wasn’t surprised. But it still hurt. I stood there for a long time, just breathing in the cold air, finally accepting that he just didn’t like me as much as I thought. I was about to leave when I realized I’d left my purse inside. I waited a few more minutes, figuring the party was over. But when I got back, the door was cracked open. I heard voices. “…I don’t get it, man, why her?” “She’s your brother’s girlfriend!” “And you need to stop pulling stunts like that. You know what Jules is like. He’s not going to let this go.” I froze. Through the crack, I saw Liam leaning back on the sofa, his expression cold. The sweet, polite look was completely gone. “Ava deserves better,” he said flatly. “He doesn’t deserve her.” His friend threw his hands up. “Deserve, don’t deserve, that’s his business! Besides, if he doesn’t, who does?” Liam took a long drink, then set the glass down. “I do.” “What?! Bro, you can’t…” “Wait… is that Ava?” His friend had spotted me. He instantly shut up and nudged Liam. Liam, holding his glass, went still. Then, slowly, he looked up. Our eyes met in the silence. “…” 5 I had to be drunk. This night was getting too weird. My brain was chaos. Liam looked just as chaotic. He opened his mouth, “I…” I pretended I hadn’t heard a thing, grabbed my purse, and bolted. I was home before I could even process what he’d said. My mind just kept replaying that last, lonely look he gave me. He’d actually followed me out of the club. I didn’t want to get in the middle of… whatever that was. When he insisted on walking me home, I shut him down. “Thanks, but stay out of things between me and Julian.” His face paled. He just stopped walking and said, “Oh. Right. Sorry. It won’t happen again.” … The text bubbles in my living room brought me back. [Aaaand he’s crushed. Rejected by his dream girl.] [Don’t worry, he’ll be back. He can’t stand anyone else taking care of her.] [Here it comes… the famous ‘Open up, it’s me, your boyfriend’ scene!] I was still reading that last one when my doorbell rang. I paused. No way. I opened the door. And just like the caption said, there was “Julian.” 6 If it weren’t for the text bubbles, I would have been fooled. He’d even changed into the exact same shirt Julian had been wearing. “You’re back already?” I asked. “Yeah, dropped her off. I brought you some soup to sober up.” He paused, then added, “Not that I went out of my way or anything.” I gave him a weird look. He came in, and while I drank the soup, he silently started cleaning the small cut on my wrist I’d gotten at the party. I hadn’t even noticed it. He was frowning, but his touch was incredibly gentle. When he finished, he cleared his throat. “Not that I came here just to do this.” “…” I looked up. The text bubbles were back. [He’s dying. He wants to take care of her so bad, but he’s terrified of his brother getting the credit.] [He probably saw that cut and wanted to murder his brother.] [Now he has to go home and get into a fistfight with Julian.] It was definitely Liam. I almost laughed. Of course Julian was still with Chloe. He probably didn’t even see me get hurt. The old Julian might have. But ever since Chloe came back, everything was different. He didn’t even get me a birthday present. As if on cue, Liam shoved a small, elegant box into my hand. He was looking at the floor. “Happy birthday. I’m leaving. Get some rest.” He was so good at this, acting just like his brother. But I was tired. “You’re Liam, aren’t you?” He froze, his hand on the doorknob. He turned back, his denial immediate. “I’m not.” [He’s panicking! He’s afraid if she knows, he won’t even get to be her servant!] [Ava, he’s harmless! He’s just a sad, devoted puppy! Don’t expose him!] I sighed. I was actually starting to feel bad for him. But as I opened my mouth to talk, he ripped the door open and left. He only made it one step before he stopped dead. I knew, before I even looked. Standing in the hallway, looking furious, were the real Julian. And Chloe. 