Category: English

A month ago, I was laid off. I didn’t really have a problem with it, but my “brothers” from the Power Electronics Mafia… they had a big problem with it. Brother A: “She’s one of us. One of only two women to come out of Thorne’s lab. He thinks he can just fire her? Who the hell does he think he is?” Brother B: “Does he think we’re just a bunch of glorified electricians?” Brother C: “Forget talking. I’m going to short his company’s stock into the ground.” Brother D: “Short it.” 1. I had to laugh, looking at the messages flooding our group chat. The screen was a wall of violent financial threats and plans to remotely brick every server the company owned. I quickly sent a series of facepalm and “thank you” emojis to calm them down. My “brothers”—the alumni from our legendary professor’s lab—were famously protective. Especially of me, the youngest of the group and one of the few who had chosen to work on the front lines of the manufacturing industry. The company was called “Gridstone Power.” It sounds impressive. They make the “heart” and “nerves” of the smart grid: high-power converters, specialty power supplies, and the monitoring systems that keep it all stable. That sort of thing. My title was “Systems Integration Engineer.” I privately called myself the “Thorne Lab’s Chief Ambassador to Gridstone.” My job was a mix of being the company’s “technical mascot” and its “fire chief.” My boss’s name was Wallace. He was a hardcore “data is king” tech bro (or so he thought). The kind of guy who only sees the world in terms of cost, output, and lines of code. By his standards, in his hyper-quantified value system, my “direct contribution” was minimal. I didn’t design core circuits. I didn’t write control algorithms. I didn’t go into the field to tighten bolts bigger than my head. As a woman, he probably figured I couldn’t anyway. My value was in the invisible network behind me. I came from the “West Point” of American electrical engineering, mentored by an industry legend. My lab-mates, my “brothers and sisters,” were scattered across power companies, design firms, top equipment manufacturers, and research labs from MIT to Germany. Some of them held the keys to project approvals. Some specialized in fixing “gremlin” faults that no instrument could measure. Others were at the bleeding edge, knowing which way the technological winds would blow three years from now. But in Mr. Wallace’s eyes, I was a “tech freeloader,” mooching off the reputation of my alma mater. A disgrace to the lab. To him, my daily work consisted of staring blankly at oscilloscope waveforms in the lab, making a few “chatty” phone calls, and occasionally shipping and receiving weird packages (like a rare, out-of-production microchip for one brother, or a sample of a new magnetic material for another). Wallace’s mantra was: “In a tech company, technology is king. All this external relations stuff is just noise, a distraction. If we need an expert, we’ll hire a consultant. Why keep someone on payroll just for that?” 2. Wallace was a pure tech bro. He had zero respect for anything that couldn’t be quantified. On top of that, I was a woman, and he saw my technical skills as subpar. He couldn’t stand me. If it wasn’t for a senior “brother” putting in a good word, I never would have been hired. He thought my only real value was schmoozing and calling in favors. In his mind, that wasn’t a technical skill. It was something anyone could do, as long as the company was willing to write the checks. But he didn’t understand. In the world of high-power electronics, a world built on experience and trust, some doors can’t be opened with money. Some “dark sicknesses” buried deep in lines of code or circuit topologies can’t be solved by standard procedures. Some industry secrets are only shared with “family.” Like last time. A massive solar inverter station project for a key overseas client. During the final testing phase, the system would randomly trip on “overcurrent protection.” The waveforms were textbook-perfect, but every now and then, the whole thing would just hiccup and shut down. The team spent a week chasing their tails. Code reviews, hardware checks—nothing. The deadline for shipping was approaching, and the late-delivery penalties were astronomical. I had a cold at the time. Running a fever, I recorded a short audio clip of the faint, high-pitched “scream” the inverter made right before it tripped and sent it to a brother of mine at a top research institute in Germany. He listened for half a minute. “Kid,” he said over the phone, “that sound… it’s the bootstrap capacitor on the IGBT driver board. You’re using the Model XX, right? Probably from the ZZ batch. Their ESR is a little high, and it can cause sub-harmonic oscillations under certain load steps. Try swapping it out with a different batch.” With nothing to lose, the company sourced a new batch of capacitors overnight. The next day, the system ran as smooth as silk. At the project’s celebration party, Wallace lavished praise on the hardware team for their “tireless dedication and technical excellence.” No one mentioned the overseas phone call or the handful of capacitors that cost less than a hundred bucks. I sat in the corner, sipping my orange juice, looking at the slide on the screen that read “Engineering Excellence, A Team Victory.” Right, I thought to myself. The team. I was used to it. I couldn’t change my boss’s mind. The engineers who could draw the perfect circuit or write the most efficient code were the heroes. The person who just “made a phone call” was, at best, a decorative accessory. A line item that could be easily “optimized” in the next round of “efficiency improvements.” They never understood. That tiny, crucial capacitor was connected to a vast and intricate “technical nervous system.” And now, Mr. Wallace had personally yanked that capacitor right off the board. 3. Kevin, the guy in the cubicle next to me, saw my daily routine as being no different from the stray cats that hung around outside the building. A nice, but ultimately non-essential, part of the office ecosystem. Kevin was a star in the hardware department, and a tech bro through and through. The only things that existed in his world were waveforms, solder joints, and lines of code. He’d see me smiling at my screen, fingers flying across the keyboard, and assume I was slacking off, chatting with friends. In reality, I was monitoring our lab’s alumni Slack channel. A brother’s team just solved a decades-old problem with silicon carbide applications? I was the first to congratulate them. Another brother was ranting about the user-unfriendly design of a new power management chip from a major brand? I was right there with him, taking notes on the hard-won lessons. He’d see me comparing prices on obscure, old-school components and assume I was indulging in some weird retro hobby. He had no idea I was hunting for “happy pills” for my mentor and a few key senior brothers. My old professor had a passion for restoring vintage radios; a senior brother was a whiskey aficionado. A small, thoughtful gift builds more goodwill than a multi-million dollar consulting contract. He’d see me setting up online meetings and testing audio signals and think I was working on a side hustle. In reality, I was organizing our lab’s virtual “Tech Talks.” I found the speakers (my brothers were a ready-made list of top-tier experts), managed the schedule, and ran the sessions. It was a ton of work, but the result was a private, high-density technical community that acted as an invisible trend-spotter and problem-solving hub for the entire industry. And Gridstone Power, by virtue of my employment, got a front-row seat. We dodged countless technical bullets and even got a jump on new market opportunities. All of it, of course, invisible to the balance sheet. 4. One time, Kevin walked by my desk with his tea-infuser bottle. He glanced at my screen, where I was testing audio for a webinar, and sneered. “Networking again, Chloe? What’s the point of all this schmoozing? In our business, it all comes down to the circuit board. Clean waveforms are the only truth.” I just smiled. He had no idea. To him, the universe of power electronics was confined to his oscilloscope, his soldering iron, and his code repository. But I knew better. The most elegant design needs a skilled technician to build it. The most perfect code has to run on real silicon. And the most advanced technology is born in the minds of researchers and forged in the fires of the most difficult real-world applications. Connecting those minds and those applications is about trust. It’s about a shared academic lineage. It’s about a mutual understanding of the inside jokes and technical slang. What I maintained wasn’t a simple contact list. It was a living, breathing, high-voltage brain trust that could be called upon at a moment’s notice. It was the “hidden competitive advantage” that made our products a little more stable, our development cycles a little faster, and our understanding a little deeper. It was the company’s most important, and least visible, piece of infrastructure. And now, someone had decided it was redundant. 5. In the tech department at Gridstone, there was an unwritten rule: any “gremlin”—any fault that couldn’t be measured, couldn’t be explained by logic, and appeared at random—eventually ended up at my desk. Last year, a project nearly bankrupted the company. A centralized inverter station for a massive solar farm in Southeast Asia. It was a high-profile “vanity project” for Wallace himself. Everything went perfectly until the final full-power burn-in test before shipping. After a few hours of operation, the system would inexplicably shut down, reporting a “DC overcurrent fault.” Restart it, and it would run fine for a while, then die again. No pattern. No logic. It was like a ghost was randomly flipping a switch. Worse, all the monitored waveforms and data logs were perfect. Textbook examples. The hardware team checked every sensor. The software team reviewed every line of code. A week passed. Nothing. The client was calling three times a day. Wallace’s face went from pale to ghostly. The whole department was in a panic. The project manager, Dave, pulled me into a conference room. “Chloe,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead, “we’re out of ideas. Wallace is going to kill us. You… you don’t happen to have any… ‘home remedies,’ do you?” I had a feeling I’d heard of this symptom before. I searched our alumni Slack channel. Luck was on my side. I found a thread and got the private number of my “second brother,” a top expert in high-power converters. “Hey, kid,” he answered. “Rare for you to call. What’d you break?” 6. “Brother, I need a lifeline,” I said, and quickly described the problem. There was a pause, then the sound of typing. “Tch,” he said. “You’re using the G-Corp IGBTs, aren’t you? With the FX-7B driver board?” I was stunned. “Yes! How did you know?” “Knew it,” he said. “The bootstrap capacitor on that specific batch of boards has a slight ESR drift after it heats up. Under the right combination of load step and bus voltage fluctuation, it triggers a sub-harmonic oscillation. It’s a nasty, hidden problem. G-Corp doesn’t even mention it in their own application notes. We only know because we fell into the same trap. Swap the capacitor for a different batch and increase the capacitance value to X.” A capacitor? A fifty-cent component was about to sink a multi-million dollar project? We were desperate. The team worked through the night. They swapped the capacitors. They ran the burn-in test. The ghost was gone. The system ran perfectly. At the celebration party, Wallace gave a rousing speech about the team’s “grit and technical prowess.” The hardware and software leads were beaming. No one mentioned the capacitor. It was as if admitting the solution was that simple would diminish their heroic struggle. I sat in the corner, thinking of my brother’s motto: “Individual genius is nice. Team genius is what matters.” After the party, Wallace stopped by my desk. “Good work, Chloe. You did a good job helping the team gather research materials. Keep it up.” What could I say? If I told him the truth, he’d probably think even less of me. In his eyes, I was, at best, a glorified technical librarian. He would never understand that my brother’s private number was a direct line to a level of technical support that money couldn’t buy. He thought the problem was solved by “hard work.” He didn’t know it was solved by access to a world he didn’t even know existed. 7. The inevitable finally happened. A downturn in the economy sent a chill through the manufacturing sector. Gridstone was not immune. Investors wanted to see a “leaner” balance sheet. The Monday all-hands meeting was different. The usual upbeat music was gone. Wallace stood alone on stage. The slide behind him didn’t show soaring profits. It showed three cold words: COST REDUCTION. CORE FOCUS. STRATEGIC RESTRUCTURING. He spoke of “serious challenges” and “short-term pain.” He emphasized the need to “tighten our belts” and “focus all resources on core business functions.” “From now on,” he declared, “we will be conducting a thorough review of our organizational structure. We will be evaluating every employee’s direct output and quantifiable contribution to our core products. We will eliminate all unnecessary, redundant, and non-quantifiable indirect costs!” “Direct output.” “Quantifiable contribution.” “Indirect costs.” It felt like he was reading my job description. The engineers around me, the Kevins of the world, seemed to relax. Their work was “hardcore,” quantifiable. My role, which was more like an insurance policy, was suddenly on the chopping block. After the meeting, I got a message from my direct manager, Dave. “Chloe, you got a minute? Come to my office.” 8. Dave’s door was slightly ajar. He was staring at his computer, a spreadsheet open on the screen. I caught the words “Personnel Costs” and “Optimization” in the title. “Have a seat, Chloe.” He couldn’t look me in the eye. “The list… is it finalized?” I asked, cutting to the chase. He was taken aback by my directness. He nodded grimly. “Yes. HR just confirmed it.” He took a deep breath. “Our department… has one spot on the list. And… they’ve chosen you.” There it was. Even though I’d been expecting it, the words still felt like a punch to the gut. It was absurd. “Can you give me a reason?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to fight it. I just wanted to hear the official justification for my execution. “Chloe, your work is important,” he stammered. “I told them that. I told HR, I told Wallace. You solve the impossible problems, you connect us with experts…” “But,” he said, his voice dropping as he parroted the corporate line, “your contributions aren’t easily quantifiable. In their models, your KPIs aren’t as clear as a developer’s. Wallace feels that this kind of external liaison work isn’t a core necessity. It can be outsourced, or… handled by other engineers as needed. So… your position has been identified as a non-essential cost.” I knew this was Wallace’s decision. The storm had finally made landfall. And my little boat, the one that didn’t look like a warship, was the first to be capsized. 9. The official layoff meeting was held in the same small conference room where the company interviewed new hires. The irony was not lost on me. Across the table sat our HR director, a woman with a professionally sympathetic expression, and Dave, who looked like he was about to be sick. The HR director went through the script, thanking me for my contributions and explaining the N+1 severance package. I listened quietly. When she was finished, they both seemed to be waiting for an outburst. “I understand the company’s decision,” I said, my voice perfectly steady. “I have no objections to the process or the compensation.” The HR director visibly relaxed. Dave looked up, surprised. “However,” I continued, “I do need to properly hand over my work. There are a few… unique situations that the company should be aware of to avoid any future risks.” They both tensed up again. They realized I wasn’t going quietly. 10. “First,” I began, “across our three main product lines, there are seven key components whose validation data and proprietary debugging interfaces were negotiated exclusively by me. The notes and protocols are in my personal encrypted storage.” Dave’s brow furrowed. “Second, the joint R&D project with Dr. Chen’s lab on next-gen semiconductors. I am the only one who has been involved in the preliminary discussions. Their team only trusts me as the point of contact. A new person will have to re-establish that technical trust from scratch, which could significantly delay the project.” The HR director started shuffling papers, looking for a clause that covered “technical trust.” “Finally,” I said, “over the years, I’ve accumulated a certain amount of ‘technical goodwill’ and verbal agreements with a network of experts. These are favors owed to me personally, not to the company. They include things like priority technical support, first-look access to new samples, and insights into unpublished research. If the person who takes over my role isn’t aware of the history behind these relationships, they could be inadvertently nullified.” I paused, letting the implications sink in. “These ‘soft’ assets need to be handled with extreme care during the handover. Otherwise, the negative impact on the company’s future development and supply chain resilience could be… unpredictable.” The room was silent. There was no procedure in their HR manual for handing over “technical goodwill.” I had given my warning. Whether they listened or not was their problem. 11. Unsurprisingly, they assigned Kevin to take over my work. He stood by my desk, a mix of pity and impatience on his face. He clearly felt that taking over my “schmoozing” job was beneath him. “Alright, Chloe, let’s get this over with,” he said, his eyes already drifting back to the code on his laptop. I patiently went through my meticulously organized files. “This is the master list of all our external contacts. I’ve noted their specialties, their current research, and their communication preferences. For example, Dr. Schmidt in Germany prefers detailed emails in English. My brother Alex is fastest to respond, but he picks up his kids at 4 PM, so don’t call him after that. Professor Wang at the university has a ‘technical purity’ test; you’d better have read the datasheet cover to cover before you ask him a question, or he won’t give you the time of day…” Kevin glanced at my color-coded spreadsheet and sneered. “What’s the point of all this? If I have a technical question, I’ll just ask it. It’s about logic and principles, not all this… fluff.” I moved on. “This is the shared drive with all the internal notes from industry conferences, pre-publication research papers from my brothers’ labs, and our private trend analyses…” Kevin just grunted, his fingers tapping away on his keyboard. 12. I dragged the most important file over to his desktop: a single, encrypted contact card file. “This has everything. Private cell numbers, even personal hobbies.” He looked at it like I was handing him a dirty diaper. He truly believed Wallace’s mantra: with technology, you have everything. I swallowed the rest of my warnings. Some people have to learn the hard way. “Oh, one last thing,” I said, as if it were an afterthought. “The access key to our main simulation platform was generated by my old professor using a proprietary algorithm. It’s dynamic, and he built in a few backdoors that only he knows about. If you trigger a lockout, you’ll have to get him personally to fix it, and that would be… extremely difficult.” I emphasized “personally” and “extremely difficult.” Kevin just nodded, not really listening, already absorbed in his code. A nail doesn’t know it’s sharp until you step on it. I clicked “send,” forcing the keys to the kingdom on someone who didn’t want them. My treasure was his trash. So be it.

