Category: English

After we got back together, I changed. I fixed all the “bad habits” Alex hated. No more constant check-in texts, no more irrational jealousy, no more picking fights over stupid things. I even found a tube of lipstick in the passenger seat—one that wasn’t mine—and I just quietly tucked it into the glove compartment for him. But instead of being pleased, Alex’s face darkened, and he slammed on the brakes. 1 Alex’s features were sharp and defined, projecting the kind of intimidating pressure that came naturally to powerful men. But right now, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “That lipstick belongs to Renee,” he said. “The work dinner last night went late. She drank too much covering for me, and she couldn’t drive, so I gave her a ride home.” He looked at me, forcing himself to give an explanation, something he usually considered beneath him. “I’ve told you a million times, I only put up with her because her father is my mentor. I have to look out for her.” His gaze was intense. “Past, present, and future—there is nothing between us.” When I didn’t respond, a crack appeared in his usually composed expression, revealing a flicker of something I’d never seen on his face before: helplessness. “What do I have to do for you to believe me?” I looked at him calmly. “I do believe you. I’m not mad.” It was like punching a pillow. Alex’s face went blank for a second. “…Then why have you been silent this whole ride?” I glanced at my watch, my mind on getting to the airport. “You used to say you hated pointless chatter,” I said, offering a weak excuse. “I’m going to be late for work. Maybe you can just drop me at this corner?” My attention was on the traffic, and I completely missed the way his expression soured. “You always get out at the next light,” he said, his voice flat. “The office is still over a mile from here.” I hadn’t thought of that. I was forced to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “If you’re not going to the office, where are you going?” Just as the suspicion in his eyes started to deepen… Ring—! The custom ringtone. It was Renee. Alex’s sharp gaze softened, his eyes darting away guiltily. “It’s a work call. I have to take it.” All his suspicion about me vanished. He unlocked the doors. “You can get out here, then.” I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but he stopped me. “Don’t be so clumsy. Watch where you’re going.” His voice lowered, taking on a gentler, more placating tone. “I made a reservation at that restaurant you wanted to try.” He looked at me, his expression softening. “I promised you I would never miss another anniversary.” “Happy seven years, Chloe.” “I’ll see you tonight.” My hand froze on the door handle. On our last anniversary, he’d stood me up for Renee. The memory, which had once felt like a knife in my gut, now barely registered. “You should get that,” I said softly, my voice even. “Don’t keep her waiting.” After all, Renee couldn’t wait. And neither could my flight. As for our anniversary—this year, next year, and every year after—I’d be missing it. 2 I made it onto the plane just before they closed the gate. After I found my seat, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t had time for breakfast. I automatically reached into my coat pocket and, sure enough, found three small pieces of chocolate. Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar years ago, Alex had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning. The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness faded. But it was quickly replaced by a familiar, lingering bitterness. Seven years together. How did we end up here? At first, I really believed him when he said Renee was just the daughter of a family friend, someone he was forced to hire as a favor. I told myself that’s why he had to be so “professional” with me at the office while giving her special treatment. My department head gave me hell for months, and Alex did nothing. But when that same manager spoke to Renee in a slightly harsh tone, he was fired the next day. The office gossip was brutal. Behind my back, they didn’t call me Alex’s secret girlfriend. They called Renee the “boss’s girl.” I forced myself to believe his excuses. But the “special treatment” started bleeding into our life at home. He’d cancel our plans over and over again because of a call from her. The breaking point came one night when I saw a photo in a group chat with some coworkers. Alex, who had told me he was working late, was at a midnight movie screening with Renee. It was the same movie I had begged him to see with me, the one he’d dismissed without a second thought. “Babe, everyone’s saying you have to see Forever with the person you love most! Let’s go!” I’d pleaded, playfully tugging on his sleeve. He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop. “Watching a cheesy rom-com like that is a waste of a life.” But in the photo, he looked charming, smiling, not a hint of boredom on his face. The messages in the chat flew by, a blur in front of my tear-filled eyes. When he got home, I asked, my voice devoid of emotion, “How was Forever?” A flicker of surprise, or maybe guilt, crossed his face. Or maybe I imagined it. A second later, his expression was unreadable. “Were you following me?” My chest felt tight, like a wet, heavy towel was wrapped around my heart, squeezing the air out. “Do I need to?” I shot back, my voice trembling. “Pictures of you two are all over the office group chat!” My voice rose, shaking with a rage I couldn’t contain. “Alex, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” His expression didn’t change. He was as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “If you don’t have the basic decency to trust me, then there’s nothing more to say. Chloe, I’ve had a long day. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No apology. No explanation. Compared to my messy, emotional state, he was the picture of composure. He even carefully placed a small paper bag he was holding onto the counter. The two words printed on the bag—Forever Chocolates—were like shards of ice piercing my heart. All the emotions I’d been suppressing—the hurt, the jealousy, the humiliation—crashed over me in a tidal wave, and my sanity finally snapped. I snatched the bag and threw it on the floor. The top wasn’t sealed, and its contents scattered across the tile with a series of soft thuds. I didn’t look. I just stared at him, my eyes burning. It was a standoff. After a long, silent moment, he turned and slammed the door behind him. I stood there, frozen, like a statue. It wasn’t until something small and round rolled to a stop at my feet that I finally looked down. It was a piece of chocolate. The floor was covered in them. Dozens of handmade, artisan chocolates. 3 My anger faded, leaving only a hollow ache. I still wanted to talk to him, to fix this. But for three days, he didn’t answer my calls. He didn’t come home. I swallowed my pride and sent him a text. I shouldn’t have lost my temper without talking to you first. But you did lie about working late. Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home. Can we please just talk? I waited all day. The sun went down. The hours ticked by. He never came. At eleven, I gave up waiting and decided to go to his office. On my way, I ran into my old department head, the one Alex had fired. He was drunk. He grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. “So, you think you’re hot stuff, huh? Can’t touch the boss’s girl, but I can sure as hell touch you.” My frantic calls to Alex went straight to voicemail. My screams for help were swallowed by the night. If a passerby hadn’t heard the struggle and scared him off, I would have been more than just bruised and terrified. When my phone finally rang, I screamed, a raw, primal sound of fear. Seeing Alex’s name on the screen, the dam of composure I’d been holding back all night finally broke. I was about to sob his name into the phone, a wave of relief washing over me— “Hello?” It was Renee’s voice. Soft, sweet, and laced with triumph. “Alex is in the shower,” she purred. “I saw you’ve been calling a lot. Who is this? Is it important?” It felt like someone had shoved a hot coal down my throat. The pain was so intense I wanted to claw out my own vocal cords. Hanging up the phone felt like lifting a thousand-pound weight. I limped, battered and broken, to the nearest police station to file a report. When it was all over, my phone’s clock read 12:01 AM. Our anniversary was officially over. That’s when Alex finally called. His voice was cold, condescending. “Learned your lesson?” And in that moment, I understood. He had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary… it was my punishment for not trusting him. Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging like acid on open wounds. My voice came out as a ragged, broken whisper. “Alex,” I said. “Let’s break up.” There was a single beat of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. Don’t come crawling back.” He hung up. Just like that. No hesitation. No regret. 4 At first, I just couldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake for hours, replaying every moment of our relationship, terrified I had made a mistake, that I had judged him too harshly. I’d scroll through our old text messages, searching for clues, for proof. But the more I looked, the angrier I became. I started to hate him. Six years. An entire chapter of my life. I hated him for throwing it all away so easily, for treating me like I was disposable. At 4 AM one morning, I deleted him from everything. I got out of bed and, in a fit of rage, gathered all of his belongings, stuffed them into trash bags, and hurled them into the dumpster behind my building. I thought I would feel better, relieved. But it was like squashing a mosquito that had been tormenting me, only to find it was my own blood that splattered on the wall. I went to work, pretending everything was fine. But I could feel the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. It had been rotting for a while, a part of me that was attached to Alex. To save myself, I had to cut it out. But the wound was too big. I was bleeding out. The final blow came when I saw him at a company-wide meeting. He was the same as always—composed, confident, in control. In fact, he looked better than ever. Losing me hadn’t affected him at all. I saw Renee catch his eye from across the room, a faint blush on her cheeks. That night, the insomnia came back with a vengeance. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Alex wasn’t on social media, so I started obsessively stalking Renee’s accounts, dissecting every post, every caption, for any hidden meaning, any clue about him. It all came to a head when I collapsed at work from low blood sugar and was rushed to the hospital. Alex deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup. He sat by my bed, casually spinning the matching ring we used to wear on his finger. “You’ve lost weight, Chloe.” I stared at him, my eyes vacant. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. A triumphant, self-satisfied smile spread across his face. We got back together. 5 They say it’s better to rip off a band-aid quickly. But for someone like me, someone with no willpower left, that wasn’t an option. The only way out was a slow, quiet withdrawal. I would keep him in my life, but I would slowly, methodically, stop expecting anything from him. It was like boiling my own heart in lukewarm water. The process wouldn’t be painless, but at least the end wouldn’t be a violent shock. At first, pretending to be okay, pretending not to care, still hurt. But Alex seemed pleased with the new me. He’d smile, pat my head like I was a well-behaved pet. “You’re finally growing up, Chloe.” After six months of this self-imposed therapy, it started to work. I really was becoming the person he wanted me to be. He’d stay out all night, and I wouldn’t send a single text. I stopped asking about Renee. And then, one day, I realized it was over. The rotten part of my heart, the part that belonged to him, had finally detached. It fell away without a sound. I stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, I smiled. I immediately sent my resume to a company in France that had tried to recruit me a year earlier. I’d turned them down then, to stay with Alex. They offered me the job. My flight was in two weeks. I didn’t plan on telling him. Our relationship was already an afterthought to him. My leaving would be a non-event. I became more understanding, more accommodating. But as I grew more detached, Alex seemed to grow more agitated. I thought I was imagining it. I came home late from work one night, and as I was about to get in the shower, he stopped me. He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” I yawned, genuinely confused. “No? Why?” “Nothing,” he said, his voice flat. “Go ahead.” But something was definitely wrong. Later that night, in bed, his touch was harder, more demanding than it had been in months. He held me from behind, his hot breath on my neck. His whispers were soft, but his movements were rough, almost punishing. “Renee has been giving you a hard time at work, making you work late. Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured. My stomach cramped. I couldn’t understand what he was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for air and plead with him. “It’s… work. I was being… professional. Like you wanted.” I was remembering the time my old boss, the one who’d assaulted me, had set me up to take the fall for a huge mistake. Alex had publicly humiliated me in front of the entire company. “Even an intern wouldn’t make a mistake this stupid,” he’d said. Later that night, I’d tried to defend myself. “You could have at least let me explain.” “Business is business, Chloe,” he’d said, his face as cold as it had been in the boardroom. “I only look at results. At the office, I’m your boss, not your boyfriend. It’s not my job to protect you.” Two days later, my boss was fired for being rude to Renee. Everyone assumed I would be promoted. But Renee, who hadn’t even finished her probationary period, was given the job. She became my boss. … And now, here I was, finally playing by his rules. Being professional. Not causing drama. And he was angry. He suddenly flipped me over onto my back. The light from the lamp was too bright. I shielded my eyes, a single tear escaping and rolling down my temple. He tried to pull my hand away. I resisted, my voice weak. “What are you doing?” He pried my hand from my face. He stared into my eyes, his own expression intense, almost desperate. “You used to look at me,” he said, his voice raw. I didn’t know what kind of game this was. I just wanted it to be over. I forced myself to meet his gaze. In that instant, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly covered my eyes with his hand, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. He kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again. “Chloe. Chloe.” 6 The next day, Alex called an emergency meeting and asked Renee for a project update. All the work had been done by me. Renee stammered, unable to answer a single question. “If you can’t even be bothered to understand your own projects,” Alex said, his voice dangerously quiet, “then perhaps you shouldn’t be in this position.” The entire conference room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Renee burst into tears and ran out of the room. After the meeting, the office break room was buzzing. “Did you see the look on his face?” “Is the ‘boss’s girl’ finally getting fired?” I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. “Chloe, what do you think?” “I have to say, you’re tough,” another coworker chimed in. “I would have cried if Alex had yelled at me like he yelled at you.” I had no interest in their drama. But in an office, silence can be mistaken for betrayal. So I played along. “Hey, I’m just a worker bee,” I said with a laugh. “What do I know? It’s probably just a lovers’ quarrel. You know how it is. It’ll all be fine by tomorrow.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Besides, they look good together. Honestly? I kind of ship it.” As I said the words, I realized the break room had gone completely silent. I looked up. Alex was standing in the doorway, his face like a thundercloud. The pitying looks from my coworkers followed me as I was summoned to his top-floor office. The second the door closed, he was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. I jumped. He was always so careful about us being seen together at the office. I was always forced to get out of the car two blocks away. But now, the door was unlocked. Any of his seven assistants could walk in at any moment. “Someone will see us!” I hissed, trying to push him away. He ignored me, turning me around to face him. He searched my eyes again, looking for something I no longer had to give. After a long moment, he dropped his hands. “Chloe,” he said, his voice low. “There’s nothing between me and Renee.” He started to say something else, then stopped. “Forget it. I know you’re still mad. But I’m going to prove it to you. With my actions.” I stared at him, stunned. The commitment I had begged and cried for before was now being handed to me on a silver platter. But my flight was in seven days. And I didn’t want it anymore.

