Category: English

At dinner, my husband suddenly asked me: “What would you do if I met someone… better than you?” I was silent for a moment. “Then you should be with her. We can get a divorce.” What he didn’t know was… I had already seen him. Earlier today. I watched him frantically try to comfort that girl, her eyes red from crying. I heard him say, “Don’t cry. I’ll give you a future.” 1 He put his chopsticks down. His face went pale, then twisted into a difficult smile. “Claire, I was just kidding.” It wasn’t a joke. I knew. I knew what his love felt like. Which is how I knew, without a doubt, that what he felt for that girl was real. Earlier today, at the hospital, the doctor’s bored expression softened when he read my chart. He lowered his voice. “Don’t be scared. It’s not late-stage. If you start treatment, this is manageable.” I was walking out with the diagnosis in my hand when I saw them. Mark’s arm was injured. The girl was looking at it, her eyes filling with tears. “Why did I meet you so late?” she whispered. “I don’t even have the right to take care of you.” Mark looked frantic. “Summer, don’t cry,” he said, reaching for her. Blood seeped through his new bandage. “I’ll give you a future.” The words hung in the air. He froze, as if he’d surprised himself. But the girl believed him. She looked up, her nose red. “Really?” Mark just frowned, and said nothing. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I know Mark. As long as we were married, he wouldn’t physically cheat. But his heart? I can’t control his heart. 2 I wanted to know. What kind of girl was “better” than me? I found her in his phone. Summer. I had to see her for myself. I had to see the person who so easily destroyed eight years. We survived long-distance. We survived the pandemic. We survived being so broke we split a single instant ramen for dinner. But we couldn’t survive a “better person.” I found her on the local college campus. She was exactly what you’d expect. Young. Bright. An elderly janitor was struggling with a heavy trash bin. The bag split, and dozens of empty soda cans clattered across the pavement. Summer, in her cream-colored coat, ran over and started picking them up. She helped the woman get the new bag in place and walked with her for a block. I followed, like a creep. Suddenly, footsteps. A figure moved fast, blocking my view. It was Mark. He was standing between me and the girl, his hands half-raised. His lips were trembling. “Claire… it’s not her fault.” Not her fault. Then whose fault was it? Mine? The girl, Summer, finally noticed me. She looked at me, then quickly looked away, her face full of shame. 3 In a coffee shop. Mark sat across from me, his eyes full of pain. “Claire, I…” He couldn’t say it. I was waiting. Waiting to see if, now that I knew, he would choose to end it with her, or end it with me. He finally, painfully, got the words out. “Claire… I… I don’t think I love you anymore.” I didn’t say anything. My body betrayed me first. My eyes burned. He looked helpless. “Don’t cry…” He stared at me, then slid the napkin dispenser across the table. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “We’ve been together since we were eighteen, Claire. Eight years. I know I’m an asshole. I’m disgusting. But… in eight years… the love just… it turned into family. Into obligation. We can’t fight that. It just happens.” “And her?” I asked. He was silent. “Maybe that will fade, too,” he said. “But… I don’t want to lie to you right now.” He looked up, his voice bitter. “I haven’t done anything. I haven’t slept with her. If you want… we can stay married. We can… keep going. But all I have left to give you is… responsibility. And the rest of my time.” How could I describe that feeling? It wasn’t just sadness. It was… watching yourself drown. You know you’re going to die. You just have to wait for the water to fill your lungs. We sat in silence. Finally, I spoke. “Let’s set a date. To file for divorce.” 4 It was evening when I left the cafe. The sunset was a blinding, angry red. Across the street, someone was hovering by the bus stop. Mark saw her instantly and sprinted across the road, dodging a car. The girl flinched, her face pale. “Summer, what are you doing here?” he said, his voice rough. “I told you to go back to your dorm. Have you been waiting this whole time?” She glanced at me, then dropped her head. “I… I was worried about you…” His whole face softened. “Hey. Don’t be.” A wave of nausea, so sharp and acidic, hit me. I thought I was already at rock bottom. I thought I couldn’t feel any worse. I was wrong.

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After dying from poverty and starvation, I spent a thousand years in the Underworld buttering up the King of Hell. Finally, he agreed to let me choose my next life. Scanning the “Wealthiest Families” list, I didn’t hesitate. I picked the #1 Billionaire family. Blinded by the dream of being a spoiled, only daughter in a crazy rich family, I ignored the “Family Composition” section. The father was a wife-guy to the extreme. The mother was a competitive, jealous psycho. My nightmare started the day they brought me home from the hospital to their mansion. Dad touched my cheek? Mom clawed a chunk of skin off my face, leaving me scarred. I cried from hunger, interrupting Mom’s beauty sleep? Dad stuffed me into the refrigerator until I had third-degree frostbite. My first birthday interrupted their “999th Day Since Our First Kiss” anniversary? They threw me into the fireplace. I burned until there was nothing left but ash. Back in the Underworld. The King of Hell pitied me and suggested I pick another family. But I pointed right back at that same damn family. I looked at the well-preserved, elegant Grandma on the screen and asked the Billionaire Grandpa: “The first account was a bust. Wanna start a new save file?” This time, I’m changing my mom! Grandpa, a vigorous 48-year-old, nodded without hesitation. That night, amidst some passionate sounds, I slipped into Grandma’s womb. A thousand years of sucking up, I wasn’t going to waste it. I was getting into that rich family one way or another! This time, I’m not the third generation. I’m the second generation! The thought of my former “dad” now having to split the inheritance with me, and my former “mom” having to call me “Sister-in-law”… It felt so good. Revenge time. I held onto the umbilical cord, silently absorbing nutrients. I never kicked or fussed when Grandma was resting. She was ex-military, fit as a fiddle. I felt myself growing strong along with her. When the time came, I slid out of Grandma… No, out of Mom’s belly, smooth as silk. Mom held me, beaming. “Honey, our daughter is a lucky baby!” “Birthing her didn’t hurt a bit.” She shot a glare at my former dad, Julian, who was currently being lovey-dovey with my former mom, Chloe. “Unlike someone who almost kicked a hole in my stomach when he was born.” “And now? Married and forgot his mother. Giving birth is like walking through the gates of hell, and he hasn’t even asked how I am…” A pair of large hands gently touched my soft cheek. I smelled the scent of old money coming from my billionaire dad. I gave him a sweet, obedient smile. My former grandpa—now my dad—melted instantly. “You did great, honey. Don’t worry, I’m going to make our daughter the happiest little princess in the world.” Hearing the word “princess,” Chloe’s jealousy radar pinged. She stomped her foot, pointed at her father-in-law, and teared up. “That’s not right!” “Hubby-bear, I’m the little princess, right?” Julian affectionately booped her nose. My mom rolled her eyes. Usually, if she said more than two words to her son, her daughter-in-law would whine for hours. Once, she couldn’t take it and kicked Chloe out. Her useless son threatened to jump off the roof! The Gu family needed an heir, so she had to beg her to come back. But she hated seeing them, so she made them move out. Seeing them only a few times a year, she naturally didn’t know how I was treated in my past life. But now things were different. I was born. If she kept tolerating this, she wouldn’t be worthy of her title as the Billionaire’s Wife and former Military Commander! Mom carried me right off the bed. “You’re over thirty. Can you stop acting like a toddler?” The moment Chloe saw my face, she let out a horrifying shriek! Julian also gasped. “This… isn’t this our dead daughter, Tina?” I suddenly opened my eyes and smirked. Calculating the date, today was the anniversary of my death in my past life. “Ghost! It’s a ghost!” Dad finally snapped. Slap! He backhanded Chloe across the face. “What nonsense are you spouting?!” Chloe burst into loud, ugly tears. I giggled loudly. Mom was infected by my laughter, delightedly poking the corner of my mouth. “What a smart baby. She can feel Mommy and Daddy’s emotions.” Dad put his arm around Mom’s shoulder. “Let’s take my big baby and little baby home to enjoy life.” As we turned the corner, I heard Chloe trembling with rage. She sobbed: “Hubby, did you see her eyes? Could it be… Tina, that little bitch, came back?” Mom and Dad took me home. Looking at the decor, even more luxurious than in my past life, I swore I wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes! After dinner, the private doctor gave Mom a postpartum recovery massage in her room. Dad held me, cooing gently. Suddenly, I stopped smiling. The two villains had arrived. Chloe wiped her tears, looking pitiful. “Dad, I lost my composure at the hospital today.” “You know, today is the anniversary of Tina’s death. Little Sister looks just like her, so I had a bit of a PTSD reaction.” Dad, seeing Chloe’s red eyes, softened a bit. “Alright. Your mom and I don’t blame you.” Forgiven, Chloe looked even more worried. “Dad, giving birth takes a toll on a woman. Mom is an older mother, she needs rest to recover well.” “You’re busy with the company. I’ve been through this, I have experience with babies…” “Hubby and I will move in starting today to help take care of the baby.” Mom was fit, but she didn’t have the energy of a twenty-year-old. Dad hesitated, then nodded. “It’ll be hard work for you then.” Dad, no! You just agreed?! I felt the sky falling. This was the fox guarding the henhouse! I wailed in panic, trying to protest their crimes. But Dad didn’t understand. He just said soothingly: “Aw, why is baby crying? Come here, Daddy’s got you…” Chloe snatched me first. “Dad, your arms are too hard. You’ll hurt the baby.” She pressed my face hard into her chest. My crying stopped instantly. “See, Dad? She stopped crying as soon as I held her.” Hey, wait! It’s not that I don’t want to cry! I literally can’t breathe! I can’t cry! Dad noticed something was off. “Are you holding her too tight?” “Dad, you obviously haven’t raised a baby. Babies are wrapped tight in the womb. Holding them tight gives them security…” Julian chimed in: “Dad, you don’t get it. Tina used to cry all night. We’d tie her up a little, and she’d sleep soundly.” You two have the nerve to bring that up? In my past life, Chloe didn’t just tie me up; she stuffed a rag in my mouth! Seeing that I was indeed quiet, Dad went to the study with Julian, relieved. Once their footsteps faded, Chloe sneered and tossed me onto the bed. “Little bitch. You’re too green to fight me!” Memories of past torture flooded back. I cried out in fear. Chloe slapped my face. “Shut up!” “Those two old fogeys said you love to smile. Why aren’t you smiling?” “Do you know who I am? Are you scared?” She stared down at me, eyes dead. Suddenly, the corner of her mouth curled up. I had a very bad feeling. She took a packet of powder from her bag, mixed it into a milk bottle, and shook it. She walked toward me, smiling grimly. “Baby be good. Sister-in-law is going to feed you.” As she got closer, I smelled peanuts. In my past life, I ate a peanut off the floor and went into anaphylactic shock. It almost killed me. I clamped my mouth shut and turned my head, refusing to let a drop in. Chloe sneered. “Little bitch, still afraid of peanuts, huh…” I forced myself to calm down. I had to save myself. Suddenly, I turned my head and giggled at the door. Chloe looked at the door, startled. Seizing the chance, I reached out and grabbed a handful of her meticulously maintained hair. Chloe screamed in pain. “Bitch! You dare pull my hair!” “Let go, or I’ll kill you!” I pulled harder, practically hanging off her hair! Amidst her screams, a huge patch of hair ripped out, roots and scalp included. Hurried footsteps sounded outside. The door burst open. Mom yelled, “What are you doing?!”

