Category: English

I cut my wrist to feed Dominic Keller my blood, keeping him alive while we were trapped in the blizzard. My own sacrifice cost me the feeling in my legs, frostbite stealing my mobility and leaving me a vegetable for five years. The exact moment my consciousness flickered back to life, the first sound I heard was his voice—a clear, even cadence—speaking to a doctor. “Mr. Keller, your wife is stable and shows promising signs of awakening. Are you absolutely certain about proceeding with euthanasia?” Dominic’s voice was too calm, too rational. “Money is no object, but I’ve invested five years of my life into this. I’m tapped out. She’s not living like this. It’s better to just let her go.” A searing, dizzying acidity flooded my heart. Five years had changed everything. The man who had once wept, begging me not to die, had finally been taken by the relentless, erosive march of time. … The sound of footsteps stopped beside the bed, and I lifted my head to see Dominic for the first time in five years. He wasn’t as frantic or elated as I had imagined. His gaze held a strange, complicated opacity. He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a quiet, almost perfunctory question. “Is there anything you need? Anywhere you feel pain? I’ll call the doctor.” My throat was desert dry, but no sound would come out. I could only offer a slow, almost imperceptible shake of my head. The atmosphere in the sterile room was suffocatingly quiet. It shattered when the door flew open and a bright, quick voice chirped, “Dom, you promised we’d head out to get my birthday sapphire!” The young woman who burst in froze immediately, our eyes locking. Her smile—so wide, so radiant—collapsed entirely. Hesitantly, she looked toward Dominic. Dominic shifted, an awkward flush creeping up his neck. He avoided her gaze and offered a quick, strained explanation to me. “Jen, this is my assistant, Skylar Reed.” Skylar obviously resented the clinical title, but she merely blinked, her eyes clouding with tears, and said nothing. I lowered my gaze, a dull ache throbbing in my chest. The girl, Skylar, was the ghost of my twenty-five-year-old self. Young, vibrant, with that distinctive smile that crinkled her nose and exposed the youthful prominence of her canine teeth. It was the look Dominic had always claimed to love the most. He seemed desperate to escape the tense bubble we were in. He took Skylar’s elbow and ushered her out. Moments later, the medical team swept in for my full physical assessment. The diagnosis was a formal confirmation of what I already knew: I was awake, but the damage to my legs was permanent. I would likely never stand unaided again. It wasn’t a shock. I hadn’t expected to live through the blizzard in the first place. For the next few days, Dominic came with clockwork regularity. He was skilled and meticulous: he massaged my withered legs, he peeled fruit for me with practiced ease. But he was quiet. When I tried to engage him, he would only listen patiently, offering no real response, no argument, just silence. He operated on a strict schedule, leaving precisely the moment the sun began to dip below the horizon. Every time I reached out to stop him, he would offer the same dismissive excuse. “I have work to handle, Jen. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The hospital door closed yet again. I stared blankly at the fading afternoon light, and the muffled chatter of the nurses in the hall drifted in, every cruel word audible. “Did you hear? The vegetable who’s been comatose for five years finally woke up.” “Can you believe it? And her husband was about to pull the plug, right?” My fingers, resting on the blanket, curled into a fist. I hadn’t had the chance to understand the last five years of Dominic’s life. He had stonewalled every question. “You don’t know the half of it. Her husband is loaded. He’s poured tens of millions into experimental treatments and imported meds just to keep her going.” The envy in the voice was palpable, before the tone soured. “But he has a new girl now. That’s why he wanted to sign the DNR.” The moment they mentioned the “new girl,” Skylar’s bright, hurt face flashed in my mind. The knowledge wasn’t new, but the blunt cruelty of it was. How could twenty years—a lifetime—with Dominic be dismissed so easily? It was the day I was discharged. As Dominic helped me into the car, I looked up at his chiseled profile and asked a question I knew was pointless. “Could you let your assistant go?” His hand, which was bracing my elbow, paused. He didn’t answer, instead deflecting as he always did. “The weather’s beautiful today. I thought we could stop by the waterfront for a bit of sun before heading home?” I tightened my grip on his wrist, holding him in place. “Dominic. What are you afraid of? You told me she was just your assistant.” The smile he’d been forcing evaporated completely. He pulled his wrist back sharply, creating a distance between us that was wider than the car seat. He took a deep, ragged breath. “Jenny, I didn’t beg you to save me five years ago.” The words were a gunshot. “I’ve done my duty, Jen. More than. I’ve wasted money, I’ve wasted my youth. If I had known… if I had known it would turn out like this, we should have just died together on that mountain!” My breath hitched. He saw the blank devastation in my eyes and suddenly deflated. “No, Skylar is not my assistant. We’ve been together for three years.” Dominic’s voice was hard and hollow. “It’s her birthday today. I need to be with her.” He threw the last words out and all but fled, a clear, wide distance between us, his escape executed with the panic of a trapped animal. I sat in the back of the car, silent and numb, watching the city blur outside the window. His words were a relentless loop in my mind. The driver dropped me off at the house. I pushed myself on the wheelchair toward the entrance. Five years had blurred my memory, but the emptiness of the house was immediate. It was not warm. It looked abandoned. Dust covered the furniture like a thin shroud. In the yard, the swing set Dominic had built for me was just two rotten posts holding up a splintered plank. It was all gone. The framed wedding photos had been taken down from the wall. I wheeled through the cavernous, empty living room. My bedroom only contained a bed draped in a protective plastic sheet. Seeing the evidence of his total abandonment, I closed my eyes and sighed. The haze behind my eyelids gathered into tears. We had been together for two decades. We met young, married young, and had spent years grinding it out in a cramped Lower East Side walk-up, working tirelessly until we finally made it in Manhattan. We used our first real money to buy this house—this impossible, beautiful place right on Long Island Sound, where Dominic said he could open the window and see the ocean every morning. I thought we had everything. For our honeymoon, I asked to see the sunrise from the peak of a remote mountain. He took me to the Wyoming backcountry. The weather turned on us, and we were caught in an unprecedented blizzard as we descended, scrambling into a shallow, desperate cave. He stripped the coat off his own back and wrapped me in it, trying to transfer what little warmth he had. We were trapped for seven days, without food or water. The relentless snow felt like a suffocating weight. “Jen, I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect you.” Dominic had clung to the guilt. But I never blamed him. To keep him from slipping away, I used my knife to slit my palm, guiding the thick, vital blood to his lips. My legs were already dead, numb. Every time I felt myself drifting, Dominic would pinch my wrist, shouting. “Jenny, you have to hold on! We promised forever. If you die, I won’t live either.” When the search and rescue team finally reached us, I was gone. As I lost consciousness, Dominic was sobbing like a child. He was pleading with me not to leave him. “Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you live. Even if it costs me my life.” “Don’t go too far ahead. Wait for me.” “When you wake up, I’ll still be your husband.” I wiped a slow tear from the corner of my eye, opening and closing my hand. When I had grabbed his wrist to stop him from leaving the hospital, I had felt the subtle, instantaneous tension of his withdrawal. I knew about his cleanliness obsession, but he had never once flinched from touching me before. Dominic had forgotten his promises. But he was right. He had done his duty for five years. I pulled out my phone and checked my accounts. The money I had set aside from before the coma was untouched. It would be enough to leave. I would give them their future. Dominic returned only after dark. He was carrying several large shopping bags filled with groceries and household essentials. When he saw me still in the desolate living room, he set the bags on the counter and knelt awkwardly in front of my wheelchair. His voice was softer, less strained. “Jen, don’t take what I said earlier to heart. I was just…” “I was just exhausted. For five years, I watched you lie there, motionless, and I felt so powerless. I often wondered why I was allowed to live.” He was explaining, carefully, cautiously. “After the accident, I couldn’t bear to be here. I haven’t lived here since. But don’t worry, I’ve hired a team of private aides. They’ll take care of everything now.” If I had heard this even a week ago, I might have been moved. But I knew the truth now: he had found someone better, someone easier. He stood up and glanced at the flight information glowing on my phone screen. He offered a light, almost forced smile. “Once your legs get a little stronger, we can travel. Anywhere you want. I’ll go with you.” I pursed my lips and simply nodded. Dominic glanced at his watch. “I have to go now.” “Skylar has a temper. If she thinks I’m here… hands-on… she’ll get upset.” His tone was hesitant, laced with a testing uncertainty, as if he expected me to throw a scene. I let out a silent sigh. “I know. I’ll take care of myself.” A flash of genuine surprise crossed his face. I shifted my gaze, unable to bear the sight of his shock at my sudden compliance. Before he could say anything else, his phone rang sharply. Skylar’s complaining voice was audible even before he answered. He spoke to her patiently, his tone gentle, utterly lacking the frustration he showed me. I sat in the wheelchair, watching my husband console his mistress. In this house, the house we built, I felt like the intruder, the inconvenience. I looked at Dominic, almost avariciously, searching for a glimmer of the man who had loved me. There was none. As he visibly prepared to bolt, I asked the question again, my voice flat. “When will we file for divorce? When will you give your little girlfriend her official title?” His forced smile snapped. He frowned. “Don’t start with this, Jen. I have to go. I’ll call you.” The door slammed shut again, the sound echoing through the empty house. As promised, Dominic had arranged my life perfectly. The private aides were fastidious, helping me transition from bed to chair, assisting with bathing to prevent falls. He was the only thing missing. When I eventually asked for his new contact information, he was immediately defensive, irritable. “Jenny, I have a career. I can’t be glued to you twenty-four-seven.” “You have the aides. Ask them.” “I’m not giving you my new cell number. You’ll probably spend the whole month’s retainer just on talking to me.” After hearing variations of this a hundred times, I learned my lesson. For a full month, I never once contacted him. I thought this was how my life would be—a quiet, supported end. Then, Dominic suddenly remembered me. He brought Skylar to the house. Skylar was dressed impeccably, a new, glittering ring on her finger that perfectly matched the one on Dominic’s. They were standing before me, fingers interlaced. Skylar smiled brightly as she greeted me. “Jen, my friend is a rehabilitation specialist. He’s seen loads of cases like yours. With intense physical therapy, there’s a real chance you could walk again.” Dominic looked at me, his mouth curved in an approving smile. “Skylar’s friend is notoriously hard to book, Jen. You should really thank her.” Watching their nauseating, performative intimacy, a bitter taste filled my mouth. Doctors had given up; this “friend” was clearly an invention. Before I could decline, Skylar stepped forward and pressed down on my immobile legs. She leaned close, dropping her voice to a vicious, barely audible whisper. “Jenny Walsh, you’re dead weight. Do you really not know how to leave gracefully?” “Dom was listening to me. He was going to put you to sleep. Why not just go back to sleep and die in peace? It’s less suffering.” Her fingertips dug hard into my damaged thigh. The shock of the sharp, targeted pain was so jarring that I reflexively pushed her away. To Dominic, however, it looked like I had intentionally attacked her. His face darkened instantly. He caught Skylar, helped her up, and, without asking what happened, began to lecture me. “Jenny, a little gratitude is required! I know you’re frustrated, but Skylar is only trying to help.” He took a sharp breath, his tone turning to pure, withering sarcasm. “They say disability changes people, makes them bitter. I never believed it, but you’re proving them right. You genuinely disappoint me.” After his explosive outburst, Dominic fired the aides. He glanced back at me before he left. “Since you think you’re so capable, you can manage for yourself now.” “Don’t come crawling to Skylar for help.” Without assistance, I couldn’t do anything. Getting into the wheelchair meant struggling and pulling myself up. Showering was terrifying, always a hair’s breadth from a fall. Three days later, I slipped in the bathroom, fell, and broke my arm. Dominic only rushed to the hospital when the surgeon required a spouse to sign the consent form. He saw my ashen face. Something in the sight of my injury must have triggered a wave of guilt, and he started to apologize, his words tripping over themselves. “I was just so angry last time. I’m sorry, honey. So sorry.” “It’s fine.” I cut him off, stopping his weak justifications dead in his throat. Dominic looked confused, perhaps expecting the usual fight, the hysterical scene, the demand for explanations. He assumed my silence meant I would eventually fight, that I would always demand the terms of our marriage. “You’ve thought it through?” he asked, wary. I nodded, the words coming out calmly, naturally. “You’ve done enough for me over the years. You’re right. I can’t hold your freedom hostage just because I saved your life.” I had finally seen the full picture. Twenty years of love had been obliterated by five years of my absence. But Dominic didn’t look relieved. His face cycled through shock and fear. He mumbled, “Jenny, please. Don’t do this.” For the next few days in the hospital, Dominic stayed, a constant shadow. He took over the role of a personal aide, meticulous and attentive. He even tried to chat, weaving stories about a future we could have. “When you’re stronger, we’ll go to Finland to see the Northern Lights.” “And Iceland. The hot springs are incredible.” I looked calmly at his profile. I had already seen those places. I had seen them on his social media feeds—with Skylar. The landscape photos, the shared meals, the staged selfies in front of their new house by the other coastline. Suddenly, I was just tired of the charade. As he sunk deeper into his fabricated future, I cut him short. “Christmas is almost here. Can you meet me at Rockefeller Plaza that day? I have something to tell you.” Dominic agreed immediately. On Christmas Day, I arrived at Rockefeller Plaza at the agreed-upon time. After twenty years together, it was time for a clean, definitive farewell. The plaza was packed, but I saw him instantly. And I saw Skylar standing right beside him. “You promised you would divorce her. We’ve been waiting for three years.” Skylar was having a full meltdown, clinging to his arm. “Jenny is dead weight now. How much longer are you going to let her cling to you?” She grabbed his hand. “Divorce her, Dom. And make her our witness. I’ve already set the wedding date: January fifteenth.” January fifteenth. The exact date, five years ago, that we were trapped in the blizzard. Dominic didn’t agree, but he didn’t push her away, either. He hesitated. That was all I needed. The stone in my heart finally dropped with a quiet, relieving thud. I looked down at my phone—the boarding pass was already open. I pushed the wheelchair forward, away from them, and did not look back.