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Chapter 1 On my wedding day, my bouquet was vandalized. Then a little kid ran down the aisle, pointed at my husband, and screamed, “Daddy!” I was still processing that when the child’s “mother” showed up—a woman who had to be at least sixty. I just wanted to sit down and grab some popcorn. 1 “Oh, my God. Who did this?” My maid of honor, Jess, stormed over, holding my bouquet. The cuts were clean, precise. Every single rose had been decapitated. Someone had taken scissors to it. “What are we going to do? The ceremony starts in ten minutes! Who would be this horrible?” Jess was spinning in circles, scanning the bridal suite like she was going to tackle the culprit. My mom, coming in to tell me it was time, saw the floral carnage and went pale. She thought it was a bad omen. She’d never liked me and Mark being together, but I’d worn her down. “Chloe, we have to go. Everyone’s waiting.” Mark stuck his head in, already looking impatient. He started to pull me by the arm, not even noticing the bouquet was a massacre of stems. Seeing his anxious face, my stomach twisted. Was he hiding something? Was this the work of an ex-girlfriend? Thankfully, my other bridesmaid ran in with the emergency backup—a bouquet she’d made herself from silk flowers. It saved the day. The wedding was back on. As we lined up, my mom fixed my veil. “I just want you to be happy, baby,” she whispered, her eyes already wet. I saw her tearing up in the front row, and I made a silent vow. I was going to be happy. “Chloe, do you take Mark to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Mark squeezed my hand, his eyes locked on mine, looking so sincere. I zoned out. He had to squeeze my hand again to get my attention. From the pews, our friends were already whispering, “Say ‘I do!’” I thought about our life together, a fast-forward of the last four years. He was a good guy. Right? I looked at his expectant face and opened my mouth. “I… I do…” “I DON’T!” A little girl, maybe four or five, burst from the back of the church and sprinted down the aisle. “She’s a bad woman! She stole my daddy! Bad woman!” She was making a beeline for us, but thankfully my brother, Leo, was the best man. He scooped her up just before she could launch herself at my dress. “Whoa, where’d this little one come from?” Leo joked, holding her. “Folks, anyone missing a tiny guest? Better claim her quick before I take her home. She’s pretty cute.” The guests, who had been whispering, all just looked at each other. Minutes ticked by. No one stood up. I felt the hand holding mine start to sweat. I looked at Mark. His forehead was gleaming. He looked utterly terrified. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look anything but confident. “Mark,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Who is she?” “Chloe, baby, it’s… it’s not… you have to believe me. I haven’t done anything to hurt you, I swear.” He grabbed my arms, his voice frantic. “Daddy! Daddy, I want Daddy! Put me down!” “Ouch! Kid, you bite?” Leo yelped, setting her on the ground. She immediately scrambled over and latched onto Mark’s leg. “Daddy, why are you marrying this bad woman? Mommy will be so sad!” she wailed, then turned and stomped on my foot before glaring at me. How does a kid that small already know how to hate? “Penny, you’re little, you don’t understand,” Mark said, trying to pry her off his leg. Chapter 2 The second he touched her, she screamed bloody murder. The entire ceremony was grinding to a halt. My parents looked mortified. “Mark,” my dad said, his voice low and dangerous. “You need to explain what is going on, right now. Or this wedding is over.” “Dad, Mom, Chloe… it’s not what you think. She’s not my kid. I can’t explain it right here. Can we just go home? Please?” Mark was practically vibrating with panic. “Dude, what are you trying to pull?” my brother snapped. “You think my sister is just going to be a stepmom to your secret kid? No way in hell.” My stomach dropped. I swayed, and Jess had to grab me. Mark reached for me, but Penny was still screaming and clinging to him. He was trapped, and he clearly wasn’t going to tell the truth. Penny looked at me, then grinned at Mark. “Daddy, Mommy’s here too! She went to get me a lollipop. We can all go home together now, okay?” Her words were like needles. I stared at Mark, turned, and started to walk. “Chloe, wait! Listen to me! It’s not…” I was a runaway bride. I didn’t care how sincere he sounded. It was all noise. “Mommy! What took you so long? I almost let the bad woman steal Daddy!” Penny let go of Mark and ran like a shot toward a woman in the back pew. The woman was… sixty, at least. Dressed in a flowery, ruffled dress that was way too young for her. She looked more like the kid’s grandma than her mom. My brain just… stalled. My CPU was fried. A second ago, I wanted to run. Now, I just wanted to grab some popcorn. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Mom? Mark was calling her Mom? Everyone in the church had the same look of utter confusion. Mark had told me—swore to me—that his parents were dead. I looked closely at the woman. The set of her eyes… they were the same as his. He had lied to me. For four years, he’d lied. “You still have the nerve to call me Mom?” the old woman said, turning her back on him in a pout. “Getting married, such a big deal, and you don’t even tell me? Do me and Penny even matter to you?” This was the gossip of the year. Chapter 3 “Chloe, let’s go,” my dad said, his face red. He’d only agreed to this marriage because Mark was “a good, simple guy with no family.” My dad hates liars. But what happened next was even crazier. “Mom, stop making a scene!” Mark hissed, physically turning her around. “It’s my wedding day. Why are you and Penny here? I told you to stay home! You need to help me explain who Penny is, or your daughter-in-law is going to walk.” “Explain what? If she can’t accept Penny, then she can’t marry into this family.” His mom shot me a look of pure disdain. “Ma’am,” I cut in, my patience gone, “what century are you living in? Just tell me the truth. Whose kid is this?” “Oh, so this is the woman you picked? No manners at all. I’m his mother. You should be calling me Mom. But I’ll tell you this: Penny is my son’s child. If you can’t handle that, you can leave.” “Mommy, where’s my lollipop?” Penny whined. The old woman fumbled in her purse and pulled one out, shoving it in the girl’s mouth. “Wait,” I said. “You say she’s Mark’s daughter. But she calls you Mommy. What is going on?” My head was spinning. My boyfriend of four years hadn’t just lied; he was part of some bizarre, dysfunctional mess. “How dare you?” his mom shrieked. “She’s a child! She gets confused! Only a sick, dirty-minded person would think something’s wrong with that!” “Mark told me his mother was dead. And even if you are his mom, you haven’t paid the bar tab, so I’m not calling you ‘Mom.’ Got a problem with that, ‘ma’am’?” She lunged at me, but Mark stepped between us. “Mom, please, just go home. I’m begging you. I really want to marry Chloe.” He looked like he was about to cry. She just stood there. He gave up and turned to me, dropping to one knee. “Chloe, I lied. I lied about my mom. I was scared. I was scared you’d think… she’s… a lot… and you’d leave me. But the kid… I’ll explain later, I swear. It’s not what you think. I have never cheated on you.” He looked sincere. And, to be fair, in four years, he’d never given me a reason to think he was a cheater. My dad was pulling my arm, but my mom stepped in. “Honey, just… let’s get through the ceremony. You’re already legally married. Don’t throw it all away and be divorced before the reception.” She whispered to my dad, “We’ll keep a close eye. If it’s bad, we’ll get her out.” It was that one moment of softness that sealed my fate. Chapter 4 I trusted him. I finished the wedding. After the reception, Mark had arranged for a friend to drive his mom and Penny back to their (apparently secret) apartment. But Brenda pitched a fit. She’d come all this way, she was going to stay with her son for “a few days.” Later, Mark finally explained. Penny wasn’t his daughter. She was his mother’s. Brenda had her late in life with some man who’d left. To avoid the “shame” in her small town, she’d told everyone the baby was Mark’s. He hadn’t cheated. The boulder in my stomach finally dissolved. But that night, I came out of the shower, ready for my wedding night, and found Mark asleep in our bed… with Penny curled up next to him. It was a “father-daughter” picture. It made my skin crawl. I woke him up. “Mark, can you take her to the guest room?” The second he moved, the kid whimpered and clung to him. He tried again. She started to cry. I gave up. I went and slept on the couch. (Brenda was in the guest room.) “Just a few days, Chloe, I promise,” he said the next morning. “I’ll make it up to you.” I just counted down the days. Finally, the day they were supposed to leave, I got up early, bought pastries, and was ready to drive them to the train station myself. “Mommy, I want milk!” Penny yelled, throwing a croissant on the table. I just slid a glass of milk in front of her. “Not THAT milk! I don’t want it!” She started banging her fists. “That’s the milk you wanted. We also have… yogurt?” I nudged Mark. He went and got it. She threw that on the floor, too. “Mom, you spoil her too much,” Mark sighed. Hearing him criticize her, Penny went nuclear. She grabbed a sausage link and threw it at my head. Before I could react, she dove into Brenda’s lap, hiked up her mom’s shirt, and… and started… My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head. She was five. And her sixty-year-old mother… I grabbed Mark and pulled him out of the room. I couldn’t unsee that. I told Mark he could take them to the station. But he didn’t. He came back that evening with flowers. “Babe, you’re a saint. These are for you.” “Thanks,” I said, taking them. “They’re on the train?” “Well…” “What! No! I am not doing this!”

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My boyfriend, Liam, had just bought a gorgeous new condo downtown. As I was online, shopping for things to decorate our new home, a jewelry ad popped up on my screen. “Purchase a bracelet from our Luminous Collection and receive a matching pair of earrings, free.” Just a week ago, one evening, Liam had mysteriously produced a velvet box. Inside were those very earrings. I was thrilled. “What’s this for?” I’d asked him. He’d kissed my ear tenderly, murmuring that he was passing a boutique, saw them, and thought they’d look perfect on me. The silver bracelet in the ad looked painfully familiar. I pulled up my best friend Ava’s social media feed. And there it was. A post from that same day: [It feels so good to be cherished.] On her wrist was that exact bracelet. And I, like an idiot, had even commented on her post, telling her she had great taste and that her bracelet was from the same brand as my new earrings. Ava had replied, “Haha, what a coincidence, babe.” A dull ache pulsed in my chest, a bitterness so sharp it almost made me laugh. All the moments I thought were signs of his special affection for me… they were just someone else’s leftovers. I was just the fool holding the freebie, cheering for the main event. 1 It was the week before our engagement party. A group of us from college were at a karaoke bar, playing a rowdy game of Truth or Dare. The energy was high, and after a few rounds, everyone was buzzing. Then, the empty beer bottle spun and pointed directly at Liam. He gave a resigned smile. “Truth, I guess.” A few of our friends exchanged mischievous glances. One of them piped up, “Since you two are getting engaged next week, let’s ask something fitting. What are you planning to name your future kids?” The question made the tips of my ears burn. I instinctively glanced up at Liam. But my gaze met his distant, unfocused stare. For some reason, I found his expression unreadable, complex. He looked down, lost in thought for a moment before snapping out of it. He lifted his head, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “Haven’t thought of a full name yet, but for a nickname, I like Annie.” The moment he said it, the table erupted. Someone slammed their hand on the table, hooting, “That’s so sweet! You’ve actually got baby names picked out already!” Ava, sitting next to me, joined the laughter. “Annie. That’s a beautiful name.” I shyly peeked at Liam. His eyes flickered to Ava for a split second before darting away. Ava wrapped her arm around my shoulders, ready to share in my happiness like she always did. But I felt her hand, resting on my side, tighten its grip. I turned to her, thinking she was sad about her own past troubles. I quickly hugged her back and changed the subject, and the lively atmosphere returned. When the night ended, Liam and I went home. I was still glowing, secretly pleased by how seriously he was planning our future together. Before we went to sleep, I couldn’t help but ask again, “When did you come up with that name? You never told me.” The rhythm of his breathing beside me hitched for a second. Then he pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around me. His familiar scent filled the air, his breath warm against my neck. “We’re getting engaged, aren’t we? It’s only natural to think about our future kids.” “Still, I think it’s a really lovely name. How did you come up with it?” I murmured, feeling a little shy in his embrace. Liam didn’t answer right away. He just held me tighter. “We can talk about it later. Get some sleep. We have our engagement photoshoot tomorrow.” Figuring he was tired from the party, I didn’t press him. I closed my eyes and drifted off. But a cold sweat drenched my back as a nightmare ripped me from my sleep. I sat bolt upright, my hand pressed against my racing heart, trying to calm myself. That’s when I noticed it. In the dim light of our bedroom, Liam’s phone screen kept flashing to life, message after message rolling in. “Always check your boyfriend’s phone before the wedding.” A line from a stupid meme I’d seen earlier that day slammed into my mind. I never checked his phone. We’d been together for seven years, and I’d always felt cherished and secure. But staring at that glowing screen, a quiet, insistent voice in my head urged me on. As if guided by some unseen force, my fingers reached for it. Before I could even unlock it, another message preview popped up on the screen. I only needed a single glance. My blood turned to ice. A paralyzing numbness shot from my fingertips to the nape of my neck. 2 He probably thought I’d never check. The passcode was still my birthday. The moment the screen lit up, my fingers started to tremble uncontrollably. It was obvious the chat history had been cleared out. Scrolling up, I could only see the last two weeks. As I scrolled down from the top, a fresh wave of cold sweat broke out on my back. She had sent him a photo of herself in lacy lingerie. Liam’s reply: [So beautiful, babe. Kisses.] Further down, she complained about crippling period cramps. Liam had replied with a short, simple message: [I’m on my way.] A roaring sound filled my ears. My hands shaking, I checked the date and time of that message, then switched to my own phone. It was sent five minutes after I had texted Liam that I was at the clinic on an IV for terrible stomach pains, asking if he could come keep me company. An hour later, he had replied to me: [Sorry, babe, stuck in a meeting. Didn’t see my phone. I don’t think I can make it.] And I, being the understanding girlfriend, had told him not to worry. I’d navigated the clinic by myself, clutching my stomach in pain while I registered and paid the bills. It was the middle of summer, but I was shivering as if I’d been plunged into icy water. I kept scrolling down, my movements stiff and mechanical. Soon, I reached the most recent message. “I miss our Annie, Liam. I’m in so much pain.” So that was it. The foundation of our seven-year love story was riddled with holes, rotten to the core. Ava and I had been roommates in college, inseparable from the first day. We’d watched sunrises and sunsets together. We’d stayed up all night talking about life, about love. I had trusted her completely, considered her my truest friend. I even introduced her to Liam right after we started school. We had been together since our first year of high school, and by some miracle, we’d even ended up at the same university. The day I introduced them, they seemed to instantly dislike each other. Ava would even pick out the food Liam put on my plate and replace it with something she’d chosen. I brushed it off as the classic “best friend versus boyfriend” dynamic and tried my best to smooth things over. After dinner, she’d told me she still didn’t like him, saying he was just a pretty face and wasn’t good enough for me. Liam, for his part, looked equally disgusted with her. Sometimes the three of us would play video games together, but they would bicker constantly. Eventually, I stopped inviting them to play at the same time. Then, during our senior year, Ava came to me, trembling, and told me the devastating news. She wouldn’t tell me how it happened, no matter how much I asked. All I could do was hold her tight. “Don’t be scared,” I had told her. “I’ll go with you.” She was terrified of anyone we knew finding out, so she refused to go to the reputable, top-rated hospital I’d researched for her. She insisted on a small, private clinic. During that time, my heart ached for her. For her mistake, for the pale, drawn look on her face. I made her different kinds of light, nourishing broth every day. Whenever I saw her staring blankly at the ceiling, I’d quietly bring her a warm glass of milk. And now, I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm. The newest message at the bottom of the screen was a dagger to my heart. I couldn’t breathe. Choking back a sob, I ran to the bathroom. All the happy memories we’d shared shattered like a mirror, the sharp, glittering fragments flying back to slash me to pieces. 