Category: English

My boyfriend of seven years, Liam, spent our entire joint savings on a new Mercedes. I assumed he was finally doing it—buying a luxury car so we could drive home for the holidays and look like we’d made it. But as I was loading my suitcase into the trunk, he stopped me. “Hey, you should probably take the bus. I’m pretending to be Julia’s boyfriend again this year. It’s… complicated.” The next day, I saw his Instagram story: him, in the new Mercedes, driving Julia and her mom around for holiday shopping. The caption: “Finally made good on my future mother-in-law’s request for a new Benz. Now I just have to figure out how to make her my actual mother-in-law!” That night, his post had 99 likes and a flood of congratulations. I couldn’t get a bus ticket, so I took an unlicensed cab. It hydroplaned on the highway and nearly flipped. When I woke up, I dialed my boss. “Hello, Alex? That transfer to the branch office you mentioned a few months ago. Is it still on the table?” 1 “It is, Jenna. If you still want it.” My chest ached. But I took it. After I hung up, I saw my phone. Twenty-nine missed calls from Liam. I almost laughed. What a joke. He was so busy—playing the dutiful son-in-law, doting on the girl he’d been obsessed with since we were kids—and he still found time to call me? As if on cue, the 30th call came through. I answered. “Jenna, what the hell is your problem?” he yelled. “Are you ignoring my calls? You won’t believe this. I got a call three days ago from some guy claiming to be a cop, said you were in a car accident, told me to go to City General. A scam. I almost fell for it.” He was breathing hard, genuinely angry. “Did you set that up? Are you that desperate to ruin my trip with Julia? You’re unbelievable.” His words helped me place the time. I’d been unconscious for three days. The post-accident headache was pounding against my skull. “Oh. Okay. I get it. I have to go.” I hung up. He immediately called back. “Don’t you hang up on me, Jenna! What is this, another one of your little scenes? You have to do this every holiday, don’t you? Make everyone miserable.” I gripped the phone. “Liam,” I said, my voice shaking, “I was in an accident. My head is killing me. I really don’t want to fight. If you need to yell at someone, can it wait until I’m discharged?” The line went dead silent. I don’t think he’d ever, in seven years, considered that I might be telling the truth. He was used to me fighting, crying, and throwing fits about Julia. He’d already decided this was just another “Jenna tantrum.” The police call, my silence—it was all just a ploy to him. Finally, his voice came back, hesitant. “You… you’re at the hospital? Send me the address. I’m coming.” He hung up. I let the phone drop, and the tears I’d been holding back finally came. Liam, Julia, and I all grew up in the same small neighborhood. For as long as I can remember, I was chasing Liam, and Liam was chasing Julia. Seven years ago, after she’d rejected him for the hundredth time, he finally turned to me. “Jenna, fine, I’ll date you,” he’d said. “But I have one rule. As long as Julia needs me to be her fake boyfriend for her family, I won’t marry you.” I agreed. I thought I could make him love me. For seven years, I tried. But he never once offered to take me home to meet his parents. In our old neighborhood, Julia was his girlfriend. I was just… the other kid who grew up there. I even tried to trap him. I told him I was pregnant. The next day, he handed me a pamphlet for an abortion clinic. “My parents think Julia and I are getting married, Jenna,” he’d said, his eyes full of that awful, tragic sincerity. “I can’t be a father right now.” I don’t know why I loved him. Maybe because when I was a kid, when my stepmom would lock me out, he was the only one who would sneak me into his basement, put toothpaste on my bruises, and share his dinner with me. But this accident… it finally woke me up. Love you have to beg for isn’t love. 2 He said he was coming. He showed up at 8 PM the next day. He looked exhausted. I almost felt sorry for him. I’d seen Julia’s Instagram stories. He’d been busy—helping her pick out a “promise ring,” taking her mom shopping, playing mahjong with her entire extended family. He walked into the hospital room and tossed his jacket on the chair. “Why were you so stupid, Jenna? Taking a sketchy cab.” He walked past my bed and opened the mini-fridge, grabbing a water. “Now I have to drive all the way back tonight. You’re such a headache.” I watched his reflection in the dark window. Half my face was a swollen, purple mess. My head was wrapped in bandages. Was I not pathetic enough? No. The only explanation was that my accident was an inconvenience. An annoyance that forced him to drive 50 miles. He finished the water and tossed something onto my blanket. “Here. You’ve been whining for one of those ‘J’ monogram rings for three years. Consider this my apology for the accident.” I saw the “J.” My name is Jenna. Her name is Julia. It was the exact same ring from her Instagram post—the one where she and Liam were holding hands, showing it off. My chest felt tight. “Liam,” I said, my voice hoarse, “you shouldn’t just give rings to people. Not unless you mean it.” He flinched. “Oh, here we go,” he sneered. “Are you obsessed with getting married? I told you, Jenna. As long as Julia needs me, I’m not getting married. I know you’re upset about the accident, but you can’t use it to threaten me.” My heart felt like it was full of needles. I was about to say, “Fine. We’re done.” But his phone rang. He looked at the screen and his whole demeanor changed. “Hey, Julia! What’s up? Your mom needs me to come back for more cards? No problem. I’m on my way.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket. “I checked with the doctor. You’re fine. No major damage. I hired a temp nurse for you. I’ll pick you up in three days when you’re discharged.” He was halfway out the door when he turned back. “And Jenna? Just… stop being so dramatic. It’s the holidays. Don’t make this a thing.” 3 He never came back. He just sent a single text, late at night: ‘How’s the head?’ I didn’t reply. I used to be so desperate for that scrap of warmth he gave me as a kid. I’d let him get away with anything. But I almost died. I wasn’t cold; I was dead. When I was discharged, he was there, idling in the new Mercedes. I just stood on the curb. He honked. “What are you doing? Get in. I have to take Julia to her aunt’s house for dinner.” I remembered him agonizing over the options for this car. “What do you think of this color, Jenna? We’re going to look so good pulling up to the old neighborhood.” I’d been so stupid. I’d been so excited, thinking he was finally going to introduce me to his parents. The day he bought it, I’d hugged him. “Can we go for a drive? Just us?” He’d pushed me away. “Don’t be weird, Jenna. This car is for Julia. It’s to impress her parents. I can’t let you be the first person to ride in it.” He’d left me at the dealership. Now, looking at the car, all I could think was… it felt dirty. “Liam,” I said, “that car was $40,000. $10,000 of that was from my savings account. I need it back.” He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “You’re… you’re charging me?” “I am.” I’d already done the math. “I pulled our bank records. You’ve transferred $30,000 to me over the last seven years for bills. The total cost was $40k. You owe me $10k.” He was furious. “You’re bringing out spreadsheets? After seven years?” “You said it yourself, Liam. The car is for Julia. I’m not paying for it.” He just stared at me. Then he got in the car, gunned the engine, and sped off. I guess the only time he remembered I was his “girlfriend of seven years” was when it benefited him. 4 I took a cab to our old neighborhood. As I was walking up to my childhood home, I saw the neighbors. “Jenna! We heard about the accident! Are you okay?” “You, Liam, and Julia are all in the city now, right? Hey, when are those two finally tying the knot? Their parents are getting so impatient!” My heart just seized. Of course. Everyone here thought Liam and Julia were the couple. Ten years. He’d been playing this game for ten years. Longer than he’d even been with me. I forced a smile. “It should be soon. He just bought her the ring.” I walked away. I heard them playing mahjong before I even got to Julia’s door. “Liam, you’re terrible!” Julia shrieked, her voice playful. “You can’t just take my mom’s money! She’s your future mother-in-law!” I looked through the screen door. Liam. Julia. Julia’s parents. And Liam’s parents. Liam’s mom laughed. “Hush, Julia. You’re our future daughter-in-law. You should be on my side.” The room was full of laughter. My chest felt like it was caving in. I was the secret. I pulled the door open. “Hi, everyone. I heard the noise from outside. Thought I’d stop by.” Liam’s face went white. Julia just looked… smug. “Oh, Jenna,” she said, bouncing over. “You’re out of the hospital! You should have told me you were coming home. I would have had Liam pick you up. You shouldn’t have taken an unlicensed cab.” I’d had enough. “I wouldn’t have had to,” I said, “if my boyfriend wasn’t busy being your boyfriend.”