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1 The day the Hawthornes—the wealthiest family in Starling City—came to claim me, I was already one of the brightest stars in Hollywood. The homecoming was a media circus. Paparazzi swarmed the estate, their cameras broadcasting live to the entire nation. But as I approached the grand entrance, Chloe, the daughter they’d raised in my place, stepped forward to block my path. “Sister,” she began, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “we looked into you. You got famous off that indie film, didn’t you? The one with all the… explicit scenes. The Hawthornes have standards. You’ll have to change into something more appropriate before you can come inside.” She gestured to a small, smoldering brazier and a simple grey dress laid out beside it—a bizarre, humiliating purification ritual. “Dad said that when he and my brother are away, I’m the lady of the house. I hope you understand.” The old me would have played along, carefully managing my image, desperate for their approval. Too bad for her, I’ve been reborn. With a sharp kick, I sent the brazier clattering across the marble. I shoved Chloe aside, my voice ringing with cold fury. “A joke! You want to strip me down? You couldn’t afford the price tag on my coat, let alone the rest of me. Don’t you dare.” “Every part of me is insured for millions. You can’t even afford a single strand of my hair.” “‘Lady of the house’?” I scoffed. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I’ll have you on your knees begging before this day is over.” … My outburst was like a signal. The reporters surged forward, a tidal wave of flashing lights and shouted questions. The world exploded in a strobe of blinding white. “Sienna! Is it true? Are you really the long-lost Hawthorne heiress?” “You seem furious. Is it because you resent Chloe for taking your place?” “This temper doesn’t quite match your sweet public persona, does it?” The questions were like bullets, sharp and relentless. In my past life, I had meekly submitted to Chloe’s demands. My return became her stage. She used me as a stepping stone, then spent years spreading vicious rumors about my ‘promiscuous’ lifestyle until the relentless online hate drove me to despair and, ultimately, death. This time, I refused to be the sacrificial lamb for her ambition. Chloe stared, stunned into silence for a long moment before she finally snapped out of it. I ignored her and strode toward the doors, but she grabbed my arm. “Sienna, we’re all happy to have you back, but you can’t just disrespect the Hawthorne name like this!” Her voice rose, playing to the cameras. “Your big break was a movie where you showed everything! Dad was furious when he found out! A woman with your reputation has to be cleansed before entering this house!” She lunged, her fingers clawing at the fabric of my dress. I slapped her hand away, the sound cracking through the air. “You dare!” I snarled. “Even if I weren’t a Hawthorne, I’m a star worth millions! I’m warning you, Chloe. Touch me again, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” Chloe cradled her cheek, her eyes blazing with hatred. “You…!” This was the drama the paparazzi lived for. They shoved their microphones in Chloe’s face. “Ms. Hawthorne! Sienna is a huge star. Aren’t you happy to have a sister like her?” “She’s the real Hawthorne by blood. Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” A calculated smile spread across Chloe’s lips. “Of course, I’m happy. This wasn’t my idea; I’m just following my father’s wishes.” She preened for the cameras. “I’m preparing for my own debut, you know. But unlike some, I know there are lines you don’t cross. I would never sell my body for fame. So really, no one here is better than anyone else. I’m just acting as her older sister, as the lady of this house, and teaching her the Hawthorne way.” I let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Lady of the house? Let’s wait until the Hawthornes officially acknowledge you. For now, you’re just a cuckoo in the nest.” “You!” Chloe trembled with rage, but the cameras held her back. I smoothed my hair, my voice dripping with ice. “Well? Is this reunion happening or not? Because if not, I have places to be.” The reporters seized the opportunity. “We heard the Hawthornes initiated this reunion. Why are you turning Sienna away now?” “Are you really shunning her over that critically acclaimed art-house film?” “Is the world of the super-rich completely devoid of artistic taste?” Chloe’s face went pale, her lips trembling, but no words came out. It’s amazing what a little leverage can do. Just then, the old family butler, Mr. Thompson, hurried out. He bowed his head to Chloe. “Miss Hawthorne, your father saw the live stream. He’s on his way back!” Then he turned to me, his tone laced with contempt. “And he said actresses will be actresses. He told me to tell you not to be afraid, Miss Chloe. You are the only daughter of his heart. No one can bully you.” The reporters erupted. “Did you hear that? Even if Sienna comes back, Chloe’s position is secure!” “So much for a grand homecoming! She’s still second-class!” My phone buzzed violently. My agent, Amy, was screeching into my ear. “Sienna! For God’s sake, get out of there! Forget the reunion! The internet is exploding! They’re saying you’re an ungrateful brat! This is the richest family in the city!” “Do you have any idea how much Hawthorne money is invested in our agency?! Are you trying to kill me?!” I chuckled softly at her panic. “Relax, Amy. Just watch the show. I’ll handle the fallout.” Amy’s voice cracked. “My dear girl, that’s Caleb Hawthorne’s sister you’re messing with! The heir! He’s notoriously overprotective! Do you think he’ll let this go? The second the Hawthornes pull their funding, the agency will drop you so fast your head will spin!” Suddenly, there was a commotion on her end. “Oh, hell! I have to go! I just got a message from the Hawthorne Corp business affairs! Listen to me, Sienna! Come back now!” Dropped? I had to laugh. My adoptive mother was Eleanor Vance, a three-time Oscar winner. I’d just never told anyone, determined to make it on my own. As if the Hawthornes had the power to blackball me. Chloe, noticing I’d hung up, leaned in and whispered, a venomous smile on her face. “Looks like my brother is already making moves. I suggest you learn to behave. So what if you have Hawthorne blood? With that attitude, you’ll never set foot in this house again.” As if on cue, a flashy red sports car screeched to a halt with a dramatic drift at the main gate. The legendary Hawthorne heir, Caleb, stepped out, his face a mask of cold displeasure. Chloe’s expression instantly transformed. She scurried over, clinging to his arm like a damsel in distress. “Caleb… you’re finally here…” Caleb walked right up to me, his eyes raking over me with disdain. “So you’re Sienna.” The paparazzi held their breath, practically salivating. “Mr. Hawthorne! Sienna is one of the hottest stars in the country! Your long-lost sister! How do you feel?!” Caleb sneered. “She might share our blood, that’s true. But Chloe has been a Hawthorne for years. She’s the only sister I’ve ever known. Besides,” he added, his voice hardening, “Chloe is older. For Sienna to show up on day one and treat her with such disrespect… it just shows a complete lack of proper upbringing.” Just then, my phone rang again. Eleanor. She must be furious too. I ignored it. Caleb continued, his voice low and menacing. “I don’t care what kind of celebrity you are. The Hawthorne estate is not a stage for your publicity stunts. If you cause a scene here, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” The reporters buzzed, cameras trained on me, waiting for my response. I met their lenses with a smirk. “This is being broadcast live to the entire nation. Everyone saw who tried to rip my clothes off. How did that become me causing a scene?” I raised an eyebrow. “And didn’t you already pull the funding for my latest project just minutes ago? Who’s the one putting on a show now? I had no idea the great Hawthorne family was so skilled at twisting the truth.” The live-stream comments must have exploded. I could feel the tide of public opinion turning in my favor. Chloe’s face tightened. She quickly adopted a saintly, innocent expression. “Caleb didn’t mean it like that. He’s just always been protective of me.” She paused, then added with a tone of magnanimous charity, “We’re the Hawthornes. We can certainly afford to feed and clothe one more person.” Her eyes welled up. “Today was just about following family tradition. My sister must have misunderstood. After all,” she sighed, “she never had a proper education. She’s been working since she was a teenager. It’s only natural she’d have a more cynical view of the world.” I laughed and raised my hand as if to strike her. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and cowering away. I let my hand drop. “Do you know who first contacted me for a DNA test?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft. “Let me tell you something, Chloe. Whether this family accepts me or not is not up to an adopted little stray.” My biological mother had searched for me for years after I was lost. The guilt and despair eventually consumed her, and she took her own life. But long after, once I became famous, my face plastered on screens across the country, my maternal grandmother recognized me instantly. It was her—not some high-and-mighty patriarch or his arrogant son—who had begged me to take the test, who had longed for my return. Chloe’s eyes flew open. “So what if Grandma recognized you!” she shrieked. “This is the Hawthorne house! What she says doesn’t matter! My brother is the sole heir, chosen by Dad himself! If he says you can’t come in, you will never set foot past that door!” I chuckled inwardly. Not his real sister, indeed. She didn’t even know who truly held the power in this family. I calmly pulled over a patio chair and sat down, crossing my legs. A cool smile played on my lips. “Fine. Then we’ll wait for Mr. Hawthorne to get here.” The viewer count on the live stream was skyrocketing. Perfect. If I didn’t blow this up, these two would never learn who was really in charge. As I casually scrolled through the comments, a furious roar cut through the air. “What is going on?! When did my home become a public theater?!” I looked up. It was Charles Hawthorne, his face contorted with rage. I rose slowly, a mocking smile on my face. “No one’s putting on a show. Although some people seem to have gotten a little too comfortable playing a role that isn’t theirs.” Charles’s eyes swept over the sea of cameras, and his face turned a dark shade of purple. “Mr. Thompson! Get these vultures out of here!” The reporters protested. “On what grounds? We’re here for Sienna!” “Some welcome! The great Charles Hawthorne won’t even let his own daughter in the door! Is this how you do things?” A vein pulsed in Charles’s temple. “My daughter? For all I know, she’s just another gold digger trying to get her hands on the Hawthorne fortune! You think shooting a few skin flicks makes you royalty? We were willing to acknowledge her, and this is the thanks we get? She shows up and tries to drag our family’s century-old reputation through the mud!” I looked at him, the irony thick enough to choke on. This man, who had changed his own name to marry into wealth, had the audacity to lecture me about integrity. Caleb, thinking my silence was fear, puffed out his chest. He snapped his fingers at the security guards. “Get them all out! And I want you to monitor the news for the next few days. If I see a single negative story about this family, there will be consequences.” The reporters exchanged uneasy glances. Most of them lowered their cameras, seemingly forgetting that their live feeds were still running. Chloe pointed a finger at me, her voice dripping with scorn. “Looks like this reunion is off. Maybe when the ‘big star’ is ready to change her clothes and step over the brazier, we can talk.” Charles glared at me with disgust. “Don’t think a little shared DNA gives you the right to throw your weight around here! We don’t welcome women who sell their bodies in this house! Now get out before you dirty the place!” Just then, a powerful, commanding voice thundered from the gate. “I’d like to see who dares touch a single hair on my granddaughter’s head!” An imperious, white-haired woman leaning on a cane strode onto the property. She was the true matriarch of the family—my grandmother. Charles, Caleb, and Chloe froze, their faces a mask of pure shock. They clearly hadn’t expected her. After my mother’s death, my grandmother had moved to a neighboring city, leaving the day-to-day operations of Hawthorne Corp. to Charles. She never involved herself in family affairs. In my last life, she was the one who brought me home. But I was too timid then, too eager to please. She thought I was happy. When Chloe’s lies began to circulate, she had tried to help, but by then, I was lost in my depression and pushed her away. Seeing her now, my eyes burned with tears. “Grandma…” I choked out. Her gaze softened with heartache as her wrinkled hand gently cupped my cheek. “Sienna, my girl. It’s my fault. I should have been here on such an important day.” Charles’s jaw was hanging open. “Mom… why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” THUD. Her cane struck the ground with startling force. “I finally find my daughter’s lost child, and this is how you treat her?!” She whirled on Charles, her voice a whip crack. “I wouldn’t have known what a disgrace you are if I hadn’t seen the live stream!” “You are nothing but a son-in-law who married into this family! When did it become your place to pass judgment on my blood?!” The reporters, who had been cowed just moments before, sprang back to life. Cameras flashed, microphones were aimed. “Unbelievable! The CEO of Hawthorne Corp is just a son-in-law!” “A real-life succession battle! The tables have turned!” Sensational headlines scrolled across the live feed. Charles’s face cycled through shades of green and white. He shoved Caleb in front of him like a shield. “Get out! All of you! I’ll sue you for invasion of privacy!” Chloe, so arrogant moments ago, was now pale and frantic. She tugged at our grandmother’s sleeve, pleading in a low voice, “Grandma… please, don’t make a scene… This is embarrassing for Hawthorne Corp…” The old woman ripped her arm away. “Don’t you dare call me Grandma! Sienna is my only grandchild! And the only embarrassment here is you!” A reporter shouted, “Does that mean Caleb Hawthorne isn’t your grandson either?!” “He’s the son Charles brought with him from a previous relationship!” she declared, her voice ringing with fury. “My daughter and Charles were a blended family! I never should have allowed it! I never should have let this ungrateful parasite into our home!” The entire scene erupted. The live-stream chat exploded with a torrent of shocked comments and memes. Caleb’s face was a thundercloud. He grabbed Charles and Chloe and stormed into the villa. My grandmother took my hand, and we followed them inside. Under the glittering crystal chandeliers, she slammed her cane onto the marble floor. The sound echoed through the vast hall. “Charles Hawthorne! Get on your knees!” Charles flinched, but defiance hardened his features. “Mom, what is this? I’m the CEO of Hawthorne Corp!” “CEO? You’re nothing!” she spat. “Without the Hawthorne name, you are nothing! You were a penniless nobody when my daughter took pity on you! Do you think you’d have any of this without her?” She leaned forward, her eyes blazing. “And don’t forget the promise you made when she passed. I told you that if you behaved, Hawthorne Corp would be yours after I was gone. But as it stands, the majority shares are still in my name! You’re just a glorified manager!” Seeing Charles remain defiant, my grandmother snatched an antique vase from the coffee table and hurled it at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself!”