3 I stared at my disheveled reflection in the mirror, my knuckles white as I gripped the edges of the sink. Calm down, I told myself. You have to be calm. What was I supposed to do now? Our families had already gone in together on the new condo. We’d met each other’s parents countless times. All our friends and relatives knew we were about to get engaged. The appointment for our engagement photoshoot was tomorrow. How could I possibly untangle this mess? My eyes fell back to the sickening, deceitful chat screen. Trembling, I tapped on Ava’s profile picture. Of course. Her feed was full of posts I’d never seen before. Visible only to Liam. In this secret timeline, she documented their secret romance. The first post was a screenshot from a video game. The caption read: [So much more fun playing with you without a third wheel in the way.] Liam had liked it and commented: [Stick with me, babe. I’ll always be your champion.] Another weekend, she posted a picture of their hands intertwined, showing off a pair of matching rings. A pink heart emoji punctuated the caption: [They say if you make rings with someone you love, you’ll be together forever.] I remembered asking Liam, more than once, if we could go to one of those ring-making workshops for a fun date. What had he said? Childish? Pointless? I zoomed in on the rings in the photo and it hit me— For a while, he had started wearing a silver chain with a ring on it as a pendant. When I’d casually asked where he got it, he’d answered nervously. Then, I never saw him wear it again. On Valentine’s Day, I was beaming over a single rose he’d casually bought from a street vendor. Meanwhile, she had posted a picture of a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses. Her caption: [Sometimes I’m so jealous of her for having you all those years before I did.] Liam’s comment was a kissing-face emoji, followed by: [I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.] I scrolled further up. It was the night of Ava’s birthday. On her public feed, the one I saw, it was just a standard nine-photo collage of her party. Liam, trying to keep up appearances, hadn’t even liked it. But here, on this secret feed, was a single photo. The caption: [The best birthday present.] The picture was of a man’s face in profile, eyes closed in sleep, nestled against a rumpled duvet. It was Liam. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I clutched the phone, gasping for air. That night, Ava had thrown a birthday party for a few friends. She’d had too much to drink, and I was worried about her getting home safely. I asked Liam to drive her home. At the time, I was worried he’d refuse, given how much he supposedly disliked her. He did put up a bit of a fuss, but eventually, he grudgingly agreed. After dropping her off, he called to tell me something urgent had come up at work and he had to go to the office. He didn’t come home that night. How could I have been so blind? The two people who supposedly couldn’t stand each other—my best friend and the man I loved—had been deceiving me all along. Her private feed was a diary of their secret life, a love story unfolding in the shadows. It was as if I was the one who had intruded on their relationship. Her posts were set to be visible for a year. I had no idea how long their affair had been going on. This secret, forbidden relationship had been thriving right under my nose, a toxic vine growing wild and unchecked in a space only the two of them could see. 4 The day I won a national award for a competition I’d entered, I took my best friend and my boyfriend out to celebrate. Now, looking at her private feed, I saw the photo from that night: her high heel hooked around his pant leg under the table. I saw the picture she took when I’d gone to pay the bill: her planting a soft kiss on Liam’s cheek. And when I came back to the table, they were back to ignoring each other, acting as if they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. They were getting a thrill from the danger, from the taboo. On her birthday, while I was at home waiting for my boyfriend to return from his “emergency” at work… She was receiving what she called “the best birthday present.” A last-minute work crisis? Such a flimsy excuse, but it had been enough to override my trust. I doubled over the sink, dry-heaving. And then, later, when I took a week off from my own life to take care of her in the hospital… When I was trying to comfort her, to cheer her up, helping her curse the name of the spineless man who’d done this to her… Was she just looking at a clown? That day, Ava had posted: [You once told me life held the promise of spring peace and summer quiet, of autumn serenity and winter calm. But in the end, I couldn’t keep our little one.] Liam hadn’t commented. The cleared chat history hid whatever comforting words he must have sent. Every word was a nail in my heart, but I forced myself to keep reading through the stabbing pain. So the name he’d chosen had nothing to do with me. The embryo I had helped my best friend get rid of… its name was Annie. The irony was suffocating. If I had never found out, would he have suggested we give our future child that same name? I slid down to the cold bathroom floor, unsure if I was feeling more anger or more sorrow. Scenes from our past flashed through my mind like a chaotic movie reel. The whole thing was so absurd I almost wanted to laugh. This is it. It has to end. I quickly typed out a message to my parents, then canceled tomorrow’s photoshoot appointment. Every tap of the screen felt like a hammer blow, sealing my fate. As I stared blankly at the screen, another message from Ava popped up on Liam’s phone. “I’m so sad. Can you come over and be with me?” Even knowing everything, seeing it happen in real-time was a fresh kind of agony. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist. I scrambled back to the sink and twisted the faucet on full blast. Cold water splashed onto my face. The roar of the water mixed with my choked sobs, and my ears began to ring. The noise finally woke Liam up. “Rachel? Rachel? What’s wrong?” I heard his footsteps approaching the bathroom door. I wiped the water from my face, smoothed my clothes, and ran my fingers through my hair. Then I opened the door, looked straight at Liam, and pressed the voice note button on his phone. “Of course, babe. I’m on my way. And just so you know, there are no refunds on this offer.” 5 A soft ding confirmed the voice message had been sent. Liam stared at me for a few seconds, his face slack with confusion. Then, as realization dawned, he lunged forward and snatched the phone from my hand. I tilted my head, savoring the look on his face. He stared at the sent message, then back at me. Panic and desperation warred in his expression, his mouth twisting into a stiff, unnatural smile. “Rachel, listen to me, I can explain. It’s not what it looks like…” His voice was just noise. I pushed past him and walked out of the room. I pulled out my suitcase and looked around our cozy little home. We’d picked out that wardrobe together. The wallpaper was my favorite color. The matching pairs of slippers and toothbrushes—every little detail was a cruel reminder of the beautiful dream that had just been shattered. I forced myself to stop looking and started mechanically packing my things. Liam was still behind me, babbling excuses. The zipper of my suitcase made a sharp click as I pulled it shut. I stood up. Liam was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He reached a hand out as if to stop me, but then let it fall. “Rachel… please, just give me a chance. Don’t go.” I looked up, taking one last, long look at the man I had loved for seven years. The same familiar face, the same features that, for a fleeting moment, overlapped with the image of the boy I had fallen for all those years ago. But then, images of him and Ava flooded my mind, crushing the last vestiges of emotion I had left. The one who loves is always willing to forgive. The one who doesn’t is always looking for a thrill. My love had blinded me to his faults, and in doing so, had fanned the flames of his betrayal. I let out a soft sigh. “Get out of my way.” On the way to the airport, my phone buzzed incessantly. I silenced it and stared out the window, watching the world blur past. Right before boarding, I finally glanced at the messages. There were calls and texts from my parents, from Liam, and from Ava. I only replied to my parents, telling them not to worry. A while back, a senior from my college who I was close with had asked me to join her in starting a business in Seacrest City. The project was perfectly aligned with our major, and the founding team was made up of the top students from our year’s competitions. They had the funding and the management sorted out; all they needed was my technical expertise. I had turned her down, saying I was planning to get married and settle down here. The moment my flight landed in Seacrest, I called her. She was ecstatic. “This is amazing! You’re a lifesaver, Rachel. I can’t wait to see you.” This strange, new city was about to become the first chapter of the rest of my life. 6 My first day at the new company was a whirlwind of meetings and handovers. The jam-packed schedule seemed to dilute my pain, spreading it thin until it was almost manageable. When I accidentally opened my message history, the red notification dots revealed a long, rambling essay from Liam. His tone shifted from desperate pleading to a pathetic attempt to save face, and finally, to frustrated anger when I didn’t reply. “Rachel, it’s not what you think with Ava. You’ve completely misunderstood!” “We were supposed to have our photoshoot today. Where are you?” “I just made a mistake, the same mistake any man would make!” “Please come back. Can we just talk about this?” I calmly read through his ridiculous messages, a wave of disgust washing over me, eclipsing the dull ache in my heart. If I can’t fix the problem of your infidelity, I can at least fix the problem of you. The next day, as I was online shopping for things for my new apartment, a jewelry ad popped up on my screen. “Purchase a bracelet from our Luminous Collection and receive a matching pair of earrings, free.” That night, when Liam said he had a little surprise for me, I was so happy, thinking it was just one of his sweet, spontaneous gestures. I wore them every day. I even took selfies with them on. A cold realization washed over me. I navigated to Ava’s social media feed. And there it was. A post from that same day: [It feels so good to be cherished.] On her wrist was that exact bracelet. And I had even commented on her post, praising her good taste, blissfully pointing out that her bracelet was from the same brand as my earrings. Ava’s reply: “Haha, what a coincidence, babe.”

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1 My brother and I were reborn on the very day we were to be handed over to the Demon Realm as consorts. Our wives, the Water Goddess and the Fire Goddess, came to our rescue, just as they had in our previous life. But this time, we made a different choice. We rejected their salvation and willingly offered ourselves to the demons. In our past life, after they saved us, the demons took the Water Goddess’s young apprentice as a substitute. He suffered a gruesome death, skinned alive and stripped of his bones. Blaming us for his fate, our wives spread rumors that we were the Twins of Destruction, turning the entire celestial realm against us until our very souls were obliterated. When we opened our eyes again, back in that moment of capture, my brother and I exchanged a single look. We understood. “We willingly offer ourselves as consorts to the Demon Empress and the Beast Queen,” we announced to the stunned crowd. “Take us.” Our wives, relieved to have saved their precious apprentice, returned to the Heavens without a scratch on him. Later, they would come to regret their choice with a madness that consumed them. … Just like before, my brother and I were bound by immortal-binding ropes, unable to move. The demon general laughed raucously, shouting at the assembled immortals, “You lot better know what’s good for you and scurry back to your Nine Heavens! I only came for these two today. Anyone who wants to die, step right up!” I looked at the crowd. They were bloodied, some with damaged souls, none daring to make a move. The Nine Heavens hadn’t seen a new God of War in ages, leading to this pathetic stalemate. Just then, my wife, Azure, the Water Goddess, and my sister-in-law, Ignis, the Fire Goddess, arrived. Seeing them, my fists clenched involuntarily. My brother, Noctis, shot them a glare filled with pure venom. The other immortals, however, looked at them like saviors. An elder stepped forward. “You demons insist on taking these brothers. Do you want to plunge the Six Realms into chaos? The Nine Heavens will never agree to this!” “Exactly! The Water and Fire Goddesses are here. You’d better release them!” “They are husbands to powerful goddesses! If you want to take them, you’ll have to ask if their wives agree!” Their voices were loud, full of bravado now that reinforcements had arrived. Azure and Ignis exchanged a confident smile, showing no fear of the demons. “You heard them,” Azure said coolly. “Release my husband!” Before the general could reply, a subordinate rushed over, dragging a young man. “General! This one was sneaking around our camp. Probably a spy!” He yanked the man’s hair, forcing his head up. River, Azure’s apprentice, looked at them with tear-filled eyes. “Master… Mistress Ignis… save me.” The calm demeanor of the two goddesses vanished instantly, replaced by visible panic. “River! What are you doing here?!” The demon general wasn’t stupid. He laughed and grabbed River by the throat, pulling him against his chest. “Bastard! Let him go!” “Don’t touch River!” They rushed forward like madwomen, but the general only had to tighten his grip slightly for them to freeze in their tracks. “Hahaha… you two are interesting. Is this little one your actual husband? Then who are these two?” He pointed at us. Azure gritted her teeth and shot me a cold look. “Wait.” Ignis, at least, offered some comfort to Noctis. “Don’t worry, Noctis. With me here, they won’t dare touch you. River’s magic is weak; I have to save him first.” My brother and I sneered but said nothing. Compared to River, we had never won. River was the son of Azure’s closest friend, who had perished failing a celestial trial, entrusting him to her before dying. They were more like family than master and apprentice. But somewhere along the line, that bond had twisted. Whenever she shared my bed, she would talk about him. “River is growing fast. You should make him some new clothes.” “He’s been complaining that the food is too greasy lately. Make him something lighter, but make sure he eats enough. Boys shouldn’t be too thin.” She seemed to forget that I was even thinner than River. She personally taught him swordsmanship and even created a unique cultivation technique just for him. Later, when River was injured and saved by Ignis, he began receiving double the affection. The demon general seemed highly amused by our domestic drama. He conjured three arm-long ice needles, levitating them before my brother’s chest, mine, and River’s. “Which of these three do you want to save?” he asked softly. “Save River!” they shouted in unison. Instantly, the ice needles plunged deep into our chests. Blood sprayed from our mouths, and pain clouded our minds. The celestial elder immediately stepped forward. “Goddesses! You cannot do this! They are the incarnations of the Chaos Twins. If they die, chaos will be unleashed, and the Six Realms will cease to exist! They are your husbands! How can you abandon them for him? You must think of the greater good!” Azure hesitated. But the demon general tightened his grip, making River cough up blood. The sight nearly broke them. “Let him go! I’ll do anything you want if you just let him go!” “Oh really? I heard your husband, Caelum, has a dragon tattooed on his waist. Go carve it off.” 2 Azure looked troubled at his demand. River sobbed, “Caelum, why did you lie to me and say Master was gravely injured so I’d rush over here? If