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It wasn’t a holiday splurge or an extravagant purchase that tipped me off. It was a charge on the Visa statement, a recurring monthly payment I didn’t recognize. The recipient was The Briarwood Academy, the most exclusive bilingual preschool in Boston. But our son, Leo, was in the second grade at the public school down the street. I didn’t hesitate. I drove straight to Briarwood, posing as a prospective parent. The admissions director was effusive, eager to sell me on their program. “You should look at one of our star kindergarteners, Noah Hayes,” she gushed. “His father, Michael Hayes, is our Parent-Teacher Association’s most distinguished representative.” My husband’s name is Michael Hayes. I waited in my car across the street, a knot of ice forming in my stomach. Soon enough, I saw him—my Michael—walking out, holding the hand of a small boy. A woman with a radiant smile stood beside them, handing the boy a snack. My hand was steady as I picked up my phone and dialed his number. My voice, when I spoke, betrayed nothing. “Hey, are you at the office?” He paused for a beat before answering. “Just got in. It’s a crazy day, a big meeting. I’ll call you later.” I disconnected the call without another word. I raised my phone, zoomed in, and let the camera capture the perfect, happy little family in crystal-clear focus. “Michael,” I whispered to the screen. “Your distinguished life is officially over.” 1 Michael came home after midnight. He stepped into the living room, and his stride faltered for a fraction of a second when he saw me sitting there in the dark. He recovered instantly, pasting a weary smile on his face as he loosened his tie. “Olivia, honey. Why are you still up?” He came over and sat beside me on the sofa, his arm draping naturally over my shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep. I was just going through some old things.” I opened my hand. Lying in my palm was the simple silver band he’d given me when we had nothing—our first ring. “Remember this?” His eyes fell to the ring, and his whole body went rigid. “Of course, I do,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, sentimental register. “We… we had it so tough back then.” He launched into the well-worn story of our scrappy beginnings, a narrative of shared struggle and eventual triumph. It was a beautiful story. If I hadn’t driven to Briarwood today, it might have even moved me to tears. After laying a sufficient foundation of nostalgic emotion, he finally made his pivot. “Thinking about the old days… it makes me think of Rick.” Rick was his buddy from the army, who’d died in a car crash years ago. “That tuition payment,” he began, his tone confessional. “I never told you. I’ve been paying for his kid’s school, anonymously. I set it up under Rick’s name so it wouldn’t be traced back to me.” He sighed, a masterful performance of weary nobility, and took my hand. “He went so suddenly, Olivia. Left his wife and kid with nothing. I couldn’t just stand by.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s a delicate situation. I didn’t want to make them feel like a charity case, so I kept it from you. I didn’t want them to feel any pressure.” He looked at me, his eyes brimming with a sincerity that was almost flawless. I just watched him, silent. He must have mistaken my silence for stunned acceptance, or maybe he felt his performance needed an encore. He actually pulled out his phone and played a video. “Look, this was last week. I took his son, little Danny, to the hospital for a check-up.” On the screen, a frail-looking boy with a pale face sat on an examination table. Michael was kneeling in front of him, gently fixing the collar of his shirt. A shard of ice pierced my heart. He wasn’t just betraying me. He was using a sick child as a prop to weave an unbreakable lie. He turned off the phone and reached up to stroke my cheek. The hand that had once been my greatest comfort now sent a wave of physical revulsion through me. “Olivia, I know how soft your heart is. I didn’t want you to carry this burden with me.” His voice was a gentle murmur. “All you need to do is relax. Just be the happy, carefree Mrs. Hayes.” The happy, carefree Mrs. Hayes. He had stripped me of the right to my own reality, caging me in a life of blissful ignorance, expecting me to sing for him. That single sentence cauterized the last remnant of love I had for him. I looked up and managed a smile. “You carry so much, my love. Thank you.” Satisfied, he kissed my forehead and headed for the shower. The moment I heard the water running, I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Maya. My voice was shaking, but every word was laced with venom. “Maya, I need you to find out everything you can about a woman named Chloe Sterling.” I took a breath. “He wants me to be a fool for the rest of my life. Fine. I’m going to show him exactly how a fool can drag a king to hell.” 2 Maya was faster than I ever could have imagined. The next morning, a single text from her lit up my phone. Be careful, Liv. This isn’t just an affair. He’s liquidating your assets. My heart hammered against my ribs. I rushed to my laptop, trying to log into my personal investment account. A cold, sterile pop-up box appeared on the screen: [ACCOUNT ACCESS DENIED. ADMINISTRATIVE HOLD.] Every bank account, every stock, every mutual fund held in my name—frozen. I stormed into his home office. Michael was sitting at his desk, a complex spreadsheet glowing on the monitor. He heard me enter but showed no flicker of panic, calmly closing the window. He swiveled in his chair, his face a mask of gentle concern. “Olivia? What’s wrong?” “My accounts. What the hell is going on?” I shoved my phone in his face, showing him the error message. He glanced at it, his expression placid. “Oh, that. It’s just a temporary measure. The company is undergoing its annual financial audit, and regulations are tight this year.” He explained it with the practiced ease of a CEO addressing a clueless subordinate. “To avoid any risk of insider trading, they’ve placed a temporary hold on all accounts linked to senior executives and their immediate families. It’s standard procedure.” It was a perfect explanation. Plausible. Airtight. He then pulled a credit card from his wallet and handed it to me. “You can use this supplementary card in the meantime. It only has a five-thousand-dollar limit, so you might have to cut back a little. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He was using corporate policy as a shield while systematically cutting off my financial lifeline. “Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” I demanded. Michael stood up and walked toward me, letting out a soft, pitying sigh. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. It was an appointment confirmation for a “Comprehensive Psychiatric Evaluation.” The patient’s name was Olivia Hayes. He spoke in a tone dripping with sorrow and feigned helplessness. “Olivia, you haven’t been yourself lately. You’re emotional, paranoid… I’m worried about you.” He gestured to the paper. “I’ve made an appointment for you with Dr. Albright. He’s the best in his field.” His eyes met mine, filled with a chillingly false compassion. “Once you’re feeling more stable, we’ll sort out the account situation. I promise.” I finally understood. He was going to have me declared mentally unstable. He was forging a weapon out of love and concern, an invisible cage that would render all my protests, all my accusations, the meaningless ramblings of a madwoman. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Just then, the doorbell rang. Michael went to answer it, his expression shifting instantly into one of profound grief and exhaustion. Two men in neat, professional attire—not white coats, but something far more unnerving in their quiet authority—stood on the doorstep. Michael spoke to them, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Thank you for coming. My wife… she’s been in a very bad way. She needs help.” This wasn’t an appointment. It was an involuntary commitment. He was going to brand me as insane in front of the world, so that every truth I spoke would be dismissed as delusion. The two men flanked me, their hands gently but firmly on my arms, guiding me toward the door. As I passed Michael, he gave me a small, reassuring smile. His lips formed the silent words: “It’s for the best.” But his eyes told a different story. In their depths, I saw the cold, triumphant truth he didn’t dare speak aloud: with me declared mentally incompetent, he would gain uncontested control of the controlling shares in the company I had inherited from my father. It was a checkmate. Just before they led me into the waiting car, I summoned every ounce of my strength and twisted free from their grasp. I looked at Michael’s suddenly alarmed face and spoke in a low, clear voice, using a code only he would understand. “Michael, you seem to have forgotten something,” I said, my words a stiletto’s point. “You never learned how to play the game my father left me.” I saw his pupils contract in a flash of pure shock. The car door closed, sealing me in. I immediately activated the emergency beacon on my watch, a direct line to Maya. “Execute Plan B,” I whispered. “He wants to put me in a madhouse? Fine. Let’s show him what a public crucifixion looks like first.”