7 The air in the hallway crackled. A perfect mirror image. Two Julians staring at each other. “What are you doing here?” “What is she doing here?” They spoke at the same time, then froze. Julian glanced at Chloe. Liam looked back at me, his face instantly pale. Chloe, who seemed terrified of Liam, hid behind Julian. “Jules, maybe we should just go. I’m sure Ava didn’t mean it.” She held up her arm, showing a tiny, superficial scratch. “See? It doesn’t even hurt.” I understood. When we’d bumped into each other, I wasn’t the only one who got scratched. But Julian had only seen her scratch. And he’d brought her here to demand an apology from me. The bandage on my wrist suddenly felt like it was on fire. Julian lit a cigarette. “Ava, apologize to Chloe. And we can let this go.” He really thought I did it on purpose. He always took her side. Every single time. [Ugh, I can’t stand these two. Ava, dump him!] [Seriously. They just get off on this drama. You’re just a prop they use to flirt with each other.] I looked at the text bubbles, and my memories clicked into place. They were right. Every time Chloe showed up, I became the unreasonable, jealous girlfriend, and they became the two star-crossed friends fighting a forbidden connection. My pain was just part of their script. “Is it really that hard for you to just say you’re sorry?” Julian’s impatient voice cut through my thoughts. I took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m not apologizing.” “And, Julian? We’re done. We’re breaking up.” I slammed the door in his face. 8 It was easier than I thought. I didn’t even feel sad. Just… light. Julian didn’t believe me, of course. The text bubbles outside my door told me everything. [Julian to Chloe: “She chased me for a year. She’s not dumping me over this. She’s just trying to make me jealous.”] [Julian: “Watch. She’ll be begging me to take her back in a week.”] [Chloe: “Ooh, let’s make a bet. Let’s pretend we’re dating. That’ll push her over the edge!”] I didn’t have time for their games. Because Liam was back. He showed up the next day, using the excuse of apologizing for his brother. Then he just… started cooking. The day after, he “just wanted to make sure I was okay.” And he cleaned my entire apartment. He always had an excuse. “My brother really messed up. I just want to make it right.” He was lying, of course. But I didn’t call him on it. [Servant-mode: ACTIVATED. He’s just happy to be here.] [While Julian waits for her to crawl back, Liam is already moving in.] It was, as the text bubbles said, like he was a servant. But a very sneaky one. He’d be cutting apples for me. “I’m cutting these into slices for you. It’s easier to eat. Did… did my brother ever do that?” He’d see me grabbing the vacuum. “No, let me. Isn’t this supposed to be the guy’s job? I just assumed Julian would have…” He’d be in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I’ve never really dated anyone. I just thought, in a relationship, the guy was supposed to do the cooking. He didn’t do this either?” [LMAO. The ‘I’ve-never-dated’ card. Suuuure, buddy.] [The shade! He’s trashing his brother every chance he gets!] [Julian’s over there playing games. Liam’s playing for keeps.] 9 I saw Julian again at Liam’s apartment. It was raining, my power was out, and I was soaked. Liam averted his eyes. “You’ll get sick. You can… you can use my shower. If you want.” His ears turned bright red. The man was a paradox. But I was freezing, so I agreed. I was in the middle of rinsing my hair when I heard the front door open. [Oh, hell. The ex has arrived. He’s here to whine to his brother.] [This is going to be good. Liam is going to give him terrible advice. LMAO.] Julian’s voice filled the apartment. “Liam, am I spoiling her? It’s been a week, and not one text. Not one call.” “And I don’t even like Chloe like that. Ava is just being paranoid. I’ve known Chloe my whole life, if I wanted to be with her, I would have!” I turned off the water, listening. Liam’s voice was cold. “Then just break up.” Julian sputtered. “I’m not… I’m not breaking up with her. She’s just throwing a tantrum. She still likes me.” “Besides,” Julian said, “didn’t you pretend to be me the other night? You were trying to help me, right? I’m just here to ask you… how do I get her to back down?” I heard Liam laugh. It wasn’t a nice sound. “Forget it,” Julian snapped. “Asking you is useless. You’re just going to sit around fantasizing about that ‘one that got away’ forever, aren’t you?” “When are you leaving town this time?” The text bubbles had told me Liam traveled constantly. “I’m not,” Liam said. “I’m staying.” Then he added, his voice dangerously quiet. “And, bro? Since you’re broken up… stay away from her.” I tensed. [Ooooh, Julian’s face. He’s finally getting it.] [He’s on the edge. He’s realizing something is very, very wrong.] Julian had a notoriously bad temper. I was suddenly afraid for Liam. After a long, tense silence, Julian just said, “Stay out of my business.” I heard the door open. He was leaving. I let out a breath. “But, bro,” Liam’s voice called out. “It’s not your business anymore.” Julian stopped. I heard his footsteps turn around.