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Julian Ford was a masterpiece. I figured if I was going to have a first love, it might as well be him. Even if we broke up, there would be no regrets. So I went after him. Hard. He was caught off guard by my pursuit, then intrigued, and finally, he gave in, but not without laying out the terms: we could date, but we would not get married. The moment we graduated, we were over. I agreed instantly. For three years, we lived out a picture-perfect romance. And on graduation day, just as planned, I was the one to bring up the breakup. That’s when he backed out. I was floored. “But we had a deal, right? We break up when we graduate!” I remember how that day ended. Our conversation had completely fallen apart. Julian, who always held his head so high, lowered it and laughed, a bitter, self-mocking sound. “Summer Hayes,” he said, “you better pray we never cross paths again.” From that day on, I made a point to avoid him. But sometimes, God flicks a finger, the world shrinks, and two people are bound to meet again. 1 Julian and I operated under a silent, unspoken rule. We were a campus couple, and that’s all we were. Once we stepped off university grounds for holidays or breaks, we went back to our separate lives and ceased all contact. In those times apart, he was Julian Ford, scion of a powerhouse New York family, and I was just Summer Hayes, a nobody from Charlotte, North Carolina. No texts, no calls, no questions about what the other was doing. It was as if we were single again. I assumed this strange, compartmentalized relationship would last until our pre-planned breakup. But the summer after sophomore year was unusually long—a full eighty days. Before we left campus, Julian asked me, “Are you going to miss me?” I wrapped my arms around him, playing the part. “Mmmhmm, I’ll miss you like crazy.” He pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head, but he was smart enough not to say something foolish like, “Then call me if you miss me.” I’d always admired that rationality in him. His family was in a different stratosphere. His future wife would be chosen from a similar world. We both knew we had no future. This was just a phase, a chance to experience a pure, insulated college romance, and I just happened to be his type. On campus, Julian was my boyfriend. Off campus, when he was a Ford heir, he didn’t want me intruding on his life. I understood, and I played my part perfectly, never crossing the line. What I never could have predicted was that Julian would be the one to break his own rule. The summer was dragging on, and he sent me a message. He was coming back to campus early—a full month before our agreed-upon return date. I was surprised and texted back playfully, “Why so early? Miss me already?” He never replied to that message. But after that, whenever a long break came up, Julian would ask, “Want to go on a trip somewhere?” Most of the time, I’d say yes. We traveled to so many places together. We watched the stars in the vast, open desert of Joshua Tree and saw the sun melt into the ocean in the Florida Keys. I’d get lost in the scenery, completely absorbed, which is why Julian’s sudden kisses always made me jump. He loved to cup my face in his hands, his body pressing down on mine. It was a dominant, possessive kind of kiss. When it came to anything physical, Julian liked to be in control, liked me to be the one yielding to him. But every single time we got to the point of no return, I’d be the one to kill the mood and whisper, “Stop.” His eyes would be clouded with desire, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled for control. He wouldn’t speak, just raise an eyebrow, a silent “Why?” My answer was always the same: “I don’t want to.” Even when he was practically vibrating with need, slick with a thin sheen of sweat, he would stop. Every time. He’d get up, go to the bathroom for a cold shower, and come back to bed to just hold me while we slept. After I’d stopped him enough times, I think he started to figure it out. Eventually, whenever things would start to heat up, he’d pull away on his own and head for a cold shower before I even had to say a word. There was only one exception. One day, he saw a text on my phone from a friend. “Who’s this?” he asked. I didn’t hide it. “A friend from back home in Charlotte.” He didn’t say anything else then, but that night, he was forceful, insistent. I tried to push him away. He pinned my wrists above my head, his body trapping mine. I turned my face away from his kiss, my voice sharp. “Julian, I don’t want this!” “Why not?” he demanded, his voice rough. “Because of your friend in Charlotte?” For a man who was usually the definition of pride and control, his jealousy made him possessive and irrational. I never spelled it out, but I knew Julian understood. The reason I wouldn’t go all the way with him was because I knew he wasn’t the one I would end up with. I didn’t want our connection to become any deeper than it already was. Julian was a gentleman. He understood my reservations and never forced me. But after that night, every time we were intimate, it felt like he was competing with a ghost, pushing the boundaries, testing my resolve. 2 Junior year, second semester. The date we’d set for our breakup was getting closer. The thought of it ending left a hollow ache in my chest. To avoid future pain, I started preparing myself emotionally, detaching piece by piece. That year, Julian planned a trip to England. The second day we were in Kent, while I was still jet-lagged and fast asleep, a group of people burst into our hotel room. I was pulled out of bed, forced into a wedding dress, and my face was made up into a flawless bridal look. Before I knew it, I was being led to a horse-drawn carriage waiting outside. I had no idea when Julian had arranged all of this. He and I had a wedding ceremony in Canterbury Cathedral, officiated by a real priest. There were no guests. Just the two of us. A wedding that meant nothing in the eyes of the law. It wasn’t until the moment we exchanged rings that I finally understood why, for his birthday that year, he had broken tradition and asked me for a gift: a simple ring. It was so that in this moment, I would have something to give him. It was a fake wedding. We both knew it. But that night, when Julian, breathing heavily, started to pull away to take his usual cold shower, I reached out and stopped him. I pulled him back onto the bed and kissed him with everything I had. A tremor went through his entire body. “Summer,” he breathed out, his voice shaking. “It’s our wedding night, Julian,” I murmured against his lips. “Don’t be a spoilsport.” And just like that, I gave in. Who cares what happens tomorrow? I thought. Just for today, I, Summer Hayes, am Julian Ford’s bride. I let myself be reckless. Just this once. I thought it would be just once, but it turned out to be many times. Some boundaries, once crossed, can never be rebuilt. You just keep retreating, losing more ground. Julian and I were both out of control, the brakes had failed. I told myself it was just a final, wild countdown. A way to create one last, insane memory, to make my time with Julian Ford truly count for something. I wasn’t sure when Julian would bring up the breakup. After all, our agreement was simple: date, don’t marry, break up at graduation. There was no specific day circled on the calendar. I waited in agony for a while, but he never said a word. My flight back to Charlotte was booked, and I couldn’t put it off any longer. We needed a formal goodbye. I asked him to meet me at a quiet restaurant near campus and I broke up with him. I thought I knew how he would react. I expected his usual cool, composed demeanor. A graceful acceptance, a polite and gentlemanly farewell. I never expected him to just look at me silently and say, “No.” I was so stunned I couldn’t process it. “No? What do you mean, no?” He stared deep into my eyes. “Summer, I don’t want to break up.” 3 My mind went into a tailspin. Julian was not the kind of person to go back on his word. He was a man of honor, always true to what he said. That’s why I had been so certain that our breakup was inevitable. I never, ever imagined he would change his mind. When did he change his mind? How did I miss it? Panic started to bubble up inside me. I had never, for a single moment, considered a future with Julian Ford. Graduating and breaking up was, in my mind, the perfect, happy ending for both of us. His last-minute reversal threw me completely off balance. I couldn’t speak, just stared at him in disbelief. My reaction was clearly not what he’d been hoping for. A rare urgency crept into his voice. “I know what you’re worried about.” “Summer, just give me five years.” “Five years from now, I promise you, no one in the Ford family will interfere with my marriage.” “When that time comes, we’ll have a real wedding. We’ll invite all our friends and family. We’ll get a marriage license with the state seal on it and we’ll tell the whole world that we belong to each other.” “Summer,” he asked, his voice pleading, “what do you say?” Faced with his earnest gaze, my own eyes darted away guiltily. I forced the words out, my voice tight and stuttering. “But… we had a deal. We break up when we graduate.” Julian flinched, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What?” It had come to this. If I didn’t lay it all out, this would only get messier. I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “I want to break up.” His gaze shot towards me, so sharp it felt like it could physically pierce my skin. He rested his arms on the table, his eyes locked on mine, and a chilling aura radiated from him. “Why?” The word was quiet, almost lifeless, as if he wasn’t asking a question so much as daring me to confirm his worst fears. I had never felt this kind of pressure from him before. Deciding to just rip the Band-Aid off, I let everything I’d been holding back spill out. “Because we don’t fit. We’re from different worlds.” “I don’t have big ambitions, Julian. I just want a comfortable, peaceful life. Eat good food, sleep well.” “I don’t want to be picked apart by your family because I don’t come from money.” “And I don’t want to spend my life navigating the complicated social politics of your world.” “If I marry you, all of that is inevitable.” “So, the truth is… I never, ever planned on building a future with you.” As I spoke, my voice got quieter. I suddenly realized that compared to him, I was the cruel one. He was meticulously planning a future for us, and I was meticulously calculating my escape route. It was as if we were on a battlefield together; he was ready to fight to the death for me, while I had already packed my bags, ready to desert without a second glance. “I’ve said everything I need to say,” I mumbled, scrambling to my feet, desperate to escape. “I’m leaving. You take care.” I turned to go. A hand clamped down on my arm. It felt like a vice, refusing to let go. My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked back. Julian was still sitting, looking up at me. He, the proudest man I knew, looked like he’d been caught in a freezing rain, a coldness radiating from him that chilled me to the bone. He asked, his voice raw, “If you never saw a future with me, why did you give yourself to me?” My breath hitched. I yanked my arm free and forced a casual tone. “I can’t believe you’re actually hung up on that. It wasn’t a big deal to me.” He recoiled as if I’d stung him, his eyes shattering into a million pieces. Then, he pulled his lips into a bitter, self-deprecating smile and stood up. His tall frame instantly cast a shadow over me. He stood straight, too proud to bend, just lowering his gaze to look down at me. “Summer Hayes, you better pray we never cross paths again. Because if we do, I don’t know what I’ll do.” My face was a mask of indifference, but my palms were slick with sweat. A wave of regret washed over me. I never should have gotten involved with him. That day, I fled from the restaurant and didn’t look back. I ran all the way back to Charlotte. From then on, even when I traveled, I deliberately avoided New York City. I thought I would never see Julian Ford again. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans… 4 My cousin Chloe was marrying into money, and she invited me to her wedding. It was being held in New York City. As soon as I heard the location, I politely declined. But then, the groom’s family reviewed the guest list from Chloe’s side and circled a single name: mine. Apparently, I was the only one deemed “acceptable” enough to attend. In other words, Chloe’s own parents weren’t allowed at her wedding. The only people from her side would be me and a few bridesmaids. My aunt, Chloe’s mom, came to my house personally to beg me. She wanted me, as the sole family representative, to be there to “have Chloe’s back.” I was forced to accept the absurd responsibility. We were put up in a luxury hotel. The wedding was the next day. The night before, some girl added Chloe on social media and sent her a dozen photos of herself getting cozy with the groom-to-be, along with a video. A “Bachelor’s Last Hurrah” party was in full swing at a villa about twenty miles from our hotel. The video showed the girl and Chloe’s fiancé in a full-on, passionate kiss. Chloe calmly shut off her phone and turned to me and the six other bridesmaids. “Alright, ladies,” she said, “Let’s go crash a party.” I never thought I would see Julian again. New York is a huge city. The odds had to be infinitesimal. My first time back in four years, and I’d just happen to run into him? But the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Chloe was there to make a statement. She marched right up to the girl from the video and slapped her, hard. The girl, indignant, looked to the groom, Kyle Holt, for support, only to find him watching with an amused grin, making no move to defend her. What the girl didn’t know was that Chloe and Kyle had an arrangement. He could fool around all he wanted, and Chloe would turn a blind eye, on one condition: if any of his flings ever got bold enough to challenge her directly, he was not to interfere when she put them in their place. The girl had drastically overestimated her importance. Chloe grabbed her by the hair and literally threw her out of the party. Kyle, as if nothing had happened, shut the door behind her, then casually wrapped an arm around Chloe’s waist. “Don’t be rude,” he said cheerfully. “Since you’re here, you should go say hi to Julian.” Chloe, who had just been in a brawl, her collar askew and her hair a mess, calmly straightened her clothes. “Okay,” she said. “Let me just fix myself up, and I’ll be right over.” Kyle left her and headed over to a table where a group of impossibly good-looking people were sitting, looking far more civilized than the rowdy crowd by the pool. Chloe glanced in their direction, then motioned for the bridesmaids to huddle close. “See that table?” she whispered. “Any of those guys are fair game, except for the one in the middle.” Curious, I followed her gaze to the man in the middle. My breath caught in my throat. It took me a long moment to look away. I saw him. He hadn’t seen me. It was Julian. Four years older, Julian was different. The last traces of boyish youth were gone, replaced by a deep, steady intensity in his eyes. He carried himself with an air of quiet, formidable authority. One of the bridesmaids, a stunning girl named Isabelle, had her eyes fixed on him. “Why not him?” she asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice. Chloe tugged on her arm, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “He is way out of our league. Don’t even think about it, unless you want to get seriously burned.” Isabelle, who had a proud streak, just gave a soft “Oh,” as if she was taking the advice. 5 I told Chloe I wasn’t good at socializing and would sit this one out. “Are you insane?” she said, dragging me forward. “You’re gorgeous! You need to be meeting guys like this!” She was like a bulldozer. Fearing she’d make a scene, I gave in and followed her to the table. Chloe greeted Julian respectfully, calling him by a nickname I’d never heard. “Julian, hi!” Julian was as polite and charming as ever, but… something was different. There was a new layer of distance to him, a polite wall that made him seem friendly but utterly unapproachable. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Chloe said, flashing a brilliant smile. “I would have brought my girls over sooner.” Isabelle seized the opening. “It’s so nice to meet you, Julian,” she said, mirroring Chloe’s greeting with a flirty tone. Julian glanced at her, his own smile faint and noncommittal. Another guy at the table smoothly intervened. “Not many people get to call him Julian. You should probably stick with Mr. Ford, like the rest of us.” Isabelle playfully stuck out her tongue. “My apologies, Mr. Ford.” She handled the awkward moment with impressive grace. I was silently applauding her social skills when Chloe suddenly announced, “And Julian, this is my cousin, Summer Hayes.” She stepped aside, leaving me completely exposed. The world seemed to brighten as several pairs of eyes landed on me. The one pair, straight ahead, was the sharpest. The moment his gaze hit me, I felt a physical force, a wave of sheer intensity. I knew I couldn’t escape. I slowly lifted my head and met his eyes, looking at that face that was so familiar and yet so strange. My hand clenched into a fist. Forcing a calm I didn’t feel, I smiled. “Mr. Ford. It’s nice to see you again.” Julian’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He just stared at me, saying nothing, his expression cold and unreadable. The atmosphere wasn’t terrible, on the surface. We were both masters of disguise. No one could have guessed the history simmering between us. Chloe continued introducing her friends, and the bridesmaids tried to mingle. Julian’s friends were all friendly enough, and the conversation flowed easily. Until Julian suddenly spoke. “Summer Hayes.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter and silenced the entire table. My heart gave a painful thud, and my eyes snapped to his. He was still seated, looking up at me, his face impassive. Four words left his lips, slow and deliberate. “Long time no see.” A deafening silence fell over the table. After what felt like an eternity, Chloe found her voice, her tone filled with shock. “Wait, Summer… you and Mr. Ford… you know each other?” And there it was. The question, hanging in the air for everyone to hear. I was speechless. After a moment of careful consideration, I gave my answer. “We were classmates.” Julian, who had been watching me intently, flinched almost imperceptibly at my words. He rose from the sofa and walked towards me. He moved slowly, but with a heavy, oppressive energy, like a storm cloud gathering thunder. He stopped right in front of me and asked, his voice laced with a bitter self-mockery, “So, I don’t even qualify as an ex-boyfriend?”