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My husband, Ethan, told me to give blood to his childhood best friend. She had a bleeding ulcer, he said. He completely ignored the fact that I was two months pregnant. [“Chloe is in surgery, Eva! It’s just some blood. Why are you making this so difficult? Stop being so selfish. Is being pregnant that big of a deal?”] My husband’s friends all chimed in, accusing me. He just stood there, silent. He let them ignore my protests, my struggles, as they physically pushed me toward the donation room. My heart finally died. A single tear escaped and slid down my temple. After the transfusion, I dragged my weak body to the OB/GYN wing. Ethan, a man like you doesn’t deserve to be my child’s father. 1. I stayed in the hospital for three days after the D&C. Ethan, meanwhile, never left Chloe’s side. My stomach was empty. But it was my heart that ached. When I was discharged, I ran into them. Chloe and Ethan, surrounded by their entire group of friends. I was alone, just holding my small overnight bag. Chloe was leaning on Ethan, as if she could barely walk. When Ethan’s eyes met mine, he froze for a second. [“You’re still here?”] [“It was nothing.”] I didn’t tell him about the miscarriage. I just turned my pale face toward the exit. [“We’ll go together.”] Ethan grabbed my arm. His tone left no room for argument. When we got to the car, Chloe immediately slid into the front passenger seat. She looked at me, her eyes watery and innocent. [“Eva, I get carsick so easily, especially after my surgery.”] [“You don’t mind, do you?”] I wasn’t in the mood to fight. I opened the back door. But Ethan’s friends, three large men, piled in, filling the entire back seat. They stared at me, their hostility obvious. [“Sorry, Eva,” one of them, Shawn, said. “Chloe’s still really weak. We’re all going to your place to help take care of her.”] I looked at Ethan in the driver’s seat. His jaw was tight, but he said nothing. I laughed, a dry, soundless thing. The summer cicadas outside seemed to be mocking me. How could I still expect anything from this man? Ethan’s friends had never liked me. In their eyes, he and Chloe were the ones who were meant to be. I was just the evil, gold-digging witch who’d split them up. Whenever they came over, they treated me like the hired help. Ethan never said a word in my defense. Even when I was pregnant with his child, I still had to give blood to Chloe. And I never even got a “thank you.” All they said was: [“You should be honored.”] This wasn’t the first time I’d been humiliated. It was just the first time I chose to accept it quietly. [“Okay. I’ll get home on my own.”] I shut the car door and walked away. It was rush hour. I couldn’t even get a rideshare. I had just had surgery. It was the peak of a brutal summer, and I had to walk for an hour under the blazing sun to get home. The moment I opened the door, I was hit with a wave of accusations. [“Eva, what took you so long? We’ve been here forever!”] [“We’re starving. Go make us something to eat.”] My gaze fell on Ethan and Chloe. It was sweltering, but the air conditioning was off. They were afraid the ‘frail’ Chloe would catch a chill. So Ethan sat next to her, fanning her with a magazine. His own forehead was beaded with sweat, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on her. I stayed silent. Shawn nudged Ethan. [“Come on, man. We’re hungry. Tell your wife to get in the kitchen.”] Only then did Ethan look up. He completely missed my ghostly pale face. His voice was casual, entitled. [“Eva, be good. Go make us all a simple meal.”] [“And make some extra soup for Chloe. It’ll help her recover.”] The dull ache in my heart sharpened, twisting like a knife. I could barely breathe. I walked into the kitchen, closing the door on their happy chatter and laughter. I was the outsider. I was the one who didn’t belong. In the past, I would have screamed. I would have fought. I thought that would save my dignity. But all it ever did was make them double down. Compared to my “hysterical” rants, Chloe always looked so sweet and understanding. But now… I was done fighting. A man like this, a group of people like this… they weren’t worth it. By the time I brought the food out, I was drenched in sweat. Chloe offered to “help,” taking the heavy tureen of chicken soup from me. The second I let go, her hands “slipped.” The tureen crashed to the floor, shattering. Boiling soup splashed everywhere. [“Watch out!”] Ethan dove, shielding Chloe, who didn’t have a single drop on her. My bare legs, however, were instantly scalded, a blistering red. [“Eva! I know you don’t like me, but you can’t just throw things!”] Chloe burst into tears, burrowing into Ethan’s chest as if she was the one who’d been hurt. [“What the hell, Eva?”] [“We know you hate her, but this is too much!”] [“She didn’t even do anything!”] [“She’s my best friend, that’s it! Why are you so crazy?”] [“She let go first.”] My voice was dead calm as I stared at the people yelling at me. They started to argue again, but Ethan cut them off. [“Eva. Apologize.”] His voice was like steel. [“You’ve gone too far. She just got out of the hospital. You scared her.”] In the middle of a blazing hot summer, I was shaking, frozen. The burning, blistering pain on my shins was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I looked at the man who I once thought was my protector, my safe place. He was my executioner. Something inside me snapped. [“Okay. I’m sorry.”] I smiled, a horrible, broken smile. The tears just started falling. Ethan flinched, as if he was surprised. He reached for me, but I pulled away. [“The food is ready. The apology is done. Can I please go bandage my legs now?”] I gestured to my skin, which was already blistering. Without waiting for an answer, I turned my back on the mess and walked to our room. I could hear Chloe’s ‘wounded’ voice from the living room. [“I’m so sorry… It’s all my fault Eva’s so angry…”] [“I’m just a burden. I’ll go…”] I heard the front door slam. She had run out. And, of course, the whole pack of them ran after her. I thought Ethan had gone, too. But then, my bedroom door opened. He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His large hand came to rest on my stomach. [“Eva, why can’t you just be patient with her? She’s like a kid. She needs us to look out for her.”] [“Besides,” he whispered, his voice suddenly tender, “we have our own baby now. As soon as I get this next project sorted, I’ll get you that wedding. Just stop being angry, okay?”] [“So you do remember I’m pregnant.”] I pushed his hand away. The sarcasm in my voice was sharp. His smile froze. Just then, his phone rang. He picked it up. Shawn’s voice was loud in the quiet room. [“Man, you gotta get over here! Chloe fainted on the street! We’re at the ER, and they need a card for admission.”] Ethan didn’t hesitate. He went straight to the nightstand and pulled out the bank card from the drawer. The card with all the money we’d been saving for the baby. [“Are you insane, Ethan?”] I blocked his path. [“You’re taking the money we saved for our child… for her?”] Ethan’s face darkened. He tried to push past me. [“That’s enough, Eva.”] [“This is life and death. And you’re only thinking about yourself. Why are you so selfish?”] I snapped. I started hitting his chest. [“I’m selfish? She’s your friend, not mine! You can’t take my money for her!”] Something in my words triggered him. He roared, shoving me with all his strength. I flew backward, falling hard onto the floor. Onto the pile of broken ceramic and spilled soup that no one had cleaned up. A searing pain shot through my back and arms. I looked at my hands. They were covered in blood. Ethan was already gone. He hadn’t even looked back. As I started to black out, I managed to dial 911. In the haze, I dreamed of a younger Ethan. We were at the lake overlook. He had his hands clasped together, his face serious. [“I swear I will love and protect Eva for my entire life.”] [“If I ever break this promise, I hope I die a miserable death.”]

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Seven years after my divorce from Ethan Blackwood, we met again in the drop-off line for a middle school summer camp. He was there for his stepson. I was the teacher in charge of the trip. I went through the checklist with him, my voice professional and clipped. He listened intently, playing the part of a competent parent. The only crack in the facade was a flicker of confusion in his eyes when I called him “Mr. Blackwood.” “Audrey,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “You’ve… changed.” I kept my head down, fussing with the faulty speaker on my megaphone. I didn’t answer. If he wanted to talk about change, we’d be here all day. At the very least, I no longer wasted my time waiting for him. 1 “Ms. Shaw! There you are. We were about to leave without you.” Nina, my class president, a bright girl with a perpetually high ponytail, jogged over. She was one of the campers. “Just confirming some parent details,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be right there.” Nina’s gaze followed mine and landed on Ethan. A look of pure admiration dawned on her face. “Oh! You must be Leo’s dad. I’ve seen your picture in Forbes.” Her voice was full of teenage reverence. “Everyone says you’re one of the most brilliant entrepreneurs in Crestwood. And that you’re an amazing father to him. We all think that’s so incredible.” Leo. That was the name of Ethan’s stepson. The child he had sworn to protect at all costs. Ethan managed a tight, polite smile, his eyes darting instinctively toward me. “He calls me Dad. It’s my job to be there for him.” The paperwork was done. I organized the forms and tucked them away. The old zipper on my tote bag, corroded from years of use, snagged on the fabric. I pulled out a small pair of scissors to free it and, in my haste, sliced my finger open. A perfect bead of blood welled up and dropped onto the asphalt. Ethan’s brow furrowed. He grabbed my wrist, a surprising urgency in his voice. “Don’t move. Let me see that.” I met his gaze for a second before carefully withdrawing my hand from his grip. “No, thank you. That’s not appropriate.” He paused, recalibrating. “Then wait here. I’ll get you a first-aid kit from my car.” I flicked the blood from my finger onto the ground and shook my head, my voice calm. “Really, it’s fine. I have to go.” As I turned, a single leaf spiraled down, landing at Ethan’s feet. The heavy door of the charter bus hissed shut between us. I settled into the front passenger seat and pulled a wet wipe from my bag, methodically cleaning the spot on my wrist where his fingers had been. The driver, a veteran with a love for gossip, chuckled as he pulled away from the curb. “That guy in the tailored suit must be some big shot. The woman who landed him is one lucky lady.” I smiled faintly but said nothing. This was the seventh year since my divorce from Ethan Blackwood. Seeing him again, I felt a placid stillness in my heart. I had accepted that our lives were two parallel lines, never destined to cross again. He could chase his great love story; I would guard my hard-won peace. It was almost possible to forget. To forget that I had once given him everything. And that he, in return, had cost me child after child, before personally shoving me into the abyss. 