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1 I was visiting my folks back home when I saw my uncle, Frank, holding my six-month-old nephew and trying to get him to drink whiskey. My sister-in-law, Chloe, tried to stop him. Frank’s wife, my Aunt Brenda, slapped her across the face. “Who do you think you gave birth to, the Pope? How dare you refuse a drink from his Great Uncle!” My brother, Adam, tried to defuse the situation. Uncle Frank just laughed in his face. “You’re a lost cause, you don’t even drink. I’m teaching your son right! A little whiskey helps ’em grow! Build that tolerance young, and he’ll be a man’s man!” My little nephew, Leo, was bright red and screaming his lungs out. I walked over, grabbed Uncle Frank by the throat, shoved a handful of pills into his mouth, and washed it down with half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “You know what they say about antibiotics and booze! Bottoms up!” Then I drop-kicked Aunt Brenda, got on top of her, and gave her a taste of my “eighteen-palm-strike.” “You like hitting women? How about one your own size!” They were screaming, crying, clawing for their phones to call 911. I just smiled. “Funny, isn’t it? You’re so eager to save your own lives. Why was it so wrong when she tried to save her son’s?” I’m the evil sister. Lazy, good-for-nothing, and a total menace. I’ve got a spine of steel and a zero-tolerance policy for BS. Combine that with my finely-honed fighting skills and a 24/7 arsenal of insults, and I’m pretty much infamous back home. Everyone avoids me. Which, by association, screwed over my brother, Adam. No matchmaker in a fifty-mile radius would touch him. Finally, after college, he met a girl on his own. The day before he brought her home, my mom grabbed me by the ear. “Sloane,” she warned, “you control that mouth and those hands.” “If you scare this one off, I swear to God, I will reenact your entire childhood discipline!” I surrendered. I was a perfect angel. When we went to the bus station to pick her up, Adam ran into a store for water. I was walking his girlfriend, Chloe, to the car when three local punks blocked our path. They whistled, said some disgusting things, and then one of them reached for her. Chloe shrank back, her eyes filling with tears. I sighed. “Hey! You guys ever heard of Sloane?” The punks paused. “You mean the Linwood Lunatic? The baddest bitch in town? Yeah, we know of her.” I sighed again. “That’s me.” I didn’t waste any more time. I dropped into a horse stance. A quick jab to the throat. A 360-degree spin kick. A swift, precise kick to the family jewels. By the time Adam got back with the water, they were all on the ground. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. He started stammering, trying to explain to Chloe. “My sister… she doesn’t… she doesn’t beat people up every day. Just… you know… frequently.” He was making it worse. He finally just shut up, clearly wondering if he could get her on a return bus tonight. But Chloe’s face… she grabbed Adam’s hand, her eyes shining. “Adam, I always thought you were kind of a pushover. I had no idea you had a heavy-hitter in your family!” “Just for your sister,” she declared, “I am marrying you!” And just like that, the first meeting turned into an engagement. The next day, Chloe’s parents flew in. Chloe was whispering to her mom, pointing at me. Her mom’s eyes got brighter and brighter, staring at me with an intensity I didn’t understand. It wasn’t how you look at a potential sister-in-law. It was how you look at a prize-winning pitbull. 2 My mom was convinced Chloe had a few screws loose. Because after they got married, the family hierarchy was: 1. Leo (the baby), 2. Me, 3. The dog, 4. Adam. My brother was devastated. “I get the baby, okay! But why is Sloane more important than me?” “Are you telling me you only married me because of my sister?” Chloe was blunt. “Yeah, pretty much.” She explained it to him. Our family (me excluded) is too nice. We’re soft. We get bullied. Investing in me now, she said, was like having a nuclear deterrent. If anyone ever started trouble, I was the “call in the cavalry” option. It gave her a profound sense of security. Adam thought she was being paranoid. Until Leo was six months old, and we went back home for a family dinner. Uncle Frank got his hands on Leo and immediately tried to pour whiskey into his mouth. “Gotta build his tolerance! Start ’em young! C’mon, little man, have a taste!” Leo, only six months old, was instantly overwhelmed by the fumes and started screaming, his little legs kicking. Frank didn’t care. He waited for the baby to open his mouth to cry and dripped the liquor right