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On our daughter’s one-month celebration, I caught my best friend on my husband’s lap. “Ryan,” she purred, “you sure your wife hasn’t guessed I swapped our babies?” “Not a chance,” he scoffed. “That stupid bitch dotes on ‘our daughter’ nonstop. What about her brat? Why isn’t she with you?” “I tormented her for a month—got boring. Held her head underwater in the tub till she stopped moving. You’re her dad too… don’t get soft, right?” My husband looked disgusted. “Like I care if that brat lives or dies. I only married Eleanor for her family’s money. Once our daughter inherits everything, I’ll kick her out.” I wiped a tear and pretended to overhear nothing. I poured my all into raising their daughter. Twenty years later, she came back from studying abroad. I transferred all my company shares and assets to her name. At the press conference, my best friend Chloe walked up with Ryan, waving a DNA report. “Hospital mix-up years ago,” she announced. “Ava’s our biological daughter. You’ve had her long enough—time to give her back.” Ryan slid a divorce agreement and debit card across the table. “Sign this so we can be a family. Five grand on the card—payment for your ‘services.’” A cold smile tugged at my lips. “Fine.” 1 “Honey, I noticed you had a little cough yesterday, so I woke up early to make you some warm pear soup. Here, drink it while it’s hot.” Ryan, my ever-thoughtful husband, gently placed a bowl in front of me, his eyes overflowing with what looked like pure adoration. “Dad, you’re so good to Mom,” our daughter, Ava, chirped from across the breakfast table. Yes. He was. Everyone could see how well Ryan treated me. He always sensed my moods, comforting me with sweet words and thoughtful surprises. When I was sick, he was by my side, catering to my every need. In our most intimate moments, he would hold me tight and whisper that marrying me was the best thing that had ever happened to him. If I hadn’t overheard that conversation twenty years ago, I never would have believed that this tender, devoted man was a soulless monster. I took the soup and drank it in silence. A moment later, the doorbell rang. “It must be Auntie Chloe!” Ava squealed, jumping up from her chair and running to the door. There stood my best friend, her arms laden with shopping bags. “Ava, sweetie!” she beamed. “It’s getting colder, so your godmother bought you some new winter clothes. And I know how much you loved those pastries I made last time, so I brought you some more.” Ava’s eyes curved into happy crescents. “Thank you, Auntie Chloe! You’re the best!” Chloe set the bags down and pulled Ava into a tight hug. “Of course, I am, darling. You’re my precious angel! I wish I could give you everything good in this world.” She led Ava to the table and then looked at me. “Eleanor, Ava told me there’s a parent-teacher conference today. Do you think… maybe I could go?” Her face fell into a practiced mask of sorrow. “You know how it is. I wasn’t as lucky as you. I married a good man and have a perfect daughter. My ex-husband ruined my life, and that poor thing I gave birth to… she was so fragile, she drowned in the bathtub. I never even got the chance to go to a parent-teacher conference.” Her eyes darted between Ryan and Ava, a picture of tragic longing. For years, she had used her daughter’s early death as an excuse to overstep every boundary. It wasn’t just the daily visits. She planned Ava’s birthday parties every year. She took her on special outings for holidays. On Mother’s Day, she would take Ava out alone, posting dozens of selfies of their “special day” online. Whenever I questioned it, her excuse was always the same. “My poor baby is gone, and I don’t think I can ever have another. We’re best friends, Eleanor. I just want to love Ava as if she were my own.” Before I could answer, my husband chimed in. “Eleanor, Chloe’s been through so much. It would mean the world to her. Just let her go and experience it.” The three of them stared at me, their eyes filled with eager anticipation. I forced a small smile. “Of course. I’m busy today anyway.” Chloe’s face lit up. Ava clapped her hands in delight. After breakfast, Chloe whisked Ava off to school, with Ryan insisting on driving them. I watched the three of them leave, a happy little family, and said nothing at all. 2 Perhaps they thought I was so easy to fool that I’d never notice a thing. Chloe’s audacity grew with each passing year. At first, she only met Ryan in secret when I was at the office. Now, she’d find any excuse to come over, even when I was home. “Eleanor, I’ve been teaching myself to cook! I thought I’d come practice on you guys.” “Eleanor, I just got back from the countryside and brought you some fresh produce!” “Eleanor, my pipes burst! Can I please stay with you for a few days?” I knew perfectly well that she was only there to see Ryan and Ava, but I never turned her away. I welcomed her politely every time, agreed to every request. Ryan was more than happy with this arrangement. His lips would curl into an unconscious smile whenever she appeared. Sometimes, he and Chloe would exchange flirtatious glances right in front of me. Even Ava grew closer to her “godmother,” buying her a special pair of house slippers to keep at our home for her frequent visits. This charade continued until Ava’s final year of high school. The day her SAT scores were released, Chloe arrived first thing in the morning to wait with us. When the abysmal results came in, Ryan feigned outrage. “How could you score this low?” he demanded. Ava just shrugged. “We’re rich. Why would I kill myself studying? Mom can just buy me a degree from somewhere, can’t she?” Ryan shot a quick glance in my direction. Seeing no reaction from me, he pressed on. “Your mother loves you, but even she can’t let you throw your life away like this! She works so hard managing the company. You need to step up! How are you going to help her? How can she trust you with her legacy?” Chloe immediately jumped in. “Ryan, relax. Eleanor is Ava’s mother. Of course, she’s going to take care of her.” “Exactly,” Ava added. “I’m her only daughter. She owns all those companies. It’s not like she’s going to let me starve.” Chloe gave Ava a look of approval, then turned to me. “Eleanor, Ava is a good kid. You can’t let her go to some third-rate college. What if she gets bullied? Why don’t you just make her a general manager at your company? Let her start learning the ropes.” Over the years, coddled by Chloe and Ryan, Ava had become arrogant, lazy, and utterly incompetent. She didn’t even qualify for an unpaid internship at my company. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I put on a serious face. “A general manager? That’s not nearly enough. She’s my only daughter. She deserves everything I have. I’ve already made a plan. First, I’ll send her abroad to get a proper education. When she returns, I will hand over the entire company to her.” At my words, Chloe’s eyes lit up. She burst out laughing. “Yes! Exactly! A brilliant girl like Ava was born to be a CEO!” She clapped her hands. “I’ve always said it. Ava was destined for greatness. So much better than that worthless, short-lived brat of mine.” Ryan and Ava nodded enthusiastically, their faces beaming. Watching the three of them dissolve into triumphant laughter, I smiled too. They were laughing at my foolishness. I was laughing at their naivety. 3 While handling the university applications, I brought Ava to the office with me every day, teaching her the ins and outs of the business without holding anything back. The day she left for her flight, Chloe made a special trip to see her off, bringing a mountain of gifts, as if terrified Ava wouldn’t survive on her own. She fussed over her endlessly, a perfect picture of a mother’s loving concern. After Ava boarded, Chloe stood watching the plane until it was just a tiny speck in the sky. Only then did she turn away, her eyes glistening with tears. With Ava gone, Chloe’s visits became less frequent. Ryan, however, started going out more and more. He would come home looking completely drained. When I asked, he’d say he was out with friends, or that he’d joined a gym to stay in shape. When he ran out of excuses, he’d sigh dramatically. “I raised Ava myself, you know. She’s never been away from me before. I just miss her so much. If I don’t keep busy, I think I’ll go crazy.” I ignored the cloying scent of Chloe’s perfume on his collar and offered my fake comfort. “She’ll be back before you know it. Then our family can be together again.” Ryan gave me a strange, knowing smile. “Yes. Soon, our family of three will finally be reunited.” Three years later, Ava returned. Chloe, who I hadn’t seen in ages, was at our house at the crack of dawn, ready to go to the airport with us. The moment she saw Ava, Chloe burst into tears and ran to embrace her, holding her in a fierce, possessive hug. After they’d had their emotional reunion, Ava walked straight up to me. “Mom, I’m back,” she said, wasting no time. “When are you giving me the company?” I looked at her eager, impatient face and smiled faintly. “Let’s go. I’ve already called a press conference. I’m going to give you everything, right now, in front of the whole world.” 4 The press conference was a circus. The room was packed with reporters, business leaders, and the city’s elite, all gathered to witness the transfer of power at the colossal Sedgwick Corporation. Under the glare of a hundred cameras, I announced that my daughter, Ava, would be succeeding me as CEO. Then, with lawyers and journalists as my witnesses, I signed the transfer agreement, handing over every asset, every share, and every company I owned to her name. The room erupted in thunderous applause. People marveled at our deep mother-daughter bond, their eyes fixed on Ava with unconcealed envy. It was at that precise moment that Chloe and Ryan made their grand entrance, arm in arm. As a confused murmur rippled through the crowd, Chloe held up a DNA report and addressed me in a loud, clear voice. “Eleanor, I won’t lie to you anymore. Ryan and I have been in love for years. We had our daughter at the same time as you. But there was a mix-up at the hospital. Ava is our biological child. You’ve been squatting on her for twenty years. It’s time to give her back to us.” The room exploded. “Isn’t that Chloe, Eleanor’s best friend? She was sleeping with her husband and had a baby with him?” “But wait, Chloe’s baby died after a month! If they were swapped, does that mean… it was Eleanor’s biological daughter who died?” “That’s monstrous! She steals her husband, and then gets her daughter killed? And now she shows up right after Eleanor signed over her entire fortune? Is she even human?” Amid the uproar, Ryan spoke, his voice filled with self-righteous indignation. “For years, I was trapped in a loveless marriage. As a man, I tried to do the responsible thing. But night after night, I asked myself, is this the life I truly want? Eleanor provided a good life for me and Ava, but my heart has always belonged to Chloe. I’m just a man trying to follow his heart. Is that so wrong? Marriage should be about happiness, and so should divorce. I hope you can all wish us well!” He sounded like a tragic hero, a victim of circumstance finally breaking free to pursue his one true love. I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Ava. “What do you have to say about this?” Ava glanced down at the signed transfer agreement in her hands, then looked up, her expression cool. “Mom… this will be the last time I call you that. You raised me, and I appreciate that. But you’re not my real mother. Blood is thicker than water. I hope you won’t stand in the way of our family’s reunion.” Chloe smirked triumphantly. “Have some dignity, Eleanor. Just because your own defective daughter died, it doesn’t give you the right to cling to someone else’s.” Ryan tossed the divorce papers and a debit card onto the table in front of me. “Let’s get this over with while everyone is watching. There’s five thousand dollars on the card. For your troubles.” A wave of fury swept through the room. “Like father, like daughter. A whole family of vultures.” “We all know how Eleanor doted on that girl! Spoiled her rotten for twenty years, gives her a billion-dollar empire, and this is how she repays her?” “Five thousand dollars? Is he serious? That’s an insult!” “I can’t watch this. Eleanor, don’t listen to these animals!” The crowd was on my side, some even offering legal help to get my assets back. Through it all, Chloe and Ryan remained perfectly calm, as if they had prepared for any outcome. But as the room filled with righteous anger on my behalf, a quiet, chilling smile spread across my face. “Fine.” As the entire room watched in stunned silence, I signed the divorce papers. Chloe and Ryan froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily. They snatched up the papers, scanned them to make sure they were real, and then, satisfied, broke into wide, relieved smiles. As they basked in their victory, I spoke again. “Since you’ve given me such a wonderful surprise,” I said, my voice smooth as silk, “it’s only fair that I have a gift for you in return.” 5 “A gift? What gift?” Ryan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. The rest of the room stared, curious. With all eyes on me, I produced an ornate mahogany box I had prepared in advance. I handed it to Ryan. “Even though Ava no longer considers me her mother,” I said solemnly, “after raising her for twenty years, she will always be my only heir. This is my family’s heirloom. Please, take it. I wish your family a lifetime of happiness together.” Ryan’s eyes widened. He hesitated for a moment before cautiously opening the box. Inside lay an antique jade ring. The crowd was baffled. “It really is the family heirloom! Has she gone completely mad? Why would she give it to these monsters?” “The shock must have broken her mind.” “Poor woman. Her husband betrayed her, her daughter isn’t hers and just stole her fortune, and her real child is dead. Who could handle that?” “Even so, she shouldn’t be rewarding them! If it were me, I’d want Chloe dead.” The audience now looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. Chloe began to clap slowly. “Eleanor, I always thought you were just a rich fool. But today, you’ve really impressed me. You’re not just a fool. You’re a born doormat. The most pathetic creature I have ever seen.” Ava wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m so glad you’re not my real mother. I would die of embarrassment.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Being married to you, Eleanor, was the greatest shame of my life. Don’t ever speak to me again. I can’t afford the humiliation.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Chloe, took his daughter’s hand, and strode triumphantly out of the press conference. I immediately became the top trending topic online. The entire fiasco had been live-streamed. The whole country had witnessed my downfall and my bizarre reaction. “Is there something wrong with this woman’s brain?” “Her biological daughter was murdered, and she’s giving her blessing to the killers? What kind of sick person does that?!” “I have never been so frustrated in my life! How can any woman be this pathetic?” “Warning: this topic may cause aneurysms. Can we please stop promoting it?” The internet was on fire. People were either furious with me or pitied me. Some even contacted me, offering to help me capitalize on the drama with a “tell-all” livestream to recoup some of my losses. I refused them all and went home. When I arrived, Chloe was already moving her luggage in. Ryan and Ava were throwing my belongings out onto the curb like trash. Seeing me, Ryan lifted his chin, his face a mask of pure loathing. “Eleanor, this house belongs to Ava now, and we’re divorced. Take your junk and get out. Don’t interrupt our family reunion.” 6 The mask was completely off. The gentle, caring man I had known was gone, replaced by this stranger filled with a deep, simmering hatred. Ava looked down her nose at me. “To live a life as pathetic as yours… it’s truly a failure. Get out. Don’t dirty my floors.” The daughter who had once looked at me with respect now viewed me as less than dirt. I said nothing. I walked over, picked up my discarded suitcase, and left without a word. I rented a small, dilapidated apartment in a rundown part of town and began my new, solitary life. A few days later, Ryan, Chloe, and Ava showed up at my door. “Is this a place for humans? A coffin is bigger than this,” Chloe complained the moment she stepped inside. Ryan wrinkled his nose. “Eleanor, you have hands and feet. Can’t you find a job with room and board? You were once the richest woman in the country. Are you happy living in this rat hole? My bathroom is bigger than this place.” I ignored their taunts and continued eating my simple meal. Seeing my composure, Chloe smirked and pulled a photograph from her purse, shoving it in my face. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Eleanor. I wonder if your little short-lived brat is doing as well in her grave?” The photo was of my daughter. My real daughter. She was gaunt, her tiny body covered in bruises. Tear tracks stained her hollow cheeks. She looked utterly broken. Seeing me stare at the photo, Chloe’s smirk widened. “No wonder I couldn’t stand the sight of her. She was born to die young. How worthless must a child be for God himself to strike her down in her first month? So unlucky. No one ever loved her, and she didn’t even get a funeral.” Her words were dripping with scorn and triumph, as if my daughter’s death was a joyous and deserved occasion. I remained silent, my face impassive. My lack of reaction seemed to infuriate Ryan. “You really are a piece of work, Eleanor,” he seethed. “The daughter you carried for nine months is dead, and you don’t feel a thing? And all those idiots online feel sorry for you, spamming our inboxes with hate mail. Our company’s stock has plummeted because of it. You’re the one who caused all this. You’re the one who deserves to die!”