2 In the rearview mirror, the school drop-off point shrank until it was just a speck. It struck me then that this was the very place we had first met. Back then, he had nothing. He stood on that same patch of pavement, shivering and filthy, looking like a stray dog begging for scraps. The winter wind whipped around him as he kept his head bowed, his voice cracking as he pleaded with the staff coming and going. “My mom’s sick. Please, if you’ll just help her, I’ll do anything.” People walked past as if he were invisible. Only my father, a doctor at the city hospital, stopped. He not only got Ethan’s mother admitted, but he also pulled strings to get her into a charity care program and even paid for a significant portion of her treatment out of his own pocket. A few weeks later, when her condition had stabilized, my dad brought Ethan home. “Audrey,” he announced. “I’ve found you a tutor.” Ethan stood there, all six-foot-two of him, hands clasped nervously in front of him, the tips of his ears burning red. “I… I’m consistently in the top ten of my class. I’m decent at every subject.” That was an understatement. He wasn’t just “decent”; he was one of those effortless, incandescent geniuses teachers talk about for years. With the burden of his mother’s illness lifted, he shone even brighter. It was no surprise when he got a full scholarship to Crestwood University’s elite finance program. And I, as my father liked to joke, rode his coattails, scraping by with the bare minimum grades to get into the same university. But life is unpredictable. During Ethan’s freshman year, his mother’s illness returned. This time, she didn’t recover. My dad, a man with a deeply compassionate heart, felt a strange sense of responsibility. He told Ethan that the debt was paid, that he’d more than earned his keep by tutoring me. He was free now; he didn’t have to feel tied to us. But Ethan shook his head. “Dr. Shaw, this is a debt I can never repay. You saved my mother’s life. In return, I’ll take care of Audrey for the rest of mine.” I traced the faint white line of the scar on my finger. The sting was long gone, but a phantom ache remained. We were so young then. He said it, and I believed it. I clung to him like a burr, shamelessly, refusing to let go. We made plans. We’d make some money, buy a small house in Crestwood, and get married right after graduation. We would live a normal, happy life, just like everyone else. But as much as Ethan cared for me, his ambition burned hotter. The year we graduated, he threw himself into a project a thousand miles away in Riverton. All our promises evaporated like mist. He was consumed by his work, unreachable for weeks at a time. On the rare occasion I got him on the phone, before the thrill of hearing his voice could even settle, he dropped a bomb. “Audrey,” he said, his voice distant. “I think I’m going to stay here.” No apology. No “we should break up.” Not a single word of explanation. Around that time, my father retired. He couldn’t bear to see me crying day after day. “You can’t force love, honey,” he’d say gently. “Sometimes you just have to let go.” But four years of my life… I couldn’t accept it. That same day, I packed a suitcase and bought a ticket for the next train south. I messaged him the whole way, a long, rambling monologue. Ethan, I’m on my way to you. It doesn’t matter if you stay there. We don’t have to break up. I sent him the train number, the arrival time. I wanted him to be there. I needed him to meet me. He wasn’t. A torrential rain was falling in Riverton that day. I dragged my suitcase through the downpour, unable to find a single cab. I finally collapsed onto a bus stop bench and cried for three hours. A sharp, cramping pain seized my abdomen, and I felt a horrifying warmth spread down my legs. I looked down. It wasn’t my period. It was our baby. A baby I never even knew existed, arriving and leaving in secret. Panicked, I looked up, searching for anyone, for help. And then I saw him, walking toward me under a large black umbrella. He was wearing a dark gray trench coat and gold-rimmed glasses, looking so polished and successful it felt unreal. My hands were covered in blood. My legs were covered in blood. I scrambled toward him, grabbing the sleeve of his coat. “Our baby… the baby’s gone.” His expression was flat, but a flicker of anger burned in his eyes. “Who told you to come here?” The rain fell in sheets around us. Ethan’s face was a mask of cold fury. He asked me again, his voice like ice. “Audrey, who the hell told you to follow me?” 3 The bus arrived at the campsite. I pushed the memories away and stepped out into the fresh air. The camp had its own counselors waiting, which meant my main duties were over. I was free to explore the small resort town for a few days. My friend Maya picked me up. Her eyes immediately landed on a boy with a basketball tucked under his arm—Leo. “That’s her kid, isn’t it?” she said, her lip curling slightly. “He’s got her eyes.” I gave a small nod. Seeing my detached calm seemed to infuriate her. The anger simmered for a moment before she started railing against Ethan. “How could you have ever agreed to marry that heartless bastard after everything?” It wasn’t that complicated, really. After the miscarriage, I ended up in a Riverton hospital. I was young and terrified, grieving my first child, a thousand miles from home. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell my parents. Just when I was at my most helpless, my most desperate for an anchor, Ethan proposed. I clung to the idea like a drowning woman. He didn’t mean for it to happen, I told myself. It wasn’t his fault. So I married him. After the wedding, Ethan was always busy. An endless parade of networking dinners and business trips. Night after night, I waited for him, the food growing cold on the table. The daily corrosion of loneliness wore me down. When I unexpectedly became pregnant again, my emotions became a tangled, fragile mess. I was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And that was when Ethan had his affair. Her name was Isabel. She wasn’t a business partner or a socialite. She was a widow with a child. Their meeting was sordid—in the private room of an upscale club. Ethan was instantly captivated. He told me later that when she pleaded with him for help, her eight-year-old son hiding behind her, he saw a reflection of his own desperate youth. He became obsessed, determined to be her savior. He brought the boy, Leo, to our home. “He’s the son of a friend,” he lied. “He’s been ill, and he just needs a quiet place to recover.” I believed him. I was even happy. Because of Leo, Ethan started coming home more often. Sometimes, Isabel was with him. “This is Leo’s mother,” he introduced her. “Her husband was abusive. It’s a miracle she got out with the boy. They’ve been through so much.” A knot of unease tightened in my stomach, but I pushed it down and poured my energy into caring for Leo. When he had a fever, I sat by his bed all night. When he had a craving for a specific snack, I dragged my swollen, exhausted body out to a 24-hour store to buy it for him. But my kindness was not returned. When I was seven months pregnant, Leo threw a tantrum because he didn’t like the dinner I’d made. He picked up a heavy wooden dining chair and heaved it, with all his strength, straight into my stomach. Blood gushed out, staining the pale tile floor a deep crimson. Frantic, I called Ethan. A woman’s voice answered. Isabel. “Your husband is with me,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “He’s in the shower.” I froze, a chill spreading through my veins that had nothing to do with the blood loss. My strength evaporated. Seeing the horror he’d caused, Leo bolted out the front door. It was a neighbor passing by who found me and called an ambulance. Unsurprisingly, the baby was gone. My son, beaten out of me by Isabel’s son. And what was Ethan doing while his own child’s life bled away? He was in bed with Isabel. I clawed my way back from the brink of death and woke up a madwoman. I smashed everything in my hospital room I could reach. I ripped out my IV, tore up my own charts, and knocked over a medicine cart. With dark circles under my eyes and my hair a tangled mess, I ran through the halls, screaming for Leo. I shrieked that he had to pay, that he had to give me my baby back. Doctors and nurses tried to restrain me. Other patients scurried out of my way. Then Ethan appeared. He seized my wrists, his grip merciless, and pinned me against the wall. His voice was cold and hard. “Audrey,” he hissed. “Have you made enough of a scene?”