in. Leo, shocked by the burn, wailed, his face turning a terrifying shade of red. Frank just laughed and started tossing the baby up in the air. “A little whiskey to clear his sins, a little screaming to clear his lungs! C’mon, let’s make you brave!” He was tossing my nephew around like a sack of potatoes. Leo, terrified by the repeated feeling of falling, went rigid. The relatives around them were laughing. Laughing. Aunt Brenda chimed in. “My, my, city kids are so delicate. Crying over a drop of alcohol? He’s probably just stupid, right?” Frank waved his hand. “He’s fine! I’ll give him another sip. It’ll make him smart!” He picked up his glass again. Someone finally said, “Frank, that’s enough. He’s just a baby.” Aunt Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “He’s almost one! He can’t have a sip of whiskey?” Frank ignored them, lifting the glass. Leo, remembering the burn, clamped his mouth shut and twisted his head. Brenda got angry. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’ll get it in him.” She reached out and pinched Leo’s nose shut. The baby gasped for air, his mouth flying open. Frank poured. Leo choked, a horrible, gasping, coughing sound. 3 Chloe heard the commotion and ran in. She saw what was happening and went feral, ripping Leo out of Frank’s arms. The baby was just… limp. He couldn’t even cry anymore. “What did you do to my son?” Chloe screamed. Frank just grunted. “About time you showed up. No respect. Yelling at your elders.” Brenda sneered. “We gave him a sip of booze, not poison. Stop acting like he’s dying.” “He’s a baby! You can’t give him alcohol!” Aunt Brenda’s face twisted. She hauled off and slapped Chloe so hard she stumbled. “This is our family’s house. We don’t need an outsider telling us what to do! Who do you think you are? Your kid is too good for his uncle’s whiskey?” Chloe fell, clutching Leo. She’s the sweetest person I know. She’s never been in a fight in her life. But Leo was making a tiny, kitten-like sound, his face an unnatural red. “If anything… if anything happens to my son,” she whispered, “I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” It was the most violent thing she could muster. Aunt Brenda just laughed, got on top of her, and started wailing on her. “You’ll kill me? You’ll kill me? Let’s see you try, you little bitch!” Chloe just curled around the baby, taking the punches. Frank sat back down, sipping his drink. “Everyone’s a witness! She threatened us! This is self-defense!” He picked up an empty beer bottle. “Brenda, move. You hit like a girl.” He smashed the bottle over Chloe’s head. Blood. Chloe just groaned, trying to stay conscious. Brenda, cackling, saw the broken glass on the floor. She grabbed Chloe’s hand and stomped on it. “Was this the hand you pushed my husband with? Huh?” She ground her heel in. “I’ll teach you!” 4 Someone ran and got my brother. Adam saw his wife on the floor, bloody, and his son limp, and he grabbed a fireplace poker. He’s never been in a fight. He just ran in, swinging blindly. He caught Brenda on the arm, hard enough to make her scramble back. “You hit me? You hit me?” Brenda shrieked, collapsing. “HE’S TRYING TO MURDER ME! ADAM IS KILLING HIS AUNT! EVERYONE, LOOK!” Adam’s face was purple. He ignored her, pulling Chloe and Leo up. “Chloe… oh my god… we’re going to the hospital.” Chloe just pointed at the baby. “Leo… first. He’s… he’s not crying right…” Adam saw the baby’s state and bolted for the door. Frank blocked him. “Hit your aunt and run? Not so fast. You apologize, and you pay up.” Brenda, from the floor: “A hundred thousand dollars! Or you’re not leaving!” Chloe, holding her bleeding head, was shaking with rage. “You… you hit me! You attacked my son! You’re insane!” Brenda just lay there. “I’m your elder. I’m allowed to teach you a lesson. You hit me? That’s a crime!” Adam, his voice trembling: “Uncle Frank, let me take my son to the doctor. We’ll… we’ll talk about this after.” Frank’s eyes glittered. “He’s fine. He just had a sip. Let’s talk about the money first.” Adam gritted his teeth. “Frank… don’t push me.” Frank sneered. “Or what? You’ll hit me, too?” Adam took a deep breath. And he roared. “SLOANE!” I was right outside the window. “ON IT!” “Do whatever you want! I’ll take the fall!” “SAY LESS!” I slammed the gas on my pickup. The truck crashed through the front gate, the entire structure collapsing inward. The wooden gate slammed flat, trapping Frank underneath it. I didn’t stop. I ran the front wheels right over his legs. We all heard the SNAP. As he started to scream, I jumped out of the cab and dusted off my jeans. “Everyone else? Get out. Now. Or you’re next.”