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After I broke up with him, he cried to his best friend every day. “I dreamed about her again last night.” His best friend was annoyed: “Only dead people visit in dreams.” Jayden sobbed: “Then she must have died for our love.” The response was cold: “Only vengeful ghosts haunt people.” Jayden: “But we made eye contact in the dream.” The friend was exasperated: “Pigs look up before they’re slaughtered.” Later, his best friend met me and froze on the spot. After a while, his ears turned red, and he gritted his teeth. “Didn’t you say she was ugly and bad, a cheater who likes pretty boys?” Jayden giggled: “I was afraid you’d steal her.” His best friend sneered: “Jayden, I’ve had a crush on her for six years.” “You despised her for liking pretty boys, so beat it.” “I’m somewhat attractive; I’ll court her first!” 01 I broke up with Jayden. This trust fund baby truly didn’t know the hardships of life. I borrowed some money from him for my sister’s medical bills, and he just gave me bullshit, saying: “Women should be independent. You can definitely earn enough money yourself!” “Besides, going Dutch is popular in dating now. It’s good enough that I don’t make you split the bills when we eat out.” “I have $50,000, but I don’t want to give it to you. I don’t want our pure love tainted by the smell of money.” “Furthermore, I believe you’re definitely not a gold digger, baby.” Believe my ass. I am a gold digger. A gambling dad, a sick mom, a disabled sister, and miserable me. If I didn’t find a way to get some money, I really couldn’t survive. But speaking of which, I wasn’t really digging for gold. I’d been this rich kid’s on-call nanny for almost six months. At first, he agreed to $2,000 a month. The result was he paid the first month, and then just gave me bullshit about how talking about money hurts feelings. Psycho. Jayden cried pathetically, reaching out to pull me: “Baby, don’t go, I don’t want to break up with you.” I held out my hand for money: “Then lend me $50,000.” Jayden: “That won’t work.” I rolled my eyes, shook him off, and left directly. Wasting my time. With this time, I could have polished shoes for Young Master Luke, brought breakfast for Miss Song, and earned a cool thousand. My sister was still lying in the hospital bed waiting for my money to get a prosthetic limb. 02 I brought brunch for my roommate, the rich girl Sarah Song, and hesitated to ask for a loan. After listening to the reason, Sarah gave it readily. “No rush to pay it back, treating your sister is important.” “We are classmates, I’ll take the IOU, no need for interest, I don’t lack this bit.” I was extremely grateful and took the money to the hospital. Just after paying the fees, I was called by a familiar male voice. Jayden was heartbroken: “Where did your money come from?” “We just broke up, and you are with another man for money?” His brain circuit was abnormal, sensitive and fragile. I didn’t bother to argue with him and said bluntly: “We have already broken up, leave me alone.” He raised his hand to wipe his tears and turned away stubbornly: “You will definitely regret it.” “Only I truly love you, those who give you money are fake.” I looked at the $50,000 displayed on the mobile banking app and couldn’t help but sneer. The stinking rich kid was declaring his love manifesto here again. Fake or not, wouldn’t I know? The saying “where the money is, the love is,” I understood from a young age. When I was little, I remember clearly how my dad got drunk and held all the family’s savings with both hands to give to his mistress. Jayden didn’t even want to lend me money, let alone spend it on me. Now, he even ran to the hospital to step on me. How much does he really like me? 03 Sarah teased me: “Heard you broke up with Jayden?” “You don’t know, he cries to his buddy every day now.” “Yesterday he got dead drunk outside, and the chat records on his phone were photographed and posted.” “I’ll forward them to you, it’s hilarious.” Her family and the Jay family didn’t get along. The more miserable Jayden was, the happier she felt. My phone screen broke yesterday, only half of it was lit. Sarah glanced at it and frowned: “It’s broken like this, and you’re still using it?” Then, she remembered my family situation and sighed. Got out of bed and rummaged through her suitcase. “Here, my old phone that I used before, take it.” I was flattered: “How can I accept this?” She changed phones quickly. Although it was old, it was 90% new. The brand was good, an iPhone worth eight or nine thousand. Sarah didn’t care: “Just consider it my good deed for the day.” “Okay, okay, don’t be touched, quickly look at the chat records and laugh with me.” “By the way, his buddy seems to be from the same high school as you.” “His name is William Wen, do you remember him?” 04 I seem to remember a little bit, but not much. I only knew that he was another existence like a trust fund baby in the capital circle. Sarah said: “William Wen’s grandmother was in poor health, so he went to your small county town to study in order to spend more time with the old lady.” “He’s handsome and has good grades, and is currently studying abroad.” There seemed to be such a person deep in my memory. But it was too far away. People like him, proud sons of heaven, never had any contact with small figures like me. I lowered my head and looked at the chat records. The afternoon before yesterday at 3:00 PM Jayden: “Bro, I still can’t forget her.” “Even though she is so bad to me, greedy for money and lustful, I still can’t forget her, it’s so painful.” William: “Oh.” Last night at ten o’clock Jayden: “Bro…” William: “Get lost.” Jayden: “Boohoo, I got drunk and dreamed of her again.” “Do you think she might also be unable to forget me and is visiting me in dreams?” William: “Only dead people visit in dreams.” Jayden: “Then she must have died for our love.” William: “Can you not be so confident?” “Even if she died for love, could she find you? Is she a vengeful ghost haunting you?” Jayden: “But we made eye contact in the dream, she just looked reluctant to part with me.” William: “…” “Pigs look up before they’re slaughtered. She probably hates you to the bone when she looks at you.” Jayden: “It’s okay if she hates me, it’s better than forgetting each other in the world.” “Bro, what time does your plane land? Can you come drink with me?” William: “Not going.” Jayden: “Please.” “I’ll call you Dad for a month.” William: “Disgusting.” Jayden: “?” 05 Sarah urged me to scroll down. “There’s more, there’s more.” I scrolled to the bottom, the last picture was full of the word “please”. Four o’clock in the morning. Jayden: “I still want to get back together with her.” William: “She was a pig in her past life, I wasted a whole night persuading you.” Jayden: “Bro, help me think of a way to pursue her.” “Really begging you, this time I won’t put on airs, even if she asks me to be a simp, a backup, I’ll accept it.” “I really can’t leave her.” William: “Get lost.” Jayden: “Bro, come beg her with me.” “We’ll kneel downstairs at her dorm for three days and three nights, she will definitely be moved, and will definitely be willing to get back together with me.” “I want her to see my determination.” William: “?” “Are you typing in English? How come I can’t understand?” Jayden: “Please bro, help me beg her together boohoo.” William: “Wait, I’m contacting a mental hospital for you right now.” 06 I hissed, feeling a bit tricky. It was just a normal breakup. Now that Jayden has made such a fuss, everyone in his circle knows about it. How can I make money in the future? This guy really has no morals. A qualified ex should be like dead. What is the point of making it known to everyone? The phone ding-donged, a new message popped up. Jayden requested to add you as a friend. In the verification message, it was his request. “Baby, can you meet me tonight?” “I’ll wait for you downstairs at your dorm.” “I also brought my bro…” A new friend request was sent again, the verification message filled in was: “Ah… the message above is ambiguous, I didn’t mean to threaten you.” “I brought my bro because I wanted him to help me translate.” “I have low EQ, and I always make you angry when I speak, “My bro has high EQ, you will definitely like to hear what he translates for me.” 07 I didn’t want to go to the appointment. I was also afraid that Jayden would really kneel downstairs at the dorm. After much hesitation, I still dawdled downstairs. The cold wind whistled, and some light snow floated. From a distance, I saw two people standing under the street lamp. One’s knees were bent downwards, as if about to kneel. While kneeling, he was also pulling the other one: “Please bro, just kneel with me.” “If she comes out and sees the two of us kneeling together, she will definitely soften her heart, and once she softens her heart, she will definitely be willing to get back together with me.” The other person’s face was dark, and he lifted his foot to kick him away: “I think there is something wrong with your brain.” “Never seen anyone as cheap as you, rushing to be a simp.” I stopped. What if it’s awkward to go out now? As if sensing my gaze, the person standing lifted his eyes and looked towards me. His lips were slightly pursed, his brows and eyes were cold, and the glance he looked over seemed to carry the chill of frost and snow. Cold into people’s hearts. After seeing my face clearly, he frowned, took two steps forward, and then paused on the spot. Jayden sensed his movement, raised his head, and looked over along with him. Then, he was ecstatic. “Baby, I knew you would come out!” “Are you reluctant to part with me, distressed for me?” “It’s okay, I’m not cold, my knees don’t hurt either, it hasn’t even been a minute since I knelt.” I was annoyed with him in my heart, and was about to speak. A male voice got ahead of me, containing anger: “Didn’t you say she was fat and ugly, and greedy for money and lustful?” Me: “?”

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The night before my wedding, I slept with the woman I’d loved for ten years. When the dawn light spilled across the deep crimson stain on the white sheets, I knew I was ruined. A day later, I broke my vow, canceling the society wedding of the year in front of a ballroom packed with every friend and family member we knew. Everyone was waiting—waiting for Sarah, my fiancée, to slap the arrogance right off my face. But she didn’t. She simply walked toward me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Gabe,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “You have to be happy.” I had no way of knowing then, standing numb on the stage, that this hurried, forgiving hug would become a luxury I would spend the rest of my life desperate to touch again. 1 The snap of a lighter breaking the silence woke the woman sleeping next to me. Emily Hale rolled off the bed, stumbling as she scrambled to find the heap of tangled clothes on the floor. “Gabe…” Her voice trembled. “We were drunk last night. We have to bury this, okay? Just go. Please, I’m begging you.” The smoke curled up, weaving a translucent curtain between us. I looked at the woman I had loved—unconditionally, obsessively—for a decade. From eighteen to twenty-eight. My gaze, my heart, every single sober and hazy thought I’d ever had, they all pointed back to her. She had no idea the kind of seismic damage she was capable of. Just standing there, pulling on a shirt, she was more potent than everything else in the world combined. I stubbed the cigarette out in the saucer and gripped her wrist, her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers. “Do you want to leave with me? Right now.” “You’re out of your mind…” Her pupils reflected a kind of wild-eyed panic I’d never seen from her before. “Yes, I am. I don’t want to spend the next few decades regretting why I didn’t take you with me today.” I picked up my phone and dialed Cameron Foster’s number. His laugh was quick and easy on the receiver. “You finally picked up! I just dropped the fireworks off at the hotel. The crew is leaving for your place any minute. Get ready, man, don’t hold up the motorcade.” My hand was sweating around the phone, my throat constricted. The practiced speech I’d rehearsed in my head suddenly felt impossible to deliver. “Cam,” I cut him off. “The wedding… can we stop it now?” The line went silent for two agonizing seconds. “…What are you talking about?” “I said, I want to cancel the wedding. Is it too late?” “Gabriel Ashton!” Cam’s voice became immediately grave. “Where the hell are you right now? Your parents are here, Sav’s parents are here, all your family, every friend you’ve ever had! This is not the time to debate whether you’re in love! You chose the date, you sent the invitations, you proposed! This is about responsibility! This is a commitment to everyone! Whatever massive crisis you’re having, deal with it after the ceremony! Get your ass home now!” “I cheated.” The other end went dead quiet. “What?” “I cheated on Sav.” I repeated it, the words tasting like ash. “I can’t lie to her anymore. And I can’t lie to myself.” “Gabe… you selfish son of a bitch!” Cam’s voice twisted with fury. “You’ve been distracted since you took that goddamn phone call at the bachelor dinner last night! I shouldn’t have let you leave! I can’t fix this! You need to go talk to the bride!” He slammed the phone down. Sarah. The bride today. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t even bring myself to scroll to her contact. “Stop, Gabe. Just stop.” Emily’s voice sounded, closer now. She was fully dressed and standing by the door. “Last night was… an accident. Neither of us meant for it to happen. I don’t need you to be responsible for me, and I certainly don’t need you to destroy your life as penance.” She lowered her gaze. “This is where it ends. I’m leaving.” Before I could process it, she opened the door and hurried out. “Emily… don’t go!” I frantically scrambled on the carpet, gathering my clothes. When I charged down the stairs, throwing on my jacket, the street was already empty. She was like a cool gust of wind through a hallway, vanishing before my eyes yet again. The sudden chime of my phone made me jump. It was Sarah. My fiancée. My finger hovered over the screen, but I hit Decline. I immediately pulled up Emily’s number. Before I could dial, a text from Cam slid across the screen: Sav is here. My heart plummeted. “Where?” At your place, the reply came. She said she couldn’t get hold of you all morning, worried you were too stressed with planning, so she came herself. Gabe, I’m giving you one last piece of advice. Don’t choose the path that will make you regret everything. The phone slipped from my sweaty palm and clattered at my feet. Regret? Yes. I’d regretted this wedding since the day I first said yes to it. 2 Emily Hale was the only light that had ever pierced my dark years. I was eighteen. My parents had just finalized their vicious divorce, and I was diagnosed with severe depression. Our first meeting was at a specialized treatment facility outside the city. She was a volunteer. I was a patient. She carried a unique, steady energy. I found that just being near her could quiet the frantic static in my mind. She was patient and relentlessly genuine. She possessed a kind of raw vitality that felt utterly out of place in the sterile environment. But I was too broken then to understand what love really was. Two years later, my condition stabilized. My father pulled me out and transferred me to a new prep school. We parted abruptly, without even exchanging numbers. We didn’t meet again for five years. It was at a stuffy business dinner—a blind date set up by my father—where I was a customer and she was a waitress. The moment I saw her face, my breath hitched. I stood up and pulled her straight out of the restaurant. That night, we talked for hours in the old parking lot of the treatment center, trying to piece together the five years we’d lost. The news eventually reached my father. After a thunderous rage, Emily disappeared from my life a second time. To the outside world, I was the gilded heir—great family, smooth path ahead. But only I knew I had no right to choose the woman I slept beside. Sarah Reed entered my life around then. She was intelligent, graceful, and impeccably mannered. Her family’s pedigree and social circle were flawless. Everyone—especially my father—agreed she was the perfect match. But I didn’t love her. Had Emily never existed, perhaps I would have eventually fallen for this kind, gentle woman. But then, the night before our wedding, she showed up. “Gabe!” A sharp shout came from behind me. It was Cam. “What are you doing here?” Before I could finish, he grabbed my collar. “You’re going straight back home to kneel and apologize! Sarah will forgive you for the sake of the family!” I forcefully pushed his hand away. “Cam, don’t casually interfere in someone else’s karma. I will never forgive you if you do.” I still remember saying that. They say a man is a boy until he dies. But the truth is, the path you didn’t take in your youth becomes the root of every regret and every fantasy for the rest of your life. As we stood there, deadlocked, my father arrived. He shoved me into his car and drove me directly to the hotel ballroom. I was pulled into a tux, had my tie straightened. A puppet pushed onto a stage. The moment the spotlight hit me, I was utterly disoriented. Then, the crystal doors opened slowly. Behind the lace, I was hoping to see a different face. A voice screamed in my head: You’ve lost her forever. This is your last chance. The officiant’s voice cut through the silence. “Whether in poverty or wealth, in sickness or in health, do you, Gabriel, take Sarah…” “No!” I cut him off. “I do not.” I pulled back the ring I was about to hand over. “I’m sorry, Sav. This ring… it’s waiting for its true owner. The person I love has never been you.” The ballroom fell into a suffocating silence. Everyone was waiting for it—waiting for the loud, satisfying slap to connect with my cheek. But the predicted blow never landed. She simply walked toward me and pulled me into a gentle hug. “Gabe, I’ll handle the aftermath. Use the side door.” She paused, her breath warm against my ear. “Promise me you’ll be happy.” 