not for you, Master wouldn’t be in this difficult position!” Azure looked at me with disbelief. “It was you? You tricked River into coming here? You hate him so much you’d send him to his death?” Even though they had hurt me a thousand times before, hearing their baseless accusations still chilled my heart. “We’ve been fighting this war for three days and three nights! We barely had time to save ourselves, let alone trick him into coming here!” My explanation met Azure’s eyes, and I could see she didn’t believe me. I lowered my head with a bitter smile. “Forget it. Why would you ever believe me?” Ignis snorted coldly, looking at Noctis. “Everyone knows you brothers are experts at putting on an act. Noctis, were you involved in this? If you dare harm River, I’ll divorce you!” “As you wish,” Noctis replied coldly, making Ignis uncomfortable. “You…” Before she could finish, the demon general interrupted. “I want that dragon now! Or else…” River’s face was pale as a ghost. “Mas… Master…” At his weak cry, Azure instantly appeared by my side, tearing open my robes. “Bear with it. He’s the only child my best friend left behind. I can’t watch him die. Besides, this is your fault to begin with.” Without waiting for my reply, she plunged the knife in. “Azure! Are you crazy?! He’s your husband!” Noctis roared, struggling against his bonds. “Stop! Stop it!” But nothing could stop her. I trembled with pain, gritting my teeth as I asked her, “Is it really because of your friendship with his mother, or is it something else?” Azure wouldn’t meet my eyes, only quickening her movements. The demon general watched with gleeful delight. “I heard Noctis has a Vitality Orb within him that can greatly increase one’s cultivation. Fire Goddess…” Before Ignis could speak, Noctis immediately said, “I’ll give it to you! I’ll give you anything! Just make Azure stop!” “That won’t do. You celestials always say everyone has their own fate. Today is his.” Ignis stood before Noctis and, without hesitation, began to extract his Vitality Orb. “I didn’t like what you said earlier. Consider this a lesson.” Moments later, the general had what he wanted, laughing maniacally. “You five are truly fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it. If you had to choose who lives and who dies?” Everyone’s face darkened at his words. The elder couldn’t stay silent any longer. “You absolutely cannot! If the Chaos Twins die, chaos will begin! Think of the Six Realms!” We were born from the Sacred Tree of Mount Feng, the Twins of Chaos. Together, we could wipe out all life in the Six Realms and return everything to primordial chaos. But the realms also depended on the Sacred Tree; without it, all life would suffocate. That was why they feared us, yet couldn’t live without us. As Azure wavered, I looked at the demon general and rasped, “They’ve already made their choice. Can’t you see?” “Even if you asked them a thousand times, the result would be the same.” “Didn’t your Demon Empress and Beast Queen want us brothers as their consorts? We’ll go with you.” Noctis echoed me, “Yes, we are willing.” Azure panicked. “Caelum, how can you be so base? Willing to be a consort to vile creatures!” “Are you both insane?!” Their feigned concern didn’t last long, cut short by River’s sobbing. “Master… Mistress Ignis… it’s my fault for getting caught, making it impossible for you to escape. Let me bear the consequences.” He made a show of trying to kill himself. 3 But a second later, his hand “slipped,” and the dagger fell. As he went to pick it up, Azure immediately shouted, “We’ll give you Caelum and Noctis! Just let River go!” “I agree! Release River!” For River’s sake, they truly disregarded the bigger picture. The elders cried out in desperate protest. “You really can’t do this! Letting the demons have the Chaos Twins is like handing our lifelines over to someone else!” “Yes! And the Twins were raised by the Heavenly Emperor himself, practically his sons! How can you abandon them for an outsider?” Their accusations and pleas fell on deaf ears. Azure looked at the demon leader. “Give us River, and you take them. Deal?” “Deal. Or else we all die together.” “Fine by me. But it’s not that I’m afraid of you; I’m just in a hurry to report back.” Before the elder could interrupt again, Azure said, “Don’t worry. I have a way to ensure they can’t unleash chaos.” Noctis and I exchanged puzzled glances. Even we didn’t know of such a way. Ignis addressed the general, “You don’t want to bring back two ticking time bombs, do you? Keep them restrained. We’ll handle it.” The general readily agreed. Azure came to me, extending her right hand. Six wooden stakes, crafted from the Sacred Tree itself, floated above her palm. “Caelum, don’t blame me. You chose to offer yourself to the demons.” “If I hadn’t, would you have saved me?” She didn’t answer my question. Ignis, holding similar stakes, looked hesitantly at Noctis. “You two framed River. You deserve this. Be good little consorts in the Demon Realm. Maybe when I’m in a better mood, I’ll come save you.” With that, she drove a stake deep into Noctis’s left ankle, forcing him to his knees. “Brother!” The next second, I coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed. Azure hadn’t gone easy on me either; her first stake went straight into my heart. They hung us up and embedded the stakes into our limbs, foreheads, and hearts until we were barely breathing. The elder, though pitying us, still asked, “Are you sure this will stop them from initiating chaos?” “These are made from the Sacred Tree. They’ve severed their connection to it, so naturally, they won’t be able to.” The demon general clicked his tongue. “You two are ruthless to your own husbands. You’d fit right in with us demons.” “This is how the Twins of Destruction should be treated.” Blood tears streamed from my eyes. Everything I had with Azure turned to ash in that moment. But they had only read about this method in ancient texts and still felt uneasy. Azure came to me and whispered, “This is just a stalling tactic. I will come to the Demon Realm to save you.” Ignis surprisingly wiped the blood from Noctis’s face. “You’ll have to suffer for a bit. Wait for me to come save you. And whatever you do, don’t use the power of chaos.” They still thought we would blindly love them, using that love to deceive us even now. Sadly, I was in too much pain to retort. Once it was over, River was released. He immediately hugged Azure, sobbing breathlessly. “Master… I was so scared just now. I thought I’d never see you again.” Ignis tenderly touched the red marks on his neck. “Does it hurt, River?” “It’s okay. I’ll make you an even better ointment. I promise it won’t leave a scar.” While our wives fussed over another man, we were thrown into a prison cart like garbage by the demons. As we moved away, River called out to us, “Caelum! Noctis! It’s okay that you tricked me into coming here. I’ve forgiven you! I’ll take good care of Master and Mistress Ignis in your place!” He seemed to think this was the end for us. … As we entered demon territory, many demonesses were attracted by the pure celestial energy radiating from us. They drooled with desire. “These are the Chaos Twins! General, you’re amazing! Only you could fulfill the Empresses’ request so quickly. But… before you present them, can we sisters have a taste first?” The general thought for a moment, then laughed. “Why not? They’re going to be consorts anyway. Enjoy yourselves!” Instantly, a wave of sycophantic praise washed over him. Noctis had already passed out. I struggled to stay conscious, glaring at them weakly. “How… dare you… I am…” My voice was too weak; they ignored me. Some demonesses began to grope us, tearing at our clothes. Just as I was about to be stripped bare, the Demon Empress, Lyra, appeared behind them. Seeing me, her pupils constricted. “Caelum!” The next second, the Beast Queen, Sable, blasted everyone away with a wave of energy. “Noctis… Noctis!” Held in Lyra’s arms, I finally felt a flicker of warmth. “You… finally came.”

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Everyone said I, a no-name girl from rural Ohio, hit the jackpot. Three months after meeting Julian Sinclair, I had his ring on my finger and his name on my bank account. But I knew the truth. Julian didn’t love me. He was in love with Chloe, a girl his family deemed “unsuitable.” To force their hand, to make them accept her, he did the unthinkable: he married someone even worse. Me. Before the wedding, his terms were brutally simple. “This is a business arrangement, Ms. Hayes. You play the part of the dutiful wife for one year. In return, I’ll transfer five hundred thousand dollars to your account.” I needed that money for design school in Berlin. I agreed. A year later, I took the money and flew across the Atlantic. He followed me. He found me, standing outside my apartment in the rain, looking wrecked. “Maya,” he said, his voice raw. “Marry me again. For real, this time.” 1 Julian took me to the Sinclair Industries annual gala. It was my second public appearance as his wife. I was nervous. The first one had been a disaster. His prep-school buddies had cornered me while he was parking the car, their curiosity turning to visible disappointment. “This is her? She’s… plain.” “I heard she’s from a trailer park in Ohio. Sinclair’s really lost it.” “Guess he got tired of debutantes. Probably a freak in bed.” Julian had walked in just in time to hear that last part. I’d never seen him move so fast. He grabbed the man by his tuxedo jacket and laid him out with a single punch. He’d stood over him, fixing his cufflink, and scanned the silent room. “She is my wife. If you can’t learn to respect her, you and I are done.” Tonight, things were different. Everyone smiled. They called me “Mrs. Sinclair.” They offered me champagne. His defense of me had bought their politeness. But my luck was bad. I was standing near the towering, backlit bar when a top-shelf bottle, knocked loose by a clumsy bartender, tipped over. It fell directly toward my head. A blur of motion. Julian tackled me, shoving me against the wall and shielding my head with his own body. The bottle shattered against his shoulder. I felt the spray of glass and the wet soak of expensive scotch. His white shirt bloomed red. “My God,” someone whispered. “He really loves her. He didn’t even hesitate.” He ignored them, ignored his own bleeding shoulder. He gently brushed the hair from my face, his expression full of panic. “Are you hurt? Maya, are you okay?” His touch was so tender it made my stomach flip. Then, as the crowd sighed at the romantic display, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. His words were ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warm hand on my cheek. “It’s just for show, Maya. Don’t, for one second, think this is real. And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with me.” 2 I always knew our marriage was a transaction. I’d met him at the equestrian center upstate where I worked as a stable hand. A hedge-fund client had gotten handsy, cornering me in the tack room. “C’mon, five grand for the night? Ten if you’re a first-timer.” He was strong, his hand clamped on my arm. I was trying to knee him when Julian appeared. “Don’t you feel disgusting just saying that?” he’d asked, his voice quiet but terrifying. He’d pulled the man off me and stood there until security arrived. “Thank you,” I’d called out as he left. He turned, and the sunset caught his face. He smiled. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” But I couldn’t. It was the classic suspension-bridge effect. My heart was hammering. “Let me buy you dinner. As thanks.” He looked annoyed. “No, that’s not necessary.” I pushed. “Please. I insist.” He sighed, looking at his jacket, which was smeared with dirt from the scuffle. “Fine. If you must do something, get this cleaned.” I took the jacket. I hand-washed it, ironed it, and folded it perfectly. A week later, I saw him by the rings. I proudly handed him the bag. He smiled, thanked me, walked twenty feet, and dropped the bag into the nearest trash can. I froze. I heard him talking to his friend. “Had to save some stable girl. She got a little obsessive. I’m a total germaphobe, man. I was never going to wear that again.” That was the day I learned he was Julian Sinclair. His family owned the equestrian center. He wasn’t just in a different tax bracket; he was on a different planet. Any tiny, stupid crush I’d felt instantly withered and died. I avoided him after that. Until, three months later, he sought me out. “Ms. Hayes. I hear you’re from Ohio?” I nodded, confused. “And you’re saving up for design school in Berlin?” I nodded again. He looked at me, his gaze calculating. “Good. How would you like to marry me?” 3 I thought he was joking. Then, I thought he was insane. He explained. “This is a contract. One year. You get half a million dollars. Enough for your entire education.” He told me about Chloe. Beautiful, smart, from a respectable middle-class family. But the Sinclairs wanted a merger with another dynasty, not a “love match.” “My family is making my life hell,” he said. “They’re making her life hell. She finally broke it off.” “So what does this have to do with me?” “You,” he said, “are the perfect solution. You’re… no offense… everything they hate. You work in a stable. You’re from a trailer park. You have no family, no connections.” His logic was cruel and flawless. “If I marry you, the family will be so horrified, so desperate to get rid of you, that the idea of me ‘settling’ for Chloe will suddenly seem like a blessing. You’re the shock therapy, Maya. You make her the cure.” I agreed. The money was life-changing. The wedding was a quiet affair at City Hall. His parents showed up and called me a “gold-digging piece of trash.” Julian stood in front of me, taking the full force of their rage. His father slapped him, hard. That night, Julian came home with a split lip. “The old man is trying to force an annulment. He cut off my trust.” I got the first-aid kit and cleaned the cut. My hand was steady. A month later, it was his birthday. His friends threw him a massive party at some club. He came home late, drunk and melancholy. “It’s stupid,” he slurred, “but my mom… before all this… she always made me grilled cheese and tomato soup on my birthday. Just… simple.” I filed that away. The next day, I made him grilled cheese and tomato soup. “Here,” I said, putting the plate on his desk. “Belated birthday present.” He stared at it for a full minute. “Thank you, Maya.” As a ‘thank you,’ he offered to teach me to ride. He was, ironically, a terrible teacher. He spooked the horse, and it bucked. We both went down, rolling in the dust. He twisted mid-air, landing first and pulling me against his chest to protect my head. We lay there, tangled up, his heart hammering against my ear. He cleared his throat. “You’re a good person, Maya.” “Hmm?” “When this is over… I’ll find you a good guy. Someone who deserves you.” It was another warning. Don’t look at me. Don’t want me. I got it. Loud and clear. Until the night he called me from the Hamptons. 4 He was at his family’s estate for a weekend. He called me, and his voice was wrong. Slurred and tight. “Maya… you need to come get me. Now. Please.” I drove the two hours upstate. He was waiting on the gravel driveway, stumbling into the passenger seat. He was burning up, his shirt torn at the collar. “What happened?” “My mother,” he hissed, clenching his fists. “She spiked my drink. Tried to set me up with the DuPont heiress.” “My God. What do we do?” “Drive home. Fast. I just… need a cold shower.” The drive back was torture. He was fighting it, but the drug was strong. He kept staring at me, his gaze hot and unfocused. “Can’t you drive any faster?” “It’s a red light, Julian! I can’t just run it!” We got home. He went straight for the master bathroom. I heard the shower blast on. A minute later, I grabbed a towel and a change of clothes and knocked. “I left your things by the door.” The door flew open. He pulled me inside, slamming me against the wall. The water was still running. “Julian, what are you doing?” “It’s not working,” he panted, his body pressed against mine. He was soaked, and shaking. “The shower isn’t working. Maya, I need help.” “You mean… you want me to call someone? A doctor?” “No,” he growled, burying his face in my neck. “I don’t want someone. I want you.” I panicked. “Julian, stop! You’re not thinking straight. I’m not Chloe.” He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dilated, but his voice was suddenly clear. “I know exactly who you are. You’re Maya.” He kissed me. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was desperate, raw, and full of a need that terrified me. And a tiny, treacherous part of me thought: He’s beautiful. I’m single. It’s just one night. I let my eyes fall shut. He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. As he pressed me against the cold tile, I whispered, “Have you… have you ever been with… anyone else?” “No,” he breathed against my skin, his voice a low growl. “Only you.” He didn’t say Chloe’s name once. He said mine. Over and over.

