Category: English

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.

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It was the seventh day of the cold war between Declan and me. Then, the car accident happened. He rushed to the hospital. I sat on the bench outside the ER, seemingly unharmed. The person being resuscitated inside was the Omega he had brought home seven days ago. “Noah, you better pray he’s okay.” Declan was trembling with rage, his voice freezing the air around us. “If he isn’t, I will make you suffer ten times the pain he’s feeling right now.” So, like a criminal awaiting sentencing, I sat there. Imprisoned on that cold metal chair by my own Alpha. I didn’t realize that my internal organs had ruptured. I didn’t realize my abdominal cavity was slowly filling with blood. I didn’t notice… until it was too late. 1. I didn’t feel the pain at first. After the violent impact, there was only a persistent numbness and stiffness spreading through my limbs. “Sir?” A young nurse walked over, pointing to my forehead. “You’re bleeding. Let me bandage that for you.” I shook my head. The nurse frowned. “Are you sure? You should get a full scan after a crash like that. Some injuries aren’t obvious at first, but internally—” “Noah!” A familiar, commanding voice thundered from the other end of the corridor. A top-tier Alpha in a black trench coat strode toward me, bringing a gust of winter chill with him. His aggressive, S-class pheromones flooded the hallway, the invisible pressure sending the nurse scurrying away in fear. Declan stopped in front of me. Looking down, his voice was dark. “Why?” “What?” I looked up at him. My thoughts were sluggish. I didn’t process what he meant. Declan stared at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. “Just because I brought Caleb home, you wanted to kill him? Is that it?” So, that’s what he thought. He thought I crashed the car on purpose to kill Caleb. “I didn’t.” I lowered my head. “I mind him. I hate him. But I never thought about killing him.” Declan didn’t hesitate. He roared, his anger palpable. “Then why are you sitting here without a scratch while he’s in there fighting for his life?!” His words made the world stop. A coldness rushed from my limbs to my chest. I tilted my face up slowly. My voice was raspy. “So… the one dying should be me, right?” But Declan… I am your Omega. Just because I’m alive, am I automatically the villain? “Noah, you better pray he’s okay.” Declan ignored my pale face. “Otherwise, I will make you pay back every ounce of pain he suffers, ten times over.” My heart felt like it had been flash-frozen. It physically hurt. I turned my head stiffly, refusing to look at him. “If I give you my life in exchange for his, would that be enough?” Declan looked impatient. “I told you. I let Caleb stay in the guest house because he has a severe gland disorder. He needs my pheromones to stabilize his symptoms temporarily. We are not—” “Excuse me.” Two police officers walked over. “Are you Mr. Noah Vance?” I nodded. “Yes.” “We just came from the crash site. We have some questions. Is now a good time?” The other officer added, “We towed your vehicle. The driver’s side is destroyed. You must have taken a hard hit. Are you sure you’re medically fit to answer questions?” Before I could speak, Declan looked at me, frowning. “Noah, are you injured?” 2. Declan’s gaze swept over my forehead. “It’s just a scratch,” he scoffed. “Compared to the person dying inside, it’s nothing.” I smiled. It was a self-deprecating smile, born of exhaustion. Right. Compared to Caleb, I was nothing to Declan. “I’m fine,” I told the officer softly. “Ask away.” “Mr. Vance, why did your vehicle suddenly veer into the statue?” “Brake failure,” I whispered. “As we neared the hospital, the brakes just… stopped working.” “When was your last inspection?” the officer asked. “Last month,” Declan interjected, his voice deep. “His car is serviced by professionals every quarter.” The officer took notes. “Where were you taking the passenger, Mr. Caleb Ross?” “To the hospital.” “Don’t lie!” Declan snapped. “Caleb’s check-up isn’t scheduled for today.” I explained, “He suddenly felt sick. He begged me to drive him.” “Impossible,” Declan cut me off. “Caleb is terrified of you. He avoids you like the plague. Why would he ask you for help?” He glared at me. “Besides, you’re hostile toward him. I don’t believe you would willingly drive him anywhere.” “I’m not lying.” I closed my eyes, my voice trembling. “He said if I didn’t drive him, he’d call you. He’d beg you to take him.” “I… I didn’t want you to take him.” Declan frowned. “Why?” My lips parted, but I said nothing. Why? Because you are my Alpha. Because I love you. Before we even got married, I had loved you for a long, long time. “Do you remember the moment of the accident?” the officer asked. “After the brakes failed, we picked up speed. There was a red light ahead. People in the crosswalk.” “I had no choice. To avoid the pedestrians, I slammed the wheel to the right.” I frowned, trying to recall through the fog in my brain. “But I specifically maneuvered to protect the passenger side. He shouldn’t be in critical condition…” My thoughts cut off abruptly. I looked at the officers blankly. “Are you… do you suspect me too?” “Sorry,” the officer said. “The investigation is ongoing. We cannot rule out foul play yet. You cannot leave the city until we close the case.” The police left. The corridor returned to a deadly silence. I felt incredibly tired. I leaned my head back against the wall and asked Declan calmly, “Do you really want to send me to prison?” If I went to jail for reckless driving, you and Caleb could finally be together properly. Declan sat next to me, his expression grim. “You did something dangerous and despicable. Isn’t prison the punishment you deserve?” I gave a tired laugh. “Yeah…” Punishment. Because I was despicable. I used my family’s connections to become Declan’s Omega. I naively thought he would eventually love me. The silent companionship, the carefully prepared meals. The way I offered myself like a sacrifice whenever his Rut hit. Looking back, it was all a joke. “Noah.” Declan interrupted my thoughts coldly. “You can actually smile right now? I overestimated your sense of shame.” A strange, dull ache began to spread from my left side. I clenched my fist, pressing it against my ribs. I called his name softly. “Declan.” Ignoring his cruelty, I asked carefully, “Do you regret marrying me?” 3. I knew I would marry Declan when I was nineteen. “Noah, count your lucky stars,” my stepmother sneered. “If you hadn’t presented as an Omega, the Sterling family would have canceled this engagement immediately.” “With Declan Sterling’s status, even top-tier Omegas would kill to stand next to him.” I thought I was lucky, too. Not because of the wealth. But because I could marry the man I had silently loved for years. But the happiness didn’t last. Before graduation, Declan found me. He didn’t recognize me. He looked at me coldly. “I need you to reject the engagement.” “You can blame it on me. Make up any reason.” I stared at my shoes, digging my nails into my palms. “Can I ask why?” Declan laughed. He looked at me like I was a child. His voice softened. “You’re an Omega. It’s better if it comes from you.” I was mesmerized by his sudden gentleness. “Is it because you’re in love with someone else?” “No.” His eyes darkened. “It’s because I just broke up with him.” I found out later. The person he broke up with was Caleb. I married Declan anyway. I thought: He’s single now. What if? What if he learns to like me? If, after a year, he still doesn’t love me, I’ll initiate the divorce. Just let me stay by his side for one year. But humans are greedy. Once I was by his side, I wanted the hugs, the kisses, the Marking. I wanted him completely. I even deluded