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When I discovered Richard was cheating, both of us remained incredibly calm. Richard shielded the girl behind him, his voice flat. “Don’t blame her. It was a moment of passion. She’s innocent.” I nodded. “I understand.” That night, Richard came home and handed me a divorce agreement. “I’ve made concessions financially. Look it over. If there are no issues, sign it.” I tossed the agreement into the trash can, smiling with boundless tolerance. “Relax. I won’t make a fuss over something so trivial.” It’s just an affair. In this age of fast love, who hasn’t faced temptation? I couldn’t even control myself; how could I blame Richard? 1 Richard paused just as he was about to light a cigarette. He looked up at me, surprised. I knew why he was shocked. In the past, I was the kind of person who couldn’t tolerate a speck of dust in my eye. Richard had always been popular with women. Back when we were madly in love, he tried hard to keep himself clean for me. But some women just threw themselves at him. We used to fight about it constantly. But over the years, maybe because we’d been together too long and the passion faded, or maybe just because we got older and lost the energy to argue, our marriage became like stagnant water. Not a ripple in sight. When life gets too bland, people crave excitement. “Richard, we’ve known each other for twenty years. Married for almost ten. The company is thriving. Our parents get along great.” “Do you know what it means if we divorce?” It means assets need to be divided. The stock price will tank. It means major upheavals for both families. Our parents are old, they have health issues; they might not survive the shock. Richard was silent for a long time. finally, he said, “I’m doing this out of respect for you.” “Your respect for me is finding a mistress and cuckolding me?” Richard frowned, disapproving. “She’s not a mistress! I told you, I was shameless. She knew I had a family and kept rejecting me.” “I get it. You don’t need to explain. Love is hard to control with reason.” I laid it all out. “You’re just afraid I’ll use my status as your wife to bully her, right? Don’t worry. I, Sarah Vance, might have many flaws, but I am generous.” Richard looked at me tentatively. “You really don’t mind?” “To say I don’t mind at all would be a lie, but you two are true love,” I sighed softly. “True love is rare these days. I always respect and bless it.” 2 Richard wasn’t swayed by my sweet talk, but he knew I was stating facts. So he said he’d reconsider the divorce. For several days, he came home on time. Occasionally his phone would ring. He’d glance at me, then hang up. I said generously, “Was that her? Answer it. Don’t make her sad. You can’t give her a legitimate status, so don’t let her suffer in other ways.” Richard endured it for a moment, then got up and went into the study. The door closed tight, just like his heart, which hadn’t been open to me for a long time. Actually, I understood him. People are very tolerant of those they love deeply or don’t love at all. They are only harsh toward those they once loved deeply but no longer do. Richard probably detested me right now. Detested me so much that breathing the same air in the living room felt unbearable. Yet, because he was afraid I’d hurt his lover, he had to come home every day and pretend with me. It must be hard for him. At night, as usual, I slept alone. I can’t remember how long it’s been since Richard and I had a normal married life. At first, I tried to seduce him. But he always used “tired” as an excuse. But men are creatures who can impregnate women at eighty and try to grope nurses while paralyzed in bed. I knew then that Richard wasn’t tired. He had just been satisfied by another woman. But a thirty-year-old woman has needs. I was in my prime. With no other choice, I found a clean man. Before sleeping, I received a message. [When are you getting a divorce?] [I told you, I won’t be a homewrecker! If you don’t divorce him, don’t contact me again!] I thought of his eight-pack abs and licked my lips with regret. Divorce was impossible. But since he was so firm, I couldn’t force him. So I moved my finger and deleted him. Luckily, three-legged frogs are hard to find, but two-legged men are everywhere. Goodbye is just a chance to say hello to the next one. 3 Monday. Shareholders’ meeting. Ever since I had a miscarriage from overwork two years ago, I stopped going to the office. I stayed home, rested, and collected dividends. But I still attended the quarterly meetings. Compared to the last time I was here, there were new faces. I immediately spotted the woman in the corner taking notes. Seeing me, she panicked, looking left and right before shrinking back and lowering her head. I didn’t feel any hostility toward her, just a bit of pity. She was the first woman Richard had brought in front of me. But she wasn’t the first woman Richard had cheated with during our marriage. Richard was someone who separated public and private life. He never brought his past flings to the company. Thinking of how Richard defended her, I thought, maybe this really was true love. At ten o’clock, Richard walked into the conference room on time. But he didn’t start the meeting. After a while, there was noise outside. The heavy doors opened, and a man in a dark grey suit walked in. “Sorry, I’m late.” He apologized verbally, but his face showed zero remorse. He sat down next to Richard. Seeming to sense my gaze, he looked over indifferently, then looked away expressionlessly. I clicked my tongue. This guy has a poker face. Especially in bed—the more intense the desire, the colder he looks. But I might be a bit masochistic. The colder he is, the more excited I get. “Director Vance, who is this?” the shareholder next to me whispered, surprised. “Caleb Sterling. Our angel investor,” I explained softly. “Without him, the company wouldn’t exist.” “But I’ve never seen him before?” “He has a lot of assets. We invite him to every meeting, but he always declines.” “Why did he come this time?” I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s bored?” 4 The meeting ended near noon. I didn’t rush to leave, planning to have lunch with Richard. When I came out of the restroom after washing my hands, Richard’s lover walked in. Seeing me, her instinct was to run. But after a moment, she shuffled over, head down, voice like a mosquito: “Director Vance.” I washed my hands slowly, pulled a paper towel, and dried them. Receiving no response, she started crying from the grievance. Her shoulders shook, looking pitiful. “Director Vance, I really didn’t mean to ruin your marriage. I… I didn’t know he was married…” She sobbed, starting to defend herself: “I thought about leaving him, but, but…” “But you love him too much,” I took out a handkerchief, lifted the girl’s chin, and wiped her tears with pity, speaking for her. “The thought of leaving Richard breaks your heart.” “So you had to stay entangled with him. Later, he got you a job at the company so you could be together day and night, right?” I finished her lines. She was stunned, forgetting to cry. “Do you have something to say to me?” I asked her. The company is huge. If she really wanted to avoid me, it would be easy. Her intentions were too obvious. She was too weak. So weak that I found her somewhat cute. “Director Vance, you’re so capable, beautiful, and rich. So, so… could you please divorce him…” Knowing she was in the wrong, she started crying again. “I really have no choice. I… I’m pregnant…” “Does Richard know?” I asked calmly. She nodded. “But he says you won’t divorce. But Director Vance, the child is innocent… I came from a broken home. I really want to give my child a complete family!” “You can call me shameless, but for my child, I’ll do anything!” I smiled slightly and nodded. “I understand. Stop crying. You’re pregnant; be careful.” “Thank you for your blessing.” Saying that, she tried to kneel. But realizing I wasn’t stopping her, her knees hovered awkwardly in mid-air. I checked the time on my watch. It was late. No wonder I was hungry. “I’ll discuss the divorce with Richard again.” I patted her shoulder and floated away. Richard’s office was large. When I pushed the door open, he was chatting with Caleb. Seeing me, Richard smiled and stood up. “Just in time. Caleb, you haven’t seen Sarah in a long time, right? Lunch together?” Not that long. We slept together last week. Caleb glanced at me and nodded slightly. “It has been a while. I was planning to message you guys for dinner today, but Sarah seems to have deleted me?” “Impossible.” Richard picked up my phone and scrolled through it. He really didn’t see Caleb’s name. “Must be accidental,” Richard explained immediately. “Sarah never deletes people.” “It’s fine. Just add me back.” Caleb held out his QR code, personally watching Richard scan it and send the request. I rolled my eyes internally. Who was the one last night swearing never to contact me again?

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My boyfriend and I were supposed to go skiing. He bailed. He booked an entire ski resort for her, his old flame. She sent me a video from the slopes, her voice all soft and breathy. “I had no idea Alex would ditch you for me… I’ll make him make it up to you next time, okay?” I replied calmly: “Have a great time. Don’t worry about the money.” Oh. She probably doesn’t know that the resort Alex booked? I own it. 1 When Alex got home, I was reviewing the quarterly profits for that exact resort. He walked in and handed me a gift box. “Stella, a present for you.” A green box. The complimentary gift for guests who spend over ten thousand dollars. I didn’t even have to open it. I knew it was a green, Christmas-themed snow globe. I looked up. “Have fun with Chloe?” He flinched—just for a second—then sighed, as if he was relieved. “So you found out. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to overthink it. “Chloe’s going through a nasty divorce, she’s in a bad place. I was just keeping her company. It’s not a big deal.” “Oh.” I nodded, my eyes still on my laptop. He stared at me, frowning. “Are you mad? Over this?” His voice was getting impatient. “Stella, that’s enough. I just got back. I’m tired.” He went to the bathroom to shower. His phone, left on the coffee table, lit up. A new message from Chloe. [Alex, is Stella mad? Should I explain it to her?] [But what if she gets even angrier seeing me?] For the first time, I saw the contact name he had for her: Little Miss Drama. Unlike me. In his phone, I was, and always had been, Stella. My full name. 2 I was the one who replied to Chloe. [No need to explain. Just apologize.] I sent it as a voice memo. [A wire transfer is the most sincere way.] Another voice memo. Chloe didn’t reply for a long time. And she definitely didn’t send any money. Alex came out of the shower, toweling his hair, and glanced at his phone. Then he looked up at me. Just then, Chloe’s reply finally came. Timid. [Stella? Why are you answering?] [Did you and Alex fight because of me? Please… please don’t fight. I’m the one who asked him to come…] Alex listened to hers, then played mine. [No need to explain. Just apologize.] [A wire transfer is the most sincere way.] He listened to mine twice. His face darkened. “Stella, is money all you care about?” “What else?” I asked, surprised. “You?” I opened the green box he’d given me, running a finger over the green, glittery peak of the globe. “And get a freebie from your spending on another woman?” Alex froze. The anger on his face turned into awkwardness. “The flight was a last-minute thing. I didn’t have time to get you a real gift. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” “Oh,” I nodded. “Cash is fine.” “Stella!” he snapped. I just looked at him, confused. I had no idea what he was so angry about now. We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, he gritted out, “You’re unbelievable.” He stormed off toward the guest room. SLAM. “…” Psycho. 3 Early the next morning, I was in the bedroom packing for a business trip. The second Alex opened the guest room door, his face went dark. “Stella, what are you doing? “Are you seriously running away from home this early? Is this ever going to end?” I frowned. “I have a business trip.” His expression softened slightly. He didn’t say anything. He just went to the bathroom. By the time he was done, I was dressed and ready. “Let’s go.” He blinked. “Go where?” “Your office. I need to pick up the proposal.” He finally remembered. The whole reason for the ski trip was that I was heading to Colorado to bid on the new mountain resort development. Halfway there, Alex turned the steering wheel. The car’s display lit up. Incoming call: Little Miss Drama. He instinctively glanced at me. I looked up. “Can’t answer?” He scowled. “Don’t be passive-aggressive.” He hit “accept.” Her voice chirped, “Alex, where are you? I’m all dressed and waiting!” Alex cleared his throat. “You should just grab an Uber. It’s not a good time for me.” Her voice faltered, then turned worried. “Alex, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” The car was silent. I laughed, softly. “Something did. His wife is in the car.” The other end went quiet for a long time. Then Chloe’s panicked voice came through. “Stella! I’m so sorry, I’m just causing trouble, I really didn’t mean anything, please don’t misunderstand…” “That’s enough.” Alex cut her off, frowning. He paused, and his voice softened. “Just get a car. I’ll see you at the office.” He hung up. He glanced at me while waiting at a red light. He hesitated. Then he explained: “Chloe’s living in a new place, it’s remote. It’s hard to get a car.” I almost laughed. “Are you looking for a ‘World’s Most Thoughtful Husband’ award?” Alex’s face instantly went blank. He stopped talking. 4 I printed a few extra copies of the proposal at his office. While I was having some tea, the office door was thrown open. Chloe stood there, her eyes red. “Alex, I still couldn’t get a car.” She was on the verge of tears, her wide, wet eyes fixed on him. “Is Stella still mad…? “So… can you still come pick me up…?” She looked devastated. “Does this mean… I can’t work at your company anymore?” I was sitting on the sofa, facing away from the door. I set my teacup down on the table with a clink. “Good tea,” I said, loud enough to be heard. Chloe’s face went white. She looked desperately at Alex. “Stella.” Alex’s voice was heavy, displeased. “You’re taking this too far.” In front of me, he buzzed his secretary. He had Chloe settled in a conference room first. Then he came back, locked his office door, and rubbed his temples. “Stop seeing her as a threat. She’s going through a divorce, she’s got no job, nowhere to live. I’m just… helping her out.” He made me laugh. “Just helping her out? “Helping her out so much she can just burst into your office without knocking? “Are the security and receptionists at your company dead? They just let strangers come right up?!” Alex’s expression cracked. “That’s enough, Alex. Stop being disgusting.” I sneered, grabbed the proposals, and walked out. Chloe was standing by the secretary’s empty desk. Our eyes met. She gave me a small, triumphant smirk. It was a look only another woman would understand. See? I’m taking your man. I stopped. I raised my voice. “Ms. Yao, what are you smiling at? Are you proud of yourself?” Her expression immediately shifted to panic. Alex pulled his door open. Chloe tugged nervously at her clothes. “I… I wasn’t smiling…” 5 Before boarding, I saw Chloe’s new Instagram story. A shot from the passenger seat. She was holding a bubble tea. One cup, two straws. A couple’s drink. The driver’s hand was in the shot, wearing an expensive watch. Instantly recognizable. Her caption: [It’s only good tea when you’re drinking it with the right person.] I liked it. Then I screenshotted it and forwarded it to Alex. He replied almost immediately. A voice memo. “Stella, Chloe’s place is far, I’m just dropping her home.” In the background, I could faintly hear Chloe’s panicked voice, “Oh no, I forgot to hide my story from Stella…” My voice was flat. “Next time you two get a room, tell her to hide that from me, too. Otherwise, it’s so hard for you to explain.” Alex’s call came in immediately. I looked at it. Declined. Airplane mode. It was snowing in Aspen. The flight was delayed. By the time I landed, it was night. My potential partner, Ethan Chen, picked me up himself and hosted a dinner. We talked about the resort development until midnight. My phone had been vibrating for ages. I finally picked it up. Alex’s voice was exhausted. “Why are you just answering now?” “Busy.” I kept it short. The dinner wasn’t over. Just before I hung up, a woman’s crying came from Alex’s end. “It’s so late… and I heard a man’s voice on Stella’s end… what if she’s in trouble… “Did you two fight again because of me…” She was sobbing. Alex, however, sounded panicked. “The construction on Chloe’s street… they blocked the road. I can’t leave. I just… came upstairs for a minute…” I paused. “No need to explain. You two spent seven days and seven nights at the resort together. This is nothing.” Alex was stunned. He couldn’t find a word to say. At the table, Ethan’s young assistant, already drunk, slurred, “Ms. Yu, taking a call means a penalty drink!” I smiled apologetically. “Alright.” Before I could hang up, Alex’s voice exploded from the phone. “You’re drinking? “With men?! “Stella, where are you?! Send me your location! I’ll come get you!” The strong liquor burned my throat. These mountain guys could really drink. I held up the phone, screen bright. I laughed. “Road’s blocked, remember? You can’t get out. You forgot?” Alex choked. I just hung up. Phone off. The assistant was already coming at me with another glass. Ethan blocked him. His voice was calm. “That’s enough. Easy on the drinks.” The drunk assistant sobered up instantly. He sat straight down. Ethan pushed a glass of fresh-squeezed juice in front of me. “Try this.” I don’t like orange juice. But I took a sip. “Not bad.”

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

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

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The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart home to our villa, my father, who had quit smoking years ago, chain-smoked on the balcony all night. His colleagues at the research institute used to envy him for having a CEO for a wife. They’d tell him he should just stay home and enjoy the good life, manage the family finances, and forget about the grind of a nine-to-five. But my dad would just shake his head. “That’s all material stuff. As long as the love is there, money doesn’t matter. But if the day comes when she doesn’t love me anymore, I’ll walk away with nothing but the clothes on my back.” I never thought his words would be a prophecy. But she didn’t love him anymore. Later, when my mother stood before the media, her arm linked with that other man’s, my father boarded a plane and flew abroad without a backward glance. And as I stared at a picture on social media of my fiancée’s hand intertwined with someone else’s, I knew it was time for me to leave, too. 1 The day after my mother, Fiona, moved Julian Hayes into our house, she called a family meeting. She slid a divorce agreement across the table to my father, Mark. “Mark, Julian is going through a hard time. You know our history. I have to help him.” “The three of us living together like this… it doesn’t look good.” “I promise you, the divorce is just a formality. We’ll still live together. It’s just to quiet the gossip. Don’t overthink it.” I stared at her, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? If he’s in trouble, you can rent him an apartment! You could buy him a house! Why does he have to live with us?” My dad put a hand on my arm, shaking his head slightly. Then, without another word, he signed the papers. A relieved smile instantly spread across my mother’s face. “Honey, you have to believe me. You’ll always be the love of my life. As soon as he’s back on his feet, we’ll remarry.” With that, she practically skipped out the door with the agreement. Not long after, the news broke online. [CEO Fiona Vance Announces Divorce] My dad and I sat in silence in the living room, watching the headline scroll across the screen, a shared sadness hanging between us. “Dad, why did you agree? And who is this Julian Hayes?” He took a long drag from his cigarette. “He was your mother’s first love. The one she never really got over.” “What kind of trouble is he in that she has to help him this much?” “They have a son. He’s a year older than you. How could she not help?” The foundations of my twenty-four-year-old world were crumbling around me. Everyone had always seen my parents as the perfect couple. I never imagined a sordid past like this. “Dad,” I asked quietly, “do you think she still loves him?” He lit another cigarette in silence. “I don’t know. But I know she doesn’t love me anymore.” I nodded, a wave of grief washing over me. “Son, I’m going to have to leave. If you can, you should move out too. This house won’t feel like ours for much longer.” I put my arm around his shoulders, my eyes burning. The next day, I went with my dad to the institute. As we walked in, Mrs. Davies from HR greeted us cheerfully. She was my fiancée’s mother. “Mrs. Davies,” I said, “I was supposed to have dinner with Cathy last night, but she said she wasn’t feeling well. Is she any better?” Her expression stiffened. “Oh, you know how young people are. A good night’s sleep and she was fine.” I didn’t press her. I went to my lab station to start my work. A moment later, another intern, a guy from my year, sidled up to me, phone in hand, a gossipy glint in his eye. “Leo, man, I heard your family was rich, but I didn’t realize how rich. That bracelet you got for Cathy must have been, what, twenty grand?” I froze. Following his gaze, I saw it: Cathy’s social media feed. The picture showed two hands, tightly clasped. They were wearing matching couple’s bracelets. She’d been acting strange lately, turning me down nine times out of ten when I asked her out. Now I knew why. Her profile was hidden from me, so I took my colleague’s phone and kept scrolling. Amusement parks, Michelin-star restaurants, late-night drives in a sports car… And in one picture, a man’s face, with a striking resemblance to my mother. So this was her “something important.” We’d met in college. It was love at first sight for me. Later, by some coincidence, I found out her mother worked with my dad. It was my father who had set up a dinner to get us together. After that first dinner, as we walked, she took my hand. “Leo,” she’d said, “I like you too. From the very first moment I saw you.” We’d held each other tight under a streetlight that night. It seemed my dad and I both had terrible judgment when it came to people. It was time to end this engagement. 