3 Time stopped right then. I looked down at her, dumbfounded. Maybe, in the last three years, I’d never truly understood the woman standing in front of me. The crowd began to stir. I didn’t think twice. I ripped the boutonniere from my lapel and ran, not looking back, toward the exit. “You idiot! Where are you going?” My father’s enraged roar followed me. I stopped, turning to face his livid expression. “Dad! I refuse to repeat the tragedy you and Mom created. This time, please let me choose for myself. For better or worse, I will take the full blame.” Then I turned and walked away. Outside, the skies were dark with storm clouds. I pressed my hands to my chest. My heart was pounding like a drum. It was that long-lost, visceral feeling of being truly alive. My first destination was the small town in the Asheville region. Emily had vaguely mentioned she was going back to visit her mother, who was ill. Just before takeoff, my phone rang again. It was Cam. I took a deep breath before answering. “No scolding, brother. Just wish me luck. I finally did one thing for myself in this life. Please, handle the fallout at the hotel for me. Tell everyone I’m truly sorry. I’ll compensate for all the losses, double.” Cam was silent for a few seconds. “What about Sarah? How will you compensate her?” “…Sav?” “She’s standing right outside the hotel, bowing and apologizing to every single guest who leaves.” His voice was heavy with disappointment. “Gabe, you have no idea what you just threw away.” My breath caught in my throat. The image of her gentle hug flashed in my mind. I closed my eyes. “Sav… I’m leaving her in your hands.” I hung up and set my phone to silent. No one and nothing would stop me from chasing that guiding light now. The plane landed, and the humid, earthy air of the South hit me. The moment I powered up my phone, a photo popped up. It was a desolate silhouette. A girl in a wedding dress, barefoot, walking through the rain, holding her high heels. The hem of the beautiful gown was stained with mud. I knew that dress. A couture gown, a limited-edition piece flown in from Milan. The wedding dress Sav had been most excited about. A dull ache started in my chest. I immediately called Cam back. “Why didn’t anyone get her? How could you let her walk alone in the rain?” “Let her vent. After this, she’ll forget you.” Cam’s voice was flat. “Gabe, as of today, we are no longer friends.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose, frustrated. “Cam, you’ve never truly loved anyone, so you don’t get it. When you meet the person who makes your heart ache down to your bones, you throw everything away. She is the only reason you have to live.” “No, I don’t want to hear your philosophy right now.” He cut me off. “From now on, I’ll be the one protecting Sav. Which is why we can’t be brothers anymore.” “…What did you just say?” 4 He hung up instantly. I stood there, turning in a slow circle, phone in hand. Cam loved Sav? Since when? A spot in my left ribcage suddenly felt impossibly heavy. I dialed Sarah’s number, almost by instinct. She answered a few seconds later. “Where are you?” “Huh? Me… I’m almost home.” Her voice was muffled, wrapped in the sound of wind and rain. “Look behind you. Is Cam there?” Silence fell on the line. Then, I heard her quietly draw a shaky breath. “Gabe, did you find her?” “…Who?” “That girl in your heart. I’ve handled everything else, don’t worry. You might need to spend some time calming your uncle down, though. Anyway, I have to go. I’m almost home.” I could hear her faint shivers in the background. I could picture her soaked to the bone, standing in the cold rain, looking miserable. The words of apology caught in my throat. The most important thing now was to find Emily. I finally reached the small town Emily had described just before nightfall. When I went to pay the taxi driver, I found my bank account had been frozen. My father’s revenge. My first thought was to call Cam, but his attitude had infuriated me. After much hesitation, I had no choice but to call Sarah. The line was silent for a long time. “…Fine. I understand.” Soon, a text message came through. I accessed the account number she provided and quickly paid the fare. “Sav, thank you. I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” “No need. That money was your initial down payment to my family. Transfer it to a secure card as soon as you can. Then, we’re even.” Even? “Are you still mad at me?” “Gabe, I haven’t blocked you because those three years weren’t entirely a lie. But that doesn’t mean you get to hurt me endlessly. Go after the happiness you want. If we keep talking, we’ll both just get hurt more.” The cursor blinked in the empty input box. I didn’t send anything. She was right. A greedy man doesn’t deserve a full life. I took a deep breath and continued my search. After half a night bouncing around in an old pickup, I finally found the village Emily had mentioned. The moment I saw her, bending over a well in a dilapidated courtyard, drawing water, a sharp pang hit me. “Emily!” The sound was a raw, unfamiliar croak. She straightened up and looked over. “How… how did you find me?” How did I find her? I didn’t know myself. Later that night, we held each other, exchanging whispered confessions. But somehow, the solitary image of the girl in the ruined wedding dress, walking barefoot in the rain, intruded into my mind without warning. I froze, and my voice caught. “Gabe,” Emily’s voice was unnervingly clear in the quiet. “Do you… regret it?” I unconsciously tightened my embrace. “Of course not. I’ve waited for this day for ten years.” From eighteen to twenty-eight, nearly all my love, my devotion, my fixation, had been poured into the woman in my arms. But why was that lost, desolate silhouette flashing in my mind right now? After Emily fell asleep, I sat on the stone steps outside for half the night, smoking, ash accumulating around my feet. The burning heat of the reckless courage that brought me here seemed to have suddenly extinguished. I found her. Now what? A new, cold wave of confusion washed over me. My phone screen was still paused on Sarah’s contact. I wanted to call. Even just to hear her breathe, or to say I was sorry. But what right did I have? Perhaps, the moment I turned my back and ran, I lost all claim to comfort her. The next morning, I hired a car and took Emily and her mother to the nearest regional hospital. The diagnosis was mid-stage liver cancer. The cash I had quickly ran out. The bank accounts were still frozen. With nowhere else to turn, I had to swallow my pride and open Sarah’s chat window again. “I’m sorry to bother you again… Are you liquid right now?” She skipped the small talk. “How much do you need?” “Half a million. Emily’s mother was diagnosed with liver cancer. The surgery and follow-up care need immediate funding, so…” “Okay.” “Sign the authorization papers for the marital condo and send them to me. The wedding jewelry should liquidate to about two hundred thousand. I’ll wire you that this afternoon. Take care of yourself out there.” The text on the screen made my chest clench with a terrifying emptiness. I was watching her systematically, cleanly, and with the utmost dignity, erase every trace of our shared past. Soon, the condo we’d decorated together was swiftly listed on a real estate site. The first person to contact me about it, however, was Cameron. I answered the call. No pleasantries. “Give me the jewelry, and give me the condo. From now on, you will not have any contact with Sarah.” “Why?” “Because she’s my girlfriend now.”

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On the day I divorced my fifty-year-old CEO husband, I wore a full face of makeup and a stunning scarlet dress. A flicker of annoyance crossed Arthur Sterling’s handsome, refined face. “Dressed like you’re getting married today?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. I fluffed my newly styled curls, a picture of a much younger, dashing face flashing in my mind. A genuine smile touched my lips. “I am.” “And it’s someone you know.” A cold sneer formed on his lips. “Everyone in my circle is famously devoted to their spouse. Did you even think before you came up with that lie?” I just shook my head and smiled. No need to explain. After all, he was already on his way. … In the car, Arthur didn’t head straight for the courthouse. He turned in the opposite direction. Meeting my questioning gaze, his tone was dismissive. “Catherine is coming with us. She’s waited over twenty years for this. I’m not making her wait a second longer.” So that’s how long our sham of a marriage had lasted. As we neared Catherine’s neighborhood, a new text came through. While I was replying, I slipped out of the car and bought a bottle of water from a convenience store. When I returned, the front passenger seat was occupied. “Sophie, I hope you don’t mind,” Catherine said, her voice cloyingly sweet. “I’m just so used to sitting up front with Arthur.” Why would I mind? We were on our way to get a divorce. As I reached for my handbag, Catherine gasped dramatically. “What a beautiful bag!” “Sophie, give the bag to Catherine,” Arthur commanded from the driver’s seat, his eyes fixed on the road. I was only trying to grab the small charm hanging from the strap, but he slammed on the brakes and whipped his head around. “I bought you that bag. Are you expecting me to pay you for it now?” I held up the cute little charm I’d just unclipped. “You didn’t buy me this.” His expression darkened, a strange look in his eyes. I placed the bag in Catherine’s lap. “I have plenty more at home, brand new. Give me your address, and I’ll send them all to you.” Arthur nodded, satisfied. “Sophie, as long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll make sure no one in our circle ever finds out about the divorce.” I didn’t answer. The man I was about to marry had no intention of keeping our marriage a secret. My phone began to vibrate insistently. I leaned against the window and answered in a low voice. It was him. He was on the plane. A small smile played on my lips as I whispered, “Okay.” Arthur caught my reflection in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing at my smile. A surge of irritation washed over him. He was about to demand who I was talking to when Catherine, in the front seat, let out a deep sigh. Her hand absently stroked the bag in her lap. “What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, his voice softening as he turned to her at a red light. Catherine quickly covered a spot on the bag, her eyes darting away. “It’s… it’s nothing…” Sensing something was wrong, Arthur snatched the bag from her. A long, fresh scratch marred the expensive leather. It was impossible to miss. His anger flared. He threw the bag at me. I was looking out the window, completely unprepared. It hit my arm with a solid thud. My hand jerked, accidentally ending the call. But I wasn’t finished talking. Ignoring Arthur, I immediately tried to redial. The call had just connected when Arthur got out of the car, stormed over to my side, and snatched the phone from my hand. He threw it to the ground. A passing car crushed it instantly. “Arthur, you…” Before I could finish, he had dragged me out of the car. My high heels caught on the pavement, and a sharp pain shot through my ankle as it twisted beneath me. I stumbled, unable to stand. Seeing my swollen ankle, Arthur let go of my arm in disgust. “I asked you to give her a bag, and you scratch it first? Sophie, I never knew you were so manipulative!” He didn’t even ask. He just pronounced me guilty. I looked up at Catherine in the car. She quickly averted her gaze, her hands nervously fidgeting with her dress. Ever since she had reappeared in his life, I had become the most manipulative woman in the world in Arthur’s eyes. Marrying him to save his family’s company from financial ruin? Manipulative, using gratitude as a weapon. Working my fingers to the bone to grow his business? Manipulative, using his connections as a launchpad for myself. Agreeing to the divorce to let him be with her? Manipulative, a calculated retreat to gain the upper hand. In the past, I would have patiently explained, defended myself. But not today. I was done. “You’re right. I didn’t want to give it to her. I wanted to piss her off. Are you satisfied?” Biting back the searing pain in my ankle, I forced myself to stand and limped towards the sidewalk without a backward glance. Arthur, I’m done chasing after you, done explaining myself. He stood by the car, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Fine, Sophie! You admitted it! So don’t blame me for leaving you here. You can walk to the courthouse yourself!” Leaving me behind? Wasn’t that his specialty when it came to Catherine? He’d walked out on our wedding reception because of a text from her, leaving me to face our guests alone. He’d left me shivering in the cold for two hours after a gala because he’d secretly gone to pick her up. He’d abandoned me in a foreign country in the middle of a business trip because she’d called him, not even bothering with an explanation. My heart had long since turned to ice. By the time I reached the courthouse, my ankle was a swollen, angry mess. Every step sent a wave of cold sweat down my back. I was leaning against a wall, trying to catch my breath, when someone scooped me up from behind. “Arthur, put me down!” His face was a stony mask as he ignored my protests and marched inside. As we passed Catherine, a flash of pure hatred crossed her face. Inside, a helpful bystander pointed the way. “Sir, marriage licenses are this way.” Arthur’s face darkened. He dropped me. “We’re here for a divorce.” I landed hard, my injured ankle buckling under the sudden weight. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my leg. After the paperwork was done and the divorce decree was in my hand, I found a seat and waited. He should be arriving soon. “Sophie, aren’t you leaving?” Catherine asked, her arm linked possessively with Arthur’s. “Your ankle looks pretty bad. After Arthur and I get our license, we can give you a ride to the hospital!” I took out my compact and reapplied my lipstick. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone. We’re getting married. He’ll take me to the hospital.” “Oh, what a coincidence! Arthur, darling, let’s wait with Sophie, shall we?” Catherine pulled Arthur over to the seats next to me. “After we get our license, we can wait and see. If Sophie’s ‘fiancé’ doesn’t have a car, we can still give her a ride.” Arthur squeezed her hand tenderly and tucked it into his pocket. “You’re always so considerate of others.” But as the sky began to darken, no one came. I reached for my phone, only then remembering it was in pieces on the side of a road. Frustrated, I started to get up. Catherine, clutching her brand-new marriage certificate, walked over with a triumphant smile. “Sophie, let’s just forget about this imaginary person. Be reasonable. Let Arthur and I, as a married couple, take you to the hospital.” I patted my pockets again. I didn’t have a single dollar on me. The only valuable thing I’d had was the handbag I’d just given away. So, I didn’t refuse her offer. Outside, I clung to the railing, carefully making my way down the steps. “Sophie, let me help you.” Catherine hurried to my side. I was about to wave her off. “Ah!” She let out a scream, stumbled, and fell backward. Arthur caught her instantly. She buried her face in his chest, her eyes filled with tears. “Sophie, I was just trying to help. Why did you push me?” Arthur shot me a furious look. He stroked her back comfortingly, then grabbed my arm and dragged me down the remaining steps. “Sophie, you are unbelievable…” Seeing me clutch my ankle in agony, a flicker of pity crossed his face. He was about to tell me to get in the car. But then Catherine whimpered, “Arthur…” He immediately wrapped his arm around her and helped her into the car. And drove away. I limped to the nearest police station and asked an officer to drive me home. My assistant got me a new SIM card and brought it to me at the hospital. The moment I turned on my new phone, it was flooded with missed call notifications. Before I could even unlock it, it rang again. “Sophie! You finally answered! What happened? Are you okay?” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. I glanced down at my bandaged ankle. “It’s nothing serious. I just sprained my ankle.” “What! How bad is it? Have you been to the hospital?” He sounded frantic, as if he would teleport to my side if he could. “I bought a train ticket the second I landed. I’ll be there in half an hour.” “My flight had to turn back halfway because of the weather.” “I’ve been calling you since we landed. I was so scared when you didn’t answer.” Just after we hung up, Arthur, who never posted on social media, updated his status. It was a silhouette of him and Catherine, holding their marriage certificate. I commented: [Congratulations to the happy couple. Wishing you all the best.] When I looked again, the post was gone. A call from Arthur popped up on my screen.