myself into thinking he liked me a little bit. “Hah.” Declan scoffed beside me. “If I knew you were capable of this, I never would have compromised. I never would have honored that contract.” So, he regretted it. I wanted to laugh it off and say, It’s okay. I’ll talk to the elders. We can annul it. But I couldn’t smile. The pain in my abdomen was escalating. I bit my lip to stop a groan, but my body betrayed me. I slumped sideways, my head hitting Declan’s shoulder. He didn’t dodge. Instead, he grabbed my arm roughly. “Sit up!” He looked furious. “Noah, are you acting pitiful now?” I tried to straighten my spine. I shook my head. Weakly, I asked, “Can you buy me a bottle of water?” “Why?” Declan eyed me suspiciously. “Trying to distract me so you can run away?” “No.” I breathed through a sharp wave of pain. “Then… I’ll go to the restroom.” Once I stood up, the pain became bearable. Maybe it was just muscle strain from the crash tensing up. I went to the bathroom and drank tap water from the faucet. I was so thirsty. I splashed cold water on my face. Looking in the mirror, I lifted my shirt. To my surprise, a massive purple bruise was blooming across my left abdomen. It was shocking to look at. Did I hit the console during the crash? I couldn’t remember. I dropped my shirt. Declan appeared in the reflection behind me. Before I could speak, he frowned deeply. He turned to the hallway and shouted: “Doctor!” 4. A doctor arrived quickly. Declan pointed at me. “Get him a water.” Then he looked at my wet shirt, his expression cold. “What game are you playing now? Get out here and sit down.” He dragged me back to the cold metal bench. He sat next to me, guarding me like a prisoner. That was fine. I thought bitterly: When Caleb comes out, Declan will send me to prison anyway. This might be the last time I get to talk to him. I drank the whole bottle of water. Suddenly, dizzy spells hit me. My strength evaporated. “Declan.” I leaned back, whispering. “There’s something I’ve wanted to apologize for. I didn’t listen to you back then. I didn’t refuse the engagement.” My heart was pounding violently. I gasped for air. “I lied to you. I said I tried… but I didn’t. I was so happy I could marry you.” “How could I refuse?” Declan looked at me with confusion. I smiled weakly. “Declan, I’ve loved you… for so long.” “You probably forgot, but we met years ago.” We met at my house. My father’s company was taking off. He threw a lavish party. My new stepmother—a washed-up Omega actress—moved in with her son, who was three years older than me. My father slapped me in front of everyone because I refused to call them “Mom” and “Brother.” The boy, eleven years old, smirked at me from his mother’s arms. During the banquet, the boy threw leftover fat and bones into my bowl. I tried to leave. He cornered me in the hallway, forcing me to kneel and call him ‘Brother.’ I glared at his chubby face. “Get lost.” He raised a hand to hit me. I kicked him in the stomach. He fell, wailing like a banshee. I saw Declan then. He stood at the end of the hall. He was taller than me. He had an Alpha inhibitor patch on his neck. He looked cold. I braced myself for him to tell on me. But Declan stepped over the crying boy. “Shut up,” he whispered to my stepbrother. “Unless you want to die, tell them you fell.” Then he looked at me. “Nice kick.” “Go. You’re safe now.” Declan said I was safe, and I was. My stepbrother never messed with me again. And I never forgot Declan. “Later, we went to the same university.” I smiled, though my eyelids were too heavy to keep open. “I was so happy. I tried to manufacture ‘accidental’ meetings. But every time I stood in front of you, I couldn’t speak. I was such an idiot.” My head lolled to the side. I whispered, “I’ve always been stupid, haven’t I?” “I thought you’d remember me. I thought you might like me. I thought… you’d believe me.” My forehead rested against Declan’s shoulder. This time, he didn’t push me away. “What is your goal with this story?” Declan’s voice was ice. “I fulfilled the marriage contract. You should be satisfied. I’m just helping a sick friend. Why are you acting like this?” When I didn’t answer, Declan grabbed my shoulders and sat me upright. “Noah! Why can’t you sit still?” He frowned, looking stern. “What is wrong with you? Are you dizzy?” “I’m just tired.” My voice was a breath. “Let me sleep for a while. Just a little while…” “Noah—” I closed my eyes. I didn’t hear what he said next.

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The moment my eyesight returned, the first person I rushed to find was my husband, Preston Maxwell. I needed to share the earth-shattering news. But before I could even open the door to the private lounge, I stopped. I could hear Preston’s voice, loose and self-satisfied, mingling with the easy laughter of his friends. “Preston, the wife has been blind for two years. You had your boy, Grant Miller, pretend to be you so you could be with your ‘soulmate.’ Aren’t you worried one day Miller’s going to stop pretending and make the lie real?” “Worried?” Preston took a slow sip of something expensive, his laugh echoing—a sound so casual it was like a punch to the gut. “Miller’s control is legendary. I’ve seen women practically naked in front of him and he didn’t even blink. He’s not going to touch June.” “Besides, my wife is basically frigid. As long as Grant doesn’t actively pursue her, she’d never even consider anything like that.” A chorus of chuckles and jeers followed. “I don’t know who I feel sorrier for—the wife or Miller. Two gorgeous people sleeping in the same bed and just… talking. What a waste of a perfect setup, ha!” Their callous laughter rippled through the door. I glanced toward the center of the room, though I didn’t need to see to know he was there—Grant Miller, nursing a drink, aloof and distant, the very definition of cool, restrained class. A man that desirable, and I hadn’t once considered him. What a shame. 1 In hindsight, the clues had been everywhere. For the two years I was blind, “Preston” had been noticeably colder, less talkative, and carried an undeniable distance. My own insecurities, coupled with the darkness, had made me self-conscious and afraid to complain. A soft click of the lock snapped my attention back to the present. “June? I’m home.” The voice behind me was Grant Miller’s, deliberately pitched low, mimicking my husband’s tone. Their voices were naturally similar, and with the added effort, it was no wonder I hadn’t been able to tell the difference for two years. I looked up, letting my newly clear eyes linger on the handsome, angular face of the man before me. Grant, the legendary, untouchable “Ice Man” of the City’s elite, who had always seemed above the mess of the Maxwells’ world. Why had he agreed to this two-year farce? The motive didn’t matter anymore. If they wanted to play a game, I would play it to the end. I dropped my gaze, pretending I was still in the dark. I moved forward, a hesitant, sightless figure, and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. “Honey, you’re finally home.” I pressed myself against him, my hands instinctively running over the hard, carved lines of his abdomen. Two years of restraint had defined our relationship. Even when we shared a bed, he maintained a rigid distance. Now, I was crushing that boundary. My unexpected closeness startled him. His body stiffened beneath my touch, his voice catching slightly. “June… what is it? Is something wrong?” I squeezed out a few manufactured tears and tried to sound hurt. “Preston, since the accident, you haven’t touched me. Have you… have you stopped finding me desirable?” Grant paused, then lowered his voice, the comfort sounding forced. “No, don’t think that. You were injured in the crash, not just your eyes, but your body. I didn’t want to put any strain on you.” “My