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For three years, the mission was my life. Then I got pregnant. And that’s when the System told me it had the wrong girl. I was so grateful I could have wept. I was packed and gone in an hour. Ten minutes later, my husband, who was supposed to be in London on business, materialized in our bedroom. His eyes were wounded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “On the divorce papers, under ‘reason,’ you wrote that I’m…too rough. We can work on that. I can be gentler, Audrey. Can’t I?” I saw the flicker of something inhuman in the color of his eyes, and a sob tore from my throat. “I’ve always been afraid of snakes.” 1 On the third anniversary of my marriage to Damian, the System, long silent, suddenly reappeared. I’m so sorry, Host! I’ve just realized you’re not the protagonist! I was dabbing concealer onto my collarbones, trying to hide the faint, rosy marks he’d left, getting ready for the lecture I had to give. Hearing its voice, I shot straight up. “Are you serious?” Its tone was steeped in apology. Yes. It was a clerical error on my part. A mix-up. You’re just a… a very beautiful bystander. Damian has already met the true protagonist. I dropped to my knees on the cold marble floor and bowed my head ten times in silent, profound thanks. The System burst into digital tears. Oh no, this is a disaster! The Host has had a complete mental breakdown! “Quiet,” I told it, scrambling to the walk-in closet and digging under a stack of cashmere for the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago. Holy hell. I knew it. I always knew it. My family has been in the funeral business for generations—we craft exquisite, custom caskets. What were the odds that I’d end up married to a titan of the New York financial world? I was in a daze on my wedding day, completely bewildered. But he’d looked at me with such a convincing, deep affection in his eyes, a perfect mask of devotion. It was only recently that I learned he wasn’t human at all. He was raising livestock. And I was the prize pig. 2 The System first contacted me during my sophomore year of college. It told me I was the protagonist. I told it I was the Queen of England. It directed my attention to the man who had just dropped onto campus to give a guest lecture on market volatility: Damian Blackwood. He’s the male lead, it said. Give it some thought. He was magnetic, with a sharp intelligence that seemed to radiate from him. Men and women alike swarmed him, phones held high to snap pictures. The lecture hall was packed to the rafters. I swallowed hard. “I suppose I could make an effort.” Inside, my heart was exploding. My ancestors must have done something right to land me a catch like this. Back then, I thought I had some kind of protagonist’s halo. Winning over Damian was so suspiciously easy, it felt like one of those elaborate scams you read about online. But he was incredibly generous, and his affection never felt fake. We got married without a hitch. Aside from a certain coolness and a possessive streak, he was practically perfect. He was healthy, and he indulged my every whim. I thought it was love. It wasn’t until a year ago that I discovered I was his prey. He was feeding on me. Literally. 3 Last New Year’s Eve, he had a last-minute business trip, so I flew home to my parents. They complained I was interrupting their quiet life and sent me packing back to Damian after only two days. As I was leaving, my mother pressed a container of her homemade lasagna into my hands. “Make sure Damian eats plenty. There’s more in the freezer.” I stood on the porch, hands on my hips. “Mom, what about me?” My father chimed in. “Don’t be selfish, Audrey. Damian always lets you have the first bite of everything. You’ve put on a little weight, you know. It’s time you let him have his turn.” I pouted, dragging my suitcase back to the city in a huff. I remembered the moon was a slim crescent when I left the airport that night. By the time I walked up the long drive to our house, it was a full, luminous orb. The air was heavy and still, thick with a strange tension. And I could hear a woman’s voice from inside. I slipped in through the back garden gate. There, under the wisteria-covered trellis, stood Damian and a woman whose face was turned away from me. Her first words hit me like a physical blow. “You take so little each time,” the woman said, her voice a low purr. “Are you trying to be a hummingbird sipping nectar?” “Any more and she’d get suspicious,” Damian replied. Hearing that, a phantom ache bloomed in my wrist. I lifted my hand to the moonlight, and the two tiny red dots on my skin seemed to glow. There were identical marks on my neck. I thought back to the nights when, lost in passion, he would bite me in those tender places. I’d always thought it was just his little quirk, a secret intimacy between us. The woman laughed. “I prefer to drain my prey completely, then swallow them whole. It’s no fun relying on just one. Next time, I’ll bring you a few new toys to play with.” Huddled in the shadows, I squinted, and I could have sworn the woman’s long, dark hair was writhing. As I focused, I realized it wasn’t hair at all. It was a nest of thin, black snakes. She plucked one from her scalp and let it coil around her fingers. “Don’t forget to maintain your form, Damian,” she cooed, her hand slithering up his chest to straighten his tie. “We wouldn’t want her to find out, would we?” I dug my nails into my palms, forcing back tears, my heart hammering against my ribs. Because in the next instant, the woman’s form dissolved, melting into a colossal white python that slithered away into the darkness of the woods. 4 I kicked off my shoes and backed away on silent feet, then ran to the nearest hotel to hide and try to quiet my shaking hands. The System had once told me its mission was complete, that the protagonist and male lead would be together forever. I’d assumed it was a metaphor. That night, I realized being devoured was also a form of eternal union. A very physical one. Damian, unaware he’d been exposed, continued to play the part of the devoted husband. Thinking my appetite was off, he tried tempting me with all my favorite foods. My God, are all you monsters so considerate to your food? I refused to eat, telling him I was on a diet. He just looked at me with that soulful, adoring gaze. “Darling, you’re beautiful no matter what.” It was in those moments that I noticed it: his pupils were deeper, wider than a normal person’s. When he stared at me, his eyes held a glint of pure, ravenous hunger. I had to secretly wipe away tears. Monsters were master actors, far better than human men. After all, they were willing to put in the effort to keep their prey happy. Not like most men I knew, who were all sweet talk and empty promises, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. Damian’s performance was flawless. The kisses, the cuddles, the impeccable attention to my needs. But the more he did it, the more I thought of a cat playing with a mouse. The cat never eats it right away. It has to have its fun first. Damian was playing with me. When he noticed me pulling away, he started drugging me. My guess is that going too long without feeding caused his animal traits to surface. Twice, when I fought to stay conscious, I saw the faint shimmer of scales on his forearms in the dim light, and a wave of goosebumps washed over my skin. Under the influence of whatever he was giving me, just the sight of his face made my heart race, my blood hum, my body flush with heat. It was a path straight to ecstasy. When he bit me, I no longer felt even the slightest prick of pain, lost in a consuming, hypnotic pleasure. In the haze, I could hear his satisfied whispers. “My love, you’re so sweet.” “My love, I could just eat you all up.” I think I died a little inside each time. It’s not that I wanted to cooperate. But he had me tagged like a wild animal; no matter where I went, he always seemed to know. He was never worried I’d run. It’s just the romantic bond between a protagonist and the male lead, the System had chirped. Romantic, my ass. I was a mouse in the cat’s jaws. How could I not be terrified? 5 A year passed like that. Then the System showed up again, telling me I wasn’t the one. I knew my daily prayers to every deity I could think of had to count for something. The only complication was the unidentified species currently taking up residence in my womb. But my family had connections, people who dealt with… unusual situations. As I left, dragging my suitcase behind me, I asked the System one last time. “Once the real story starts, Damian will really forget about me? Are you sure?” Positive. One hundred percent. A sigh of relief escaped me. Once this was over, I was going to build a shrine. I was going to volunteer in the Peace Corps. I was going to go dig wells in Africa. Conveniently, Damian was in London closing a deal. He wouldn’t be back for a while. I packed a go-bag with essentials and booked the first flight to Iceland. Snakes hate the cold. Damian especially hated the cold. I hoped he’d take the hint. Just as I was about to shout “I’m finally free!” my phone rang. It was Damian. “Why is there a draft for divorce papers in your email? Did you find someone else? Who is he? I’ll kill him.” His voice grew deeper, colder with each word. I used to think he had separation anxiety, that he’d get clingy if I was away too long. Now I knew it was prey separation anxiety. He panicked if his favorite snack wasn’t within reach. He seemed to realize his mistake. “Audrey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick with what sounded like tears. “I was impulsive. We can talk about this. Please.” I was just wondering how he knew about the papers. I’d only sent them to Riley and my lawyer. I shot them both a quick text. A moment later, a message came back from my lawyer, Mr. Chen. My apologies, Mrs. Blackwood. I’m actually on your husband’s payroll. The retainer he offered was… substantial. I could have screamed. I decided to be cruel, to make up a reason so insulting he’d have to let me go. “You’re like a machine, all force and no finesse. Life is too short. I’m going to find some actual pleasure.” His voice was small, wounded. “I was trying to be careful. I was gentle. I even took courses… I thought you liked it.” My face burned. “I don’t want to hear it,” I snapped. “We’re done. Goodbye. I hope you find your true love.” And leave a poor human girl alone. I hung up before he could respond. Passing through the living room, I glanced at the TV, which was tuned to a nature documentary. I was suddenly reminded of the one time I’d seen Damian’s other form. His semi-transformed state. It was a full moon. I had come home unexpectedly to grab a file, and he, hearing me, had quickly locked the bedroom door. But I was fast enough to see the motion. He hadn’t used his hand. He’d hooked the door shut with his tail. A long, black tail. The memory made me sick with fear. I don’t know why I’m so terrified of snakes. It’s been with me since childhood, a primal fear that goes deeper than simple instinct. The System assured me that Damian and the real protagonist were meeting in London right now. Their romance was about to blossom. I shut off the TV and splashed some cold water on my face. Freedom. Freedom, here I come. I had just walked into the bedroom to get my passport when I heard a sound behind me. Damian, who was supposed to be an ocean away, was standing in the room. My God, I didn’t know teleportation was one of his skills. I spun around, and my eyes met his. I saw the unnatural glow in their depths, the one that only appeared when he was aroused or enraged. “I can be gentler,” he repeated, his voice a low plea. A sob escaped me as I backed away. “I’ve always been afraid of snakes.” 6 The words had barely left my lips when a small, bright green snake poked its head out from the collar of his shirt, its beady eyes fixed on me. Hearing my confession, it seemed to understand, and it quickly slithered down Damian’s arm and out of the room. The sight of its slick skin and sinuous movement sent a shriek tearing from my throat. Damian immediately slammed the door shut and, just as he always did, pulled me into his arms to comfort me. The irony was suffocating. He was the greatest threat of all. I struggled out of his embrace and retreated to the window. “Get out!” I screamed. “Both of you, get out!” The little green snake poked its head back through the crack in the door, a few blades of catnip dangling from its mouth. It chewed thoughtfully, looking utterly clueless. As the commotion in the bedroom grew, it just stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. Tears streamed down my face like a broken pearl necklace. It was terrifying enough on its own. The fact that it could understand English made it a thousand times worse. Damian, flustered, turned and hissed at the little snake, shooing it away. He still didn’t realize that my terror of him was absolute. He took a step towards me, wanting to hold me. I scrambled onto the bed and scurried to the other side of the room. He thought I was just angry about the snake. “It must have snuck in,” he explained, his voice laced with that same wounded tone. “We have catnip in the garden. I have no idea why it likes to eat that.” He closed the distance in a single stride, scooped me up, and placed me gently on the bed. Then he knelt on the floor beside it, looking up at me. I noticed his pupils flickering with the intensity of his emotions. When the sunlight hit them, they seemed to explode into a galaxy of gold. They were just like the eyes of the snakes I’d seen in documentaries. His expression softened, and he reached out to touch my face. My mind flashed with images of black scales, and a wave of revulsion washed over me. I slapped his hand away, hard. Damian’s lips trembled almost imperceptibly before he forced a placid smile. “If you don’t like it, I’ll get rid of it right now.” Fighting my fear, I shrank back on the bed, my voice hot and sharp. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I hate snakes. I despise them.” When I was little, my teacher showed our class a nature film. A snake swallowed a live mouse, its belly twitching as the mouse struggled inside. The sight made me physically sick. I had nightmares for a month. Even now, the memory makes me want to vomit. At my words, he froze. His long lashes fluttered as his gaze fell to my ankle, his face clouded with an indescribable sadness. 7 I’d twisted my ankle yesterday, and it was still slightly swollen. As he moved to touch it, I snapped, “Don’t touch me.” “Oh. Okay.” He looked lost for a moment, then stood. “I’ll go deal with the snake.” The moment he left the bedroom, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and reached for my phone to call my uncle, the one who dabbled in the occult. Then I remembered: my purse, my phone, everything was in the living room. A cold dread washed over me. I had arranged for a colleague to pick me up for a trip we were taking. A male colleague. From my office. We were friends. Damian was a jealous man. No, that wasn’t right. He used to be a jealous husband. Now he was a predator guarding his kill. He would assume someone was trying to steal his food. Just as I was about to get off the bed to retrieve my phone, Damian stormed back in, his entire aura radiating an icy fury. I used to love him. When this was all a “mission,” I even wrote a little handbook on how to please him. I knew that when he was truly angry, he never showed it. Instead, his face would relax into a calm mask, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he subtly clenched his jaw. That was when he was at his most dangerous. And then he would punish me, day or night, with a desperate, frantic passion, marking my skin with his scent and his teeth. “Want to listen?” He held up my phone. I was confused. “Listen to what?” He smiled faintly and put it on speaker. “Audrey, I’m just about to leave for your place.” It was Alistair Finch, a professor from my department. Damian walked silently towards me and sat on the edge of the bed. Alistair’s voice continued, oblivious. “So, you really went through with the divorce? It’s all so sudden. I thought you and your husband were so happy together.” I opened my mouth to answer. Damian tapped his own lips, his eyes fixed on mine. It was a terrible curse, to know your predator so intimately. His meaning was clear: if I said a word, he would kiss me into silence. I shot him a glare and stayed quiet. Alistair rambled on, expressing his sympathy, saying how a wonderful person like me deserved better. I whispered to Damian, “What’s the problem? He’s just a colleague being supportive.” He mouthed one word back: “Vulture.” Heh. For a monster, he was surprisingly well-versed in human social dynamics. The man was being perfectly normal. I finally spoke up. “Thank you for your concern, Professor Finch. I’m fine. I’m not one to dwell on things—” Before I could finish, Alistair cut in. “In that case… would it be alright if I pursued you?” Damian raised an eyebrow. I froze. “Audrey, you’re an extraordinary woman. It was inevitable that I’d be drawn to you. Please, don’t feel pressured. I just wanted you to know that there’s someone else in the world who secretly admires you.” My face was a rigid mask. Alistair sighed with relief. “You and your husband were so close before. I thought I’d never have the chance to say this. I’m glad—” Damian’s calm gaze never left mine, but across the room, an antique vase on the bookshelf suddenly exploded. I knew it was him. But he just looked at it with wide, innocent eyes and said, “Must be old.” Then, turning his attention back to the phone, he spoke directly to Alistair. “We’re still very happy together.” Hearing the crash, the professor grew concerned. “Audrey? I’m coming over.” A look of grim satisfaction crossed Damian’s face. He glanced at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Please do.”

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I was running a fever, getting fluids from an IV drip, so I asked my sister to make dinner for my mom. When I got to her house that night, I was giving my mom a sponge bath when she spoke, her voice cold. “You’re so dramatic. If you don’t want to take care of me, just say so. You don’t have to make up excuses.” I froze. She took my silence as guilt and continued. “You’ve been like this since you were a kid. Always faking something. Always an excuse when things get hard. “Your sister and brother are so much better. They never make me worry.” I silently put the towel down, dumped the water, and walked out of the room. As I closed the door on her stunned face, I decided I was never coming back. 1 I passed my sister, Chloe, in the hallway as I arrived. She was changing her shoes, her face tight with annoyance. “Can’t you get your IV after Mom’s asleep? It’s not a big deal. I have a presentation this afternoon.” She slammed the door behind her before I could say a word. “Hannah! Get in here and get me some water! I need to be cleaned up, I feel disgusting!” My mother’s voice called from the bedroom. I dropped my bag and went to the bathroom to get the water. I could feel her bad mood the second I walked in. She was glaring at me. I was too tired to care. “Ow! You got it in my hair! Are you trying to hurt me?” “Sorry, I’ll be careful.” “Hiss! Can you close the window? The draft is freezing.” I looked at her. It was ninety-five degrees outside. The breeze was like a furnace. But I just got up and closed it. She let the silence sit for a moment before she said it. “You’re so dramatic. If you don’t want to take care of me, just say so. You don’t have to make up excuses.” I paused. “It’s not an excuse.” I wanted to say that I was exhausted. That I’d been caught in a downpour two days ago and my entire body ached. But I was too tired to even form the words. “You’ve been like this since you were a kid. Always faking. Always an excuse. “Your sister and brother are so much better. They never make me worry.” 2 The washcloth slipped from my hand and fell into the basin with a splash. “What are you doing? Was I wrong?” A few drops hit her arm, and she shrieked. I felt the tears well up and fought them back. My mother had a stroke last March. She’s been paralyzed and bedridden for over a year. In that entire time, I am the only one who has taken care of her. And I’m still not as “good” as my siblings. “Oh, fine, now you’re crying. I was just kidding. “Besides, you were always faking it. We were all supposed to go to the state fair, and suddenly you’re throwing up. We were going to go shopping, and you pretended to be asleep.” The tears finally came. The day of the fair, she had forced me to eat day-old leftovers she didn’t want to waste. I told her it smelled sour. She insisted it was fine. “It’s not going to kill you. This is good pot roast, don’t waste it.” She scraped all of it onto my plate. When my brother, Leo, tried to grab some, she smacked his hand. “Don’t eat that junk, sweetie. You can have eggs.” She made two fried eggs for him and two for Chloe. They went to the fair. I spent twelve hours with violent food poisoning, thinking I was going to die. And the shopping day? I’d been up all night with a 103-degree fever. In her memory, I was just lazy. “Are you really mad?” she asked, that familiar, condescending look on her face. I just smiled a little, pulling her nightgown straight. “When are Chloe and Leo taking their turn? We all agreed to four-month rotations.” 3 “For that? You’re going to abandon me over that? How can you be so selfish! Was I wrong? “You suddenly get a ‘fever’ and can’t come, so your sister has to be inconvenienced. Do you know how busy she is? She’s so busy at the firm she barely has time to eat!” I glanced at the two empty Grubhub containers on the dresser. A two-person order, licked clean. When I was too tired to cook and suggested takeout, she’d yell. “How do you know that food is clean? It’s poison! Is this how you take care of me?” I had to cook. Three meals a day. Always what she wanted. We were all her children. Why was I the only one? I thought about my husband and my daughter, Lily, and the looks on their faces when I left them again this morning. I was done. “I had a career, too. I quit to take care of you. I’ve done it for over a year. They’re your children, too. They need to be responsible.” Her eyes darted away. “Well, your sister and brother gave me money!” I laughed. “They each gave you $1,000. Your first hospital stay was $30,000. I paid for it.” Her face twisted in rage. “Are you asking me to pay you back? You’re throwing that $30,000 in my face? “Hannah, do you know how much I spent raising you? It was a lot more than $30,000! “You are unbelievable! Get out. Get out! I don’t have a daughter named Hannah!” “It’s just too hard to be your daughter,” I whispered. She didn’t hear me. She asked what I said. I just shook my head, my smile bitter. I picked up the basin, dumped the water in the bathroom, and walked out of the room with my purse. She stared, shocked. I closed the door. I guess she doesn’t have a daughter named Hannah anymore. 4 I drove to a mall, ordered a coffee, and texted my husband, Mark. ‘I’ll pick Lily up from school. We’re having dinner at home tonight.’ He replied instantly with a dancing emoji. ‘Thank god. I am so sick of takeout.’ He didn’t ask what happened. He knew. I went grocery shopping, got home, and started dinner. When it was time, I drove to Lily’s school. Right as I parked, Chloe called. “Did you and Mom have a fight?” “Not really.” She sighed. “Then why is she calling me, crying her eyes out?” The school bell rang. Kids spilled out of the doors. I remembered a day, years ago, when it started pouring rain. The schoolyard was full of parents with umbrellas. I ran out, searching, and saw my mom. She had two umbrellas. She handed one to Chloe and one to Leo. The three of them walked off together, leaving me behind. I tried to run after them, but the creek by the school had flooded over the bridge. I slipped and almost got swept away before a stranger pulled me out. When I got home, soaked and shivering, my mother slapped me. “What is wrong with you? I brought you an umbrella! Why are you soaking wet?” My brother piped up. “Nuh-uh, Mom. You only brought two. You forgot Hannah.” She just stared for a second, then said, “Oh.” …I wasn’t listening to Chloe anymore. I hung up and waited for Lily. That night, my family was halfway through dinner when my phone rang again. My mother. I picked it up, and her shriek pierced my ear. “You’re still not here? Are you trying to starve me? “How can you be so petty? I say one little thing and you throw a tantrum! “Hannah, I am your mother! I am allowed to criticize you!” 5 I looked at Mark and Lily. They were both staring at me. I got up and went to the patio. “I took care of you for over a year. It’s Chloe and Leo’s turn. “Mom, I am not your only child. “And you said it yourself: they’re the good ones. I’m sure they’ll be happy to step up.” I hung up and went back to the table. “Are you leaving again, Mommy?” Lily asked, her voice small. “Can you finish dinner first?” My eyes burned. I stroked her hair. “I’m not leaving, sweetie. Mommy’s staying home. I’m going to read you a story tonight.” “Yay!” She was so happy. I was supposed to read her a story, but I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I woke up hours later in my own bed. The house was quiet. My phone said 11:00 PM. I had over a dozen missed calls. Aunts, uncles, cousins. I ignored them and rolled over, but Mark came in. “You should at least shower,” he said gently, pulling me up. I buried my face in his chest. “I’m sorry.” He stroked my hair. “It’s okay. Dinner was amazing, by the way. Your cooking has seriously improved.” I managed a weak laugh. He led me to the bathroom. When I came out, he had my fever medication and a glass of water waiting. “My fever’s gone. I don’t need it.” He just scooped me up. “I think I know if you’re better or not. Take it. Or I’m telling Lily to be your medicine-monitor tomorrow.” I grumbled, but I took the pills. As he was drying my hair, I fell asleep again. He carried me to bed. I felt him take my hand, rubbing his thumb over my palm. “You have calluses,” he whispered. I pulled my hand back and wrapped my arms around him. I wasn’t that little girl anymore, desperate for a drop of affection. I just had to admit it. She doesn’t love me. I picked up my phone, went to the family group text, and uploaded the spreadsheet of all my mother’s medical expenses. I tagged Chloe and Leo. ‘Here are Mom’s medical bills from the past year. Let’s split it three ways. The rounding is in your favor. You each owe me $10,000.’ 6 Mark, watching over my shoulder, let out a small laugh. I turned off my phone and buried my face in his chest. “What? They should pay their share.” He just held me. “Whatever makes you happy.” My nose stung. Happy. This was the happiest I’d been in a year. My phone lit up with notifications from the group text. Not from my siblings, but voice messages from my mother. ‘Why aren’t your sister and brother saying anything? They gave me money!’ ‘Hannah, you can’t treat family this way! This is blackmail!’ ‘I knew you were always a cold, heartless child!’ ‘I’m your mother! I’m sick! How dare you ask me for money!’ ‘Are you trying to kill me? Is that what you want?’ Her voice was choked with sobs. My relatives started piping up, telling me to “let it go” and “be the bigger person.” I dropped Lily at school, found a park bench, and tagged Chloe and Leo again. ‘How much did you pay? Show me the receipts. I have receipts for every single bandage and grocery run for the last 14 months. Mom has three kids, not one. Or maybe you two could just die? If you die, I promise I’ll take care of everything myself.’ My fingers were shaking, but I hit send. It felt good. I bought a popsicle and ate it in the sun. The group text lit up again. This time, it was Leo. ‘Fine. I’ll look at it tonight. But seriously, Hannah, you don’t need this money. Why are you making this so ugly? We’re family. The rich ones should just pay.’ I bit down on the popsicle. ‘The problem is I’m the one who’s rich AND doing all the work. Now it’s your turn. Good luck!’ I added a smiling emoji. My phone rang. My mother. “That thing yesterday… I was wrong, okay? Just stop harassing your brother and sister.” 7 She sounded embarrassed. I crunched on my popsicle. “I’m not harassing them. I just want my money.” “Isn’t it your duty to pay for my medical bills? Hannah, don’t be like this! Your husband makes good money! You should pay more! It’s called ‘from each according to his ability.’ Your sister has a mortgage. Your brother is still in school!” The popsicle was gone. My mouth was freezing. “I have a mortgage, too. $6,000 a month. And Leo is almost thirty. He’s not ‘in school,’ he’s ‘avoiding work.’” My brother, Leo, had been in and out of community college for eight years. He was now “full-time” studying for the GRE. He hadn’t held a job in his life and still got an allowance from my mom. I remembered when I’d just graduated, trying to find a job, and I asked my mom for $500 to cover rent. She’d immediately started crying. “I’m sick, I had to borrow money from your aunt for my co-pays… your cousin is having a baby, that’s another gift… the utilities are past due… I was going to ask you for money…” I ended up giving her the last $200 in my account. I lived on credit cards until my first paycheck. Now, my mother’s voice was sharp and righteous in my ear. “Your sister isn’t greedy like you, living in some huge house! And your brother is ambitious! You’re just jealous of your own siblings!” I laughed. “You’re right. I am. That’s why I’m suing them.”

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My hatred for my mother peaked the moment she forced me to strip down to a black sports bra, hold up a box of tampons, and pose for a picture she then sent to our entire family group chat. In the photo, my face is blank, my eyes are empty. Her caption, however, was sickeningly cheerful: “Girls will be girls, and sometimes they make questionable choices. But don’t worry, as her mother, I’m here to guide her back to the right path! 😊” In that moment, I smiled. You know, Mom? The perfect little bird you raised in this cage? She’s about to go insane. 1 The latest crisis started when she saw me wearing lace underwear again. Over a video call, my mother burst into tears. On the other end of the screen, she started slapping her own face, her voice a choked sob. “Why won’t you wear the black sports bras I bought you? Why?” she repeated, over and over. “Are you trying to provoke me, just like those other women out there?” Conditioned by a lifetime of her control, I folded. I apologized and promised I would only wear what she wanted me to wear from now on. But this time, it wasn’t enough. Citing a “breach of trust,” she announced a new policy: random, unannounced video spot-checks. She gazed at me through the screen, her expression soft and loving. “I know you can do this for me now, sweetheart.” That was the moment that something inside me, something I had been holding down for a very long time, finally broke. 2 “Clara, you’re not wearing the outfit I laid out for you today, are you?” The cold, flat voice on the other end of the line made my eye twitch. “Go home. Now. And change back.” “In ten minutes, I want a video call. I want to see you in the gray pantsuit. Full body. Front, back, and both sides.” I clutched my phone, frozen in place, watching the morning commuters rush past me. The train was pulling into the station. If I got on, I wouldn’t be late for work. I closed my eyes, trying to reason with her. “Mom, I have an off-site meeting with a colleague this afternoon. The pantsuit is really not practical…” “You now have nine minutes,” she said, her voice like ice. “And this colleague. Is it a man or a woman?” “A woman,” I lied, my lips feeling numb. She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Then when you meet up, I want you to start a video call so I can say hello. And Clara, I want to see her company ID badge and make sure your surroundings match.” I was stunned. “Mom, I can’t do that. It’s…” Her voice sharpened, rising to a shriek. “Is it that you *can’t*, or are you *lying* to me? Clara, are you lying to your mother?!” The train doors hissed shut. I had missed it. I looked down, my chest feeling tight, like it was stuffed with wet concrete, pulling me down. “Mom…” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “My colleague… she’s very shy. She’s not comfortable with video calls. Can’t you just let it go this one time?” “Really?” she sneered. “In that case, give me her phone number. I’ll call her myself to verify.” I tried to argue, but she cut me off. “If you don’t give me her number, I will call your company’s main line this afternoon. I will speak to the receptionist, and I will have her inform your manager that you are forbidden from attending any off-site meetings with male colleagues.” Tears pricked my eyes. Defeated, I quickly texted my one work friend, Emily, begging her for help, while I started running back to my apartment. Thankfully, Emily was a lifesaver. She immediately sent me a picture of her ID badge and told me she’d cover for me if my mom called. My tears blurred the screen as I tried to wipe them away. After a brief, stilted phone call with Emily, my mother was finally satisfied. “You see?” she said with a soft laugh, as if she knew everything. “It was just a simple phone call. Was that so difficult, sweetheart?” I stood in front of my full-length mirror, the video call active, and forced a smile. I turned mechanically, showing her every angle of the drab, gray suit. Just when I thought the inspection was over, she spoke again. “Wait.” My heart stopped. Her face loomed closer to the camera on her end, her eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you wearing the bra I bought for you?” 3 The sharp accusation short-circuited my brain. I just stood there, completely baffled. How could she possibly know? I had changed in my bedroom, with the door closed. She was on the phone with Emily. The suit jacket was thick and buttoned. How… But it didn’t matter how. Her face was a dark storm cloud, her lips slowly curling into a strange, unsettling smile. “Clara. Take it off.” She stared at me, each word sharp and terrifying. “Right now, right here, you will take off your clothes for me.” A chill ran down my spine. “Take it off!” she screamed. On the screen, she raised a hand and slapped herself, hard, across the face. “Take it off now!” Another slap. I closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “Mom, please, I’m going to lose my job. Can we not…?” *SMACK.* Another slap, louder this time. It was always the same. In any standoff with her, I always lost. Biting my lip until I tasted blood, I backed away from the mirror, and in front of the unblinking eye of her phone, I began to undress. Piece by piece, until all that was left was a pale pink, lace bra. “Why aren’t you wearing the black sports bra I bought you?” Her smile widened. “Tell me why, Clara.” “I’m sorry, Mom…” I mumbled, over and over. But she wasn’t listening. Before I even realized what was happening, she was dialing another number. “Hello, is this Clara’s manager? Yes, this is her mother. I’m calling to inform you that Clara is unwell and will be resigning to focus on her health… Yes, it is her decision. I can provide any necessary documentation…” I stared at her, horrified. After she hung up, her face was once again serene, her voice gentle. “I’m saving you, Clara. I am instilling in you the virtues of a good, decent woman. You dress like that to attract men, don’t you? I was a young woman once. I know your tricks. I will not allow you to become a slut.” “And from now on, your daily outfit photos will include your underwear.” “And I will be conducting spot-checks. At any time, on any day.” She looked at me with what she probably thought was love. “You disappointed me today, sweetheart. How can I ever trust you again?” 4 I don’t know how she got my manager’s number. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think. Years of obedience had conditioned my body to follow her commands before my mind could even protest. “Get a pair of scissors. Cut it up. And that one. And that one.” Holding her phone like a scepter, she directed me as I destroyed every piece of clothing she deemed “vulgar.” She inspected every corner of my bedroom via the camera, leaving no drawer unopened, no hanger untouched. For two hours, she digitally ransacked my apartment. I felt like a dying bird, letting a predator rip out my feathers, one by one. Any slight twitch of resistance only seemed to excite her cruelty more. “Where are your pads? I don’t see any.” “I used the last of them a few days ago.” She scoffed. “Impossible. I counted them during my last inspection. There were fifty. You couldn’t have possibly used them all.” I paused. “It’s been so hot this summer,” I explained. “I switched to tampons. I gave the rest of the pads to the cleaning lady in my building.” The line went silent. My mother stared at me, her face unmoving. “Why didn’t you consult me? Why would you make that decision on your own?” I looked down, saying nothing. “I’ve never used one of those things,” she said, her voice filled with righteous indignation. “But I know what they do! They make you *feel* things!” “Clara, you are shameless!” A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “I’ll get rid of them right now.” “Bring me the box,” she commanded. “I need to take a picture.” I didn’t understand why, but I obeyed. After she took a screenshot, she held up her own phone to her camera, showing me her screen. “Look, Clara,” she said with a giggle. “All your aunts and uncles in the group chat are laughing at you.” The group chat? My hands started to shake. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers like ice. I opened the app and found the family group. There were dozens of new messages. Pinned to the top was the photo my mother had just taken of me: standing in my black sports bra, holding a box of tampons like a trophy of my own shame. Her caption read: *“Girls will be girls, and sometimes they make questionable choices. But don’t worry, as her mother, I’m here to guide her back to the right path! 😊”* Below it, a stream of emojis from my cousin, trying to bury the post. A private message from her was blinking on my screen. *“Clara, I’m not an admin, I can’t delete it! I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to flood the chat.”* *“Your mom has gone too far this time! How could she… you’re not a child anymore…”* A deep, profound cold seeped into my bones. No, I wasn’t a child anymore. But when I was, she had done so much worse. 5 I remember one night in the fourth grade. My father hadn’t come home the night before. I had been kept after school for not finishing my math homework. That night, my mother unleashed all her fury on me—fury at my father for his infidelity, fury at herself for losing control of the perfect family she had built. She called my math teacher and forced her to listen over the phone as she beat me and I screamed. My teacher was young, new to the school, and she was horrified. She begged my mother to stop, but my mother wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how long it went on. I just remember that by the end, my teacher was sobbing, and my mother was laughing. “Are you satisfied now, Ms. Davis?” she asked, her voice light and cheerful. “Our Clara is a very good girl. She’ll always listen to you now.” … I never saw that teacher again. And the next day, my father filed for divorce. Through the screen, I could see my mother smiling, still scrolling through the family chat. “Look, Clara, your aunts and your uncle all think you’re being ridiculous, hahaha. I’m helping you, sweetheart. Helping you see your mistakes so you can correct them.” I stopped what I was doing and just looked at her. For so long, I had pitied her, trusted her, needed her. Now, all I felt was disgust. And a deep, burning hatred. Sensing my stare, she finally looked up. “What are you looking at me like that for?” She frowned. “I just had a thought.” “Where do those… tampons… go? You’ve never even had a boyfriend…” She paused, her eyes narrowing again, scrutinizing me. “Clara… is your virginity gone?” I said nothing. She shoved her face up to her camera, her features twisted into a mask of rage. “Tell me! Tell me right now!” I remained silent. “Fine! Fine!” she shrieked, laughing hysterically. “I have the numbers for all your friends, all your colleagues! If you won’t tell me, I will call every single one of them until I find out who it was!” “And if no one confesses, I will call the police! I will make them pay!” I took a step back. In that moment, she didn’t look like my mother. She looked like a demon wearing her skin. “You’re doing this to punish me for making you lose your job, aren’t you?” she said, her voice suddenly calm again. “Clara, everything I do, I do for your own good.” I smiled, a real smile this time. “I know, Mom. And don’t worry. I’m not in a relationship.” She visibly relaxed, the frantic energy draining from her face. I wasn’t in a relationship. But… now, I really, really wanted revenge.

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The call came from my fund manager in Switzerland. He was informing me that the beneficiary on my trust fund had been changed and that I needed to come in to sign off on the new paperwork. I froze, the phone feeling cold against my ear as my mind struggled to catch up. That trust fund was my inheritance from my father. My name, and my name alone, was on it. How could the beneficiary possibly be changed? I immediately called my husband, Brian. His voice was a warm, reassuring balm over the phone. “It’s probably just a scam, Eleanor. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh,” I said, my tone deceptively light. “They must be pretty committed scammers, then. They even managed to bribe our family’s long-time fund manager.” Brian’s voice hitched for a fraction of a second before he laughed it off. “These new AI voice scams are getting crazy sophisticated, you know? They can mimic anyone. Just ignore it for now. I’ll handle it when I get back to the States.” I smiled and agreed. The moment we hung up, I was already drafting a text to my legal team, telling them to prepare the divorce papers. Brian seemed to have forgotten. My phone is protected by a military-grade firewall. No scam call is getting through. 1 After hanging up, I sent a concise text to my assistant. 【Find Brian’s current location. And find out who he changed my fund’s beneficiary to.】 That series of trust funds was worth billions. It was the bedrock of my family’s legacy, the source of my own power. When my assistant sent back the location, I booked the first flight out. As I approached the hotel, I could hear the staff whispering amongst themselves. “I’m so jealous of Mrs. Croft. It’s only their third anniversary, and Mr. Croft bought out the entire auction for that jewelry set!” “That’s not all! I heard he just added another three hundred million to her fund!” My heart sank. A leaden weight settled in my stomach. Today was indeed my anniversary with Brian. But it wasn’t our third. It was our seventh. He was cheating on me. And he was trying to give my inheritance to his mistress. I took a step toward the grand ballroom, ready to confront him, but a uniformed attendant immediately blocked my path. “Whoa, whoa, who do you think you are? This is a private event, you can’t just walk in here.” His eyes raked over my simple, understated casual wear. “Dressed like you just rolled out of bed… You think this is the place for you? Get lost before you ruin the atmosphere for Mrs. Croft’s anniversary party.” I glanced down at my clothes. It was true, I was dressed for comfort, not for a gala. For years, I had been the woman behind Brian, the invisible force propelling his success. I only ever stepped into the public eye when his company faced a crisis I needed to personally resolve. Normally, I would have calmly explained the misunderstanding. But right now, all I felt was a cold, simmering rage. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I am Mrs. Croft.” The attendants erupted in laughter, one of them doubling over as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “You? Mrs. Croft? If Mr. Croft heard you say that, he’d die laughing!” One of them poked the sleeve of my jacket, his tone dripping with contempt. “Is anything you’re wearing worth more than twenty bucks? And you have the nerve to call yourself Mrs. Croft? You must be desperate for a payday.” In my thirty years of life, no one had ever dared to speak to me this way. I was about to respond when a soft, feminine voice cut through the air. “What’s going on here?” I looked up. A woman in a stunning, champagne-colored mermaid gown was gliding toward us. The portly attendant who had been mocking me instantly transformed, his face crinkling into a fawning smile. “Miss Reed! What are you doing out here? Please, go back inside and rest. Don’t tire yourself out.” He then shot me a venomous glare. “We’re just dealing with some trash who wandered in. Dressed like she buys her clothes at a flea market and claiming to be Mrs. Croft. Shameless, trying to crash the party.” He turned his head and spat on the ground near my feet, the disdain in his eyes palpable. “Open your damn eyes and look! This is the woman Mr. Croft adores. The real Mrs. Croft!” He jabbed a thumb in my direction. “And you… you’re nothing. Why don’t you go find a puddle and take a good long look at your pathetic self before you dare utter her name again?” Mia Reed? Wasn’t she the scholarship student Brian was sponsoring? He’d told me her story years ago—parents passed away, brilliant student but couldn’t afford tuition. He’d convinced me to help fund her entire four-year degree. I even pulled some strings to get her a comfortable administrative job at his company after she graduated. But how could she be Mrs. Croft? Just then, another text from my assistant lit up my screen. 【Ms. Levinson, Brian Croft transferred the beneficiary status of your trust to a woman named Mia Reed.】 The world seemed to tilt on its axis. It all clicked into place. I walked slowly toward Mia Reed, a cold smile playing on my lips. “If you’re Mrs. Croft,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “then I’d like to know… who am I?” 2 The moment Mia saw me, the triumphant smirk on her face froze. She instinctively hid her hands behind her back, but not before I saw it. The exquisite, one-of-a-kind diamond bracelet Brian had just won at that charity auction. “Eleanor? What… what are you doing here?” Her voice trembled. But she recovered in a heartbeat, her expression shifting into one of weary annoyance. “Miss Levinson, I know you’ve had a crush on my husband for a long time, but you can’t just cause a scene like this.” Her voice dripped with false pity. “No matter how hard you throw yourself at him, he’s never going to be with you.” Hearing this, the attendants shot me looks of pure disgust. “So she’s a pathetic homewrecker! And she tried to impersonate the real wife? God, how shameless can you get?” The whispers started, sharp and cruel. “This is hilarious. If you’re going to be a gold digger, at least aim within your league!” “Miss Reed is the one Mr. Croft cherishes. Does this woman really think she can compare?” I said nothing. I simply took out my phone, my movements slow and deliberate, and pulled up the photo on my lock screen: a picture of Brian and me on our wedding day. “A crush on your husband?” I held the phone up to her face, my voice as sharp as broken glass. “Mia, look at this photo and tell me again. Who is your husband?” She glanced at the screen, then looked back at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “I know you’ve resented me ever since I started helping you with your tuition, you were always jealous of how kind Brian was to me. But really, Eleanor… resorting to photoshop? You should have more self-respect.” With a flourish, she pulled a marriage certificate from her clutch. There, in crisp black ink, were their names: Brian Croft and Mia Reed. “This,” she said, tapping the embossed seal, “is the real deal. It can’t be faked.” The attendant who had been harassing me shoved me backward. “You see that? That is the real Mrs. Croft. You’re just some ungrateful charity case who got a little help and now thinks she can seduce a real man. Pathetic!” “Get the hell out of here before you ruin everything! If you delay Mr. Croft and Miss Reed’s anniversary party, not even ten of your miserable lives would be enough to pay for it!” Not enough to pay? I almost laughed. I’d like to see if Brian had the guts to make me pay for anything. When I met him, Brian Croft was just another intern at an investment bank, wearing a threadbare shirt that had been washed one too many times. At my father’s corporate galas, he didn’t even have the standing to hand a business card to a junior executive. It was I who defied my father, who insisted he wasn’t beneath our family. It was I who pulled him into my own project team, who coached him, who handed him the multi-million dollar deals that made him a tech mogul. “Brian Croft wouldn’t dare,” I muttered. The words had barely left my lips when a stinging slap cracked across my face. The attendant glared at me, his face twisted in disgust. “What, you’re still not done with your little act? Mrs. Croft is being nice to you, and you’re still pushing it.” He then turned to Mia, his voice instantly becoming syrupy and obsequious. “Ma’am, a woman like this who doesn’t know her place needs to be taught a lesson! Otherwise, she’ll never stop! I say we should scratch up that pretty face of hers, maybe then she’ll stop trying to seduce Mr. Croft!” “You’re pregnant, you can’t get worked up. I’ll drag her out of here myself and show her what happens when you cross the Crofts in this city!” He lunged for me, his thick fingers reaching for my arm. Suddenly, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the chaos from the entrance. “Stop this at once! What do you think you’re doing?” 3 Brian stood there, radiating an aura of power in his custom-tailored suit. Everyone froze. “Mr. Croft! This woman was impersonating your wife and even tried to attack her! We were just teaching her a lesson for you,” the attendant explained, fawning over him. Mia immediately crumpled into Brian’s arms, bursting into tears. “Brian, it was horrible…” Brian’s gaze swept over the scene, his brow furrowing in anger. He was about to speak when his eyes landed on me. He stiffened. He took a half-step in my direction, but I was faster. I closed the distance between us and slapped him hard across the face. Twice. The sharp, cracking sounds echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone stared, their jaws hanging open. “Is she insane? She just hit Mr. Croft!” “I thought she was just some broke wannabe, but… does she have a death wish?” Brian’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. I ignored the whispers, a bitter smile on my face as I looked into his eyes. “What’s wrong? Can’t I hit you?” I gestured toward Mia. “Or are you going to defend her now?” His jaw tightened, and he sighed, about to speak. But then Mia clutched his sleeve, her voice a tearful whisper. “Brian, you promised me.” He hesitated. A flicker of something—guilt? fear?—crossed his face before it was replaced by a mask of cold fury. He rounded on me, his voice booming. “Eleanor! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Are you trying to make a scene? Have I spoiled you too much? Is that it?” Make a scene? How dare he accuse me of anything? “Brian, I have one question for you,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Is the child in her belly yours?” At my words, fresh tears streamed down Mia’s face. “Eleanor, I know you’ve been obsessed with my husband since I started sponsoring your education. I know you send him suggestive pictures late at night. I can ignore that, but how could you say something so vile about my unborn child?” Her voice broke. “Are you trying to force him to divorce me just so you can take my place?” Brian’s expression softened as he looked at her. He pulled her closer, stroking her hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I believe you.” Then, he turned back to me, his face hard as stone. “Eleanor, you’ve disappointed me more than I can say. Get your things and move out of the house. Today.” His words struck me like a physical blow. I couldn’t believe it. He was actually brazen enough to flip the entire narrative, to cast me in Mia’s role and present her as his wronged wife. To make her… me. Hearing Brian’s command, the attendant who had slapped me pointed a finger in my face and started shouting. “The real Mrs. Croft was kind enough to sponsor you, and this is how you repay her? By trying to steal her husband? You’re an ungrateful snake!” “Trying to destroy a happy marriage? Look in the mirror! You’re not worthy to even be in the same room as them!” I ignored the insults, my eyes locked on Brian. I spoke each word slowly, deliberately, making sure he felt the weight of them. “I fought with my own family for you, Brian. I built you up from nothing to where you are today. When you couldn’t even afford to eat, I gave you the seed money for your company.” “And now you cheat on me, you have a child with another woman… Brian, how can you live with yourself?” My words only seemed to make his face darken further with rage.

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The police called me to the scene. When I arrived, his secretary was still on her knees beside the body, wailing my husband’s name. She was a wreck. But I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at the shimmering ghost of Chris, hovering in the air just above them. Perhaps some betrayals are so vile, not even hell will claim the soul. 1 The officer beside me cleared his throat, a touch of awkwardness in his voice as he broke the silence. “Mrs. Quinn.” That single sound was enough to halt the secretary, Molly, in the middle of a desperate sob. Maybe Chris really had loved this woman down to his very bones. He’d lost his life in the crash, yet she had walked away with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises. But Chris’s love… I glanced at the translucent figure of the man watching the scene unfold and couldn’t help but let out a soft, contemptuous sound. Chris’s love changed colors more easily than a chameleon. When Molly turned to look at me, her face was a mask of shock, which quickly morphed into rage. She scrambled to her feet, her face flushed a deep crimson, and launched herself at me. The ghostly version of Chris reacted just as the living one would have. He tried to step between us, to shield her, terrified that I might lay a hand on his precious Molly. But he was nothing but air. He could only watch in frustration as she passed right through his incorporeal form and lunged for me. “Molly, be careful,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concern. Then his gaze snapped to me, a silent, furious warning. “Vivian, I’m warning you. Don’t you dare touch her.” It was a scene that had played out a dozen times before. Except this time, it seemed I was the only one who could hear him. Molly’s hands clawed for my shoulders, her expression twisted with malice. She was clearly not here to offer condolences. I instinctively recoiled, my brows knitting together. An officer caught her just before she could tackle me, preventing her from tumbling to the floor. “Ma’am, you need to calm down,” the officer said firmly, his voice layered with professional patience. “Mr. Quinn’s final arrangements are the responsibility of his wife, Mrs. Quinn.” He emphasized the word “wife,” and it was clear he’d already pieced together the sordid little triangle. Molly froze, her expression turning monstrous, like something out of our son Leo’s nightmares—ugly and repulsive. “Officer, I want to file a report!” she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “His crash—it was her! It had to be! It was no accident!” The officer let out a weary sigh. Seeing she was completely unhinged, I took another step back, seeking refuge behind him. The last thing I needed was to get scratched up by a madwoman. Chris had already drifted to Molly’s side, his cold, spectral eyes fixed on me. I couldn’t read his expression, but I didn’t have to. I was certain he suspected me, too. 2 The lead officer looked helpless. Just as he was about to speak, I cut him off, my gaze fixed on Molly. “Without any evidence, that’s slander. I can sue you for it.” Molly ground her teeth, her fury barely contained. Finding the whole display tedious, I offered her a piece of advice. “I suggest you go home and start packing up all the little gifts Chris gave you.” I paused for effect. “After all, everything he bought you was marital property. My son Leo and I are his sole legal heirs. What do you think the odds are that I’ll be coming to collect every single penny he spent on you?” Molly’s theatrical sobbing stopped dead. Her face went pale. Seeing she’d finally quieted down, the officer gestured for a policewoman to escort her out. As Molly was led from the room, Chris tried to follow. But the frustrating part? He reached the doorway only to be snapped back by some invisible force, pulled back into the room with me. I shot him a vicious little smile. Serves you right. “Mrs. Quinn, we’ll leave you to handle Mr. Quinn’s affairs,” the officer who brought me here said gently. I assumed they’d done their due diligence before contacting me. The crash was a genuine accident. On the drive over, they’d asked a few routine questions about Chris’s life and left it at that. I had no desire to look at Chris’s face, especially not after a car wreck. I didn’t need the image of his mangled features haunting my dreams. I made a quick call to my assistant and my lawyer to handle the arrangements and prepared to leave. I’d rushed here, and while I’d asked our nanny, Mrs. Gable, to pick up Leo from preschool, I was still worried. Leo had never been close to his father, which made him incredibly attached to me. I was afraid he wouldn’t go to sleep without me there. After signing the necessary paperwork and confirming with the police that my assistant was on his way, I headed straight for the airport and booked the next flight home. 3 And just like that, it was confirmed. Chris, or what was left of him, was tethered to me. I watched his translucent form drift near the ceiling of the airplane cabin and narrowed my eyes. Well now, this could be fun. The moment I landed, a video message from Mrs. Gable popped up on my phone. In it, Leo was dressed in his adorable dinosaur pajamas, his big, innocent eyes blinking slowly. He refused to sleep, calling for me over and over. It was only when Mrs. Gable told him I was watching through the camera that he sat up, managed a wobbly smile, and spoke to the lens. “Mommy, I wanna sleep with you. Can you come home, please?” He was five, almost old enough for elementary school, but his voice was still thick with that sweet, babyish lisp that could melt any heart. I hurried my steps. My assistant had a car waiting, and in less than an hour, I was home. Mrs. Gable was reading a picture book with Leo in the living room. The moment he heard the door, he scampered over to greet me. I scooped him into my arms, murmuring comforting words as I carried him to his room. I tucked him in, read him his favorite story, and finally, his breathing evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep. While I was tending to Leo, I noticed Chris sitting on the cushioned window seat in the corner of the room. He’d never shown much interest in Leo, probably because the boy was a product of a marriage he’d grown to resent. The few times he was home, he rarely spent time with our son. It was no surprise, then, that Leo hadn’t mentioned his father once. I heard Chris’s faint, ghostly whisper. He was muttering to himself, asking why Leo never asked for his dad. I found it laughable. After placing a soft kiss on Leo’s cheek, I quietly left his room and went to the master bedroom. 