Category: English

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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My husband went to the airport to pick up his “first love,” the one who got away. Funny enough, my boyfriend was flying back into the country today, too. His first love, smiling blissfully, clung to my husband’s arm. “It’s your seventh wedding anniversary today,” she cooed. “Won’t your wife be mad that you’re picking me up?” Damian chuckled, full of indulgent affection. “Silly, she doesn’t even kn—” He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened, locked on something in front of him. Specifically, me. I was walking straight toward him, one hand linked with a handsome man, the other holding the hand of a little girl. The little girl looked up at me and chirped, “Mommy! Are you going to eat dinner with Daddy and me today?” I beamed. “Of course!” Damian looked like he was about to explode. The System was losing its mind in my head: [ Host! This is a ‘Redemption Arc’ romance novel! What are you DOING?! ] Me: “What? A ‘Husband Redemption Arc’ is still a redemption arc, right?” 01 Damian stormed over and grabbed my arm, his voice shaking with rage. “Genevieve, who is this man?” I felt zero shame about being caught. If anything, the thrill of two-timing was exhilarating. I shook his hand off with enough force to make him stumble back. System: [ Damn, girl, you been working out? ] I lifted my chin. “Who is he? Just a friend who got back from overseas.” “And you? Why are you here? Stalking me? Or meeting your mistress?” I said the word “mistress” loudly, pointing a finger directly at Sarah. Passersby started whispering. Sarah’s face turned bright red. She tugged at Damian’s sleeve, silently begging him to defend her. But Damian was too busy drowning in disbelief, heartbreak, and anger. He pointed a shaking finger at the little girl. “And her? Why did she call you Mommy?” I pulled Mia close, letting her lean against me. “Her mother died giving birth to her. I just feel bad for the kid. I wanted to be a mother figure to her, since she doesn’t have one by blood.” “Do you really have to force me to say this in front of a child?” “Damian, I didn’t realize you were this insensitive.” He let out a bitter laugh, pointing at himself. “I’m insensitive? On our seventh anniversary, you’re out with another man, letting his kid call you Mommy, and you’re calling me insensitive?” At that moment, Julian—the man I was with—stepped forward. He looked at Damian, then at me, his expression gentle and apologetic. “I’m sorry, did I cause trouble for you?” “Maybe I should take Mia and go.” “Your husband seems… temperamental. You should probably comfort him so he doesn’t misunderstand.” Excuse me? I know a high-quality man when I see one. “Ignore him,” I said, grabbing Julian’s hand and taking Mia’s with the other. “Let’s go get dinner.” We walked away, leaving Damian standing there with red-rimmed eyes. 02 In the real world, I was a nurse-turned-nanny, exhausted and broke. All I did was leave a comment on a TikTok video: [ When is it my turn to call someone ‘Daddy’ and get free money? ] Next thing I knew, I was transmigrated into a “Redemption Arc” angst novel. I had a husband. I had money. Seems perfect, right? Except this was a “Father and Son Redemption” story. The original host (Genevieve) supported her husband when he was broke, gave birth to his son via C-section, and dedicated her life to them. But the husband, Damian, and the son, Leo, both preferred the “White Moonlight,” Sarah. Damian spent nights away with Sarah. Leo screamed that he wanted Sarah to be his mom. Eventually, the original host got fed up, left them both, and moved abroad to start a new life. The father and son then realized their mistake and groveled for forgiveness. Hence, the “Crematorium” (Redemption) Arc. System: [ The Crematorium genre is about the female lead suffering first! Not you throwing the male lead into an actual incinerator! ] I scoffed. “Isn’t a ‘Husband Redemption’ just torturing the man until he regrets everything? Just watch me work.” 03 I spent the evening with Julian and Mia. Dinner, bowling, amusement park. It was exhausting but fun. We even caught a movie before I went home. It was late. When I walked in, my ungrateful son, Leo, was running around