body is fine now. I can handle it.” I fumbled—or pretended to—with the buttons of his tailored dress shirt, my fingers brushing the solid expanse of his chest. “It’s been two years, darling. You must be suffering, too.” Grant’s throat worked, his voice a raw whisper. “…I’m fine.” I leaned in, blowing a gentle, warm breath on his exposed collarbone. “Maybe we should…” The sentence died as his phone rang. “I need to take this.” Grant seemed grateful for the interruption, pulling away to take the call on the balcony. I crept to the window and heard Preston’s lazy voice through the speaker. “Miller, I’m swapping days with you. My grandfather’s birthday is tomorrow.” Grant hesitated. “Fine.” “It’s been months since we switched places. Catch me up—what’s happened with June? Don’t want any slip-ups when I get back.” Then came the mocking voice of one of Preston’s friends again. “Preston, chasing your soulmate and keeping the wife happy—who’s more important to you?” Preston scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt. “June? She’s nothing compared to Geneva. June has been chasing me for years, a clingy shadow I could never shake. I had to fight to win Geneva over. If it weren’t for the Old Man, I would have never married June in the first place.” I stood frozen, the blood draining from my face. The self-mockery was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was right. I had been chasing him for so long. Ten years. From sixteen to twenty-six. And after finally getting what I thought I wanted—marriage—the man I was sharing my bed with was his best friend. For two years, my life had been a massive, pathetic lie. 2 That night, I initiated the physical closeness, holding Grant Miller in my arms until dawn. I felt the rigid tension in his body—he never relaxed, never reciprocated, but he didn’t pull away either. I woke the next morning to an empty space beside me, but Preston was standing by the bed, formally dressed. “Up, sleepyhead.” He smiled, a forced, unfamiliar expression. “Get ready. The Old Man’s birthday party is today.” I stretched languidly, giving a fake, husky purr. “Honey, your bones were so hard last night. You bruised my hip, I swear.” Preston’s smile shattered. The air instantly frosted over. The drive to the Maxwell estate was silent and tense, Preston’s face dark, his mood a brewing storm. But the moment we walked into the grand hall, he plastered on the perfect, adoring-husband mask and squeezed my hand. “Grandpa, happy birthday. Wishing you health and wealth!” The Elder Maxwell was thrilled to see me and kept me at his side, chatting warmly. The room was packed. I saw Grant Miller across the hall, the man I had slept with hours ago, and then my attention snagged on the other woman: Geneva Stone, the object of Preston’s obsession—his “soulmate.” Geneva’s eyes found mine, and she held a look of blatant challenge and scorn. I ignored her completely, pretending to be utterly unaware of her presence. Mid-party, I excused myself to the restroom. Emerging from the stall, I found Geneva waiting. She walked directly toward me, and just as we were about to pass, I heard the tell-tale slosh sound. A cascade of red wine splashed over my head, soaking my hair and the front of my dress. “Oops, I am so sorry,” Geneva cooed, the apology sickly sweet. “My hand must have slipped. Clumsy me.” I didn’t panic. I calmly picked up the wet floor warning sign by the door, lifted it, and deliberately swung it, hitting her squarely in the face. “Ah!” Geneva shrieked, clutching her stinging cheek. “June Reed! What the hell was that!” I feigned confusion and post-facto apology. “Oh, goodness, my apologies! I still can’t see a thing, you know. I was just trying to feel for a railing. Did I hit you?” Geneva was covered in wine, fury contorting her face. She raised her hand to slap me. I lifted the sign again and swung it back at her. “Stop it!” Two male voices barked the command simultaneously from behind. Preston and Grant both strode toward us, followed by several staff members. Geneva immediately crumpled into Preston’s arms, her tears turning her perfect makeup into a mess. “Preston, your wife hit me with that sign! You have to do something!” “June, apologize now,” Preston said, his voice dangerously low. I stumbled—or pretended to—into Grant’s embrace. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I can’t see, it was an accident. Please don’t be mad at me.” Preston stood there, his face an angry, mottled purple. Grant gently patted my back and lowered his voice for my ears only. “It’s fine, June. Don’t worry about it.” I glanced up. Preston’s face was dark enough to drip ink. A spark of malicious glee shot through me. I snuggled closer to Grant’s chest, sniffing dramatically. “My clothes are completely soaked, darling. I’m freezing. Can you take me home and run a bath for me? And maybe give me a massage? My hip is killing me.” Grant’s hand, still on my back, tightened. His voice was a little rougher. “I… I think I can manage that.” “Mother Chen!” Preston’s eyes flashed with a potent mix of displeasure and possessive rage. He cut us off with a clipped tone. “Take Mrs. Maxwell to be bathed and changed!” 3 After I had changed into a dry dress, I accidentally overheard Preston and Grant talking in the hallway. Preston’s face was stormy. “Grant, you’ve never been interested in women. Why are you reacting to June?” Grant lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before replying. “I’m a man, Preston, not a saint. When a beautiful woman is pressed against you, constantly touching you, you react.” Preston looked physically ill, unable to process the idea. “But June is cold! She would never… Grant, you have to promise me, no matter what, you absolutely cannot touch June! She’s still my wife, no matter how much we ‘play’ with the setup.” “You still remember she’s your wife?” Grant exhaled a plume of smoke, a mocking edge to his lips. “You’ve spent two years with your Holy Grail, Preston. Have you cared about your wife for a single day?” Preston fell silent. Grant chuckled, a cynical, dismissive sound. “If you love Geneva so much, just divorce June already.” “I can’t!” Preston’s denial was frantic. “June and I grew up together. I have feelings for her… but I spent years pursuing Geneva. She finally accepted me. I can’t let her go, either.” “God,” Grant muttered, stamping out the cigarette. “You’re a joke, Preston.” I didn’t need to hear any more. I turned and walked away. Preston, you want to keep your idealized woman and your convenient wife. You want everything. But life doesn’t work that way. … The party eventually ended, and Preston drove me home. Just as we arrived, I saw Grant waiting by the front door. Preston handed me over to Grant without a single backward glance, speeding off immediately. Once inside, I went straight to the master bath. A few minutes later, I called out, my voice laced with theatrical panic. “Honey! I slipped! I think I twisted my shoulder. Can you bring the ointment in and help me?” The door clicked open immediately. Grant walked in, holding a tube of muscle rub. I was wrapped loosely in a towel, my hair half-wet, water still clinging to my skin. Grant stared for two seconds, then awkwardly averted his gaze, busying himself with squeezing the cream onto his palm. I let out a small, dramatic gasp, pretending to lose my footing, and “plunged” directly into his arms. The towel fell to the floor, pooling at my feet. Two warm bodies met, skin to skin. Grant’s ears went crimson. He tried to push me away, his voice strangled. “June, wait. We can’t…” I cut him off, pressing my mouth fiercely against his. Grant froze for a moment. Then, with a sound that was half-growl, he abandoned all pretense, wrapping his arms around me and returning the kiss with desperate, hungry heat. In the brief moments we pulled