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Getting back together with Andrew meant one thing: he became impossibly clingy. He reported everything—what he ate, what he drank, who he saw—in painstaking detail. One day, he called, his tone testing the waters. “Rick’s hitting a spa with a few girls, wants me to come along.” “Oh,” I said. “Have fun.” The line went dead. Twenty minutes later, he was at my door, blocking the entrance, his voice a raw whisper. “You’re just going to let me go off with other women?” I took a step back under his intense gaze. “Isn’t this the ‘boundaries’ you always wanted?” My words hung in the air, and he froze. 1 “Are you done? If you’re done, you can leave. I really don’t mind.” And just in case he misunderstood, I added, ever so helpfully, “Don’t worry, I’ll play my part perfectly for your parents tomorrow.” Andrew’s face darkened instantly. “Anya, you’re really one of a kind.” He slammed the door on his way out. The commotion had completely shattered my sleepiness. I curled back under the covers and scrolled through my phone. At two in the morning, a few photos arrived from an unknown number. A young woman, wearing nothing but a bikini, her pale body straddling Andrew. Steam ghosted around them. His arm was wrapped casually around her waist, a single, thin piece of fabric the only thing separating them. A message followed: Hey Anya, the water’s a little scary, so Andrew’s holding on to me. You’re so lucky to have such a caring husband 😉 I stared at the screen, considering my options. Should I get up and play the role of the scorned wife? It was too late. My driver was off for the night, and getting a cab would be a nightmare. Well… how about drafting a long, scathing essay tearing Andrew apart? The weather was too cold; my fingers would probably freeze. Maybe I could just copy and paste an old one from our chat history to get it over with. As I scrolled back through our old fights, I actually drifted off to sleep. No wonder Andrew never read them. Stripped of emotion, the words were just a long, rambling mess. Turns out, they make for a pretty good sleep aid. The next day was New Year’s, and we went to the Knight family estate. I was chatting with the elders when the doorbell rang sharply. When the door opened, the girl from the photo stood there, looking shy and hesitant. She was clutching a pair of men’s briefs. “These… were left at my place yesterday.” The style was bold and youthful. There was only one man in this house they could possibly belong to. The scene was nauseatingly familiar. The year we got engaged, another girl had shown up just like this. I had lost my mind, lunging at her, yanking her hair, ready to drag her to the floor. Andrew had shoved me aside, taken the girl, and left without a backward glance, leaving me in a heap on the ground. That night, the estate was in chaos. No one had a happy new year. The elders always said you shouldn’t start the new year on a bad note. Sure enough, that was the year Andrew and I fought the most viciously. The living room was silent now. Everyone seemed to be waiting for my reaction. I immediately put on a smile and smoothed things over. “Oh, this is my cousin! She grew up abroad. We were celebrating together last night.” Andrew’s father breathed a sigh of relief, but his mother’s eyes were still filled with suspicion. “Really?” “Yes, of course.” I pulled the girl inside and shut the door, extinguishing the last flicker of hope in Andrew’s eyes. 2 On the drive back, I pulled the briefs from my pocket and tossed them at Andrew. He stammered out an explanation. “It’s not what you think. She’s Rick’s sister. I was drunk, nothing happened…” I tore open an antiseptic wipe and meticulously cleaned my hands. “You can drop me off here. I’m meeting Zoe for a game of poker.” Andrew’s throat worked. He softened his voice. “I can pick you up when you’re done?” “No need,” I said, pushing the car door open. “You do you.” I didn’t want to know what those briefs had been through. I was just worried they might have picked up something… unclean. At Zoe’s place, I took a long, hot shower and changed into a fresh set of clothes she’d laid out for me. Only then did the tight, suffocating feeling in my chest finally begin to fade. Zoe watched Andrew’s car drive away, then raised an eyebrow at me. “So, what’s the damage? How many did you take down? Why didn’t you call for backup?” I sank into her sofa. “There was no fight. Scaring off a man is one thing, but scaring off the money? Not an option.” That New Year’s, the Knight estate had been a warzone. Several of the elders had been so upset they’d ended up in the hospital. I had been left lying on the cold, hard floor until Zoe finally arrived and bundled my mud-caked self into her sports car. As she turned the key in the ignition, she couldn’t resist a jab. “Living out your childhood dream at the Knight estate? Making mud pies?” The moment I opened my mouth, tears spilled out. “Zoe, how did it get like this?” She panicked, fumbling to wipe my tears away, but she had no answers. No one could have predicted that Andrew and I would end up in such a toxic mess. We were childhood sweethearts, after all, friends since we were in diapers. I’d worked myself to the bone, getting up before the sun and studying late into the night, just to get into the same university as him. The day my acceptance letter came, my mother marveled, “If I’d known you’d kill yourself studying for Andrew, I wouldn’t have wasted all that money on tutors.” Everyone assumed that Anya and Andrew Knight were meant to be. But just as we finally grew up, just as we no longer had to share a single hot dog from a street cart, he let go of my hand. He hated his family for controlling his future, for forcing him to give up his dream of being a musician to inherit the family business. That hatred reached its peak when I agreed to our engagement. Back then, I was too blinded by my own happiness, too thrilled at the thought of finally marrying the man I loved, to notice that the love had vanished from his eyes. After the engagement, he was never home. I’d wake up to a phone full of “concerned” messages from well-meaning friends. Andrew had dropped a fortune on some model. Andrew was on a yacht, draped in women. Andrew had thrown himself a mock wedding somewhere exotic… The messages were like a persistent mold, growing in the damp corners of my life, impossible to scrub away. I’d had my share of hysterical confrontations, of screaming matches that became public spectacles. All it ever earned me was more of Andrew’s contempt. “Can’t you have some damn boundaries? You don’t like it? Fine, go tell my mother to call off the engagement!” Zoe had put it perfectly: our relationship was less like a marriage and more like a rebellious son and his desperate mother. One trying desperately to escape, the other clinging on for dear life. I thought I would be tangled up with him forever. But then, one day, in the middle of a fight, I just got tired. Zoe and I didn’t need words. One look was enough. Seeing my unusual calm, she asked softly, “So, what’s the plan?” I took the warm glass of water she offered me. “The London project… both our families have invested a lot. I’m going to oversee it myself.” “For how long?” “Three years, for now.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, not wanting to let go. “Before you go, we’re going to have the time of our lives. My treat.” “Don’t worry,” I said, leaning my head on her shoulder with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.” 3 The doorbell woke me from a deep sleep. Andrew was slumped against the doorframe, drunk, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. I checked my phone. My Do Not Disturb was on, but his chat window showed 99+ unread messages. He couldn’t reach me, so he’d come in person. A year ago, I would have been pathetically grateful that he’d even bothered to come home drunk. I would have scrambled to help him inside, fetching him water, fussing over him for half the night. But now? My hair was freshly washed and fragrant, my apartment was spotless, and I had no intention of letting the stench of stale alcohol contaminate my space. Seeing that I wasn’t letting him in, he asked, his voice raspy, “Are you just going to leave me out here?” “You’re at the wrong place. This is my pre-marital apartment, not our marital home. Should I call someone to pick you up?” As I looked down to find a number, he shamelessly shuffled closer. “Anya, I could really go for some of your soup.” I took a deep breath, pushing down the familiar, sharp sting in my heart. “Really? You’ll leave right after you have some soup?” He nodded eagerly. I opened a food delivery app and held it out to him. “Pick whatever kind you want.” He froze, the alcohol seeming to evaporate from his system. “Anya, you never let me eat this stuff…” He must have been remembering the early days of our engagement when I, determined to be the perfect wife, had hired a chef to teach me how to cook, starting from the very basics of chopping vegetables. He never so much as glanced at the food, let alone tasted it. I’d secretly post pictures of my carefully prepared meals on Instagram, hoping the likes and comments from our mutual friends might entice him to come home and try them. Instead, I overheard him at a bar, laughing with his friends. “If you had a doormat like Anya, you’d know my pain. You think I’m going to pass up the gourmet food out here to go home and eat her slop?” Amid the roar of their laughter, I ran home and cried for three days straight. Zoe was furious. “My dear girl, you’re the type who would rather starve than cook for yourself! Why are you learning to cook for a man? He’s out partying, and you’re turning yourself into a ghost!” It was a wake-up call. I never cooked for him again. “Mine doesn’t even taste good,” I said, pushing the phone closer to him. “Just order something.” He sighed and took the phone, his fingertips brushing against my palm. His other hand moved instinctively to my shoulder. I flinched back so hard my back hit the door with a dull thud. In the dead silence that followed, he lit a cigarette. The small flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating the features I had once been so hopelessly in love with. “Anya, I’m your fiancé, not the plague.” “Who can say for sure?” I took another half-step back. “I need to sleep. I have work tomorrow.” I don’t know when he left. The next morning, the hallway was littered with cigarette butts. 4 On the way to the office, waiting at a red light, I suddenly remembered the night I’d finally tried to leave him. Andrew had locked me out then, too. But that was at our marital home. He was inside with a crowd of people, partying. He’d changed the keypad code. The deep winter wind cut like a knife. I pounded on the door, my hand instinctively cradling my stomach, my voice cracking with tears. “Andrew, open the door… my stomach… it hurts…” It was the same girl from the spa who answered me through the video intercom. “Hey, you out there? Andrew said the Knight family is marrying you, not him.” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “You should go. Andrew says you need to learn about boundaries.” I froze for a second, then started hammering on the door like a madwoman. Someone inside must have found it amusing. They started recording me through the intercom’s camera. In the background, I could hear the spa girl’s cloying voice. “Andrew, she says she’s not feeling well.” His voice, slurred with alcohol and thick with irritation, came through clearly. “Ignore her. She’s just playing the victim.” In the video, I was a mess, crying and screaming, before I finally gave up. I dragged my suitcase away, disappearing around the corner. The video made the rounds in our social circle. Andrew only saw it after a full day of people looking at him with expressions that screamed, You’re a real piece of work. He didn’t think it was a big deal. So what? He was having a good time at home and didn’t want me to ruin the fun. But the Knight family elders were furious. They said his behavior was disgraceful and had brought shame to both families. So he found me, wearing an expression of someone forced to bow their head. “I didn’t know you would… leave alone that late. I saw the video.” He looked at me, as if assessing whether I had learned my “lesson.” “People are whispering, saying I left my fiancée stranded on the street… Anya, that’s enough. Come home with me.” He had no idea what happened in the darkness after the video ended. And I had no desire to explain. I was lying in a hospital bed. I just turned over wearily. “It wasn’t your fault.” After that, we supposedly made up. But from that day on, I stopped caring where he slept or if he came home at all. I quietly moved out of our marital home and back into my own small apartment. 5 Saying it wasn’t his fault was a lie. I’m no saint. Giving up on someone you’ve loved for so long is like tearing a part of yourself away, right down to the bone and marrow. When the withdrawal hit, I’d lie awake all night, my chest feeling like a gaping hole with the cold wind from that winter night howling through it. Besides, my family’s fortune and the Knights’ were already deeply intertwined. The consequences of a clean break were more than either side could bear. I knew better than anyone that our personal grievances were nothing compared to the interests of our families. Perhaps the pressure from his family scared him. Or maybe he belatedly realized he’d gone too far. Andrew started to rein it in. He stopped staying out all night. He stopped ignoring me. Instead, he began reporting his every move to me, in detail. One day, I was in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation, hammering out the final terms of a multi-million dollar deal. We were at a standstill over profit margins. You could hear a pin drop in the conference room. All eyes were on me, waiting for my response. And that’s when his texts started flooding in. Non-stop. Something about booking a famous wedding dress designer, asking me what style I wanted. When I didn’t reply, he started calling. Again and again. The buzzing of my phone was deafening. The client said, graciously, “Please, take it. It might be urgent.” I nodded my apologies with a polite smile, walked to the restroom, and finally answered, my voice a low hiss of fury. “What the hell do you want? Why are you blowing up my phone over something so trivial? Are you that bored? Can’t you have some damn boundaries?” After my tirade, the other end of the line was silent. I was the first to snap out of it, rubbing my temples wearily. “I’m sorry. I’ve been pulling all-nighters for this project. The style… you can just pick one for me.” On the other end, Andrew was quiet for a long time before he finally managed a dry, “Okay.” 6 I pulled up to the Knight Corporation building. I was here to consolidate some resources before heading back to my own company. In the breakroom, I overheard some colleagues gossiping. “Did you see? Mr. Knight came in with her again this morning.” “I know! I heard he even left his underwear at her place last time…” “What is he even doing? Isn’t he engaged?” “Please, everyone knows Andrew can’t stand Miss Anya. He’s always saying he wishes she’d just disappear.” … Thanks to Andrew never publicly acknowledging our relationship at work, “Miss Anya” herself got to hear all the juicy gossip. I sipped my coffee, my eyes lowered, feeling nothing but a calm detachment. This little scandal was nothing. They were amateurs. They’d never seen a female delivery driver show up late at night wearing a matching set of lingerie underneath her uniform. They hadn’t dealt with the mountains of explicit texts on his phone. They’d never been toasted at a family banquet by some random girl who called me “sis.” Andrew never said no to anyone. I was always the one left to clean up his messes. A pair of briefs left at someone else’s house barely even registered on the scale. I fought the urge to say something. When I looked up, the subject of the gossip was standing right in front of me. The girl from the spa, the one who was “afraid of the water,” was clinging to Andrew like she had no bones. Andrew saw me and frowned, telling her to stand up straight. I took a closer look. Of all his flings, she had certainly lasted the longest. The girl pouted and handed me a file. “Aren’t you the one from Mr. Knight’s house?” I took the file and met her gaze. “And you’re the one who was sitting on his lap in a bikini at the spa.” The breakroom went dead silent. Her face changed, and she bit her lip. “Why can’t you just let him go?” I waved my hands dismissively. Don’t start with me, sweetie. I’m just trying to get my paperwork done so I can get out of this country. In a moment of desperation, my voice rose an octave as I threw Andrew’s own words back at them. “You call him ‘brother,’ I call him ‘brother.’ What’s all this about letting him go?” “Anya.” Andrew’s warning tone came from behind me. “What nonsense are you talking about?” I waved the file in my hand and hit the elevator button. “Bro, handle your own drama. Leave me out of it.” The elevator doors slid shut, reflecting Andrew’s furious face and the hurt expression of the girl beside him. Looked like they were having another lover’s spat. Not my problem anymore. I glanced down at the flight confirmation email on my phone. In twenty-four hours, I would be gone.