2 That evening, my dad stayed late at the lab. I bought some fruit and went straight to Cathy’s house. Her mother answered the door. She glanced at the fruit in my hand and then blocked the doorway. “Leo, honey. Cathy’s not home. You should go.” I stood there awkwardly. In all the time Cathy and I had been together, this was the first time her mother had ever turned me away. “Well, could you take this fruit, Mrs. Davies? For Cathy, since she wasn’t feeling well.” She still didn’t move. “We have too much fruit in the house already. It’ll just go bad. You take it home to your father. You have a good night now.” She shut the door in my face. Through the thin wood, I could faintly hear her muttering. “So rich, but so cheap. Hasn’t bought her a single expensive thing all these years.” Defeated, I walked down the stairs. As I reached the entrance of the building, a red sports car screeched to a halt in front of me. Cathy and the man from her pictures got out, their arms linked. “Do you think your parents will like the ginseng I bought?” he was asking. “Of course! My mom’s been cooking all day, she knew you were coming for dinner.” It all clicked. They turned me away so I wouldn’t interrupt their little party. A basket of fruit couldn’t compete with expensive ginseng. “Cathy!” I called out, stepping in front of them. She saw me and instantly snatched her hand back, her face panicked. “Leo! What are you doing here?” I ignored her question. “Who is this? What’s going on?” Cathy waved her hands dismissively. “It’s not what you think. Didn’t your mother tell you? This is your brother, Alex. He’s new in town, so my mom asked me to show him around.” I looked him up and down, my eyes landing on the matching bracelets. Cathy quickly hid her hand behind her back. But the next second, Alex pulled it forward, dangling it right in front of my face. “The bracelets? They were a gift from me. Got a problem with that, little brother? You’re too cheap to buy her anything nice, so why can’t I?” His taunt lit a fuse inside me. I swung, my fist connecting with his jaw. He was strong. He hit back, harder, knocking me to the ground. Cathy rushed to help me up. “Stop it! You’re brothers! Please, my mom made dinner. Come up and eat with us.” I shoved her away. “Your mom wouldn’t even let me in the damn door!” “Cathy, why did you lie to me? Don’t we even have basic honesty between us anymore?” “If you don’t want to marry me, just say so! I won’t stand in your way!” I got to my feet, covered in dirt, and ran home. 3 I walked in to find my mother and Julian Hayes having a candlelight dinner. “Son, this is your Uncle Julian. I didn’t get a chance to introduce you yesterday.” I glared at him. “Oh, right. Like father, like son, I guess. Both look decent enough on the outside, but all you know how to do is seduce other people’s wives.” My mother’s face flushed with anger. She slapped my arm. “How dare you speak to your elders that way? When did you become so disrespectful?” I snorted. “Disrespectful? Maybe I learned it from you. You sent my fiancée to entertain his son. Isn’t that what you’d call disrespectful?” SLAP! Her hand cracked across my face. Her eyes were red. “He’s my son too! You’re brothers! What’s wrong with your fiancée spending some time with him? Why are you being so petty?” “Is that how you see me? As some kind of monster?” Tears streamed down her face. She leaned against Julian’s shoulder, sobbing. Julian comforted her, his voice soft. “Leo, this is all my fault. Don’t let us come between you and your mother.” My mother covered his mouth. “No, Julian, it’s not you. It’s me. I failed to raise my son properly.” Just then, the front door opened and Alex rushed in, his face a mask of concern. “Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” My mother looked up and immediately saw the cut on his lip. “Alex, honey, you’re hurt! Did you get in a fight? Does it hurt?” Alex shot a wounded look in my direction. “Mom, he hates me. But he’s had your love for over twenty years. I’m so jealous.” “I just want a little bit of my mother’s love. Is that too much to ask?” My mother’s tears fell faster. She stood up and shoved me hard. “Is this how you treat your brother? I carried him for nine months, just like I carried you! Why can’t you accept him?” I gave a bitter laugh and pointed to my own bleeding lip. “Mom, I’m hurt worse than he is. But you haven’t even noticed. Right now, all you can see is them. What are Dad and I to you?” She froze, her eyes finally landing on my injury. “I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t see…” “Don’t bother, Mom. I get it. Dad and I don’t matter anymore. I don’t need your fake sympathy.” I ran to my room and locked the door, my eyes stinging. 4 The next day, Cathy was waiting for me outside the institute. The bracelet was gone from her wrist. “Leo, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have hidden it from you. Please, just give me one more chance.” I looked at her coldly. “The engagement is off.” Her eyes immediately filled with tears. She grabbed my hand. “Don’t do this. I promise I’ll never see him again. You know I love you.” Looking into her sincere eyes, my resolve wavered. Maybe I had misunderstood. My tone softened. “Cathy, this is your last chance.” I walked into the institute. In the lab, I found my dad, his hair a mess. “Dad, did you not sleep at all?” “The director spoke to me yesterday. There’s a research project abroad that wants me to lead it. It’s a five-year commitment. I’m still thinking about it.” I knew that despite his disappointment, he still couldn’t let my mother go. “Dad, you’ve passed up so many opportunities to stay close to her. If you miss this one, at your age, you might not get another.” He shook his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I just can’t believe it. After more than twenty years… how can she just stop loving me? What if she’s just confused right now?” I sighed. We were both the same. Too soft-hearted for our own good. That evening, my mother called to say she wouldn’t be home. She had a new product launch event. My dad and I huddled in the lab, watching the livestream on his phone. Seeing her on stage, radiant and powerful, I could still see the spark of love in my father’s eyes. But at the end of the presentation, she made an announcement. “And now, I have two appointments to declare.” “I am appointing Julian Hayes as the new Vice President of the company, and Alex Hayes as the General Manager for this new product line.” Julian walked onto the stage and kissed my mother on the cheek. Alex stood beside her, and the three of them smiled for the cameras like a happy family. A reporter from the crowd shouted a question. “Ms. Vance, is this your official announcement of a new relationship with Mr. Hayes? You two make a lovely couple.” I turned to look at my father. The light in his eyes was gone. They were like stagnant pools, dull and lifeless. “Son,” he said, his voice flat, “she really doesn’t love me anymore.” “You’ll have to take care of yourself after I’m gone.” I let out a long, slow breath and gave him a sad smile. “Dad, would you mind if I came with you and lived off your salary for a while?” He looked at me, surprised. “What about Cathy?” I pulled out my phone and showed him a screenshot. In the front row of the product launch, Cathy sat in a glamorous dress, the twenty-thousand-dollar bracelet sparkling on her wrist. A bouquet of red roses in her lap made her smile look even more radiant. “Dad,” I said, “there’s no place for us in that family anymore.”

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1. The day I found out Clark was cheating, I was using his phone to identify a song. He and a friend were in a permanent shared listening session. The account name was TessaTheSunflower. In that single, sickening moment, I knew exactly who it was. They had listened to one song, “Flicker in the Dark,” for 700 hours. But Tessa had only been in our home for a month. She was our new housekeeper. Bright and bubbly, a little ball of sunshine. And a walking disaster. The day I tried to fire her, she pouted, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “So what if I break a few dishes? Or I’m a terrible cook, or completely useless at housework?” “I make Clark happy,” she challenged, her voice dripping with smug certainty. “Can you?” And my husband, Clark, just stood there, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips. In the end, Clark settled it with a dismissive, “Leave it. We can hire people who know how to work.” I backed down, defeated. Tessa stayed. Now, I clutched Clark’s phone, my thumb hovering over his message history, unable to bring myself to tap it open. When he walked out of the bathroom, I held the phone out to him. My voice came out as a rasp. “Clark, I need an explanation.” I was desperate for him to explain it away. Even a lie. I just like the music. Anything. Clark just chuckled, a careless, easy sound. He swiped the screen, ending the shared session without a second thought. “Tessa’s… just a bit of fun.” His dark, bottomless eyes locked onto mine. “The problem, Chloe, is that you’ve gotten so bland.” 2. So, the next time he called me bland, I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed the container of leftover chicken blood from the kitchen and dumped it over his head. “Fresh from the source,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Need any seasoning?” Clark wiped at the crimson mess on his face with a paper towel, his expression more annoyed than shocked. He frowned at me. “What’s with the drama today?” “You’re cheating on me, Clark,” I stated, the words flat and cold. A laugh rumbled in his chest. “And?” And… I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but the words tumbled out anyway. “And I want a divorce.” I choked back the acidic wave of nausea rising in my throat. “I’m going home.” “Fine,” Clark said, leaning forward slightly and holding out a hand. “Where are the papers?” He agreed so easily, so quickly. As I stared, stunned into silence, a slow, condescending smile spread across his face. “Oh, Chloe, stop this nonsense. You couldn’t leave me if you tried.” “You’re an orphan. What ‘home’ are you going to?” He stood and headed for the bathroom. “And don’t start with that ‘Redemption System’ and ‘other world’ crap again.” “You’re not a kid anymore, Chloe. I don’t have the patience to play these little games with you.” The sound of the shower started, a steady hiss of water. I sat frozen on the sofa. I remembered my first year in this world. I had no ID, no money. My degree, my entire work history from my old life—it was all worthless here. I sold trinkets on the street, set up makeshift stalls, took any cash-in-hand job that would keep me from starving. Then I found Clark on a rooftop, ready to jump. The System appeared for the first time. It gave me a mission: [Save Clark Hawthorne.] I threw all my strength into it, grabbing him by the waist, dragging his leg back over the ledge. Then, I handed him a cup of hot stew from my cart. He ate it with a frown, his handsome eyes sizing me up. “You must own a lot of Hawthorne Industries stock.” I had no idea what he meant. He smirked. “I’m about to die, and you feed me this garbage. What did I ever do to you?” I tried to explain that it was what I sold to make a living. Clark paused. “So, you’re taking your revenge on society?” He complained about the taste, but he drank every last drop of the broth. After that day, Clark moved into my tiny rooftop apartment. I took the bed; he slept on the floor. We’d wake up before dawn to prep ingredients. We’d argue about whose seasoning for the broth was better. He liked it savory and salty. I preferred it tangy and spicy. On evenings so cold our breath turned to frost, we’d stand by the school gates, rubbing our hands together for warmth, selling our stew. After a few months of that, the System finally kicked in. Clark made a fortune on a single stock. Within a year, he had rebuilt Hawthorne Industries from the ashes. In the city of Port Sterling, he was a legend. The day Hawthorne Industries went public, as Clark rang the opening bell at the stock exchange, the Redemption System announced my mission was complete. I had enough points to return to my original world. The night before I was set to leave, I sat alone in our rooftop apartment. The wind howled, and a relentless rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof, the noise so deafening I didn’t hear him come in. Not until a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around me from behind. “Chloe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I missed you.” That was the night. The night Clark moved from the floor to the bed. We clung to each other, desperately mapping every inch of each other’s bodies, starved for warmth, for connection. In the end, I used my points to buy ten more years in this world. Ten years with him. Through bitter winters and blazing summers. In a world full of noise and people, it felt like we were the only two who mattered. I knew hearts could change, especially in love. I just never thought Clark’s would be one of them. 3. “Chloe, I don’t want things to get ugly.” He stepped out of the bathroom, scrubbed clean of the blood. A towel was slung low on his hips. I could see a few faint, fresh scratch marks just above it. I quickly looked away. “I’ll make it up to you.” He sat down next to me. I turned to look at him. I’d been looking at that face for a decade. From the very first moment it took my breath away until now. Time had been exceptionally kind to him. For a fleeting moment, I remembered our wedding day, the way he looked at me as he said his vows in the old chapel. The words escaped my throat before I could stop them. “‘I, Clark, take you, Chloe, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.’” The silence in the room was absolute. After a long moment, Clark let out a soft, low chuckle. “Chloe, don’t be so naive.” He leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting against my cheek. “‘Till death do us part’?” He flicked a piece of lint from his shirt, his voice utterly nonchalant. “That was just possession, darling. A fleeting impulse.” I said nothing. Clark stood up, his shadow falling over me in the fading light. “Alright, let’s just say I was wrong.” “You can have whatever you want as compensation.” “The villa? The jewelry? Shares in the company?” He paused, a self-deprecating smile touching his lips. “Or maybe you want to go find some young boy toy to keep you entertained?” “Chloe, as long as you don’t take it too far, I’ll let you have your fun.” I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself, to find my voice. “You like her that much? Enough to…” He cut me off. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to divorce you.” “You’ve been with me for ten years. It hasn’t been easy. I know that.” He turned his back to me, but his voice seemed to drift down from a great height. “You know, she’s a lot like you used to be.” The last sliver of sunlight vanished from the sky, and the vast room was plunged into darkness. Clark’s figure was gone from the floor-to-ceiling window. I curled into a ball on the sofa. I wanted to wipe away my tears. But I found I couldn’t cry. 4. Clark didn’t come home that night. Apparently, Tessa had thrown a fit and run off. The girl had high standards. She’d left a note in the apartment Clark bought for her saying, “I will never be the other woman,” and disappeared. Clark spent all night looking for her. Just as the sky began to lighten to a bruised purple, he carried a shivering Tessa through the front door. “Have you completely lost your mind? Don’t you care about your own body?” “Towels! And clothes, now!” he roared, and the household staff scrambled into action. “Chloe,” he ordered, turning to me. “Get her a bowl of ginger soup. Lots of brown sugar, she can’t handle anything spicy.” In the kitchen, our cook, Maria, was already tossing the ingredients into a pot. I stared at the slices of ginger bobbing in the water, a wave of bitter nostalgia washing over me. That first winter, when we were selling stew from our cart, the rooftop apartment was freezing. I had a cold that lingered for days. Clark brewed a huge pot of ginger soup for me. He used five pounds of ginger, concentrating it all into a single, fiery bowl. It made me sweat, but it also scorched my throat, leaving me hoarse for a week. Afterward, I showed him how to make it properly. And just like that, brown sugar ginger soup became a new item on our menu. In the living room, Tessa was nestled in Clark’s arms, pouting. “I only came back with you because I was worried about you, not to be your mistress.” Her eyes darted toward me as I approached with the soup, a triumphant glint in them. “Oh, Mrs. Hawthorne, I’m the housekeeper. You shouldn’t be making things for me.” Clark chuckled, stroking her hair. “It’s fine. She used to sell food from a street cart. She’s not that delicate.” Tessa giggled. “Oh, a street vendor? That explains it. I always thought Mrs. Hawthorne’s taste was a little…” She tilted her head, pretending to think, then smiled with childish innocence. “A little bit country, you know?” The corner of Clark’s mouth twitched upward. As he reached for the bowl, I tilted my wrist and poured the entire contents of boiling hot soup over both of them. Tessa’s shriek ripped through the morning calm. That night, a private jet circled over Port Sterling, and Clark had the city’s top medical specialists “escorted” to the hospital. The commotion he caused became the talk of the town. Hordes of reporters, smelling blood, camped outside the exclusive Hawthorne Private Hospital on the mountain peak. The headlines rolled in, one after another. #HawthorneCEOMarriageOnTheRocks #MistressIdentityExposed #IsItTrueLoveOrATransaction When Clark’s call finally came, I was scrolling through a detailed timeline of his affair with Tessa. The reporters were better than private investigators. They’d dug up all sorts of “romantic” moments between them. With the power of Hawthorne Industries’ PR team, none of this would have seen the light of day unless Clark wanted it to. The stories were trending, and I knew he had given the green light. That explained the threatening call I’d received earlier from his legal department. “Mrs. Hawthorne, the CEO says that if you go to the hospital right now, get on your knees, and beg for forgiveness, he’ll let this go,” the lawyer had said, his voice oozing with arrogance and contempt. Just before I hung up, he added, “Mrs. Hawthorne, the CEO said he doesn’t want to have to use certain… methods on you.” A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. The time we were running our food cart. It was a cold winter night. A group of drunks started causing trouble at our stall. “Hey, pretty girl… you look nice and warm. Spend an hour with each of us, and I’ll give you… this…” Before the crumpled bills even left his hand, Clark, who had just returned, threw a punch. It was him against seven of them. He never stood a chance. The fight only ended when one of them smashed a bottle over his head, and the sight of blood sent the cowards running. As he collapsed, he covered my eyes with his blood-soaked hands. “It’s okay,” he’d whispered. “Don’t be scared.” I stared at my phone screen, where the online discussion was getting more frenzied. A new rumor was trending: Tessa was supposedly pregnant. I laughed bitterly. That one, at least, had to be fake. Clark didn’t like kids. 5. In the end, I was “escorted” to the hospital by Clark’s men. The moment I appeared in the doorway of her room, Tessa shrieked and scrambled behind Clark. “She’s here again! Clark, I’m scared!” So fragile. So pitiful, a delicate flower in need of protection. Clark’s face was grim. “You went too far this time, Chloe.” “Let her hit you back, and we’ll call it even.” The once-empty hallway was now crammed with reporters. Everyone held their breath, cameras raised, ready to capture the shot of the century—the official mistress slapping the original wife. “And if I don’t?” A laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Clark, where in the world is that fair?” “She’s the one who’s a homewrecker, and I’m supposed to be grateful? Welcome her with open arms for destroying my marriage?” “Clark, maybe you two have been acting like animals for so long you’ve forgotten how human society works. Cheating husbands and mistresses are meant to be punished!” Tessa poked her head out from behind him. “How dare you call me a mistress!” she shrieked. “Clark and I are soulmates! He stopped loving you a long time ago! That’s why he wouldn’t even have a child with you!” My mind went blank. Instinct took over. I lunged forward and ripped the surgical mask from Tessa’s face, revealing the blotchy, red-raw skin from the burns. SLAP! The sound echoed in the hallway. My hand moved so fast that my fingernails raked across Clark’s cheek as well, leaving a thin trail of blood. Tessa screamed. The camera flashes were blinding. The headlines shifted again that day. From True Love Affair to Wife Slaps Mistress. I was reading the latest exposé on Tessa and Clark when he came home. He looked exhausted, sinking into the armchair next to me. “Chloe, there’s no point in dragging this out.” I kept scrolling on my phone. “Oh, I think it’s plenty interesting.” I smiled, reading the article aloud. “‘Sources say the Hawthorne CEO orchestrated ‘chance’ encounters with his wife for years. How else could a man going from the corporate headquarters to a downtown market—two completely opposite directions—call it a coincidence every time?’” “If I were a novelist, I’d write you as the secretly devoted second male lead. It’s quite touching.” “Enough!” Clark snapped, his eyes burning with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. As I started to get up, his hand shot out, clamping around my wrist. “She’s pregnant.”

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