apart for air, I reached down and fumbled for the belt buckle on his trousers, my voice low and husky. “We’ve been married so long, darling… maybe it’s time we finally had a baby.” Grant’s throat bobbed. His voice was thick and raw. “…Yes. Whatever you want, June.” He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom. Just as he laid me down, his phone rang again. Grant looked at the screen and immediately hit “Ignore.” “Aren’t you going to answer that?” I whispered. He swallowed the rest of my words with another demanding kiss. From that afternoon until deep into the night, Grant was not the restrained, icy man I had known. He was a starved wolf who had finally tasted meat. He was relentless, insatiable. I fell asleep, utterly exhausted. Sometime in the pre-dawn hours, I vaguely heard Grant answer the phone, his voice a low murmur. “I know.” “No, I won’t touch her.” “You don’t trust me? Then don’t.” “Take an oath? I don’t believe in superstition.” He hung up. Grant leaned down, his voice barely audible as he spoke into my ear. “June, why did you only ever love him?” I want to tell you I don’t love him anymore. But I was too tired, too drained, and drifted back to sleep. 4 After that first night, Grant became a completely different man. He was a predator who had tasted blood and couldn’t get enough. For two months, he was consumed by me, throwing himself entirely into our newly passionate life. Preston, meanwhile, had taken his soulmate on a romantic European getaway and hadn’t been seen since. One day, feeling unwell, Grant took me to the doctor. Unexpectedly, we ran straight into Preston and Geneva, who had just returned from abroad, outside the clinic. “Oh, what a surprise,” Geneva chirped, dripping fake concern. “I’ve been having a bit of an upset stomach and morning sickness. Maybe too much fun abroad, I don’t know. Just here to check if I’m expecting! What brings you two here?” Grant looked at her, his expression ice-cold. “June isn’t feeling well. I brought her for a checkup.” Preston remained speechless, trying to hide his fear of the charade collapsing. But his eyes were glued to the angry red marks blooming on my neck—marks he knew he hadn’t made. His face was rigid with cold fury. I pretended not to notice either of them and walked past. As I brushed past Geneva, she let out a piercing shriek and dramatically stumbled backward, landing squarely in a decorative water fountain. Preston’s face went white. He jumped into the fountain immediately and scooped her out. Geneva was soaking wet, sobbing hysterically. “Preston! Your wife pushed me in! I don’t even know what I did to her, why is she always provoking me?” Preston’s composure evaporated. His voice was a whip-crack. “June Reed, apologize to Geneva!” I scoffed. It was always the same. He never questioned. He simply issued my sentence. “I didn’t do it. Why should I apologize?” Preston’s eyes were dark and menacing, his voice like chipped ice. “Who else would have done it? Geneva walked right past you! Did she jump in herself? Are you as black-hearted as you are blind?” Ten years of devotion. Ten years of giving him everything. It all came back to this: Geneva was always his priority. “I won’t apologize,” I stated flatly. “You don’t have a choice!” Preston kicked my knee hard. The sudden, searing pain made me gasp and drop straight to my knees. He grabbed my head, forcing me down, trying to make me kowtow to Geneva. “Let go of her!” Grant lunged forward, wrenching Preston’s hand away. His eyes burned with barely contained rage. “Don’t you touch her!” Preston ground his jaw, his face a terrifying shade of crimson. As they wrestled, a sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness hit me. All my strength vanished, and I started to fall backward. Two voices cried out simultaneously. “June!” Grant was instantly there, catching my limp body. But before he could properly hold me, Preston grabbed me from his arms. “June, what is it? Wake up!” “I’m sorry, June, I shouldn’t have been so cruel, just wake up…” Preston carried me frantically toward the emergency room. Outside the doors, Preston glared at Grant, his voice low and frigid. “Explain the marks on her neck, Miller.” Grant merely sneered. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about her health right now?” The door to the emergency room opened. The doctor pulled down her mask. “No cause for alarm. The patient fainted due to high emotional stress. She’s pregnant, and she’ll be fine after a rest.” “What did you say?” Preston looked as though he had been struck by lightning.

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Waking up in the middle of the night to a post from the Campus King was never a good sign, especially when it read: [Been talking to a girl online for three months. We’re supposed to meet next week, and I just found out she’s a hundred-and-sixty-pound whale. Help.] The top comment was pure evil: [Simple. Give the account and the girlfriend to someone you hate. Let two annoying people cancel each other out.] The Campus King happily agreed. I scrolled past with a shudder, thanking my lucky stars my own boyfriend wasn’t like that. A few weeks later, I was having a sweet dinner with my boyfriend when the Campus King suddenly showed up, pointing at the man across from me and practically screaming: “You bastard! I should be Liv Parker’s boyfriend! Give her and the account back right now!” 1 I was already half-asleep, but the post immediately grabbed my attention. I recognized the user: Sawyer Reed. The campus king. Was this guy really doing the online dating thing? Sawyer was deep into a digital breakdown in his thread: [God help me, she told me she was five-foot-six and looked like a supermodel. I believed her for three whole months!] [I forgot to ask about her weight!] [I ordered her some takeout today and asked the delivery guy to describe her. He said a walking barrel came down, legs thicker than her waist, like a side of beef. The thought of calling a side of beef ‘babe’ for three months makes me want to spontaneously combust!] The comment section was having a field day: [Catching feelings for an online ghost? A quick pic will set him straight.] [Fate hates pretty-boy snobs. This is karma.] Sawyer was losing it: [This isn’t just teasing now. I have to meet her next week! I want to run over every single pig-demon in the world!] Huh, weird coincidence. My boyfriend and I were also planning to meet up next week. I flipped over to my messaging app. My last exchange with my online boyfriend, X, was from that evening. X: [Heading to the lab tonight. Don’t wait up for me.] It was pushing 10 PM. I sent a new message: [Babe, still busy?] [I just saw the most infuriating post!] He was probably tied up; no reply came for a while. I knew he couldn’t have his phone on him in the secure lab area, so I didn’t worry, just went back to the forum. In the time I was gone, Sawyer had posted several updates, each more vile than the last: [I swear, the pig-demon can’t go an hour without messaging. So irritating.] [I can’t look at her profile picture without feeling sick, let alone talk to her.] [Gotta go puke.] Most of the responses were happily feeding the drama. A few people spoke up for the girl, but Sawyer shot them down without mercy: [You feel so great? Then you date the pig.] [Did she apologize for looking like that and trying to date online? I’m being nice just by not screaming at her!] I scrolled past more suggestions and, feeling kind of disgusted, switched back to my chat with X. Still no reply. What was going on? He had never gone radio silent like this. Was he seriously planning to pull an all-nighter in the lab? 2 I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I sent X a quick ‘Goodnight’ and went to sleep. The first thing I did the next morning was check my phone. Still nothing. What