Category: English

1 I’m a decade older than Julian Vance. The first time I saw him, he was a teenager in rags, fighting a stray dog for scraps in an alley. His eyes, fixed on me, were like a wolf’s. Fierce. Wild. I took him in. I sculpted him from nothing. In ten years, Julian went from a nameless beggar to the most sought-after CEO in New York City. I always considered him my most perfect creation. Until the day a young woman blocked my car, her hand resting smugly on her stomach. She held up a recorder and pressed play. “Julian, who do you love more? Me, or that old hag?” Then, a voice I knew better than my own: “She’s just some old woman who’s past her prime. All these years, the thing I’ve hated most is that high-and-mighty look on her face.” I smiled. It seemed the years of success had made Julian forget the days he spent groveling at my feet like a dog. The next day, a gift-wrapped box containing a bloody, stillborn fetus was delivered to his office. The man, his eyes red-rimmed, pressed the barrel of a gun to my forehead. “Victoria,” he gritted out. I sipped my tea, unbothered. “It seems, Mr. Vance, you’ve forgotten what I’m capable of.” 2 Julian’s face was a mask of fury. “You think I won’t pull the trigger?” He wasn’t the scrawny boy I’d found anymore. Years of walking on the razor’s edge of the corporate world had given him an aura of command. I just smiled and shook my head. “If I were you, I’d be done with the empty threats by now.” He tensed. From behind him, a faint noise came from the floor-to-ceiling windows. He spun around, and the color drained from his face. The little tramp, Chloe, was bound by her hands, dangling seventy-two stories above the streets of Manhattan. Her white dress billowed in the wind, the city a dizzying abyss below her. “I’d be careful if I were you,” I said calmly, the gun still pressed to my skin. “After all, if your hand slips, I die… and your little girlfriend becomes a pancake on the sidewalk.” “One body… oh, wait. Just the one life now, isn’t it?” The girl’s panicked sobs echoed from outside. “Julian, save me!” Julian’s eyes were bloodshot. He clicked off the safety. “Victoria, you wouldn’t dare.” My bodyguards instantly surrounded him, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. I waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone, out.” Then, I pulled a stiletto dagger from my sleeve and, without looking, plunged it into his abdomen. He let out a muffled grunt, but the gun at my forehead only pressed harder. “Does it feel good?” I murmured, my voice like a lover’s whisper. His face was a stone mask. “Are you satisfied? Let her go. Chloe is different from you. She’s just an innocent girl.” Julian’s men arrived and quickly rescued her. I never intended to actually harm her. Watching him hold the girl, whispering soothing words as if she were a priceless, fragile treasure, a wave of boredom washed over me. He used to hold me that way. After a rival’s attack had cost me our child, and with it, my ability to ever conceive again. She was a girl, already formed. We had named her Summer. Julian had a private chapel built for her, commissioning a gilded statue in her image. “Victoria,” he’d said, “our daughter will have a peaceful life next time.” He wanted a constant stream of prayers to build her good karma. I once asked him why he did it. His face was unshaven, but his voice was firm. “Because Summer is the only child I will ever have.” Now, I glanced at the gift box on his desk. You broke your promise, Julian. But don’t worry. I’ll help you keep it. Chloe, having cried her fill, glared at me with swollen, hateful eyes. “Julian, it was her! That bitch killed our baby!” Julian’s expression hardened. He stroked the girl’s hair, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’re out of line.” Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She didn’t know. After losing Summer, no one in our circle ever dared to mention the word ‘child’ around us. It was a wound that never healed. She was just a clueless girl, crying her heart out. Julian scooped her up as she fainted and shouldered past me. “Victoria,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I won’t forget this.” 3 I didn’t expect his revenge to come so swiftly. I was stroking the cat on my lap, listening to my assistant’s report with an air of detached boredom. “Mr. Vance outbid us for the South Side development, paying double the market value.” “Mr. Vance has been meeting with shareholders, buying up stock.” “Mr. Vance… demolished the chapel built for Miss Summer.” My hand clenched. The cat yelped and fell silent, cowering in my lap. “Say that again,” I said, my face a blank canvas. My assistant swallowed hard. “He demolished the chapel, ma’am. He said he’s building… building an amusement park for the other woman. Construction started this morning.” CRASH! The teacup in my hand hit the far wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. “I’ll handle this immediately,” my assistant said, bowing his head. I held up a hand. “No. I’ll go myself.” 4 When I arrived, half of the chapel was already rubble. Chloe was holding a balloon, happily directing the demolition crew. “Clear that area out! And over here… Julian, I want a carousel right here!” Julian stood beside her, a gentle smile on his face. To any outsider, they looked like the perfect couple. If only they weren’t destroying my daughter’s memorial. I stepped out of the car. Someone spotted me and started to speak, but froze when they saw the pistol I pulled from my coat. Chloe turned. “Ms. Blackwell…” I raised the gun and fired. The balloon in her hand exploded. “Ah!” she shrieked, diving into Julian’s arms. “Are you insane?!” Julian roared. I said nothing, striding toward them. I racked the slide, chambering another round, and fired again into the air. The chaos on the site ceased instantly. Everyone stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost. “Get out,” I said. Julian scowled. “Victoria.” “GET OUT!” I screamed. It had been years since anyone had pushed me to this point of losing control. No one moved. But Chloe, safe in Julian’s embrace, lifted her head, her eyes full of defiance. “Ms. Blackwell, why let the dead hoard so much space? It’s the living that matter, isn’t it?” At her words, Julian pulled her behind him, shielding her from my aim. He was afraid. Afraid I’d hurt his precious girl. “Victoria,” Julian said, his voice cold. “Summer is gone. We need to move on. Maybe… maybe it was for the best that she was never born.” My hand, clutching the trigger, began to tremble. “What did you just say, Julian?” His eyes held a flicker of something I hadn’t seen before: triumphant cruelty. “You were the one who sinned so much in your life, Victoria. Your hands are dirty. That’s why you couldn’t keep her.” He was talking about the blood I’d spilled to claw my way to the top. “Chloe is different,” he continued. “She’s clean. She’s pure. Summer’s soul was willing to be reborn through her. But you… you lost the right to be a mother forever.” He knew exactly where to twist the knife. “Go on, pull the trigger,” he goaded me. “Do it in front of Summer’s grave. Let her see what a monster her mother truly is.” My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t aim. My assistant rushed to my side, but I pushed him away. “I’m fine.” I’m fine, Summer. Mommy’s fine. Mommy is so sorry. I’m taking you home now. The chapel’s caretaker emerged with a simple, polished wooden box and placed it in my hands. I clutched it to my chest, just as I had clutched my daughter’s lifeless body on that storm-swept night, my own screams lost in the wind. If she had lived, she would be calling me ‘Mommy’ by now. As I staggered away, Julian called out. “Victoria, I won’t harm Summer’s memory. You can leave her here. This will be a place of joy soon.” Chloe chimed in. “That’s right, Ms. Blackwell! When Julian and I have our baby, she can be the big sister, watching over her little brother or sister from beneath the playground.” I ignored them. Julian stepped toward me, but my bodyguards leveled their guns at his chest. My voice was a raw whisper. “The first thing I ever taught you, Julian, was to have no attachments.” “I always thought you were a poor student. I was wrong.” “As of now, you’ve graduated.” This was war.

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Everyone in Port Sterling envied me—the crippled girl Hank Devereaux, the city’s most powerful man, had cherished for ten years. What they didn’t know: at sixteen, when enemies shattered my legs bone by bone, I never revealed Hank’s location. A year later, Hank slaughtered that family. Amid the bloodshed, he covered my eyes and swore to protect me forever. Doctors said I’d never walk. So Hank broke his own legs to learn to walk again with me, step by painful step. He knelt in a chapel for three years to persuade a family of healers to treat me. Years passed. I stayed in my wheelchair. But Hank grew tired of me, obsessed with videos of a graceful ballerina. The night she became prima, he locked himself away. That evening, he took me to Crown Point overlooking the city’s skyline. As I reached to hug him, a text flashed: [Wake up! He’s going to push you off the cliff!] I smiled at the starlit sky and whispered, “Finally… a release for us both.” … Hank’s hand on my shoulder trembled. His breathing grew slower, heavier. I greedily placed my hand over his, wanting one last touch. In the next life, let’s not meet again. The mountain wind whipped around us, but the fall I expected never came. Instead, I was pulled back, away from the edge. “Clara,” he began, his voice choked, the words catching in his throat. I tilted my head, feigning confusion. “What is it? Push me a little closer. I really want to see the city lights from the very edge.” The words in my head flashed frantically. [I knew it! He’s too soft. For ten years, he couldn’t stand you being out of his sight for even five minutes.] [So what? He’s going to marry Isabelle Thorne. Clara would rather die than be the other woman.] So, he was getting married. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny, relentless needles. He had never once mentioned her to me. He’d been so careful. Was he afraid I, the stain he couldn’t wash away, would throw a fit and ruin Isabelle’s pristine white tutu? Hank pressed a backpack into my lap. The zipper was open, revealing a stash of my favorite pastries, the stuffed rabbit I couldn’t sleep without, and the silver charm he’d gotten for me on my birthday, blessed for my protection. He gently smoothed my wind-tangled hair. “Clara, be good,” he murmured. “I left some of the camping gear in the car. Wait for me here, okay?” The text in my mind blared. [He can’t do it himself. He’s going to abandon her in the mountains to die alone.] [Play the victim! Cry! The second you shed a tear, he’ll fold.] My eyes fixed on the scar that wrapped around his wrist. It was from a time my wheelchair had careened out of control down a steep slope. Hank had thrown himself in front of it, his wrist getting horribly tangled in the wheels. The doctor said if the cut had been any deeper, he would have lost the use of his hand. Ten years, Hank. You must be so tired. I tilted my head and smiled softly. “Okay.” Hank stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes clouded with a strange mist. Then, as if steeling himself, he turned and walked away without a single backward glance. Only when his silhouette vanished into the vast darkness did I turn my wheelchair in the opposite direction, my heart aching with a quiet loneliness. Closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. Click. A wheel jammed against a rock, refusing to budge no matter how hard I pushed. In a surge of desperation, I lunged forward, tumbling from the chair and crashing onto the hard ground. Flashes of Hank’s worried face filled my mind. “Clara, are you hurt? Does it hurt anywhere? Let me help you up. This is all my fault. I should have been watching you.” But this time, there was no one. My palms scraped against the sharp, gritty gravel as I tried to crawl forward. The path was too steep, my body too weak from years of confinement to the chair. I didn’t have the strength. Time stretched on, my consciousness fraying at the edges. I couldn’t even manage to die. Clara, you really are useless. When I woke again, the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. The hospital room door was slightly ajar, and I could hear a woman’s muffled sobs. “Why did you bring that cripple back?” “You promised me! You promised we would get married after I became prima ballerina. We were supposed to start a new life, just the two of us!” Through the window in the door, I saw a profile that looked hauntingly familiar. I stared, my mind reeling. When we were children, Hank loved sneaking me into the theater to watch the ballet. I would try to imitate the beautiful dancers, lifting the hem of my skirt and spinning in endless circles. “Am I pretty, Hank?” He’d be holding my school bag, nodding eagerly, giggling his silly, infectious laugh right along with me. After my legs were broken, I never smiled at him like that again. A long moment passed before I heard Hank’s trembling voice. “Clara saved my life.” “Ten years ago, the Donovans held her captive for a month. They did… things to her. But she never told them where I was.” Isabelle’s voice was laced with sorrow. “Then what about me? What am I supposed to do?” After a heavy silence, Hank spoke, his voice cracking. “Isabelle… there are days I wish she had died in their hands back then. But I… I can’t abandon her. I just can’t.” Isabelle sounded desperate. “Even if you don’t care about me, think about yourself! For years, you’ve watched over her day and night, never leaving her side. The slightest noise wakes you. The doctors said your heart failure is getting worse, but you won’t get the transplant because you’re terrified you won’t wake up, terrified there’ll be no one to take care of that… cripple.” A loud thud echoed as Hank slammed his fist against the wall, his voice raw with agony. “Don’t say anymore.” “If I die, it’ll be a release. For me… and for her.” No. I don’t want Hank to die. I struggled to pull the IV from my arm, accidentally knocking a glass vial off the bedside table. It shattered on the floor. The door flew open. Hank rushed in, with Isabelle following close behind, her eyes burning with resentment. The text in my mind exploded. [Oh my god! Isabelle is the illegitimate daughter of the Donovan family, the one who escaped!] [When the Donovans came for revenge, they kidnapped Clara to find Hank, and they tortured and killed Hank’s mother to send a message!] [Isabelle had a crush on Hank. She thought he’d been captured by the Donovans and went to that warehouse to ‘save’ him.] Isabelle feigned concern, picking up a piece of gauze to wrap my hand. Her face, it merged with the face of the little girl from ten years ago, the one holding a red-hot branding iron. “I’ll ruin that face of yours. We’ll see if Hank still wants you then.” The searing heat of the brand against my cheek, the sickening tear as it pulled away skin and hope. I recoiled, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. “Get away! Don’t touch me! Get away!” I screamed, shoving her with all my might. Isabelle stumbled backward. Hank caught her, pulling her into his arms. And in that instant, he broke. “Clara, have you had enough of this madness?!” he roared. “For years, anyone who tries to help you, you accuse them of being a Donovan! It’s been so long! Why aren’t you better? Why do you keep hurting innocent people?” “Am I supposed to be trapped in this hell with you for my entire life?!” After I was rescued, I was plagued by nightmares. Anyone who came near me was met with frantic scratching and biting. Hank would hold me, his arms covered in my nail marks, and soothe me over and over. It’s okay, Clara. I’m here. You’re safe. But now, it was as if a fuse had been lit. He was a cornered animal, smashing everything in the room he could get his hands on. I covered my ears, shaking my head and sobbing. No. This time it’s real. Isabelle is a Donovan. She’s the daughter of the man who killed your mother! The thought screamed in my mind, and I shouted it out loud. Isabelle’s face went pale, and she instinctively shrank away. Hank’s hand froze in mid-air. His dark eyes locked onto mine. Then, a bitter, broken laugh escaped his lips. He let his arm fall, his voice dead and calm. “I guess I’ve spoiled you too much. I was so afraid of upsetting you that I kept you from the outside world, and it’s only made you more delusional.” “Isabelle and I are getting married tomorrow.” “If you want, you can continue to live at the estate. We’ll both take care of you.” “If you don’t… then you’re on your own.” He took Isabelle’s hand and turned to leave. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. Why won’t you believe me? I fell from the bed, clawing my way out of the room, leaving a smear of blood on the polished floor. Everyone stared. A small child saw the jagged scar on my face and burst into tears. “Mommy, kick that dirty thing away!” “How can someone be so disgusting? Let’s go, let’s go, don’t want to catch her bad luck.” “Look at her legs… those pits and scars. It’s making my skin crawl.” Hank’s steps faltered. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Isabelle whispered something to him, and he nodded. He didn’t look back at me again. I curled up in a ball on the hospital corridor floor, sobbing until I nearly passed out before Devereaux family staff came to take me home. In the car, the assistant and driver muttered to each other. “I don’t know how much longer the boss can put up with this burden.” “That Sterling project… the whole company, seven hundred people, worked on it for over two years. But the boss was so distracted by this damn cripple in the hospital that he offended the clients. It’s probably a lost cause now.” “If it weren’t for her, Devereaux Industries would have expanded overseas years ago instead of being stuck in Port Sterling.” My chest felt tight, but I couldn’t form a single word of rebuttal. I let the maids roughly deposit me in my bedroom. In the dead of night, I was roused by a searing heat on my face. The nerves there were mostly dead from the old burn, and by the time I jolted awake, hot wax had already hardened on my cheek. Isabelle stood over me, holding a candle. She was drunk, her eyes gleaming with a crazed light. “Clara. I can’t believe you recognized me.” “But so what? Even the Donovans’ matriarch didn’t know about me, her husband’s bastard daughter. There’s no way Hank could ever find out. Besides,” she smirked, “he already killed all the Donovans for you.” She thrust the candle towards my face, and I screamed. “Fire! Fire! Get it away! Get it away from me!” Isabelle let out a wild laugh. “I’ll give you two choices. A quick death in the flames, or you can wait until I’m the lady of this house and let me torture you bit by bit, just like the old days.” She tossed the candle onto the curtains, and the flames roared to life. Triumphant, Isabelle turned to leave, but I grabbed her wrist with a death grip, pulling her down with me. Then let’s die together. If I die, Hank will finally be free of his burden. And he’ll never have to know he fell in love with his enemy’s daughter. He can be happy for the rest of his life. The fire raged, growing larger. Isabelle screamed for help, unable to break my grip. Hank burst in, yelling my name. He instinctively moved to pull me from the floor, pushing Isabelle aside. “Hank!” Isabelle cried, her voice thick with false tears. “I heard Clara having a nightmare and came to comfort her. But she just went crazy, calling me a Donovan, and she pushed me and set the fire…” She showed him her ankle, already swelling from the fall. The warmth in Hank’s eyes turned to ice. He let go of me and scooped Isabelle into his arms, carrying her out of the inferno. The staff scrambled to drag me out after them. I tried desperately to explain. Hank shoved me away, his face contorted with fury. “Clara, you are completely unhinged,” he spat. “You used to love dancing more than anyone. You know the pain of not being able to. Why would you pretend to be insane and try to destroy Isabelle’s future?” “Does my entire life have to revolve around you for you to be satisfied?!” His eyes were bloodshot and vicious. “Ten years! I don’t owe you anything anymore! I never want to see you again.” “It’s not like that, Hank! Isabelle, she really is—” “Enough!” The sharp crack of a slap echoed in the room, my head snapping to the side. Hank stared at his own hand in shock, his usually proud posture slightly stooped. “Take her away,” he said, his voice utterly exhausted. They injected me with a sedative and drove me to the old Devereaux family estate. A dozen servants guarded the house like a fortress, ensuring I couldn’t ruin Hank’s wedding.

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My brother is a vampire, and I’m a glutton. One late night, I secretly drank from his blood pouch and discovered it was sweet! He’d been pretending to be a vampire for ten years, all because I was obsessed with novels when I was little, and begged for a vampire brother. After learning the truth, I pulled my brother out of his “ice coffin,” “Brother, go back to bed from now on. It’s too cold here.” I absolutely can’t let him know that what I was reading back then, was a pseudo-incest novel. 1 I never bring friends home. Like, ever. I can’t risk them finding out my brother’s secret—he’s a mutant vampire who survives on blood bags. Other vampires are immortal, but since my brother, Ethan, only drinks animal blood, he grows and ages right alongside me. We were both adopted by Grandma Sterling. I figure Ethan’s birth parents must have dumped him at the foster home because he was a vampire. I don’t care, though. I think it’s awesome. I don’t mind that he’s a vampire, and he doesn’t mind that I’m a bottomless pit. 2 Grandma always said my stomach was a black hole and that it was a miracle I was never kidnapped as a kid by someone offering me candy. Ethan worries I’ll starve. Even though I’m in college and only home on weekends, he stocks the fridge and pantry until they’re literally overflowing. But when I got home today, something felt wrong. Ethan wasn’t here. Arthur, our housekeeper, said Ethan was feeling unwell and had gone to “that place” to rest. “That place” is the one room he’s forbidden me from entering. Every full moon, he holes up in there to “recover” until it’s over. Ugh. With Ethan gone, even the snack cabinet was empty. Night fell. I’d eaten dinner, but I was still starving and couldn’t sleep. Around midnight, I snuck into the kitchen looking for a snack. The fridge was totally empty. Except for the refrigerated drawer… It was meticulously organized with Ethan’s “rations”—animal blood bags, all neatly labeled by type. I picked up a bag labeled ‘O-Negative.’ I swallowed, my mouth watering. No! Cici, bad! That’s Ethan’s food! But… he always makes it look so delicious when he drinks it… …I mean, just one sip? Curiosity and hunger defeated my conscience. I tore open a corner of the bag and took a huge swig. It was… sweet. And rich. And… fruity. Like overripe cherry juice… Wait. Sweet?! I didn’t believe it. I took another massive gulp. I was 100% sure. This wasn’t blood plasma. This was high-fructose cherry juice. 3 A terrifying thought hit me. Ethan’s been drinking fake blood? Then how is he… No. Wait. Maybe he can’t drink real blood. Which means… He’s been pretending to be a vampire? I started running through all the “evidence” from the past ten years, and my scalp began to prickle. Vampires don’t eat hot food. We always had two meals: my hot dinner and Ethan’s “cold” one. I’d be tearing into a rack of ribs, grease up to my elbows, and he’d just watch me, looking disgusted… or so I thought. That wasn’t disgust. He was swallowing because he was craving the ribs. Vampires are nocturnal and fear the sun. Ethan claimed he was a “high-level” vampire who could tolerate the sun, but only with “protection.” Even on the hottest summer days, he’d be bundled up in long sleeves, pants, and a huge hat. He’d come home looking totally wrecked. I thought it was sun damage. He was having a heatstroke. He wasn’t just faking. He was a “method” vampire. He “feared” garlic, silver, and crosses. His skin was pale, his lips were always red, and he kept vampire hours. Other than not killing people, he was straight out of a movie. His study was always dark, heavy curtains drawn 24/7. And “that place” he rested… was the cold, damp basement. I snuck in once, years ago. All that was in there was a “bed” that looked exactly like an ice coffin, frost crawling up the sides. If Ethan isn’t a vampire—if he’s just a normal guy like me—how could he stand sleeping in that frigid thing? And why? Why has he been playing this part for a decade? 4 I had to test him. The next morning, I took a blood bag and camped out by the basement door. Right on schedule, Ethan emerged, wrapped in a cloud of cold air. He was wearing a dark red silk robe, open at the chest, his slightly-too-long hair tied back. He looked every bit the part of the decadent, moody vampire. No wonder I never questioned it. In my head, this is what vampires are supposed to look like. He saw me crouched by the door and jumped. “Cici! What are you doing, planting yourself on the floor?” I leaped up and threw myself into his freezing arms. “Ethan, you’ve suffered so much!” He stumbled back, almost hitting the door. “What? What’s wrong?” He patted my head. “Did someone bully you?” I looked at his lips, which were genuinely pale from the cold, and my heart ached. “Ethan, I know everything. You don’t have to—” Before I could finish, Arthur, our housekeeper, hurried over. “Mr. Ethan, he is here to see you…” I shivered. Ethan’s “nemesis” was here. 5 Ethan has this mortal enemy, Ryan. Ethan told me Ryan’s a werewolf and to stay away from him. If Ethan’s a fake vampire, Ryan’s “werewolf” thing is probably just as fake. I followed Ethan into the dining room. Ryan was already there, lounging at the table, casually spreading jam on some toast with a butter knife. “Well, well. Look who’s up before noon. Aren’t you afraid you’ll burst into flames, big bro?” Ryan winked at me, then offered me the sandwich. “Here you go, Cici. All for you.” Ethan intercepted it immediately. His voice was icy. “She doesn’t take food from strangers.” “A stranger? How am I a stranger?” Ryan ignored Ethan’s death glare and grinned. “I’m practically your better half.” Ethan jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “Spit it out or get out.” “Fine, fine. I’ve got a lead on that thing you had me investigating—” “Cici,” Ethan cut him off, his voice suddenly gentle as he turned to me. “Could you be a dear and grab me an AB-Negative blood bag from the kitchen?” Right. Secret business I’m not allowed to hear. “Sure thing.” AB-Negative? I drank the O-Neg. Do different blood types have different flavors? 6 By the time I got back, Ryan was gone. And the sandwich he’d made? It was sitting “peacefully” at the bottom of the trash can. On my plate was a new sandwich, crusts cut off, personally made by Ethan. He tore open his “blood bag” like normal. As he was about to drink, I spoke up. “Ethan… can I try a sip?” Splat. The bag slipped from his hand, hitting the floor. His head snapped toward me. He grabbed my chin, forcing my mouth open, and inspected my teeth. “They’re not sharp… How did you…?” I pushed his hand away. “Ethan! I’m not turning into a vampire.” “Then why would you want a blood bag?” He looked frantic. “Did Ryan say something to you? What did he tell you?” I just shook my head. Wow. One simple test and he’s already sweating bullets. I backed off. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to drop the act and confess just because I asked. Why is he pretending? Is it connected to whatever he had Ryan investigating? Now isn’t the time to push. “Eat this.” Ethan slid a new, upgraded sandwich in front of me—this one piled high with bacon, tomato, and a fried egg. Then he turned back to his “non-filling” cherry juice. Whatever his reason, he can’t keep sleeping in that “ice coffin.” He’s going to get arthritis. “Hey, Ethan? You should sleep in your real bed tonight.” I grabbed his hand. “The basement is way too cold.” He looked at me, touched. “It’s fine, Cici. I’m used to it.” I went quiet. Fine. If he won’t listen to reason, I’ll use force. I waited until he left the house for a meeting, then I skipped my afternoon classes, detoured home, and bought a hammer and a small axe from the hardware store. I kicked open the basement door. I was going to dismantle that “ice coffin” of his. 7 The door banged open. A wave of bitter cold hit me, seeping through my clothes. It’s freezing. To think Ethan sleeps in here every night… my eyes started to sting. Why is he pretending? I stalked into the room, axe in hand, and then I saw it. The room was bigger than I remembered. Behind the “ice coffin,” there was a huge, wall-sized mirror. Something about it looked wrong. It felt like there was space on the other side. I reached out and touched the glass. It suddenly rotated, swinging open to the left— The back of the mirror… was a massive… photo wall. When I saw what was on it, I collapsed, dropping the axe. The wall was covered in pictures of me. And photos of every single person I’d ever interacted with. They were all connected by a terrifying web of red string. My hands started shaking as I tore the photos down. This one! A guy circled in red. That’s the jock from the basketball team who asked me out last week. He sprained his ankle in practice this weekend. That one! The girl on top… she’s the school’s number-one mean girl. Last month, she and her clique tried to shake down my roommate. I stepped in, and she told me I’d “better watch my back.” I waited a month, but nothing ever happened. I figured she was all talk. Then I heard she’d been arrested for shoplifting. These, and those… Every single one was someone connected to me. A horrifying chill crawled up my spine. I’ve just stumbled onto a secret… way scarier than my brother not being a vampire. I had to get out of here. Now. A familiar footstep sounded on the stairs behind me. “Where is Cici?” A man’s voice, from upstairs. It was Arthur. “Sir, the young miss took tools into the basement.” I… I explicitly told Arthur not to tell Ethan I was home. I looked around wildly. There are no windows. Nowhere to hide. I heard a soft click from the top of the stairs. Did… did he leave? I let out a breath I was holding. And then, the footsteps started coming down. The photos scattered from my hands. Oh. That wasn’t the sound of a door closing. It was the sound of a lock. 8 I froze, my mind blank. My brother wasn’t just faking. He was monitoring me. The light from the stairwell was blocked by a tall silhouette. The shadow swallowed me whole. I slowly looked up, meeting Ethan’s eyes. They were completely black, all the warmth gone. He wasn’t my brother anymore. He was a stranger. “Cici,” his voice was soft, but it cut like an icy blade. “Who let you in here?” Arthur was behind him, wringing his hands, desperately trying to catch my eye. He was mouthing: “Apologize! Apologize!” My lips trembled, but I couldn’t speak. The photos on the floor were all the evidence he needed. He crouched down, his long fingers picking up one of the pictures. The jock circled in red. “This one,” he asked, his voice terrifyingly calm. “He asked you out?” I nodded. “And then?” “And then… he sprained his ankle.” Ethan let out a small, cold laugh. “You think that was a coincidence, Cici?” My heart plummeted. He stood up, looking down at me like I was an ant that had wandered into his territory. “Cecilia, I have protected you too well,” he said, enunciating every word. “So well that you actually believe this world is a fairy tale.” He turned his back to me. “Put everything back. Then go to your room. From now on, you are not to leave this house without my permission.” Is he… grounding me? This feels more like house arrest. “Why?” I finally found my voice, but it was choked with tears. “Ethan, who are you? Why are you doing this?” He didn’t turn around. He just tossed a cold sentence over his shoulder. “It’s for your own good.” “For my good?! Is monitoring me like a prisoner for my own good?!” I screamed at his back. “You investigate every person I talk to, you interfere in my life! What gives you the right?!” He stopped. “What gives me the right?” He turned around slowly. His handsome face, for the first time, looked broken. It was a mask of pain and self-loathing. “The right? I have it… because I’m your brother.” He walked out, not looking back. I heard the click again. He’d locked me in.