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My wife’s ex-boyfriend, Kyle, came back from overseas with a lot of fanfare. She didn’t just hire him for a fat salary; she brought him straight into a meeting with my most important business partner. I tried to tell her gently that Kyle was too inexperienced, that he’d torpedo the project. My wife, Rachel, just scowled. “We have a child together, Kevin. Kyle is my past. Why can’t you just let it go?” Kyle chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “For a guy who married into the family, you spend more time being paranoid than actually working. You’ve got a hell of a nerve.” I stared at Rachel, stunned. “Since when did I ‘marry into the family’?” 1 “Rachel was just trying to save your dignity by not announcing you were a kept man,” Kyle sneered, right in front of our partner, whose face was already turning to stone. “Don’t tell me a few years of the good life made you forget the days you were digging through trash cans for food?” My gaze turned to ice. “You’re a new sales hire. What gives you the right to interrupt a conversation between me and the Chairman?” Before I could say more, Rachel slammed her hand on the table. “Have you had enough!” she snapped. “I brought Kyle here to talk business, not for you to throw a jealous fit and try to push him out!” I looked at her, baffled, convinced I’d misheard. I had scheduled this dinner with our top partner, Mr. Peterson, two weeks ago. Everything was prepared, all the details ironed out, just waiting for a signature. But ten minutes ago, she’d shown up with her ex-boyfriend, Kyle, ready to hijack the whole deal. And Kyle, arrogant as ever, had managed to offend Peterson with his first sentence. As the company’s chairman, Rachel didn’t step in to protect our interests or ask Kyle to leave. Instead, she was accusing me of making a scene. It was insane. Mr. Peterson frowned at us. “If you have family matters to sort out, perhaps we should postpone this. I only do business with people who are prepared.” Rachel’s eyes went wide with shock, not expecting him to suddenly back out. I just watched her, a coldness spreading through me. I had no intention of saving this. She had orchestrated this mess herself. But then, to my utter astonishment, Kyle spoke up. “Mr. Peterson, please don’t go! We came here with the utmost sincerity to work with you.” He flashed a smile. “How about we offer another ten percent off our profit margin?” His words stunned not only Peterson but me as well. The five percent I had originally negotiated was already the absolute limit for us to still turn a profit. But he was offering ten. We wouldn’t just make nothing; we’d lose a fortune on materials and labor! Even with the rage coiling in my gut, I couldn’t just stand by. Rachel and I had built this company from the ground up. I wouldn’t let Kyle burn it down. “Mr. Peterson, he’s a new employee and doesn’t fully understand the project,” I said smoothly. “If you’re still interested, we can proceed with the original five percent offer. It ensures a mutually beneficial partnership for the future.” If Kyle had any sense, he’d shut his mouth and step aside. But he seemed determined to make this a contest. He put on an innocent act. “Oh, I thought you and Mr. Peterson were old buddies, Kevin. I’m surprised you only offered him a five percent cut. My mistake.” He gave a self-deprecating little laugh, slapping his own forehead. “Well, if Mr. Peterson is willing to take a hit just to see his friend get rich, I’ve got nothing more to say. I’ll see myself out.” His words put me on the spot, painting me as a greedy hustler. I grabbed his wrist, my voice low and dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?” Business is built on trust. Kyle was making it sound like I was conning our partner. A quick glance at Mr. Peterson confirmed my fears; his eyes were now filled with suspicion. I suppressed my anger and turned to my wife. “That five percent margin was something you and I calculated together. Are you just going to let a rookie spout this nonsense and ruin my relationship with Mr. Peterson?” At the end of the day, Kyle was just a salesman. If Rachel sided with me, Peterson would let it slide. But Rachel looked as if her patience had finally snapped. “Kyle isn’t spouting nonsense! The ten percent figure was our original calculation for a win-win. You were the one who got greedy, trying to squeeze out more profit for yourself.” She looked at Peterson, her voice ringing with false sincerity. “At this point, I can’t cover for him anymore. You’ve been a loyal partner for so long, Mr. Peterson. We can’t be dishonest. Even if he is my husband, I can’t stand by and let him lie to you.” With that, Peterson’s face darkened completely. “Kevin,” he said, his voice cold. “I thought of you as a friend. Were you playing me for a fool?” A triumphant smirk played on Kyle’s lips. He clapped a consoling hand on Peterson’s shoulder. “Mr. Peterson, don’t waste your anger on someone who only sees dollar signs. The chairman and I rushed over today specifically to make sure you weren’t taken advantage of. Please, calm down.” Rachel eagerly picked up his cue. “If you’ve lost faith in Kevin, you can direct all future business through Kyle. He’s a top graduate from overseas, incredibly knowledgeable about all kinds of projects and business models.” And just like that, it all became clear. Rachel was using me as a stepping stone to pave the way for her ex-boyfriend. But I’m no pushover. I looked at her, my voice devoid of warmth. “I hope you won’t live to regret what you’ve done today.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “Kevin, have you forgotten your place? I am the sole decision-maker in this company. My choices are not up for your debate!” We founded this company together. Because I loved her, I never cared about titles like Chairman. She wanted to be a powerhouse businesswoman, and I was happy to be the foundation she built upon. When she asked me to step back from the front lines, using our newborn son as an excuse, I played along. Even when she told people I was just a man who’d married into her success, I said nothing. But my love and my concessions hadn’t earned me her understanding. They’d only made her bolder. Looking at Kyle standing beside her, I sighed, deciding to give her one last chance. Our son, Bobby, was only five. I didn’t want him to suffer through his parents’ separation. “If you want to help Kyle out of some old sentiment, fine. But this project’s margin cannot go beyond five percent!” She was right that we had calculated a ten percent margin. But that was before factoring in the rising costs of labor and raw materials. Once those were included, five percent was the maximum. Any more, and we’d be losing money, paying for the privilege of working. The company had done well over the years, but it couldn’t withstand that kind of bleeding. If this happened once, it would happen again. I couldn’t watch her gamble away everything we’d built. I expected some flicker of recognition, but her face was a mask of disgust. “Do you think you can control me just because you’re a man?” she spat. “Let me tell you, women are just as capable in the business world! I said ten percent, and I will not go back on my word!” At that, Mr. Peterson started clapping. “Excellent! Chairman Rachel, a woman of her word. In that case, my choice is clear. I’ll go with your company!” Kyle shot me a smug, victorious look. “Some people think marrying into wealth gives them control, but they forget that a pretty face is only good for living off someone else. When it comes to real business, they don’t get a say.” His words were a direct jab at me, but Rachel didn’t even flinch. She was too busy smiling and raising a glass to Peterson. Seeing that he had Peterson’s ear, Kyle feigned a sigh. “He knew there was a ten percent margin but told you five just so he could pocket the difference. Now that Mr. Peterson has graciously decided to continue working with us, don’t you think you owe him some kind of apology, Kevin?” I stared at Kyle, my silence a wall of ice. Even if my status in the company had slipped, I was still the Vice President. What right did a rookie salesman have to talk down to me? But with Rachel’s silent approval, he grew bolder. “At the very least, you should drink three shots as an apology. And don’t give us that nonsense about an alcohol allergy. Who comes to a business dinner and doesn’t drink?” The way he specifically mentioned an “alcohol allergy” was a dead giveaway. My eyes snapped to Rachel. She looked away, a flicker of guilt on her face, but then she hardened. “Kyle told you to drink, so drink. It’s not going to kill you.” It was true. I have a severe alcohol allergy and a chronic stomach condition. Years ago, when Rachel said she wanted the company to grow faster, I threw myself into networking, wining and dining investors. I drank until I ended up in the hospital with a perforated ulcer. Rachel had wept by my bedside, swearing that nothing was more important than my health. She made me promise never to drink again, saying if I did, she would never speak to me again. Now, I looked at her and gave a slow, deliberate nod. “If this is what you want, I’ll give it to you.” But after these three glasses, you and I are done. A fiery trail of liquor seared its way down my throat. I fought back the nausea and walked out of the private dining room. Behind me, I could faintly hear their laughter. Kyle’s voice, thick with feigned concern, drifted out. “I thought you were doing so well all these years, Rachel. I never imagined you’d marry a pretty boy like him. He even had the nerve to give you attitude in front of Mr. Peterson. The disrespect is unbelievable!” My steps faltered. I wanted to hear what Rachel would say. After a brief pause, she replied, “Compared to you, with your Master’s degree from overseas, he’s just a community college dropout. A few years in management and he’s forgotten where he came