in the world? Sawyer Reed’s thread, however, had a new, troubling update. I frowned at the top comment that Sawyer had highlighted: [This is easy. Just give the account and the girlfriend to someone you hate. Let the two annoying people cancel each other out!] Ugh, that was truly messed up. Sawyer’s response was immediate and enthusiastic: [Smart, bro! I hate my cousin, that total tool, so much. I’m doing it!] Sawyer had a cousin? I’d never heard of him. But their drama wasn’t my problem. My problem was still X not replying. I reread our messages from the night before. Nothing seemed off. He’d ordered me sushi earlier and then reported heading to the lab. So why the silence? Just as I was about to call, my phone vibrated. X: [Good morning, babe.] I instantly deflated with relief, but a little bit of hurt still came through: [Why didn’t you talk to me all night QAQ] X: [Sorry, babe. The lab was crazy busy.] It really was the lab. I relaxed completely: [Fine. I guess I’ll forgive you ╭(╯^╰)╮] X: [Don’t forgive me so fast. You can get mad at me more often, babe.] He was calling me ‘babe’ so much I actually blushed a little: [Why are you so sweet this morning?] X: [I miss you.] My face felt hot: [We talk every day. How can you miss me?] A few seconds of silence before the reply: [Incredibly missed.] [I want to see you so badly, babe.] He was so flirty today! A strange sense of dissonance fluttered in my stomach, but I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding. I quickly switched to another app to calm down. I’d been dating X online for nearly four months. Usually, he had this cool, slightly aloof vibe. He used ‘babe’ sometimes, but never this much sappy, clingy language. Something was off. Seriously off. Was he covering up something he did wrong? I immediately thought of Sawyer’s awful post from last night. The sudden rush of giddiness vanished, replaced by a stern suspicion: [You’re being weird. Confess. What good deed did you do?] He paused, then sent an audio message a few seconds later: “Busted, huh, babe? I bought you a cupcake. Looks like I’m derailing your diet plan again.” Hearing his voice, I felt a wave of comfort. He’d sent me voice notes before, but they were usually in a forced, low monotone. Not unpleasant, but nothing like this bright, melodic sound. I saved the clip and sent my own voice note back: “You’re acting weird today. Weird reactions, weird words, and your voice is even weird.” He replied quickly: “And do you hate this ‘weird,’ then?” 3 Of course not! I’m the kind of person who melts when someone is soft with me. I cleared my throat and pressed the voice button: “No, I don’t hate it. Keep it up.” He chuckled: “Okay, babe. Come downstairs and get your cupcake.” Cupcakes first thing in the morning? What a sin! I mentally chastised myself while jumping out of bed and rushing through my morning routine. “Liv, up so early today?” My roommate, Maya, raised an eyebrow. I grinned: “My boyfriend got me a cupcake. Need anything brought up? I’ll grab it.” Maya waved it off: “I can go myself.” I insisted: “You got my delivery yesterday. It’s my turn.” She stood up anyway: “Let’s go together. I use the stairs as my daily cardio.” She’d been on medication that caused her to gain some weight and was quietly trying to lose it. Since she said that, I didn’t push, and we went downstairs together. Deliveries were on shelves near the dorm entrance. It was early, so few people were there. I quickly found the cakes—two of them—and the note was clear: [One for my Little Deer, one for Little Deer’s roommate.] I stared at the note and laughed, shaking the box at Maya: “My boyfriend is treating everyone.” Maya took a look and let out a delighted shriek: “Thank you, Liv and her man! Is today a special anniversary? We’re so lucky to crash the party.” I was surprised too. X rarely sent me food, and almost never shared with Maya. Did he ace a lab result last night? Was he just ecstatic? I was about to message him when someone suddenly called my name: “Liv?” I looked up and froze: “Sawyer.” It was the Campus King. He walked over quickly, his gaze briefly, carelessly landing on Maya beside me. He wrinkled his nose in a flash of distaste. Then he saw the cakes in her hand, and I thought I saw a flicker of… Malicious delight? I didn’t like his look and cut him off: “Sawyer, what’s up?” Sawyer snapped out of it and cleared his throat: “Our club is having a big social event next weekend. It’s supposed to be fun. Want to come?” I frowned slightly. Didn’t Sawyer have a girlfriend? Why was he hitting on me? Wait. I remembered the forum post from that morning. Sawyer had given his account away to someone he hated. So, was he… single now? What a toxic way to become single. I immediately refused: “Sorry, Sawyer. I’m meeting my boyfriend next weekend. I don’t have time.” Sawyer’s expression tightened: “You have a boyfriend?” I held my patience: “Yes. We’ve been together for a while.” Ignoring his deepening frown, I grabbed Maya and walked away. “Liv, you seem really cold to Sawyer,” Maya murmured, nudging me conspiratorially. “Didn’t he have a huge crush on you? Didn’t he post about you on the confession page?” 4 Calling a few vague compliments “chasing” me? That was barely above a public nuisance. And since he was hitting on me while in an online relationship, it just confirmed his character was garbage. Back in the dorm, I took professional-quality photos of the two cakes and sent them all to X. [Thank you for the feast, Big Brother! Kiss~] X replied almost instantly, focusing on a strange point: [Big Brother?] I giggled and pressed the voice key: “Oops, slip of the tongue. Thank you for the feast, Boyfriend~” X: [Say it again.] I indulged him: “Boyfriend~” The other side was silent for a few seconds, then Cash App notifications started exploding on my phone. I watched the string of $52.00, $131.40, and $999.99 transfers and was shocked: [Have you lost it? Why are you sending me so much money?] Keep in mind, we’d been dating for months, and he’d only sent me money once, on my birthday—a five-dollar and a twenty-dollar transfer, a weird version of a 520 (I love you). X: [I’m so happy. My babe needs to be happy with me.] I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. I was about to reply when he sent another message right after: [Babe, I want to come see you sooner. Can I?] My heart fluttered, and the corners of my mouth curved up: [How much sooner is ‘sooner’?] He sent a screenshot of a train ticket: Departure time this Saturday, destination my city. I noticed the booking time—6:03 AM this morning. He had bought the ticket the moment the booking site opened. I felt a rush of warmth and nervousness. I checked the passenger name: Kellan Stone. Hmm, a nice name. Seeing my delay in replying, he got anxious: [Babe?] [Is it too sudden?] [Maybe we should stick to next week. Don’t be mad…] How could I be mad?! I quickly typed back: [Not mad, just surprised.] [Come! I’ll pick you up at the station (p≧w≦q)] Kellan instantly relaxed, using my emoji style: [Yay! (^o^)/~] What a dork. I teased him in my head, but I couldn’t stop smiling. After thinking for a moment, I asked: [Should we exchange pictures first? So we don’t miss each other?] Kellan and I met playing an online game. We’d added each other on burner accounts, and neither of us had photos on our profiles. Kellan didn’t reply. Minutes ticked by, and I started to panic. Was he… hideous? After a long internal debate, I sent another message: [At least let me know your height? Narrow the search?] They say if a guy is six feet tall, he’ll let you know within three sentences. Kellan still didn’t respond. I felt a faint sense of dread rising. I could suddenly understand Sawyer Reed’s frustration! Just when I was about to give up and try a video call, my phone vibrated. Kellan finally replied.

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I always listened to my brother growing up. But I secretly dated his mortal enemy for three years. Lucas Hunt was known for being rebellious in our circle. But he was devoted to me, only he never wanted to go public. His friends asked him why, and he smiled playfully: “Because I don’t love Hazel Summers. “I’m only with her to get back at her brother and vent for my sister. “So on my birthday, I’m going to dump her hard, making them the laughing stock.” So on that highly anticipated birthday party, I didn’t show up. Instead, I went to Hong Kong for an arranged marriage. On my wedding day, Lucas rushed over, covered in dust, to stop the wedding but was blocked at the door. He begged the security to let him in, claiming to be the bride’s boyfriend. But he searched through his phone and couldn’t find a single piece of evidence that we had ever been together. Chapter 1 “Just to vent for your sister?” Lucas exhaled smoke, his eyes dark: “She felt humiliated after being rejected, left the country heartbroken, and he wouldn’t even accept my confession. Is that not enough?” His friend exclaimed: “Lucas, are you crazy? How can you like your sister?” “We’re not related by blood.” Through the smoke, Lucas’s expression blurred: “Why can’t I like her?” “But what did Hazel do wrong? “It was her brother who rejected her, what does it have to do with her? You can’t take your anger out on her. “Besides, you chased her for two years! In these three years together, you spoiled her, loved her, your relationship is so good, I thought you were going to propose on your birthday.” Silence for a moment. When the cigarette burned to the end, Lucas put it out and sneered: “If I didn’t act convincingly, how could I make her fall for me? “Only by falling into the abyss at her happiest moment will she be in agony. “Feel the same pain my sister felt.” I bit my trembling lip hard, my eyes stinging, tears about to fall. His friend frowned, slightly regretful: “Are you really going to do this? No regrets?” Lucas picked up his wine glass, his voice cold: “Absolutely no regrets.” I lowered my eyes, a petal fell, along with a tear, hitting the ground. No wonder he was never willing to go public in these three years. It turns out he had someone else in his heart. The mutual affection I thought we had. Was just a carefully designed scam by him. At this moment, I didn’t even have the desire to go downstairs and question him. Questioning, arguing, entanglement. Letting him feel my pain, isn’t that exactly what he wants? Turning away, I left the gift I intended to give him right there. Chapter 2 When I got home, I met my brother who had just returned from a business trip in Hong Kong. “Why are your eyes so red?” he asked with concern. I lowered my head and wiped them: “It’s windy outside.” On the living room sofa, he said: “I know you’re going to Hong Kong for your PhD. “So, do you want to reconsider the Xie family in Hong Kong? “Julian Xie is a good guy, strictly selected by your brother, you can rest assured.” He had mentioned arranged marriage to me several times before. I never agreed. Because of Lucas. Because I wanted free love. Marry someone I like. But now I dare not think so. Perhaps knowing the basics provides more security. Even if there is no love, at least there won’t be deception and harm. I can have more time to continue my studies. Mom and Dad will also be relieved. I’ve thought it through. “Brother, I agree to the arranged marriage.” “Really?” My brother sounded excited, “Then I’ll tell the Xie family right away.” Back in my room, I packed up all the gifts Lucas had given me over the years. Just as I was about to throw them into the storage room, my brother knocked on the door: “Next Friday, we’re going to Hong Kong.” That day happened to be Lucas’s birthday. Chapter 3 The next day, I organized the documents I needed to take with me at home. Busy until the afternoon, Lucas called, asking if he could pick me up to go out. It was noisy on his end, with the sound of radio announcements in the background. Probably at the airport. Hearing my refusal, he faintly breathed a sigh of relief: “Then eat well at home, don’t diet, hear me?” Such concern, acting so realistically. Later, my brother’s friend messaged me, asking me to pick him up. My car was being serviced, so I drove his. Finding the location according to the room number, I gently pushed the door open. But I saw Lucas intimately hugging a woman, playing a game of passing paper with their mouths. His hands were on her waist, a smile rippling at the corner of his mouth. Dissolute and unruly. People around were jeering: “Kiss one, kiss one!” Lucas took the paper away and frowned. But the woman leaned in, seeing the distance closing, just as their lips were about to touch. He turned his head slightly and met my eyes. Everyone’s gaze turned towards me. Panic flashed in his eyes. I lowered my eyes: “Sorry, I seem to have walked into the wrong room.” Closing the door for them, just a few steps out, I was dragged by Lucas into an empty private room. In the dim light, he circled me, pinching my chin: “Jealous?” I shook my head. “It’s not what you think, that’s my sister. “There’s nothing between us. Just a game. “Be good, give hubby a kiss?” He chuckled and leaned down, just as the kiss was about to land, I dodged. Breaking free from his confinement, I looked away: “My brother is waiting for me.” The door was pushed open by the woman first, she covered her mouth in surprise: “Lucas, you guys…” That was his non-blood-related sister, Bella. After Lucas’s gaze rested on me for a few seconds, he walked to her side, explaining: “Drank too much, walked into the wrong room. “I’m not familiar with this lady.” Bella smiled and took his arm: “Everyone is waiting for you.” I said nothing, nor did I look at Lucas. Just lifted my foot and walked out. Passing by, he subconsciously wanted to grab my hand. But stopped in mid-air, clenching into a fist. Chapter 4 In the car, my drunk brother turned on chatterbox mode. From childhood stories to me going to Hong Kong for grad school five years ago. “Sorry Hazel, I shouldn’t have opposed you back then. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have run so far, knowing no one.” Back then my brother wanted me to study business so I could help him with the business later. I wasn’t interested, instead continuing with experiments. A place with no family, unfamiliar environment. Lucas appeared. He understood me, knew me, supported me. I wanted to take that step towards him. Then remembered he and my brother became mortal enemies because of a project. So I tactfully rejected him. But he relentlessly pursued me for two years. No matter how cold I was, he always greeted me with a smile: “Hazel Summers, you are worth this affection. “And you don’t need to feel sorry for me, the one who falls first has to give more, this is all my willingness.” Later he risked his life to save me, which made me firmly hold his hand. Back then he said: “For you, I’m not afraid of death.” Now he says: “If I didn’t act convincingly, how could I make her fall for me?” My chest tightened. In a moment of distraction, the car drove onto the flowerbed. Chapter 5 Fortunately it was our own flowerbed, no one was hurt. My brother bumped his head, a bruise forming, speaking earnestly: “Before you leave, better not drive anymore.” I lowered my head like a quail: “Sorry brother, I’ll get it fixed for you.” Drove the car to the shop. Thinking