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On New Year’s Eve, I was scrolling through a local news station’s drone livestream. Fireworks exploded in a riot of color over the river, illuminating the man I’d been married to for five years, locked in a passionate kiss with his childhood sweetheart. I calmly switched off the livestream and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up, the background a cacophony of noise. “Where are you?” I asked. After a brief silence, he said, “At the office. Didn’t I tell you I was working late?” “Working late with your childhood sweetheart?” A much longer silence followed on his end. I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm. “You always do this. Go silent when you’re asked a question you can’t answer.” “Well, after tonight, you won’t have to answer me ever again.” 1. After I hung up, the silence in the room was deafening. On the dining table, an elaborate dinner of six dishes and a soup had long gone cold. I stared at the food for a long time, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over me. Five years ago today, Luke was in our tiny rental apartment, making hot pot for me. He had suddenly pulled out a small velvet box. “Mia,” he’d said, “marry me.” “I know it’s only silver for now, but I promise, one day I’ll replace it with a diamond.” His eyes had been so bright when he said it, they almost hurt to look at. I’ve worn that silver ring ever since. It’s tarnished now, but I could never bring myself to take it off. He said he would give me the best life possible, and I believed him. When we first started our company, it was just the two of us. He handled the tech side; I managed finances and sales. During the day, he’d write code while I met with clients. At night, we’d pack shipments together and eat instant noodles sitting on the staircase of our apartment building. Once, rushing to meet a bid deadline, I’d survived on eight hours of sleep over three days and ended up fainting at a print shop. Luke carried me to the hospital, his whole body trembling. His eyes were red. “We’re done with this startup. I’ll get a regular job. I can’t let you work yourself to death.” I shook my head. “No. We’re so close. I can do this.” And in the end, we did it. The day our company secured its first round of funding, Luke picked me up and spun me around in the office. Then he suddenly knelt, burying his face in my stomach. I felt a wet patch spreading through my shirt. “Mia,” he’d sobbed, “I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” By our third year, the company was stable. We bought a house and a new car. In our fourth year, he got down on one knee and replaced the silver ring with a diamond. “Honey, let’s have a baby.” I touched my stomach and nodded with a smile. I had just settled into my role as CFO, but seeing the hopeful look in his eyes, I submitted my resignation. Two months into the pregnancy, my morning sickness was so severe I had to be hospitalized. Luke rushed between the office and the hospital every day, the dark circles under his eyes alarmingly deep. I stroked his face. “We should hire a nurse.” He shook his head. “You’re my wife. I have to be the one to take care of you.” Back then, I thought that was what happiness looked like. Until six months ago, when his childhood sweetheart, Sylvia, got divorced and moved back from overseas. Luke was the one who picked her up from the airport. He came home very late that night, smelling of a strange perfume. “Sylvia’s back with her kid, all alone. It’s a tough spot,” he said, taking off his jacket. “I helped her find a place to stay.” From that day on, “a tough spot” became Sylvia’s defining trait. When her car broke down, Luke went to fix it. When her son got sick, Luke took them to the hospital. When she was in a bad mood, Luke stayed out drinking with her until the early hours of the morning. My questions turned to accusations, and accusations turned to fights. Luke would say, “Mia, you never used to be like this.” And I would reply, “Luke, you never used to be like this, either.” Eventually, he just stopped talking. No matter how much I screamed or cried, he would just watch me silently, then turn and walk away, leaving me alone, feeling like a madwoman. Even tonight, on New Year’s Eve, he couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a convincing lie. He just said he was working late. And then I saw him on a livestream, kissing another woman. The sound of the front door opening broke the silence. Luke walked in. He saw me, then the untouched dinner on the table, and froze. “You’re still up?” I didn’t say a word. He walked closer, and the scent of perfume on his clothes made my stomach turn. “Something urgent came up at the office…” he began. I cut him off. “I have my check-up tomorrow. Eight in the morning.” Luke opened his mouth, but the explanation he had prepared died in his throat. I stood up to leave, and he grabbed my wrist. “Mia, I’m sorry.” His voice was low. “Just this year, I promise it won’t happen again. Once Sylvia gets back on her feet…” I gently pulled my hand away. “Don’t wait. Luke, let’s get a divorce.” 2. He stiffened. “What… What did you just say?” I looked him straight in the eye. “I said, let’s get a divorce. You can sleep in the guest room.” A firework exploded outside, illuminating the shock on his face. “Just because I didn’t spend New Year’s with you? Mia, are you serious?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked into the bedroom. As I closed the door, I heard him yelling from the other side. “What are you throwing a fit about now? Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” Understanding. That word again. I placed a hand on my slightly swollen belly and whispered, “Baby, from now on, it’s just you and me.” The Mia who once believed in a love that would last forever died on this New Year’s Eve. It was raining on the morning of my appointment. After I finished breakfast, Luke’s door was still closed. I knocked. “We’re leaving at eight.” No response. At 7:50, I grabbed my bag and walked out. In the elevator, I received a text from him: [Something came up. Should I call you a car?] I stared at the screen, remembering my first prenatal appointment. He had taken the whole week off, so nervous he’d crumpled the appointment slip in his hand. In the ultrasound room, when the doctor said, “That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” his eyes had immediately filled with tears. Afterward, he spun me around in the hospital parking lot, shouting, “I’m going to be a dad!” Back then, his phone was on for me 24/7. If I said I was craving the spicy noodles from a place an hour away, he would get in the car without a second thought. Now, he said something came up at the office. I replied: [No need. I’ll drive myself.] The hospital was, as always, packed. The waiting area of the obstetrics department was filled with expectant mothers, most of them with their husbands. The check-up went smoothly. The doctor smiled, looking at the ultrasound screen. “The baby is very healthy.” I looked at the tiny, flickering shape, and my nose began to sting. This was my child. Mine alone. “The next appointment is for the Down syndrome screening. Your husband will need to come and sign the forms,” the doctor reminded me. I nodded, wondering how far along the divorce proceedings would be by then. I left the clinic and went to the pharmacy to pick up my prenatal vitamins. While I was waiting in line, a familiar figure caught my eye. Luke. He was holding a little boy, about three or four years old, and walking out of the pediatric emergency department. Sylvia was beside him, her eyes red and swollen. The little boy’s face was flushed, and he was leaning limply against Luke’s shoulder. Luke was whispering something to him, his expression impossibly gentle. They didn’t see me. I stood frozen, the bag of vitamins in my hand suddenly feeling very heavy. So he did remember he had to come to the hospital today. Just not for me. “Mia?” Luke suddenly turned his head. His face changed the moment he saw me. He hastily handed the child to Sylvia and rushed over. He glanced at my pharmacy bag. “You’re… done with your appointment?” “Yes.” “Mia, I didn’t mean to miss it, it’s just…” The little boy started to cry. “Uncle Luke! It hurts…” Sylvia, holding the child, looked over with tear-filled eyes. “Luke, Cody wants you…” Luke looked torn. I found the whole scene ridiculous. “Go on. The child is more important.” “Mia, Cody suddenly came down with a high fever and passed out. Sylvia couldn’t handle it on her own, so I had to…” Sylvia shrieked, “Luke! Cody’s throwing up!” The child had vomited all over himself and onto Luke’s jacket. Instinctively, Luke turned his attention back to the boy. I turned and walked away. “Mia!” he called out from behind me. I didn’t look back. As the elevator doors closed, I saw him rushing the child toward the restroom, Sylvia following close behind, her hand on his arm. They looked just like a family. In the car, my hands trembled on the steering wheel. It wasn’t anger. It was cold. A deep, penetrating cold that reached my bones. My phone vibrated. A text from Luke: [Cody’s not doing well. I’ll be home late.] I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask, and typed: [Luke, when you get back, we’re discussing the divorce.] My finger hovered over the send button. I deleted the message and typed a new one: [Don’t bother coming back.] I hit send. Then I opened my contacts and found my lawyer’s number. The call connected. My voice was perfectly steady. “Mr. Davies, this is Mia Wright.” “I’d like to consult with you about getting a divorce.” 3. Mr. Davies arranged to meet me at a coffee shop. “Mrs. Wright, I can draft the divorce agreement, but if you can provide evidence of your husband transferring marital assets, you’ll have a significant advantage in the division of property.” I stirred my coffee. “What kind of evidence do you need?” Mr. Davies adjusted his glasses. “For example, if he gifted joint assets to a third party without your consent.” “Try to think if your husband has had any unusual financial activities.” I thought for a moment. And then I thought of Sylvia’s social media. For the past six months, the things she posted had become increasingly expensive. The floor-to-ceiling windows of a new apartment, the steering wheel of a white Porsche, Hermès bags, designer clothes for her son. She was unemployed and newly divorced. Where was the money coming from? “I remember her saying her ex-husband didn’t give her much in alimony,” I muttered. Mr. Davies nodded. “That’s a red flag. It might be worth looking into.” When I got home, I scoured Sylvia’s social media feed, taking screenshots of everything: the backgrounds of her photos, license plates, even the logos on shopping bags. Then I called Amy. Amy was my protégé back at the company. When I resigned, she took over my position. “Mia?” she whispered, her voice low. I got straight to the point. “Amy, I need you to do something for me.” “Check the company’s recent accounts. Are there any unusual expenditures? Large-sum transfers to an individual, for example.” There was a pause on the other end. When Amy spoke again, her voice was even quieter. “There are. Luke has approved several over the past six months. The recipient is always Sylvia Ross. The largest was a down payment for a house. Two hundred thousand dollars.” My heart sank. “What else?” “A car. Eighty thousand. The rest is miscellaneous spending, but it adds up to…” She paused. “Close to a hundred thousand.” Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars. I hung up the phone, my hand shaking. It wasn’t about the money. It was because I remembered last week, when I mentioned wanting to book a postpartum recovery center for about ten thousand dollars. Luke had frowned. “That’s too expensive. My mom can come take care of you.” At that very time, Sylvia was posting pictures of her new Birkin bag. I spent the entire night logging into the company’s financial system. I used my old account, which still had the highest level of clearance. Luke had never changed it. Or rather, it had never occurred to him that I would check. The transfer records were all there, clear as day. From the day Sylvia returned until now, six months, three hundred eighty-two thousand, seven hundred and forty dollars. House, car, luxury goods, children’s clothes, early education, housekeeping services… Every single transaction was a knife in my gut. I took screenshots, saved them, and backed them up. Then, I waited for Luke to come home. He came back after midnight, smelling of alcohol. He saw me sitting in the living room and stopped short. “You’re still up?” “The company is missing three hundred and eighty-two thousand dollars,” I said, without preamble. The expression on Luke’s face froze. “Sylvia’s house, her car, all those bags… you bought them all, didn’t you?” Silence. That same, infuriating silence. “Speak,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Mia, Sylvia just got divorced, it’s not easy for her with a kid, I was just helping…” I cut him off. “Helping her by buying her a house and a car?” “Luke, our first year in business, we took the bus carrying our own product samples just to save fifty bucks on shipping. And now you can throw away over three hundred grand without blinking an eye?” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “You have one week. Put every single dollar back into the company account.” “Otherwise, I’ll sue you for fraudulent transfer of marital assets, and I’ll report you to the IRS.” His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’d ruin me over money?” I met his gaze. “This isn’t about the money. This is for me and my child.” He just stood there, a statue of a man. Silent. Always silent when faced with a difficult question. I repeated myself. “Seven days. If the money isn’t back, I’ll see you in court.” I turned and went back to the bedroom. As I closed the door, I heard him collapse onto the sofa, followed by the flick of a lighter. I placed a hand on my belly, feeling the tiny life inside. Suddenly, the pain didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. Now, there was only one thing I wanted. To leave with my child and my money. And Luke? He was going to pay. 4. On the seventh day, the money was not in the account. A letter from my lawyer was delivered to the office. That evening, Luke came home and slammed the envelope on the table. “Mia, do you really have to do this?” I asked calmly, “What’s the alternative? Should I wait until you’ve given away all our money and my child and I are left with nothing?” His eyes were red. “What about our five years together…” I cut him off. “You’re the one who destroyed our marriage.” “Luke, every time you chose her, you were destroying us.” “Every time you chose silence, you were chipping away at what we had.” He was, once again, speechless. That weekend, I went out to buy baby supplies. When I returned, I could hear laughter from inside before I even opened the door. The living room had been transformed into a children’s playground. Balloons, streamers, and toys were everywhere. A group of kids was running around, and Sylvia’s son, Cody, was riding on Luke’s shoulders, his face flushed with excitement. Sylvia came out of the kitchen wearing an apron. Her smile froze when she saw me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Mia, it’s Cody’s birthday today. Your place is so much bigger, so I just…” Luke set Cody down, his expression awkward. “Mia, let me explain…” “Who gave you permission?” My voice was ice. The living room fell silent. All the children turned to look at me. I enunciated every word. “This is my house. Who gave you permission to bring strangers in here?” Sylvia’s eyes turned red. “I’m so sorry, we’ll leave right now… Cody, let’s go…” “Sylvia!” Luke grabbed her arm, then turned to me. “Mia, it’s just a child’s birthday party. Do you have to be like this?” Be like this. I had heard those words so many times. “Get out,” I said. “Mia!” “Take these people and get out!” Suddenly, Cody screamed and charged at me. “Mean lady! Don’t you yell at my mommy!” He slammed into me with surprising force. I stumbled backward, caught off guard. My lower back hit the sharp corner of the dining table, and an explosion of pain radiated through me. Even worse was the tearing, twisting agony that shot through my abdomen. I looked down and saw a horrifying bloom of red spreading across my light-colored pants. “Blood…” someone screamed. Luke rushed to help me, but I shoved him away. I gritted my teeth. “Call an ambulance… Call an ambulance!” In the ambulance, waves of pain washed over me. I gripped the paramedic’s hand. “My baby… my baby…” She tried to comfort me, but her eyes said it all. I was rushed into the emergency room. When I woke up, the doctor was standing over me, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.” I didn’t cry. I just stared at the ceiling, my mind a complete blank. In the hospital room, Luke stood by my bed, his eyes red and raw. “Mia, I’m so sorry…” “Get out.” “We’re still young, we can try again…” “Get out!” He didn’t move. I grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and hurled it at him. It shattered at his feet. “Get out!” Luke finally left. I lay in the bed and touched my stomach. It was flat again, as if the little life had never been there at all. This morning, when I left the house, I could still feel it move. Now, there was nothing. The last thread connecting me to Luke had been severed. The next day, I placed the divorce papers in front of him. “Sign it.” Luke’s eyes scanned the terms, stopping at the clause that left him with nothing. He looked up, shocked. “Mia, you…”