with a water gun. Pew pew pew. Seeing me, he got excited. He aimed right at my eyes and fired. In the original story, this brat had zero respect for his mother. He treated her like an unpaid maid. He thought Sarah was his “real” mom because she let him eat junk food and run wild. I rubbed my stinging eye, rage flaring up. Just as I was about to discipline him, a sickly sweet voice interrupted. “Leo, come here! Careful, the bad person might hit you!” Leo ran to Sarah, giggling. Sarah looked at me provocatively, pretending to scold my son. “Leo, honey, don’t shoot water at strangers’ eyes, okay? Mommy and Daddy won’t be happy.” Strangers? Mommy and Daddy? I looked at her. She was wearing my silk nightgown—the limited edition one my best friend bought me. She was in my house, wearing my clothes, parenting my child, and probably sleeping with my husband. And she thought she was the main dish? I grabbed a pitcher of fruit tea from the table and dumped it over her head. Blueberries, strawberries, and tea dripped down her perfectly styled hair, ruining her makeup. “Genevieve!” she shrieked. “Are you crazy?!” I put the pitcher down slowly, crossed my arms, and watched her jump around. “What’s the fuss?” I said lazily. “My clothes got dirty. Just washing them.” Sarah was shaking with rage. Leo saw her distress and aimed his water gun at me again. “Don’t bully Sister Sarah!” I snatched the gun from him. Holding the barrel, I used the heavy handle to smack him right on the mouth. Kids have soft skin. It split instantly. Blood welled up. Leo wailed. “WAAAAH! Bad mommy! I’m telling Daddy to beat you up!” 04 “What is going on down here?!” Damian stormed down the spiral staircase from his study. Sarah immediately crumbled into a delicate, rain-battered flower. “Damian… finally.” “I don’t know why, but the moment Sister came in, she hit Leo with the toy gun.” “I tried to stop her, and she poured water on me.” She sobbed quietly. A masterclass in acting. Damian opened his mouth to yell, but I beat him to it. “Damian! What kind of father are you?” Damian: ? I put my hands on my hips. “Look at your son! He’s lawless! Other kids are learning Spanish and coding at seven. Your son? He plays with toys and assaults people! If it wasn’t for Sarah ‘disciplining’ him, he’d be useless!” I sighed dramatically. “Boys really are a bad investment. Look at Mia, she’s so smart and polite.” Sarah choked on her fake tears. When I stopped engaging in their petty jealousy games and stopped caring about them, her tricks were useless. Damian was so stunned by my outburst, his eyes watered. “You think I’m a bad father?” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through photos. “You spent all day playing house with that man and his daughter! Did you think about your son at home with no mother?!” The photos were of me, Julian, and Mia, laughing and having fun. “You tracked me?” I asked, incredulous. A tear slid down Damian’s cheek. He was consumed by jealousy. “I didn’t track you! Your little boyfriend sent these to me to provoke me!” “I want you to cut him off! Come back to your family!” In the original book, Sarah provoked the heroine daily upon her return. Sending photos, making noise in the bedroom… Now the tables were turned, and he couldn’t handle it? I said coldly, “Dirty minds see dirty things.” “He’s just a friend. I was welcoming him back to the country. Stop being so disgusting.” “I’m moving out for a few days. I can’t deal with your tantrums.” Damian couldn’t stop me. He smashed a vase in rage. “Go then! If you leave, don’t ever come back!” 05 Unlimited money, no husband or kid to serve. Shopping and spa days every day. Life was good. Then Mia came to me, hugging her stuffed bunny. “Auntie Gen, can you go to my parent-teacher conference the day after tomorrow?” “Other kids have moms. I want a mom too.” “I’ll give you my favorite bunny.” Aww. This little munchkin knew how to negotiate. Way better than those two freeloaders at home. I was about to say yes when I remembered something. Mia and Leo were in the same class. Oops. Usually, I handled everything for Leo. Damian never cared about school stuff. If I didn’t go… no one would go for him. But I was orchestrating a Father-Son Crematorium arc. Did I care? “Sure, Mia! Auntie will go to all your conferences from now on!”