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I deleted my social media account with over a million followers. My followers were baffled, speculating that my account had been hacked. But it was Heidi, an influencer in my niche, who came to confront me directly. “Why did you just give up? Have you lost your mind?” I tuned out the noise, choosing instead to lose myself in the vast, quiet beauty of the country. In my past life, my content and Heidi’s were identical. The internet called me a cheap clone, a copycat with no soul. The hate flooded my DMs, and it even spilled over into real-life harassment. I tried to fight back, posting my original scripts, my storyboards, the behind-the-scenes footage of my creative process. They called it all fake. The relentless cyberbullying crushed me. I was diagnosed with severe depression and, one day, I ended my own life in my small, lonely apartment. I never expected to open my eyes again. But here I was, back on the very day it all began—the day Heidi’s first stolen video went live. 1 My finger hovered over the “Publish” button. One more tap, and I would set in motion the series of events that would ruin me. A violent shiver ran through me, and I snatched my hand back as if I’d touched a hot stove. My chest heaved, my breath coming in ragged gasps, like a drowning person finally breaking the surface. I looked around at the familiar room, at the finished video on my screen, and the reality crashed down on me. I was reborn. I was back on the day I was supposed to post major transition video. Once I calmed my racing heart, I saved the video to my drafts and immediately searched for Heidi’s social media profile. Her latest post popped up instantly. It was a stark departure from her usual style. Heidi’s previous videos were bland, the editing was clumsy, and they barely scraped a few hundred likes. This new one, posted just half an hour ago, had already rocketed past ten thousand. The comment section was on fire. “Imagine this look in a dark fantasy series. She’d be the final boss.” “A creator with a few thousand followers doing the work of a creator with a million. The quality is insane.” “Oh my god, is this level of beauty even legal?” “My wife! Who the hell let my future wife out of my dreams and onto my screen?” … The moody lighting, the bold, avant-garde makeup, even the camera angles, the specific cuts, the background music, and the caption—every single detail was identical to the video sitting in my drafts. If I didn’t know for a fact that the idea had come to me while binging a British drama, that I had pulled all-nighters for weeks perfecting the script, I would have thought I was the one who had copied it. But the reality was cold and hard: Heidi had beaten me to it. And with that one video, she had gone viral overnight. 2 In my last life, that video was the beginning of my end. I had been so excited when I posted it, expecting praise and recognition. But when I opened the comments, all I found were accusations. “Plagiarist,” they called me, pointing me toward the “original” video. I clicked the link they shared, and my world tilted. There it was: Heidi’s video, posted just hours before mine. It was a 99.9% match. But I knew, I knew, I had never copied anyone. Rage boiled up inside me. To prove my innocence, I released everything—my original script with timestamps, behind-the-scenes clips of my shoot. It was useless. Because Heidi immediately posted her own “creative process,” with timestamps that were even earlier than mine. That’s when the floodgates of hate truly opened. “Looks like she had her ‘proof’ ready from the start, just so she could drag Heidi’s name through the mud.” “Support original creators! Down with copycats!” “Madeleine, get out of the beauty community! You’re not cut out for this, just quit.” “LMAO, talk about getting called out. She asked for receipts and got them.” Then came the official statements. Heidi’s management and her agency both released press releases, swearing she was the original creator, that the entire concept was developed through internal team brainstorming. I was just an independent creator. I did everything myself, from start to finish. I had no team, no agency, no one to vouch for me. And then came the final nail in the coffin. My boyfriend, Ethan, posted a video publicly breaking up with me. He claimed my previous work was just a patchwork of ideas stitched together from other creators. He called me a habitual plagiarist. His words were a killing blow. I was plunged into a deeper abyss. My comment sections became a warzone, and the messages in my DMs were vile, filled with threats and vitriol I couldn’t bear to read. The constant pressure suffocated my creativity. My inspiration dried up. No brands would work with me. Money became tight. My self-destructive behaviors escalated until I finally sought help and was diagnosed with severe depression. On a bright, sunny afternoon, I chose to end my life in that cramped apartment. I never thought I would get a second chance, a chance to be back at the beginning, where it all went wrong. This time, things hadn’t spiraled out of control yet. This time, I had to figure out what the hell was going on. 3 Clinging to a sliver of hope, I used my alt account to dig through Heidi’s other social media profiles. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the type to share her daily life or work routine. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a familiar figure in the background of a group photo. I tapped on the Live Photo, and it animated for a brief second. The camera panned slightly, catching the person’s left hand. And on that hand was a ring I knew all too well. It was Ethan’s. There was no mistake. I had given him that ring for our one-year anniversary. It was a custom design I’d commissioned myself; there wasn’t another one like it in the world. So, at some point, Ethan had gotten involved with Heidi behind my back. No wonder he had abandoned me so ruthlessly, only to throw his support behind her. There was no time to grieve the betrayal. My mind was already racing. I used to vent to Ethan about work all the time, share my frustrations, and even my most brilliant, half-formed ideas. Could Ethan have leaked my concepts to her? It was more than possible. But he’d been on a supposed “business trip” for a while now and wasn’t home. Even if he were, he’d never let me look at his phone. I had no concrete proof. But it was a lead. A place to start. I took a screenshot of the photo and sent it to Ethan. I told him we were done, then I blocked his number without waiting for a reply. Next, I changed the passcode on my apartment door. I wasn’t about to let him walk back in here whenever he pleased. With those preparations complete, I sat down and forced myself to think about a new video concept. This time, there would be no mistakes. 4 To be absolutely certain, I decided to switch up my style again. My last video was my first step out of my comfort zone, moving away from the pale, innocent, and waifish aesthetic that had defined my channel. I had tried something glamorous and confident. Since the stolen version had been such a hit, I was sure my next idea would be even more popular. After days of intense brainstorming, I finally finished the script. Looking at the concept on my screen, I couldn’t help but grin. There was no way anyone could steal this one. To prevent any leaks, I shot the entire video inside my apartment, avoiding any public locations. I filmed and edited the whole thing myself. When I looked at the final cut, I felt a surge of pride. I was born for this. To be extra cautious, I went to Heidi’s latest video and left a comment from my alt account: “Can’t wait for your next video, queen! Please post soon!” A little while later, she replied. “This last concept took so much out of me, I probably won’t be updating for a little while.” I replied with a crying cat emoji and felt a wave of relief. It seemed like she had no plans to post anytime soon. It confirmed my suspicion. She had most likely heard the idea for the last video from Ethan and immediately rushed to produce it. But could two people have the exact same idea, down to the smallest detail? For now, I had to chalk it up to a bizarre coincidence. Sometimes, great minds just think alike. I uploaded my new video, wrote the caption, and was just about to publish it. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone from my alt account. I glanced at it. The color drained from my face.

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I’d been chasing Leo Ashford for ages, and he still had the nerve to run on our wedding day. Just as I was about to give up, a thought flashed in my mind: [Sloane, he likes to be forced.] So I slapped him across the face. “Feeling the chill? Is the Ashford Group ready to go bankrupt? Now get your ass back there and get married.” On our wedding night, he hit me with a cold reminder: “I have no feelings for you.” My inner voice shot back: [He’s asking for another one.] So I slapped him again. “Feeling anything now? Get over here and kiss me.” After that, he spent his days simmering with resentment, sullenly hand-washing my lingerie with a look of pure hatred on his face. My intuition told me: [Give him the cold shoulder for a couple of days. He’ll learn his place.] But then, the one that got away came back to the country. I stopped coming home. That’s when he started to panic, posting on every anonymous forum he could find: [What do I do if my wife has another man on the side?] [How to outsmart the other man?] 1 He was supposed to be waiting at the altar. Instead, Leo Ashford was making a run for it. After all the time, the energy, the capital I’d invested in chasing him, he had the audacity to bolt on our wedding day. I was just about to cut my losses, call my father, and liquidate his family’s company for sport when a new thought sliced through the noise in my head, sharp and clear as a notification pop-up. The commentary: He likes to be forced, Sloane. He wants you to take control. I found him, just as my intuition—my own personal system for decoding the world—predicted. He was pacing the long, gilded hallway of the venue, lost and looking like a panicked show pony. The commentary: He’s been wandering in circles for thirty minutes. The man can’t even escape his own wedding. Someone get him a seeing-eye dog. A new record. Jilted at the altar before the groom even makes it past the coat check. I cornered him in a private sitting room. He turned his back to me, his shoulders squared in a pathetic attempt at defiance. “I’m not going to marry you, you old woman!” Old woman? I’m twenty-eight. He’s twenty-five. The drama. The commentary: He’s all talk. Time for a little… physical persuasion. He’s begging for it. Well, if the script says so. A smirk played on my lips. I loosened my wrists, took two quick steps forward, and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room, sharp and satisfying. He spun around, his hand flying to his cheek, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. “Sloane… did you just fucking hit me?” “I did,” I said, examining my nails with a bored air. I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch. “It’s getting a little chilly in here, Leo. Is it time for the Ashford Group to go bankrupt?” The fight drained out of him instantly. His whole body slumped. I stepped into his space, my voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. I looped my arms around his neck, my smile dangerously sweet. “Now, let’s try this again. Look at me,” I commanded, my eyes roaming over his perfect, pouty face. God, he was beautiful. “Am I old?” His gaze darted away, a flush creeping up his neck. “No…” he mumbled. The commentary: Yes! This is the content we came for. Dominate him. We live for the power dynamics. I tugged on his silk tie, slowly, deliberately tightening the knot until it was perfect. I patted his cheek—the one I hadn’t slapped. “Now,” I whispered, smiling brightly. “Go out there and greet our guests.” 2 Leo shuffled out of the room looking like a chastised puppy, and I had to admit, the kicked-dog look worked for me. It was a new, and surprisingly potent, addition to my very specific set of turn-ons. When he saw his parents, his face lit up with the desperate hope of a child spotting a lifeguard. He practically sprinted over to them, his eyes red-rimmed. “Mom, Dad! Sloane hit me!” Mr. Ashford barely blinked. “And what did you do to provoke her?” he asked, his tone suggesting he was already tired of this conversation. Leo’s jaw dropped. “What?” “Son, you need to learn. A little slap just means she cares,” his father said sagely. His mother nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly, dear. Of all the men in this city, Sloane chose to marry you. That must mean you have something special.” Leo looked like his whole world was crumbling. “You’re supposed to be on my side!” The commentary: Leo’s internal monologue: whimpers Who doesn’t love a man brought to his knees? Go get your man, Sloane! My family and the Ashfords go way back. We grew up in the same suffocatingly manicured circles, our parents members of the same country clubs. Leo was famously… simple. I was famously not. With a three-year age gap, the intellectual gap felt more like a chasm. I had a history of exploiting it. He used to follow me around like a shadow, his admiration palpable. I once traded him a handful of pistachio shells, convincing him they were rare, iridescent seashells I’d collected just for him. He later told me, with complete sincerity, “Sloane, those shells you gave me were amazing. They even tasted salty, like the ocean.” I told him when we grew up, I’d be his wife, and that wives were in charge of all the money. He’d dutifully hand over his allowance and even stole his mother’s gaudy diamond cocktail ring to try and slip it on my finger. My mother had scolded me, telling me to stop playing with the “slow” boy. As I got older, the age gap widened. He was in middle school when I was in high school. I had no time for a childish brat. Then my family moved to the Upper East Side, and he fell off my radar completely. Until last year. He’d just returned from a stint at a business school in Switzerland—a classic move for rich kids with bad grades—and I ran into him at a gallery opening. The short, chubby kid I remembered was gone. In his place was a six-foot-two masterpiece of broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and legs for days. The only thing that remained the same were his eyes: wide, startlingly clear, and just as endearingly stupid as I remembered. He was my type, dialed up to eleven. But he was impossible to crack. I tried everything—the flirty texts, the casual invitations, the full-court press—and he remained stubbornly aloof. “Sloane, I’m not interested. Stop wasting your time.” Then, fate intervened. The Ashford Group hit a rough patch. I saw my opening and proposed a merger, with one non-negotiable condition: a marriage contract. His parents didn’t hesitate for a second. They served up their beautiful, useless son on a silver platter. My own parents were less than thrilled. They thought Leo was nothing more than a pretty face, a liability. But I have my own money, more than I could ever spend. I like having pretty things. And if I was going to be forced into a marriage for appearances, why not choose one with a face that beautiful? We could have gorgeous children. And once I had the heir I wanted, I could always file for divorce. 3 At the reception, Leo drank too much champagne. Back in our suite, I showered and slipped into a silk nightgown that cost more than his monthly allowance. He took one look at me, his ears turning a shade of crimson, and grabbed a pillow, making a break for the door. “We’re married, Sloane. You got what you wanted.” His voice was slurred, but he tried for a cold, detached tone. “This is a business arrangement. No feelings involved. We’ll have separate lives. You stay out of mine, I’ll stay out of yours.” The commentary: He’s just flustered by the lingerie. Time for another dose of reality. He’s asking for it. I smiled sweetly and slapped him again, harder this time. “You’ve had a little too much to drink, and now you’re feeling bold,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I just injected ten million dollars into your family’s failing company. There will be no ‘separate lives.’” The second slap seemed to sober him up instantly. He stared at me, his mouth agape. “What… what do you see me as?” I gave him a dismissive once-over. “A legally sanctioned escort.” He sputtered, words failing him. “You… you…” The commentary: He’s close to breaking. Push him, Sloane! Leo took a hesitant step back, his bravado gone. “Can we… can we just take it slow? Maybe start with holding hands?” The commentary: Oh, he’s a virgin. How precious. A virgin? Well, that was… unexpected. And incredibly appealing. I crossed my arms, my voice firm with command. “Get in the shower. And make sure you’re clean when you come out to attend to me.” He shot me a furious glare and slammed the bathroom door. Half an hour passed. Nothing. “System,” I thought, my patience wearing thin, “what is he doing in there?” The commentary: He’s posting on Reddit. I pulled out my phone and found his profile. His latest posts were a train wreck. On r/relationship_advice: [25M] How do I resist… temptation? From my wife [28F]? A helpful user had replied with a link to a particularly skimpy lingerie set from Savage X Fenty. Another user commented: Dude, you married her. Isn’t the point to NOT resist? Leo had replied, frustrated: NO, I mean how do I RESIST IT. How do I maintain control! He’d followed it up with a new post. On r/TooAfraidToAsk: Need a step-by-step guide for your wedding night. Asking for a friend. URGENT. One of the top replies was simply: Pics or it didn’t happen. Finally, the shower turned on. An hour later, I’d had enough. Was he trying to run up the water bill? I walked over to the suite’s control panel and flipped the main breaker. A moment later, a panicked shout came from the bathroom. “Sloane! The power’s out!” “Oh,” I called back innocently. “The breaker must have tripped.” 