of making amends, might as well buy him a new one. Just walked into the hall. Heard Bella’s voice: “It’s okay, I can test drive in high heels.” She sat on the sofa. Lucas squatted beside her, holding her ankle, carefully helping untie the straps. Like treating a treasure. Tone was undeniably caring: “No, what if you twist it, hurt it?” After taking off her high heels, he changed her into flats: “When going out, I’ll just carry you.” Although Bella muttered, the smile on her lips couldn’t be hidden. “Lucas, you really are my good brother.” Lucas froze for a moment, frowning slightly. I laughed very lightly in my heart. He doesn’t want to be your good brother. “You are so good, being your girlfriend must be very happy.” Bella held his shoulder to stand up. Lucas stayed squatting, wondering what he was thinking. Then took out his phone. Next second, my phone dinged. It was a message from him: [Baby, I have a race tomorrow, come, I’ll give you a surprise.] Chapter 6 When I arrived at the racetrack, the race was about to start. Lucas asked someone to arrange for me and Bella to sit together. On the track, he was in a black biker suit, slender figure, smooth muscle lines. The most dazzling existence. Withdrawing my gaze, a hand extended in front of me: “What a coincidence, meeting again. I’m Bella, Lucas’s sister.” I looked down at her hand, the tattoo on her wrist looked familiar. “Hello, Hazel Summers.” She smiled slightly, a hint of meaningfulness in her smile. These past few days, I asked about her. The adopted daughter of the Hunt family, two years older than Lucas. While parents were busy, they spent day and night together, normal to develop feelings. But she went abroad after high school graduation, only returned recently. That day, it was Lucas who picked her up. He waited for the person he liked to return. And I am ready to start a new life. “So handsome!” Screams pulled me back from my thoughts. After crossing the finish line, Lucas took off his helmet, index and middle fingers pressed to his lips, blowing a hot kiss into the air. Bella laughed: “Childish.” As if this kiss was sent to her through the air. Raising the trophy, he looked towards me and Bella through the crowd, corners of his mouth rising: “I love this summer today, just like I love her.” The scene boiled over. I was startled, looking down at the tattoo on Bella’s wrist. Exactly the same as Lucas’s. That was the one I accompanied him to get, the day after he became my boyfriend. At that time he rubbed my hand, acting spoiled: “I’m so afraid of pain, just stay by my side okay?” I pointed to the design he chose and asked: “What does this mean?” “Love you forever.” He wrapped his arm around my waist, let me sit on his lap, pulled open his collar, raised an eyebrow: “Tattoo on the collarbone, so every time you kiss me, you can see it when you look down.” “Don’t, don’t.” I blushed, quickly refusing. Lucas laughed: “Then tattoo on the wrist, okay?” I looked carefully at the pattern, didn’t look like English. He paused, eyes drifting elsewhere: “Mm, French.” French. The place where Bella studied. I opened my phone, found today’s race photo, and uploaded that string of letters to a translation app. Liar. That string of French wasn’t “Love you forever” at all. It was “No one like you”. Closing my eyes, my heart was cold. Then, Bella spoke: “Wanting him to win the trophy as a welcome gift, he really does what he says.” Backstage, while they were noisy, I quietly looked at the base of the trophy. “Exclusive to Bella” four big words, blatantly stinging my eyes. Turns out this grand confession was prepared by Lucas for her. Yet in the name of giving me a surprise. I smiled silently, slowly withdrawing from the excitement.

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I had a fever and wanted my best friend to come comfort me. I accidentally sent the message to my ex-boyfriend instead. [Baby, I’m burning up so bad, it’s unbearable. Come help me quickly.] In my delirium, I made a typo. Instead of “burning up” (fever), I typed “horny.” My ex, Ethan, replied with snark: [Weren’t you so tough when we broke up? Now you’re begging me in the middle of the night? How lonely are you?] A moment later, I realized my mistake. I quickly clarified: [Sorry to bother you, problem solved.] He replied instantly: [???] [WTF, who did you find?] [Only ten minutes? Didn’t you say you have high standards after breaking up with me?] [Heh, playing hard to get again? You think I’ll fall for it and come running back like a dog? Hilarious.] [Why aren’t you replying? Guilty?] [Hey, what are you doing?] […I’m on my way.] [Wash up and wait. I last way longer than him.] Chapter 1 During the Labor Day long weekend, I went on a trip with my best friend. Maybe it was the change in climate, but I caught a cold the night we landed. My best friend went out to buy medicine. I curled up on the hotel king bed like a cooked shrimp. People are always fragile when they’re sick. Weakly, I opened my messages and texted Sarah, who had just left. [Baby, I’m burning up (fever), it feels terrible.] [Miss you, come help me quickly boohoo.] She has no sense of direction, so I specifically reminded her: [Marriott Hotel 8703, don’t get lost.] After sending it, I threw my phone aside and turned on the TV to distract myself. Maybe my pious summons worked. Sarah soon returned with big and small bags, irreverent as always: “Bought the meds and dinner. After you eat, baby, we can go another three hundred rounds!” I struggled to open my eyes and identify the bags: “…Where’s the fever reducer? Did you not see the message I sent you?” Sarah hissed lightly, raising her hands: “Heaven is my witness, you didn’t send me anything.” I grumpily opened my messages and shoved the phone in her face. Gritting my teeth, I said, “Look again?” Two seconds later, Sarah stared at the screen and burst out laughing: “Holy sh*t baby, you sent it to the wrong person hahahahaha!” Why was this woman laughing so lewdly? I focused my eyes, then was dumbfounded. I had accidentally sent the message meant for Sarah to my ex-boyfriend, Ethan. Both of their profile pictures were blue. I was burning up with fever and saw it wrong. Sarah was still laughing. “Typo: ‘horny’? How is this different from stripping naked and seducing him!” Yes, I not only sent it to the wrong person. I also made a typo. A perfectly normal sentence was turned into something that looked like a shady ad for “door-to-door service.” “Tell me the truth.” Sarah grabbed my shoulders, looking serious: “Are you still not over him and did this on purpose?” My throat hurt and was hoarse. I explained with despair: “Don’t you know me? Over is over. I don’t eat regurgitated grass.” “Don’t speak so absolutely. Ethan was your first love after all… sigh, let me see what he replied.” Ethan: [Playing wild, huh? Going out of state just to hook up?] [Can’t that rich fiancé of yours satisfy you?] [Weren’t you so tough when we broke up? Now you’re begging me in the middle of the night? How lonely are you?] His words were harsh. Through the screen, I could imagine the disgust and mockery in the man’s eyes as he typed these words. Sarah gave me an idea, “Ask him, ask him if he’s singing out of tune.” I didn’t understand, “So?” “No matter how he replies, you say—” She smiled mysteriously, “Let me tune you up.” “…” Chapter 2 I pinched her waist, not too lightly but not too hard. “Damn girl, you just want chaos, don’t you!” “Ow ow ow.” Sarah’s tone was very affected: “Can I be your little