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New York City. 2:00 AM. After getting shredded by my boss for the hundredth time, I sat in the dark and opened my messages with my long-distance boyfriend. “Babe, he hated my proposal again. He called it a pile of hot garbage.” His reply was instant. “Your boss sounds like a miserable prick who wouldn’t know talent if it hit him in the face. Don’t let him get to you, baby.” “Go to sleep. I’ll rewrite the whole thing for you tonight.” The next day, I handed the revised proposal to my boss. The man, usually as cold as a January morning in Manhattan, went dead silent. His hand actually shook as he gripped the iPad. “Did… did you actually write this?” 1. As a fresh-out-of-college corporate drone at a top-tier firm, I had practically vibrated on caffeine for three nights to finish this project. At the morning meeting, my boss tossed the folder across the mahogany table like it was a piece of trash. “Who let this ‘garbage’ into my office? Whose is this?” My boss, Liam, was a billionaire heir who’d returned from London with a chip on his shoulder and a genius-level IQ. He had a face that looked like it was sculpted by an AI—too perfect to be real. My friends told me I was lucky to work for a guy who looked like a movie star. Only I knew what a nightmare he was. I tentatively raised my hand. Liam’s sharp, icy gaze pierced right through me. “How did HR even let you in the door? The incompetence in this building is breathtaking.” The room went silent. My face burned. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. After the meeting, I was the only one told to stay. Liam stood over me, his brow furrowed as he threw my work at my feet. “Last chance, Olivia. Produce more trash like this, and you can pack your desk by noon.” I bit my lip, gathered the papers without looking at him, and bolted for the exit. 2. I finally found a quiet corner in the breakroom to have a meltdown. I pulled out my phone and messaged my boyfriend. “(Crying emoji) He did it again. He made me feel like nothing.” My life wasn’t easy. My mom got sick right after I graduated, and the medical bills drained our savings. I had to pass on my Master’s degree and start working immediately. To make ends meet, I’d started an anonymous craft vlog. It actually took off. And my online boyfriend? He was my “Number One Fan.” He’d donated thousands to my stream before we even started talking. Unlike my boss, he was the sweetest man alive. He comforted me every time I felt low. “I’m so sorry, baby. Your boss is clearly a jerk.” “I believe in you. You’re the most talented person I know.” The more he comforted me, the more the tears flowed. “But I worked so hard on that proposal. I haven’t slept, and he just threw it away.” He spammed me with heart emojis. “It’s okay to cry, honey. Life is hard when you’re starting out. Leave the proposal to me. Sleep. I’ve got you.” Watching his messages, my heart melted. I wiped my eyes. “What good does crying do?” A cold voice made me jump. Liam was standing there, drying his hands with a paper towel, looking genuinely annoyed. “If you can’t handle the heat, you’re going to end up exactly where your proposal did—in the trash.” He tossed the towel into the bin and stared at my red eyes. “Stop crying and go back to work.” 3. I barely held it together as he walked away. How could someone be so heartless? But I needed this job. I dragged myself back to my desk. My work rival, Sarah, was already smirking. “I wonder how someone like you even got hired,” she whispered loudly. “Must be the face. Too bad looks don’t fix stupid.” I didn’t have the energy to snap back. I decided to try one more draft myself while waiting for my boyfriend’s version. I worked through the night at my apartment and finally sent my latest version to him. He was online instantly. Half an hour later, he replied: “Is this your draft? It’s a bit green, but for a first try, it’s actually impressive.” “Go to bed, babe. I’ll polish the rest.” I felt like crying again. “That was my N-th draft. Am I really that bad?” He stayed silent for a minute, then sent a dozen “hugging” stickers. “You’re not bad. You’re improving. Don’t listen to that boss of yours. He clearly has no taste. He’s just a miserable man taking his stress out on you.” Seeing him trash-talk Liam made me feel a million times better. “Thanks, babe. I’m going to sleep.” It was the best sleep I’d had in months. 4. My boyfriend was a lifesaver. When I woke up, there was a file waiting for me. “Good luck, wifey.” The timestamp was 2:00 AM. I rushed to the office, ignoring Sarah’s snide comments about my “glow” and how I probably “spent the night with some guy instead of working.” I printed the new proposal and walked straight into Liam’s office. 5. Liam looked like he’d pulled an all-nighter himself. Dark circles under his eyes, rubbing his temples. He took the file without a word. But as he read, his expression shifted. He kept looking up at me, then back at the page. He read every single word. “Is this yours?” his voice was husky, almost trembling. I froze, bracing for the scream. “Do you know how to make ceramics?” he asked suddenly. “Give me one more chance, I’ll—” I stopped. “Wait, what?” “The technique mentioned here… the craft… do you do this?” I nodded, confused. He stared at me for a long time before dismissing me. Outside, Sarah was shouting again. “Look at her face! She definitely got fired!” I was about to snap when Jason, Liam’s head of staff, walked up. “Olivia? My assistant is out sick. You’re being promoted to the Boss’s personal assistant for the weekend. Pack your bags; you’re flying to the conference with him.” Sarah’s jaw hit the floor. “No way! She’s incompetent!” I gave her my best “fake it till you make it” smile. “See you Monday, Sarah.” She looked like she wanted to claw my eyes out. “You’re just using your body to get ahead, you little—” I cut her off. “Jealousy is a bad look, Sarah. Maybe focus on your own ‘trash’ work.” Liam was suddenly standing right behind me. “She’s right,” he said coldly, looking at Sarah. “I’m incredibly impressed with her work. As for you? I don’t even remember your name, but you’re fired. Clear your desk.” 6. Before I knew it, Liam had pulled me away from the chaos. Sarah tried to lung at me, but he caught me in his arms. My face hit his chest—hard. He smelled like expensive cologne and sandalwood. Once Sarah was escorted out by security, I pulled away and thanked him. He just stared at me, his jaw tight, before walking back into his office. I immediately messaged my boyfriend. “Babe! I got a promotion! And that mean girl got fired! Haha!” He replied quickly. “That’s my girl. By the way… what do you think of your boss now?” “He’s still a nightmare! He’s making me work over the weekend! He’s a total control freak.” I ranted for ten minutes. My boyfriend didn’t reply for a while. Then: “Maybe he’s just trying to be near you? Maybe he’s not that bad.” “Are you serious? He’s a soulless robot. Why are you defending him?” I heard some coworkers whispering nearby. “Did you see the Boss? He was smiling at his phone! Does he have a secret girlfriend?” I ignored the gossip. Who would ever want to date a monster like that?

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The person Damon Blackwell wanted. That’s who I became after we got back together. A perfectly docile woman. The perfect opposite of the woman I was. No more late-night suspicion, no more furtive phone-checking, and zero hostility toward the parade of women who had always orbited him. When I found a ripped, practically empty foil packet of ultra-thin 0.01s wedged in the center console of his G-Wagon, I didn’t scream. I didn’t even flinch. I just neatly tucked it back into his jacket pocket, not only withholding a single accusation but gently reminding him to monitor the shelf life. Damon’s hand shot out, clamping around my wrist. His eyes, usually cool and guarded, were edged with red. He dragged the question out of me, raw and accusing: “You’re telling me you aren’t angry? Not even a little?” 1 Damon restarted the engine. His jaw was set, a muscle ticking near his face. The existence of that flimsy foil packet hovered in the humid air of his luxury SUV like an unspoken judgment. “That wasn’t mine, Ains.” He offered the explanation after what felt like an hour of silence. If this were a year ago, hearing him offer an explanation—any explanation—I would have burst into tears, flung myself into his arms, and apologized for my doubts. I trust you, I trust you completely. But now, I was just looking down at the work email on my phone. I didn’t even lift my head. “Mhm. I know.” My lukewarm indifference completely derailed him. He irritably yanked at the knot of his designer tie, his voice rising in volume. “You know? You know what?” “It was Tatum. That damn kid. She was out at some warehouse party in Brooklyn, acting a fool with a bunch of trust-fund delinquents. I had to go fish her out and confiscated her disgusting purse. This must have fallen out of her clutch when she tossed it on the seat.” He seemed to recall the chaos of the night, a look of fastidious disgust creasing his brow. “Nineteen years old, and she’s running with that crowd. If I don’t keep an eye on her, who will?” I looked up at the barely concealed frustration in his face and felt a sudden, sharp pang of irony. Damon was a near-pathological germaphobe who detested any kind of noise or mess. In the past, if I’d dared to eat a protein bar in this car and dropped a single crumb, he would scowl, then send the whole vehicle out for a deep interior detailing. “Ainsley, are you a pig? Can’t you even manage to eat a snack without making a mess? It’s repulsive.” He would then punish me with three days of icy silence. Yet tonight, for Tatum Van Doren—the spoiled, unruly daughter of his father’s oldest partner—he had endured the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap liquor to retrieve her from a dive bar. He’d even tolerated her “disgusting” bag being thrown onto the pristine leather seats of his ridiculously priced G-Wagon. His verbal disgust was just another form of breaking his own rules. Another exception made only for her. “Tatum is young, Damon. It’s normal for her to be rebellious. You’re her big brother figure; it’s good you look out for her.” I kept my tone calm, even adding a note of approval. “Though those places are risky. Maybe next time, just drive her home safely instead of taking her things.” Damon stared at me as if I’d just started speaking Farsi. “Ainsley, are you even listening to me?” He slammed the shifter into park. His hands wrenched my shoulder, forcing me to meet his furious gaze. “The man finds something like that in his car—open—and this is your reaction? You used to give me three days of silent treatment for a stray hair on my collar! Are you trying to act the bigger person? Are you punishing me with this passive-aggressive cold shoulder?” His grip was painfully tight. Beneath the anger, I detected a flicker of something far more fragile: panic. I almost laughed. I used to fight, and he’d call me a shrew. Now I was calm, and he thought I didn’t care enough. People, I realized, are just gluttons for punishment. I carefully peeled his fingers off my arm. I reached up and smoothed the lapel of his blazer, which his rough movements had skewed. I offered him a soft, compliant smile. “Damon, I’m tired. I’m too tired to fight. You said we needed mutual trust to make this work. I’ve changed, just like you asked. Isn’t this better?” He stared at my smile, his eyes searching, desperate to find the crack in my composure. After a long moment, he dropped his hands, slumped against the seat, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. In the rising haze of smoke, his expression was utterly unreadable. “Fine, Ainsley. You’re unbelievable.” 2 Damon Blackwell was a man born to be worshipped. He was Manhattan’s golden boy, the heir to a dynasty—good-looking, blue-blooded, and frighteningly capable. I spent five years orbiting Damon like a manic, desperate satellite. Everyone in our social circle knew: Ainsley Hayes was Damon’s self-made liability. I was his pet. If Damon snapped his fingers, I’d cancel meetings and drive across three boroughs just to drop off a vintage lighter he might toss in the trash ten minutes later. If another woman came within his orbit, I’d turn into a territorial lioness, screaming and clawing to mark my turf. Damon hated it. His brow was constantly furrowed with impatience and disgust. “Ainsley, can’t you be reasonable?” “I can’t stand this suffocating feeling of being managed all the time. Can’t you have some dignity?” “If you throw one more childish fit, we’re done.” Six months ago, we were finally done. The immediate trigger, of course, was Tatum. The daughter of a family friend, the unofficial little sister, the name that always came up when we fought. Damon insisted he was only looking out for her, big brother style, and I shouldn’t worry. But that night, Damon left me—burning up with a fever, shivering on the shoulder of the I-95—to bail Tatum out of the precinct after she’d been caught street racing. I walked for two miles in the freezing rain to flag down a cab. When I eventually found him and hysterically confronted him, Tatum was hiding behind Damon, shivering dramatically. She sniffled, playing the good kid: “Damon, please don’t be mad at Ainsley. It’s my fault for calling you when you were on a date. I’m sorry. Don’t fight over me.” Damon immediately pulled her into a protective embrace. Over his shoulder, Tatum smirked at me. She mouthed a single, silent word: Jerk. My sanity crumbled. I lunged at her. Damon didn’t even hesitate. He raised his hand and slapped me, hard, right across the face, in front of the entire police station lobby. “Ainsley, how could you be so vicious? She’s nineteen, she’s a kid! I have to look out for her. Can’t you stop acting like a fishwife who only knows how to pick fights?” It was the first time he’d ever laid a hand on me. My cheek was on fire, but the pain in my chest was blinding. That slap was the cold shock that finally woke me up. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, looking at the man I had loved for five years, suddenly a stranger. There were no more hysterics. I touched my stinging cheek, looked him in the eye, and said, with a terrifying calm, “Damon, we’re finished.” He looked surprised for a split second, then sneered, his expression filled with disdain and absolute certainty that I’d crawl back. “Fine, Ainsley. You’ve got nerve. Walk out, but don’t come crawling back in two days begging. I won’t be so easy to forgive this time.” He turned his back on me instantly to comfort the “traumatized” Tatum, leaving me with nothing but a definitive, unforgiving exit. 3 The six months that followed were a grueling, savage withdrawal. I couldn’t sleep. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was the fading red of his taillights on the interstate and the searing, bright pain of that slap. That night’s high fever, compounded by the time I spent in the cold, had taken its toll. My right ear’s nerve was permanently damaged. The doctor’s words were a blur of regret. I had permanent hearing loss and constant, high-pitched tinnitus. It was Damon’s most profound souvenir. The world to my right was now silent, filled only with the ceaseless screaming in my ear, a permanent reminder of the despair of that night. During my weakest moments, I became a pathetic voyeur, creating a fake account to stalk Tatum Van Doren’s social media. Damon had blocked me, so I used her feed to hunt for glimpses of him. She posted pictures of the Michelin-starred meals he took her to, the limited-edition bags he bought her, and even a picture of her wearing his oversized cashmere sweater, bare-legged, curled up in his library chair playing XBox. Her captions were always the same, a veiled boast disguised as a complaint: “Ugh, big brother made me come here. So annoying.” Then there was the post celebrating our breakup: “Universal celebration! Big brother finally dumped the psycho ex who wouldn’t quit. Some people have zero self-awareness. What does five years matter? The seat you occupied was never meant for you, and it’s finally been cleared for the main character.” “Go look in the mirror, sweetie. You never stood a chance.” The ultimate insult: Damon Blackwell had liked the post. The stinging words burned my eyes. I was crying before I realized it. The precious, careful affection I had begged for over five years was now her casual, everyday boast. On countless sleepless nights, with the tinnitus roaring in my head, I would curl up on the bathroom floor, deleting and rewriting text messages to him through my tears. Damon, I’m in so much pain. Damon, I can’t hear. Please come back. Before, if I so much as grimaced, he would be instantly alarmed. He’d pause his video conferences, rub his hands together until they were scalding, and burrow under the covers to warm my perpetually cold stomach. He’d scowl and call me fragile, but he wouldn’t sleep all night, pausing every few minutes to kiss my forehead and ask if I was okay. I genuinely believed, then, that he loved me more than anyone. But I always chickened out. When the sky lightened, I’d feel silly and weak, deleting every plea. I lived in a six-month state of zombie-like fog. I’d confuse day and night, robotically waking up, going to the office, and going back to bed. I’d squeeze face wash onto my toothbrush, wear two mismatched slippers to take out the trash, and stare at a stain on the ceiling for hours. I rotted in that chaos for half a year, and the Ainsley who loved him was finally, truly dead. Then, a month ago, Damon came back. Drunk, he smashed open my front door, clung to me, and repeated my name over and over. He buried his head in my neck, his lips right against my right ear, whispering a torrent of apologies and admissions. I heard nothing. The irony was crushing: he thought he was making a profound, romantic declaration, but I was a silent spectator watching him perform. When he finished, he pulled his head back and saw my blank expression. He raised his voice, and the sound—that familiar, imperious, take-charge tone—finally pierced my left ear. “Ainsley, have you had enough? I’m here. I’m giving you the out. I’ve extended the olive branch. Come home, be good, and I’ll pretend the last six months never happened.” We got back together. He unilaterally announced that our relationship could resume. I didn’t object. This time, I was the dream girl he’d always wanted: the docile, reasonable, dignified girlfriend. Whatever he said, as long as his head was turned towards my right ear, I would simply nod and agree. I didn’t want him to know I was permanently damaged. 