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1 My Ph.D. acceptance letter had just arrived when my advisor, Professor Davies, called—he wanted me to lead a research project in Tehran. But my girlfriend Ava begged me to decline, urging me to take a local job instead. She claimed she was from three years in the future, where she’d watched me die in an airborne missile attack. I believed her. I passed the opportunity to her childhood friend Julian. Three years later, Tehran was perfectly safe, and Julian returned a celebrated hero. At the university’s distinguished alumni ceremony, he took the stage: “I want to thank Ava specially. She was my north star—guided me right and supported me when no one else would.” Their “star-crossed love” story went viral as a tragedy. Forums overflowed with pity for them and scorn for me. It got so bad that online vigilantes doxxed me and showed up at my apartment building. “Give Ava back to Professor Lin! You don’t deserve her!” they screamed. In the scuffle that followed, I was shoved down a flight of stairs. The last thing I heard was the crack of my skull. Then I woke up—back in my apartment, on the eve of my planned departure. Listening to Ava’s “heartfelt” pleas, I pulled off the silver ring we’d exchanged and tossed it into the campus lake. “I’m going to Tehran, Ava. We’re done.” … The ripples spread across the water’s surface, a perfect metaphor for our three-year relationship, now dissolving into nothing. Ava’s lips trembled, her almond-shaped eyes instantly welling with tears. “Leo… you don’t believe me? I’m really from three years in the future!” She gripped my wrist, her nails digging into my skin. “You can’t go to Tehran! You’ll die!” “Ava, your storytelling is worse than a middle schooler’s creative writing project.” I laughed coldly, prying her fingers off one by one. I pointed to my own temple. “Do you want me to call Clearwater Psychiatric for you? They have the best doctors in the city.” Her face flushed a deep crimson. A tear splashed onto her collar, darkening the fabric. “Leo Vance!” She raised her hand as if to strike me, but it froze mid-air. The hand, still adorned with the matching bracelet we wore, fell limply to her side. “Leo, I’m not lying… I really did travel back in time to save you…” I scoffed and pulled out my phone. “Should I call you an ambulance now? The ones from Clearwater are white. They’d match your dress perfectly.” Ava’s expression twisted, tears streaking her mascara down her cheeks in two black rivers. Her eyes were bloodshot as she glared at me. “You’ll regret this, Leo! You’ll regret it!” She spun around and stormed away. “Wait—” I called out just as she turned. Her body went rigid. As she slowly turned back, a hopeful smile was already blooming on her face. A second later, she flew into my arms. “Leo… you do believe me, don’t you? I knew you would…” She looked up, her face a mess of tear tracks, a single crystalline drop clinging to her eyelashes. I looked down at the face so close to mine—who could have guessed such a venomous scheme lay hidden behind that angelic mask? My expression remained blank as I stepped back, putting distance between us. “I just wanted to remind you to get your things out of my apartment. Today.” Ava’s pupils contracted, her chest heaving. “Fine! That’s just fine!” she seethed through clenched teeth. “You think I even want any of it?” Back at the apartment, she stomped into the bedroom in a huff, slamming the closet door with a loud bang. I calmly retrieved three large storage bins and began tossing everything—her clothes, her makeup, even her toothbrush—inside. I didn’t spare the framed photo on the nightstand, her favorite one of us. When I stuffed the birthday gift she gave me last year—the matching scarf she’d knitted herself—into the bin, she froze. “Leo…” Her voice was suddenly soft, trembling with disbelief. “Are you really… going to be this cruel?” I didn’t answer, instead sweeping the various trinkets she’d given me from the bookshelf into a box. A ceramic mug slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor—one of a matching pair she’d made herself. She grabbed my arm, tears streaming down her face like a broken string of pearls. “Is this how you treat me? For caring about you? For being afraid you’ll get hurt?” “Don’t you have a heart?” I slapped her hand away. “Save it. Your acting skills wouldn’t even get you into drama school.” She staggered back, her expression shifting from wounded to venomous. “You’ll get what’s coming to you! I can’t wait for the day you come crawling back to me, begging!” Watching her slam the door on her way out, I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white. I could still hear the phantom sound of my own skull cracking. In my last life, it was this exact, pitiful act that convinced me. I gave up the Tehran project, only to watch from the sidelines as Julian basked in the glory that should have been mine. This time, there would be no repeat performance. I let out a long breath and began to pack. My flight was tomorrow afternoon. There was still much to do. Just as I zipped up my carry-on, my phone buzzed violently on the desk. I unlocked it to see my class group chat exploding with messages. Holy crap, have you guys seen the university forum? Someone’s predicting a plane crash tomorrow! They even listed the exact departure time and the cause of the malfunction… Has to be a prank, right? But the details are way too specific… My heart sank. I opened the forum. A pinned post was titled: URGENT WARNING: FLIGHT DEPARTING AT 10:20 AM TOMORROW WILL CRASH. The author was listed as “Anonymous.” My finger hovered over the screen. I could almost picture Ava’s triumphant smile. I remembered this incident vividly from my past life—the plane’s engine failed on takeoff, and it crashed back onto the runway. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured. Besides me, a man reborn, only Ava, the “time traveler,” would know about it. But no one would ever ground a flight based on an anonymous, unsubstantiated prediction. The next day, the airport was bustling. I had just cleared security when Ava blocked my path. She’d artfully applied makeup to look exhausted, complete with faint, bruised shadows under her eyes. “Leo!” She clutched my boarding pass, her voice thick with tears. “You saw the warning on the forum, didn’t you? Please, don’t gamble with your life…” Julian appeared out of nowhere, standing behind her in a sharp suit. “Leo, Ava is worried sick about you. Is this how you treat her?” I let out a cold laugh. If I hadn’t lived this all before, I might have actually been moved by their little performance. Just as I was about to push past them, the airport’s PA system crackled to life, its voice cutting through the noise. “Urgent announcement regarding flight DH555… due to a mechanical failure… I repeat, all passengers please evacuate the boarding gate immediately…” A commotion rippled through the crowd. Through the terminal’s massive windows, we could see a passenger jet tilted at an odd angle on the runway, a plume of black smoke billowing from its tail. Ava’s tears came on command. She grabbed my arm, her hand trembling. “Now do you believe me? I’m really doing this for your own good…” A tear clung to her eyelash, sparkling in the sunlight. “Stay, Leo. Please? We can start over…” I stared at her manicured fingertips—they were unconsciously stroking the cuff of Julian’s sleeve. How familiar. In my past life, not long after she’d convinced me to stay, she had appeared on Julian’s arm at that alumni gala. “Move.” I pulled my arm free and headed for the information desk. Ava’s tearful shout followed me. “You’ll regret this, Leo!” When I got home, my phone was buzzing nonstop. The campus forum had gone nuclear. Ava had revealed herself. To all my fellow students, I am the anonymous user who posted the plane crash warning. I come from three years in the future to save the man I love, @LeoVance. The message sent the group chat into a frenzy. I was being tagged relentlessly. Leo, is this for real? This is some sci-fi movie shit! Did Ava finally snap? I stared at the screen, saying nothing, my fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the table. It was a brilliant move on her part—she knew it was impossible to verify, but she’d chosen the most sensational way to make her claim. Then, Ava dropped another bombshell. Three years from now, a war will break out in Tehran. Leo Vance will be killed in an airstrike. @ProfessorDavies, I’m begging you, please choose someone else! A vein throbbed in my temple. I quickly typed a reply. Professor, today was a coincidence. Mechanical failures are common. I am still fully committed to the project. Ava replied instantly. Leo, why won’t you just believe me? She followed it with a broken-heart emoji. Fine. How about this: tonight at 11 PM, there will be a fire in the South End, started by an electric scooter battery. If I’m right again, will you give up the project? Julian immediately jumped in to support her. I can vouch for her. Ava has accurately predicted several things before. The chat exploded. People were demanding a live stream to witness the event. Others started tagging friends who lived in the South End to go check. My hand tightened around my phone until my knuckles were white. I remembered that fire. It had been on the local news in my past life. The minutes ticked by. At precisely 11:00 PM, dozens of messages popped up at once. Well? Nothing’s happening. LOL, Ava’s magic show flopped. So the plane crash was a lucky guess? And Julian was in on it… But in the next second, a low boom rolled across the city, audible to nearly everyone. In the distance, an orange glow lit up the night sky over the South End, and the faint wail of fire sirens could be heard. HOLY SHIT IT’S REAL! AVA IS A PROPHET! Leo, for the love of God, don’t go! The tone of the group chat changed on a dime. I gripped my phone, my knuckles bone-white. It rang. It was Professor Davies. “Leo, the department held an emergency meeting. We’re revoking your travel clearance. This project…” “Professor!” I cut in, my voice urgent. “The fire, the plane, they can all be explained…” “That’s enough!” Professor Davies’ tone was uncharacteristically harsh. “The university cannot risk a student’s life. The department will select a new candidate for the project tomorrow.” The dial tone was like a slap across the face. I hurled my phone against the wall. Its shattered screen reflected my own distorted face. Just then, it lit up with a text from Ava. Now you have to believe me, Leo. It was followed by a nauseating heart emoji. The next morning, I walked into the department conference room with dark circles under my eyes. Around the corner, Julian and Ava stood together, as if they were waiting for me. “Well, look who it is. Why does our resident genius look like he’s been through a meat grinder?” Julian leaned against the windowsill, looking me up and down with exaggerated pity. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper. “Pulling an all-nighter won’t help you. The Tehran project… it’s mine.” Ava gently tugged on his sleeve, her voice dripping with false concern. “Leo, Julian is just worried about you. Tehran is too dangerous…” “Get out of my way,” I said, my face a cold mask. Julian immediately wrapped an arm around Ava’s shoulders, glaring at me. “It’s over, Leo. Just accept it.” “While I’m in Tehran publishing a lead author paper in Nature, you can rot in this dingy lab forever.” Ava playfully tapped his chest, but couldn’t hide the smile playing on her lips. I pushed past them without a word and shoved open the conference room door. The chatter inside died instantly. A dozen pairs of eyes—some sympathetic, some curious—fixed on me. The graduate assistant, a kind junior student, handed me a cup of coffee. “Leo… are you, uh, okay?” I managed a tight smile and said nothing, walking directly to the podium. The hum of the projector starting up sounded like the frantic pulse in my temples. On the flash drive was all of my research from my past life—optimized quantum algorithms, material simulation data, even a first draft of the paper I had planned to publish. “Professors,” I said, tapping the microphone, my voice hoarse. “I believe this project can only be completed by me—” Before I could finish, the door swung open again. Ava walked in elegantly on Julian’s arm. Julian strode directly to the podium and snatched the microphone from my hand. “Professors, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to present my own research proposal first,” he said, a confident, winning smile on his face. When his PowerPoint presentation lit up the screen, my blood ran cold. The charts, the data models, even the goddamn color scheme—it was all identical to what I had prepared.