bunny? Bunnies are easy to raise, just feed them grass.” Seeing my face getting darker, she immediately tried to fix it: “Sorry, sending dirty messages is really bad. Not only does it not solve the problem, it corrupts the youth. We should send more positive content…” I couldn’t bear it anymore, grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. “Take this, you dirty girl!” We played around for a while, then suddenly remembered I hadn’t replied to Ethan. So I stopped and held down the voice message button. Breathing slightly, I said hoarsely: “Sorry to bother you, problem solved.” Too lazy to explain too much to him. Sleepiness surged, I yawned. Hugged the pillow and fell into a deep sleep. Letting Sarah fake cry in my ear: “It wasn’t easy to come out and play with you, we haven’t even done this and that, how can you ignore me boohoo…” This sleep was very restless. In my dream, I went back to three years ago. The day I broke up with Ethan. I threw the necklace he gave me on the ground. Stepped on it with high heels, crushing it again and again. “Can something this cheap even be called a gift?” Actually, it wasn’t cheap. It was bought with money Ethan earned from working overtime for two months straight. “I’m sorry baby, if you don’t like it, I’ll throw it away.” There was no anger on Ethan’s deep-set face. He knelt on one knee, picked up the red velvet box and threw it into the trash can. Then he held my ankle and kissed the back of my foot. The burning touch made my nose sour. Almost couldn’t hold it back. “My studio is about to turn a profit.” He looked up at me from below, his gaze devout and firm. “Give me a few more years, I’ll give you a better life.” I sneered and kicked him away. “Why should I wait for you?” “You didn’t think I was serious with you, did you? Dying of laughter, look in the mirror. No money, no power, do you deserve me?” “If your service wasn’t decent, I would have dumped you long ago.” After speaking, I didn’t dare look at Ethan’s shocked gaze. Chapter 3 “Baby, what’s wrong with you?” His handsome brows furrowed. “Bad mood? Or were you bullied at the company?” Even at this time, he still cared about me. I lowered my eyes, hiding the bitterness. “Ethan, let’s break up.” “I… am getting engaged.” Ethan froze. Tried to grab my hand. “If there’s a problem, we’ll solve it, don’t say things out of anger baby…” “It’s the young master of the Ning family.” I calmed down, voice very light: “Marrying him, my family’s company revenue can double.” “And you? Besides a broken necklace, what can you give me?” “I’m sorry, I’m not good enough.” “L-Let’s not talk about this first…” Ethan’s expression was a panic I had never seen before. He leaned in to kiss me, eyes red, eyelashes trembling slightly. “You just said my service was decent, let me serve you okay? Baby, I’ll make you comfortable…” I closed my eyes and bit down. The taste of blood spread between my lips and teeth. As if I had touched something dirty, I wiped my lips with force. Sneered, “No wonder people call you a soft rice man (moocher).” Ethan’s Adam’s apple rolled, staring at my movements. After a long time, he forced a bitter smile. “I know I’m not worthy of you, wanted to talk about the future after the studio stabilized, but if you’re in a hurry to get engaged, I can marry you anytime.” “I’ll hand over all my salary after marriage, the money at home is all yours, we can sign a prenup, if you don’t want kids I’ll get a vasectomy…” “Nice pie in the sky.” I interrupted him, “Marry you, and then rightfully dump your dying grandma on me to take care of? How unlucky!” As soon as the words fell, I regretted it. Ethan was an orphan, raised by his grandma since childhood. Later, grandma had a brain infarction and was admitted to the ICU. Ethan resolutely refused a cent from me, splitting one dollar into two, and managed to scrape together the medical fees. It could be said that grandma was his reverse scale. The last sentence Ethan said to me before leaving was: “Spilled water cannot be gathered. Summer Vance, don’t regret it.” I opened my eyes abruptly. Sat up and sighed deeply. Tables turn. Three years later, Ethan became a prominent new business tycoon in the capital. And my cheap fiancé hugged a young model and made a scene at the engagement party, making me the laughingstock of the circle. My dad asked me to win him back, I refused. So my bank cards were frozen and I was kicked out of the house, couldn’t even afford cold medicine. Chapter 4 Sarah was showering in the bathroom. My cold was much better. Just as I was getting ready to scroll through my phone comfortably, a dozen unread messages popped up. Ethan: [???] [Why is your voice so hoarse? Did you give him… forget it, has nothing to do with me, find whoever you want.] Two minutes later. [Fck, so who did you find in the end?]* [Less than ten minutes total? Didn’t you say you have high standards after breaking up with me?] Five minutes later: [Heh, playing hard to get again? You think I’ll fall for it and come running back like a dog? Hilarious.] [Why aren’t you replying? Guilty?] [Hey, what are you doing?] Half an hour later, 1:30 AM. Ethan: […I’m on my way.] [Wash up and wait, I last way longer than him.] I did a carp kip and jumped up. “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over!” Sarah heard the noise and teased me playfully. “Yo, awake?” “Don’t rush concubine, the Emperor will favor you properly after washing up~” …Right, don’t rush. I comforted myself. This is more than 400 miles from the capital. How could he really come. The next second, a knock on the door. I heard Ethan’s nonchalant voice: “Open the door, brought you something good to eat.” Hey, I really didn’t believe in evil. Woosh——I pulled the door open. Then successfully met the eyes of the man outside in a well-fitting suit with deep eyebrows. I froze on the spot. In an instant, all was silent, only the “thump thump” of my heart beating wildly remained in my ears. “Just woke up?” Not seen for three years, Ethan exuded a mature and noble charm in every gesture. His gaze swept over me into the room, his tone as natural as if we had never separated. “Where’s the guy?” I subconsciously thought he meant Sarah. “In… in the bathroom showering.” “It’s early morning, pretty eager.” He snorted with unclear meaning. Long arms wrapped around my waist, pressing down involuntarily. Breath hot, low voice hitting my eardrums. “…While he’s not out, let’s finish quickly.” He lowered his head to kiss. I quickly covered my mouth. The man’s slender fingers carried the temperature of early autumn, rubbing the soft flesh of my waist. “You called me here, now you say no, too late.” My face turned completely red. “Haven’t brushed teeth…” Ethan chuckled low. Fine kisses fell, from my chin to my neck. As my stiff body softened bit by bit, Ethan bit my ear: “Can tell, he didn’t satisfy you last night.” “…” The moment the back clasp was undone, a ringtone rang. Ethan glanced at the phone and answered. A woman’s soft voice broke the ambiguity in the room. “Ethan, when will you arrive in Cloud City, do you need me to pick you up at the airport?” It was like a bucket of cold water poured over my head. The hot blood all over my body instantly turned cold. How could I forget. Tech upstart Ethan, supported by his ex-girlfriend Chloe Song from the trough to today, their relationship is very deep. Last week they were photographed going home together by paparazzi, suspected good news soon.

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