4 When Leo finally emerged from the bathroom, he was wrapped in a plush robe, tied so tightly he looked like a panicked burrito. The commentary: Ah, the classic ‘hard to get’ routine. A bold strategy. My eyes traced the lines of his body through the thick terry cloth. I reached out to pull the knot loose. “What… what are you doing?” he stammered, clutching the robe to his chest. “Are you going to take it off, or do I have to do it for you?” I asked, my voice laced with impatience. His face was on fire, from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. “Sloane, have you no shame? Are you even a woman?” The commentary: Leo’s internal monologue: She’s so aggressive. I’m so… why is this happening to my body? My gaze drifted downward. Something was definitely happening to his body. “You’ll find out the answer to that soon enough,” I said, my own patience wearing thin. “You may have my body, but you will never have my heart!” he declared, a last-ditch effort at defiance. Seriously? Was he quoting a bad romance novel? I didn’t want his heart. I wanted the body. “Sloane… you can’t force this! A forced melon isn’t sweet!” It was such a strange, archaic saying. I had to stop myself from laughing. The commentary: You’ll never know if it’s sweet until you taste it. Do it, Sloane. Force the melon! I was starting to like this. “I don’t care if it’s sweet,” I purred, backing him toward the bed. “As long as it quenches my thirst.” And right now, I was very, very thirsty. The system in my head was practically screaming. [Go! Go! Go! NOW!] I shrugged off my own robe. Leo’s eyes widened, his face turning an impossible shade of red. “Sloane… be reasonable…” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I told you, I don’t have feelings for you! You’re wasting your time!” The commentary: Buddy, your ‘little soldier’ is standing at full attention. Who do you think you’re kidding? He needs another push. The usual prescription. I slapped him. Not hard, just enough to get his attention. “How about now?” I commanded. “Do you have feelings now? Come here and kiss me.” He hung his head, sweat beading on his forehead, his mind clearly at war with his body. “Take off the robe,” I ordered. He clenched his jaw, then ripped the robe off in a single, angry motion. He had a swimmer’s build—lean muscle, perfectly defined without being bulky. I couldn’t resist reaching out and running a hand over his abs. The skin was hot and tight. His blush deepened. He looked like a martyr marching to his execution. “Kiss me,” I repeated. He ground his teeth and crashed his lips against mine. It was clumsy, all teeth and brute force. “Your technique is terrible,” I critiqued when he pulled away. A total novice. His hands were fumbling, unsure of where to go. “Just… stop talking,” he muttered. The commentary: He’s trying to remember the guide he just read in the bathroom. “You know what to do next, don’t you? Or do I need to teach you?” His voice was a raw, trembling whisper. “I know…” The commentary: Sloane, you should probably teach him. I ignored my inner voice. I wasn’t in a patient mood. Three seconds later. “Leo, are you fucking serious? Do you even know how this works?” One minute later. “Leo, gently. Jesus.” One minute and thirty seconds later. “Okay, that’s better. You can start now.” He collapsed onto the mattress beside me, panting. “It’s… it’s over…” I blinked. Then blinked again. “Over? What do you mean, over? I waited in a shower for an hour and a half, and you lasted ninety seconds?” The commentary: That’s… it? I’ve seen male leads last longer in a commercial break. Wait, are we sure this is the male lead? My poor Sloane. She deserves so much better. 5 I was furious. And filled with a profound sense of buyer’s remorse. He was all sizzle and no steak. A beautiful, useless sports car with a lawnmower engine. How could I have let a pretty face cloud my judgment so completely? Can you return a husband? Is there a lemon law for this? I shoved him off the bed with my foot. “A microwave burrito takes longer than you did! You lasted ninety seconds!” “That’s not my usual performance!” he protested from the floor, scrambling back up with a look of utter humiliation. “We can go again, Sloane. It was my first time…” My first time… I sighed. Fine. One more chance. It’s not like it would take long. Just as I was resigning myself to my fate, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Maya. Maya: OMG. Guess who I just saw at The Carlyle bar? Maya: Your ghost. Ethan Cole is back in the city! The script in my head went haywire. [SYSTEM ERROR. MALE LEAD IDENTIFICATION FAILED. RECALIBRATING…] Wait a second. “Are you even a legitimate system?” I muttered to myself. [NEW STORYLINE INITIATED: THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY. MEETING AGAIN AFTER A LONG SEPARATION.] [PRIMARY MALE LEAD CANDIDATE: THE EX-BOYFRIEND, ETHAN COLE.] [SECONDARY CHARACTER ANALYSIS: The ‘pretty boy’ husband appears to be a minor, disposable role. A leading man should, at minimum, be capable of lasting through the night. Our beautiful, wealthy heroine deserves better.] Maya sent a photo. It was blurry, taken from across a crowded room, but it was him. A sharp profile, lips pressed into a thin line, glasses perched on his nose as he looked down at something. He radiated a cool, untouchable aura. The power of a ghost. One grainy photo and my heart was doing a staccato rhythm against my ribs. Sloane: ADDRESS. NOW. I leaped out of bed and started rummaging for an outfit, then moved to my vanity to fix my makeup. Leo was in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor, sullenly hand-washing my silk underwear in the sink. He glanced at my reflection in the mirror. “Where are you going this late, all dressed up?” “None of your business,” I said, concentrating on my eyeliner. “And for the record, I agree with your earlier proposal. Separate lives it is.” He grunted, a flash of anger in his eyes. “Fine by me!” He squeezed the fabric in his hand, and I heard a faint ripping sound. “Hey! Be careful with that!” I snapped. “My lingerie is more expensive than your pride.” Honestly, what was he good for? Nothing but a pretty face. The commentary: That face and that body, though. Shame about the performance issues. Maybe he can just stay home and do the laundry. He can be the quiet, supportive man behind the successful woman. 6 I took a cab to the address Maya sent. It was an exclusive members-only club, the kind where deals were made in hushed tones over hundred-dollar cocktails. As I arrived, a group was spilling out onto the sidewalk, their meeting clearly over. The city lights blurred around them, but I saw him immediately. Ethan. Tall and lean in a gray trench coat, his movements economical and precise. He turned his head, and for a split second, our eyes met across the crowd. The man who can make your heart stop with a single glance. No matter how much time has passed, that power never fades. “Ethan,” I said, my voice smoother than I felt. “Long time no see.” He stopped, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settled back into a neutral mask. “Sloane. It has been a while.” The commentary: And here it is. The reunion scene. My money’s on the ghost. They’re both devastatingly handsome, but Ethan’s got that mature, intellectual vibe that just hits different. He wins. Look at the way their eyes are locked. The tension! This is the pairing we’ve been waiting for. “What a coincidence,” I said, forcing a casual smile. “What brings you to New York?” “I’m here for a case,” he said. His voice was just as I remembered—a low, calming baritone. “Right. You’re a big-shot lawyer now. I hear you’re one of the best.” Before I could continue, a man I recognized—a business associate of my father’s—chimed in. “Ms. Sterling! I didn’t know you knew Mr. Cole.” He beamed at me. “I heard about the wedding. Congratulations on your marriage! I haven’t had a chance to send a gift yet.” Damn him. Of all the people to run into. The polite smile on Ethan’s face froze. “You’re… married?” “Yes, but—” I started, scrambling for an explanation. His expression hardened, a shutter coming down over his eyes. I saw a flash of something—hurt, disappointment—before it was gone. “We should go,” he said to his companions, turning away without another word. “Ethan, wait—” I watched his back as he disappeared into a waiting car, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. Ethan was my first love, back in college. He was the brilliant, broke scholarship kid at Columbia Law. I fell for him instantly, but he was the proverbial man on the mountaintop, aloof and untouchable. It took me a full year of shameless pursuit to finally win him over. For three years, he was my entire world. He was gentle, attentive, and brilliant. But I always knew it had an expiration date. When graduation came, I told him I was moving to London for my master’s, and we had to break up. He’d looked at me, his eyes red with unshed tears. “Was I ever even in your plans, Sloane?” I was honest. “I love being with you, Ethan. But we can’t get married. I thought you understood that.” My marriage had to be a strategic alliance. It was a truth I’d been raised with. I loved Ethan, I loved the emotional sanctuary he provided, but that was all it could ever be. I would never throw away my family, my inheritance, for a boy with nothing but a brilliant mind and a crooked smile. After graduation, I went to London. He left New York. I’d dated other men—wealthy, powerful, suitable men—but I always found them lacking. Not as kind as Ethan. Not as handsome. Not as smart. Leo was the first man I’d met who even came close, physically. The same sharp jawline, the same tall, lean frame. But his personality was… abrasive. And his performance in bed was abysmal. Ethan was, and always would be, the gold standard. And seeing him again, my heart was already staging a full-blown insurrection. The system in my head flickered back to life. [ANALYSIS: Subject ‘Ethan Cole’ has not left the immediate vicinity.] [He’s waiting for you, Sloane. He’s pretending to leave, but he’s waiting.] [Go after him!] I gathered the hem of my dress and ran.

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We have an admin in our office who’s like a modern-day character from Rickshaw Boy. Her biggest dream is to buy her own car. Not a fancy one. Just something so she can drive for Uber after work to earn extra cash, and maybe, just maybe, take her mom out to see the sunset over the prairie someday. It’s not an impossible dream. But every single time she scrapes together enough for the down payment, life finds a new way to body-slam her. I thought about calling her “Hustler,” after that old novel, but that felt… tacky. So I’ll just call her “Tiger Girl.” (1) I’m the one who hired Tiger Girl. To be honest, I almost didn’t. Her resume was rough. She wasn’t pretty, and her education was thin—an online bachelor’s degree. Standing there, she was the textbook definition of a small-town girl who’d never seen the world. Her only real asset was her height, but she was so rail-thin she looked like a bundle of firewood saved for a long winter. The second she walked into the interview, she gave me this big, goofy grin. “Hi, Ma’am. I’m here for the interview.” I had to stop myself from laughing. I’ve been in HR for ten years, and this was the first time an applicant ever called me “Ma’am” like I was her high school principal. It was completely unprofessional. And redundant. Of course you’re here for the interview, kid, why else would you be here? I asked her to tell me about herself. She froze, then that nervous grin got even wider. She stammered through a whole lot of nothing, which I eventually translated to: “I’m a really hard worker.” I thought, I’m not hiring for a loading dock. What good is ‘hard work’ to me? I asked a couple of generic questions, just trying to wrap it up and get to the next candidate. She seemed better suited for a night shift at a gas station. She must have seen the impatience on my face. Her smile was stiffer than the cheap, faded blouse she was wearing. “Okay, that’s all for today. We’ll be in touch if there’s an update.” I gave her the standard rejection line, signaling she could leave. She didn’t say anything, just gave me this deep, formal bow and walked out. I figured that was that. Just another forgettable face in a long line of interviews. This one just happened to be a little dim. “Ma’am? I’m sorry… could I ask you for one more thing?” I looked up from my desk. She had poked her head back in. “Uh… what is it?” “Well… if you’re not gonna hire me… could I have my resume back?” She said it so sheepishly, her face went bright red, all the way to her ears. “It’s fine, we have a shredder. Your information will be secure,” I said, a little annoyed. I figured she was worried about identity theft. Great, unqualified and paranoid. “No, no, that’s not it…” she stammered. “It’s just… that’s a color copy. I was thinking… if you don’t need it, I could use it for my next interview… just, you know, to save a little money…” Her voice got smaller and smaller, and by the end, she was staring at the carpet. “Ah,” I said, pausing. “You just wait for our call. Your chances are actually pretty good.” For some reason, I didn’t give her the resume back. The kid was… interesting. (2) I ended up hiring her. An admin-clerk spot, $3,000 a month. The girl was clearly struggling. I figured I’d do my good deed for the year. I’m not bragging when I say it was a tiny decision for me. The job is basic data entry; anyone could do it. It was so minor that even after she started, I barely noticed her. But she noticed me. Every time she saw me, it was “Hi, Ma’am!” this, “Thanks, Ma’am!” that. It was honestly annoying. We didn’t even work in the same department. Why was she acting like we were old pals? So I mostly ignored her. A quick nod in the hallway, that’s it. Until the day we ran into each other at a car dealership. It was during that big Chevy promotion. They were pushing the new Trax for something like $22,800. I was thinking of getting one for my dad—something simple for groceries and picking up the grandkids. It’s cheap, you can’t really go wrong. “Ma’am!” I’d just walked in when I heard someone call me. I turned around, and there was Tiger Girl, beaming at me. “Ma’am, you’re looking at cars, too?” She was still in her usual, slightly frumpy clothes. This was the last place I expected to see her. “Oh, hey. Yeah, just browsing…” I said, defaulting to my usual brush-off. “Wow, your family’s loaded and you’re looking at a Chevy?” she said, with total seriousness. “You should be driving a BMW! A Mercedes!” If she wasn’t so obviously sincere, I would’ve thought she was mocking me. The truth is, I’m not “loaded.” My husband and I make decent money, but with the mortgage, two car payments, the kids’ college funds, and helping our parents… there’s never enough. We have an Audi, sure, but that’s mostly just to keep up appearances. “Heh. It’s for my dad. Just need something cheap to get groceries and pick up the kids,” I said, still putting on a bit of a front. “Oh, for your dad? Well, the Trax is perfect! It’s cheap, great on gas, the value is amazing!” She started rattling off specs—range, horsepower, cargo space. I didn’t know a thing about any of it. All I knew was that this girl, in her worn-out shoes, seemed completely out of place talking about new cars. “So… you’re… looking for a car?” I finally asked. “I am! As soon as I get my next paycheck, I’ll have enough for the down payment!” She smiled, a little embarrassed. “Then I can start driving for Uber after work. It’s gotta pay better than my weekend shift at the 7-Eleven, right?” She leaned in. “And… I really want to take my mom to see the sunset on the prairie.” She told me her parents divorced when she was little. Her mom remarried, but as a woman with a kid from a previous marriage, she’d had to live her whole life “very, very carefully.” “My mom… she’s had it so tough. I’m not a big shot or anything, but I just want to be able to drive her somewhere nice. She always said she wanted to see the prairie at sunset. And I’m almost there, Ma’am! I almost have the money!” The pain in her story was obvious, but her voice was pure joy. “Hey, I’ll let you in on a secret,” she whispered, leaning closer. “They’re having their big 4th of July sale next month. You can save at least another grand! We could buy them together!” “Oh. Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” I stammered. Suddenly, my whole impression of her shifted. This kid was stronger than me. I’d had a straight, easy path: loving parents, college, job, marriage. I’d never once had to think about what would happen if my life fell apart. And this goofy, “bundle of firewood” kid had this core of steel and loyalty. “It’s a date, then, Ma’am! Next month! We’ll be official Chevy owners!” She gave me a little “yay” wave and practically bounced out of the showroom. “Ma’am? You know that girl?” The saleswoman had come up behind me. “Huh? Oh, not really. She’s just a clerk at my company. Why?” The saleswoman rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Her. She’s in here every other weekend. Test drives the Trax, never buys. Been doing it for a year. Everyone here knows her.” (3) After that, I actually researched the Trax. My dad liked it. So, the decision was made. I just had to wait for the sale, like Tiger Girl said. But I waited. And waited. The 4th of July sale was almost over, and I hadn’t heard a word from her. I kept hearing the saleswoman’s voice: …never buys. Been doing it for a year. Was she just messing with me? Fine. If you’re not going to call, I’m just going myself. I thought about it, then decided to call her. “Hey, Tiger Girl. You still want to buy that car with me? The sale ends this weekend.” “Oh… Ma’am…” Her voice on the phone was small and tight. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can… something came up with my family.” You’ve got to be kidding me. Your $3,000-a-month salary can barely cover rent, let alone a car. I never should have believed you. I hung up without another word and took my dad to get his car. It wasn’t until later that I realized how cold that was. She said something was wrong, and I didn’t even ask. So much for being the “Ma’am” she was always so nice to. But I only realized it on Monday. I was planning to swing by her desk, maybe flash my new keys, but she wasn’t there. I asked HR. They told me Tiger Girl had taken a one-month leave. Her stepfather had a massive stroke. I felt a wave of shame. She was telling the truth. I called her immediately. “Tiger Girl? It’s me. How’s your father? Is there anything I can do? If you need anything, seriously, don’t hesitate to ask.” “Oh, thank you, Ma’am…” She sounded exhausted. The background was dead quiet. “He had a stroke, but… he’s out of surgery. The doctors say he’s stable… Thank you for asking.” “Do you have enough money? If you’re short, I can lend you some. Don’t worry about paying it back right away.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. What if she said yes? But she paused, and then her voice firmed up. “No… no, it’s okay. We’re okay. The relatives all chipped in. Thank you, though, Ma’am. I’m just… sorry I couldn’t buy the car with you. I saw your picture on Facebook. It looks so great! Congratulations, you’re an official Chevy owner!” She was trying so hard to sound happy for me, but I could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Life is so damn random. She had worked so hard for that stupid car, and in the face of one medical bill, that little dream evaporated. My guilt deepened. I mumbled a few more things and got off the phone. A month later, Tiger Girl came back to the office. The goofy energy was gone. She just looked… tired. This young girl, forced to carry half her family’s weight. “Tiger Girl,” I said, stopping her in the hall. “How’s your dad? Is he recovering?” “A lot better, Ma’am. He can’t get out of bed yet, so I moved him into my apartment. It’s just easier to take care of him here.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. Suddenly, she looked like an adult. A very weary adult. “Here. This is just a little something from me. Don’t say no. Get your dad some… I don’t know, fruit or something.” I shoved an envelope with a few hundred bucks into her hand. The world is cruel. This was all I could do. “No, Ma’am, I can’t take your money!” She tried to shove it back, mortified. “I’m fine, Ma’am, really! I… I started a new side gig. I sell hot dogs from a cart at the subway station after work. It pays really well!” She practically threw the envelope back into my bag, and as if to prove her point, she added, “The money is great! Once I save up for a few months, I’ll have the down payment again!” My God. In this freezing cold? “How do you even manage?” I asked, horrified. “You have to take care of your dad.” “It’s okay! I get off work, go home, make him dinner, feed him, get him settled, and then I go to my cart. I can handle it! Hehe. Business is good. It won’t be long, and I’ll be able to buy that car!” As soon as she said “car,” her eyes lit up again. In that second, I understood. The car wasn’t just a car. It was hope. It was the one thing that proved a normal, broke-ass girl like her could still make it in this city. “You’re right,” I said, forcing a smile. “I believe you. Things will get better, and you will get that car.” (4) An adult’s life is a blur. I had my own work, my own family, my own battles trying to look like I had it all together. Despite my sympathy for Tiger Girl, I soon forgot about her struggles. We all have our own lives to live. Seven or eight months passed. I hadn’t spoken to her in ages. Then, one day, my phone rang. “Ma’am? Is your car due for its first service soon?” I was stunned. I’d completely forgotten. The car was my dad’s problem. I couldn’t believe she’d remembered. “Uh… I think so? I’m not sure…” “Well, I can go with you! And… I can look at cars again! Hehe, I saved up the down payment… again!” She told me her 25th birthday was in a few days. She’d saved up. She was going to buy the car as a present to herself. “The down payment is smaller this time, so the monthly will be higher… but between my job and the cart, I think I can just barely swing it.” Her voice was full of that old excitement. “Tiger Girl, that’s… that’s amazing! Congratulations! Okay, tomorrow. You come with me for the service, and I’m buying you lunch.” I couldn’t believe it. This kid was like a weed. Life burns her to the ground, and she just sprouts right back up. The next morning, I drove to the address she sent me. It was an ancient, crumbling apartment building in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t imagine the bus transfers it took her to get to work every day, or how she managed to drag that hot dog cart miles to the subway. When I got there, I tossed her the keys. “You drive.” She was all shy at first, but the second her hands touched the wheel, she lit up like a kid on Christmas. “Wow, this is SO COOL, Ma’am! You really can just… go anywhere! I’m definitely buying one!” Her hands were locked on the wheel at ten and two, but she was smiling so wide I thought her face would crack. At the service center, she was more invested than I was. She hovered over the mechanic like a hawk. “Sir, are you sure that filter is seated properly? Sir, I asked for the full synthetic, right?” She was relentless, asking a million questions that were somehow both stupid and necessary. Watching her, I suddenly remembered myself ten years ago, when my husband and I bought our first house. I was just like her, micromanaging the contractors, questioning every single charge. Nobody likes being that person. Life just forces you to be. That house was my proof that I’d finally made it in this city. This car was hers. After the service, I took her for Korean BBQ. She was hissing and fanning her mouth from the spice, her face flushed and happy in the steam. If she ever bought herself some makeup or a decent outfit, she’d actually be pretty. But she’d poured every bit of herself into her broken family and her little dream. Looking pretty was a luxury she couldn’t afford. The thought made me sad, but pity isn’t something you say out loud. So I just kept piling meat onto her grill. “Thanks, Ma’am! You eat, too! This is so good! I haven’t had BBQ in… God, I can’t remember. Not since my dad got sick.” She let out a huge sigh of satisfaction, then immediately clammed up. “Sorry, Ma’am. I shouldn’t have said that. Hehe.” “It’s okay,” I said gently. “Eat. You’re exhausted. It must be so hard, taking care of him.” “Ugh, you don’t even know, Ma’am,” she said, stuffing her face. “Taking care of a sick person is harder than both my jobs combined. You gotta feed him, bathe him, deal with… you know… the bedpan. You have to turn him every two hours so he doesn’t get bedsores. And he’s a patient, you know? So if one little thing isn’t right, he yells at me. The good news is, he can’t move, so even when we fight, he can’t really do anything!” She was complaining, but she was smiling. She wasn’t bitter; she was just… venting. “Hehe, but that’s all in the past! Once I get the car, it’ll be so much easier to take him to his checkups! And I can drive Uber! The hot dog cart is fine, but man, winter is cold…” She chugged her Coke, and I noticed her hands. They were chapped and raw, the knuckles red. “Well, it is in the past,” I said, raising my own glass. “Here’s to your dad’s recovery. And to you… the soon-to-be proud owner of a new Chevy.” We were finishing up, and she was groaning, totally stuffed, rambling on about her plans, when her phone rang. “Huh? My brother? He probably needs money again…” She’d told me about him. Her stepbrother. Just turned 18, working as an apprentice at some hair salon. “He’s just a kid,” she’d said. “Always needs a little help.” She answered. “Hey! Need cash again? I’m out eating… What?! A FIRE? Did you call 911?! Are you okay? Okay, okay, I’m on my way! Right now!”

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1 My husband, Damien Hawthorne, the wealthiest man in New York, was drugged. He slept with a college student. The moment he came to his senses, he called me. His voice was a raw, panicked rasp. “Elara, I was drugged. I made a mistake. But I paid her off. She won’t be a problem.” After eight years of a storybook marriage, I chose to believe it was just a terrible accident. Six months later, Damien was on a business trip to the southern coast when a massive earthquake hit. The news was everywhere. By the time I reached the hospital, Damien was standing outside a private room, his face a mask of conflict. The doctor explained that the young woman, Chloe, was three months pregnant. She had dug him out of the rubble with her bare hands, her fingers torn to bloody ribbons. Damien gripped my hand, his voice a low, pleading whisper. “Three months ago… her family died, and she came to me for help. I’d been drinking… I never thought it would just… happen.” He squeezed my hand tighter. “Don’t worry, she’ll never set foot in our home. She’ll never, ever threaten your place as my wife.” Just then, Chloe burst out of the room and collapsed to her knees before me, sobbing. “Mrs. Hawthorne, please, I’m begging you, let my baby live!” Damien looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Elara, you’ve always been the reasonable one. The baby is innocent…” I stared at him, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Damien, you have two choices.” “Either we divorce.” “Or you make her disappear.” “I won’t divorce you!” he cried, his eyes turning red as he grabbed my arms. “But I have to take responsibility for her!” In the end, Chloe gave birth to twins. The Hawthorne estate was drowned in celebration. I twisted the wedding band from my ring finger and dialed a number I’d hoped never to use. “That offer you made,” I said. “I accept.” A low chuckle answered from the other end of the line. “Mrs. Hawthorne. A pleasure doing business with you.” I stood at the door to the hospital room, my fingers clenched into a fist. Through the crack in the door, I could see Damien’s parents, each cradling an infant, their faces glowing with joy. Even Damien, a man who wore a mask of cool composure in public, was gazing down at the baby in his arms with a tenderness I had never seen before, a gentle, doting smile playing on his lips. How ironic. They looked like a perfect, happy family. And I was the intruder. Damien looked up and saw me. His smile froze. “Elara, you’re back…” I said nothing. His mother shot me a sideways glance, her voice as sharp and cold as ice. “So, you finally decided to come back? Had enough of your little soul-searching retreat in the mountains?” “It’s good that you’re back,” his father said, playing peacemaker, though his eyes never left the grandchild in his arms. “Just in time for the one-month celebration. As Mrs. Hawthorne, you should at least make an appearance.” His mother’s expression softened slightly. “The children still need proper names. You and Damien should think of some. And don’t you worry, as long as you play your part, your position as the lady of the Hawthorne family is secure.” I looked at them, my face a numb mask, and nodded. “Fine.” Once his parents had left, Damien’s phone rang. He glanced at me, then stepped into the hallway to take the call. Now, it was just me and Chloe. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow, her hair shining with a luster that spoke of expensive care. The Hawthornes had clearly spared no expense on her these past months. “Elara,” she began, her voice a timid whisper. “If I’ve done anything wrong, you can hit me, you can scream at me… just please, don’t fight with Damien anymore. You know you’re the only one he loves. He had your rooms cleaned every single day you were gone.” “Chloe,” I said, my gaze cutting through her charade. “You can drop the act. The money he gave you the first time was enough to set you up for life. You could have taken it and disappeared. But you came back, didn’t you? You sought him out. And now you have these children.” “I know exactly what you’re playing at,” I finished. Her face flushed, then paled. Suddenly, she snatched one of the infants from the bassinet and thrust the baby into my arms. The warm, milky scent of the tiny bundle made me freeze. But in the next heartbeat, the baby slipped from my grasp. A sickening thud echoed through the room, followed by a piercing, heartbreaking wail. The sound shattered the quiet. Damien burst back into the room and shoved me aside. I stumbled back, watching as he scooped up the crying infant, his face etched with pain and terror. He looked at me, his eyes a swirling vortex of emotions. He didn’t say a word, but his silence screamed his condemnation. Chloe was already sobbing beside him. “Damien, I just wanted her to hold the baby… I don’t know how she could…” 2 Damien’s voice was frigid. “Elara, Chloe is being discharged tomorrow. Since you clearly can’t be around the children, I think it’s best if you move to Blackwood Manor for a while.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I’d left for the mountain sanctuary with almost nothing, and I was returning with even less. One suitcase held everything I owned. I sat in the vast, empty manor, watching the sky bleed from dusk to dawn. It was better this way, I told myself. At least I wouldn’t have to watch their perfect little family of four. Memories flooded back, a relentless tide. Damien and I were childhood sweethearts. Eight years of marriage, the golden couple everyone in our circle envied. Then he was drugged by a business rival and ended up with a college student. The first thing he did when he was sober was call me, his voice trembling. “Elara, I was set up! I paid her hush money. You’ll never see her again!” And I believed him. But it wasn’t long before this woman, Chloe, reappeared. Her parents had died in a sudden accident, and she’d found Damien—drunk at a business dinner. A second time. The first time was an accident. What was the second? Then came the earthquake during his trip to the southern coast. It was a pregnant Chloe who had clawed him out of the wreckage with her bare hands. With the weight of a life debt and the child in her belly, Damien was trapped. He had knelt before me, tears streaming down his face, and I had given him my terms. “Either we divorce.” “Or you make her disappear.” “I won’t divorce you!” he’d cried, his eyes bloodshot. “But I have to take responsibility for her…” He wouldn’t let me go, but he wouldn’t let her go either. So I left. I went to a sanctuary in the mountains to find peace, until Damien’s parents demanded I return for the birth of the children. I pulled out my phone, the screen a stark white light in the darkness, and typed the message I should have sent months ago. “Let’s get a divorce.” Less than ten minutes later, the front door crashed open. Damien burst in, his forehead beaded with sweat. “Elara! I don’t agree to a divorce!” I sat there on the sofa, a silent shadow in the cavernous room, and sighed. “It’s over, Damien. I’m tired.” “I told you she would never affect us!” he pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation. Just then, his phone shrieked. Chloe’s tear-choked voice came through the speaker. “Damien! The baby… from the fall… she has a fever! The doctor says she might need to go to the ICU!” The color drained from Damien’s face. He looked from me to the phone, his expression torn. Finally, he spoke, the words tasting like ash. “Elara, I… I have to go check on them…” I watched his frantic retreat, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. So this was my marriage. Even our divorce had to wait in line behind another woman and her children. 