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1 I’m a billionaire’s daughter, born with a rare blood type. To ensure my safety, my parents went to a forgotten, impoverished corner of the country and found a child with the same blood type to be my living blood bank. As a form of compensation, they adopted her. But when I returned home today after three years on a study abroad program, I found the two older brothers who had always doted on me throwing a lavish birthday party for that adopted girl, Kathy. In front of all their guests, they announced that Kathy was the true heiress of the Sterling family. And I was nothing more than her backup. Kathy wanted my bedroom for an art studio, so they tossed my belongings into the housekeeper’s quarters. Kathy wanted shares in the company, so they took the transfer agreement my father had prepared for me and handed it straight to her. And because Kathy had a crush on my fiancé, the childhood betrothal that had been mine was suddenly hers. In my past life, I was tormented to death, my loyalty to my family stopping me from fighting back. Now, reborn, I want to burn every single one of them to the ground. Through the glittering chaos of the ballroom, I saw Kathy, the center of a fawning circle. I heard them whispering about how the adopted girl—me—couldn’t hold a candle to her. That’s when I moved. I lunged forward and ripped the brilliant pink diamond necklace from her throat. “This is ‘The One,’” I snarled, my voice cutting through the music. “A one-of-a-kind piece Dad bought at auction for my birthday. Who the hell do you think you are, an orphan from the sticks, parading around with stolen goods? Have you no shame?” The room fell silent. Then, the silence shattered into a wave of mockery. “Is Aria Sterling dreaming? Causing a scene at her own sister’s birthday party.” “She’s just desperate for attention. You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.” My brothers, Ethan and Mason, rushed over, instinctively forming a protective wall around Kathy. She clutched her neck, her eyes welling up with perfectly-timed tears. Ethan, my eldest brother, immediately shed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Someone get the first-aid kit!” he yelled, his voice laced with panic, as if the faint red mark on her neck was a mortal wound. Mason shoved me hard, his face contorted with fury. “Aria, are you insane? How dare you hurt your sister!” “Dad bought that necklace for his real daughter!” he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “Is that you? Don’t be pathetic. Give it back.” I clenched my fist around the necklace, the sharp facets of the diamonds digging into my palm. A cold smile spread across my face. “His real daughter? So she’s real, and I’m what, a fake? Mason, did you leave your brain at the door? You can’t even recognize your own sister. I dare you to say that to Dad’s face.” Mason’s face turned a blotchy purple, but Kathy gently held him back. She sighed, a mask of saintly patience. “It’s alright, Mason. Don’t be angry with her. She grew up in a rough place, she never learned any manners. It’s my fault, really. As her older sister, I should have guided her better.” She cast a sorrowful look around the room. “If it weren’t for my rare blood type, Mom and Dad would never have felt forced to bring her here. It’s my body that’s the problem. I should be the one to be more patient with her.” I almost laughed out loud. The same old act. In my last life, I was bled dry by a thousand of Kathy’s paper cuts. She was a master of this game—saying things that sounded like she was defending me, while actually painting me as trash and herself as a martyr. The truth? She was so dim-witted the family had to pull strings just to get her into a community college. As expected, the guests lapped it up. “Kathy is a true Sterling,” someone murmured. “So kind and graceful. Not like some people who think a few feathers make them a swan.” “Exactly! An orphan girl from the middle of nowhere. The Sterlings give her everything, and she’s still ungrateful enough to steal from the real heiress. The nerve!” Kathy shook her head, a look of weary resignation on her face. “It’s okay if I’m wronged. Please, don’t blame my sister. Coming from such a desolate place, her jealousy is understandable. I’ll do my best to guide her onto the right path.” Her performance of magnanimity had its intended effect. Sympathy rippled through the crowd. “Miss Sterling, you’re far too kind.” “That’s right. You coddle her, but a snake in the grass will always bite the hand that feeds it.” Ethan’s gaze hardened as he stared at the necklace in my hand. His voice was cold steel. “Give it to me. Now.” My vision swam with red. “Dad gave ‘The One’ to me.