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The day of the car crash, they all forgot about me. I died alone, silently, in a forgotten corner. 1 When the crash happened, my mind went blank. Every sensation turned to numb static. So numb, in fact, that when Mrs. Monroe ripped me from the car and slapped me across the face, I didn’t even feel the sting. “Anya, you little monster! The Monroes raised you for over a decade, and this is how you repay us?!” “If anything happens to Chloe, I will send you straight to hell!” She shoved me aside and scrambled to Chloe’s side. “Chloe, baby, are you okay? Doctor! Somebody save my Chloe! She’s bleeding so much!” The paramedics were swarmed by the Monroes, dragged and pulled toward Chloe. They all forgot that I had been in the crash too. My brother, Ethan, and my… benefactor, Craig, arrived moments later. Ethan shot me a look of pure hatred before following the ambulance to the hospital. Craig looked like he wanted to flay me alive. He barked an order at his assistant, Leo. “Lock her up. I’ll deal with her later.” Leo, who had started to follow the ambulance, reluctantly turned back. “Miss Monroe. Let’s go.” His voice was laced with a palpable disgust. I didn’t move. It was as if my brain had lost control of my body. For the first time ever, Leo, my bodyguard and assistant, laid a hand on me. He dragged me to the car and shoved me inside. My head slammed against something hard. The cotton fog in my brain seemed to shift, and a flicker of feeling returned. A single drop of blood fell from my nose onto the back of my hand. “Leo,” I managed, my voice a weak plea, “can you take me to the hospital first?” “The hospital? What for? So you can try to finish the job on Chloe? Or are you going to fake an injury to get sympathy from Mr. Robinson and the Monroes? Dream on! I won’t be your accomplice this time.” He didn’t even spare me a glance. He floored the gas, and the car shot toward the secluded villa on the outskirts of the city. The force of the acceleration slammed me back into my seat, a violent jolt to my already fragile insides. The taste of warm salt filled my mouth. I couldn’t speak another word. The pain was becoming clearer, sharper. When we finally arrived, Leo practically threw me into the small, dark room in the basement. He seemed to be in a hurry, so much so that he didn’t even notice the new bloodstains on my clothes. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care. With the last of my strength, I grabbed his sleeve. “Can… can you get me some painkillers…?” The pain was overwhelming now. I knew something was wrong, something was broken inside me. Leo recoiled as if I’d burned him, trying to shake my hand off. “Don’t touch me! Fine, I’ll get them!” A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you,” I whispered. He stiffened, and for a moment, the raw fury in his posture seemed to soften. “Just wait here.” By the time Leo got to the hospital, Chloe had already been examined and her wounds bandaged. They were just superficial cuts and bruises. Nothing serious. Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, Ethan, and Craig were all gathered around her bedside. Chloe was like a princess, surrounded by all the love and beauty in the world, basking in the affection of those who adored her. It was a beautiful picture. Leo didn’t disturb them. He backed out of the room quietly and slumped against the wall in the hallway, the tension finally leaving his body. After a long while, he stood up. On the way back, he remembered to stop and buy the painkillers. But when he returned to the villa, the brief moment of gentleness was gone, replaced by his usual cold, grim expression. “I got your painkillers,” he snapped, pushing open the door to the dark room. There was no response. He flicked on the light. In the dim, yellow glow, a trail of blood snaked across the floor. I was curled up on the cold concrete, no longer breathing. 2 I was transported into a novel. Five years ago. I found myself in a popular story about a long-lost heiress, a classic “switched at birth” tale. I became the fake heiress, the one who had stolen the real one’s identity for years. In the book, she was a manipulative, two-faced character who initially fooled everyone, causing them to misunderstand and mistreat the real heiress. But when her true nature was revealed, she was despised by all and met a tragic end. The real heiress, of course, became the beloved protagonist. From the moment I arrived, I knew my role. I had no intention of fighting the real heiress for her place. I was the one who suggested the DNA test, who helped the Monroes find Chloe—who was being abused by her adoptive parents—and I willingly gave up my childhood engagement to the story’s male lead. I walked away from the Monroe family with nothing, ready to pursue my own happiness: Craig Robinson. In the book, he was the rich, handsome second male lead, the one who would ultimately sacrifice everything for the heroine. I helped him rise from the ashes of a corporate takeover, helped him reclaim his empire. Along the way, I even saved the story’s third male lead, the villainous Leo, from his self-destructive path of opposing the heroine. But I forgot one crucial detail. Craig’s heart was always meant for the heroine. I forgot that Leo’s opposition to her stemmed from a deep, unrequited love that had twisted into obsession. From start to finish, their devotion was always, irrevocably, for her. And I was just collateral damage. … Leo stood over my body for what felt like an eternity. I searched his face for any flicker of guilt, of regret. There was none. After about an hour, he finally moved. He closed the door, acting as if nothing had happened, and walked away with the same steady, measured steps as always. He went back to the hospital and stood guard outside Chloe’s room. In the original story, he had been her bodyguard, silently protecting the object of his pure, burning love. Late that night, after the Monroes had left, Craig stayed behind to watch over Chloe. Only when she was sound asleep did he step out for a breath of fresh air. He saw Leo and pulled out a cigarette, asking casually, “Where’s Anya?” As he was about to light it, he seemed to remember something. He put the lighter back in his pocket, holding the unlit cigarette between his fingers, just for the feel of it. He was always so willing to change his bad habits for Chloe. I hated the smell of smoke too, but he never cared about that. “In the basement,” Leo replied. Craig nodded, unconcerned. “Make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” “She won’t. Not ever again.” “What?” Leo’s voice was low, almost a mumble. Craig hadn’t heard him clearly. Leo seemed to snap back to himself. “She’s being very good,” he said. This time, Craig heard. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips. “She always plays the victim after she screws up. Does she really think I’ll let her off easy because of our past? Not this time. This time, I’m going to make her regret ever being born.” He viciously stubbed the unlit cigarette out on the side of a trash can. Leo’s expression flickered for a moment. “Within three days,” Craig commanded, “I want one hundred written apologies from her. And I want her kneeling outside this hospital. She can get up when Chloe forgives her.” Leo stood outside the hospital for a long time after receiving his orders. I don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe he was imagining how much more satisfying it would be if I were still alive, kneeling there with a hundred pages of apologies in my hands. 3 Back in the basement, Leo wiped the blood from my body with a towel, lifted me onto the makeshift bed, and then meticulously cleaned the floor. His face was a blank mask, his movements efficient and practiced, like a crime scene cleaner. When he was done, he took out a pen and paper. “This is a critical time for Mr. Robinson and Chloe. Your actions can’t be allowed to ruin the happiness she deserves… You stole her life for more than a decade. You owe her this. But, as compensation… I’ll write the hundred apologies for you.” He was so generous. He sat there, next to my corpse, and began to forge my handwriting. The first time he’d done that was a year ago. Chloe had gone to a club to see the male lead, the reckless playboy Lucas Sterling, and had almost been assaulted by a group of thugs. The Monroes were incredibly strict and never allowed their children in places like that. Chloe had always been a wild child, but she craved her family’s affection. I had covered for her countless times to help her bond with them. So, that time, it was easy for her to say that I was the one who had invited her. For Craig’s and Leo’s sakes, I had been trying to distance myself from her, so I denied it. But Leo produced a note, in my handwriting, proving my “guilt.” Somehow, they even got the thugs to confess that I had hired them. It was the first time the Monroes looked at me with disappointment and disgust. And it was the first time Craig saw the “vicious, evil” side of my nature. Leo had always believed that Chloe and Lucas were a bad match. He felt that a goddess like Chloe deserved to be cherished and loved, the way I was. He believed that Craig was her true soulmate. More than once, he had said, in front of both me and Chloe, that she would be much happier with Craig than with Lucas. When I first read the book, I thought so too. Craig’s silent, lifelong devotion to Chloe was heartbreaking. The other women around him were just annoying obstacles. Except now, I was one of them. The one he betrayed. The boomerang had come back around, and it hit me right in the heart. Over the next three days, Leo wrote day and night, producing one hundred perfect apologies. By the time he was finished, my body had started to smell. He bought armfuls of potpourri and incense to cover the scent, and then filled the room with bags of ice. Craig was very pleased with the apologies. “Where is she?” “She…” Leo, exhausted and sporting dark circles under his eyes, was slow to respond. “She can’t come.” Craig’s face twisted into a furious sneer. “Can’t come? She caused a car crash that nearly killed Chloe, and she can’t even be bothered to apologize in person? It seems I’ve spoiled her over the years! I was going to let her off easy, but she just had to push it!” Even as a spirit, I felt my chest tighten until I couldn’t breathe. The pain wasn’t physical, but it was etched into my very soul. 4 Chloe stayed in the hospital for seven days. In those seven days, Lucas never once showed up. But Craig was by her side the entire time, day and night. “Craig,” Chloe finally whispered, her voice choked with tears. “I wish you were him.” Craig’s heart ached for her. He gently pulled her into his arms, letting her cry into his shirt. He stroked her hair, murmuring words of comfort. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.” I sat beside them, a silent ghost, watching the arms that once held only me now cradle another woman. I felt no sadness, no joy. Nothing. The truth was, the car crash had been partly Chloe’s doing. In the novel, the heroine often resorted to self-harm to get the male lead’s attention. But she could never let anyone know it was intentional, or Lucas and her family would see her differently. So, once again, I became the scapegoat. She probably thought a hospital stay would be enough to bring Lucas running back. But it wasn’t. After seven days, Chloe was discharged. The entire Monroe family dropped everything to come and get her. Once again, she was their beloved princess. “Mom, I want ice cream!” “You just recovered! No ice cream! Thank God you didn’t scar…” Mrs. Monroe lovingly stroked Chloe’s forehead. “If she had even one scar, I’d go and carve up Anya’s face myself!” Ethan declared, his voice filled with righteous anger. The rest of the family nodded in agreement, their eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like they wanted to tear me limb from limb. “It… it wasn’t really her fault…” Chloe mumbled, looking down. But she would never tell them the truth. Craig’s eyes also flashed with anger, but ultimately, I was his responsibility. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Monroes. “I apologize on her behalf. As compensation, I’ll have her transfer ownership of the heart-shaped island to you.” The heart-shaped island. The first gift Craig ever gave me. A symbol of our love. “Really?” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Of course.” “But… won’t Anya be upset? I offered to buy it from her before, for a lot of money, and she refused.” Chloe looked down, feigning disappointment. Craig’s lip curled. “This is what she owes you. What right does she have to be upset?” In that single moment, every hope, every last shred of feeling I had for him, shattered. I collapsed in the corner, watching as Chloe jumped for joy. “Ah!” she cried out, twisting her ankle. Craig caught her, his voice a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “Be careful. Don’t you know your foot is still injured?” Chloe pouted. “I was just so happy!” Craig gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “If I’d known it would make you this happy, I would have given it to you sooner…” The last bit of light in my spectral eyes faded. I couldn’t watch anymore. I floated away, back to the only place I wanted to be. Back to my body. That evening, Leo came back with a contract. “Mr. Robinson is transferring the island to Chloe. It’s what you owe her…” I watched him as he rambled on, then signed my name in his perfect forgery and pressed my thumb to the ink. “Mr. Robinson is taking Chloe to the island for a vacation. Don’t be upset. I’ll stay here with you.” He seemed to notice the chill coming from my body and pulled a thin blanket over me. His mind, I think, was starting to unravel.

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The day Elias took the fall for me, we had just turned twenty. Through the visitor’s glass, he smiled, his eyes pinning me. “Elena. Wait for me.” I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The moment he was gone, I became the blade he’d left behind. I threw my acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins in the trash. I dove into the underworld, playing chess with monsters, living on a razor’s edge for ten years. By the time he was paroled, I’d built an empire. I scrubbed his record. I laundered every dollar. I handed him the keys to a clean, legitimate corporation, and he became Mr. Elias Thorne, a man to be feared. I was late to the jeweler—I’d been cleaning up one of his messes. When I walked in, I saw her. A young, fragile-looking woman, wearing my diamond. The one he had designed. One of his new flunkies was fawning over her. “Miss Isla, Mr. Thorne had this custom-made just for you.” I picked up a glass of hot tea from a nearby tray and poured it, slowly and deliberately, right over her head. In the dead silence of the showroom, I looked at his men. “I’m done with Elias,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “But you don’t get to touch what’s mine.” … Elias moved faster than I’d seen him move in years. He ripped off his thousand-dollar suit jacket, wrapped her in it, and half-carried her into a private viewing room. When he came back out, he backhanded his top man across the face. The crack echoed. “Get out. All of you. Line up on the sidewalk.” His voice was ice. “When did any of you get the right to make decisions for me? Remember this: Only Elena gets that kind of respect. No one else.” The men bowed, their apologies quick and meaningless. I leaned against the wall, unimpressed. “Who’s the performance for, Elias? You really think they’d dare give her that ring without your nod?” He stepped close, his old scent—sandalwood and steel—filling my lungs. He reached to touch my face. I didn’t move. “Elena… Isla’s just… she’s naive. She’s exactly like you were when we first met. I couldn’t say no. But no one, no one, compares to you.” I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Hours ago, you said you were stuck in a board meeting, that the ‘old guard’ was riding you, and you couldn’t get away. She calls, and you ditch them? What are you afraid of, Elias? That I’ll kill her?” I reached up and tapped his throat. “Tell me. What is she?” His Adam’s apple jumped. “Elena, I was afraid you’d misunderstand. That’s why I rushed over. It’s not about her.” “Really?” I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “You know I don’t believe in words.” Just then, a shriek came from the viewing room. Elias’s body tensed. He threw my hand aside. I saw the shift. The panic in his eyes. He spun to run to her. I kicked the back of his knee, hard. He grunted, his body pitching forward, and his elbow instinctively shot back, aimed right for my ribs. His voice was a snarl: “Elena, haven’t you made enough of a scene!” I blocked, twisting my torso so the blow glanced off my side. But he used the moment to break free and burst into the room. He pulled the woman—still just in his jacket—into a desperate hug. I followed, leaning on the doorframe. “That touches a nerve? It was just hot water, Elias. I took a broken bottle to the head for you in Chicago, and you didn’t look half this frantic.” He was furious, his eyes red, but his hands on her were impossibly gentle. “She’s not you, Elena! Isla’s been sheltered her whole life. Not every woman is like you.” The girl burrowed into his chest, her sobs precise, her words perfectly clear. “Elias, don’t blame Elena. It’s not her fault she’s… like this. Not after everything. You did ten years for her… how can she not trust you!” I froze. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” She looked up, tears like crystals on her porcelain cheeks. “Of course! Elias tells me everything. He says with me, he can finally… be himself. The real him. The clean him.” Clean. I’d spent ten years wading through filth for him. He gets to the top and now he’s ashamed of the hands that built his throne? “The real you?” I locked eyes with Elias. “Are you serious? You miss prison, Elias? Miss the stale bread and getting your head kicked in?” A flash of shame crossed his face. He handed Isla to a bodyguard. He turned, trying to take my hand. “Elena, stop. So it’s a ring. I’ll buy the whole store. Pick anything.” I slapped his hand away. “Elias. That ring. You designed it yourself with the first real money we made from the syndicate. You stayed up for three nights drawing it. You said… you said you’d put it on my finger the day we got married. And you’re giving it to her?” My fist flew. He turned, shielding Isla with his own body, taking the punch on his shoulder. “Get Miss Isla home. Now!” He knew my temper. He knew what I was capable of. The room exploded. My men and his new crew. It was a blur of motion. He blocked me, a wall of muscle, keeping me away from her. I heard a car engine. She was getting away. Rage, pure and black, burned through me. I reached into my boot and pulled the five-inch dagger—the first gift he ever gave me—and plunged it into his thigh. He hissed, but he didn’t back down. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, a twisted smile on his face. “Feel better? I promise, Elena. This is the last time. She’ll never be in your way again.” I twisted the blade. “Isla. 22. College grad. Met her at a fundraiser three months ago… ‘spilled’ a drink on you. You’ve gotten sloppy, Elias. Or did you forget how you climbed this high?” His face changed. The smile was gone. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in so hard I knew I’d have bruises. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. I’ll have an exact copy of the ring made. Just… let it go.” The gash was too deep. He couldn’t handle it himself. His men half-carried him out. I stood there, breathing hard. As I was leaving, I sent him a text. That knife was the first thing you ever gave me. Now it’s yours. We’re even. I knew he’d been icing me out. Sidelining me. Putting new faces in key positions, men loyal only to him. “Elena, you’ve been running for ten years,” he’d say, massaging his temples. “You need to rest. Let me handle the dirty work.” It was a lie, a tranquilizer to keep me calm. My hand went to my stomach. This morning… the nausea. The sudden dizziness. As I left the jeweler, I had my driver, Chloe, take me to our doctor. The on-payroll one. She looked at the report, then at me. “Elena… you’re pregnant.” The words hit me. The fucking irony. Elias had grieved over us not having a child. After they’d captured me, years ago… after the torture, the drugs… the doctor said the damage was irreversible. “You’ll likely never carry a child to term.” Elias had broken down. He’d smashed his fist into the wall, screaming, “My fault, my fault, if I’d been faster…” It was the only time I’d ever seen him cry. This baby… it was a miracle. And it arrived today. The day he handed my ring to another woman. “Chloe,” I said, my voice flat. “This doesn’t leave this car. Tell the doctor. If one word of this gets out, you’ll be swimming in concrete shoes.” “Elena…” “This baby is mine,” I interrupted, my voice like stone. “Elias Thorne has no right to it.” Because of the day’s stress, the doctor insisted I stay overnight for observation. As I was checking in, I heard them. Down the hall. Isla’s voice, clinging. “Elias, she’s terrifying! How can she treat you like that? After everything you’ve done for her!” And his. “She’s just… she’s been through a lot. I spoiled her.” “Don’t move, your stitches will tear. I’ll kiss it better.” “Elias,” she whispered, “I don’t have her power. I can’t run your company. But I can give you a home. With me, you can just be Elias…” She stood on her toes and kissed him. I watched. He didn’t pull away. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her back. My heart seized. It was just a kiss. But it was a betrayal that ten years of bullets and blood hadn’t been. We’d had so many kisses. Kisses that tasted like gunpowder and victory. Kisses in the back of armored cars, desperate and hungry. Kisses in the dark, promising forever. The last kiss before he went in. Him, gripping the bars. “You wait for me, Elena. You wait, and I’ll marry you.” The same mouth. Kissing her. In my empire. I walked toward them. The bodyguard saw me first. He saw the look in my eyes and he stepped back. Elias finally turned. The desire in his eyes turned to shock. My fist connected with his jaw. At the last second, he jerked his head, shielding her again, taking the blow. His leg buckled. Isla shrieked. “We’re in love! Just leave us alone!” I slapped her so hard she hit the linoleum floor. I put my heel on her hand. “Say that again.” Elias grabbed my arm, his voice pleading, desperate. “Elena, don’t. Don’t hurt her. I swear to you, your place… no one can take it. You’ll be my wife. You’ll always be Mrs. Thorne.” I laughed, a sound that hurt my own ears. “Mrs. Thorne? You think I need your name? You think you’re clean enough to give it to me?” I pressed my heel down. Isla screamed. That did it. The last bit of warmth in his eyes died. His face went blank. “Get her off!” he roared. The bodyguards moved.

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I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw my sister-in-law’s post raving about my mom’s famous homemade BBQ sauce. My mouth watered, so I texted my mom and asked if she could mail me a couple of jars. She didn’t text back all day. That evening, she called. “So, do you still want that BBQ sauce or not? If you do, you can Venmo me fifty bucks. You know how expensive a good brisket is, honey. I’m on a fixed income.” **1** Hearing my mom’s voice on the other end of the line, I just went silent. Earlier that afternoon, I’d seen the post from Jessica, my brother’s wife. It was a picture of perfectly glazed ribs, with the caption, “Nothing beats my mother-in-law’s secret recipe BBQ sauce! So good!” I got an instant craving and commented, asking if she could send me the brand. Jessica sent me a voice note, sounding surprised. “Oh, honey, you can’t buy this! It’s your mom’s homemade sauce. She just dropped off a whole case for us. It’s seriously the best.” So I texted Mom, asking her to send a couple of jars my way. The message was marked “Read,” but hours went by with no reply. Crickets. Meanwhile, I saw her active in our family group chat, sending boomer-memes to my aunts. I was confused. Why would she see my text and just ignore it? That night, I was in the middle of dinner when my phone rang. It was her. The knot in my stomach finally loosened. I quickly picked up. “So, do you still want that BBQ sauce or not? If you do, you can Venmo me fifty bucks. You know how expensive a good brisket is, honey. I’m on a fixed income.” The excitement I’d felt just seconds before vanished, replaced by a cold shock, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I didn’t know what to say. When I didn’t answer, her voice grew impatient. “What’s wrong? Fifty dollars is too much for you? Do you have any idea how much work this is? I have to get up at the crack of dawn to go to the butcher, trim the meat, render the fat, let it simmer all day… It’s a huge effort, Dani. You can’t just expect to get it for free.” A familiar ache spread through my chest. “Mom,” I said, my voice quiet. “I saw Jessica’s post. You gave her more than a dozen jars. I just figured you had a lot extra, that’s why I asked for two.” Her tone instantly shifted from weary to angry. “Danielle, what are you trying to say? Are you blaming me?” I had a million frustrated thoughts, but I couldn’t bring myself to fight with her. “No,” I mumbled. But that single word was like a match on gasoline. “Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “You want to compare yourself to Jessica? Get real. Jessica has a master’s degree, she’s gorgeous, and her family is wealthy. Her marrying Kevin was the best thing that ever happened to this family. Not to mention, she gave us our beautiful grandson.” “And you?” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “You married a government worker. A guy with no connections, from a no-name family. He barely cracks six figures. After your mortgage and car payments, what do you even have left?” “Honestly, Dani, it’s embarrassing. Your brother, thanks to Jessica’s father, has a booming business. He takes care of us. And your husband? The bottle of wine he brings for Thanksgiving is from the grocery store. It’s humiliating. Your father can’t even look at it.” It was like a dam had broken, and all her years of disappointment in me came flooding out. I always knew there was a pecking order in my family, that my brother was the golden child. But I never knew she saw the gap between us as a chasm. I bit my lip, forcing back tears. “I get it, Mom. I won’t ask for the sauce again. You can keep it. Keep it all for Jessica. Your BBQ sauce is too rich for my blood.” I ended the call before she could reply. The second the screen went dark, the tears came. I curled up on the sofa, burying my face in my hands. A few minutes later, I heard the beep of the keypad at the front door. It was my husband, Mark, home from work. I quickly wiped my eyes. Mark walked in, holding a small paper bag. “Hey, babe, look what I got!” he said with a grin. “Those cronuts from the place on the West side you were talking about this morning. Got you one of each.” He sat down next to me and his smile faded. He saw my red eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around me. “What’s wrong?” I just shook my head. “Nothing. Just watched a sad movie.” Mark gave me a tired, loving smile. “You and your tearjerkers.” He pulled me closer, and I just let myself be held, trying to breathe past the lump in my throat. I didn’t expect my brother to show up that night. Mark opened the door to see Kevin standing there, and immediately put on a welcoming smile. Kevin, however, looked like he was ready for a fight. He brushed past Mark and bellowed, “Danielle! Where is she? Get out here!” I came out of the bedroom with a sheet mask on my face, frowning. “What are you doing here?” My relationship with Kevin was… strained. Growing up, our parents’ favoritism was obvious. He learned early on that he was the king of the castle, and I was, at best, a court jester. No matter how he bullied me, Mom and Dad always took his side. We grew up more like rivals than siblings. Then he married Jessica, whose family owned a massive logistics company. A few crumbs of their business were enough to make Kevin a rich man. In our parents’ eyes, he could now walk on water. My standing in the family plummeted to somewhere below Jessica’s purebred golden retriever. Then I met Mark. He wasn’t a big shot, but he was kind and steady. We had our own little house, our own life. In this home, I had my own space, my own voice. Mark never belittled me; he listened to me, respected me. So, I didn’t care if my family looked down on us. Their money had nothing to do with me. Mark offered Kevin a glass of water. Kevin waved it away with a smug look. “No thanks, man. Just came from a client dinner. Drank a few hundred dollars’ worth of single malt. Pretty full.” I couldn’t help myself. “Wow, you’re so fancy. What are you doing in our humble little home? Aren’t you afraid of getting your expensive shoes dirty?” Kevin’s face tightened. “Always with the smart mouth, Dani. You think I wanted to come here? Did you call Mom today and make her cry? I just got home and she was a complete wreck. Do you have a conscience? What did she ever do to you?” “It’s just a couple of jars of BBQ sauce,” he scoffed. “Is it really that big of a deal?” He then turned to Mark. “And you, man. I know money’s tight, but you can’t even buy your wife a bottle of sauce from the store? You let her call my mom and throw a tantrum? That’s not cool.” Mark’s jaw tensed, but his voice was even. “Kevin, I respect you as Dani’s brother, but don’t cross the line. Dani is your sister. You should talk to her with a little more respect.” Kevin just laughed. “Facts are facts. She found out my wife got some of Mom’s sauce, and she threw a jealous fit on the phone. What part of that isn’t true?” Mark’s expression didn’t change. “She’s your sister. She’s our mother’s daughter. Is it really such a crime for a daughter to ask her mother for a jar of BBQ sauce?” he asked calmly. “Or have you all just decided she’s not part of the family anymore? Our mother can give it to her daughter-in-law, but not her own child? What’s the difference?” I was stunned. I thought I’d hidden how bad things were at home from Mark. I was too ashamed to talk about it. Mark’s words set Kevin off. “What’s the difference? You have the nerve to ask what the difference is?” he shouted. “Look at my wife, and then look at Dani! She can’t hold a candle to Jessica! There’s a reason my mom loves my wife! Maybe Dani should take a hard look in the mirror and ask herself why!” “ENOUGH!” The word exploded from Mark. Kevin froze. I jumped. Mark was the calmest person I knew. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even seen him truly angry. Kevin recovered quickly. “What’s your problem, man? Are you yelling at me? Are you insane? I’m just telling the truth! You might treat her like a princess, but in our family, she was always less than—” He never finished the sentence. Mark’s fist connected with his jaw. Mark works out; even in a loose shirt, you can see the muscle. Kevin went down hard and stayed there, groaning. Mark walked to the door and opened it. “Get out,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “We don’t want you here. And if you want to call the cops, go ahead. I’ll be waiting.” Kevin scrambled to his feet, terrified Mark would hit him again, and scurried out the door, muttering curses under his breath. As soon as the door was closed, Mark rushed over and wrapped his arms around me. “Dani, it’s okay. Don’t be scared.” I shook my head, my voice trembling. “I’m not scared. I’m just worried he’s going to come after you.” Kevin was vindictive. “Don’t worry about him,” Mark said, holding me tight. “It’ll be fine.” A week went by with no word from my brother or my parents. I started to think maybe it was all over. Then, one evening when I got home from work, I found my mother standing on my doorstep, holding several overflowing grocery bags. She lit up when she saw me. “Dani, honey, you’re home!” “Look,” she said, lifting the bags. “I brought you some of the BBQ sauce. And I got you some organic supplements from the farmer’s market, and some fresh eggs.” I was instantly on guard. My mother had never, ever been this generous with me. Something was wrong. I let her in and she set the bags down on the counter. I poured her a glass of water. She took it, looking around our small living room. “So, Dani, are you doing okay?” I crossed my arms. “Just say what you came to say, Mom. You don’t have to beat around the bush.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Okay. It’s your brother. He’s in some trouble. A big shipment of his for export got held up at the port—some issue with the paperwork. He’s called everyone he knows, but no one can help. Then he found out… well, he found out Mark works for Customs and Border Protection.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Could you ask Mark to talk to his supervisor? Just to… you know… pull some strings? Get them to approve the shipment?” Without a second of hesitation, I said, “No.” Her face fell. “How can you be so heartless? It’s such a small favor. He’s your brother!” “Is he?” I shot back. “When has he ever treated me like a sister?” A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it. “Oh, Dani, don’t be so dramatic. You two just roughhoused as kids. You can’t hold a grudge forever. Your brother might have a sharp tongue, but he has a good heart. He loves you.” “Think about it,” she pressed on. “Mark punched him last week, and did he call the police? No! He kept quiet, for the sake of the family. He took the hit.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Don’t try to make him a saint, Mom. You know he got punched, but do you know why? He was insulting me, in my own home, in front of my husband. If Mark had just sat there and taken it, I would have divorced him.” She sighed dramatically. “Dani, no matter what, you two are family. Blood is thicker than water. You can’t be this cruel.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Mark is a federal agent, Mom. He has spent years building his career, being careful, following the rules. If there was nothing wrong with Kevin’s shipment, it wouldn’t be held up. And if there *is* something wrong with it, and Mark gets involved, he could lose his job, his pension, or even go to jail. Is that what you want?” My mom looked away, her face flushing with discomfort. “How could there be anything wrong with it?” she mumbled, not sounding convinced at all.

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After three years of playing the designated social outcast, I finally completed the mission. Before my scheduled “death,” the System gave me one day to say goodbye to my targets. I’d been holding it in for three years. It was time to go scorched-earth on each and every one of them. To my moody, controlling adoptive brother: [You think you’re so deep and mysterious? You’re just a poser with a trust fund!] To my arrogant jock of a childhood friend: [Three years of tutoring and you still have the IQ of a golden retriever. Are you brain-damaged?] To my cold, older fiancé: [Who would be desperate enough to marry an old man like you? You’ve practically got one foot in the grave!] A moment later, my phone buzzed with replies. Moody Adoptive Brother: [? Is this a code? Are you in trouble? I’m on my way home now!] Arrogant Jock: […I was just pretending to be dumb to make you feel like you were good at teaching, okay? God, you make me so mad. Just you wait!] Cold Fiancé: [Is someone trying to poach you? Let’s meet and discuss this in person.] Just then, my doorbell started ringing like crazy. At the same time, the System’s voice screeched in my head: [HOST, I READ THE DATE WRONG!] [YOUR EXTRACTION ISN’T FOR ANOTHER SEVEN DAYS!] Me: “?” Part 2 It was my third year of being the girl everyone loved to hate. And I had finally, finally, finished the mission. For three years, I’d played the part of the timid, doormat protagonist perfectly. I was a ghost at school. At home, my adoptive brother, Julian, treated me like his personal assistant. I had no friends, and my family barely tolerated me. Then, a glimmer of hope: an arranged marriage to the powerful Pierce family. But, of course, on the day of our engagement party, the truth came out. I was the switched-at-birth fake heiress. The Sterlings’ real daughter had been found. Just like that, the world turned on me again. I was public enemy number one. Maybe that was the final straw the System was waiting for. After three years of radio silence, it finally reactivated. [Congratulations, Host! The ‘Universal Scapegoat’ mission is complete. A substantial reward is waiting for you.] [You will be returned to your original world tomorrow.] I blinked. “What about ‘me’ in this world?” I asked. The System chuckled. [Don’t you worry about that. We’ll arrange a little accident. A clean exit.] That easy? “Are you sure? It’s really over? No more missions?” I had to be certain. The System puffed out its digital chest. [Absolutely! Tomorrow, you can cash your check and go home!] Relief washed over me. The System said I had one day to say my goodbyes. But as I thought about it, there was nothing and no one to say goodbye to. These people probably wouldn’t even flinch if they read my obituary. Bored, I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Right on cue, it vibrated. A message from a contact I’d saved as “Mr. Broody Poser.” [I’m having a dress for the gala sent to the house tomorrow.] [For God’s sake, don’t wear one of your ugly ones. You’re embarrassing me.] That was my brother, Julian Sterling. Or, I guess, my adoptive brother now. My parents’ golden child. From the moment I was dropped into this world, he’d treated me like something he’d stepped in. Moody, condescending, and a master of the backhanded compliment. He’d criticize my taste, my grades, my very existence. All I had to do was walk past him to earn a look of pure disgust. But he was the Sterling heir, and no one dared to challenge him. Not even my own mother, who just told me to keep my head down and endure it. I’d endured it for three years. I’d been his quiet, obedient little shadow. But I was leaving tomorrow. And today, I was done enduring. Me: [You think your taste is so great?] Me: [Attached Image] Me: [Is this supposed to be a dress or a designer garbage bag?] Me: [And that wasn’t a typo.] Me: [You walk around like you’re some kind of fashion god. Honestly, even though you’re a miserable person with no real friends, literally 0 people care what you wear.] A long pause. Then, a single question mark appeared. I think I broke his brain. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a message came through. Julian: [What happened to you?] My fingers flew across the screen. Me: [Nothing happened.] Me: [I’m just sick of your act.] Me: [You poser.] My phone went silent. Julian had probably short-circuited from rage. But who cared? I put him on Do Not Disturb. A soft knock at my door. One of the housekeepers peeked in. “Miss Ava, the car is waiting.” “It’s taking you back to school for the event this afternoon.” Even though I was now the “fake” Sterling, my parents, out of some lingering sense of duty, were letting me finish high school at the prestigious Northwood Prep. The ride to school was silent. Even the driver could probably sense the toxic atmosphere back at the house and didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop when I opened the door to a furious voice. “Ava, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?” Part 3 I looked up. A guy was standing there, glaring at me, his chest heaving with anger. I gave him a once-over. “Why were you waiting for me?” Liam Prescott looked like he’d been slapped. “?! I felt sorry for you, okay?” he sputtered. “Nobody was going to ask you to prom. I was going to do you a favor and be your date, and this is the attitude I get?” The Prescotts and the Sterlings were old family friends. That made Liam, unfortunately, my childhood acquaintance. With his lazily handsome face and star athlete status, he was basically king of Northwood Prep. Our parents had once even tried to set up an arranged engagement between us. Liam had shut that down publicly. I can still remember the look of pure disgust on his face at the dinner party. “Her? An engagement with her?” he’d scoffed. “Are you insane? Are you actively trying to ruin my life?” His very public rejection had made me the laughingstock of our entire social circle for a year. But hey, his reaction had also netted me 100 experience points, a third of my total mission goal. So, I wasn’t planning on holding a grudge. But then his two cronies, who were flanking him, decided to chime in. “Yeah, Ava. Liam’s doing you a huge favor. You should be grateful.” “What’s with the attitude? You still playing hard to get or something?” Hearing that, Liam’s lips tightened into a thin line. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Ava. I’m talking to you.” I looked at him, genuinely confused. “You’re in my way. I need to get to the main building.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Did you hear a single word I just said? Aren’t you even going to apologize?” I blinked. “Apologize? To who?” “To you?” “As if.” Liam froze. “You were waiting for me, but you never bothered to text me,” I continued, ticking the points off on my fingers. “What, am I supposed to be a mind reader? And I never asked you to be my prom date. So who is this whole knight-in-shining-armor act for? Do you need a tissue? Maybe you can squeeze out a few tears to make it more believable.” His two buddies looked scandalized and jumped to his defense. “He was just trying to be nice since you’re pathetic and have no one else! You’re so ungrateful!” “Why are you being such a bitch? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I shot them a bored look. “Duh, of course it’s on purpose. Why else would I say it?” I gestured between them. “What are you guys, his personal cheerleading squad? Did you get a two-for-one deal on loyalty or something?” I then swept my gaze over all three of them. “Look, I know my words are harsh. But it’s not like any of you deserve a compliment.” Liam was the first to snap out of it, reaching out to grab my arm. “Ava—” My bodyguard smoothly stepped between us. I glanced back at Liam over my shoulder. “Look, I’m in a surprisingly good mood today, so if you have something to say, spit it out before I change my mind.” But the expression on his face wasn’t the rage I expected. It was… confusion. And a strange sort of panic. “Ava, today you’re…” he stammered. “Are you sick or something?” I’d braced myself for an explosion, and that’s all he had? Seriously? All this time, I’d been surrounded by the most pathetic bunch of posers and wannabes. I’d really overestimated them. Part 4 I didn’t bother with Liam again and headed straight for the principal’s office. I had more important things to do. Even though the whole school was buzzing about prom, it held zero appeal for me. It was just an excuse for the popular kids to dance and take pictures. As the resident ghost, I never had a date, so I hadn’t even bothered to get a dress. I was just wearing a hoodie and jeans. When I came out of the principal’s office, the looks I got in the hallway were different. Sharper. More pitying. “So she’s not a real Sterling…” “That explains so much. She has none of their class…” “Her and Julian are from two different worlds. Poor Julian, having to put up with an adoptive sister like that.” The rumors about my parentage had finally made it to school. I pulled out my phone and saw twenty missed calls. All from Julian. A number that had been dormant for a decade was suddenly blowing up my phone. I half-wondered if he’d signed me up for some spam-call service online. I didn’t bother calling back. I just opened his texts. There were too many to read, but the last one caught my eye. Julian: [I’m coming home tomorrow.] He was supposed to be on a business trip overseas. Staring at the message, I had no idea what to say. So I just locked my phone. Whatever. It was his house. He could come and go as he pleased. On my way out, I ran into Liam again. He was in a tux now, the boyish edges of his face sharpened into something more mature. When he saw me, his jaw tensed. “Ava, why haven’t you changed yet?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “I’m not going to the dance,” I said flatly. I don’t know what was wrong with him. Usually, he’d be with Chloe Sanders, the most popular girl in our grade, by now. As Liam opened his mouth to say something else, my bodyguard politely blocked his path. “Mr. Prescott, Miss Ava is engaged to Mr. Pierce.” Liam’s face went cold. “I know that! You don’t have to tell me!” I just rolled my eyes and nodded to my bodyguard. “Let’s go home.” As I got into the car, I saw a few of Liam’s friends rush over to him. They were talking animatedly, gesturing towards my car. I watched Liam’s expression shift from confusion to shock. I could guess what they were telling him—the big, juicy gossip about my real identity. The car started to pull away. Suddenly, Liam shouted my name. “Ava—!” He was running after the car, his face desperate. The driver accelerated, and the tinted window slid shut. I watched in the rearview mirror as Liam’s figure got smaller and smaller, until he was just a black dot in the distance. I turned to my bodyguard. “What’s his deal?” He considered it for a moment. “Maybe he’s getting his cardio in for the day.”

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My husband, Harry Shaw, lost his memory in a car accident. He didn’t forget a single person or a single thing in his life. Except for me. His best friend teased him, “You’ve got some nerve. Better watch out, or you’ll be the star of your own midlife crisis, begging for her back.” Harry’s expression was dead serious. “Even with amnesia, I know for a fact I could never fall for a manipulative woman like her. If I really married her, it must have been a marriage of convenience.” “My type has never changed. I love women who are pure and kind.” Outside the door, I stared at the photo on my phone of Harry and a young woman named Lily kissing. I smiled. It took an accident for me to finally hear what he truly thought. I immediately called my lawyer. An hour later, I pushed the door open. “Here are the divorce papers. Sign them.” 1 My sudden entrance froze the air in the room. Harry’s friend, Michael, coughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. “Eleanor, Harry’s just had an accident. His head’s not on straight. You know how he is. Everyone in Crestwood knows he’s completely obsessed with you.” If I hadn’t overheard Harry’s words just moments before, I might have believed him. I might have still believed that Harry was head-over-heels in love with me. I let out a soft, humorless laugh, but Harry cut me off. “I don’t know why I supposedly loved you for the past decade, but the me of today doesn’t remember loving you. I want to correct my past mistake.” His brow was furrowed, his expression grave. “Let’s keep our business between us. Don’t drag other people into this. They’re innocent.” He looked at me as if I were some kind of monster. I scoffed and slapped the divorce papers onto his chest. “Of course.” “Sign the papers. We’ll file tomorrow.” Without looking up, Harry flipped through a couple of pages and signed his name with a flourish. “Well, that’s a surprise. I’m shocked a woman like you isn’t trying to take me to the cleaners.” His words stopped me in my tracks. A woman like me? What kind of woman was that? Before I could ask, Michael, sensing the shift in my expression, jumped in. “Hey, you two, just calm down! Isn’t this a little hasty?” “Filing for divorce tomorrow? Do you even have your marriage certificate with you?” Michael’s intention was to get us to slow down, to talk things through. But his words had the opposite effect. Harry and I both froze, our eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment. He quickly looked away, his disgust palpable. Harry and I were childhood sweethearts. We got married the moment we were legally able. I still remember our wedding day: April 1st, April Fool’s Day. I had said it was an unlucky day for an anniversary and suggested we find a more auspicious date. But Harry had pouted, his face a mask of disappointment. “We promised we’d get married the day after your birthday. I can’t wait another second.” He’d cajoled me, “Your birthday and our anniversary, back-to-back. Isn’t that the best kind of luck? It’s a gift from the heavens!” He’d even wiped away a fake tear. After we got the certificate, Harry took eight different photos of it from every conceivable angle and posted them all online. Our friends flooded his feed, teasing him for being so smug, warning him that an April Fool’s wedding might be a sham. It was just a joke, but Harry had panicked. He snatched the certificate from my hand, his expression deadly serious. “It’s not a sham.” And with a swift rip, he tore it to shreds. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice filled with righteous conviction. “Without a marriage certificate, you can never divorce me!” The memory was so vivid I could almost see his boyish, innocent smile. But in a flash, it was replaced by the impatient, scowling face of the man before me. The handsome planes of his face were now etched with fine lines. Still handsome, but no longer the Harry I remembered. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked toward him. Under his suspicious, wary gaze, I picked up the divorce papers. “We were so young and foolish,” I said with a laugh. “Look at the trouble we’ve made for ourselves now.” I turned to leave. As I opened the door, I ran into Lily, who was holding a thermal lunch box. Her tight-fitting dance leotard hugged her slender, youthful frame. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. The moment she saw me, she flinched and bowed her head. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw.” Her timid demeanor reminded me of when she first accepted my sponsorship. She was as shy as a rabbit. But I knew better now. This was no herbivore. “Go on in,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s been waiting for you.” My words startled her. Her shoulders trembled. Harry’s voice, sharp and angry, cut through the air. “Eleanor! Watch your mouth!” 2 The tension that had momentarily dissipated returned, thicker than before. I turned back, a bitter laugh escaping my lips, and met Harry’s furious gaze. “Lily is still a student. She’s a very sensitive girl. Were you trying to ruin her with those words?!” He was so angry he was struggling to breathe, his recently injured body heaving. “Can’t you see she’s about to cry?” “Why are you still so malicious?” My family, the Calloways, was a complicated one. In my younger years, I’d fought tooth and nail with my father’s illegitimate son. Harry had been the one to protect me, to help me reclaim what was rightfully mine. Back then, I had asked him if he thought I was a manipulative, wicked woman. He’d said, “My Eleanor is just smart. Besides, I’ll always be with you.” That promise of “always” had carried us through seven years of marriage. Seven years in which, due to my fragile health, we were never able to have a child of our own. He knew how much I wanted a child, so he suggested we sponsor one. Lily was the child we sponsored together. On paper, it was a joint act of charity, but over the years, I was the one who looked after her, who cared for her. I never imagined that when she came to Crestwood for college, she would end up in Harry’s bed. “Mrs. Shaw, I’m so sorry!” Lily’s sudden apology, delivered from her knees, broke through my thoughts. “It was my fault. I got into a fight with my roommate and I shouldn’t have called Mr. Shaw to pick me up. Then he wouldn’t have been in the accident.” “It’s all my fault. I was being presumptuous, thinking I had a home to go to…” As she spoke, she slapped herself, once, twice. The sight of it was too much for Harry. “Eleanor! Stop this nonsense! Lily has a performance in two days! Help her up!” He started to get out of bed. Lily scrambled to his side, helping him, her face streaked with tears. “Mr. Shaw, I’m so sorry…” Their hands clasped together. Harry’s eyes seemed to well up as well. “Don’t cry, Lily.” When he turned to look at me again, the pain in his eyes was replaced by disgust. “The accident had nothing to do with Lily. Instead of dealing with the aftermath, you come here to harass her. You have no sense of the bigger picture. So petty!” I had seen the surveillance footage and the dashcam video from the accident. At the moment of impact, Lily was in the passenger seat, crying and pulling Harry’s hand toward her chest, whispering, “Mr. Shaw, my heart hurts.” The police officer watching the video with me had scratched his head in embarrassment, muttering something about a TV drama villain coming to life. I didn’t know what “aftermath” Harry expected me to “deal with.” Was I supposed to play the fool? I scoffed. “I guess I don’t have the grand perspective of Mr. Shaw’s little angel.” I opened the door and kicked the lunch box Lily had dropped out of my way. As the door closed behind me, I heard Harry’s enraged shout: “Eleanor!” Just after I left the hospital, I received a voice recording from Lily. In the recording, I heard Harry’s deep voice. “Lily’s birthday is coming up. How about Mr. Shaw buys you a house, so you’ll have a home of your own?” “Can I pick it out myself?” Harry chuckled. “Of course. Whatever Lily likes.” “I like the villa on the west side of town. That’s where I first met you.” There was a two-second pause, followed by the sound of heavy breathing and a woman’s soft moan. I slammed my phone shut. Harry must have loved Lily so much that he had forgotten all about the other woman on the west side of town. That was our first home, the home we still lived in. Even after I took back control of the Calloway family company and could afford any house I wanted, I never moved. Harry had once asked me why, and I told him it held our memories. He had teared up then, swearing to love me for the rest of his life. Now, another woman was coveting that house, and all he could remember was that it was where he first met Lily. My assistant spoke cautiously from the driver’s seat. “Ms. Calloway, Mr. Shaw is only like this because of the amnesia…” I held up a hand to silence her. How ironic. Harry remembered everything, except how to love me. 3 The day Harry was discharged from the hospital arrived quickly. He and Lily were laughing as she pushed his wheelchair into the living room. I was grooming my cat, Patches. Lily’s shriek startled both me and the cat. “Eleanor, put the cat in the other room! Lily is allergic to cats.” Harry clumsily maneuvered his wheelchair to shield a pale-faced Lily. I didn’t even look up. “If she’s allergic, she can leave. No one’s asking her to stay.” A second later, Lily’s tearful voice filled the air. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I just saw that you weren’t here to pick up Mr. Shaw, so I took it upon myself to bring him home. I overstepped.” “I’ll leave right now.” Harry grabbed her wrist, his face dark. “You failed to fulfill your duties as a wife. Lily helped you, and you have the audacity to criticize her!” “And from today on, Lily is living here. You will keep your cat under control, or you’ll have me to answer to.” My hand, holding the brush, froze. I looked up at him. “Answer to you? And how will you make me answer?” Patches had been his eighteenth birthday gift to me. Back then, I was a Calloway in name only, treated worse than my father’s illegitimate child. No one remembered my birthday. Even the maids bullied me. Harry gave me Patches, a symbol of completeness, and told me that from then on, he and the cat would be my family. I couldn’t keep a pet at the Calloway mansion, so he had taken care of him until we got married. He should have been the one with the deeper bond with Patches, but now, the look in his eyes was ice-cold, as if he were looking at a common, annoying pest. Harry didn’t answer my question. I thought it was just an empty threat. Until I returned from a week-long business trip and couldn’t find Patches anywhere. Lily emerged from the kitchen when she heard my voice. She leaned in close, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you looking for that cat?” she whispered. “Such a pity. He’s dead.” The sound was soft, but the smile on her face grew wider. She played a recording. The sound of Patches’ tormented struggles filled the living room. His shrill, piercing cries made my hair stand on end, a bone-deep chill seeping into me. “What did you do to him?” “What did you do to him?!” I grabbed her by the throat, my voice rising with each repetition of the question, my eyes wide with horror. A cold voice from the top of the stairs broke the moment. “Eleanor, let her go.” “Where is Patches?” Harry looked down at me, his expression disdainful. “He was just an animal. If he’s dead, he’s dead. Don’t take it out on Lily.” “He caused Lily to have an allergic reaction and end up in the hospital. Death was too good for him.” He announced my cat’s death with the same flat, emotionless tone he might use to comment on the weather. “Today is Lily’s birthday. Don’t ruin her mood over an animal.” At the mention of Lily’s birthday, a smile finally appeared on his face. “I’m planning to transfer the deed of this house to Lily. Come upstairs and sign the papers.” He turned his wheelchair and started to leave, not giving me a second glance. I was about to follow him, to argue, but I was stopped by Lily’s scream and the sound of a slap. When Harry turned back, he saw Lily, her cheek red and swollen, clutching her face and sobbing. “Mrs. Shaw, I didn’t want Patches to die either! You’re right to hit me!” She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. “As long as it makes you feel better, you can hit me as many times as you want!” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, a willing martyr. I had to laugh. A masterclass in playing the victim. “Eleanor, there’s a limit to your antics! Do you really think you run this house?!” The Harry who used to look at me with such tenderness, who used to believe me and defend me without question, was gone. In his place was a man whose eyes were filled with a chilling hatred, as if he wanted to tear me to pieces. Our eyes met. I let out a cold laugh. I turned and slapped Lily across the face. I have never been a pushover. If I could survive the viper’s nest of the Calloway family, I could certainly handle this. “I didn’t give you that first slap. But this one,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “you’d better remember it.” Smack! “This one was from Eleanor Calloway.” Smack! “This is my house. No one can protect you here. Not even Harry Shaw.” 4 As I raised my hand for a third slap, Harry grabbed my wrist. He shoved me back. “Eleanor, apologize to Lily,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “Or don’t expect me to show you any mercy for old times’ sake.” I laughed, a wild, hysterical sound. “Old times’ sake?” “What are you going to do to me? The same thing you did to Patches?!” Harry just shot me a look of disgust, as if to say I was being ridiculous. Then he turned to Lily, his face filled with concern, and gently examined her cheek. He blew on it softly, like he was comforting a child, whispering, “Pain, pain, go away.” The tender gesture was a cruel echo of the boy I once knew. They left together, hand in hand. Harry didn’t look at me once. He just threw one last sentence over his shoulder. “We have twenty days left in the mandatory cooling-off period for the divorce. I don’t want to see you again during that time.” I slowly sank to the floor. My assistant rushed in to help me, but her hand came away covered in thick, sticky blood. “Ms. Calloway! You’re hurt!” A pair of scissors from the kitchen island was embedded in my lower back. My phone buzzed. A text message. [Does it hurt? These are the same scissors I used to cut off that animal’s tail. 😉 ] I moved out of the villa after that. I kept the scissors, a constant reminder of my hatred. The day before the cooling-off period ended, I went to the hospital to have my dressing changed. As I was leaving, I saw Harry and Michael. “You’re not even divorced yet, and Lily is two months pregnant. This is an affair!” Michael was berating him. Harry, however, just smiled gently. “You don’t understand. Eleanor and I have reached the end of the road.” “I love Lily.” “It wasn’t until I met Lily that I realized how terrifying Eleanor is.” The smile on his face faded. “Her father brought his illegitimate son home, paved a golden path for him. But Eleanor managed to cripple the boy and destroy her father’s reputation in the company, forcing him to step down. Now he’s locked away in a mental institution where no one can see him.” “A woman that manipulative… isn’t that terrifying?” I had never hidden my methods from him. Back then, he had praised me for my intelligence. Now, he was calling me malicious. As I was leaving the hospital, I received a text from Lily with a picture of her ultrasound. [Harry says you’re a barren hen. ~] The next day, after Harry and I finalized the divorce, he spoke. “Eleanor, my memory is back. But I know for sure that I don’t love you anymore.” I nodded. “I know.” “You know?” I smiled. “I also know that you never lost your memory in the first place.”

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1 My wife, Elena, bailed on our daughter’s Annual Spring Showcase, claiming a last-minute work emergency. She even insisted we skip it too. Seeing the disappointment cloud my daughter Sophie’s face, I decided to take her myself. The moment we stepped onto the school grounds, my blood ran cold. There, on the main stage, sat Elena. And next to her, nestled on a plush sofa like they owned the place, were her high school sweetheart, Adrian Vance, and his son. They looked for all the world like a perfect family of three. Elena was holding a microphone, speaking eloquently about achieving the perfect work-life balance. Every so often, she’d glance at Adrian, sharing a private, knowing smile. The crowd of parents and students erupted in applause. The adoration fueled her, a smug satisfaction spreading across her face. Even the little boy beside her wore a look of arrogant pride. Then came the Q&A. I shoved my way to the front and snatched a microphone from one of the ushers. “Excuse me, Ms. Sterling,” I called out, my voice booming through the speakers. “I have a question. Since when did you have a son? And does your husband know about it?” … My words hung in the air, instantly replaced by a wave of angry whispers from the parents and students around me. Their gazes, sharp with disdain, cut right through me. “Who is that guy? So rude.” “He’s probably just some nobody, jealous of Elena’s husband. Trying to get her attention this way. She runs a billion-dollar company; it’s not surprising she has a few delusional stalkers trying to worm their way in.” “Pathetic.” On stage, a flicker of panic crossed Elena’s face when she saw me, but she masked it in an instant. Adrian, however, wasn’t so composed. He put on a show of wounded indignation. “Elena, honey, what is he talking about?” I ignored him completely, my eyes locked on Elena. “You haven’t answered my question, Ms. Sterling.” She reflexively tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then, in front of everyone, she took Adrian’s hand and squeezed it tight. “This,” she declared, “is my answer.” Adrian’s expression softened with emotion as he pulled her into a deeper embrace. The crowd collectively gasped, “Awww!” “This is true love, right in front of us! So brave!” “Elena Sterling is an absolute icon. A powerhouse CEO who adores her husband and child. She’s perfect!” Their glares toward me intensified, dripping with contempt. “Yeah, that shut him up. Tried to stir up trouble and got put in his place.” “Look at that loser. Does he really think he can compare to Elena’s husband? Everyone knows her husband holds a top position at Apex Holdings, that he’s her right-hand man. What a joke, comparing a titan like that to this… this nobody!” Just then, my phone vibrated. A text from Elena. “Ethan, don’t misunderstand. I promised Adrian I’d pretend to be Dylan’s mom for the day. He’s never had a mother, the poor thing. But you… you not only disobeyed me, you came here to publicly humiliate me. Stop this nonsense right now.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Elena always had a fiercely competitive streak. It’s why, after we married, I poured everything I had into supporting her career, making her the General Manager while I managed the real power behind the scenes. But now, it seemed she’d forgotten who was king and who was the pawn. Apex Holdings was founded by my grandfather. I hold 75% of the shares. My fingers flew across the screen, firing off messages to the heads of HR and Legal at Apex. Today, in front of this entire audience, I was going to strip her of that title. My daughter, Sophie, couldn’t stand hearing them insult me. Her voice, though trembling, rang out with fury. “What are you talking about! That’s my mom, Elena, on stage! My dad is her husband! That man is the other woman—I mean, the other man!” The crowd burst into laughter, their mockery growing louder. “Like father, like daughter. So young and already a little gold-digger. Truly rotten to the core!” “Are you blind? Ms. Sterling is showing off her perfect family. How could they be fake?” Suddenly, the boy from the stage, Dylan, stormed over to us. He glared at Sophie with pure malice. “Who are you calling a homewrecker? Are you and your dad that desperate to latch onto a rich family? Have you no shame!” He raised his hand to strike her, but I caught his wrist in a vice grip. My gaze lifted past him, settling on Elena, who stood just a few feet away. “Elena,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I’m giving you one last chance. Are you going to tell them the truth?” 2 Elena’s brow furrowed. After a moment, her voice came out, cold as ice. “I don’t know you, sir. I pride myself on my composure, but I will not tolerate you spreading these malicious lies about my husband and my son. Our corporate legal team doesn’t take these things lightly.” Sophie’s face crumpled in disbelief. “Mom, what are you saying? You don’t recognize Dad and me?” A fresh wave of derisive laughter swept through the crowd. “Give it up, little girl. You’re really committed to the act, huh? You should drag your pathetic father out of here before Ms. Sterling decides to really crush you. You common folk have no idea the power you’re messing with.” Even Sophie’s own classmates started chiming in, their faces twisted with disgust. “Sophie, you’re so gross. You always act so prim and proper, but you’re just trash underneath.” Sophie grabbed Elena’s sleeve, her voice pleading. “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Why are you saying you don’t know us?! Say something! Defend us! Didn’t you hear the horrible things they’re saying about Dad?” Elena yanked her arm away, shoving Sophie so hard she stumbled backward, a look of raw betrayal on her face. At the same time, Adrian intertwined his fingers with Elena’s, shooting me a triumphant, provocative smirk. In that instant, I understood. Adrian knew everything. I immediately pulled my daughter close. “Sophie, if she won’t claim you, then from this day forward, you don’t have to claim her either.” As the words left my mouth, Elena’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. A moment later, my phone buzzed again. “Ethan, I already explained. I’m just being Dylan’s mom for one day. Can’t you have a little compassion? If I acknowledge you now, how are Adrian and Dylan supposed to face everyone? How can Dylan even show his face at school again? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t thrown this tantrum. You deserve every insult you get. Now take Sophie and go home and think about what you’ve done.” A humorless smile touched my lips. It seems she’s been sitting in the General Manager’s chair for so long, she’s forgotten who granted her that power in the first place. Just then, a teacher, acting as a mediator, hurried over, announcing that the showcase’s main event, the family fun run, was about to begin. As we walked toward the athletic field, Adrian brushed past me, a smug grin plastered on his face. “A kept man like you was always going to get dumped. Only a man with ambition, a man like me, is worthy of a successful entrepreneur like Elena. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your little brat and disappear.” I scoffed. A man with ambition? HR had already sent me his file. Adrian was a nobody Elena had fast-tracked into his position. He barely understood the company’s most basic operations. It was clear he knew I was Elena’s husband, but he had no idea I was the one who truly controlled Apex. My legal and HR teams messaged to confirm they had drafted her termination papers and our divorce agreement. They were on their way. I wasn’t leaving. I was going to stay and tear the masks off their hypocritical faces in front of everyone. I would get justice for myself and for my daughter. Elena and Adrian were escorted to the VIP viewing platform, where school administrators and fawning parents swarmed them with compliments. Elena held her chin high, basking in the glory, every inch of her radiating smug satisfaction. Meanwhile, Sophie stood at the starting line. She forced a small smile in my direction, and I gave her a thumbs-up. Then, in a flash, everything changed. Dylan suddenly darted onto Sophie’s lane and stuck out his leg. My daughter, caught completely off guard, pitched forward, slamming hard onto the track. I sprinted toward her. Her face was contorted in agony, beads of cold sweat dotting her forehead. Her knees were a bloody mess of scraped skin and gravel. A sharp pain lanced through my own chest. But the perpetrator, Dylan, was laughing, a triumphant look on his face. “That’ll teach you and your pathetic dad to mess with us! Let’s see you try that again!” Rage exploded in my chest. I was about to land a fist on his face when Elena threw herself in front of me, shielding him and Adrian. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “It was just kids playing around. Are you, a grown man, really going to make a scene over this?” My chest heaved with fury. “Playing around? Are you blind? Look at her! She’s in serious pain! That was a deliberate attack!” Adrian just chuckled languidly. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and scattered the bills over Sophie’s injured body, his eyes fixed on me. “This is what you two have been after all along, isn’t it? Money. Take this as compensation for her little scrape. Now get lost.” The onlookers erupted in laughter, their eyes filled with scorn as they sided with Elena and Adrian. “See? That’s what happens when you cross the powerful. You just have to suck it up and take it.” “They started it, trying to pick a fight with the Sterlings. They got what they deserved. Serves them right if her legs are broken!” “Her husband already paid you off! Now scram!” The school nurse was tending to Sophie. My daughter’s eyes, filled with tears, searched for Elena, pleading for help. But Elena turned her head away. The light in Sophie’s eyes dimmed. She reached for my hand. “Dad,” she whispered, her voice thick with pain. “You were right. As of today, I don’t have a mother anymore.” 3 Hearing Sophie’s words, Elena’s brow furrowed again, but this time she shot me a look filled with blame. My gaze swept past her, past Adrian, and landed on the sycophants who had cursed my daughter and me with such venom. I looked at them, one by one, and began to speak, my voice calm and clear. “The Peterson family, aluminum alloys. The Clark family, concrete supply. The Miller family, organic food processing…” As I named them, their smug expressions faltered, replaced by stunned confusion. I was right about every single one. Apex Holdings had its hands in countless industries, and all of them relied on my company to survive. “As of today,” I announced, my voice ringing with authority, “Apex Holdings is terminating all contracts with your businesses.” They stared, first in disbelief, then they burst out laughing, turning to Elena. “Look at this guy! He’s completely lost it. First, he claims to be your husband, and now he’s pretending he can sever our contracts on behalf of Apex.” “Who the hell do you think you are? Ms. Sterling hasn’t said a word! Call a damn ambulance; this guy needs a psych ward!” Elena’s expression darkened, her face a thundercloud. She stepped closer, hissing under her breath. “Ethan, my position at Apex is secure. What do you think you can possibly do? Do you really think anyone still listens to you? Get out of here. Now.” I gave her a long, meaningful look but didn’t answer. Instead, I turned back to the laughing crowd and to Adrian. “There’s one thing you all seem to have misunderstood. It’s true that Elena is the General Manager of Apex Holdings. But I am the one who calls the shots.” Adrian stared, then let out a teary-eyed laugh. “He really is insane.” “I’ve been working at Apex for a while now,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “My wife is the GM! I’ve never seen this lunatic before in my life. He probably doesn’t even know which way the front doors of the building face!” I simply smiled. My people were almost here. Adrian’s security clearance only got him as high as the 10th floor. He’d never set foot on the 35th, where my office was. The crowd roared with laughter, all except Elena. The look she gave me now was pure venom. I knew why. She was terrified. Suddenly, Sophie’s phone rang. She answered it, and a strangled scream tore from her throat. On speaker, a distorted voice snarled, “You little trash, learning to be a gold-digger from your deadbeat dad. So shameless…” I snatched the phone and hung up, realizing with a jolt that someone had posted today’s events online. And they hadn’t just posted it—they had twisted the story, smearing me and my daughter with vicious lies, even doxxing her by publishing her phone number and school information. My eyes shot to Adrian. He was smirking at me, his expression a mask of pure malice. He mouthed the words: “A little gift. Do you like it?” Sophie was trembling uncontrollably as her phone lit up again and again with hateful calls and notifications. The parents who were so eager to impress Elena now closed in on us, a tight circle of hate, their words like daggers. “See? The public knows the truth! You two belong in the gutter!” “Impersonating an Apex executive? Get ready to be sued into bankruptcy! Apex’s legal department is legendary. You won’t even have a house left to cry in!” Someone sneered, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find somewhere to cry. A pretty boy like him can always find some rich old lady’s bed to crawl into!” Just then, two sleek, black Escalades roared to a stop at the school entrance. Someone with a sharp eye yelled out. “That’s the Apex Holdings logo! The executives are here!” The sycophants preened, puffing their chests out as if they shared in the glory. They advanced on me and Sophie, their mouths twisting into cruel smiles. “It’s over for you two now! Ms. Sterling wasn’t just making empty threats. This is the real deal! You’re going to lose everything!” One man held up his phone, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light as he live-streamed. “Hey everyone, it’s the follow-up to the viral story about the gold-digging loser versus the CEO! Hit that follow button; you’re not going to want to miss this! Watch a titan of industry absolutely destroy this pathetic nobody!” Adrian shot Elena a look of adoration, his face glowing with a mixture of surprise and delight. When he looked back at me, his arrogance was boundless. His son, Dylan, stood beside him, chin held high in triumph.

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