3 A wry smile twisted my lips. “Go on, then. Your child needs you.” He was gone in a rush, the wind from his hurried exit caressing my cheek as if he’d never been there at all. I sat alone in the darkness, silent tears tracing cold paths down my face. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he might never marry Chloe, but he would always be at her beck and call. How long could I endure this, if I didn’t leave? A lifetime? A familiar, sharp pain twisted in my stomach. I opened my phone. On Chloe’s social media, a new post showed Damien, haggard and unshaven, keeping a sleepless vigil by an incubator. I had never seen that look of raw terror on his face before. I had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers and went to the office to tender my resignation. The HR manager looked shocked. “Mrs. Hawthorne, does Mr. Hawthorne know you’re leaving?” I offered a faint smile. “He’s a little preoccupied right now.” I saw the pity flicker in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking. I returned to Blackwood Manor, the sprawling estate we had used as a getaway a few times after we were married. While packing, my fingers brushed against a yellowed piece of notepaper tucked away in a drawer. “My dearest Elara,” it read in his familiar script. “I wonder when you’ll find this. By then, we’ll probably have a few kids running around. I love you so much. No matter what happens, promise you’ll never leave me.” A tear splattered onto the ink. A violent cramp seized my stomach, and the world went black as I crumpled to the floor. I woke to the shrill ringing of my phone. “Elara Vance! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Damien’s roar blasted through the speaker. He rarely used my full name. “Chloe is already treading on eggshells around you! How many times do I have to tell you she’s not a threat to your position? Why would you send those vicious text messages? Why would you curse my children?!” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. He didn’t even bother to ask if I’d done it. He had already passed judgment. “Are you finished?” I asked, my voice eerily calm. He paused, thrown off. “The celebration for the babies is next Sunday. You have to be there. Please, just stop with the tantrums, okay?” “Fine.” I hung up and stared out at the encroaching night. On the day of the party, I arrived without a trace of makeup. Sympathetic glances followed me through the room. At the center of it all stood Chloe, draped in a stunning red dress, clinging to Damien’s arm like she was the true lady of the house. His mother gestured impatiently. “Go on, hold one of the babies.” Damien placed one of the infants in my arms, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. “Elara, I’ll overlook the text messages. After today, I’ll send Chloe abroad. The children will be registered under your name. Since you can’t have children… isn’t this the perfect solution for everyone?” His words were a physical blow. The avalanche… years ago, I’d shielded him with my body, the impact damaging my uterus beyond repair. He had fought with his parents for me then, swearing he’d be happy with just me, childless or not. Now, everything had changed. Suddenly, the baby in my arms gave a violent cough, a white foam bubbling at its lips. “What’s wrong with the baby?!” someone screamed. 4 Chloe lunged at me, her voice a piercing shriek. “Mrs. Hawthorne! If you want to kill someone, kill me! Don’t hurt the baby!” CRACK! The force of his father’s slap sent me reeling. My head snapped back, and I stumbled to the ground, a fiery sting spreading across my cheek, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth. Damien instinctively reached out to steady me. At that moment, the baby in his other arm let out a choked cry and vomited a mouthful of blood. The room erupted into chaos. “Damien!” Chloe’s hysterical scream sliced through the pandemonium as she threw herself between us. “The baby’s dying! Please, save our child!” Damien’s hand, the one reaching for me, trembled in mid-air. I watched the concern in his eyes for me fade, replaced by sheer terror for his child. He slowly retracted his hand and turned his full attention to the sputtering infant. The hospital corridor was cold enough to seep into my bones. I stood there like a ghost, the divorce papers I’d brought slipping from my pocket and fluttering to the polished floor. His mother’s sharp eyes caught the movement. She snatched the papers and threw them back at me with disgust. Her perfectly manicured face was twisted with contempt. “Have we ever mistreated you? Huh? Damien defied us for you, and we tolerated it! And now you try to harm a child?” “Since you’re so desperate for a divorce, then get it over with! Stop clinging to this family!” I silently bent down and picked up the scattered pages. Damien emerged from the ICU, his eyes red-rimmed. “The baby’s stable.” He looked at me then, and his gaze was that of a complete stranger. “Elara, this time, you’ve gone too far.” My hand trembled as I held out the divorce papers. “Let’s… end this.” His pupils contracted. “Are you sure?” “I’m tired,” I whispered, fighting back the tears. “I don’t know what else I might do…” “Fine! Just fine!” He snatched the papers, scrawled his name across the signature line with vicious force, and threw the pen to the floor. “As you wish!” Returning to what was once our home, our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, rushed to greet me. “Ma’am! What happened…” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on my swollen face and rain-soaked clothes. I scanned the room. My grand piano was gone. Our wedding portrait was missing from the wall. Even the cherished trinkets I’d collected over the years had vanished. Mrs. Gable wrung her hands, stammering, “Miss Chloe… she kept bumping into things during her pregnancy, so Mr. Hawthorne had them…” The door opened. Damien walked in, with Chloe on his arm. Chloe feigned surprise. “Ma’am, what are you doing here?” She said it as if she were the mistress of the house. “Where are my things?” My voice shook as I looked at Damien. He let out a cold laugh, pulling Chloe closer. “You’re the one who wanted a divorce. Why do you care?” Chloe reached for my hand with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Ma’am, it was Damien. He was just worried I might hurt myself while I was pregnant…” “Don’t touch me!” I snarled, flinging her hand away. She let out a little cry and stumbled backward. Damien caught her instantly, his voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?” I stared at the two of them, a perfect picture of intimacy, and turned on my heel. I heard him call my name, but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t let them see the tears streaming down my face. Outside, the heavens had opened up, a torrential downpour soaking me to the skin. I don’t know how long I walked before a group of thugs cornered me in a dark, grimy alley. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Hawthorne,” one of them, a man with a jagged scar across his face, sneered as he advanced. “Someone paid us good money to teach you a lesson. The tycoon’s wife… sure is a looker. A little flat, maybe, but that face is porcelain.” My fingers fumbled for my phone. I dialed Damien’s number. His voice came through, soft and soothing, not for me. “Chloe, your head hurts? Just try to sleep, darling.” “Damien! Help…” “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” The line went dead. I tried again. His phone was off. Icy rain mingled with the hot tears on my cheeks, the taste a bitter salt. “No one’s coming to save you here, sweetheart. Why don’t you relax and have some fun with us?” Their grimy hands reached for my collar, rough fingers scraping against my skin. I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into my palms.

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Chapter 1 My mother, Rebecca, always told me her husband’s eyes were for her and her alone. No other woman was allowed to look. Not even me, his daughter. The first time I ever called him “Daddy,” she sealed my lips with superglue. “You just had to get his attention, didn’t you?” she hissed, pinching my arm. “Now you can keep your mouth shut!” When he came home from a business trip and I ran to hug him, she beat me with a wire coat hanger until I bled. “You little slut! Trying to steal my husband? Not in this life!” When he took me to Six Flags, just the two of us, she waited until he was asleep. Then she threw me out the window of our 18th-floor apartment. “Let’s see if you can seduce him when you’re a pile of broken bones!” As I looked up from my shattered body, I prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening. “I’ll do anything. A hundred lifetimes of penance. Just please, next time, give me a different mom.” Darkness. Then, a voice I knew, filled with a joy I’d never heard. “Oh my god, Kyle! It’s positive! I’m finally pregnant! I’m going to be a mom!” It was my Aunt Jenna. “Please, please, please, let it be a girl!” Thank you. Thank you, thank you. Aunt Jenna was my new mom. Aunt Jenna was a ray of sunshine, but she’d struggled with infertility for years. She’d seen how I was treated; she’d even tried to adopt me. But Rebecca, my mother, refused, just to be cruel. Now, my fantasy was real. I curled up inside her womb, so happy I could burst. Then I heard it. A voice from a nightmare. My mother, Rebecca. “Jenna, we’re pregnant at the same time! Mark, honey, what if I have a girl, too?” My father, Mark, sounded thrilled. “That’d be great, Beck. Little girls are so sweet.” Rebecca’s voice tightened. “You’re already obsessed with her, and she’s not even born. What’s going to happen when she’s here? You won’t even have eyes for me anymore. I’m not giving birth to my own replacement!” Aunt Jenna was stunned. “Rebecca, what are you talking about? That’s your daughter!” “My intuition is never wrong,” Rebecca snapped. “It’s a girl. A little homewrecker. Mark, I’m getting an abortion. This baby is bad luck. I’ll give you a son.” Her fingernails dug into her own stomach, right where her fetus would be. The OB-GYN quickly intervened. “Mrs. Collins, your hormone levels… frankly, this pregnancy is a miracle. You’re not likely to conceive again.” Mark’s voice was low and serious. “Rebecca, stop this. It’s our baby. And my parents are finally getting a grandchild. You’re not getting rid of it.” Aunt Jenna tried to smooth things over. “Bec, calm down. Your husband is a grown man. He’s not going to leave you for a baby.” Rebecca knew when she’d lost. She immediately switched tactics, bursting into tears. “Oh, Mark, you scared me when you yelled! I’m just so hormonal! Of course I’ll be a good mommy!” But as soon as Mark was out of earshot, I heard her whisper to her belly. “You think you’re safe just because you’re born? I’ll make every second of your life hell. You will never take my husband from me.” Chapter 2 That venomous voice sent a chill through me. In response, Aunt Jenna’s womb felt even warmer. She started humming a lullaby. This was my mom. Both women were high-risk, so they ended up in the same luxury maternity center. When Mark was around, Rebecca was the model of a glowing mother-to-be. When he was gone, she was a demon. She’d throw her prenatal vitamins in the toilet and flush her nutrient-dense meals. I’d hear her in the hallway, smoking and chugging Red Bull. “Think you can make me sick, huh? Let’s see how you like this! I hope you’re born with defects!” She even did frantic, high-impact workouts, trying to force a miscarriage. Aunt Jenna and the nurses tried to stop her. “You don’t get it!” she’d scream. “I have to keep my figure! If I let this little bitch steal my husband and my body, I might as well be dead!” I was terrified. But this time, I was in Aunt Jenna’s belly. Who was in Rebecca’s? Maybe it was a boy. He’d probably be fine. …If she didn’t manage to kill him first. My life with Aunt Jenna was completely different. She ate well, slept soundly, and had no morning sickness. I was so well-behaved that her pregnancy barely showed. By the second trimester, she was radiant. The other pregnant women flocked to her. “What’s your secret? You’re the most peaceful pregnant woman I’ve ever seen!” “You’re not even swollen! Your skin is glowing!” Jenna would just blush. “I don’t know! I guess I just have a very calm baby.” My uncle Kyle would kiss her belly. “See? This kid knows not to give her mom a hard time. She’s already a good daughter.” He’s right, I thought. I’m here to be loved, and to love them back. I’d give a little kick, and Jenna would laugh and rub her stomach. Rebecca would watch us from across the room, her eyes burning with jealousy. She finally stomped over. “Jenna, you’ve been craving salty snacks, right? Salty for a boy. I’ve been craving sugar. That’s a girl.” She patted her own stomach. “You wanted a girl, right? Let’s just swap when they’re born. We’re family, after all!” Chapter 3 Jenna just stared at her. “Rebecca, are you feeling okay?” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I don’t want this girl. You can have her. You give me your son. That way you don’t have to worry about him leaving you for some girl later.” Even Jenna’s patience snapped. “You’ve been smoking and drinking and trying to hurt that baby. And now you want to trade it? That is your child, Rebecca! Don’t you have any love for it?” “Love?” she shrieked. “It’s a tiny husband-stealing slut! I don’t love it! And stop acting so high and mighty. If you don’t want to swap, fine!” She stormed off, and we could hear her in her room, slamming things. She started doing burpees and jumping jacks, trying to induce labor. The nurses were terrified of her. “The baby is in my body!” she’d scream. “I’ll do what I want!” And yet, the baby stayed. Rebecca got desperate. She ordered a bunch of herbal abortifacients online. Jenna saw the strange packages and immediately called Mark. Mark arrived, his face like thunder. He swept the bottles and powders into the trash. “Are you out of your mind? This is my child, too!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “If you dare try anything like this again, I swear, I’ll take the baby and you can get the hell out of my life. For good.” Rebecca collapsed, sobbing. “Mark, no! I love you! I just… I can’t stand it when you care about someone else! Please, I’ll be good, I promise!” Mark, my father, sighed. He actually believed her. He hugged her and swore that she would always be the most important woman in his life. He was a liar, but he was her liar. The moment he left, Rebecca started slamming her belly into the corner of her desk. “See what you did? You made him yell at me! You’ll pay for this, you little bitch!” I felt a jolt of panic. Aunt Jenna, she’s crazy. We have to get away from her. Chapter 4 I had a plan. I started kicking. But only when Rebecca was near. At first, Jenna just thought I was being active. “Ooh, feisty! Kicking for Mama!” But I was persistent. Any other time, I was perfectly still. The second she heard Rebecca’s voice, I’d kick and roll. After the twentieth time, Jenna stopped. She just held her belly, a look of deep confusion on her face. She didn’t say anything, but that night, she asked Kyle if they could transfer to a different maternity center. He was confused. It was late in her pregnancy, and it was risky. Jenna just said, “It’s a mother’s intuition, Kyle. Something feels… wrong.” He relented. They moved her to a private room at the opposite end of the building. Rebecca would stop by, but Jenna would pretend to be asleep. After a few tries, Rebecca stopped coming. I relaxed. A little. Then, eight days before my due date, I decided. I’ve been in here long enough. And I’m not taking any more chances. Mom, sorry, but it’s time! I gave one, powerful kick downwards. “KYLE! NURSE! MY WATER BROKE! I’M HAVING THE BABY!” Jenna’s shriek echoed down the hall. They were rushing her to the delivery room when Rebecca ran out, blocking the gurney. “You can’t! You’re early! We were supposed to go at the same time! Just hold on!” Mark dragged her away. “Are you insane? Get out of the way!” She was still screaming as the delivery room doors swung shut. Twenty minutes later, I was out. “Waaaaah!” Mom! I’m here! The doctor was laughing. “That’s a record! Easiest delivery I’ve seen in years! You’re a lucky woman.” My family crowded around. Rebecca, her face a mask of fake smiles, was pushed forward. “Look, Rebecca. Go ahead, see your niece. Maybe it’ll bring you luck.” She shuffled forward, peered into the blanket, and froze. Her hand spasmed. The stainless steel thermos she was holding tipped. It was full of boiling water.

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