4 Life after the reconciliation was surprisingly peaceful. But it was different. Damon started coming home. Before, he used to use work and business dinners as an excuse to disappear for weeks. Now, he was at the apartment every night he didn’t have an absolutely unavoidable engagement. He even started proactively reporting his schedule. “Dinner with the Board, not the CEO, at The Waverly.” “Tatum is threatening to run away again. I have to check on her. I’ll be back soon.” “That actress was just a formality our partner sent over to say hi. I didn’t touch her.” My only response to every message was a single, noncommittal word: “Okay.” I stopped calling him every five minutes. I stopped questioning him about his late nights. I stopped having a breakdown every time I smelled another woman’s perfume on his jacket. I simply went to work, cooked, cleaned, and took care of him. I was a flawless, emotionless domestic robot. But I could sense his mounting anxiety. He started getting rougher during sex, forcing me to shout his name, forcing me to say, “I love you.” Afterward, he would clutch me so tightly it felt like he was afraid I would vanish. This pathetic dance of codependency used to be my specialty. Now it was his. How the tables had turned. Friday evening, Damon said he wanted to take me to a charity auction. “There’s a pink diamond necklace I want to bid on. It would look incredible on you.” He draped an arm around my waist, his voice laced with uncharacteristic eagerness. I didn’t say no. The ballroom was a sea of glittering gowns and high-level socialites. Damon kept his hand firmly on my back, ensuring everyone knew I was his woman. Until Tatum arrived. The girl was an absolute mess of rebellious chic, dressed in a punk leather mini-skirt and a sheer black top. She stood out jarringly among the evening wear. She saw Damon, her eyes immediately welling up, and she ran across the room and flung herself into his arms. “Damon! My dad is trying to ship me off to boarding school! You have to save me!” In front of everyone, Damon instinctively released my hand to catch the staggering girl. Wearing four-inch stilettos, I lost my balance. I stumbled backward, right into a towering glass champagne flute display. Crash! The shattering glass was deafening. Shards sliced through my ankle. My white silk dress instantly began to wick up the blood, leaving a horrifying, deep red stain. I was completely ruined. The onlookers were having a field day, watching the drama unfold: the Blackwell heir caught between the loyal fiancée and the chaotic little sister. The old Ainsley would have been shrieking, demanding to know why he let go of me, rushing to tear Tatum’s hair out. But the new me simply bent down calmly, pressed a cocktail napkin to the gushing wound, and told the terrified waiter, “It’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.” I was slick with cold sweat, my face pale. I was holding onto the edge of the table, using every ounce of willpower not to collapse. Damon turned, saw the blood, and a flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes. He started toward me. But before he could take a step, Tatum locked her arms around his waist. “Damon, I’m scared! There’s so much blood! I’m going to faint! My stomach hurts!” she shrieked, dry-heaving dramatically, looking far more distressed than the one who was actually bleeding. Damon froze. His gaze flickered between my bleeding ankle and the hysterical girl in his arms. It was the classic choice. He chose Tatum when we broke up. He chose Tatum now that we were back together. It was never, ever me. “Ains, that’s just a scratch. You need to call an Uber to the nearest emergency room. Tatum’s anxiety is turning into an ulcer attack. It could be serious. I have to take her first.” His words came out fast, a rush of decision, and he couldn’t meet my eyes. I just stared at him, then nodded quietly. “Okay. Go on. Don’t worry about me.” No tears. No fights. No questions. Damon looked utterly bewildered, clearly thrown by how easily I’d let him off the hook. But he didn’t have time to process it. He tossed out a clipped: “Text me when you’ve been stitched up,” and carried Tatum out the door, never looking back. I was left alone, bleeding, standing in a pile of broken glass, a joke under the weight of the socialites’ stares. The wound was agonizing, but a strange, liberating rush of clarity swept through me. It felt like a heavy stone had finally been lifted from my chest. I wasn’t just relieved; I wanted to laugh. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello. I’ve made up my mind.”

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The challenge was trending online: “Call your husband and ask for money to buy something.” The wives at the table were dissolving in laughter. Mrs. Davies asked for a handbag; fifty grand hit her account instantly. Mrs. Rodriguez asked for a necklace; thirty grand, cleared. When it was my turn, my palms were sweating, especially since my sister-in-law, Vivienne Lane, was also present—the perpetually grieving widow of Gideon’s older brother. “Maybe I shouldn’t…” I tried to demur. Vivienne suddenly spoke up, her voice honey-soft, “If Mia feels awkward, I can go first.” Before I could react, she had already dialed my husband, Gideon Thorne. The line connected. 1. Mrs. Thorne—the group had always called me Mrs. Thorne, but somehow, I felt like the placeholder—set her phone down, her eyes sweeping over us. “You all saw the viral challenge, right? Call your husband, ask for money for a splurge, and see who’s the most enthusiastic about spending.” A low hum of laughter filled the private dining room. The other wives feigned shyness but their eyes were bright with competitive excitement. Mrs. Davies went first, cooing that she’d spotted a vintage Cartier. Fifty thousand dollars was instantly transferred. Mrs. Rodriguez followed, mentioning a rare art print. Thirty thousand dollars landed in her bank app before she hung up. When it came to Mrs. Allen, her husband was in a board meeting. He spoke in a low, muffled voice, promising a transfer later, but still sent two thousand instantly as a placeholder. “Amelia, you’re up,” Mrs. Thorne said, turning her attention to me. I gripped my phone, my palm already damp. To be honest, I didn’t want to play this game—not today, not with Vivienne Lane here. Vivienne sat in a corner booth, wearing a simple, pale linen dress, holding her five-year-old son, Callum, on her lap. Her husband, Gideon’s older brother, had died in a car accident two years ago. “Maybe I should skip it…” I tried to find an excuse. “Oh, come on, everyone’s done it!” Mrs. Thorne insisted, nudging me. Vivienne looked up abruptly, her voice soft and tender. “If Mia’s having trouble, I’ll go again.” Before I could protest, she had dialed Gideon’s number. It rang once. He picked up. 2. “Hello, Gideon?” Vivienne’s voice was the sound of a silk ribbon unwinding. “I’m having tea with Mia and the others. Callum saw a new remote-control drone he wants, but my account is a little low…” “How much? I’ll send it now.” Gideon’s voice, muffled but clearly audible through the speaker, was gentle. Alarmingly gentle. “Twelve hundred is plenty, thank you, Gideon.” “Sent.” She hung up and smiled at me. “Your turn, Mia.” The room went quiet. All eyes were on me. I took a deep breath, and pressed Gideon’s speed dial. BEEP—BEEP—BEEP— The waiting felt endless. One ring, two rings, three rings… until it went straight to voicemail. He hadn’t answered. Mrs. Thorne tried to smooth things over. “He must be busy, Mia. Try again?” I dialed a second time. It rang only twice this time before being deliberately hung up. Click. My face burned. The humiliation was a physical thing, spreading from my cheeks to my neck. I set the phone down and managed a brittle smile. “He must be in a meeting.” “If my husband hung up on me, he’d be sleeping on the uncomfortable guest room air mattress for a month,” Mrs. Davies joked, trying to lighten the mood. Vivienne softly stroked Callum’s hair, then spoke. “Tell you what, I’ll call him back. I’ll say I’m doing it for you, Mia.” She picked up her phone, dialed, and put it on speaker. This time, the phone connected instantly. 3. “What’s wrong, Vivi? Didn’t the money go through?” Gideon’s background noise was noisy, like an office floor. Vivienne shot me a quick, almost imperceptible glance of triumph. She spoke warmly, “It went through fine, Gideon. I just wanted to say thank you again. I’ll let you get back to work now.” The call ended. The dining room was silent as a tomb. I sat there, suddenly convinced the air conditioning was too cold. It felt frigid, numbing my fingertips. Mrs. Thorne cleared her throat and started talking about a recent charity gala. Vivienne leaned toward me, her light, woody perfume—the same scent Gideon’s car always carried—drifting into my space. “Mia, don’t overthink it,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Gideon just feels sorry for me and Callum, being alone. He’s just being charitable.” I nodded, unable to speak. Mrs. Thorne and the others exchanged a knowing, loaded look, then quickly smiled, praising Gideon for being so loyal and kind-hearted. 4. I got home around seven that evening. Gideon was on the living room sofa, reading files. He didn’t look up when I walked in. I kicked off my heels and stood in the doorway, just looking at him. The warm glow of the lamps outlined the familiar curve of his profile—the face I had secretly loved throughout my entire adolescence. But looking at it now, my chest felt heavy, like it was stuffed with wet cotton. “Why didn’t you answer my call today?” I heard my voice, thin and unsteady. He turned a page in his file, as if just recalling the event, his tone dismissive. “I was in a conference call.” “But you answered Vivienne’s call immediately.” He finally lifted his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Mia, do you have to compare yourself to her?” “I’m not comparing. I just wanted to know…” “Know what?” He put the files down, annoyance clear in his voice. “My brother is gone. Vivienne is a single mother with a young child. What is the harm in me looking out for her? Can’t you stop being so petty?” It was always this way. Any time the conversation circled back to Vivienne, the logic would twist, and somehow, I would always end up being the wrong one. 5. “I am not being petty!” I raised my voice. “I am your wife! I deserve a basic level of respect and dignity!” Gideon looked at me as if I’d told a terrible joke. He walked over, his tall frame looming, radiating an oppressive authority. “Amelia, I told you when I married you: My brother entrusted Vivienne to my care. It is my responsibility to look after her. You promised you would understand and support me, didn’t you? What, are you regretting it now?” I remembered our wedding day, when he held my hand in front of our friends and family, promising a lifetime of devotion. I also remembered the words he whispered to me right after the ceremony: “Mia, my brother’s death was sudden. We need to help his widow, okay?” Back then, I was moved. I thought he was a man of honor. Now, I felt like a pathetic fool. “Gideon,” I took a deep, shuddering breath, the tears finally starting to fall against my will. “What exactly am I to you?” He watched me cry, a flicker of irritation in his eyes before he looked away. “You are my wife. But that does not give you the right to act like a demanding child and make Vivienne’s life harder.” He paused, his voice softening slightly. “Mia, I thought you were more understanding.” Understanding him picking Callum up from school every day. Understanding him remembering all of Vivienne’s preferences. Understanding him ditching our wedding anniversary dinner to celebrate Vivienne’s birthday. Understanding it to the point that strangers commented Vivienne looked more like Gideon’s wife than I did. How much more was there to give? “I’m tired. I’m going to shower.” I turned and headed for the stairs. He spoke to my back. “Vivienne and Callum are coming for dinner tomorrow. Make sure you prepare some dishes Callum likes.” I didn’t answer. 6. In the shower, the bathroom filled with steam. I looked at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror and felt like a stranger. When had this face lost its smile? When had it become so worn and exhausted? My phone buzzed. It was a text from Vivienne: Mia, please don’t be angry about today. Gideon is just a genuinely good person. I didn’t reply. My finger slid to Gideon’s chat window. The last message was mine, from yesterday: Cramping badly. Could use my husband to rub my back. He hadn’t replied. Ten minutes ago, Vivienne had posted a photo on Instagram: a struggling succulent plant. I’m so silly, I can’t even keep a little plant alive. Gideon was the first comment. Don’t worry. I’m on my way over to check on it. I’ll buy you a new one. The best kind. I estimated I could die, and it would be a minor inconvenience. Her little plant dying was a national emergency. 7. Vivienne arrived the next afternoon with Callum, just as expected. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen. She rushed toward me and took my hand. “Mia, I came specifically to apologize. Yesterday, I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I got used to reaching out to Gideon’s brother when I needed help, and I didn’t think about how it looked. Please, can you forgive me?” Her posture was meek, but behind her, Callum shot into my house like a tiny missile, shrieking and running wild. “Callum, that’s enough!” Vivienne called out half-heartedly, but didn’t move her feet. I watched him clamber onto my treasured display cabinet and sweep my entire high-end perfume collection onto the floor. Glass shattered. The expensive, complex scents mixed into a nauseating cloud. “What are you doing!” I rushed over, heartbroken. “Nyah, nyah! Mean lady! This is my uncle’s house! I can break whatever I want!” Callum made a face at me, then ran toward the sofa, picking up the remote control and throwing it hard at the flatscreen TV. Vivienne finally strolled over. Looking at the mess, her eyes welled up instantly. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Callum never had a father, and I spoiled him… It’s all my fault…” 8. Just as the last word left her lips, Gideon appeared, walking down the staircase. He was in loungewear, his hair slightly rumpled. “Daddy!” Callum rushed him like a small, explosive toy, and Gideon scooped him up. I froze, looking at Gideon. He avoided my eyes. “Callum, don’t call him that,” Vivienne gently corrected, but her voice lacked any real conviction. “He is my daddy! He is!” Gideon patted the boy’s back and looked at Vivienne. “What happened? You look terrible.” Vivienne didn’t speak, she just let the tears fall. “Gideon, please tell Mia not to be angry. I just… I’m alone with Callum, and sometimes I panic. I always think of you first…” “No one is blaming you,” Gideon said, his voice softening. “Don’t worry about it.” Her shoulders shook with sobs, a picture of delicate sorrow. Gideon put his arm around her. When he looked up at me again, his eyes were cold. “Amelia, what did you say to her now?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Vivienne’s voice was faint and trembling. “Gideon, I need to ask you something… Could you and Mia… put off having children for a while? Just until I’m more stable, until Callum is a little older and can handle it better… I know it’s a huge ask, but I’m so afraid…” 9. “This…” “I…” I started to speak. Vivienne suddenly dropped to her knees. “Vivi!” Gideon was startled. He put Callum down and rushed to help her up. “Gideon, I’m begging you…” Vivienne wept, her face tear-streaked. “Can you and Mia just… wait on having a baby?” The air froze solid. I stood there, feeling utterly paralyzed. Vivienne sobbed, continuing, “Callum already thinks of you as his father… If you have your own child, where will we stand? What will happen to us? Will there even be a place for us in this family anymore?” As she spoke, she secretly reached out and pinched Callum’s arm, hard. Callum immediately let out a painful, ear-splitting scream. The sound was hideous. Gideon picked the child up again, holding him close. Vivienne cried harder. “Callum is terrified, Gideon.” He was silent for a long time. Then, he looked up and met my gaze. “Mia,” he said. “Let’s hold off on a baby for now, okay?” The light, effortless sentence was a blunt knife, slowly twisting in my heart. I stared into his eyes, looking for a flicker of hesitation, a touch of guilt, any sign that he considered my feelings. There was nothing. Only reluctant compromise and pity for the mother and son in his arms. “Fine,” I heard myself say. “Whatever you want.” Gideon let out a deep sigh of relief, helping Vivienne stand up. “Get up, the floor is cold. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Always.” Vivienne leaned against his shoulder, quietly sobbing. Through her tears, she looked past him at me, and the corner of her mouth lifted in the faintest, quickest curve. It was the smile of a victor.