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My best friend started dating the hottest, richest guy on campus. When she posted the official relationship announcement, my comment was instantaneous: Ask him if he has any friends. A second later, she sent me a picture: her new boyfriend with his crew. Every single one of them was a ten. Her text: Take your pick. I chose the most handsome one. The impossible one. Six months later, I sent her a message: I can’t do this. Maybe I should just pick a different one? 1 My best friend, Olivia, had officially bagged the campus king. Looking at the picture she’d just posted to her Instagram story—her, tucked under Carter Brooks’s arm like she was born there—I immediately fired back a comment. So… does he have a brother? A second later, a photo landed in my DMs. It was Carter with two of his friends, all of them offensively good-looking. Liv’s text followed: Take your pick. I stared at the screen, genuinely torn between two entirely different flavors of handsome. One had eyes that crinkled at the corners and a smirk playing on his thin lips. He was gorgeous, but in a way that screamed “I break hearts for sport.” A player. The other one… his face was all sharp angles and unforgiving lines. His lips were pressed together, his gaze drilling into the camera with an intensity that made my breath catch. He was my type, exactly my type, which usually meant one thing: he was going to be difficult. To hell with difficult. I was in. I circled the second guy’s face and sent it back to Liv. I want that one. A few minutes later, his dossier arrived. Ethan Scott. 6’2”, 185 lbs. Cadet at the military academy across town. Oh, god. A cadet. I glanced down at my own body. I was almost his weight. That evening, Liv organized a small get-together. Staring at my reflection, at the soft curve of my stomach pushing against the fabric of my dress, a familiar wave of doubt washed over me. It was no surprise Liv had landed Carter Brooks; she was the kind of effortlessly beautiful girl who commanded attention just by walking into a room. Me? I had to hold my breath to comfortably zip up a size 12. Could I really pull this off? My phone rang. It was Liv. “Sophie, you better bring your A-game tonight. Dress to kill.” “Liv, maybe I should just bail,” I mumbled, already starting to lose my nerve. Carter Brooks was a legend on campus, a guy from a family with a name. His friends were bound to be in the same league. “Sophie Miller! Don’t you dare,” she commanded, her voice sharp. “The opportunity is right in front of you. Think about that face. Think about the life that comes with a guy like that. This isn’t a date, it’s a lottery ticket.” Fine. Lottery ticket. I was all in. I squeezed into a little black dress, wobbled my way into a pair of heels I never wore, and headed out. Liv had picked a chic rooftop bar. When she saw me, she waved me over with a grin. “Soph, over here!” I slid into the booth next to her. Carter was on her other side, and across from them, there he was. Ethan Scott. His presence was even more striking in person. I’d never seen a guy look so good with a buzz cut. He wore a plain white button-down, but on him, it looked less like a piece of clothing and more like a statement of severe, untouchable discipline. An aura of pure, unfiltered stoicism. I took a gulp of water to calm the frantic hummingbird in my chest. “This is my best friend, Sophie,” Liv announced. “And this is Ethan Scott, Carter’s friend,” she added, giving me a pointed little wink. I managed a smile and a small wave. He returned it with a slow, deliberate nod. “Hey, Liv, what about me?” a voice complained from Ethan’s side. It was the other guy from the picture, the one with the player smile. My god, tonight was a feast for the eyes. My life was officially looking up. “Hi, I’m Noah,” he said, arching an eyebrow in a way that was clearly practiced. “Sophie,” I replied. The night devolved into a game of Truth or Dare. When the empty beer bottle spun and landed squarely on me, Liv gave me a subtle thumbs-up. “Dare,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Liv’s eyes lit up. “Make eye contact with any guy at this table for thirty seconds. No breaking.” There was no question who I’d choose. I locked eyes with Ethan. His gaze was like a physical weight, deep and unreadable. My heart started hammering against my ribs so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Calm down, you idiot. He’s going to hear you. When the bottle pointed at me a second time, I shot a look at the instigator. Could you be any more obvious, Liv? I chose dare again. “Ask a guy here for his number,” Liv declared, loving the drama. “If he says no, you chug three drinks.” My hands were trembling as I pulled out my phone. I angled it toward Ethan. “Hi. Could I… get your number?” He seemed to finally catch on to the setup, and a slight frown creased his forehead. The moment stretched, thick with awkward silence. Finally, after a sharp nudge from Liv, Carter spoke up. “Come on, Ethan. It’s just a number. The lady’s asking. Don’t be an ass.” In the end, I walked away with his contact saved in my phone. 2 From that day on, I made it my mission to text-harass Ethan Scott. He mostly left me on read, and when he did reply, it was with curt, one-word answers. Liv told me this wasn’t going to cut it. “You have to get him in person, Soph! Physical proximity creates sparks!” I knew she was right. But looking at my reflection, at the soft, rounded version of myself in the mirror, I made a decision. I was going on a diet. That afternoon, I signed up for a gym membership. My goal was to get down to 130 pounds, which meant shedding thirty pounds of flesh that loved hot pot, barbecue, and late-night snacks more than anything. God, it was going to be torture. But maybe love really was magic. The next day, as I was sweating on the treadmill, I pictured Ethan’s severe, handsome face, and my legs pumped a little faster. Which is why I wanted the floor to swallow me whole when I ran into him at that very gym, dressed in a baggy, sweat-stained gray sweatsuit, my face bare and flushed. He stopped short when he saw me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Hey!” A corner of his mouth twitched, amused by my mortified expression. “I thought you were studying at the library.” I froze, remembering the text I’d sent him half an hour ago. My face burned. I was trying to have a secret transformation, to emerge from my cocoon as a beautiful butterfly, and here he was, seeing me as a sweaty caterpillar. “Uh…” I scratched my head, scrambling for an excuse. “Yeah, I was. School’s just so stressful, you know? Came to run it off.” The cringe was unbearable. He didn’t press it. He just took off his jacket and started lifting weights, his muscles flexing under his shirt. Watching the clean, powerful lines of his arms, I silently increased the speed on my treadmill. For the next month, the gym became my sanctuary and my hunting ground. Seeing Ethan there was my primary motivation. We graduated from awkward silence to the occasional joke. The number on the scale dropped from 160 to 150. My clothes went from a Large to a Medium. When Liv saw me again, she grabbed my hands and spun me around. “Sophie! You’ve lost so much weight!” “What can I say? I haven’t tasted barbecue in a month. All for the love of Ethan Scott.” “That’s some serious willpower,” she said, giving me an impressed thumbs-up. While we were out shopping, Liv picked out a blue, off-the-shoulder dress—a style and color I would have never dared to try before. When I stepped out of the fitting room, Liv’s jaw dropped. “Wow, Soph. That dress was literally made for you.” I looked at my reflection. I was still a little soft around the edges, but for the first time in a long time, I liked what I saw. 3 That night, I was lying in bed, sending a barrage of texts to Ethan that were going unanswered. This was unusual. After weeks of my relentless campaign, he’d started responding regularly, even initiating a bit of banter. Then, my phone rang. It was Liv. “Sophie, you need to get over here. Now. It’s a code red.” “What is it?” “Your competition just showed up.” Alarms blared in my head. I shot out of bed, threw on the new blue dress, and raced to the bar she’d sent me the location of. When Ethan saw me, his eyes widened in surprise. My gaze immediately slid to the girl sitting next to him. She was dressed head-to-toe in designer labels, her hair a sheet of perfect silk. Every inch of her screamed expensive, effortless polish. “Hi,” she said, her smile perfectly pleasant. “I’m Amelia Reed. Ethan and I went to high school together.” I mirrored her smile, dialing up the sweetness. “Hi! I’m Sophie Miller. I’m Ethan’s workout buddy.” Ethan stared at me, his eyes wide as dinner plates. I fluttered my eyelashes at him, laying the damsel act on thick. He looked so startled he grabbed his drink and took a nervous sip. I heard Liv choke back a laugh from across the table. Amelia’s perfect smile tightened just a fraction. After that, I ramped up my pursuit. Whenever I had a free moment, I’d head over to the academy, watching him during his training sessions. His classmates started to recognize me. “Hey, Scott, your girlfriend’s here again! Lucky bastard!” they’d yell. Ethan would just shake his head, a resigned look on his face. “She’s not my girlfriend.” The days bled into weeks, and summer turned to fall. My relationship with Ethan, however, remained completely stalled. I complained to Liv that the man was a fortress, impossible to breach. The one silver lining was that my body was transforming. I was getting closer and closer to my goal weight. On Ethan’s birthday, I showed up at his house with a watch I’d spent weeks saving for. He took the gift from my hands. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. Noah popped up from out of nowhere. “Sophie, whoa! You look… different.” “How different?” “Different enough that I’m about to fall in love. You should give up on Ethan and give me a shot.” He said it with a dramatic flair that made me laugh. “Noah, rack the balls,” Ethan said, his tone suddenly sharp. Watching Ethan lean over the pool table was a form of exquisite torture. If he looked that good just bending over a table, I could only imagine what he’d look like… anywhere else. “Hey. Wipe your drool, it’s getting on the floor.” Liv nudged me. “All I can do is drool,” I sighed. “I’ve been at this for three months. If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s never going to happen.” “Has he given you any sign? Anything at all?” I shook my head, my good mood deflating. “Seriously, man, do you like Sophie or not?” I was coming out of the bathroom when I heard Noah’s voice and froze. “I don’t know,” Ethan replied. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Do you get that, like, heart-pounding, butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling when you see her?” A pause. “No.” My nails dug into my palms. I let out a quiet, bitter laugh at my own foolishness. In the adult world, a non-answer is an answer. A lack of response is a rejection. How had I been so blind? 4 I didn’t see Ethan for a week. After hearing those two words, something inside me finally clicked into place. You can’t force someone to love you. I stared at myself in the mirror—hair a tangled mess, dark circles under my eyes. I looked pathetic. After a long shower, I sent Liv a message, trying to make a joke out of my heartbreak. He’s impossible. Guess I’ll just have to find someone else.

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On my wedding day, my fiancée was at her parents’ house, waiting for me to pick her up. She never made it to the limo. Instead, she got a call from Nate, the ghost of the boy she was supposed to marry. She brought him to the venue herself and, in a move that felt ripped from a soap opera, simply swapped out the groom. When the news reached me, my world didn’t just collapse; it was vaporized. I begged my parents to drive me there, to get some kind of explanation, to demand an answer for the public humiliation. We never made it. On the way, a truck ran a red light. My parents were killed instantly. My mother’s last act was to throw her body over mine. I survived. The aftermath was a blur of grief and guilt that curdled into a severe case of PTSD. For two years, I was a ghost haunting the ruins of my own life. And through it all, it was Stella’s older sister, Annelise, who never left my side. She was my anchor in a world that had come unmoored. The day I was finally cleared by my therapist, Annelise celebrated by lighting up the city skyline with fireworks, just for me. Her eyes, glistening with tears in the colored light, met mine. “Will you marry me, Ethan?” she asked. After two years of her unwavering devotion, of her pulling me back from the brink time and again, my heart had already become hers. I nodded, my own tears finally falling not from grief, but from a desperate, fragile hope. Three years into our marriage, she got pregnant. I was so ecstatic I wanted to rent a billboard. But that same night, I overheard her on the phone with her assistant, her voice a low, urgent whisper in her home office. “I’ve been on birth control this whole time. How could this happen? I can’t have this baby. I promised Nate I wouldn’t have another man’s child.” The assistant’s voice trembled. “But if Mr. Hayes finds out… this could get very messy.” “And what about the accident from five years ago?” the assistant pressed. “If that ever came out, if he knew we were the ones who arranged it…” Annelise’s laugh was like the chime of a cracked bell. “For Nate, I’d do anything.” “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to ice, “I married him, didn’t I? Isn’t that enough?” 1 “But Ms. Prescott, he’s wanted this baby for three years. Losing it… I think it might destroy him.” The assistant’s plea was faint through the closed door. “You orchestrated that crash just so Nate could marry your sister without a scene. Mr. Hayes almost died. Haven’t you done enough? Are you really going to sacrifice your own child now?” I could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of Annelise’s fingers stroking something on her desk. I knew it was the small, polished wooden box she always kept there. Her voice was thick with a martyr’s resolve. “What does it matter? All I want is for Nate to be happy. For him to marry the woman he loved, I had to make sure Ethan and his family never made it to that wedding.” Her tone was chillingly pragmatic. “The crash… I admit it wasn’t handled perfectly. Ethan survived. But I corrected that mistake, didn’t I? I married him. His future is secure.” She paused. “As for this child, it can’t stay. Nate’s wife is already four months along. I will not let my baby become an obstacle to his. As long as Nate’s life is perfect, I’ll have no regrets.” “I’ll have Ethan take me to the clinic tomorrow for a check-up. I’ll get the doctor to say the fetus isn’t viable. He can’t argue with that, no matter how much it hurts him…” I couldn’t listen anymore. I stumbled back to our bedroom, my legs giving out as soon as I shut the door behind me. I slid to the floor, my body a dead weight. My marriage. My life. It was all a meticulously crafted lie. My parents’ death wasn’t an accident. My wife… the woman who held me through nightmares… was their killer. And now, she was planning to kill our child. After my parents died, I had drowned in self-blame. I believed my insistence on confronting Stella was the reason they were on that road. It was a guilt so profound it broke my mind. During the worst of my episodes, doctors had to strap me to the bed, because the moment I was free, I’d try to hurt myself, to claw my way out of a life I couldn’t bear. And through all of it, Annelise was there, whispering, “It wasn’t your fault, Ethan. It was a tragic accident.” It wasn’t an accident. It was proof of her love for another man. And now, to ensure Nate’s child would have an undisputed claim to the Prescott family fortune, she was willing to sacrifice her own. My parents’ bodies, my entire life, and soon, the life of my unborn child—all of it buried beneath the monument of her twisted devotion to Nate. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. I thought of just an hour ago, how I’d knelt and pressed my ear to her still-flat stomach, giddy with joy. The child I had prayed for for three years was in there. But it was also the child of my parents’ murderer. As I sat there, paralyzed by the horror, Annelise walked in and found me on the floor. “Ethan? Honey, what’s wrong? Get up, the floor is cold. Are you not feeling well?” The concern in her eyes was so potent it was almost tangible, identical to the look she’d given me every day for the past five years. She was a master of her craft. For five years, her entire world had seemingly revolved around me. If I so much as coughed, she’d stay up all night, a hand on my forehead. I dropped my gaze, unable to bear the sight of that fraudulent fire in her eyes. “I’m fine. Just… got a little light-headed. I guess the news about the baby finally hit me.” She breathed a sigh of relief, kneeling down to help me up with that familiar, gentle strength. “Oh, you,” she murmured, patting her own stomach. “Naughty baby, making your daddy fall down already. Just wait until we meet you, I’ll have a thing or two to say.” She smiled up at me. “Speaking of which, Ethan, come with me to the clinic tomorrow for a check-up. We’ve waited so long for this little one, we can’t take any chances.” Her gaze drifted down to her abdomen, her expression softening into a portrait of maternal love. If I hadn’t heard that phone call, I would have believed every word. I would have seen a loving wife, an expectant mother. Now, I saw only a monster. I wanted to scream the questions at her. Will we really get to meet this child? Did you ever want him at all? Instead, I swallowed the acid in my throat and nodded. “Let’s get some sleep, Annelise. I’m feeling tired.” She didn’t suspect a thing, nodding as she switched off the lights. I lay in the darkness, rigid, listening to her breathing even out beside me. Hours later, a soft murmur escaped her lips in the quiet of the room. “Nate… Oh, Nate…” A single, hot tear finally broke free, tracing a path from my eye into my hairline, and was gone. I slipped my phone from under the pillow, the screen a harsh glare in the dark. I sent a text to my sister in London. Kate, I need your help. Please, I need your help. I’m coming to you in a few days. Wait for me. 2 The next morning, Annelise took me to the private clinic affiliated with the Prescott Corporation. As we approached the doctor’s office, the door opened and Nate walked out. Seeing him alone, Annelise’s carefully composed face tightened with worry. “Nate? What are you doing here? Where’s Stella? Isn’t today her prenatal appointment? Are you sick?” Her questions tumbled out, her concern raw and undisguised. I had to laugh at myself. A bitter, silent laugh. How had I been so blind for so long? Was her acting that flawless, or was I just that stupid? A faint smile touched Nate’s lips, soaking in her worry like a sponge. “Things have been crazy at the office, a situation at one of the branches. I came in for a check-up, feeling a little run down. Stella’s staying at her parents’ for a few days.” He looked from her to me. “What about you? You’re not sick, are you?” Annelise flushed, a flicker of discomfort in her eyes. She seemed reluctant to answer. I decided to answer for her. Feigning a blissful smile, I placed a hand on her stomach. “She’s pregnant,” I said, my voice smooth. “I was worried about her, and the baby. Just wanted to get everything checked out.” I knew I had already lost this war, but for one single, fleeting moment, I wanted to reclaim a shred of my dignity. It worked. The color drained from Nate’s face. “What? You’re pregnant?” He quickly schooled his features, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Well. A baby is wonderful news. I’m just… surprised. You should go on in.” Before she went into the exam room, Annelise told me she’d had to fast for some of the tests and hadn’t eaten breakfast. She asked me to go down to the cafe and grab her something, insisting she’d be fine on her own. A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice. Now, watching her back disappear into the clinic, a cold certainty settled in my gut. I bought a coffee and a croissant and came back up. As I expected, the exam room was empty. I walked down the hall and heard voices coming from a stairwell. I found them there, tucked away between floors. Nate’s brow was furrowed, his handsome face marred with displeasure. “You told me you would never have his child. Why are you pregnant?” Annelise wrapped her arms around his waist, reaching up to smooth the lines on his forehead with her thumb. Her voice was a placating murmur. “We were always careful. This was an accident, Nate. I’ll handle it. I’ll take care of this baby myself.” She soothed him. “Don’t be upset over something so small. It hurts me to see you unhappy.” My feet felt like lead as I walked back to the waiting area and sank onto a bench. Her words echoed in my head. Something so small. Killing her own child was a small thing. Nate’s unhappiness? That was the main event. “Why are you waiting out here?” Annelise’s voice pulled me from the fog. “I just ran to the restroom. Let me go ask the doctor if the results are ready.” I just nodded, watching her walk back into the office. A few minutes later, she emerged, her face a mask of sorrow. She knelt in front of me, bringing her eyes level with mine. “Ethan,” she began, her voice catching. “I have to tell you something. I need you to promise me you won’t get upset. Please, don’t fall apart.” “The test results… they’re not good. There are… developmental problems. So this baby… we can’t keep him.” I knew this was coming. I had heard the entire script. But a desperate, stupid part of me still hoped. I stared directly into her eyes. “Annelise, I’m only going to ask you this once. And I want you to tell me the truth.” She nodded solemnly, her expression one of deep sympathy. I took a breath. “Is there really something wrong with our baby? Are we really not going to have him?” 3 For a split second, a flicker of hesitation crossed her face. But before I could even process it, her voice, steady and firm, cut through the air. “Yes.” Looking into her unwavering eyes, I finally gave up the fight. I closed my own and gave a heavy, final nod. The moment I agreed, Annelise was a whirlwind of efficiency, arranging the procedure with the hospital staff. The Prescott family clinic was nothing if not effective. An hour later, she was being wheeled into an operating room. She was back in a private recovery room in less than thirty minutes. My gaze fell to her flat stomach. My throat burned. Yesterday, there was a life in there. Now, there was nothing. She noticed where I was looking. “Ethan, don’t be sad,” she said, her voice soft and consoling. “We’re still young. We’ll have another baby.” My heart seized in my chest. Will we? Annelise, will we really? Before I could speak, a cheerful voice cut in from the doorway. “Hey, don’t look so down, Ethan! The baby’s gone, but you still have Annelise.” It was Nate. “Look at how much she cares about you,” he continued, strolling into the room. “Fresh out of surgery, and her first thought is to comfort you. What a wife.” He feigned a wince, rubbing his temple. “You know, I’ve been having these headaches lately. I think I’ll check in for a couple of days, get a full workup. We can keep each other company.” I looked up at him, not missing the triumphant glint in his eyes. I barely knew Nate. I knew he and the Prescott sisters had grown up together, the classic childhood friends. They’d lost touch when he went to college overseas while they stayed in the States. I met Stella in college. It was immediate for me. I fell for her the first day I saw her and spent the next year trying to win her over. I knew from the start she had an ex, someone she’d broken up with because of the distance. But once we were together, Stella swore to me that Nate and his entire family were gone for good. That there was no chance they’d ever get back together. I believed her. Our relationship grew serious. She introduced me to her family and friends, including her older, more reserved sister, Annelise. And then came our wedding day. Stella got the call that Nate was back in the country, and she dropped me, dropped everything, to marry him instead. In that moment, I understood that in our four years together, she had never, for a single second, forgotten him. What I didn’t know was that Nate wasn’t just Stella’s long-lost love. In all the years Stella was waiting for Nate… Annelise had been waiting for him, too. I looked at him, standing there gloating, and my voice came out colder than I’d ever heard it. “You should call me brother-in-law.” 4 Nate froze. Annelise immediately jumped to his defense. “Ethan, he’s just trying to be friendly. Why do you have to be so difficult?” She sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion. “You know what, I’m not feeling well after the procedure. Why don’t you go home? You can handle some things at the office for me. I’ll call you tonight when you can come back.” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, sucking the air from my lungs. Annelise is Stella’s sister. I am Annelise’s husband. Nate, as Stella’s husband, is my brother-in-law. It was a simple statement of fact. And for saying it, she was kicking me out. In front of Nate, she couldn’t even be bothered to keep up the pretense. I left. Hours passed. The sun went down. Annelise never called. Instead, a text from Nate lit up my phone. Annelise is having some abdominal pain. I rushed back to the hospital. As I neared her room, I heard it. A series of low, rhythmic moans that made the hair on my arms stand up. The door was cracked open just enough to see inside. And what I saw burned itself onto the back of my eyelids. Nate and Annelise, tangled together in the hospital bed, their bodies moving in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “Right here in the hospital,” Annelise panted, her voice thick with pleasure. “So thrilling.” Her pale arms were wrapped around his shoulders. “Not so fast,” she gasped. “Be gentle… I just had the surgery today.” Nate didn’t slow down. “Doesn’t that make it more exciting? Tell me you didn’t miss this.” As he spoke, he turned his head slightly. His eyes met mine through the crack in the door. And in that instant, I understood everything. Nate did this on purpose. He sent the text. He left the door open. He wanted me to see. I saw the taunting smile play on his lips. I lowered my gaze, reached out a steady hand, and gently, quietly, pulled the door shut for them. I had never seen that wild, unrestrained side of Annelise. In our three years of marriage, even in bed, she had always been tender, controlled, almost serene. Did she love him this much? Enough to risk her health, her body, just hours after a medical procedure? It turned out she wasn’t a cold person. The fire just wasn’t for me.

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Because my boyfriend, Jace, had… stamina, our sex life was adventurous. We were always trying new things. To get me to agree, he’d murmur the same promise: “The second you graduate, we’re getting married.” I believed him. So I overloaded on credits, busting my ass to graduate a year early. At night, I secretly studied everything I could find—new techniques, new positions—all to keep him satisfied. Until one night, I was studying late, missed my dorm’s curfew, and went to the bar to find him. I overheard him talking to his friends. “Jace, man, is your girlfriend really that wild?” “What, you think I’m lying?” Jace’s voice was slick with pride. “She’s a masterpiece. I trained her myself.” “What about Mia, then?” Jace took a long drag from his cigarette. His voice went soft. “She’s different. She’s… pure.” In that single second, I started to hate him. I went back to campus and called my professor. “That classified project you mentioned? I want in.” From this moment on, my life would have only one purpose. 1 “Professor, that opening on the Vanguard Project… I want it.” My professor paused, surprised. “Are you sure, Elara? Once you’re in, you’ll be in a secure facility. No contact with the outside world for at least five years.” “Last week you told me you were getting married as soon as you graduated.” I stood in front of my mirror, tracing the constellation of hickies across my collarbone. My smile was hollow. “Not anymore. From now on, I just want to serve my country.” Seeing my resolve, he didn’t argue. “The transport to the facility leaves in three days. You should take this time to say goodbye to your fiancé.” “You two are engaged, after all.” I nodded, looking down at the simple ring on my hand. My eyes burned. Yeah. We were engaged. My phone buzzed. A text from Jace. [Why aren’t you answering? Come out. I’m bored.] The address was the same bar. I didn’t reply right away. I opened my laptop, triple-checked my application, and clicked “submit.” Then, I went to meet him. 2 “What took you so long?” Jace was slouched on the sofa, annoyed by my lateness. “Couldn’t get an Uber. Had to wait.” I lied, moving to sit next to him. He caught my waist, his grip hard, and tugged me back. His voice was playful. “Up. That’s not your spot.” It was like a switch. The whole booth erupted in laughter. “Yeah, Elle, that’s not your spot,” Jace’s best friend, Mike, chimed in, his eyes full of sleazy amusement. “You don’t get to sit on the couch. You know where you go. Jace’s lap.” The others joined in, their voices thick with implication. “That’s right. Look around. All our dates are where they’re supposed to be.” I looked. He was right. Several of the guys in his crew had women perched on their laps, all of them in tiny dresses. As I watched, the men’s hands started to roam, and the sound of short, sharp breaths filled the air. Mike, while kneading the thigh of the woman in his lap, looked at me. “Don’t just stand there, Elle. Take care of our boy.” I said nothing. My heart felt like it had dropped into my stomach. I recognized these women. They were regulars here, known for leaving with different men every night. And I was Jace’s fiancée. At least, that’s what he called me. I touched the ring on my finger and looked at him. I was waiting for him to say something. To stop this. Jace didn’t even look at me. He just stared into his drink, pretending not to hear the humiliation in their voices. Finally, when the silence stretched, he let out an annoyed sigh and held out a hand. “They’re just messing around. Don’t take it seriously.” When I still didn’t move, he finally put on a show, shooting them a half-hearted glare before pulling me down next to him. “Alright, stop pouting. I’ll tell them to knock it off.” The party started up again. I sat stiffly in his embrace, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to break up with him. Suddenly, the door to the private room opened. Mia. Dressed in a white sundress, looking like an angel. “Jace?” Instantly, every guy in the booth shoved the women off their laps. Including Jace. He pushed me off his lap so fast I nearly stumbled. He was on his feet, walking over to Mia, and covering her eyes with his hand. His voice was all gentle concern. “Mia, sweetie, hang on. Let us clean up a little.” He shot a warning look at the others. “Get them out of here. I don’t want Mia seeing this.” The room scrambled. Windows were opened. The women were ushered out. Someone even flipped on the bright overhead lights, illuminating the whole room. It illuminated everything but the darkness in my chest. So this is what it looked like when Jace actually cared about someone. I’d lost my appetite. I stood up and walked toward the door. My movement caught someone’s eye. “Jace! Man, Elle’s still here.” Jace frowned, his first instinct to snap, “So? She’s used to it…” He caught himself, but it was too late. He awkwardly dropped his hand from Mia’s eyes. “Mia’s just a kid,” he said, trying to cover. “She hasn’t been around this stuff. She’s not like you.” I laughed. It was a dry, awful sound. He forgot. Mia is a year older than I am. But I wasn’t the one he cared about, so my feelings didn’t matter. I walked around them. Mia stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Elle, please don’t be mad,” she said, her voice a sweet, timid whisper. “I just came to return this.” She opened a velvet ring box. Inside was a diamond so large it looked fake. “I saw the ring on your hand, and I just mentioned that I wished I had one too…” she trailed off, glancing shyly at Jace. “I never thought Jace would remember. He just… he bought me this to cheer me up. He said it’s a custom design, the kind they only make one of. I felt so guilty, I had to come and give it back… to you.” She said give it back, but her hand was clamped around that box like a vise. I looked down at the plain, thin silver band on my own finger. I suddenly felt ridiculous. Two years. 730 days. And all I got was a $20 silver ring. In bed and out of it, I was cheap. I took two steps back, and for the first time in our relationship, I didn’t care about his “face.” I pulled the door open and left. The room behind me was silent, then someone let out a snort. “Who the hell does she think she is, walking out on Jace?” “Shut up!” Jace’s voice was sharp, furious. 3 It was 3 AM. The streets were empty. The wind was cold. I met Jace two years ago, working a catering gig. He told me he’d never met anyone so “pure.” He wanted a relationship that would last forever. I thought it was a joke. I turned him down, over and over. Until that New Year’s Eve. My stepfather, drunk, picked the lock on my bedroom door. I was terrified. I called Jace. It was a blizzard, but he came. He pulled me out of that hell and promised he would give me a home. I wanted a home so badly. In two years, he’d coaxed me into a hundred different fantasies, and with every one, he promised we’d get married. But we’d been “engaged” for six months, and I just now realized… other than this cheap ring, I’d never even met his family. Some engagement. Some love. Some… me. Tears blurred my vision. I yanked the ring off my finger and threw it into a storm drain. I’m done, Jace. I’m not marrying you. I had two days left. 4 The next morning, I was packing when Jace finally came home. He saw my suitcase and grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?” I didn’t look at him. “Finals are coming up. I’m moving back into the dorm.” His expression relaxed. He slid his arms around my waist from behind, his voice dropping to that familiar, husky tone. “How long? You know I can’t last long without you.” I used to love it when he talked to me like that. Now, it just made me want to throw up. I pulled out of his grip and kept packing. His eyes scanned the room and landed on my bare hands. His voice went cold. “Where’s your ring? Why aren’t you wearing it?” The rapid-fire questions almost made me flinch. “It got dirty. I took it off to clean it.” I don’t know if I imagined it, but he seemed… relieved. He laughed, a casual, dismissive sound. “If it’s dirty, just toss it. It wasn’t expensive. I’ll buy you a better one tomorrow.” Right. Not expensive. Two years ago, when he “proposed,” we were in a hotel room. After sex, I’d asked him, my voice raw, “Jace, are you ever going to marry me?” He’d stared at me for a second, then reached into his jeans, pulled out this plain silver ring, and slid it onto my finger. No flowers. No audience. No bended knee. And I was stupid enough to think it meant forever. It’s hilarious, really. I zipped the suitcase. As I went to the bathroom to wash my face, my phone buzzed. A social media tag. It was Mia’s feed. She’d posted a video of a proposal. In the shaky footage, Jace, encouraged by a cheering crowd, was on one knee, sliding that massive diamond ring onto her finger. The diamond flashed. It burned my eyes. I refreshed the page. The video was gone. Instead, a private message from her. [Elle, don’t be mad! It was just a joke we were playing last night!] [I don’t know why it tagged you, I’m so sorry! We were all agreeing not to tell you!] [You’re not mad, are you?] The taunts kept coming. Outside, Jace knocked on the bathroom door. “Elara? What kind of ring do you want? I’ll take you to pick one out tomorrow, okay?” The disconnect was so profound it felt like a physical knife, twisting in my already shredded heart. I took a shaky breath and called out. “Okay.”

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After I was cast as the other woman, I had the wife eating out of the palm of my hand. Not only did she start calling me a friend, she practically gift-wrapped her husband and pushed him in my direction. Unfortunately, she had a brother who was a human lie detector. Every time I’d successfully driven a wedge between the happy couple, I’d look up and meet his knowing, heavy-lidded gaze. It was enough to make my blood run cold. Later, I overheard her ask him, “Why are you always so cold to Mia?” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Because every time I see her, she hits me with that wide-eyed, damsel-in-distress look. She’s trying to reel me in.” He paused. “I’m just giving her some space. You can’t make it too easy for them. They don’t appreciate what they don’t have to work for.” She just stared at him, completely baffled. 1 The shouting match inside the sprawling Palisades mansion was escalating again. Declan’s voice was dark and obsessive, the sound of a man completely unhinged. “Audrey, the only way you’re getting a divorce is over my dead body.” The declaration was followed by the sharp shatter of glass and a choked-back sob. That was my cue. I pressed the doorbell. After a moment of charged silence, the heavy oak door creaked open. Declan stood there, a mess. A fresh cut split his lower lip, and angry red scratches snaked up his neck. It wasn’t hard to guess what had just happened. I lowered my gaze, pretending not to notice a thing. “Declan,” I said, my voice soft. “Thank you again for the job at the firm. I… I made you some congee.” His stormy eyes fell to the pink thermos in my hands, and the rage in his features seemed to soften, just a fraction. “It was nothing. Don’t mention it.” He attempted a smile, but it was a grim, tight-lipped thing. He made no move to take the thermos. “Sorry, something’s come up at work. I have to go.” As Declan brushed past me and disappeared down the driveway, I stepped into the foyer. Audrey was perched on the edge of a white sofa, her back ramrod straight. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but her spine was steel. When she saw me, a flicker of light returned to her defiant gaze. A pair of dimples appeared as she managed a small, sad smile. “Mia. You’re here.” I nodded, lifting the thermos with a deliberately bright smile. “Audrey, I brought…” My voice caught. I changed course mid-sentence. “I brought you some congee. I remember you said your stomach was bothering you last time. It’s supposed to be very soothing.” A nagging voice, the one I call my ‘script,’ buzzed in my head. That was for the husband. You’re lying again. I wrinkled my nose, lowering my voice to a whisper only it could hear. But he didn’t want it. Are you really going to let the first thing I’ve ever successfully cooked go to waste? Before I was dropped into this life, I couldn’t even boil water. Even with the script’s guidance, this simple rice porridge was the only thing I could manage. As if to prove my point, I subtly angled my hand, revealing a patch of red skin on my wrist from a careless burn. The voice faltered. Fine. But you still have to say the lines. You have to drive them apart. A small, triumphant smile played on my lips. 2 The script had bent the rules. I couldn’t push it. My eyes fell on the elaborate, untouched breakfast spread on the marble island—avocado toast, fresh fruit, a silver pot of coffee. I let out a wistful sigh. “You’re such a natural at this, Audrey. Not like me. All I can do is make porridge, and even then, I just end up being a bother to… Declan.” My breath hitched. Spencer had materialized behind me, silent as a ghost. Damn it all. It was always like this. The moment the poison left my lips, I’d find myself pinned by his clear, piercing eyes. He was like a radar custom-built to detect my specific brand of bullshit. I pressed my lips together. Audrey, oblivious, was already ladling the congee into a bowl. “Spencer! What are you doing here?” she asked, her smile genuine for the first time. “Have you eaten?” He stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, the top button of his shirt fastened, radiating a cool, almost severe elegance. His gaze landed on the thick, white porridge. “I have,” he said flatly. Audrey shrugged, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “Your loss. It’s Mia’s first time cooking. She made it for me.” A flicker of surprise—or something like it—crossed Spencer’s face. His eyes then moved, with unnerving precision, to the red burn mark on my wrist. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, his dark eyes clouding over with a subtle displeasure. “Is that so?” I instinctively hid my hand behind my back. It might have been my imagination, but Spencer’s expression seemed to darken further. He gave me one last, deep look before striding over and plucking the bowl from Audrey’s hands. She swatted at his arm, indignant. “Hey! You said you weren’t hungry! Why are you stealing my congee?” “Suddenly thirsty,” Spencer replied, his tone casual, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Is that a problem?” His question was for his sister, but his gaze was a challenge meant only for me. I just stood there, completely frozen. 3 My problem with Spencer wasn’t personal, not at first. It started a few weeks ago, on my first attempt to execute the ‘late-night chat’ scene. The script demanded I show up at the husband’s door in a silk nightgown. Except, I went to the wrong room. The thought of discussing nonexistent feelings with Declan was excruciating, so I improvised. I turned the seduction scene into a job interview. For thirty minutes, I sat in the dark and cried to the shadowy figure on the sofa about how hard it was to find a job in this economy. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. The lamp clicked on. Spencer was lounging on the sofa, looking impossibly relaxed and rumpled. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was far more captivating than it had any right to be. He looked… amused. “Is it really that hard to find a job?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, thick with sleep. I was momentarily stunned. Then, scrambling to my feet, the hem of my short nightgown fluttered up, offering a fleeting glimpse of pale thigh. Spencer’s eyes darkened. “Are you done crying?” he asked, his voice suddenly raspy. His gaze felt predatory, and a strange flutter of panic went through me. I stammered an apology and fled. Ever since, I’d run into him everywhere. And every time I mentioned Declan’s name, Spencer’s face would turn to stone. I couldn’t tell if he’d figured out my whole act, but the uncertainty made me nervous. “Audrey, it’s my first day at Declan’s firm, so I should probably get going.” I stood up, desperate to escape. “Wait,” Audrey called out. “How are you getting there? Do you have a car?” I froze. My plan had been to hitch a ride with Declan—a perfect opportunity to stir the pot and save on an Uber. But he’d stormed out before he’d even had his coffee. I was stuck. “It’s fine, Audrey. I’ll just call a car.” Getting a ride-share out here in the hills was a nightmare, but for the right price, someone would eventually show. She shook her head, her brow furrowed with concern. “Absolutely not.” Her eyes scanned the room, landing on Spencer. They lit up. A sense of dread washed over me. Sure enough, before I could protest, she said, “My brother is the safest driver I know. He can take you.” Years of practice kicked in. I bit my lip, forcing my eyes to well up with manufactured vulnerability as I glanced at Spencer’s stoic face. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly trouble him… Spencer.” “It’s no trouble,” Spencer said, his voice flat. He didn’t even look at me. “It’s on my way.” Audrey frowned. “Your office is downtown, Spence. Declan’s is on the Westside. Are you sure you’re not getting your directions mixed up?” The skepticism in her voice was palpable. For a split second, I saw a muscle twitch in Spencer’s jaw. “I have a meeting with Declan,” he said, the words sounding like they were ground between his teeth. He paused, his eyes finally flicking to me. “It’s just a ride. Don’t read into it.” “I-I wasn’t,” I stammered. 4 Under Spencer’s heavy gaze, I buckled myself into the passenger seat of his immaculate sedan. The silence was thick enough to cut with a knife. Suddenly, the car pulled over on an unfamiliar street. “This isn’t the office,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I know,” Spencer said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Wait here.” I watched him walk into a pharmacy. A few minutes later, he was back, pressing a small tube of burn cream into my palm. “If you don’t know how to cook, don’t,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “You’ll just hurt yourself. And the result is… hard to swallow.” I barely managed to keep my expression neutral. He was the one who insisted on eating it. “And another thing,” he said, turning to face me fully. I instinctively shrank back against the window. Spencer let out an exasperated sound. “Am I that terrifying?” He sounded genuinely baffled. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no! It’s just… you turned so fast, your handsomeness startled me.” I did my best to blush, clasping my hands in my lap, trying to look as sincere as humanly possible. His own hands, which had been reaching for his phone, clenched into a fist. The tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. He cleared his throat. Then he tossed his phone into my lap. His expression was dead serious. “Why did you send me this?” When did I send him a photo? Confused, I picked up the phone. My blood ran cold. 5 On the screen was the photo the script had forced me to send to Declan. Me, in a tight-fitting dress that hugged every curve, with a ridiculously flashy diamond necklace drawing attention to my collarbone. The script’s prompt was to ask his opinion on the necklace—a classic, manipulative move. I’d cringed, sent it, and then, overcome with regret, unsent it moments later. I never imagined I’d sent it to Spencer by mistake. And he’d saved it. My first instinct was to delete it. He snatched the phone back before I could, his movements whip-fast. He checked to make sure the photo was still there, then let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. His eyes, dark and intense, were back on me. “Care to explain?” My mind raced. “I’m so sorry! I meant to send that to Audrey, to get her opinion on the necklace. I must have… clicked on your name by accident.” My voice dwindled as his stare grew more piercing. It was a pathetic excuse. His contact photo was nothing like Audrey’s. It was, however, almost identical to Declan’s. I thought about the original story, about how Spencer, upon discovering Audrey had given me her kidney, had me thrown into the ocean. Adrenaline surged through me. My cheeks flushed, and a genuine mist of fear clouded my eyes. He clearly didn’t believe my flimsy lie. To avoid being completely exposed, I decided to surrender. “I’m sorry.” His hand came up, and his thumb brushed gently, quickly, against my lower eyelid. It was the lightest of touches. His eyes were shadowed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “You just love to reel me in, don’t you?” “What?” I hadn’t heard him clearly. His words were fast, almost angry. Meeting my wide, innocent eyes, I saw the tension leave his shoulders, the fists at his sides unclenching. The car started moving again. “Just try not to send things to the wrong person again,” Spencer said. From his low, strained voice, I understood the warning. He must have seen how terrified I was and decided to let it go. A wave of relief washed over me. “Okay,” I nodded, trying to look as docile as possible. “I won’t.” When he dropped me at the entrance to the office building, he didn’t even wait for me to get out before driving away. My mouth, which had opened to say thank you, closed. Maybe the meeting with Declan was just an excuse. An excuse to warn me not to send him suggestive photos. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Spencer could see right through me. I made a mental note: stay as far away from him as possible. 6 My new position was Declan’s executive assistant. It came with a built-in office rival. From the moment I sat down, I could feel her eyes on me, sharp and possessive. I nudged the script with a mental question. Who’s that? The system scanned and delivered. That’s Jenna, Declan’s classmate and longtime assistant. Capable, but she’s in love with him. She not only tries to seduce him but also frames the wife for having an affair. She’s also the one who drugs him later in the story. So, it was her. Reading the original story, Jenna was the character I despised the most. She hid behind the “best friend” and “loyal colleague” titles, secretly pining for Declan but never having the courage to confess. She was fine with the status quo as long as he was single. But the moment Declan showed the slightest interest in Audrey, Jenna panicked. At a company gala, she drugged his drink and tipped off the press, hoping to force his hand. But through a twist of fate, Audrey stumbled into the room instead. It happened to be right when Audrey’s family business was going through a crisis. Declan, betrayed and furious, assumed Audrey had set the whole thing up to trap him. That flicker of love he’d started to feel was crushed under the weight of his anger. He married her anyway, but from that day forward, their marriage was a cold war of unspoken resentment and pain. The script added, Declan actually loves Audrey deeply. The deeper the love, the more he couldn’t accept her “betrayal.” Once the truth comes out, the groveling will begin. I almost scoffed. By the time the truth came out, Audrey would be missing a kidney and I’d be sleeping with the fishes, courtesy of Spencer. Declan’s redemption arc could go to hell. I was more interested in helping Audrey get a divorce. The script seemed to read my mind. Don’t waste your time. The bond between the main characters isn’t that easy to break. I couldn’t stand its smug tone. I mentally hit the mute button, cutting it off mid-sentence. Its tinny, indignant curses echoed in my head, and for the first time all day, I felt a genuine sense of satisfaction. 7 As Declan’s assistant, I had a front-row seat to Jenna’s masterclass in manipulation. Business trips, client meetings, contract negotiations—she was always by his side. But it didn’t stop there. A common cold, a headache, cramps—every minor ailment was an emergency that required Declan’s personal attention. I watched in silence as he, the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, personally brewed her a cup of ginger tea with brown sugar. The script’s voice resurfaced, dripping with sarcasm. If only I’d been assigned to Jenna. You’re an amateur compared to her. I ignored it and pulled out my phone. I was just about to “accidentally” send a picture of the cozy scene to Audrey when she appeared in the doorway. She stood there, her face pale, staring at Declan and Jenna. Her eyes, usually so bright, looked like dull, lifeless stones. It was heartbreaking. I silently cursed them both. My body moved before my brain could catch up. “Audrey,” I said, rushing to her side. I took her hand; it was ice-cold. I tried to pour some of my own warmth into her. She forced a smile. “I’m okay.” But the dimples in her cheeks were filled with bitterness. The moment he saw Audrey, Declan instinctively pushed Jenna away. “It’s not what it looks like…” he started to explain. But Jenna cut him off before he could finish. “Audrey, please don’t be angry,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “My cramps were just really bad, and Declan was just being a good friend.” The way she lowered her eyes, playing the victim, made my teeth ache. I couldn’t help but ask myself a question. Hey, script. Am I this annoying? I feel like Audrey can see right through Jenna’s act. Why is she always so nice to me? The script’s voice was flat, deadpan. Because all of your manipulations are aimed at the husband. The wife has no reason to be mad at you. Right now, Jenna is aiming at her. Of course she’s angry. She’s not an idiot. Even the script could see how furious Audrey was. Declan, however, seemed to be completely blind. The fact that he’d almost explained himself to Audrey seemed to infuriate him. His face hardened. “Stop being so dramatic. We’re just friends.” The last glimmer of hope in Audrey’s eyes died. She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Dramatic?” She was too heartbroken to even argue. 8 Audrey turned and walked away, her movements sharp and final. She looked fragile, like a single gust of wind could shatter her. I started to go after her, but Declan was faster. He grabbed her arm, his face a mask of rare, unfiltered panic. “Stop making a scene. There’s nothing going on between us.” Audrey ripped her arm from his grasp. “Think whatever you want.” She met his frantic gaze, her voice weary and cold. “Declan, I’m tired. I don’t care what your relationship is with her. Let’s just get a divorce.” Divorce. The word was music to my ears. I almost jumped for joy. But for Declan, it was like a lit match to a barrel of gunpowder. His face went rigid, his eyes like chips of ice. “Don’t even think about it.” He grabbed her arm again, so tightly I could see her wince. “You think I’m going to let you run off to that doctor of yours, to Leo?” His voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. “You started this, Audrey. You’re stuck with me for life.” Even from several feet away, the intensity of his rage was suffocating. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like for Audrey, trapped in his orbit. The script piped up again, smug as ever. See? He’s completely in love with her. He gets jealous when she even talks to another doctor, he just doesn’t realize it yet. After the truth comes out and he grovels, they’ll get their happy ending. To hell with their happy ending. A hot wave of anger washed over me, so strong it burned away my carefully constructed persona. I marched over and threw myself at Declan. “Let her go!” I yelled, pulling at his arm. “Stop bullying her!” Seeing me jump in, Audrey started to struggle again, afraid I would get hurt. Out of nowhere, Jenna appeared. In the chaos, she lunged forward and slapped Audrey. Hard. Twice. I saw red. “You son of a bitch, Declan! You just stood there and let her do it!” 9 Jenna had moved so fast, Declan didn’t have time to react. By the time he finally let go of Audrey’s arm, looking utterly stunned, it was too late. “I’m sorry, I…” CRACK. Audrey, her expression shattered, swung her hand across his face with all her might. “Get out,” she screamed, her voice raw with pain. “Both of you, just get out!” A flicker of malicious satisfaction crossed Jenna’s face before she quickly replaced it with a mask of pathetic sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Audrey, I didn’t mean to. I just saw you two fighting and I… I got scared for Declan.” She cast a pleading, tear-filled glance in his direction. “If you’re going to divorce him over this, then… then you can hit me back. I won’t mind. I don’t feel pain.” She bit her lip, looking for all the world like she was on the verge of collapsing. Audrey was raised better than to get into a physical fight. I, however, was not. I slapped Jenna across the face. She froze, stunned, for two full seconds before she launched herself at me like a wild animal. She was coming at me with everything she had. The world seemed to shift into slow motion. I could see Audrey’s horrified face, her hand reaching out to pull me back. But my body was already falling, stumbling backward. The back of my head hit something hard. And then, everything went dark.

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The day I died, my killer fell apart. To be precise, my indirect killer, who, in reality, was the one who directly signed my death warrant. My mother always hated me. She said I was trash, nothing but a tramp who lived to seduce men. She first said that when I was in elementary school. This Christmas, she left me at home with three of our neighbors—three men—while she went to the mall with my aunt and cousin. I cried. I told her I was scared and begged her to take me with her. She just laughed at me, her voice full of contempt. “They’re adults, Lily. Your father’s friends. What are they gonna do, hurt you? Besides, with a body like yours, who’d even want you?” After she left, I was raped. Then murdered. My body was cut up and flushed down the toilet. When they realized I was missing, my relatives wanted to call the police. My mother stopped them. She insisted I’d obviously just run off to “mess around” with some boy. And then, finally, they learned the truth… Mom was holding a bright red dress up to my cousin, Chloe, her face glowing with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. She beamed, “This color is just perfect for my Chloe.” My cousin tried to refuse, but Mom insisted, “It’s the holidays! You have to wear something festive.” My aunt, Carol, looked uncomfortable. “Sarah,” she said, “since we’re here, we should get something for Lily, too.” I really did need new clothes. The winter coat I was wearing—well, the one my body was wearing—was from two years ago, when I was 15. Dad bought it for me. I’d grown so fast I couldn’t even zip it up anymore. But Mom’s face soured. “Buy her something? Why?” “So she can look even more like a tramp to lure in men? Besides, Lily’s always been cheap trash. She doesn’t deserve nice clothes.” Chloe and Aunt Carol looked embarrassed, even though they were used to hearing her talk like this. All our relatives knew Mom didn’t like me. She’d been spoiled her whole life. First by my grandparents, then by my dad, who treated her like a princess. Chloe told me that when Mom was pregnant with me, she was actually excited. She kept saying she hoped I’d be a boy, so I could protect her alongside Dad. Too bad. I was a girl. I was born premature, weak, and sickly. Grandpa, Grandma, and Dad started giving me some of the attention they used to give her. Mom decided I’d stolen their love. From then on, she hated me. The less she cared, the guiltier they felt, and the more they doted on me. Which just made her hate me more. It was fine when they were around. But when they were gone, she was a monster. She once stared at me, her eyes full of pure venom, and whispered, “I regret not killing you in the womb.” I still shiver when I remember that look. I snapped out of the memory. Mom was already dragging Aunt Carol out of the store, as if she was afraid my aunt would actually buy me something. I suddenly felt so sad. But Mom… even if you wanted to buy me clothes now, I can’t wear them anymore. I followed them as they kept shopping. Dad, who was away on a business trip, called. He warned her, “Lily’s a young woman now, Sarah. Don’t leave her home alone when you and Carol go out.” Mom pouted, instantly annoyed that he cared about me. “Lily, Lily, that’s all you care about! What about me? I’m your wife~” I heard Dad’s good-natured laugh on the phone. “Of course I care about you. I care about you the most.” After they cooed at each other for a few seconds, Dad repeated, “Seriously, Sarah. Keep Lily with you. Men who’ve been drinking are dangerous.” She mumbled “uh-huh” and hung up. She kicked at a pile of dirty snow on the curb. “They really mean it when they say a daughter is her father’s lover from a past life,” she muttered. “Little tramp.” I just watched, feeling that weird, familiar sting behind my eyes. Dad knew what Mom was like. He texted my cousin, Chloe. Mom heard the ping and looked at Chloe, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “My, my. Aren’t we popular? Who’s texting our little Chloe during the holidays?” Chloe didn’t dare say it was Dad. She made up a quick lie. But she took Dad’s warning seriously. A minute later, she said, “Aunt Sarah, maybe we should head back? It’s freezing out here. And it’s no fun for Lily to be all alone.” Mom hated when anyone showed me an ounce of sympathy. “She’s not alone, is she? She’s got Mr. Henderson and his sons with her.” Aunt Carol chimed in, “Sarah, they’re all men, and they’ve been drinking. Lily’s a grown girl now. It’s not safe.” Mom just scoffed. “Not safe? They’re adults! They’re our neighbors! And besides, look at Lily. All skin and bones. What man would even want her?” I listened, and my heart physically ached. How strange. My heart had been carved out of my chest, so how could it still hurt? Two hours ago, Mom had said the exact same thing to me. Today was December 27th. Our neighbor, Mr. Henderson, had come over with his two adult sons, Mark and Ben. My aunt and cousin were there too, so it was a full house. Everyone was drinking. The women were fine, but the men got wasted. After lunch, Mom suggested she, Aunt Carol, and Chloe go shopping, leaving me behind. I saw the way the men were looking at me. Their eyes were… slimy. I started to tremble. They weren’t the nice, friendly neighbors I knew. They looked like animals. I grabbed Mom’s sleeve, pleading. “Mom, I want to go with you. I don’t want to stay here… I’m scared!” She yanked her arm away and sneered. “Lily, they’re practically your uncles! And stop being dramatic. You think they’d be interested in you?” Before I could say another word, she pushed me into my bedroom, locked the door from the outside, and left the key and my phone on the coffee table. She didn’t know. The second she was gone, they unlocked the door. They came in. They… they did it. It was brutal. I tried to scream, to fight, to call for help, but they clamped their hands over my mouth and nose so hard I couldn’t breathe. By the time they were finished, I was dead. Mom, if you had just listened to Dad… if you had even just called me, you would have known. While you were at the mall, saying those things… Mr. Henderson and his sons were frantically cutting my body into pieces and flushing me down the toilet. Mom… the bathroom floor was so cold. It hurt so much. Mom took Chloe and Aunt Carol to get their nails done. I watched from the side, a little envious. I’d only been with her to a nail salon once. The little gems and sparkles were so pretty, glinting under the lights like crystals from a fairy tale. I was leaning on the counter, just staring at them, and Mom saw me. She slapped me. Right there in the salon. “What are you looking at? Want to get your nails done so you can be a better hooker?” I was stunned, just holding my cheek. Everyone stared. Mom didn’t even look at me again. But now, she was telling Chloe, “Chloe, your fingers are so long and white. Any color would look beautiful on you.” I lowered my head. Chloe texted me. No reply. She was starting to look really worried. While Mom was getting a top coat, she snuck outside to call me. Of course, I couldn’t answer. She looked even more panicked, pacing back and forth. I wanted to comfort her, but when I reached out, my hand passed right through her. I went silent. My eyes burned. Just then, another mother and daughter walked in. The daughter was helping her mom pick out charms. “Mom, this big one! It’s so pretty!” The mom tapped her on the nose. “My baby has the best taste!” They were so happy together. I stared, my eyes cold with envy. When I finally looked away, I saw Mom was watching them, too. Aunt Carol noticed. “What’s wrong, Sarah? Jealous?” My heart jumped. Yeah, Mom. Are you jealous? Do you wish we were like that? But she just clicked her tongue and looked away. “I am. That little girl is so sweet. Not like Lily.” Her voice was full of disgust. “Carol, you don’t know the half of it. Lily is so manipulative. She only acts pitiful around my parents and my husband, making it look like I’m the bad guy! She’s always sucking up to them, trying to steal everything that’s mine!” Aunt Carol just sighed. She knew Mom’s mind was set. But for some reason, Mom seemed agitated. She pushed the expensive charms away. “Forget it. Just give me a plain color.” A minute later, she stood up. “This is boring. Let’s just go home. God knows what kind of trouble that brat is stirring up.” My chest felt tight. Mom… did seeing them make you think of me? The daughter you left at home? But it was too late, Mom. The blood and hair I left in the bathroom… it was all cleaned up by then. When they got home, they went straight to my room. It was spotless. As if nothing had happened. If I hadn’t lived it, even I would have thought it was all a bad dream. Chloe was even more worried. She looked at Mr. Henderson and his sons, who were pretending to watch TV. They saw her looking and quickly looked away. Chloe knew something was wrong. She tugged on Aunt Carol’s sleeve. Aunt Carol caught on and asked them, “Where’s Lily?” “Oh,” Mark stammered, forcing a laugh. “I think she went out. Saw her take a call and leave.” Ben chimed in, “Yeah, yeah, you know kids her age. Probably wanted to hang out with her friends.” But Chloe knew I wouldn’t just leave, and my phone shouldn’t be off. She and Aunt Carol looked at each other. “We need to call the police.” The men flinched. But Mom stopped them. She was furious. “Call the police? For what?” Her voice was cold, certain. “You don’t know Lily. I do. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows my parents are coming tomorrow! She wants to use this to tell them I… I abused her!” Aunt Carol and Chloe were speechless. “Sarah, what are you saying…” Mom just snorted, her eyes flashing. “I’ll show her. I’ll show her who they care about more! That little bitch! Nobody go looking for her! When she comes crawling back, I’m going to break her legs!” Chloe was frantic. “Aunt Sarah! Lily’s not like that!” Mom just sneered. “You’ve all been fooled by her act! I saw her just the other day at the mall with some boy. She’s been dating behind our backs. She’s definitely out messing around with her boyfriend right now!” This finally convinced them to wait. The next day, I still wasn’t back. Mom got up early, made pancakes for Chloe, and braided her hair. I watched her hands weave through Chloe’s dark hair, so gentle, as if she was afraid of pulling a single strand. The winter sun streamed in, landing on them. It was a perfect, peaceful picture. Like they were the real mother and daughter. I felt a pang. Mom… if Chloe were your daughter, would you treat her like me? Is it me you hate, or just… the girl who is your daughter?

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The year I was at my heaviest, I sat on the school’s biggest bad boy and made him cry. The harder he cried, the more amped I got. I even straddled him and wiggled a few times. It felt… lumpy. From that day on, he’d sprint in the other direction the second he saw me. Three years later, at a class reunion, someone joked, “Maya’s so skinny now, she can’t make Zane Zhou cry just by sitting on him anymore.” He leaned forward, slowly crossing his legs. My entire body went hot, and I blushed all the way to my roots. 1 I’d almost completely forgotten what Zane Zhou looked like. For all of high school, he ran from me. He ran so fast that my memory of his face was just a blur. Freshman year, my new deskmate warned me. “That’s Zane Zhou. His grandfather basically owns this city. He’s bad news. If you see him, you walk the other way.” My mom had told me the same thing. You’re in the city now, Maya. Be humble. Don’t make trouble. I listened. I really did. So when I saw him on the practice field one day, cornered, one against five, I kept my head down. The five guys were seniors, and they were circling him. He saw me and actually yelled, “Maya!” I squinted, took a few steps closer, and realized who it was. I turned around and walked the long way. A second later, I heard a yelp of pain. When I got back to homeroom, I was worried he was actually hurt. So I told everyone. Then I told our homeroom teacher. When Mr. Henderson dragged the entire class out to the field, we found him. His shirt was ripped, one side of his face was swollen, and he had a black eye. It was the first time I’d ever seen him up close. All the girls in my class were obsessed with him, saying he was tall and handsome, with “deep-set, model-like eyes.” Right now, he looked like the homeless guy who panhandled outside the 7-Eleven. I couldn’t help it. I snorted. Our eyes met. He struggled to his feet, winced, and pointed at me. “You. Just you wait.” Mr. Henderson kicked him in the butt, which made him howl. The next evening, I was walking out of the cafeteria when he and his crew blocked my path. I clutched the chicken leg I was holding behind my back and swallowed hard. I’d only taken one bite. It would get cold. I forgot my mom’s warning. I forgot my friend’s warning. I was just hangry. “What do you want?” I snapped. “You’re mad I didn’t help? You were outnumbered five to one! If I jumped in and we won, wouldn’t that be even more embarrassing for you?” His friends shuffled, looking down. He just stuck his chin out. “You’re as big as a house, Maya. You shouldn’t be eating a chicken leg.” …That’s it? How juvenile. I tried to push past him. He grabbed my arm. I yanked it back, and my chicken leg—my beautiful, precious chicken leg—flew out of my hand and landed in the dirt. It was fine. I could just rinse it off. Pick the gravel out. He lifted his foot and stomped on it. Then he ground it into the asphalt, twisting his heel. My eyes slowly lifted from the greasy smear on the ground to his face. Rage, like a volcano, erupted inside me. I screamed and tackled him. One of his arms was already in a cast from the fight yesterday. His other arm was useless against my sheer mass. I sat right on his stomach. “You! Monster! You killed my chicken! That was my one chicken leg for the whole year! Waaaaah!” Zane’s face went from pale to bright red. And then, two lines of tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. A crowd started to gather. Someone yelled, “Go get a teacher!” At that, his friends scattered. The harder he cried, the more amped I got. I straddled him, grinding my hips down. Just like you did to my chicken. I didn’t know why, but it felt… lumpy. Someone finally managed to pull me off. I was depressed about that chicken leg for a solid month. The only thing that snapped me out of it was getting first place in the district on my midterms. 2 After that, Zane Zhou avoided me like I was the plague. He was a legacy admission. His mom was on the school board. I heard his middle school grades weren’t good enough for the worst high school in the city, let alone our magnet school. As a kid who’d been on the free-lunch program my entire life, I hated guys like him. Especially since he’d murdered my chicken. But I was also terrified of him. I was scared he’d tell his mom and get my scholarship revoked. Or just get me expelled. For an entire semester, I waited for the principal to call me to his office. I had nightmares about it. A rabid dog would chase me, pin me down, and just as it was about to bite, its face would morph into Zane’s. Then, at the final assembly, the principal said he had an announcement. The gym was hot and stuffy, but my back was cold with sweat. I was already calculating how to tell my mom I’d have to go work in the mines with her. The principal called my name. “Maya Chen. For the school’s new academic excellence scholarship. First place, eight thousand dollars.” It wasn’t a scholarship. It was a lifeline. It meant I had living expenses. It meant my mom could quit that job at the mine before her lungs gave out. The principal also gave a shout-out to Zane Zhou. His grades had gone from dead last to the middle of the pack. My friend, Chloe, whispered that he had a crush on Sarah Jenkins, the class “it girl.” Sarah was always top ten and had publicly said she’d never date a guy with bad grades. Zane’s desk was always piled with gifts from girls. He’d sweep them all into the trash. Except for Sarah’s. Hers, he put in his backpack. He stopped making trouble. When we passed in the hall, he didn’t call me “Fatty Maya.” Actually, he just… didn’t look at me at all. By senior year, he was the “unattainable ice-prince” of the school, turning down girls left and right, supposedly waiting for Sarah. The only other time we interacted was at graduation. Mr. Henderson, our old homeroom teacher, pulled me aside. “Zane’s mom wanted me to pass on a message. She said, ‘Thank that pretty, chubby girl in your class for me. She sat on my son and knocked some sense into him.’” I scratched my head. His mom was weird. When I turned to leave, Zane was standing in the office doorway. Our eyes met. He looked away. I looked down. We brushed shoulders as we passed. And that was it. 3 I wasn’t going to come to the reunion. I was about to start my senior year of college. I was juggling two part-time jobs and trying to lock down an internship. I was exhausted. Then Chloe called. “You have to come, Maya. This is networking. Plus, Zane Zhou is the one organizing it. Remember? The guy you sat on?” I groaned. “Chloe, please don’t bring that up. Fine. I’ll go.” I hid in the corner of my tiny apartment, my face burning. I was older now. I finally understood why it had felt… lumpy. I showed up to the reunion deliberately trying to look like I didn’t care. No makeup, a faded old hoodie, and my favorite tote bag with a supermarket logo on it. I was, by far, the most underdressed person there. In contrast, Zane Zhou was the center of the room. He was at least 6’2″, broad-shouldered, and wearing a white button-down with the top two buttons undone. It made me think of that chicken leg. I swallowed. The second I walked in, Chloe dragged me over. “Zane! Look who it is! Maya Chen!” A few people chuckled. “Maya’s so skinny now, she can’t make Zane cry just by sitting on him anymore.” Zane’s expression went stiff. He leaned forward, slowly crossing his legs. My whole body went hot, and I started fanning myself. “Wow, it’s warm in here. I’m just gonna get some air.” “Warm? Just take your hoodie off,” Chloe said, and yanked it straight over my head. The hoodie was a size XXL from my heavier days. It came off in one easy pull, revealing the thin tank top I had on underneath. I was standing right in front of him. His gaze dropped. He got an unobstructed view right down my top. I scrambled to pull the hoodie back on, my face on fire. Chloe was oblivious. “Damn, girl! You lost the weight, but you kept all the good parts! You could still make a guy cry sitting on him now.” I pulled my hoodie tight, but I snuck a glance at Zane. His ears were bright red. 4 Zane finally spoke, and we all realized this wasn’t just a party. “My tech company just opened its headquarters here,” he said. “We’re hiring. The pay is good, benefits are included. If you’re interested, send me your resume.” Chloe nudged me, showing me her phone. She’d already pulled up his company’s website. “Maya, this is literally your major.” I froze. I never wanted to have anything to do with Zane Zhou again. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d seen him at The Stonewall, the local gay bar, when I was waitressing a private event. I’m not judgmental, but… it was weird. But I needed to move back home. My mom, trying to “help” with tuition, had secretly gone back to working in the mines. She had early-stage lung disease. I needed to be here, to take care of her. My hometown was an old industrial city. New tech companies were rare, and the ones that were here were just tiny, dead-end satellite offices. The starting salary on Zane’s website made my heart pound. That night, I tossed and turned. I had that dream again. A big, friendly dog runs at me, tackles me, and starts licking my face. Then it looks up, and it has Zane’s face. I woke up in a cold sweat. My phone rang. An unknown number. “Ms. Chen? This is ZenTek. We’d like to invite you for an interview next week.” It was Zane’s company. I hadn’t even applied. My mom’s doctor texted me. Her surgery was scheduled for next week. “I’ll be there,” I said into the phone. I had to go home anyway. Might as well. The day of the interview, Zane wasn’t there. The tech director and I hit it off. They didn’t even want me to intern; they offered me a full-time position. The starting salary was exactly what they’d advertised, no “probationary” cut. I knew I was good. I didn’t know I was this good. It would have been rude to say no. But my mom’s surgery got rescheduled, so I had to start a day late. The next morning, I ran into Zane in the elevator. “Good morning, Mr. Zhou,” I said respectfully. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t say anything. The elevator dinged. The second the doors opened a crack, I stuck my foot out. Through the crack, I saw a pair of long, gorgeous legs. The doors opened. It was Sarah Jenkins. She ignored me and launched herself into Zane’s arms. “Zane! I thought you were in meetings all day!” “Something came up,” he said. I stepped out of the elevator and turned back. Zane was standing stiffly, his hands hovering in the air, while Sarah hung off his neck, smiling.

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The night of our wedding, the scent of wilted peonies and day-old champagne still hung in the air as I scrolled through the raw photos on my laptop. A cold dread trickled down my spine. Eight hundred images, and fewer than ten of them showed my face. The camera hadn’t been telling our story; it had been telling his. There was Ethan, my new husband, bending to pick up a fallen napkin, a candid shot of him adjusting his cufflink, his brow furrowed in concentration. My own presence was reduced to a series of blurry profiles, a ghost at my own celebration. White-hot anger surged through me. Then, a single, jarring photo stopped me cold. I waited until Ethan came out of the shower, a towel slung around his neck. “You know Leo Vance well?” I asked, my voice tight. He paused for half a second, the motion of drying his hair momentarily frozen. “Not really.” “Then how does he have this?” I spun the laptop around. The image on the screen was of Ethan, shirtless, in the middle of changing. The distinctive red mole on his lower back was in sharp focus. The background was unmistakably the apartment he lived in before we were married. 1 The towel slipped from Ethan’s hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. He bent to retrieve it, and as his shirt lifted, the mole on his lower back was exposed—a perfect match to the one in the photograph. He walked over, his face a mask of carefully constructed confusion. I zoomed in on the photo until the mole filled the screen, an undeniable crimson dot. He leaned in, his tone casual. “Oh, that. I did a favor for a friend of his once, some headshots for his portfolio. He must have slipped it in by mistake.” Ethan reached out to stroke my hair. “It’s nothing, Sienna. Don’t work yourself up. You know how disorganized Leo can be.” Still seething, I pulled away from his touch. “Work myself up? Eight hundred photos and my own husband’s wedding photographer couldn’t find ten decent shots of the bride? That’s ‘nothing’?” “A private, shirtless photo of you suddenly appearing in the files is ‘nothing’?” I had spent a week of late nights scrolling through portfolios to find the right photographer. I wanted a perfect ending, a perfect collection of memories. A wedding is a one-time event. And he was telling me not to work myself up? His fingers found the mouse, and with a quiet click, he closed the folder. His voice was laced with a weary patience. “I told you I didn’t want to hire him. You were the one who insisted.” “You loved his style so much, so I gave in. Now that it’s turned into this mess, there’s not much to be said, is there?” His words silenced me. He took the opportunity to pull me into his arms. “Come on, Si. Don’t be angry.” “We’ll find another studio. We’ll do a reshoot, something even more beautiful.” I pushed against the strange feeling in my gut. “Do you really think a reshoot is the point?” “If you had taken five minutes away from your precious work to look at portfolios with me, this disaster wouldn’t have happened.” He sighed, a long, theatrical sound. “The company is resting entirely on my shoulders right now, Sienna. I can’t step away for a single day. You spend your days having fun, of course you don’t understand.” He looked at me, his expression a mixture of apology and exhaustion. “Trust me, Si. I’ll make it right. You’ll be happy with the new photos, I promise.” I looked up at him, my anger softening, but a seed of doubt had been quietly planted. The next morning, Ethan announced he had already booked a session with the top-rated photography studio in all of Crestwood Hills. A night’s sleep had cooled my temper. Maybe he was just under too much pressure, too overwhelmed to focus on the wedding details. I accepted his gesture. The photoshoot was seamless. The photographer was a true professional, his jokes and easy banter making both Ethan and me laugh. The lingering shadows of the previous night began to dissipate. But Ethan seemed distracted. When I stepped out in a new dress, I saw him hunched over his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. A faint, tender smile played on his lips. I lifted the hem of my gown and walked toward him, curious. He immediately shoved the phone into his pocket, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Who was that?” I asked casually. “Just work stuff.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, his grip a little too tight. “God, how do you manage to look so beautiful in everything?” The compliment felt hollow. I pouted. “Can’t you put work away for one afternoon? Try to be present?” He chuckled, a low, tired sound, and took my hand. “I have to build the empire before I can settle in the castle. That’s the only way I can deserve my Sienna.” I squeezed his hand back, my brow furrowing. “There you go again. I’ve told you, stop thinking like that. I love you. That’s all that matters.” He stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a hug. That evening, he gave me an expensive necklace as a peace offering. For the next week, everything felt normal. Except he suddenly started a new routine of morning runs and gym sessions. For seven days straight, I woke up to an empty bed. Then, a notification popped up on my phone. A message from Leo. “Ms. Hale, the edited photos will be ready for you to review tomorrow afternoon.” I frowned, confused. When Ethan got home, I mentioned it to him. His expression froze. He was pouring a glass of water, and a few drops sloshed onto the counter. I moved closer. “Do you want to come with me to pick up the prints tomorrow?” I asked softly. Ethan hesitated for a beat. “There’s no need to speak with a guy like that.” I stepped into his space, looking up at him. “He was so unprofessional. I think we should go together. Let’s see if he’s still so arrogant with you standing right there.” He was silent for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay. Whatever you want.” The next afternoon, the sun beat down relentlessly. Ethan drove us to a run-down part of the city, navigating the streets with a familiarity that felt unsettling. “Looked up the address online,” he explained, a little too quickly. He parked in front of a tired-looking pre-war walk-up and pointed to a third-floor window. “That’s the one.” We climbed the stairs together and knocked. The door opened to reveal Leo, still in his pajamas. He looked startled to see me. “The photos?” Ethan cut straight to the point, his voice hard. Leo said nothing. He walked over to his computer, clicked a few times, and handed me an external hard drive. I took it, my voice steady. “Mr. Vance, I don’t understand. As a wedding photographer, why would you deliberately not photograph the bride? Is that your standard of professional ethics?” Leo leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze flickering past me to Ethan. A mocking smile touched his lips. “I shoot what the client asks for.” “The fact that I took any photos of you was a courtesy. Right, Ethan?” Ethan’s face turned ashen. “Leo, that’s enough,” he snapped. Leo just shrugged, a picture of indifference. “I’ll refund your money.” His dismissiveness sent a fresh wave of anger through me. I opened my mouth to argue, but Ethan grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Let’s go, Sienna. There’s no point arguing with someone like him.” In the split second before the door clicked shut, my eyes darted around the room. A flash of dark wood in the corner caught my attention, and my breath hitched. It was an acoustic guitar, a deep mahogany. Near the bottom of the body was a thin, silvery scratch—a scar I had accidentally made years ago on Ethan’s beloved college guitar. He’d told me he’d thrown it out.

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In a twisted game of life or death, the kidnappers gave my parents a choice. They chose my younger sister. I was executed without hesitation. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the body of a stranger. Her name was Nora. She had a grandmother who was bedridden and a mother with a permanent limp. They were dirt poor, living paycheck to paycheck, yet their home held the kind of warmth I had craved my entire life. One day, by chance, I ran into a woman who looked like she was losing her mind. She grabbed my arm and asked if I had seen her daughter. I looked at that familiar face—gone was the elegance of the socialite I once knew, replaced by the haggard look of a woman haunted by ghosts. I shook my head calmly. “No, I haven’t.” Her daughter died five years ago at the hands of kidnappers. She was the one who made the choice. 1 The warehouse smelled of rust and gasoline. My sister, Maya, and I were bound back-to-back, gags stuffed in our mouths. A camera on a tripod pointed directly at us. Behind the lens, the kidnapper ate a burger and laughed, watching a tablet screen. “Mr. Sterling, have you decided? Which of your precious daughters dies today?” Maya was sobbing into her gag, shaking violently. I just stared at the monitor. On the screen, my parents—usually the picture of composure and wealth—looked ten years older. They were begging. “Don’t touch them! We’ll give you whatever you want!” “Please, not the girls!” The kidnapper smashed a beer bottle against the wall. A shard grazed my cheek, drawing blood. “Sterling, you begging me now? When my company went under and I begged you for a loan, did you listen?” “Money is useless. I want blood. I’ll give you three minutes. Choose one to save. If the clock hits zero and you haven’t chosen, they both die.” The countdown began. A mechanical beeping that sounded like a death knell. Maya’s tears soaked my shoulder. Barely thirty seconds in, I heard my mother’s voice, shrill and desperate. “Save the little one! Save Maya!” “Don’t hurt my baby! Please!” I wasn’t surprised. I was the spare. Maya was the heir. But hearing it—hearing them trade my life for hers—broke something inside me that I didn’t know was still intact. My parents didn’t love me. Not really. The kidnapper dragged Maya to the far side of the room. He walked back to me and ripped the tape off my mouth. “Kid. You got one minute for last words.” My body was vibrating with fear. I looked at the screen. I wanted to scream, to curse them, to ask why. But my throat was dry. “Twenty seconds,” the man said, his voice sounding miles away. I looked at the camera. I couldn’t speak. I just let the tears fall. A moment later, cold steel slid across my throat. I lay on the concrete, watching my life pool around me in red. Like a candle flickering in a storm, I went out. 2 My life replayed like a movie reel. My name was Lily Sterling. Until I was ten, I thought I had two mothers. One in real life, and one in a phone. The real one was my Aunt Elena. The phone one was my biological mother. When I was three, the family business hit a crisis. To “protect” me from the instability, I was sent to live with Aunt Elena. She was young, single, an artist who smelled of coffee and paint. She was the one who held me when I had nightmares. She was the one who braided my hair and bought me dresses. When I was seven, she told me my mother had given birth to a sister, Maya. She said I’d be going back soon because the family was wealthy again. I asked, “Can I eat less food? If I eat less, can I stay?” Elena cried that night. I returned to the Sterling estate when I was ten. I walked into a mansion that felt like a museum. And there was Maya—three years old, clinging to our mother, who looked at her with a tenderness I had never seen. I was the intruder. Maya was the sun; I was the shadow. Maya was allergic to nothing; I was allergic to seafood. My parents constantly forgot. They’d order shrimp for dinner and then look at me with vague annoyance when I couldn’t eat. But Maya… Maya loved me. She was the only one who didn’t treat me like a guest. She’d sneak into my bed during thunderstorms. She’d tell everyone, “My big sister is the best.” So, at fourteen, when we were kidnapped for the first time by human traffickers, I protected her. We were saved by a boy named Julian, another victim who managed to get help. I took a beating meant for Maya that put me in the ICU for weeks. My parents cried then. But they looked at me with guilt, not love. 3 I woke up from the darkness five years after my execution. I wasn’t Lily anymore. I was Nora. A high school senior who had fallen into a river trying to save a child. The original Nora hadn’t made it, and somehow, my soul had taken up residence. It took me a week to stop waking up screaming, clutching a throat that had no scar. Nora’s life was hard. Her mother, Sarah, was a disabled widow who ran a soup-and-sandwich food truck. Her grandmother, Nana, was paralyzed from a stroke. But the love in this cramped, drafty apartment was suffocating in the best way. Sarah would massage my legs after a long day. She’d save the best cut of meat for my bowl. She looked at me like I was the entire world. “Eat up, Nora,” she’d say, watching me with soft eyes. “You need your strength for finals.” I realized then: This was what I had wanted my whole life. 4 One Sunday, Sarah took me to the old stone chapel on the hill to light candles for good luck on my upcoming exams. The chapel was busy. A memorial service was finishing up. I stepped out into the courtyard to wait for Sarah. The wind was rustling the autumn leaves of a massive oak tree. That’s when she grabbed me. My biological mother. She looked terrible—hair graying, eyes wild. “Have you seen her?” she begged, gripping my arm. “Have you seen my Lily?” Time stopped. Five years. She looked destroyed. I gently removed her hand. My voice was steady. “No. I haven’t.” She collapsed onto the pavement, sobbing. “Has anyone seen my daughter…” I watched her for a moment. The memorial service was for me. It was the fifth anniversary of my death. I felt nothing. No hate. No love. Just a quiet emptiness. Her daughter died in that warehouse. She chose Maya. This was the result. 5 A week later, a new transfer student walked into my classroom. “Everyone, welcome Maya Sterling.” She walked in like a storm cloud. She was taller now, beautiful but cold. She wore a hearing aid in her left ear—a souvenir from the kidnapping five years ago. The class whispered. “That’s the Sterling girl.” “I heard she’s cursed. She survived the kidnapping, but her sister got her throat slit right in front of her.” “They say she’s crazy. A total psycho.” Maya sat next to me. She slammed her books down and put her head on the desk. She didn’t speak to anyone. She slept through classes. She was openly hostile. One day, I saw a guy mocking her in the hallway. “Hey, deaf girl. Is it true your parents traded your sister for you? How does it feel to be the favorite?” Maya didn’t cry. She picked up a heavy metal thermos and smashed it into his forehead. Blood everywhere. I stood at the top of the stairs. “Maya,” I called out. She looked up, eyes wild. “Teacher’s coming,” I lied. “Get out of here.” She looked at me, then ran.

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