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Aria, we brought you into this family, but not so you could bully my real sister. If you can’t accept your place as the adopted one, then get the hell out of this house.” I couldn’t believe it. These words were coming from the brother who used to carry me on his shoulders, who swore he’d protect me from everything. The chill that seeped into my bones wasn’t from the air conditioning. A harsh laugh escaped my lips. “You don’t have the authority to kick me out of this house. And no one is taking this necklace today.” That was it for Mason. He whirled on the household staff. “Are you all blind?! You’re just going to stand there and watch this little thief steal from Miss Kathy? Get it back from her!” The head housekeeper, Mrs. Davison, rolled up her sleeves and stepped forward. I’d seen her exchanging glances with Kathy earlier. I knew she’d already been bought. I grabbed a champagne bottle from a nearby table and smashed it against the edge of the dessert buffet. I held the jagged neck out in front of me. “I’d like to see you try! You’d better think long and hard about who the real Miss Sterling is in this house. My parents sign your paychecks. Anyone who touches me today will be out on the street tomorrow.” My ferocity stunned them. Many of them had worked for our family for years; they knew me. They froze, uncertainty clouding their faces. But Mrs. Davison lunged. She snatched the necklace from my grasp and scurried over to Kathy, presenting it like a trophy. “Miss Kathy, I’m an old servant in this house. I’ve watched you grow up. No one can impersonate you, and no one can take what is yours. This necklace was made for you.” I drove my foot into the back of her knee. “You work for my family! Who gave you the right to steal from me? What, did Kathy offer you more than my parents pay you?” Mrs. Davison’s eyes darted away, guilt written all over her face. Kathy rushed to her side, shielding the housekeeper. “Aria, if you’re angry, take it out on me! Why are you bullying Mrs. Davison? She’s an old woman! She only said those things because she’s tired of seeing you steal my things.” Her voice dripped with false sympathy. “I know you’ve been jealous of this pink diamond necklace ever since Dad bought it for my birthday. I know you’ve snuck into my room to wear it when I wasn’t home. I can forgive all of that. Just promise you won’t hurt Mrs. Davison again, and you can have the necklace. I’ll give it to you.” As she finished, a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. I pointed at my own chest in disbelief. Me? Jealous? I was a Sterling heiress. Jealous of a girl from the backwoods? Jealous of her two-faced, manipulative games? The thought was so disgusting it made me want to vomit. But the guests were completely taken in. “She has some nerve. A few days of living the good life and she thinks she’s a real heiress, even starts abusing the staff. She should take a good long look in the mirror.” “Aria is just vicious. A classic case of biting the hand that feeds you.” “Poor Miss Kathy. The real lady of the house, being bullied by some stray.” “She ruined a beautiful birthday party. What a curse.” Ethan’s brow furrowed. “Haven’t you made enough of a scene? Do you want to drag the Sterling family name through the mud completely?” His voice dropped, filled with a chilling finality. “The reason this necklace is called ‘The One’ is because Dad wanted to announce to the world that Kathy is his one and only daughter.” “Have we been so good to you all these years that you’ve forgotten what you really are?” Mason chimed in. “We should just send her back to that hellhole she came from. With our family’s resources, it wouldn’t be hard to find another donor with Kathy’s blood type.” I stared at the two brothers who had been my protectors, my heroes, my entire childhood. An arctic cold spread through my veins. My parents had spent a fortune finding several children with my blood type, and they’d let me choose which one to bring home. But after seeing the photos, Ethan and Mason had both insisted on Kathy. At the time, I didn’t care. I just needed someone to grow up with, someone to be there in case of an emergency. It could have been anyone. Looking back, their reaction was bizarre. Two brothers with completely different personalities, instantly agreeing on the same girl. In my past life, they’d used a business trip, just like this one, to throw this very party for Kathy. They’d publicly declared her the true heiress and me the walking blood bank. Humiliated and slandered, I’d been plied with a bottle of hard liquor at Kathy’s suggestion and locked in the pitch-black cellar. By the time my parents returned, my body, dead from a severe allergic reaction to the alcohol, had already begun to decompose. The old me, faced with such betrayal from the brothers I adored, would have been a sobbing, incoherent mess, unable to defend myself. But not this time. I stood tall, my back ramrod straight. “You two know perfectly well who the real Sterling heiress is. You think you can get away with bullying me like this in front of everyone? Let’s see how you explain this to Mom and Dad when they get back!” My defiance, even after being so thoroughly condemned, gave some of the smarter guests pause. “Could it be… Aria actually is the real heiress?” “You know, now that you mention it, she’s dressed simply, but she does resemble Mrs. Sterling…” Hearing the tide of opinion begin to shift, a flicker of panic crossed Kathy’s face. She bit her lip, her voice choked with manufactured pain. “Aria, I already said you could have the necklace. Why are you still doing this? You know today is my birthday. Are you trying to humiliate me on purpose?” She threw her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, fine! As long as you stop disgracing the family, as long as you stop embarrassing Mom, Dad, and my brothers, I’ll admit it. You’re the real Sterling heiress, and I’m just the adopted girl. Is that what you want to hear? Are you satisfied now?” With that, she turned to the crowd and bowed deeply. “I apologize to all our esteemed guests. Because of me, your evening has been ruined. An adopted girl like me doesn’t deserve such a wonderful birthday party. I am truly sorry.” She wept, tears streaming down her face, the perfect picture of a noble victim, sacrificing her own reputation for the sake of her family, cornered by a thankless viper. The guests erupted in fury. “Aria, the Sterlings feed you, clothe you, and you push your benefactor to this point? You should be afraid of divine retribution!” “Even an animal has more gratitude than you!” “What did the Sterlings ever do to deserve a parasite like you?” “Apologize! Apologize to Miss Kathy right now!” As the chorus of condemnation reached a fever pitch, a tall figure stepped out from the crowd. It was Carter Vance, the man I’d been betrothed to since childhood. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair slicked back. He wasn’t bad-looking, but the words that came out of his mouth were utterly repulsive. “Aria, I know you’re only pretending to be the true heiress because you’re desperately in love with me.” He shook his head, a look of profound disappointment on his face. “But today, you’ve gone too far.” He saw Kathy’s tear-streaked face and his heart clearly melted. He made his stance clear for everyone to hear. “The only person I have ever loved is Kathy. The only woman I will ever marry is Kathy. You can chase me until the end of time, and I will never give you a second glance.” He sneered at me. “I’ve seen women like you before. Greedy, manipulative, bullies to the weak. You want to latch onto me and become Mrs. Vance? Take a look at yourself. You’re acting like a common shrew. Do you think you’re worthy?” “My wife,” he declared, “should be kind and generous, like Kathy.” He gently took out a handkerchief and dabbed at Kathy’s tears. I looked up and saw the unmistakable glint of triumph in her eyes, even as she put on a show of magnanimity. “Carter, don’t say that about my sister,” she murmured. “She’s just a little jealous, a little malicious, a little short-sighted, a little prone to twisting the truth, and she lives in a fantasy world where she’s the real heiress. Other than that, she has no bad intentions.” There are moments when you’re so speechless, all you can do is laugh. Carter Vance. His family’s minor fortune was built on the scraps my family let fall from our table. And he was accusing me of being a gold digger? I wasn’t that desperate, and I certainly wasn’t that stupid. A perfect pair of deluded clowns. Before I could respond, Kathy’s friends started in with their jeers. “Look at the expression on her face. You’re just dying of jealousy, aren’t you, Aria? Mr. Vance himself has declared he’ll only marry Kathy. You’re just a pathetic sideshow. Crawl back to whatever hole you came from.” Someone else snickered. “You don’t think she still believes she’s the heiress, still dreams of marrying Mr. Vance, do you?” “Oh my god, throwing herself at him like that. It’s so shameless.” Kathy chose that moment to deliver the killing blow, her voice dripping with pity. “Please, try to understand. I was born lucky. She was born in the wilderness, without parents, sold by her relatives into a forced marriage with a man in his sixties. She’s starved for affection, which is why she acts out like this. We should show more compassion for someone with such psychological trauma.” In my twenty-odd years, I had never encountered such a stunning level of shamelessness. Everything she had just described was her own life story. If my parents hadn’t found and adopted her when they did, she’d already have a couple of kids with that sixty-year-old geezer by now. “Kathy, it sounds like you’re the one with psychological trauma,” I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. “If I had known you were this kind of person, I would have begged my parents to leave you to rot with that old man for the rest of your life.” Kathy’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “I knew it,” she sobbed. “I knew you’d turn it back on me. Does it make you happy to blame me for everything bad that’s ever happened? Fine. Let’s say it’s all true. Does that make you feel better? Will you stop having these episodes and scaring our guests now?” Ethan had had enough. “Aria, that’s it! This family would be better off raising a dog than raising you!” He motioned for Mason to go to the study and retrieve a document. When Mason returned with a share transfer agreement and I saw Kathy’s name written on it, it felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. A collective gasp went through the room. It was for sixty percent of Sterling Corp.’s shares. Enough to give someone controlling interest in the entire company. Before I left for my study abroad program, my father had shown me that very document, with my name on it. He’d told me it would be my birthday present when I returned. My father would never lie to me. Which meant Ethan and Mason had. “Read it and weep,” Ethan said, shoving the document into my face. “It’s Dad’s signature and his official seal, in black and white. If you were the real heiress, why wouldn’t your name be on it?” He threw the papers at my face, unafraid that I might tear them up. If I did, in front of all these people, it would be an admission of guilt. The signature was my father’s. The seal was the one he kept locked in his safe. My vision went dark. A terrifying thought clawed at my mind: had these two soulless monsters done something to my father? I immediately dismissed it. I had just spoken to Mom and Dad on the phone before coming home. They said they’d be back tomorrow. Kathy sidled up to me, a smug, venomous smile on her face. “My dear sister, you can try to steal my identity all you want, but a fake can never be real. It’s just your bad luck to have been born in the middle of nowhere.” “But don’t you worry,” she cooed. “Since you’re my living blood bank, and I’ve been your sister for all these years, I’ll take good care of you.” She waved over a short, overweight man from across the room. The man rubbed his hands together and lurched toward me with a foolish grin. I dodged out of his way just in time. It was Mrs. Davison’s son, a man with the mental capacity of a five-year-old. The sight of the drool glistening on his chin made my stomach turn. Ethan’s voice cut through my revulsion. “What are you dodging for? You’re about to marry him. He’s going to be your husband. It’s not like letting him hug you will kill you.” Mrs. Davison’s eyes lit up with glee. I stared at my brother, my mind reeling. Had I heard him correctly, or had he lost his mind? Mason shoved me impatiently. “You’re a ruined girl from the backwoods who’s already been sullied by a sixty-year-old man. You’re lucky this simpleton will even have you. Kathy is so kind-hearted, she’s even letting you use her birthday party as your wedding celebration. We’re your brothers, and we’re making this decision for you. You’re getting married, right now. After you’re married, if you learn to behave, we might still treat you like a sister.” Kathy giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Aria, you hit Mrs. Davison earlier, and she hasn’t even held it against you. Why don’t you kneel and serve her a cup of tea as her new daughter-in-law? Then we can all move on. If you give her a healthy grandson soon, I’m sure a nice woman like her will treat you well.” “Yes, yes!” the housekeeper cackled. “Serve the tea, and you’ll be my daughter-in-law. You can sleep with my son tonight!” Rage, white-hot and blinding, surged through me. I kicked out, sending Mrs. Davison sprawling to the floor, where she began to wail and cry. My face was a cold mask. “You dare touch me, and my parents will peel the skin from your bones when they get back.” She flinched, her wails instantly quieting to a whimper. “And you,” I said, turning to my brothers, my voice trembling with fury. “Ethan, Mason. If you go through with this today, I swear Mom and Dad will never forgive you.” The guests murmured amongst themselves, but no one stepped forward to help. “Well, at least she’ll still be living in the Sterling mansion. Since she’s Miss Kathy’s blood bank, they won’t treat her too badly.” “Exactly. She’s already been with a sixty-year-old. At least this one’s young. She’s actually trading up. What’s she complaining about?” Mason strode over and grabbed my arms, his grip like iron. “Which foot did you kick Mrs. Davison with? This one, right?” He kicked the back of my knee. The first time, I managed to stay standing through the searing pain. The second kick sent me crashing to the floor. I bit my lip, tasting blood, and struggled to get up. “Let go of me! I am the real Sterling heiress! Kathy is the imposter!” No one listened. I heard someone laugh and say my delusions were acting up again. Ethan’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Stealing Kathy’s things is one thing, but raising a hand to your own mother-in-law? As the eldest son of this family, it’s my duty to teach you some manners.” One pinned my shoulders while the other forced my head towards the floor. The simple-minded man lunged forward, his weight pressing me down, his drool-flecked voice chanting, “Bedtime, bedtime.” I couldn’t move. Tears of humiliation and despair streamed down my face. And just then, a familiar, furious voice roared from the entrance. “STOP! What in God’s name do you think you’re doing to my daughter?!”

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In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

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