from. Tomorrow, I’m announcing his demotion.” Kyle was quick with the flattery. “A brilliant decision. You have to deal with trash like him, who think a little history gives them the right to throw their weight around.” I walked away. There was nothing more I needed to hear. Kyle had repeatedly humiliated me in front of a business partner, and Rachel, my own wife, hadn’t just allowed it—she’d joined in. Years of love and devotion, all burned away in one night. I was done forcing myself to endure it. The moment I stepped outside the hotel, I doubled over, vomiting. A searing fire ripped through my stomach, and I broke out in a cold sweat. The nearest hospital was an hour away, but home, and my medication, was only thirty minutes. I sent a quick text to my lawyer: Draft the divorce papers. Immediately. Then I drove home. Bobby was already asleep. I tiptoed upstairs and took my medicine. Not long after, I heard the lock turn in the front door. I didn’t go to greet Rachel like I always did. Her voice, sharp with irritation, cut through the quiet house. “You walked out on a client without a word, and now you’re home acting like a ghost? Can you stop with the childish drama?” Her shouting woke Bobby, who started to cry. I pushed through the pain, intending to go to him. As I opened my door, I saw Kyle, standing in our living room like he owned the place, calming our son. Bobby, who usually took me ages to soothe, was instantly quieted with a piece of fried chicken from Kyle. He wrapped his little arms around Kyle’s neck. “Daddy Kyle, you’re so nice to me! My daddy never lets me eat this. He’s mean!” Bobby has a sensitive stomach, just like me. I didn’t want him to suffer from the same chronic pain, so I strictly limited his intake of fried, greasy foods. Rachel knew all of this. But she just stood there, watching, saying nothing. She saw me standing in the doorway, my face pale, and her brow just furrowed with annoyance. “Whatever, I’m not going to argue with you,” she said dismissively. “So your stomach hurts. Is it my fault you didn’t eat properly?” She tossed a black plastic bag onto the table. “I wouldn’t normally do something so low-class as getting a doggy bag, but I remembered you can’t go hungry with your stomach issues.” Her tone was condescending, as if packing up leftovers for me was a great sacrifice. But she and Kyle were the ones who had smeared my name, who had forced me to drink, who had caused this flare-up in the first place. Bobby looked at the black bag on the table and asked with childlike innocence, “Isn’t that a trash bag? Is Daddy going to eat trash?” When I didn’t move, Rachel’s voice sharpened with impatience. “They were out of takeout containers. Besides, these bags are stronger. Why should a guttersnipe like you care? You crawled your way up from the bottom.” Her next words struck me like a physical blow. “Weren’t you so poor you had to dig through trash and fight with stray dogs for food?” She said it so casually, so lightly, but it sent a shard of ice through my heart. My parents died when I was young, and I grew up on the streets, surviving on scraps and begging. It was only through the kindness of strangers that I was able to finish school. The first year after graduation, I developed a small software program and made my first real money. I paid back every person who had ever helped me, with interest. I told Rachel everything about my past, holding nothing back. She had cried then, her eyes red with sympathy, and promised she would heal the wounds of my childhood. Now, in front of our son, she was calling me a guttersnipe. Exposing my past, telling him I fought dogs for scraps. I struggled to maintain my composure and looked at Bobby, wanting to tell him there’s no shame in survival. But my son just stared at me with disgust. “Daddy’s gross. People who touch trash are stinky. No wonder Daddy is stinky too.” He pointed a little finger at me. “Daddy told me not to eat dirty things, but he fought with dogs for food! Daddy’s a liar!” Bobby then spat in my direction. “Daddy’s disgusting! I don’t want this daddy! I want a new one! I want Daddy Kyle!” Kyle, holding Bobby, put on a show of gentle refusal. “But you already have a daddy, little guy. I can’t be your daddy.” At that, Bobby burst into tears. I reached out to hold him, but he lunged forward and sank his teeth into my arm. A five-year-old’s teeth are sharp, and he bit down with all his might. Blood welled up instantly. I hissed in pain but was afraid to move, afraid I’d hurt him. As he bit me, he started kicking me wildly. One of his kicks landed squarely in my stomach, and the pain I’d just managed to medicate away roared back to life. Seeing my face twist in agony, Bobby just laughed, a triumphant look in his eyes. “Bad daddy! That’s for not letting me eat fried chicken!” he shrieked. “I beat you! From now on, you have to listen to me! Are you going to let me eat fried chicken and hamburgers or not?”

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