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My sexuality was accidentally exposed, and I overheard my roommate, the star high jumper Ethan, calling it “disgusting.” Because of him, the rest of the dorm isolated me. I’m petty, so I decided to get revenge. I pretended to be a cute girl online and catfished him. When the time was right, I sent him a photo revealing my true gender, expecting him to block me instantly. Instead, that night, he climbed into my bed, pinned me down, and whispered urgently: “Babe, let me touch.” Me: “…” 01 Ethan is a jock. He’s on the national track team for high jump. Recently, he sprained his ankle and has been recovering in the dorm. I took advantage of this downtime. Posing as a cute girl named “Annie,” I slid into his DMs and finally, after two months of grinding, made him my “boyfriend.” [Annie: Babe, I have dance practice now. See you tonight! Mwah!] [Sticker: Love You] I sent the message and walked into the dorm carrying takeout. As soon as I entered, I saw Ethan holding his phone, sending a voice note: “Okay, see you tonight, wifey.” His voice was deep and pleasant, carrying a gentleness I never heard in real life. But then his thumb slipped. The next second, the phone in my hand vibrated and pinged simultaneously. Me: “…” Crap. I forgot to switch accounts. The guy across the room looked up. His sharp eyes swept over me, looking fierce. Luckily, he’s handsome, so “fierce” just looks “cool.” Ethan is 6’5″, all legs and muscle, with an imposing aura. I am 5’10” (on a good day), slim build. Standing next to him, the contrast is stark. His gaze landed squarely on my phone. I panicked, grabbing my phone and pretending to reply to a friend. I even faked a voice note: “Yeah, I’ll meet you after class.” In reality, I sent it to my main account. I sat at my desk, ignoring him. Our relationship was terrible anyway. But this guy has zero self-awareness: “Luca, grab me a water, thanks.” He can move, he just likes ordering me around because he knows I ignore him. Sadistic jerk. But cowed by his dominance, I stood up spinelessly. I poured him a glass of water. I hate my soft heart and my cowardice. He took the glass, staring straight at me: “You have plans this afternoon?” “Yeah.” I sat back down, acting cool, and stopped talking. Ethan’s gaze lingered on me strangely. It made me uncomfortable. I wanted to slam the table and yell: You have a girlfriend, stop looking at me, you cheater! Speaking of which, we’ve been chatting for over two months, but only made it official recently. After lunch, I climbed into bed for a nap. He didn’t make any noise, which was nice of him. After class in the afternoon, I received a message from Ethan. [Hubby: Babe, what are you doing?] [Hubby: Did you eat? I’ll order you food.] He sent a digital gift card too. I didn’t accept it. I smirked, sitting on the campus lawn. [Annie: Just got out of class~] [Annie: Haven’t eaten yet. Want to see Hubby’s abs to fill me up.] Two minutes later, a photo arrived. Tanned skin, clearly defined eight-pack glistening in the light. Under the sun, I bobbed my head, smug. Hmph! When Ethan finds out all his nudes were collected by a guy, he’ll probably cough up blood. He replied quickly: [I want yours too.] He often speaks in commands. At first, I hated it, thought he was pretentious. Later I realized that’s just his personality. With some guidance, he’s now calling me “wifey.” I had sent him leg photos before to flirt. He wanted to see me in a pretty dress. But Ethan is in the dorm all the time now. I can’t take photos. [Annie: Tomorrow, okay? I haven’t got a new dress yet. Sob sob~] [Hubby: I’ll buy it for you.] [Hubby: Same address?] I deliberately gave him the address of the university next door. It’s close, but we haven’t brought up meeting in person yet. Ethan isn’t deep enough in the trap. I need to work harder. Back when he told our roommates that liking men was “disgusting,” I held a grudge. I’m petty like that. 02 That night, our other two roommates were out for a game. In this dorm, I’m the outcast. Ethan’s casted leg was propped up on a stool. Legs for days. I sincerely admired them. “Back?” He looked at me with those fierce eyes, tone flat. I took off my T-shirt right in front of him, exposing my upper body. The more he hates men, the more I want to gross him out. “Yep.” I threw the shirt on my chair, grabbed clean clothes, and headed to the shower. As I walked past him, I felt his eyes on me. Or maybe it was an illusion. I didn’t care. I showered, came out in pajamas and boxers, humming a tune as I did laundry on the balcony. What I didn’t know was that Ethan leaned back, shifting his gaze to the balcony. His eyes landed on my legs. Straight, slender calves. Moving up, slightly pink knees. As I turned around after hanging the clothes, Ethan had already looked away. He has deep, defined features. A quintessential handsome jock, just very cold and unapproachable. I pouted. Just wait until I make you cry. Lying in bed with the curtains drawn, I started bombing him with messages. [Annie: Hubby, miss you! Tonight I want to sleep on your abs!] [Annie: Oops, typo. Sleep on your ab photos!] [Annie: Licking the screen tonight, slurp slurp—] He video called immediately. It was on silent, so I hung up. [Annie: Sob sob, roommates are here, can’t pick up babe~] [Hubby: The package arrives tomorrow.] Meaning he wants to see the leg pics tomorrow. I hmphed softly. I seriously suspect Ethan has a leg fetish. No, he’s just a perv. Lots of people like him, guys and girls. If I wasn’t bold enough, I might not have hooked him. It just proves that even handsome guys can’t resist temptation. Heh! Men. I thought for a moment, turned on my desk lamp, and pulled out a slip dress I had used before from my storage bin. I put it over my legs. I reached out a hand, slender and bony, and grabbed the fabric at my thigh, then released it. I added a filter to the three-second video and sent it. [Annie: What do I do? My hand is out of control, wants to grab Hubby’s ab~s~] “F*ck!” I heard a low growl from Ethan’s bed. I was overjoyed. I collapsed on my bed laughing. To keep quiet, my legs, wrapped in the dress, kicked in the air like a fish out of water. The next day, I picked up the package from the neighboring university. I was sweating, so I rented a cheap hourly hotel room. I opened the box. Wow. It was a milky white, tiered princess dress. Hemline above the knee. It had a slight sheen, good quality. Would I actually look like a princess in this? I laughed at myself. But I have to say, the size was a tight fit. I almost couldn’t zip it up. My waist looked snatched. Snatched? I could barely breathe. Someone knocked. I opened the door. It was my friend, Sarah. Seeing me, she gasped. “Holy sh*t…” “Cut the crap, take photos.” She brought a wig. I let her put it on me and do some light makeup. Back view, side profile, body shots. With some editing, a long-haired beauty appeared. Even my mom wouldn’t recognize me. Sarah was drooling. “Boohoo, Luca, you’re too beautiful.” I waved my hand. “Average, average. Come on, Daddy will take some pics of you.” I took some nice shots of Sarah too. 03 I changed back into my clothes in the bathroom and took a deep breath. Almost suffocated. When I came out, Sarah was checking the price of the dress online. “Damn, your ‘hubby’ is rich. This dress is over two grand.” “What?” I was shocked. “This thing?” Suddenly the dress seemed less average. I planned to sell it later, but now I was worried about legal issues if we broke up badly. I packed it back into the box. Tag still on. If things go south, I’ll mail it back to him. Avoid exposing my identity during a dispute. I sent the edited photos to Ethan. He was probably busy and didn’t reply immediately. Sarah and I went to the food court for corn dogs. My phone vibrated. Sarah peeked. “Wifey is so beautiful… Ew~ I can’t imagine the department heartthrob saying that. Luca, make him send a voice note.” Me: “…” I hmphed but complied. [Annie: Want to hear Hubby’s voice. So sexy, listen to it 300 times on loop~] My flirting skills are top tier. No wonder I caught him. Hehe. He replied quickly with a voice note: “Wifey looks very good.” Five words, slightly cold. But Ethan’s voice is magnetic. Better than the ASMR Sarah listens to. She had stars in her eyes. “Oh my god, he called you wifey. So smooth. Sweeter than a caramel latte.” Speaking of smells… “Smells like stinky tofu,” I said. We bought some. We finished eating and parted ways. Sarah actually attends the neighboring uni. Ethan is famous. Even people at her school know him. Many girls come to our games just to see him. His teammates were devastated when he got injured; they lost their female audience. Back in the dorm, Ethan was there. Isn’t he local? Why not go home to recover instead of being an eyesore here? Annoying! I only dared to roast him internally. He messaged me asking to bring food. I obediently took the long way to buy his favorite meal. I put the food on his desk. “Here. Ninety-five.” Ethan’s gaze swept over my hand subtly. He picked up his phone. “Thanks. Sent.” I checked. He sent a hundred. He always rounds up. I’ll just keep the change. Not my loss. 04 I went back to my desk. He saw the box on my chair. “What did you buy?” I lied without blinking. “Shoes.” Ethan frowned slightly, looking at the box again. My heart skipped a beat. I kicked the box under the desk. It’s just a plain cardboard box, right? The logo is tiny. He bought it online; he shouldn’t know what the shipping box looks like. I calmed down. This is what happens when you do bad things; you get paranoid. I really regretted it sometimes. I remembered the day I overheard them. The door wasn’t fully closed. “Sht, he… likes men? Sht, hope he doesn’t look at me.” I rolled my eyes outside. Look in a mirror, I have standards. Then another roommate: “Nah, heard Luca has someone he likes.” Then, that voice I thought was so nice said coldly: “Disgusting.” Crack. My filter for Ethan shattered. I wanted to burst in, but I chickened out and sat on the lawn for ten minutes feeling sad. I thought we were okay. Not friends, but civil. I didn’t know he was like that. From then on, the other two avoided me but sucked up to Ethan. I blamed him for everything. So I decided to gross him out. Now, there’s no turning back. Not only did I not reflect on my actions, I felt I was losing out. Emotional labor is exhausting. I picked up my phone, switched to the alt account. [Annie: Hubby, show me your… you know.] I sent it, then panicked and recalled the message immediately. Ahhh! Too far! My face burned red. I slammed the phone face down. I peeked at the handsome guy next door. He was staring at his screen, brows furrowed, expression subtle. Did he see it? He didn’t reply. Probably ignored it. I’m used to it. Being a lick-dog for revenge is a losing business. Never again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389390”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel