Category: English

The day I found out I was the long-lost heiress to a fortune, I was herding sheep in Montana. The fake heiress and my supposed fiancé stepped out of a helicopter, their faces screwing up at the sight of manure-dotted fields. “Cassie,” she said, her voice dripping with pity. “You must have had such a hard life out here. We’ve come to take you back to the city.” Hard? I pointed a thumb over my shoulder at the vast, rolling mountains behind me. “Ever seen this much land, city slicker?” “Ever seen herds of cattle, bison, and sheep that stretch to the horizon, city slicker?” “Ever seen a real log lodge or a working ranch, city slicker?” “This? This is all mine.” I’m no charity case. I wasn’t so sure who the rich one was here. The fake heiress just stared, her mouth hanging open. “City… city slicker… that’s such a niche term.” 1. When we heard the Prescotts were sending someone to get me, my Nana made me put on a new denim shirt she’d bought for me. “My girl,” she said, her hands rough but gentle as she smoothed the collar. “You dress nice. Don’t want them thinking we’re some backwoods hicks.” A thunderous roar echoed through the valley, and soon a sleek, black helicopter was touching down in our main pasture. A young man and woman emerged, looking wildly out of place. The woman wore a delicate white sundress and stiletto heels; the man was in a trench coat and sunglasses, like a spy on vacation. I knew who she was. The girl who had been switched with me at birth, Savannah Prescott. The first thing Savannah did was step directly into a fresh cow pie. The wet, green kind. She looked down, perplexed, then bent over, holding her dress. She smiled at me brightly. “Cassie, the soil here is so… unique.” “I read online that the earth in the countryside has this wonderfully clean, fresh scent. I’m just going to see what it smells like.” Before I could stop her, she dipped a perfectly manicured finger into the “soil,” brought it to her nose, and took a deep whiff. Her expression curdled. “Oh. Well, that’s… a very distinct aroma. Very… novel.” Definitely a city slicker. She’d never seen a real cow pie. “That’s manure,” I said flatly. Savannah was silent for a moment. Then she let out a shriek that would startle a prairie dog, yanking her foot out of her now-ruined shoe. Forgetting the state of her hand, she hopped on one foot over to me and threw her arms around me in a hug. “Oh, Cassie, your living conditions are just dreadful!” she cried. “You’ve suffered for so long! I’m taking you home right now.” 2. Dreadful? I thought it was pretty great. We had mountains, streams, and more livestock than you could count. In the distance, the peaks of the Rockies were capped with snow. People from big cities paid a fortune to vacation here, and they always looked like they were in heaven. Savannah took in my worn jeans and the calluses on my hands, her brow furrowing with guilt. “Cassie, our family is very wealthy. You’ll never have to worry about money again.” She was the first person in my entire life to call me poor. I gently turned her face towards the endless expanse of our ranch. “Ever seen this much land, city slicker?” “Ever seen herds of cattle, bison, and sheep that stretch to the horizon, city slicker?” “Ever seen a real log lodge or a working ranch, city slicker?” “This? This is all mine.” “A single bison goes for ten grand, a good horse for eight, a cow for two, a sheep for a few hundred. You do the math.” Savannah was speechless. A moment ago, all she’d seen was manure. Now, her eyes were taking in the whole scene. It was summer, and the high-country pasture was a sea of green grass and yellow wildflowers. The sun was starting to set. I didn’t have time to entertain them; I had to get the flock into the pen for the night. “Cassie, I’ve never herded sheep before! Can I please try?” Weird. Never thought someone would be begging to do chores. Seeing the sparkle in her eyes, I just waved a hand. “Go for it.” She dug a pair of flip-flops out of her designer handbag, carefully tiptoed around the manure patches, and charged toward the flock. With her gone, I finally turned to the boy who’d been silent this whole time. He was tall, with the kind of lean, athletic build that suggested he could handle himself. But his skin was so pale and smooth, he was clearly a city kid with no real work experience. He felt my gaze and looked down at me, his expression cool. “Hello. I’m Landon Hayes.” I nodded. “I know. My so-called fiancé.” His posture stiffened. “I came here to talk to you about that. Miss… er, Cassie… I don’t think we’re a good match. I hope you’ll agree to call off the engage—” He was cut off by a scream from Savannah’s direction. 3. City slickers. They don’t even know how to act around sheep. Savannah was supposed to be herding them, but instead, a big ram was herding her, chasing her across the pasture as she shrieked. “Cassie, why is it head-butting me? It’s so mean! Help!” I ignored Landon, swung myself onto my horse, and dug my heels into her flanks. We galloped towards Savannah, pulling up beside her. I gestured for her to get on. She tried a few times but couldn’t even get her foot in the stirrup. “I don’t know how!” So useless. I leaned down, hauled her up, and set her in the saddle in front of me. “Hold on. I’ve got work to do.” “What? We’re herding sheep on horseback?” “This is a thousand-acre pasture. You want me to do it on foot?” I held the reins with one hand, and my horse took off, kicking up dust as we expertly guided the flock back towards the pens. Riding is one of my favorite things, but the person in front of me was a non-stop chatterbox. “Cassie, the horse is so tall, I have vertigo!” “Slow down, you’re going too fast, this is terrifying!” “This is crazier than any roller coaster!” “Okay, maybe it’s not so scary… the wind in my face actually feels… free.” Once the sheep were penned, I finally remembered Landon, abandoned in the middle of the pasture. I dropped the still-babbling Savannah at our main cabin and rode back for him. By the time I reached him, the sun had fully set. He was a lonely figure in the vast twilight, looking relieved to see me. “Get on,” I said, offering him my hand. He was more agile than Savannah, managing to swing his leg over and settle behind me, albeit a bit clumsily. I told him to hold on to me, but he just sat there, stiff as a board. I glanced back impatiently and saw his cheeks were flushed. “I’ve… never held on to a girl before,” he coughed. So dramatic. Fine, fall off then. I snapped the reins, and my horse leaped forward. Landon yelped and immediately grabbed a fistful of my jacket on either side of my waist. After a moment, he spoke, his voice close to my ear. “You’re… really amazing on a horse.” “What were we talking about before?” I asked, remembering our interrupted conversation. “Oh, right. You wanted to call off the engagement.” The body behind me went rigid. “No! That’s not what I was going to say,” he said quickly. “I was going to say… we don’t know each other very well. We should… get to know each other better.” Liar. I heard him clear as day. But I’d heard city folk were proud and easily embarrassed, so I let it go. Savannah told me her parents—my biological parents—wanted me back in New York within a couple of days. But in two weeks, it would be time to move the herds to the fall pasture. Nana was getting older; she couldn’t handle a drive that big on her own. I had to stay and help. The cell service out here is terrible. Savannah had to stand on a rock and hold her phone up to the sky to get a signal, but she managed to convince our parents to let me stay for two more weeks. Landon, having nothing better to do on his summer break, stayed too. I went out to fetch some spring water for them. When I came back, I could hear them arguing from outside the cabin. 4. On the table was a basket of something my aunt had sent over. They were green, spherical, and covered in sharp spikes. “I didn’t know they grew miniature artichokes in Montana,” Landon was saying thoughtfully. “That’s not an artichoke,” Savannah shot back. “It’s obviously a baby pineapple.” “I saw them on a trip to Southeast Asia,” Landon insisted. “They’re called ‘mini-artichokes.’” They were at a stalemate, both utterly convinced they were right. When they saw me, they both asked at once: “Is this an artichoke or a pineapple?” I looked at the spiky green ball on the cutting board and sighed. “Has it ever occurred to either of you… that it might be a chestnut?” They both stared, then laughed. “Cassie, don’t be ridiculous. I know what a chestnut looks like,” Landon said. “Yeah, Cassie,” Savannah added. “I’ve eaten chestnuts before. They’re brown. This is green. There’s no way this is a chestnut.” At first, I was worried Savannah would be one of those scheming, backstabbing types you read about in books. Now, I was pretty sure she didn’t have the brain capacity for it. “This is a chestnut in its bur,” I explained. “The green part is the shell.” Under their disbelieving gaze, I took one and cracked it open with my bare hands, revealing the familiar brown nut inside. They stared, their jaws on the floor. “Cassie, you’re a genius,” Savannah breathed, her eyes wide with a newfound admiration. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that out here, only an idiot wouldn’t recognize a chestnut. Nana decided that since we had guests, we should have a proper lamb roast. Landon offered to help. I told him to go catch a lamb. He came back fifteen minutes later, covered in dirt. “I… I can’t catch one,” he stammered. I sighed, got up, walked into the pen, and came back holding a fifty-pound lamb. Trying to save face, Landon offered to help butcher and prep it. I nodded and told him to hold it down. With one swift motion, I drew my knife. Blood spurted, and he just stood there, frozen, as it splattered across his face. “You know what,” I said, seeing his trembling hands, “I’ve got this.” He backed away, looking pale. “You’re… amazing,” he whispered. “You’re not even afraid to do that.” “I can butcher a steer, too. But bison are more expensive, so you’re not getting that.” Two hours later, the lamb was roasted to a perfect golden-brown. The mountain air gets cold at night, so I had them sit by the fire while I carved off two legs and handed them one each. Landon was hesitant at first. “I’m not a big fan of lamb, it’s usually too gamy for—” He took a tentative bite, and didn’t speak again until he had stripped the bone clean. Savannah was even less refined, talking with her mouth full. “Cassie, this is the best lamb I’ve ever had! How did you do it? It’s not gamy at all!” “Our sheep are free-range. They eat wild grasses and drink spring water. And my roasting technique is the best in the valley. You’re lucky.” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but they were both looking at me with something like hero-worship in their eyes. Nana sat with us. She doesn’t speak much English, so she spoke to me in the mix of languages we use. “That boy,” she said, nodding at Landon, “he keeps sneaking looks at you.” I glanced over. Landon immediately looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. “Looks like your fiancé likes you, my girl.” “Nana, stop,” I whispered, gesturing to Savannah. “They’ve been pretending to be engaged for a decade. They’re obviously the real couple. I’m not going to be the homewrecker who comes between them.” Nana gnawed on a rib. “Makes sense.” Our cabin has three rooms. Nana’s, mine, and a spare that used to be my parents’. I led Savannah and Landon to the spare. “You two can sleep in here.” Savannah blinked. “Together?” Landon stared at me. I nodded. “You’re a couple, right? What’s the big deal? Is it different in the city?” “Oh, no, that’s not it,” Savannah said quickly. “Good. See you in the morning.” I turned to leave, but felt a tug on my sleeve. It was Landon. “We’re not a couple,” he said, his expression serious. 5. They both insisted. Savannah said that while they grew up together, they were just like brother and sister. Landon said he hated the idea of an arranged marriage and had been dreading this trip. “Cassie, can I sleep with you tonight?” Savannah asked, clinging to my arm. “I’m scared to be alone out here.” Fine. I gave the spare room to Landon. As I was leaving, I turned back to him. “So, you’re against arranged marriages, right?” He nodded firmly. “Good. When I get back to New York, I’ll tell my parents to call it off.” He froze. “Well… I’m not… completely against it.” I looked him up and down. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to like me.” He looked like I’d just slapped him. His face went red. “I…” “Don’t. You’ve known me for less than a day. And besides, we don’t do arranged marriages out here. I’m sure as hell not starting now.” I took Savannah back to my room, leaving him standing there. In bed, Savannah was full of questions. “Landon is so handsome, Cassie. Half the girls at our school had a crush on him. You’re really not interested?” “Why weren’t you interested? You’ve known him your whole life.” She winked at me. “Oh, I was. I asked him out in middle school, and again in high school. He turned me down both times. Said I wasn’t his type. I moved on. What about you? Not even a little spark?” I pulled the covers over her head. “Go to sleep.” City slickers. Always in such a rush. Who falls for someone that fast? The next few days, I showed them the ranch. We had new lambs, and Savannah was obsessed, carrying one around with her all day. I taught Landon how to ride. He was a natural, smart and agile, and within a few days, he was galloping across the fields. Soon, it was time for the drive. We had to move the herds from the summer pasture down to the fall one. I tagged the new lambs’ ears and checked the hooves and coats of the adults. Landon helped Nana pack up the cabin essentials. The route to the new pasture wasn’t long, but there were no roads. At three in the morning, we set out. The herds knew the way, but they were mischievous, constantly trying to sneak bites of tasty-looking grass on the side of the trail until a whistle from me sent them scurrying back into line. The path grew steeper. At the top of a ridge, the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies suddenly filled the view. “Cassie, it’s so beautiful,” Savannah said, cuddling the lamb in her arms. “I don’t think I ever want to go back to the city.” At dusk, we made camp. Nana watched the herd while I gathered dried bison dung for the fire. Savannah, curious as ever, was exploring. I told her specifically not to wander off, especially after dark. But by the time I got back with a basket of fuel, I heard her screaming.

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The moment I married into the dynasty, my billionaire husband, Damian Blackwood, basically locked me in our bedroom for seven straight days. He didn’t let up until the pregnancy test finally showed two bright pink lines. Then, without a word, he was gone. He never once came back to see me during the entire pregnancy. But to the outside world, I was the most envied woman alive. A million-dollar monthly allowance isn’t something every trophy wife gets, after all. And when the doctors announced I was carrying twin boys, my stock soared even higher. I was practically giddy, dreaming of the perfect future that lay ahead. But when the day finally came, when I actually gave birth… I refused to let Damian see the children. I would have died first. He returned, his brow furrowed into that familiar, intimidating line. “What is it?” he asked, his voice dripping with ice. “Did you give birth to someone else’s bastards?” Bastards? Hah. If only it were that simple. I gave birth to two snakes. And how in the hell was I supposed to tell him that? 1 The positive test was still warm in my hand when Damian left the country to manage his sprawling international conglomerate. For ten long months, I didn’t see his face. Not once. He only relented as my due date approached, promising he would fly back to see his sons. But, of course, things didn’t go according to plan. I went into labor early. The day I gave birth, the entire private medical team I’d hired stood frozen in shock. No one moved. No one even tried to pick up the babies. A thousand horrible scenarios flooded my mind. “Are they stillborn? Deformed? What is it?” I didn’t dare look down between my legs. The head physician, his face the color of chalk, just stared at me and shook his head. It wasn’t until I felt a slick, cold slithering against my inner thigh that I knew something was terribly, fundamentally wrong. My gaze dropped. Coiled between my legs were two small snakes, one jet black, the other pure white. A scream tore from my throat, and I scrambled back so violently I tumbled off the delivery bed, landing in a heap on the floor. This couldn’t be happening. My deepest, most primal fear was snakes. “Where are my babies?!” I shrieked, grabbing the doctor’s sleeve in a crazed grip. The poor man looked like he was about to burst into tears. “M-Mrs. Blackwood… we saw them come out of you with our own eyes! I swear it! The security footage will prove it!” He showed me the monitor. The high-definition video was horrifyingly clear. The world tilted, and then everything went black. Thank God the labor came early. If Damian had returned on schedule and found out I’d given birth to a pair of serpents, he would have probably snapped my neck without a second thought. I would have preferred giving birth to actual bastards, even if one came out black and the other white. Anything but this. Anything but one black snake and one white snake. If they were human, Damian would have just thrown me out, probably too disgusted to even demand back the fortune he’d spent on me. But snakes… this wasn’t just a betrayal painted by a cheating wife. This was a cosmic joke, a metaphysical slap in the face. I paid the medical team an exorbitant sum for their silence and had every last second of audio and video scrubbed. Alone, I stared into the glass terrarium where my two… snake-babies… were sleeping. I had to think. They couldn’t stay. I had no idea how a human being could give birth to egg-laying reptiles, but that wasn’t the point. The most critical thing right now was to protect Damian’s reputation. Which, by extension, meant protecting my bank account. The doctors were bought. The story was simple: a difficult birth, and tragically, the twins did not survive. Plan in place, I waited for the cover of darkness. I carried the small case to a secluded, moonlit clearing in the woods—a place that felt strangely peaceful—and set the two snakes free. When it was done, I collapsed into bed and fell into a dead sleep. Sometime in the deep of the night, a creeping cold touched my fingertips. I mumbled, thinking the AC was on too high. I reached for the remote on the nightstand, but my hand brushed against something smooth, cool, and impossibly large. “AHH!” I shot upright, scrambling backward until my head slammed against the headboard with a sickening thud. 2 There they were. Two little snakes, one black, one white. The black one was coiled on my desk, and the white one was on the nightstand, right next to the remote control. The very thing I had just touched. My breath hitched. “Who… who let you back in? I released you! How did you find your way back here?” Thump! Thump! The little white snake lowered its head and deliberately bumped the temperature-up button on the remote. Twice. The room warmed by a few degrees, and the chill in my hands and feet began to fade. My jaw dropped. In the next second, the white snake launched itself into the air. “NO!” I screamed, throwing my arms over my head, bracing for the bite. I waited. Nothing happened. Peeking through my fingers, I saw him coiled beside his brother on the floor in front of me. Between them lay a pair of thick, fuzzy socks. The two tiny snake heads bumped against each other with a soft thwack. It was like they were saying, “Hugs!” My mouth hung open. Hesitantly, I reached for the socks. The moment my fingers got close, both of their tails began to wag furiously, like excited puppies. The sudden movement startled me, and I snatched my hand back. I remembered reading somewhere that a rattling tail was a sign a snake was about to strike. Seeing my fear, they immediately stopped. Their tails went perfectly still. I tried again, extending my hand slowly. This time, they just watched me with wide, unblinking eyes. It wasn’t until I had the warm socks on my feet that their tails erupted into a frenzy of joyful wagging again. Was I crazy, or did I just see pure happiness on the faces of two snakes? Wait a minute… this behavior seemed less like a reptile and more like… a dog. My hand trembling, I cautiously reached out. If they bit me, they bit me. It wasn’t like they had any fangs yet. To my astonishment, the little white one nuzzled against my wrist, a soft, dry friction. When I didn’t pull away, he gracefully coiled around my arm, settling like a living bracelet of white jade. The little black one started wagging his tail so hard his whole body wiggled. I offered him my other hand, and he eagerly slithered onto it, mirroring his brother. Well, great. Now I had a matching set of bracelets. Watching them sway their little heads back and forth, I swallowed hard. I gently tapped them each on their little puppy—I mean, snake—heads. Their eyes squeezed shut in what looked like pure bliss. I sighed, a tear of helpless affection rolling down my cheek. Fine. They were mine, after all. What was I supposed to do, throw them out for good? I started looking up guides on how to care for exotic pets. But it turned out my two little guys weren’t picky at all. They’d devour sea cucumber and abalone with the same gusto as they would fried chicken and pancakes. They were tough, resilient, and surprisingly low-maintenance. Before I knew it, I was raising them like a pair of scaly puppies. But in my newfound domestic bliss, I’d forgotten one crucial detail. Damian was still coming home to see his children. One afternoon, I was leisurely trying to weave the two of them into a decorative braid when the housekeeper’s frantic shout echoed through the hall. “Ma’am! The master’s plane lands at eight tomorrow morning! He’ll be here by the afternoon!” I fell out of my chair. 3 I was a woman on a mission. I raced to the maternity ward of the city’s most exclusive hospital, sliding to a halt beside the bed of a woman who had just given birth to healthy twin boys. “Blank check,” I said, my voice shaking with desperation as I shoved it into her hand. “Fill in any number you want. Just let me adopt your sons.” Her eyes widened at the check, and she swallowed hard. She agreed. The day Damian returned, I hid my little black and white snakes in a secure room and sat on the bed, cradling the two human babies, doing my best impression of a tired new mother. He walked in, as cold and regal as ever. His eyes, which usually only held interest for financial reports and the continuation of his bloodline, flickered over me. Seeing my face, which I’d dusted with white powder to look pale and weak, he offered me a black credit card. “You’ve worked hard,” he said. The babies bore a passing resemblance to both of us. It was the best I could do on short notice. Damian held them, one in each arm, his expression unreadable. His mother, my mother-in-law, was overcome with emotion. Tears streamed down her face. “Finally… the Blackwood line is secure. Vivian, you are our family’s greatest hero!” I managed a weak, embarrassed laugh. “Oh, it was nothing…” Just please, please don’t look in the basement, I prayed silently. “Vivian,” Damian’s voice cut through the celebration, low and sharp. “Are you certain these are my children?” The air froze in my lungs. My mother-in-law, in the middle of dabbing her eyes, went rigid. Her tear-streaked face turned towards me. “Vivian,” she asked, her voice suddenly brittle. “These are… Damian’s sons?” 4 I was sure. I had contacts in every major hospital, every maternity ward. This woman’s children were the closest match to Damian and me out of all the newborns available. I squared my shoulders. “Of course they are!” “Are you certain?” Damian’s voice dropped an octave, laced with something dangerous. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. I’d heard the rumors about his ruthless nature before we were married, but my direct contact with him had been limited to that first delirious week and the monthly wire transfers. I had never truly been on the receiving end of his intimidating presence. Now, the hairs on my arms were standing on end. “Y-yes, of course I am.” “Fine.” He placed the babies back in the bassinet and glanced at his watch. “Schedule a paternity test.” “What?!” 5 In the sterile hallway of the genetics lab, I sat pretending to be calm. In reality, my hands were twisting the fabric of my skirt into a wrinkled mess. I couldn’t understand it. The boys I’d chosen were a perfect blend. They had my eyes and his jawline. How could he suspect, right off the bat, that they weren’t his? Was he secretly hoping for something… not quite human? I stole a glance at him. He was leaning against the opposite wall, a picture of casual indifference. But even with that blank expression, an aura of pure pressure rolled off him, making it hard to breathe. If he found out the truth… I didn’t even want to imagine how I would die. My phone vibrated. A text from the head of the medical team I’d bribed. 【It’s done, Mrs. Blackwood.】 A small bit of the tension eased from my shoulders. I deleted the message. When the results came back, they were exactly what I’d paid for. Paternity confirmed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Damian took the report, his eyes scanning the page. I forced a few tears, dabbing at my eyes. “See, darling? I would never lie to you.” He gave me a long, unreadable look. Then, he tore the paternity test into pieces and dropped them into the trash can. Without another word, he turned and walked away. I was left standing there, stunned. He was the one who was wrong, who had baselessly accused me, and I didn’t even get an apology? But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. My real babies were still locked in the basement, waiting for their dinner. I gathered my purse and hurried out of the lab. Damian’s limousine was parked right at the curb. He was holding the passenger door open. But before I could take a single step, a stunning woman in a jade-green silk dress swept past me and slid into the seat. He leaned in, his face softening as he spoke to her. The hard edges of his features, the ones always present when he looked at me, seemed to melt away. I froze, the world narrowing to that single, intimate moment. Suddenly, a rumor I’d heard before marrying him came rushing back. That Damian had an old flame, the one that got away. But his mother had never approved. My mother-in-law wanted a woman who could guarantee heirs for the Blackwood dynasty, and this woman, with her delicate frame, looked anything but fertile. They had fought bitterly over it, until his mother’s threats finally wore him down. And I was the compromise. I was the wife he’d settled for. At the time, I hadn’t cared. I was only in it for the money. But now, it all clicked into place. Damian never really cared if the babies were his or not. He was just looking for a way to needle me, a way to punish me for not being her. It also explained why he’d been so quick to demand a test. In his mind, I was already the kind of woman who would cheat. It was a slap in the face to his mother, a way of saying, See what you made me marry? Thinking of that first week, his insatiable, almost punishing desire, it all felt like a bitter irony now. No matter how you sliced it, being so thoroughly distrusted… it hurt. Even if… even if I couldn’t exactly explain giving birth to two snakes. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts away. Whatever. I had four children at home waiting for me. I hailed a cab and sped home. But the scene that greeted me when I walked through the door made my blood run cold. Pointing a shaking finger at the two extra children standing in my living room, I gasped, “Who are you?!” 6 Two toddlers stood before me, one with a shock of pure white hair, the other with hair as black as night. I sprinted down to the basement. The terrarium was empty. My little snakes were gone. “Mommy!” The two boys rushed forward and threw their arms around my legs. “We can change shape now!” Demon snakes were clearly built different. The human twins were still helpless infants in their cribs, but Onyx and Albus—as I’d secretly named them—already looked like they were three years old. Thank God Damian wasn’t home. I hustled them up to my bedroom, my mind reeling from this new “disaster.” “Listen to me, boys,” I said, gripping their little hands. “Now that you can do this, you can’t stay here. If Damian finds out, all three of us will be in terrible danger. I’ll buy you a house right now. You have to move out. Immediately.” “So, the rumors were true. You really did have another man’s children.” The bedroom door swung open. Standing there was the woman from the car, Sylvia, dangling a key from her finger. “How did you get in here?!” I demanded, instinctively shoving the boys behind me. She smirked, a cruel, triumphant twist of her lips. “Damian gave me a key long before he ever met you. In the grand scheme of things, sweetheart, you’re the one who’s trespassing.” Her eyes fell on the boys hiding behind my legs. “My, my. They’re already so big, aren’t they? No wonder Damian was suspicious. You didn’t just cheat on him, you brought your bastards into his home! You have some nerve! Mrs. Blackwood!” she called out, her voice ringing through the house. “Wait!” I lunged, trying to clamp a hand over her mouth. She sidestepped me effortlessly. “MRS. BLACKWOOD!” she bellowed, marching towards the stairs. I spun around, desperate to hide the boys, but it was too late. And then, to my absolute horror, I saw him. Damian was walking up the main staircase, just as my mother-in-law was descending from the top floor. They were converging on my location. The blood in my veins turned to ice. 7 I planted myself in the doorway, a human shield. No matter what Sylvia said or did, I wouldn’t move. “I said, get out of my way!” she shrieked, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I twisted her wrist, shoving her back. It was just a push, barely enough to create space, but she stumbled dramatically, collapsing to the floor in a heap. “Ah…” she whimpered, fat tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Damian… it hurts…” “Vivian.” Damian’s voice was steel. A powerful hand gripped my arm and yanked me aside. As I stumbled, the crumpled form of Sylvia on the floor shot a leg out, tripping me. I went down hard. My forehead cracked against the sharp corner of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. A curtain of red instantly blurred my vision. Damian, his back to me, was already pushing open the bedroom door. “No…” I gasped, my voice a weak whisper. “Don’t!” 8 The door swung open. Everyone froze. The room was empty. There were no children. Not even a snake. “That’s… that’s impossible…” Sylvia scrambled to her feet, her face a mask of disbelief as she stared into the vacant room. “Impossible! I saw them! One with black hair, one with white! They looked at least three years old! She even said if Damian found out, the three of them were doomed!” “Vivian, you…” Damian’s brow furrowed as he turned to face me. The anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by shock. “Vivian?!” My head was spinning. The world was a dizzying smear of red. Seeing that the room was empty, my last ounce of strength gave out, and I collapsed completely. When I woke up, Damian was sitting by my bedside. “The doctor said it’s a mild concussion. You’ll be fine with some rest.” I reached up, my fingers brushing against the gauze on my forehead. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood.” He hesitated, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “I… I didn’t mean to pull you that hard.” “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice flat. “If you want to be with your old flame, that’s fine. I can step aside.” He looked stunned. “But you shouldn’t take your anger out on me just because you couldn’t marry her. The fact that you two aren’t together is not my fault.” “Vivian… I…” “You should go, Damian.” I closed my eyes, shutting him out. After a long silence, I heard him sigh, followed by the soft click of the door closing. The moment he was gone, two small figures darted out from under the bed. “If we knew Mommy was going to get hurt, we wouldn’t have turned back into snakes to escape,” Albus whispered. “That’s right!” Onyx added, his little fists clenched. “My fangs are grown in now! I could have bitten that mean lady!” Seeing their tear-streaked faces, I sighed and pulled them into a hug. “Onyx, Albus… this place isn’t safe for us anymore. We have to leave.” 9 I married Damian for money. My part of the deal was to produce an heir; his was to provide financial security. It was a simple transaction. But being subjected to baseless accusations and physical harm? That was a workplace injury. And I was quitting. As for the two human boys I’d adopted, I knew Damian would probably lose interest in them anyway. I sighed. I would take them with me. I hired a nanny to take them to a safe location ahead of me. Then, I convinced Onyx and Albus to change back into their snake forms and hide in a small, ventilated travel case. With my suitcase in one hand and the case in the other, I waited until the house was empty. Then, taking the millions I had earned through this miserable ordeal, I walked out without a second thought. But the car I’d hired didn’t follow the route to the airport. It took a sharp, unfamiliar turn. My nerves screamed. “Driver! Where are you taking me?” “I think that’s my line.” The driver, who had been wearing a low-brimmed baseball cap, tilted his head up. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. It was Damian. “Where,” he asked, his voice dangerously calm, “did you think you were going with my children?” My eyes went wide. I grabbed the case with Onyx and Albus and lunged for the door handle. An iron grip clamped onto the back of my collar and hauled me back into the seat. Damian’s strength was overwhelming. Before I could even struggle, he had me pinned across his lap. “Who told you I had an old flame?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. His body was pressed against mine, and I could feel the hard ridge of his arousal. My mind, which had been frantically searching for an escape, went completely blank. Because… wait a minute. That feeling. There were… Two of them?

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My brother flunked his SATs. The tuition for the private school he needed to get into was ten thousand dollars. My mother called me, her voice slick with a fabricated sweetness. “Honey, your brother needs this chance. We’re just… we’re at the end of our rope.” “There’s cash in the register at the supermarket where I work,” she continued, her words tumbling out in a rehearsed rush. “Tonight, after my shift, I’ll bring the money home. You just tell everyone you stole it. I’ll call the police, they’ll come get you.” “Your Uncle Joe will find out. He’ll pay the money to get you out, I know he will. The store gets its money back, you’re fine, and we’ll have the tuition for your brother. It’s a perfect plan.” I was so stunned by the sheer audacity that I couldn’t speak. I just said no. But she kept crying, telling me how hard her and my father’s lives had been, begging me to just help them this one time. I finally snapped. “Why should I? Your hard life has nothing to do with me.” “You two seem to have no trouble making babies. Maybe you should try watching more TV instead.” 1 I was a sickly child. My first few years were a revolving door of doctor’s visits. I’d be sick for two weeks, healthy for two weeks, like clockwork. My mother’s payday and my father’s payday were the starting pistols for my next illness. My Uncle Joe always joked, “She’s a lucky penny, this one. Knows just when to show up.” My parents didn’t find it so charming, especially not when my mother got pregnant again. The fine for having a second child back then was steep, money they didn’t have. Someone gave my mother a rotten piece of advice. She stuffed my few ragged clothes into a tattered backpack and left me on my Uncle Joe’s doorstep. Before she left, she knelt down, her instructions a hurried whisper. “Your uncle always said you were his lucky penny. Well, today I’m giving him that luck.” “Your Aunt Clara can’t have kids. A real hen that can’t lay. She’ll be so grateful to have you.” “Now, you be good. Your uncle, he married into that family. He doesn’t have much say, no real standing. You understand who’s in charge over there. Don’t be like you are at home, with no sense. Just keep your head down, get by. And don’t forget to come home for holidays and summer breaks. You’ll need to help me out when the baby comes.” She finished, straightened up, and ran. She ran like a demon was chasing her. The front door was closed. The porch roof was tiny, offering no shade. I sat under the blazing southern sun for four hours. By the time my aunt and uncle got home, I was barely conscious. “Joe, what in the world is that lying on our porch?” I heard a woman’s voice, laced with alarm. Then, Uncle Joe’s voice. “Looks like a little girl, Clara.” Aunt Clara sounded exasperated. “Honestly, Joe, you’ve got kids on the brain. Who would leave a child out here? She’s as thin as a dried corn stalk.” Uncle Joe didn’t argue. He really doesn’t have a say in this house, I thought hazily. I can’t cause him any more trouble. He always seemed to like me. My consciousness began to fade, the world dissolving into a low hum. 2 I woke up to the cool, smooth touch of a bamboo mat beneath me. It was the kind my parents had talked about buying for two summers but never did. A luxury. I remembered my mother’s words: “Your uncle married up. He might not have the pride, but he’s got the comfort. The gifts he brings you? Always the newest, most expensive things from town.” The low murmur of an argument drifted from the other room. It wasn’t loud, but every word was a clear, sharp jab. The subject was me. “What is wrong with your brother and his wife, Joe? They haven’t visited in years, and when they do, they can’t even look you in the eye. Now they just dump a child on our doorstep? If you let this stand, you’re a fool.” “And we both know what’s going on. I saw her at Christmas, your sister-in-law. Her belly was getting big. She tried to tell me she was just gaining weight. Their pantry is so bare you couldn’t find a single can of beans in it.” “She’s about to have that baby, I’m sure of it! And I heard the fine for a second child is thousands of dollars. They don’t want to pay it, so they just get rid of their first one? That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Uncle Joe’s voice was quiet. “Clara, keep your voice down. You’ll wake her.” “I am keeping my voice down! You know I’m loud! This is me being quiet! I don’t care. First thing tomorrow morning, you are taking her back. I will not be tricked into raising someone else’s child.” A wave of sadness washed over me. I wanted to go home, but the only home I could picture was a place filled with my father’s drunken rages and my mother’s constant, bitter complaints. I snuggled into the cool bamboo mat. Just let me have this one peaceful night, I thought. Let this cool, sweet dream last until morning. 3 The first thing I tasted when I woke was peanut brittle. My eyes snapped open to see Aunt Clara watching me. I didn’t dare spit it out. As I tried to swallow the huge piece whole, she tapped my cheek. “Are you silly? It’s candy. You chew it. You choke on that, and your mother will be suing me for sure.” I tried to tell her I wouldn’t, but the candy was too big, and I just drooled a little instead. She looked slightly disgusted and stepped back, tossing a few more pieces of candy onto the bed beside me. “Eat one if you feel dizzy.” She pointed to a large, red tin on the dresser. “That’s full of them. Put a couple in your pocket before you go out.” It was a fancy brand, the kind of thing you only got for Christmas. My mother bought a tin once. I’d sneak a piece every few days until it was empty before the holiday, which earned me a good spanking. The memory of that rich, nutty sweetness was still vivid. I chewed, and just like I remembered, the flavor chased away all the bad thoughts. Later, as we were getting ready for lunch, I heard Uncle Joe say, “I’ll head over to my brother’s after we eat.” He’s taking me back. My mother had said that wasn’t my home anymore, that my brother couldn’t be born if I was there. I glanced at the candy tin. Maybe I could grab a couple of pieces before I left. But Aunt Clara was probably just being polite. No one likes a greedy kid. Sure enough, Uncle Joe said, “Lily-Anne, are you still chewing on candy? It’s lunchtime.” I thought he was about to scold me, but then he added, “Finish it up, but next time, make sure you brush your teeth right after. Cavities are no joke.” 4 I ate lunch with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I was sure I’d be too worried to eat, but the sweet and sour ribs were the best thing I’d ever tasted. I ate four pieces before I remembered my mother’s rule: “Be polite at other people’s houses and don’t eat too much.” It was too late. Aunt Clara made a “tsk” sound, and I immediately put down my chopsticks. But she was looking at my uncle. “Joe, what in God’s name do they feed this child at your brother’s house? Air?” “She’s been sick a lot, Clara. They haven’t had much money to spare.” Aunt Clara rolled her eyes. “A cold costs a few dollars. Don’t let them fool you. They just want your money. You think a child who can eat like this is unhealthy? They’ve been saving every penny for that boy they’re so desperate to have. You just wait, they’ll have a new house built within two years.” Uncle Joe glanced at me, then back at his wife. “Don’t talk like that in front of the kid, Clara. Eat up, Lily-Anne. Your aunt’s not the best cook, is she? Next time, I’ll make you my famous barbecue. You’ll forget all about these ribs.” Aunt Clara ignored him. “I’m not talking nonsense. You adults think kids are deaf and dumb, but they know exactly what’s going on. Now hurry up and finish so you can get going. And don’t you come back until you’ve sorted this mess out. I’m sick of the sight of your family name.” I, a member of that family, quickly finished my rice. Uncle Joe, another member, was even faster. He dropped his fork. “Be right back. And don’t even think about cooking dinner. You’ll just waste food.” 5 I watched Uncle Joe pedal away on his bicycle, a single thought in my head: Did he forget to take me with him? Aunt Clara tapped the table. “Those ribs weren’t too good, were they? A bit bitter.” I nodded honestly. “A little. But the meat was really good.” She pushed her chair back, her expression a mirror of my uncle’s. “You wait right here. Your uncle will be back soon. He’ll make you something better.” She started clearing the table, and I saw she was about to scrape the leftover ribs into the trash. In a flash, I scooped them all into my bowl. “I can finish them, Aunt Clara. They’re delicious.” She muttered under her breath as she washed the dishes, “How did that rotten branch of a man produce such a clever little sprout? And why does my good man get no reward for being so kind?” That afternoon, Aunt Clara and I sat on the porch, waiting. The sun wasn’t as harsh as the day before, and a gentle breeze blew through. “Do you have a garden?” I asked her quietly. “I can help plant and pick vegetables.” I held up my skinny arms. “I’m stronger than I look. I’m a really good worker.” A man walked by with a basket of fresh-picked green beans. “I can shell beans, too,” I added quickly. “I’m fast, and the fuzzy stuff doesn’t make me itch.” She didn’t say anything, just kept her eyes fixed on the road. After a long time, a figure appeared in the distance. It was Uncle Joe, pedaling hard. He was holding something up in the air, shouting, “I got it done!” 6 I didn’t know what “it” was, but he looked thrilled, and even Aunt Clara broke into a wide, beautiful smile. She pulled a small, brick-red booklet from her pocket and clutched it to her chest. “Let’s have lamb hot pot for dinner. My dad got a whole lamb from the butcher in town. He said to come pick it up.” Uncle Joe smiled and ruffled my hair. “Let’s go, Lily-Anne. We’ll take you over to Grandpa’s and tell him the news.” I was still completely bewildered, standing frozen in place. Aunt Clara chimed in, “We’re not calling her Lily-Anne anymore. Awful name. It sounds like you’re saying ‘man, man, man.’ No wonder their luck’s been so bad.” Uncle Joe chuckled. “Her name’s on the certificate. We can use the one you picked out before.” He looked down at me. “How about we call you Cora? It means ‘maiden,’ like a fresh start. We’ll make a happy life together, the three of us.” Cora. It was a beautiful name. When my mother had called me Lily-Anne, I never thought anything of it. But in school, I’d learned how she slurred the syllables together, making it sound harsh and ugly. I’d tried to correct her, but she’d just wave me away. “That’s just how I talk. Don’t bother me with little things.” Aunt Clara opened the little red booklet. “Wait a minute,” she said, frowning. “Joe, didn’t we agree to only change her first name, not her last?” Uncle Joe was still smiling. “I married into your family, Clara. It’s only right our child takes your name. Besides, Sterling sounds much better than Miller. Cora Sterling. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” That evening, Aunt Clara couldn’t stop looking at Uncle Joe. Her eyes were brighter than any star in the sky. 7 Aunt Clara’s parents lived right next door. The houses were so close that if you spoke loudly, you could have a conversation from your own living room. The moment she’d mentioned lamb, a booming voice had yelled from the other side of the wall: “Don’t bother picking it up! I’ll cook it and you can all come over here to eat!” His voice was a carbon copy of Aunt Clara’s. As soon as we walked in, her father, a man with a booming voice and a kind face, looked at me. “Well now, look at this shy little thing. Not even a hello?” I quickly mumbled, “Hello, Grandpa.” He grinned and, like a magician, pulled a red envelope from his pocket. “Here you go. A little welcome gift.” I was stunned. Uncle Joe looked just as surprised. “Dad, when did you get this ready?” “With you two shouting all day, the whole neighborhood knows what’s going on. Did you bring the birth certificate? Let me see it.” Uncle Joe dashed out the door to get it, but Aunt Clara, without missing a beat, pulled the red booklet from her pocket and handed it to her father. The old man’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. “It’s good. The name is good. You two finally have a child. Now you can have a real life, full of flavor.” I still didn’t fully grasp what a birth certificate meant for me. Not until Grandpa said, “From now on, you’ll live with your aunt and uncle. And one day, you’ll take care of them when they’re old. You understand?” I nodded quickly. Aunt Clara just waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. Did you keep me around just so I’d take care of you?” Grandpa huffed. “That’s different! You couldn’t have children, and you were always sickly. If I hadn’t kept you close, you would have been miserable at some in-law’s house.” “Exactly. And I’m just like you. I’m not raising a child for old-age insurance. I just love kids.” Just then, Uncle Joe ran back in, looking panicked. “Oh no, I think I lost the new certificate!” We all burst out laughing.

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My wife, eight months pregnant, was hit by a car while walking our dog. I called an ambulance immediately. The moment the paramedics arrived and went to put my wife on the stretcher, I stopped them. “You’ve got the wrong one. I called the ambulance for the dog. You need to get him to the animal hospital right now, before it’s too late.” The paramedics and the crowd of onlookers stared, completely baffled. My wife, lying on the pavement, looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. “In your eyes,” she sobbed, “are my life and our baby’s life worth less than a dog’s?” Without a second’s hesitation, I said, “Yes.” 1 “Sir, please be serious,” one of the paramedics said, standing his ground. “We may be a private ambulance service, but our priority is always human life.” I looked at our dog, Buddy, whimpering in pain on the ground, and my patience snapped. “A human life is a life, but isn’t a dog’s life a life, too? Buddy has been with me for eight years. He’s family. If you don’t save him today, I’ll make you regret it!” My outburst set the crowd murmuring. “What kind of monster is he? His wife’s water just broke from the accident, and he hasn’t even glanced at her. All he cares about is that dog.” “I own a dog, and I love him to death, but I’d never abandon my wife and child. Is this guy out of his mind?” “That poor woman, married to an animal like him!” I ignored their judgment, carefully lifting Buddy onto the stretcher myself. “What are you waiting for? I’m the one who called you, and I’ve already paid. Now get my dog to the animal hospital!” The paramedics exchanged a hesitant look, their eyes darting to my wife, Chelsea, who was now slumped against the curb. Her face was ashen, and the fluid from her ruptured amniotic sac was still pooling around her. They opened their mouths to argue, but Chelsea spoke first, her voice weak as she clutched her stomach. “Please, just save Buddy,” she whispered. “I can call another ambulance for myself. My husband… he would be devastated if anything happened to Buddy.” She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with a love so deep it seemed to swallow the agony she was clearly in. The crowd’s murmurs shifted to sympathy and admiration for her. I ignored them all and pressed the paramedics again. “You heard her. My wife agrees. Now drive! Buddy is running out of time!” Finally, the ambulance doors closed, and we sped toward the animal hospital, leaving Chelsea behind on the pavement. While Buddy was in surgery, my mother called. “Ethan, Chelsea had the baby—it’s a boy. But he’s not doing well. You need to get here now!” Her voice was frantic, but my mind was elsewhere. “Mom, Buddy’s still in surgery. His condition is unstable. I can’t leave him.” My mother’s voice exploded through the phone. “Ethan, that is your son! Do you have any idea how close you came to losing them? The doctors said if Chelsea had arrived one minute later, neither she nor the baby would have made it! If she wasn’t defending you, telling me not to blame you, I swear I would beat you senseless myself!” My mother had always been gentle. I had never heard her so furious. But I couldn’t focus on her anger. My eyes were glued to the operating room door. When the vet finally emerged, I cut my mother off. “Mom, I have to go. Buddy’s out of surgery. I need to take care of him.” I hung up and rushed to the vet. “Doctor, how is he? Is Buddy going to be okay?” 2 Seeing the tremor in my hands, the doctor placed a calming hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We got to him in time. He’s out of danger, but we need to keep him for observation for the next twenty-four hours.” A wave of relief washed over me. “Okay, good. That’s all that matters.” As soon as I said it, my phone rang again. It was my father. “Ethan, your son is fighting for his life. How can you not be here? Get to this hospital now!” His voice was a thunderous roar, accustomed to being obeyed. But I answered without thinking. “Dad, Buddy needs me. I can’t leave.” His fury intensified. “A dog is more important than your wife and child? Ethan, you chased Chelsea from high school through college. You fought so hard to marry her. At your wedding, you stood in front of all our friends and family and swore you would never let her suffer a moment of pain. Even Buddy—Chelsea was the one who found him as a stray eight years ago! The only reason you love that dog so much is because of her. How can your feelings for the dog remain, while you treat her like this?” His words stung, and tears welled in my eyes against my will. I wiped them away. “Dad,” I said, my voice thick, “that’s all in the past.” “Buddy needs me. That’s all.” I hung up and turned off my phone. I didn’t leave Buddy’s side for a second. As time passed, he slowly regained consciousness. When he finally opened his big, watery eyes and gave a weak wag of his tail, the knot in my chest finally loosened. The next day, after a final check-up, the vet gave me the all-clear to take him home. But as I stepped out of the clinic, a mob of people swarmed me. “There he is! That’s the scumbag from the internet! The one who saved his dog instead of his wife!” “His pregnant wife gets in a car crash, and he steals the ambulance for his dog!” “His wife is seriously injured, and his premature son is barely hanging on, and where is he? He spent the whole night at the vet with a dog!” “Everyone get a good look at this monster’s face! If you see him, give him hell!” They shoved their phones in my face, livestreaming and recording, their expressions a mixture of outrage and disgust. The commotion drew an even larger crowd. As the story spread, their faces twisted into the same contempt. The comments on the livestreams were a torrent of hate, calling me less than human, wishing me a painful death. It was then I realized someone must have recorded the entire incident at the accident scene and posted it online. Overnight, I had become the internet’s most hated man. These streamers had tracked me down for their content. One of them pushed his phone right up to my face. “In the video, a lot of people thought your conversation with your wife must have been edited. So tell us now, in front of everyone. Do you really believe a dog’s life is more important than your wife and child’s?” Facing a dozen cameras, I didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes.” 3 My answer ignited a firestorm. “Oh my god. I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t seeing it myself. Someone actually thinks his wife and kid are worth less than a dog.” “If you love your dog that much, why did you get married and ruin a woman’s life?!” “Exactly! Why wasn’t it you who got hit by the car? A piece of trash like you is the one who deserves to die!” The streamers fanned the flames, and the crowd’s anger boiled over. They screamed insults, their faces contorted with rage, looking like they wanted to tear me apart. Just as the wave of fury was about to crash over me, my parents arrived, pushing Chelsea in a wheelchair. She was ghostly pale, slumped weakly against the cushions, looking utterly drained. As they wheeled her in front of me, her first words were for me. “Ethan, are you okay?” Her voice was barely a whisper, as if speaking took all her strength. But even then, her concern was for me. I looked into her love-filled eyes and just shook my head, saying nothing. My father’s face was grim. “Ethan, your mother and I were up all night trying to understand why you would suddenly treat Chelsea this way. We thought maybe you had some misunderstanding about her or the baby, so we had an expedited paternity test done. He is your son, Ethan. Your own flesh and blood. How could you abandon them for a dog?!” He thrust the report at me. I didn’t even glance at it. “Oh,” was all I said. My mother frowned. “Ethan, Chelsea saw the livestream of people harassing you. She was so worried that she discharged herself from the hospital against doctor’s orders just to get to you. She is always thinking of you. You can’t keep hurting her like this. Now, be a man and apologize.” I stroked Buddy’s fur. “I just wanted to save my dog,” I said, my voice firm. “What did I do wrong?” SMACK! The sound echoed in the sudden silence. My father had slapped me across the face, hard. “You worthless bastard! You left your pregnant, injured wife alone on the street to save a dog! You ignored your own premature son while you sat with that animal! Do you have any idea he’s still in an incubator, fighting for his life? Have you even asked about him once?! And you still have the nerve to say you did nothing wrong?!” 4 My father was screaming, his voice raw with rage. He had put all his strength into the slap, and my cheek was already swelling and turning a deep red. Chelsea’s eyes filled with pain as she looked at my face. She turned to my father. “Dad, please don’t be angry. Don’t hit Ethan. He was just desperate to save Buddy. I know, deep down, he still loves me and the baby.” Just then, her phone rang. It was the hospital. As soon as she answered, the doctor’s urgent voice came through the speaker. “Ms. Miller, your son needs an emergency blood transfusion. He has a rare Rh-negative blood type, and the hospital’s blood bank doesn’t have a match on hand. We need to know if you or the father are a match. We need someone to come in immediately, or the baby is in grave danger!” Chelsea’s face went white. She grabbed my hand. “Ethan, you’re Rh-negative! Come on, we have to go save our son!” I pulled my hand away. “No,” I said flatly. “I have to take care of Buddy.” Chelsea stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. My mother shrieked, “Ethan, have you lost your mind? That’s your son!” “You ignored Chelsea after the accident, and now you’re going to let your son die?” I met my mother’s horrified gaze. “The vet said Buddy is extremely weak right now and needs constant care. I have to go home and make him some nutritious broth. Besides,” I added calmly, “I’m anemic. What if something happens to me during the transfusion? Who will take care of Buddy then?” At that, Chelsea’s face crumpled. She struggled out of her wheelchair and knelt before me on the ground. “Ethan,” she choked out, tears streaming down her face. “We’ve been together for so long, and I have never, ever asked you for anything. You can treat me however you want, I don’t care, but our baby… our baby is innocent! I’m begging you, please, go save him. He was just born. He hasn’t even had a chance to see the world!” She was a picture of desperation, her voice broken and pleading. But I remained unmoved. “If you want to save him, you go. I have to take care of Buddy. I don’t have time for the hospital.” I turned to leave, holding Buddy close. My father grabbed my arm, his voice shaking with rage. “You monster! You’d let your own child die for a dog?” My mother’s face was etched with pain. “Ethan, you have disappointed me more than I can say. From this day on, we are done. I don’t have a heartless son like you!” The livestream comments exploded. “I thought saving the dog over the wife was rock bottom, but now he won’t even save his own dying son? Is he even human?” “This is disgusting. He’ll spend all night at a vet but won’t take an hour to give blood to his own baby. He’s worse than an animal!” “I’m furious! This man doesn’t deserve to live, let alone have a wife and child!” “I hope karma strikes him down right where he stands!” The crowd erupted, throwing garbage and spitting at me, their faces masks of fury. Just as I was about to be swallowed by the storm of their hatred, a cold, clear voice cut through the noise. “None of you have the right to judge him.” I looked up and saw her. A smile touched my lips. Finally, the show was about to begin.

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My husband, Leo, and I were the Hollywood dream. Childhood sweethearts who’d made it, from high school theater to the Oscars. For him, I’d given up my own acting spot at Juilliard, choosing instead to become his manager. But when he finally won his Oscar, a new face appeared: his “little protégé,” Chloe, nearly ten years younger and buzzing with a desperate kind of energy. And between her and me, he always chose her. He let me take the fall for her mistakes, let me be humiliated by her antics, all while swearing, “She’s just like a little sister to me.” Then I saw the TMZ blast: Leo and Chloe, in a passionate kiss outside Musso & Frank. I had to laugh. Since when do you kiss your sister like that? 1 When Leo loved me most, he proposed to me live on the Oscars red carpet, at the absolute peak of his career. The internet broke. He lost over a million followers that night. He just kissed me and said, “It was worth it.” We’d made it. We’d survived the climb. But five years into our marriage, Chloe, his new co-star, latched onto him, and everything changed. On our date nights, her name was in every story. Even when I changed the subject, he’d find a way to bring it back to her, a soft, unfamiliar smile on his face. Today was my birthday. It was also, coincidentally, Chloe’s. On set, the crew threw Chloe a massive surprise party. When Leo and I got back to our hotel, he got a call, and that same soft smile appeared. He grabbed his jacket. “You rest up. I’m just going to… take a walk.” My heart gave a stupid little jump. All day, “Happy birthday, Chloe!” echoed around the set. They’d even gotten her a huge, custom-baked cake. Not a single person had wished me a happy birthday. But I didn’t care. All that mattered was that he remembered. He’d never forgotten. He was going out to get me a surprise. A gift, and a cake just for me. 2 While he was gone, I set the scene. I ordered a bottle of Dom and a massive platter of spicy king crab legs. He loved crab, but he was a notorious germaphobe and hated the messy, primal work of cracking the shells. I always did it for him. I waited. I cracked shell after shell until the entire platter was a mountain of perfect, pristine meat. I waited until my fingers were raw, stinging from a dozen tiny cuts from the shells. I waited until I accidentally rubbed my eye, and the cayenne from my fingers made me cry out, tears streaming down my face. He didn’t come back. Finally, at 6:00 AM, he walked in, holding a small, wilted bouquet of roses. The crab meat had long since gone cold. He saw me, asleep in the chair, and had the grace to look guilty. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice soft. “I’m so sorry, I got held up. A late happy birthday, Zoe.” He held up a small paper bag. “I brought you cake.” He remembered. In that moment, the entire, miserable night evaporated. He gave me a quick kiss. “Happy birthday.” Then he disappeared into the shower. I smiled, touching my cheek. I opened the bag. Inside was a single, plastic-domed slice of ice cream cake. It was completely melted, a soupy, sugary puddle soaked into the cardboard. It wasn’t pretty. But I ate it. The stale cake and gritty, melted ice cream coated my tongue. But he’d brought it for me. While I waited for him, I opened my phone, intending to post a picture of the roses. But Instagram was already full of him. Chloe had posted a nine-picture carousel. It was blinding. There she was, holding a bouquet of ninety-nine, perfect, long-stemmed red roses. There was Leo, personally cracking crab legs for her, his notoriously clean hands stained red, a slight smile on his face. And the last photo: a beautiful, elaborate, homemade ice cream cake. It looked vaguely familiar. The caption: “Thank you, ‘big bro,’ for making my birthday so special! A man who shells crab is a king! (PS: The homemade ice cream cake was AMAZING. Literally the best I’ve ever had. And the roses are gorgeous!)” My body went cold. I looked at my eleven dying roses. I looked at her ninety-nine. The cake he brought me wasn’t a gift. It was a leftover. He said he was busy. He was. He was busy spending my birthday with her. The sugary sludge in my mouth turned to ash. 3 I told myself to be rational. Maybe they were just friends. We’d been together for so long. I shouldn’t be so paranoid. Besides, their movie was wrapping. He’d be on to his next project. They’d drift apart. But after the wrap party, he brought her to our agency. “Zoe,” he said, “you’re the best manager in the business. You’ve launched so many careers. I want you to take Chloe on. She’s got real talent.” Chloe beamed. “Ms. Hale, I’m so excited to work with you. I’ll do whatever you say.” Her cute, baby-doll face was all smiles. It was a terrible position to be in. I couldn’t say no. 4 I got her an audition. A gritty, complex, critically-acclaimed cable drama. It was the part of an unlikable villain, a real career-maker. On the surface, she was grateful. “I trust your instincts, Zoe. You’ve never been wrong.” But that night, Leo stormed into our home, dragging her behind him. “Zoe, what the hell is your problem? Are you really this petty?” I was completely blindsided. “What are you talking about?” Chloe, hiding behind him, started to sniffle. “Zoe… I don’t know what I did to make you hate me. I just… I just asked Leo if I could audition for the girlfriend role in his new movie. Why are you trying to sabotage me with that horrible villain part?” I looked at Leo. “Is that what you think? That I’m unprofessional?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He just looked at me with pure disappointment. “She’s a kid, Zoe. She’s not cynical enough to lie about this.” He didn’t even wait for my answer. “You’re going to apologize to her. And then you’re coming with me to dinner with the studio heads. You’re going to get her that role. You owe her that for your little power trip.” My blood froze. “And if I don’t?” His eyes were cold. “Fine. But you’re my wife. Your mistake is my mistake. I’ll go. I’ll beg them. I’ll get on my knees if I have to. I’ll pay them, I’ll drink, whatever it takes. I’ll humiliate myself to fix the mess you made.” He knew me too well. He knew I’d never let him do that. He was using himself to threaten me. For her. My heart felt like it was tearing in two. “Fine,” I bit out, my face pale. “I’ll go.” 5 Some Hollywood dinners are business. Others are just gross. Leo was the Oscar winner. I was the kingmaker manager. The studio execs wouldn’t mess with us. So they aimed all their slimy attention at Chloe. The head producer, a notorious pig, raised his glass. “So, Chloe. You drink? Us old guys love our scotch. Leo, here, is a lightweight. And Zoe’s got a weak stomach.” Everyone knew I didn’t drink at these things. Not anymore. “You’re young,” the producer said, smiling. “You won’t mind having a few with us, will you?” Chloe said, “Of course,” but her eyes darted to Leo, pleading. He jumped in instantly. “Oh, she’s just a kid, she can’t handle this stuff. It’s no fun. Zoe will drink with you. She can drink you all under the table.” He said it without a moment’s hesitation. My blood turned to ice. I wasn’t born with a high tolerance. I’d earned it. I’d earned it in cheap bars, doing vodka shots with sleazy producers to get him auditions, back when he was a nobody. I’d earned it until I’d burned a hole in my stomach. I have a chronic ulcer. The slightest bit of alcohol feels like swallowing glass. He knew. When I was diagnosed, he’d nursed me for months, feeding me broth, swearing I’d never have to go to another one of those dinners again. And now, to protect her, he’d forgotten. I gripped my glass. I looked at him, one last time. “You really want me to drink this?” He avoided my eyes. “Chloe’s just starting out, Zoe. You’re different.” My heart just… shattered. I raised the glass and downed it. Then I grabbed the bottle. I was on my feet, going around the table, a manic smile on my face. “To the director! To the producer!” One for them, five for me. They tried to wave me off, but I was on a mission. I wanted him to watch. This was his doing. If I ended up in the ER, it was on him. The high-proof vodka hit my ulcer like a blowtorch. My stomach seized, but the pain in my chest was so much worse. I just kept pouring. It was the director who finally noticed. “Zoe, hey… you’re white as a sheet. You’re sweating. Let’s switch to water, okay?” Leo finally looked at me, and his face filled with panic. “If you can’t drink, why are you drinking? You have a mouth, don’t you? You can’t say no?” But when I had said no—when I said I wasn’t sabotaging her—had he listened? His heart was open for her, which meant his ears were closed to me.

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I worked late, got home after midnight, and found a Porsche parked in my spot. It took me forever to get in touch with the owner. When I finally did, she refused to move it. Her excuses were insane: “That’s what you get for coming home so late,” “Just find another spot,” and my personal favorite, “What if you’re a creep trying to rape me?” I thought about it. Then, I had an idea. The next day, I got a call: “Sir, you’re a reasonable guy, don’t stoop to her level.” I laughed. “Don’t say that. I’m not reasonable at all.” 1 I live in an old condo complex. Parking is a nightmare, which is why I paid $30,000 for my own deeded spot. Tonight, I work one overtime shift, and my spot is occupied by a cherry-red Porsche. No parking pass, no note on the dash, nothing. I tried the non-emergency police line for a tow; no luck. I posted in the HOA Facebook group; no response. Finally, the building’s property manager dug up the owner’s contact info. Her name was Tiffany. I was ready to unleash hell, but she was a woman, and I figured getting her angry wouldn’t get my spot back. So, I was super polite. “Hey, uh, Tiffany? Your Porsche is in my private spot. Could you please move it?” She let out an annoyed “Ugh, fine,” and said she was in the shower. She’d be down in thirty minutes. I had no choice. I sat in my car, starving, blasting the AC. Thirty minutes passed. No one. I called again. This time, she came at me, guns blazing. “What is your problem? Can’t you come home earlier? It’s the middle of the night! Where am I supposed to find parking now?” Normally, I would have lost it. But I just wanted my damn spot. I took a deep breath, drove a lap around the garage, and found one empty visitor spot in the far corner. I called her back and told her. Then she said it. “Since you found a spot, just park there! Why do you need me to move? What, is this some kind of trick? Are you trying to lure me to the garage so you can rape me?” 2 That was it. I snapped. I started cursing her out, going back generations. She blocked me. I was so angry I grabbed the tire iron from my trunk. I was about to smash her taillight, but then I remembered that in my state, anything over $1,000 is felony vandalism. I stopped. I parked on the street, fuming. Let it go, I told myself. She’s just an entitled idiot. Not worth it. The next day, I get home from work. The Porsche is still there. Gleaming. Like it’s mocking me. That’s when I decided I was done being the nice guy. I pulled my old Honda Civic right up behind her, bumper to bumper, blocking her in completely. Then I went upstairs. The next morning, my phone rings. It’s Tiffany, screaming that she’s late for work and that I have five minutes to get my “shitbox” out of her way. I put on my calmest voice. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I’m in the middle of a really bad crap. It’s gonna be at least fifteen minutes.” I hung up. Fifteen minutes later, she calls back, absolutely livid. “Where the hell are you?” I burst out laughing. “Oh wow, you actually waited? You should probably call an Uber. You’re gonna be in trouble.” She started screaming every curse in the book. I hung up. A few minutes later, the HOA manager calls. He says the Porsche is a temporary vehicle, and they charge $100 a day for that. If I don’t move, the fee will be charged to me. I was ready for this. “Parking is a nightmare, and you guys let this car in without a pass. That’s your fault. You want me to pay her parking fee? Fine. I’ll just stop paying my HOA dues. See how that works out for you.” The manager caved. A little while later, a guy claiming to be the head of the HOA board called, begging me to move. “Sir, you’re a reasonable guy. Don’t stoop to her level.” I smiled. “Don’t say that. Neither am I.” 3 I knew she couldn’t do anything to me. I have full coverage on my car, and she’s driving a Porsche. I’m in a Honda. In a collision, I make a profit. That afternoon, I get a call from the police. They tell me to move my car, or I could be charged with criminal mischief. I laughed. I wasn’t born yesterday. I told the cop I was out of town visiting family. I’d be back next week. If she was in a hurry, they could call a tow truck. I had no objections. I knew the garage ceiling was too low for a tow truck to get in. And they weren’t going to drive three hours to my “parents’ house” to get me. The cop sighed, realizing I knew the game. “Look, man,” he said, “why are you, a grown man, getting into this with a young woman? You blocked her in for a whole day. You’ve made your point.” I knew I couldn’t push the cops too far. So I offered a deal: “I just want an apology. If she apologizes, I’ll move the car right now. I just want her to admit she was wrong.” The cop agreed. I went down to the local precinct for “mediation.” The second Tiffany saw me, she went ballistic, screaming and swinging her Gucci handbag at my head, breaking the strap. Then she started sobbing to the cops, claiming I was a stalker, that I’d been following her and taking pictures, that I tried to assault her last night, and that I was blocking her car as revenge. The cops were done. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one time: will you apologize or not? If not, we’re washing our hands of this. You can figure it out yourselves.” Tiffany’s face went rigid. “Apologize to him? He should be apologizing to me! I’m warning you, you can’t just violate my will because you’re a cop! This is harassment! You’re raping me!” 4 Even for these seasoned officers, this was a new level of crazy. They just told her to leave. As she was storming out, the cop who’d been on the phone with me pulled me aside. “Buddy,” he said, in a low voice, “Block her in good. Make it tight. Take Ubers for a few days. Don’t you dare let her out. I’ll personally cover your Uber receipts.” I told him it was my pleasure. Community service. We’re all in this together. With the cops on my side, I was all in. I blocked her for seven straight days. Tiffany tried everything. She called a tow truck (couldn’t fit). She called a mechanic (couldn’t do anything). She even hired a group of day laborers, who spent an afternoon trying to push the Porsche out. They moved it maybe two inches. She started leaving threatening voicemails. Said her father was a “big deal” in city government. Said her mom was on the board of regents. Said they could end me. I almost laughed. “I’m a single guy. No wife, no kids. What have I got to lose? But if I have a bad day… you should be careful.” I never thought she’d go after my family. The next day, my sister, Sarah, called. She asked if I was in a fight with someone. I was stunned. “How did you know?” Sarah hesitated. “My principal just pulled me aside. He said I need to ‘advise’ my brother to move his car… or my probationary contract won’t be renewed next month.” My hand was shaking. I couldn’t believe Tiffany had found my sister and was threatening her job. My dad died when we were young. I was the only man in the family. I practically raised Sarah. She’d worked her ass off to get this teaching position. It was her dream. I couldn’t be the one to ruin it. I moved the car. Tiffany, predictable as ever, swaggered over as I was getting in. “Aw, what happened? Not so tough now, are you? Next time you see me, you better be polite, or I’ll have your sister…” I exploded. I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the garage wall. “I’m warning you,” I snarled, “you come after me, fine. But if you ever touch my sister again, I will end you.” “You want to file a report about a rapist? Fine. I’ll be the rapist.” 5 She scrambled into her Porsche and peeled out, terrified. I immediately regretted it. She’d played me. That afternoon, I got the call. The police were formally opening an investigation into me for assault and attempted sexual assault. My heart pounded. I ran to the station. I told them she’d threatened my sister, that I just lost my temper. I never intended to assault her. But the cop on duty just shook his head. My fingerprints were on her neck. The garage had security cameras. The evidence was iron-clad. Luckily, Officer Diaz—the cop who’d told me to block her in—was on shift. He knew what Tiffany was. He believed me. With Diaz’s help, the DA’s office declined to press felony charges due to “insufficient evidence of intent.” But I still got booked for assault and spent seven days in lockup until my sister could post my bail. Diaz warned me. “You’re not out of the woods. She can still sue you. If she pushes the attempted rape charge in civil court, you’re screwed.” The only way out was to get her to sign a settlement. I was hopeless. This woman wasn’t going to settle. She wanted me in prison. My sister, Sarah, insisted on handling it. She was afraid I’d explode again. She bought a $3,000 La Mer gift set—a year’s worth of her salary—and went to Tiffany to beg for forgiveness on my behalf. After weeks of effort, Tiffany agreed not to sue. On one condition. “From now on, your parking spot is mine. And, you will personally wash and detail my car. Every. Single. Day. If I find one fingerprint on the glass, I’ll send you to prison. I mean it.”

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My water broke on Halloween night. My mother-in-law blocked the front door. “Hold it in! Having a baby today is a bad omen! It’ll curse the whole family for a year. It’s bad luck!” Later, when she was sick with a stomach bug, puking her guts out and desperate to go to the hospital, I pulled up a horoscope app on my phone. I showed it to her with a sweet smile. “Oh, shoot, Carol. What a shame. Mercury is in retrograde. The stars say it’s a terrible day to travel.” 1 When I was pregnant, my mother-in-law, Carol, insisted on coming to the city to “take care of me.” She was a quiet woman, with a simple, salt-of-the-earth vibe. I’d always thought she was just a sweet old lady from the country. After she arrived, our apartment was suddenly spotless. I’m not exaggerating—even the succulents I was slowly killing on the balcony started thriving. I completely re-evaluated my opinion of her. I even told my husband, Mark, that he was too hard on his mom. Mark just said I was falling for the same act he did as a kid. He went ahead and hired a part-time nanny anyway, and insisted my parents and my brother come stay with us through the holidays. I laughed and told him he was being paranoid. She was just a little old lady. What kind of trouble could she possibly cause? He looked at me, dead serious. “You have no idea what she’s capable of,” he said. “The only reason I let her through that door is because she showed up with a bottle of weed killer and threatened to drink it if I didn’t.” 2 Carol kept up the sweet-old-lady act perfectly. Until Halloween. The last of the trick-or-treaters had gone home, but you could still hear the occasional firecracker go off down the street. Our family was bustling around happily, the air thick with the savory smell of chili simmering for our late-night meal. I tried to push myself up off the couch to stretch my legs. As soon as I was on my feet, I felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of warmth. Splash. It wasn’t like the little leaks I’d gotten used to. This was a flood. It soaked through my sweatpants instantly, puddling on the hardwood floor. I froze, staring down at my feet, my mind a complete blank. “What’s wrong, honey?” My mom was the first to notice. “Mom… I think… I think my water just broke,” I stammered, my voice trembling. The living room exploded into action. My mom yelled, “Oh my God!” and dropped the ladle she was holding, grabbing the go-bag we’d packed weeks ago. My dad’s face went pale. He snatched his car keys off the hook and bolted for the door, not even bothering to tie his shoes. My brother, Leo, was a blur, sprinting to the elevator and mashing the “down” button like his life depended on it. Mark was the calmest of all. He dropped the cheesy ghost decoration he was taping to the wall and rushed to my side. He wrapped one arm around me to steady me, and with his other hand, he dialed our doctor. His voice was urgent but clear. “Yes, first-time mom, 39 weeks and 2 days. Her water just broke. It’s clear, no contractions yet…” The real pain hadn’t started, but a dizzying panic and the sticky, out-of-control feeling made me grip his arm for dear life. My mom had already managed to get my winter coat on me as Mark guided me toward the door. Just as Mark hung up the phone, ready to get me out of there, Carol—who had been standing silently by the kitchen counter, her hands still dusted with flour from the cornbread she was making—shot forward. She planted herself in front of the main door like a stone gargoyle, blocking our exit. Her arms were spread wide, and the simple, folksy look in her eyes was gone, replaced by a wild, fanatical glare. Her voice was a shriek. “You can’t go! Hold it in! A baby born on Halloween is cursed! All that fluid, it’s a bad omen! It’s letting a dark spirit into this house! No one is leaving this apartment tonight unless they walk over my dead body!” I was so shocked, my stomach clenched, sending a dull, powerful ache through me. “Mom! What the hell are you talking about?!” Mark’s face was instantly flushed with rage, his voice booming. All the organized chaos of the last minute shattered against the wall of his mother’s insanity. “I know what I’m talking about! A baby born on Halloween, especially when the water breaks like that, brings a curse! It’ll bring bad luck to this whole family for a year!” She gripped the doorframe, the veins on her bony hands popping out. Her cloudy eyes were filled with a stubborn, vicious light I’d never seen before. “You can’t go! You have to wait until tomorrow!” Wait? The contractions were starting to roll in, each one stronger than the last. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I could barely stand. Was she serious? Mark was beyond furious. He kept me tucked safely behind him, his voice a low growl. “Mom, get out of the way. That’s your grandson in there, and he’s coming now.” “It’s because he’s my grandson that he can’t be born today! Mark, listen to me for once! I’m doing this for your own good!” she wailed, beating her chest, spittle flying from her lips. Seconds were ticking by. The car horn from downstairs grew more insistent. Mark’s eyes narrowed. He was done talking. He passed me to my mom, took a step forward, and as Carol shrieked, “Don’t you dare!” he simply bent down and hoisted her over his shoulder. She thrashed and kicked in his arms, screaming curses I wouldn’t repeat. His face was like stone. He marched her straight to the guest room, unceremoniously dropped her inside, and slammed the door. We heard the click of the lock. Suddenly, the world was quiet, except for the muffled sound of her pounding and yelling from behind the door. “Let’s go!” Mark said, turning back to me. His forehead was slick with sweat, but his eyes were clear and determined. He scooped me up into his arms and sprinted for the elevator. 3 The hospital was a blur of controlled chaos. They rushed me into the delivery room as the contractions hit me like tidal waves, threatening to pull me under. But Carol’s twisted, stubborn face and her insane words were like a thorn in my side, sparking a defiant fire in me. I gripped the rails of the hospital bed, focusing on the doctor’s instructions, pushing with everything I had. Mark never left my side. I was squeezing his hand so hard his knuckles were white, but he didn’t make a sound, just kept wiping the sweat from my brow and whispering words of encouragement. I don’t know how long it was, but just when I felt I had nothing left, a loud, healthy cry cut through the tension in the room. “It’s a boy! Six pounds, eight ounces. Mom and baby are doing great!” the nurse announced with a smile. I let out a long, shuddering breath. I was completely drained, but my heart was overflowing with a joy so immense and tender it felt like it would burst. Mark leaned down and kissed my forehead, his eyes red. “You did it, Chloe. You were amazing,” he choked out. When they wheeled me out, my parents and Leo swarmed around us, their faces shining with relief and happiness. “You’re a rock star, sis!” “Oh, sweetie, you rest now. You’ve been through so much.” Back in the recovery room, I stared at the little wrinkled, red-faced creature beside me and felt my heart melt. Mark held our son, beaming like a goofy idiot. The dark cloud from our apartment seemed to have been washed away by the joy of this new life. But right in the middle of this perfect moment, Mark’s phone rang. His smile vanished. His brow furrowed as he glanced at me before answering. “Hello? Yes, this is Mark. What?” His expression turned ugly, a mixture of disbelief and fury. “Yes, my wife just gave birth. No, there was no assault, just a… a family misunderstanding. Okay, I understand. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be there to sort it out.” He hung up and took a deep breath, his voice tight with anger. “My mom called the cops. She’s telling them we held her against her will. She filed a report for false imprisonment and elder abuse.” The room went dead silent. My mom’s face turned white with rage. “How dare she! After what she did!” My dad just shook his head, his face grim. “This is madness.” Leo looked like he was about to punch a wall. “I’m going down there, Mark. I’ll set them straight.” Lying in that hospital bed, looking at my sleeping son, I thought about Carol’s snarling face as she blocked that door. A hot, slow-burning anger started to rise in my chest. She had risked my life, and my baby’s life, for some insane superstition, and now she had the nerve to play the victim? I looked at Mark, who was practically vibrating with anger, and gently tugged on his sleeve. He looked down at me. I forced a smile. “Go. Go to the station. And make sure you explain everything to them. Don’t leave a single detail out.” His eyes hardened. He knew exactly what I meant. He nodded firmly. “You get some rest. I’ll handle this.” After he left, the mood in the room was still heavy. I was learning a hard lesson. With some people, being kind and understanding only gets you taken advantage of. She wanted to play dirty, to poison this incredible day? Fine. From now on, this daughter-in-law was done playing nice. I just never imagined the situation at the police station would be even crazier than I thought. When Mark came back hours later, his face was grim. He looked at me, struggling for words. “Chloe… Mom’s at the station. She’s refusing to leave. She wants to press charges.”

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1 I am the designated sidekick to a super-rich heiress. She calls me her best friend, swipes her card to buy me clothes and bags, and never lets me pay for anything when we go out. Lately, she’s developed a massive crush on the campus king. And she wants me to be the one to date him. “I know we can never be together, but it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” Help! How am I supposed to tell my best friend that I just slept with her older brother? “Anna, you’re my best friend. Everyone else just wants my money. You’re the only one who likes me for me.” Jenna linked her arm through mine, resting her head affectionately on my shoulder. Hearing her say that, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Because I didn’t just want her money. I wanted her brother. I’d seen him once in high school, dropping her off. He had the face and body of a runway model. The way he’d leaned down to stub out his cigarette, the sharp line of his jaw… it hit me right in the heart. So, I latched onto Jenna. She had a massive circle of “friends,” but I managed to outlast them all. Being friends with an heiress is the life. A luxury car picks you up, you never have to look at a price tag, and you get to experience a world completely different from the one you were born into. I studied my butt off to get into the same university as her, all because I couldn’t bear to give up this lifestyle. “Anna, I’m so in love with Alex,” Jenna sighed, looking lost in a romantic haze. As her loyal lackey, I immediately chimed in. “He’s totally worth it! He’s gorgeous, smart… his family is just a little… ordinary. Like mine.” In reality, Alex was from a perfectly normal, middle-class family, and he was one of the most popular guys on campus. But to an heiress like Jenna, he might as well have been a peasant. “But I know we can never be together,” she continued, a determined look on her face. “Still, it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” She cupped my face in her hands, a playful smile on her lips. “My beautiful Anna, a guy like Alex will be a piece of cake for you!” The serious look in her eyes made me panic. Oh god, Jenna, how do I tell you? I just slept with your brother last night… My legs are still weak… From her perspective, I was the worst kind of person. I forced a tight smile. “Uh, Alex isn’t really my type.” “That’s not what you said a second ago,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “It just feels weird, you know? Since he’s the guy you like…” I tried to hedge, hoping she’d drop the ridiculous idea. “That’s the point! If he got with anyone else, I’d be miserable. But with you? I’d be happy! I’d feel like my best friend found a great guy, and I could finally move on.” The more sincere she sounded, the more my guilt grew. I racked my brain for an excuse. “Actually… I think your brother is way hotter than Alex. Can I go after him instead?” It was a half-joke, half-truth. She waved a dismissive hand. “No way. My brother will end up in an arranged marriage. My parents are already looking for a fiancée for him. If you go after him, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak. It’s the same as me and Alex. The gap is just too big.” My head started to spin. I’d always known this, of course. I’d even told myself that I wasn’t losing anything, that a wild, passionate affair with a guy like him was more than I could have ever asked for. “Well… I’ll think about it,” I mumbled, looking down. “Trust me, Anna. Alex is the one. He’s from your world.” … She was right. We were both ordinary people. I shouldn’t have aimed so high. But sleeping with Ken Gordon for so long… I’d already won. “Okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “If you’re really sure you don’t mind, then I’ll do it.” Ken had been so busy lately. Sometimes I’d hear him take calls, his voice low and tense. It was probably his family, pressuring him. I was the girlfriend who wasn’t even qualified to walk through his front door. “You’re the best, Anna!” I pushed down my feelings and took the shopping list Jenna handed me. She sent me Alex’s contact info, followed by a series of cheering emojis. She had a fancy party to go to that night, the kind I wasn’t invited to. After we parted ways, I found a bench and started composing a breakup text. I wrote and rewrote a thousand-word essay, but I couldn’t bring myself to send it. A year as the secret girlfriend… our thrilling, illicit affair was finally coming to an end. A voice message from Ken popped up. “What kind of love poem takes half an hour to write?” His voice was as magnetic and intoxicating as ever. I sighed, deleted the essay, and reminded myself that a secret girlfriend doesn’t get to do the breaking up. For a guy like him, being dumped was the ultimate humiliation. “Just thinking about my hubby,” I typed back. I was shameless. I knew he would never marry me, but I called him “hubby” anyway. He’d hated it at first, but eventually, he’d grown to like it. Ken is typing… I quickly sent another message. “Hubby, I saw this bag I really want… it’s two million dollars… can I have it? meow~” I attached a GIF of a kitten aggressively nuzzling a teddy bear. I never wanted for money when I was with him—he was far more generous than Jenna. But this was the first time I had ever asked for something so extravagant. Asking for a two-million-dollar bag the morning after sleeping with him… it screamed “gold digger.” He transferred the money without a second’s hesitation. “It’s yours.” I stared at the number on the screen, and tears started to fall. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. In his eyes, I was just a woman after his money. It was a comfortable, easy dynamic for him. If I had demanded love instead, it would have been a joke. I cried for a while, then picked up my phone again. “You’re so generous, hubby! Can you buy me an apartment, too? One of those penthouses at The Grandview.” “How much.” He replied instantly. I looked up the prices. They started at ten million. “Ninety million.” I scoffed, stopping myself from typing a hundred million. I could already picture him frowning at his phone, confirming his suspicions about me. “I’ll have Chen take you to sign the papers tomorrow.” 2 I shot to my feet. Seriously? You’re not even mad? My mind was a mess. I turned off my phone, trying not to think about it. The next day, Jenna asked for a progress report. I realized I hadn’t even added Alex yet. “Progress: -1.” “?” “He didn’t add me back.” “Ugh, he’s like that. It took him five hours to accept my request.” I patiently chatted with her for a while longer. She was hungover from the party, and this would have been the perfect opportunity for me to play the caring friend. But thoughts of Ken kept weighing me down. That afternoon, as I was leaving the library, a man named Mr. Chen called. He said the paperwork was ready and waiting for my signature. This has to be a joke, right? I got in the car, steeling myself for the inevitable humiliation. But there was no mockery, no lecture. Mr. Chen respectfully led me to the sales office and into the VIP manager’s room. “Are you sure you want to sign?” I asked, half-expecting the act to drop any second. Aren’t you going to call me a gold digger now? Mr. Chen looked confused as he pushed the contract toward me. “Mr. Gordon has already picked out a villa for you, but he said this location is closer for you and would be more convenient.” I glanced at the contract. My name was printed in black and white. I sighed and put the pen down. “I’m sorry, I don’t want it.” Mr. Chen looked baffled. The manager looked like his world was ending. “Ma’am, if you have any concerns, please let me know. I will do my absolute best to resolve them.” Money could be returned. A house was a whole other level of entanglement. What was Ken thinking, actually agreeing to buy me a house? In the end, I just left. A gift like that, given during a relationship, could be taken back after a breakup. It was too messy. “You don’t like it?” Ken’s call came through. His voice was as cool and steady as ever. “I don’t like it. And Ken, I’ve been thinking. I don’t like you anymore, either. Let’s break up.” What was there to be concerned about? For a rich boy like him, the messier the breakup, the more he’d hate you. And if he didn’t hate you, it was even simpler. It was just about money. He’d just find someone new. I hung up before he could respond. For good measure, I blocked his number and deleted his contact. I tried to act casual when I got back to my dorm, but a message from Jenna was waiting. I reluctantly opened my chat with Alex. Turns out you have to actually click “add friend” on a contact card. Who knew? This time, he accepted instantly. A simple “hello” emoji popped up. I was feeling pretty miserable. On a whim, I sent him a series of reaction GIFs that, when strung together, told a story: “See this flower? I’d rather throw it away than give it to you.” After I sent it, I just stared at my phone. I was supposed to be charming him, for Jenna’s sake. But I just didn’t have the energy. I felt like crying, but I held it back. A voice message came through. It was Alex. “It’s okay. Where did you throw it? I’ll go pick it up.” His voice was lighter than Ken’s, with a lazy, sun-drenched quality. And that line… it was smooth. Especially considering he didn’t even know who I was. All he had to go on was my profile picture—a stylized, dark- Goth bunny. Not exactly flirtatious material. …So he was the type to flirt with anyone. A real “cast a wide net” kind of guy. So this was the man my heiress friend was crazy about. “Did he accept? Send me a screenshot,” Jenna texted. I couldn’t bring myself to screenshot my own ridiculous GIFs. I sent her his reply instead. She was ecstatic. “OMG, Alex uses reaction GIFs? And he sent one first? Babe, I’m shipping this so hard.” If you heard his voice, you’d be building the whole boat, I thought. I wanted to block and delete him too, but I restrained myself. After the “breakup” with Ken, I became a hermit. My life was a simple routine: library, eat, sleep. I didn’t even have time for Jenna. “Anna, meet me at The Reverie tonight. I have a party, but you can wait for me in the lobby. It’ll be late and you won’t get a cab. You have to come.” It was an order. Now that I was done with Ken, I knew I couldn’t be Jenna’s sidekick anymore. What if I ran into him? The fallout would be catastrophic. Jenna’s revenge would be terrifying. I didn’t want to go, but she didn’t give me a choice. “By the way,” she added in a follow-up call, her voice buzzing with excitement, “I don’t think Alex is poor! I just saw him with old Mr. Crawford. I think he might be his grandson? Let me do some digging. Hold off on the seduction for now, okay?” I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, an out. “Okay! Should I just delete him, then? I always thought you two were perfect for each other. And now that you’re in the same social circle, it’s even better!” “Yeah, you can delete him. I know you don’t like him anyway,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, and send me a screen recording of you blocking him. I want to make sure you’re really over him.” “Okay.” I had been ignoring Alex’s messages for days, avoiding any place I might run into him. It was just too awkward. After hanging up, I started the screen recording, blocked Alex, and deleted his contact. I took a screenshot of my block list and sent it to her for inspection. Suddenly, a terrible feeling washed over me. I scrolled through my phone, the feeling growing stronger. Oh, crap. I knew I’d forgotten something. 3 The second name on my block list… wasn’t that Ken’s? My best friend’s brother? More than two minutes had passed. It was too late to unsend it. Jenna’s end went silent. She hadn’t replied. Did she see it? What is she thinking? Why isn’t she asking me about it? I clutched my phone, my anxiety skyrocketing. My mind raced, playing out every possible scenario of her explosive anger. Time ticked by. I was sick with dread, but I didn’t dare ask. “When you get to The Reverie, have Old Chen bring the card up to you.” “Anna, Alex is the real deal! He’s Mr. Crawford’s actual grandson! I can’t believe someone with his background could be so low-key at school. I love him even more now! So, so much!” Just as I was about to suffocate from the tension, two messages from her came through. She hadn’t noticed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling like a beached fish tossed back into the water. I spammed a few reaction GIFs to discreetly push the screenshot further up the chat history, ending with a GIF of a person on a speeding motorcycle. “On my way, my lady!” “I can’t believe the campus king has such a background and is still so humble! No wonder you have such good taste!” As a qualified sidekick, I always knew how to provide the right kind of emotional support, saying exactly what she wanted to hear. And she always fell for it. After the emotional rollercoaster, I collapsed onto my bed. The sky outside my dorm window was dark. With the stress gone, my thoughts immediately drifted back to Ken. Ugh. So pathetic. I put on some light makeup and headed out to meet Jenna, feeling completely drained. At the restaurant, I met up with their driver, Old Chen. He handed me the car keys and a credit card. “We were in a hurry tonight, so we took Mr. Gordon’s usual car. Can you handle it, Miss Anna? If not, I can have someone bring another one over.” My hand froze. Ken’s car? I instinctively clutched the keys, then quickly tried to hand them back. “You know me, Uncle Chen. I wouldn’t dare.” He looked troubled. He made a quick call. “Yes, Mr. Gordon’s car is at The Reverie. You’re coming now? Great, I’ll wait for you to swap.” He hung up and turned to me. “Miss Anna, could you please wait here for Little Chen? He’s bringing the miss’s car over now.” Little Chen? My blood ran cold. That was Ken’s personal driver! He had been a witness to my entire secret, year-long affair, chauffeuring me between villas and hotels. Swap keys with him? No way. I made a split-second decision and bolted. “Uncle Chen, I’m running late! I’ll go up first! Just leave the keys at the front desk for me!” I sprinted away, leaving a bewildered Old Chen in my wake. I paused to catch my breath on the second-floor landing and saw Alex around the corner. He was leaning against a window, smoking, his gaze lost in the night sky. The cigarette in his hand had burned almost to the filter. If it weren’t for Ken’s god-tier looks, I probably would have fallen for a guy like Alex—fresh, sunny, and handsome. But having just blocked him, even though he didn’t know it was me, I felt a pang of guilt. I tried to sneak past him toward the main hall. But his hearing was sharp. He caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. I froze, wondering if I should say hi. Do I normally say hi to him? I racked my brain. When I was deep in my Ken-induced love fog, did I ever acknowledge him when I was with Jenna? While I was hesitating, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked briskly toward me. I looked around. No one else was there. He was coming for me. “Hey… fancy seeing you here, Alex,” I said, my shamelessness kicking in. If I couldn’t hide, I might as well own it. But as I waved, he grabbed my hand. He stared at me, his eyes clouded with a sullen emotion. “Why did you delete me?” He knows?! A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. My mind raced. How do I get out of this social nightmare? “Was I texting you too much? Did I annoy you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost wounded. “Did I say something to upset you?” If his one text every couple of days counted as annoying, then my constant stream of messages to Ken could be classified as harassment. “What are you talking about?” I played dumb. It was the only way. I looked up at him, blinked innocently, and forced a bright smile. “I don’t have your contact info, so I couldn’t have deleted you. You must have me mistaken for someone else. You’re the campus king, after all. So many people want to add you.” I thought it was the perfect excuse. But his gaze hardened. “I didn’t say it was WeChat.” My smile froze. He pulled out his phone and showed me his WeChat profile. “Is it true that a lot of people want to add me? Then you should add me.” I was dying inside. What do I do? Can you even add someone who’s on your block list? I cursed myself for not using a burner account. “Anna, what are you doing?” Jenna appeared, resplendent in a designer gown and towering heels, slowly walking toward us. The click-clack of her shoes on the marble floor sounded like the countdown to my execution. I panicked, trying to pull away, only to remember that Alex still had a death grip on my hand. …It was over. I struggled, but he wouldn’t let go. “Jenna, I need to talk to her. Can you give us a minute?” Alex said coolly, stepping in front of me protectively. No. This was not happening. I was about to pry his fingers off my hand when a chill ran down my spine. I looked up and saw him. Ken. It was really, truly over. Why was he here? What was I going to do? I stood frozen, watching the impossibly handsome, impeccably dressed man walk toward us. He was tall, with long legs, exuding an aura of cool elegance, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, a cold smirk on his perfect face. A coldness I had never seen before. He walked right past me, as if I didn’t exist. The faint scent of his cologne was gone in an instant. I had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but I was not prepared for this—for him to look right through me. A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes began to burn. A tear escaped, then another, splashing onto my arm. Why am I crying?

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That simple refusal confirmed every wild suspicion in the room. Ignoring his rigid stance, I began to recite the relevant statutes from memory, a skill honed over years of practice, and pointed toward the baby in his arms. “Richard, you have a child. This isn’t just infidelity. This is tantamount to bigamy.” He remained unnervingly calm. “The child was an accident. But now that he’s here, I can’t let a Vaughn heir be cast out on the street. You’re overthinking this, Claire.” That’s when the dam inside me broke. All the composure I’d built crumbled into dust. “You told me you never wanted children!” I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of the man I once knew. “You said you hated them!” Finally, his composure cracked. He violently kicked a chair out of his way, stormed over, and grabbed my wrist. “Claire, have you made enough of a scene? We can talk about this at home! I have a perfectly reasonable explanation!” A reasonable explanation? While I was on a three-year assignment for our future, he, my husband, had taken a new wife. The man who swore he was child-free now had a plump, healthy son with a woman named Monica. I couldn’t begin to imagine what twisted logic he considered “reasonable.” The air between us crackled with ice. Suddenly, Monica stood up, inserting herself between us. “Richard, are you giving up on custody?” she asked, her voice a carefully crafted mix of challenge and vulnerability. “Fine. Then I’ll petition for sole, permanent custody. I don’t need a dime from you. I’ll find him a real, responsible father.” In the next instant, Richard’s grip on my wrist vanished. He was gone. The woman, Monica, held their baby, her gaze locked on Richard’s retreating back. It was only then that I truly saw her. She was draped in a diamond-studded couture gown, the very image of the high-society wife Richard had always said he wanted. Then I looked at myself. My severe, practical business suits. In his words, I didn’t have the first clue how to be a proper wife and mother. My chest felt like it had caved in. In eight years of marriage, Richard had never once given me the chance to be a mother. It started with layers of precautions and ended with him moving into a separate bedroom. I had told myself I could live with his choice, that our eight years together meant something. But the welcome-home gift after three years of grueling work in London wasn’t a party or a kiss—it was the sight of him holding the child I had always longed for. In front of a packed courtroom, Richard abandoned me again, chasing after Monica, terrified she might actually find a new father for his son. The Vaughn family was practically royalty in New York; an illegitimate child would be a scandal, but one they could easily weather. The court did not grant the divorce. I remembered my brother, Julian, a captain in the Chicago PD. Years ago, he had pressed the barrel of his service weapon to Richard’s temple. “You can marry my sister,” he’d said, his voice deadly calm. “But if you ever betray her, don’t think for a second I won’t find you.” Richard’s vows echoed in my memory, a ghostly reminder of a bridegroom who no longer existed. I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother in Chicago. “If the court won’t grant me a divorce,” I said, my voice cold as steel, “then let’s have it grant him a prison sentence.” I walked into the home I hadn’t seen in three years, ready to pack my bags and leave this life behind. I didn’t know when Richard had returned, but he met me in the foyer. The first thing I felt was a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “You took this case on purpose, didn’t you?” he snarled. “To humiliate Monica in front of everyone. Did that make you feel good, Claire? Did it make you feel powerful?” I clenched my fists, the nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t speak. Three years apart, and our reunion was this ugly, violent confrontation. Suddenly, it all felt so pointless. “Why did you refuse the divorce in court?” I asked, my voice flat. “I gave you an out.” A flicker of something—was it panic?—crossed his eyes. He ground his teeth. “What the hell is your problem, Claire? It’s just a child! Your own father had a child on the side, didn’t he? He abandoned you and your brother. Your mother put up with it, didn’t she?” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “Why can’t you?” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, the pain sharp and immediate. I stared at him, my eyes burning, the world shrinking to just his furious face. He knew. He knew my father’s affair and my mother’s subsequent death was the deepest wound of my life, a scar I never showed anyone. And he had just plunged a knife right into it. Seeing my silence, he grew more agitated. “It’s always cases, assignments in other countries, spouting legal jargon! For all these years, you’ve worn nothing but these soulless, black suits!” He paused, his lip curling in a sneer. “No man wants a hard-ass like you, Claire.” Then came the final, killing blow. “That’s why I said I was child-free,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Because the thought of being with you… it does nothing for me.” It was like a sledgehammer to the chest, shattering my ribs, my heart, my very soul. The shrill ring of a phone cut through my agony. Richard answered. I could hear Monica’s weak, panicked voice on the other end. “It was your wife, wasn’t it? She cut my brakes! If you didn’t want this baby, you could have just said so!” The line went dead. Richard’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He looked possessed. “Claire! What did you do to them? Did you touch them?” I was done with this man, this life. What more could I possibly do? Before I could answer, he was dragging me by the wrist, shoving me into his car. He deliberately prevented me from buckling my seatbelt, then peeled out onto the street, driving like a madman. We swerved through traffic, the tires screaming, until he deliberately smashed through a guardrail. I lunged for the steering wheel, but he threw me back against the passenger-side window with brutal force. “You have the guts to cut Monica’s brakes, but not enough to enjoy a little thrill ride?” he yelled over the engine’s roar. “If anything happens to them, Claire, I swear, this will be the last thing you ever experience!” Blood from a cut on my forehead streamed down my face, blurring my vision. He dragged me from the wrecked car and into the sterile brightness of a hospital, shoving me into a private room where, to my horror, his parents were already waiting. The moment they saw me, they looked at me as if I were a monster. His mother pointed a trembling finger at my nose, her voice laced with hatred. “Claire, I’m the one who begged them to have that child! If you have a problem, you take it up with me!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Your body was useless for eight years, not a single sign of life! Monica gave this family a child in your place! You should be on your knees thanking her, not trying to kill her!” My heart thudded painfully. So, it was true. Monica wasn’t just his mistress; she was sanctioned by the Vaughn family. Not just Richard, but his parents, too, saw her as the real Mrs. Vaughn. No wonder she could parade around New York with that title, and no one dared to correct her. A wave of suffocating grief and injustice washed over me. A doctor entered, looking awkward after his examination. “Ms. Monica just has a sprained ankle. The baby is completely fine.” But Richard didn’t care. He had them moved to the most expensive suite in the hospital, with a dozen specialists on call. “What if there are internal injuries?” he raged, turning his glare on me. “If something had happened to that baby, you would have been happy, wouldn’t you!” His mother quickly covered his mouth. “Don’t say such unlucky things! This is our precious grandson.” Then, she turned back to me. “What are you standing there for? Apologize to Monica. Now.” His parents had always looked down on my family, my career. They said I was too visible, too aggressive, that I lacked the quiet dignity of a high-society wife. I gritted my teeth, my gaze sweeping over their hostile faces. “I didn’t do it. You can’t convict me on her word alone. You need evidence.” The words were barely out of my mouth when another slap cracked across my face. It was Richard, his chest heaving with rage. “Evidence? Evidence! Do you have any idea how fast I could have you disbarred? I’ll sue you into oblivion, and you’ll never practice law again!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Eight years of marriage, erased by one woman and her child. As I looked at his enraged face, I was about to give in, to say whatever they wanted to hear, when my eyes caught something around the baby’s neck. A small, familiar chain. My heart seized. I looked at Richard, my voice a disbelieving whisper. “That’s my mother’s locket. You knew it was the only thing I have left of her. You stole it and gave it to him?” He stood there, hands in his pockets, without a trace of remorse. “It’s the only useful thing your mother ever left you,” he said coldly. “She failed to raise a decent daughter, but at least her trinket can protect the Vaughn family heir.” A roar filled my ears. I lost control. I lunged forward, a desperate, primal need to get it back consuming me. His parents shielded the baby. Monica clutched him, her face a mask of tear-streaked victimhood. “Please, just leave my baby alone!” she cried, ripping the locket from the infant’s neck. “Here, take it back!” A glint of silver flew through the air. It hit the marble floor with a sharp crack and split in two. My world stopped. My vision narrowed, my breath hitched. Everything went silent. A heavy shove sent me stumbling backward. “Don’t push it, Claire!” Richard yelled. He glanced at the broken pieces on the floor, his voice dismissive. “It’s a worthless piece of jewelry. Is it really worth all this drama?” Pushing it? Not worth it? I stared at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears, and a wild, broken laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Then agree to the divorce, Richard! Or who knows what I’ll be capable of next!” He froze, speechless. I never imagined that one angry, desperate threat would plunge me into a nightmare far worse than I could have ever conceived. Richard had the broken locket swept up and thrown out with the trash. That night, a torrential rain hammered the city. I was on my knees in a reeking landfill, digging through filth and garbage, searching for the pieces of my mother. My tears mixed with the rain as I screamed my anguish at the storm-blackened sky. “Mom,” I sobbed, “I finally understand the pain you went through.” My fingers were raw and bleeding, caked with mud, when the world finally went black. I collapsed amidst the ruins of other people’s lives. I woke to a splash of icy water. Richard’s face, dark and menacing, loomed over me. “Claire,” he seethed, “I really underestimated you.” “You threatened me yesterday, and today you acted on it. Where is the child? Tell me where you hid him!” He stared at me as if he wanted to rip open my chest and see the blackness of my heart. I curled my bleeding fingers into fists, pushing myself up from the cold floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The next thing I knew, one of his bodyguards kicked the back of my knees, and I crashed to the ground. Monica rushed forward, her face a performance of despair. “Claire, please, I’m begging you, just give me my baby back. I’ll disappear, I swear. I’ll never go near Richard again!” Looking at her phony, tear-streaked face filled me with nausea. I couldn’t stop myself. I spat at her, my voice raw with fury. “You hid him yourself! You’re framing me, you understand that? This is a crime!” Richard’s hand struck me again, harder this time. He shoved his phone in my face. A grainy security video played, showing a woman with my build, wearing my coat, carrying a baby away. “Still lying? That’s you on camera. What else do you have to say?” His face was a mask of pure disappointment. “I never thought you were this venomous. To harm a helpless infant…” “That’s not me!” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat. “That’s Monica! She set me up!” My mother-in-law, who had just arrived, rushed at me, pushing me hard. “You can’t stand Monica, can you? Today you kidnap her son, tomorrow you’ll kidnap her, and the day after that you’ll be coming for me!” Richard’s face went completely cold. Before I could say another word, he ordered his men to haul me to my feet. They tied my wrists to a pipe overhead. He picked up a thick leather belt, snapping it in the air with a menacing crack. “Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut, Claire.” One. Two. Three. The blows landed on my back and chest, each one a line of fire searing my skin. I could feel the flesh splitting open. By the tenth strike, Richard suddenly stopped. He handed the belt to a bodyguard. “Question her properly,” he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m going to look for the baby myself. God knows what this lunatic is capable of.” His back, as he walked away without a second glance, blurred and disappeared from my vision. As Monica followed him, she turned, and in the one spot he couldn’t see, she gave me a triumphant little smirk. My wrists burned from the ropes. Tears streamed down my face. Richard had never trusted me. Not once. Crack. The sound pulled me back. The bodyguard had dipped the belt in cold water, and the next lash felt like being branded with ice and fire at the same time. “Talk! Where did you hide the young master?” Each strike exploded against my skin before the pain from the last one had even begun to fade. “Please… stop…” I gasped. “This is… illegal…” They laughed, the strikes growing more vicious. My agonized screams echoed through the empty warehouse. By the ninety-ninth lash, I had nothing left. I hung like a broken doll, a mass of torn flesh, no longer able to struggle. As my consciousness faded into a merciful gray fog, a man’s furious roar ripped through the air. “ENOUGH!” Through a haze of pain, I looked up and saw Richard, stumbling, running towards me. But just before he could reach me, the doors burst open. The room was flooded with police officers in Chicago PD uniforms. They swarmed him, surrounding him completely. The captain at the front, my brother, slapped a warrant against Richard’s chest. “Richard Vaughn,” Julian snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “Bigamy and aggravated assault. Who the hell gave you the balls?”

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On my son’s fifth birthday, I discovered the texts between my husband Fred and his best friend’s widow. [Fred, the baby misses his daddy. When are you coming?] [Tom liked a matching family outfit. I ordered it for us to wear this weekend.] [Tom starts school tomorrow. I put you down as the father. Okay?] Fred’s replies were just as warm. [Sophia’s asleep. On my way.] [My size is 3XL.] [Of course. You two are my responsibility now.] Stunned, I called Fred from our son’s party to confront him. He didn’t deny it, just held me tightly. “Claire is my best friend’s widow. I promised to take care of them.” “I crossed a line, but it won’t happen again.” After ten years together, it felt absurd to end it over texts. I chose to believe him, and we returned to the party. Then his phone buzzed. Another message from the widow: [Fred, the baby is crying for you. I can’t calm him down.] A chair screeched. Without a word, Fred stood and walked out. I looked at my son’s pale, shocked face, and my expression hardened. Suddenly, divorce didn’t seem so absurd after all. 1 I hung up the phone with the divorce lawyer and glanced at my phone. It was two in the morning. Eight hours had passed since Fred had vanished from our son’s birthday party. Five hours had passed since the other woman had posted a picture of Fred putting her child to sleep. My son was asleep. The birthday cake on the table had melted, a sticky river of cream dripping onto the floor. It was disgusting, just like Fred’s promises. He still wasn’t home. Thinking of my son, who had been asking for his daddy even in his sleep, I sighed and closed the chat with the lawyer, getting ready for bed. The sound of a car pulled up outside. Someone hurried out, ran up the stairs, and knocked on my son’s door. “Noah? Are you asleep? Daddy’s home. Let’s finish celebrating your birthday, okay?” Fred, finally home, leaned against the doorframe, knocking gently, his voice a soft coo. This used to be just another unremarkable moment in our happy family life. But now, all I could think of was Claire’s social media post. [The baby was crying for his daddy, and what a good daddy he is, dropping everything to come right over. So touched.] Was he this gentle when he was comforting Claire’s child? I didn’t know. All I knew was that if this continued, Noah would wake up. After a few moments of silence, I opened the study door. “Stop knocking. He’s asleep.” A flicker of surprise crossed Fred’s face. “Asleep? But he told me he wouldn’t go to sleep unless I was here to celebrate with him.” “Honey, you didn’t teach him to be jealous too, did you?” He laughed, completely unconcerned, his eyes filled with a patronizing understanding. “Honey, you don’t need to overthink it. There’s nothing going on between Claire and me. It’s just for the child’s sake. He’s so young, and losing his father is hard…” “But our son is only five years old,” I cut him off coldly, looking at him as if he were a stranger. After eight years of marriage, how was I only now realizing that there was something seriously wrong with Fred’s eyes and his brain? Claire’s child was young, so he could cry and scream for a father figure. Our son had just turned five today. He was a few months younger. So, when Fred had pushed back his chair and run out, had he for a single second remembered that it was his own son’s birthday? When he was lying in Claire’s bed, gently reading a story to that other child, did he spare a single thought for the wife and child he had abandoned? Did he ever worry that our Noah might be crying too, wanting his daddy to be there to blow out his candles? But it didn’t matter anymore. We were getting a divorce anyway. I walked past him into Noah’s room and turned to close the door. Fred blocked it with his hand, his expression conflicted. “Honey, I know I was wrong. I swear it will never happen again. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” “I promise, this is the last time!” I smiled and reminded him, “Nine hours ago, you also told me it was the last time.” The air went still. So quiet you could almost hear our heartbeats. For the first time, a visible flicker of panic crossed Fred’s face. “Honey, you know Mark and I grew up together. As his brother, I just can’t…” He sighed, his gaze firming with resolve. “Honey, give me three more chances.” “After three chances, I promise I’ll sort things out with Claire and her son, and I’ll be there for you and Noah.” “Just trust me one more time, please?” A rustling sound came from the bed. I heard my son’s soft, choked sobs. He must have been awake for a while. The refusal died on my lips. I looked at my son, his eyes red as he pretended to be asleep, and silently agreed. Let’s just call it three more chances for my son to say goodbye. After three chances, there would be no place for Fred in this marriage, in this home. 2 The next morning, I overslept. Fred, instead of rushing off to work as usual, had made a huge breakfast for me and Noah. It had been a long time since we’d had a meal cooked by him. Three years ago, he used to wake up early every day to make breakfast for us, worried we weren’t eating enough. That habit disappeared after Claire became a widow. He started leaving earlier and earlier, and breakfast became more and more perfunctory. From handmade noodles to takeout from the corner store, to the freezer now overflowing with frozen food. The first time I threw a still-frozen bun into the trash, I told myself, “It’s no big deal. It’s just breakfast. What does it matter?” But now I realized it was all these “no big deal” things that had pushed Fred further and further away from this family. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts, and took Noah’s hand to head to school. Fred, stunned, grabbed a carton of milk and some eggs from the table, blocking our path. “You haven’t had breakfast yet! I got up at five to make this.” “Just eat a little before you go.” “Daddy, I haven’t eaten eggs since I was two,” Noah said quietly, his lip trembling with sadness. When he was two, Noah had choked on an egg yolk. It wasn’t serious, but it had left him with a lasting fear. The man froze, as if just remembering. He then tried to placate Noah, pushing the carton of milk into his hands. “Then drink some milk. I warmed it up for you.” “The doctor said I have a weak stomach and can’t drink milk,” my son said, looking up, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Daddy, you’re the one who told me all this.” Fred was stunned, looking to me for help, but I avoided his gaze. Noah was right. These were the little things Fred used to care about most. He used to say, “Honey, you and the kids just have to enjoy being taken care of by me. Don’t worry about anything else.” And “For my son, I have to be the perfect dad.” But now, he had even forgotten that his own son didn’t eat eggs. Fred seemed to feel a pang of guilt. He grabbed his keys from the table. “Alright, no breakfast then. Noah, Daddy will take you to school.” I did a quick mental calculation. It had been three months since either of us had been in his car. I opened the door and instinctively put Noah in his car seat. As I reached for the seatbelt, Fred suddenly grabbed Noah’s arm and yanked him out. Noah stumbled and fell right out of the car, hitting his head hard. A large gash opened on his forehead, and blood started to pour out. I stared at him in shock. “What are you doing?!” Fred hadn’t expected that to happen either. A flash of concern crossed his face, but there was no regret. “This is Tom’s special seat. He doesn’t like other people touching his things.” “Noah, Daddy didn’t mean it. You’re such a good boy, you understand, right?” My eyes burned with rage. I raised my hand to slap him, but Noah, sniffling, grabbed my hand. “Mommy, it’s okay. Don’t fight with Daddy.” “I’m a good boy. I don’t want Tom’s things.” He tried to sound brave, but his eyes were red. It had been the same last week. Fred had bought Noah a new toy. Claire had posted on social media that Tom wanted one too. So Fred had gone behind my back, convinced Noah to give up the toy, and delivered it to Claire’s house that same night. I had only found out about it yesterday. And what about the things I didn’t know? How many more were there? Looking at my son’s pale, weak face, I knew I couldn’t delay. I scooped him up and urged Fred, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go to the hospital!” The driver’s door opened. The man hurriedly buckled his seatbelt. Just as he was about to start the car, his phone rang. “I’ve got a great daddy, a great daddy…” On the other end, a little boy was sobbing hysterically. [Daddy, why aren’t you here to take me to school yet? Tom is going to be late!] [Daddy, you promised you would take Tom to school every day from now on! You broke your promise!] Claire’s helpless, gentle voice came through the car’s speakers. [Fred, Tom knows you didn’t stay with him last night, and he’s been throwing a tantrum all morning. I don’t know what to do.] [Can you please come over now?] Without a moment’s hesitation, Fred agreed and then kicked us out of the car. “Honey, you heard. I have to go calm Tom down. You and Noah can just take a cab.” And with that, the black Maybach sped away. I held my son, staring blankly at the disappearing exhaust fumes, and finally let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Noah, you see? That was the first time.”

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