4 I wasn’t about to play games with him. I sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke into the empty air. “Leo is five years old. In those five years, how many times have you actually been there for him?” “Did you ever take him to the park? Ever read him a bedtime story? Hell, our driver knows him better than you do. What exactly do you expect him to remember?” I stared at the space where I knew he was standing. We had been married for ten years. He had been sleeping with his secretary for three. The translucent figure suddenly met my gaze, his form wavering slightly. The usual composure of the great CEO Chris Quinn was gone, replaced by sheer astonishment. “You can see me.” I didn’t answer, just gave him a look one might reserve for a complete idiot. Chris sighed, a sound like rustling leaves, and drifted over to my vanity. He sat down, staring at the mirror, and seemed to freeze for a few seconds when he saw no reflection. I let out a cold laugh, crossing my arms. “So, Mr. Quinn. It seems even in death, you can’t get away from me.” The moment I discovered his affair with Molly, I had filed for divorce. He refused, citing all the classic excuses: he couldn’t live without me, Leo needed a father. He fought every petition, every motion. At one point, I took him to court, but I lacked concrete proof of the affair. Since Molly was his secretary, their constant proximity could always be explained away as work. After countless failed attempts, I had temporarily given up. But I’d found a silver lining. An invisible ATM who never came home, never caused trouble, and always paid the bills. It was a pretty sweet deal, actually. So, I began quietly purchasing real estate in Leo’s name and focused on rebuilding my own career. I had to be prepared for the day he would inevitably blindside me with his own divorce papers. I never expected to be planning his funeral instead. Chris had no siblings, and his parents had passed away years ago. This meant that every asset, every stock, every last penny to his name now belonged to me and Leo. His legally protected wife and his biological son. What a generous man he turned out to be. 5 We didn’t speak for the rest of the night. I fell asleep surprisingly quickly. The next morning, my assistant sent me the cremation certificate, along with a short video of Chris’s body being moved into the incinerator. Chris, who had been brooding in a corner, drifted over, curious about what I was watching. His eyes widened as he saw his own mortal shell sliding into the flames. “You’re not even a little sad, are you?” His voice was muffled, heavy with disbelief. He watched as I calmly took a sip of my coffee, his ghostly brow knitting into a tight knot. I ignored his question, finished my coffee, and went to wake Leo for preschool. Receiving no answer from me, Chris began to lose his composure. He floated closer, his voice rising in anger. “Vivian!” Leo, still drowsy and blissfully unaware of the spectral tantrum, giggled in my arms. “Mommy, I’m gonna bring lots of snacks to share with my friends today!” he announced, his sleepiness replaced by excitement. He chattered happily all through breakfast and while brushing his teeth, his little hands gesturing wildly. A real smile touched my lips. I helped him pack his favorite treats into his little backpack. 6 After dropping Leo off, I had a quick online meeting with my lawyer, then headed to Chris’s company headquarters. Chris seemed to be in the middle of a silent, sulking protest. He floated along beside me, arms crossed, saying nothing. Or perhaps he was just eagerly anticipating his reunion with Molly. He was in for a disappointment. Men are often so much slower to see the truth about certain things. Especially about certain women. When we arrived at the office, Molly was nowhere to be found. Chris’s other secretary, a professional and discreet woman named Ms. Hayes, was already aware of the situation. My lawyer had called ahead, so she knew why I was there. She had efficiently scheduled a board meeting for two o’clock. Ms. Hayes led me into Chris’s expansive office. “You can wait in here, Mrs. Quinn. I’ll bring you the relevant files.” She paused, hesitating for a moment before walking over to a large filing cabinet. She slid it aside, revealing a hidden door. “There’s a small suite in here if you need to rest.” Behind the door was a bedroom, complete with a large bed, a wardrobe, and an en-suite bathroom. My stomach clenched. The thought of what Chris and Molly might have done in here was enough to make me want to leave immediately. In fact, the entire office felt contaminated. The more I thought about it, the more nauseous I became. “This place is filthy,” I said, taking a half-step back and subtly wiping my nose, avoiding Chris’s gaze. “I think I’ll wait in your office, Ms. Hayes.” The silent ghost of Chris finally stirred, his gaze burning into me. I ignored his fury and gestured for Ms. Hayes to lead the way. Left with no choice, she quickly showed me to her own, much smaller, office. 7 I spent the morning reviewing documents and consulting remotely with a specialist my assistant had found. By now, Chris understood exactly what I was planning. As Ms. Hayes and I headed to the corporate cafeteria for lunch, Chris trailed behind me, his ghostly voice a venomous stream in my ear. It was almost funny. We met at seventeen, started dating at eighteen, married at twenty-three. In all that time, I had never once seen the great Chris Quinn lose his cool like this. “Vivian, how could you sell my shares?!” “You bitch!” “This is all mine! What right do you have?!” Chris had come from a modest, middle-class family. He’d built this company from the ground up, a true prodigy among his peers. He had proposed to me when we were twenty but insisted on waiting until he was twenty-three to marry, all because he wanted to give me a better life. And then, in our seventh year of marriage, he cheated. While Ms. Hayes went to get our food, I finally responded to him. “It’s mine now.” I offered no further explanation. He froze, his translucent eyes turning a furious, blood-red. “Vivian! I hope you rot in hell!” After lunch and a short break, it was time for the meeting. I hadn’t even reached the conference room when I heard a familiar voice from inside. It was Molly. I leaned against the doorframe, glancing back at Chris. The flicker of hope in his eyes was so pathetic it was almost comical. What a foolish, foolish man. “To all the board members,” Molly’s voice drifted out, trembling slightly. Chris desperately wanted to go inside, his gaze darting back and forth to me. But I remained right where I was, forcing him to listen from the hallway. “With Mr. Quinn’s passing…”

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1 The gala for my father’s 70th birthday had just ended when my wife’s frantic call cut through the night. “Adrian, it’s a disaster! The investors vanished with the money. I have to leave the country—don’t try to contact me!” Wide awake, I told her to stay safe, then hung up and immediately froze all her bank accounts. The only investor was my father, who lay drunk in the next room. What “bankruptcy” was she really running from? I took the next flight out and found her not in hiding, but glowing in a wedding gown at a five-star resort—arm in arm with her “best friend” Leo. She rushed over in panic as I entered. “Adrian, I can explain! Leo’s dying father just wanted to see him married. This is all an act.” I laughed coldly and slapped her. The sound echoed in the sudden hush. “An act? Then let me give you a wedding gift and help you keep up the show.” Leo stood flushed and trembling in his tuxedo, as if I were the one ruining his big day. “Mr. Cole,” he said, his voice dripping with false pity. “I know you’ve always struggled with Vivian’s unrequited love, and that it’s led to… certain delusions. I sympathize, truly. But this is my wedding day. Must you be so aggressive? You can’t force these things.” Vivian chimed in, her tone placating. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it after the ceremony. Please, Adrian. Don’t make a scene.” Even now, all she could think about was continuing with the wedding. I laughed again, a raw, humorless sound. My eyes fell on the watch gleaming on Leo’s wrist. It was the million-dollar Patek Philippe I had lost months ago. “No wonder you paid him a thirty-thousand-dollar-a-month salary. The two of you have been at this for a while, haven’t you?” My voice dripped with scorn. “And my watch… I bet you stole that for him too.” I sized Leo up. “One of you has the gall to steal, the other has the gall to wear it. You two really are a match made in hell.” The crowd erupted in laughter, phones held high to capture the drama. Leo stomped his foot in a theatrical fit of rage, then pulled a document from his jacket. “Open your eyes and look!” he shouted, brandishing a marriage certificate. “Vivian and I are legally married!” He pointed a triumphant finger at me. “He’s sick. He gets obsessed with any woman who shows him the slightest kindness. My wife is just his latest fixation.” The mood of the crowd shifted. A few people shot me menacing looks. “That desperate, huh? She’s a married woman. Maybe you should come up to my room instead…” one man slurred, stepping forward to grab me. I snatched a wine bottle from a nearby table and brandished it, forcing him back. I pointed the bottle at Vivian, my voice low and dangerous. “I’ll give you one last chance. Me, or him. Who is your husband?” Vivian’s eyes flickered, and her answer was a stake through my heart. “My only husband is Leo.” Her voice turned to ice. “Now, apologize to him, or I’ll have you committed to a psychiatric hospital.” Leo’s hand tightened around Vivian’s, his face a mask of smug victory. “Darling, don’t waste your breath on a lunatic. He’s not worth it.” Seeing their vile, triumphant faces, something inside me snapped. I raised the bottle, ready to bring it crashing down on them. If I was going to hell, I was dragging them with me. But Vivian was faster. She kicked out, her heel grinding into the back of my hand with a sickening crunch. A wave of white-hot agony shot up my arm, stealing my breath. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. “Leo is my life,” she snarled, her eyes filled with a terrifying hatred. “You hurt him, and I will make you pay a hundred times over!” Leo, ever the actor, pretended to pull her back. “Darling, it’s our wedding day. It would be bad luck if something happened. Just make him get on his knees and apologize.” Vivian nodded, her tone one of magnanimous charity. “You heard him. Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. Otherwise, I’m making the call to the asylum right now.” The raw disgust in her eyes was like a physical blow. My first love. Seven years of my life. All of it, meaningless. I pulled out my phone and opened the photo gallery, displaying our own marriage certificate, our wedding photos. “This is proof of our marriage. I’m reporting you for bigamy!” In this country, bigamy meant prison time. Doubt flickered across the faces in the crowd. “That man’s certificate is dated seven years ago. Were these two really lying?” “If they broke the law, they should be punished!” Leo leaned in close, his voice a triumphant whisper. “You still don’t get it, do you? Your marriage certificate with Vivian is a fake. She promised me she would only ever love me. You were never worthy of marrying her.” The world tilted on its axis. The last seven years of my life, my devotion, my love—it was all a joke. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped me, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I raised a trembling hand towards him, but before I could touch him, he collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest. “Vivian!” he gasped. “My heart… I think I’m dying…” Before I could process his words, a sharp sting exploded across my face. Vivian had slapped me so hard my ears rang, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. She knelt beside Leo, cradling him, her eyes spitting venom at me. “You’ve given him a heart attack with your rage! If anything happens to him, I’ll make you pay with your life!” I tried to speak, but my tongue was thick with bitterness. “Get me to a hospital!” Leo wailed. “I can feel my heart giving out!” Vivian forgot about me entirely, shouting for someone to help carry Leo to a car. My vision swam, and the world went black. I woke up in a hospital bed. An IV was in my arm, but it wasn’t dripping fluid in; it was drawing blood out. I tried to struggle, but I was completely drained of strength. Vivian stood over me, her expression a mask of cold contempt. “Leo is in surgery. He needs a transfusion, and you happen to be a match. Consider this your apology.” “I didn’t push him!” I roared, a fresh wave of adrenaline cutting through the haze. She grabbed my wrist, her fingers digging into my flesh. “He waited seven years for me. I won’t let anything happen to him. If it does, I swear, I will burn your body to ash.” She squeezed until I was gasping for air before finally letting go, leaving me in a sea of helpless despair. The blood loss pulled me back under. I drifted back to consciousness to the sound of Leo’s voice. He was on the phone. “The arrangements with the asylum are made. The second Adrian Cole wakes up, have him transferred… I want him to spend the rest of his life in there.” He saw my eyes were open, hung up, and walked over to my bed. He poured a glass of hot water and deliberately spilled it onto my arm. “This is what you get for crossing me,” he hissed. Pain seared my skin. I trembled, biting my lip to keep from screaming. “You were faking it,” I rasped. He laughed, not even bothering to deny it. “So what if I was? Vivian only believes me.” He placed a hand over his heart. “This heart of mine could have been perfectly healthy. But I had an unfortunate little fall, you see. Made a pre-existing condition much worse. Vivian feels so guilty about it. And you, my friend, are the perfect scapegoat.” “You’re pathetic!” I choked out, shaking with rage. His smile turned predatory. “And once you’re out of the picture, all your assets will be mine.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. He wasn’t going to let me leave this hospital alive. With a surge of desperation, I threw myself out of bed, shoving him aside and stumbling for the door. But my body betrayed me. After only a few steps, my legs gave out, and I collapsed. Leo followed at a leisurely pace and kicked me hard in the ribs. “Run,” he taunted, seeing I couldn’t even get up. “I thought you were so tough.” “Just getting rid of you would be too easy. Let’s play a game. I hear there’s a local mercenary outfit that’s always looking for able-bodied labor. Why don’t we drop you off there?” I scrambled backward in horror. “You can’t. My father is—” He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, and slapped me twice across the face. “Your family is a bunch of ungrateful snobs! Every time Vivian brought them gifts, they looked down on her. If she hadn’t been propping up your family all these years, do you think you could have lived the life of a rich kid?” My heart sank. Vivian had been a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks when we met. I used my own savings to help her start her business. My family never approved of our marriage, so Vivian rarely interacted with them. The few times she did visit, she brought nothing more than a fruit basket. The idea that she “propped us up” was a laughable fantasy. Without my father secretly investing in her company, she never would have gone public in seven years. His bodyguards dragged me out and threw me into a waiting van. We drove to a desolate, run-down compound, where he shoved me out in front of a group of hulking, leering men. He held up his phone. “Whoever puts on the best show gets fifty grand,” he announced to the thugs, who began cracking their knuckles and advancing on me. They surrounded me, their fists flying. I grabbed a rock, hurled it at one of them, and screamed at Leo, “You will regret this!” He was unfazed. He started a video call with Vivian. My battered, helpless form on his screen sent her into peals of delighted laughter. “Leo, you’re too kind,” she chirped. “He hurt you. He should be in prison.” “He was with you for a while, Vivian,” Leo sighed dramatically. “I’m trying to be merciful. If he would just get on his knees and admit he was wrong, I wouldn’t have to do this.” “He’s a monster,” Vivian spat. “I’ve had enough of him. Leo, we’ll have to redo our wedding, of course.” They chattered on, completely ignoring my existence. My last sliver of hope died. Leo ended the call. “What are you waiting for?” he barked at the men. “Get to it, or you won’t see a dime!” I surged forward with my remaining strength, tackling Leo to the ground and closing my hands around his throat. “If I die, I’m taking you with me!” He panicked, choking and screaming for help. Suddenly, Vivian’s furious voice cut through the air. “Adrian Cole, you’re dead!” She had followed us. She scooped up a heavy stone and brought it down on the back of my head. The world exploded in a flash of pain. She kicked me off Leo, her eyes blazing with hatred. “First you hurt him, now you try to kill him? This time, I’m not holding back!” She barked orders at her bodyguards. “Get more men! And call the local media! Today, Adrian Cole’s reputation dies with him!” Ignoring the blinding pain in my head, I tried to crawl away, but I was no match for them. They dragged me back and forced me to my knees in front of Vivian and Leo. She fussed over Leo, carefully wiping dust from his suit with a sanitized cloth, refusing to even look at me. “Don’t worry, darling,” she cooed. “I’ll make him pay.” Leo clutched her hand. “I don’t blame him. As long as I’m with you, I can endure anything.” I spat at him in disgust. “How many women have you pulled that routine on? How many other fiancées does Vivian have to compete with?” I’d seen him at her office before, getting cozy with other women. I never thought he and Vivian were actually involved. My words hit their mark. Leo’s face turned red with fury. “Vivian, he’s humiliating me! I can’t live like this!” He made a show of running towards a wall, only to be “saved” by Vivian at the last second. Her eyes were burning. “It seems I’ve been too lenient with you. You’ll spend the rest of your life in this hellhole. Men! Break his arms and legs.” I thrashed in their grip, roaring, “You’ll pay for this, Vivian! As long as I’m breathing, I will never let you get away with this!” She just laughed. “Oh, I’m waiting. I remember you have that old college friend, the one who’s been single all these years, waiting for you. I wonder how she’ll react when she sees you as a crippled, broken mess. The handsome, popular boy from campus will be nothing but a pathetic joke.” I couldn’t believe it. She was going to destroy me, all for him. I felt the bones in my limbs snap. The physical agony was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Seven years of memories, once so sweet, now tasted like ash. I lay on the ground, a useless heap, my eyes locked on hers, burning with a hatred I never knew I possessed. She stood over me, her arm linked through Leo’s, looking down at my broken form with cold satisfaction. The thugs closed in, their stench and their cruel, hungry eyes making me want to vomit. I trembled with fear, which only seemed to excite them more. Leo leaned close to Vivian. “Don’t look, my love. I don’t want you to be frightened.” “I’ll watch,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ll watch him get everything he deserves. He could never compare to your kindness and purity.” I had nothing left. I was completely and utterly alone. With my last ounce of will, I writhed on the ground like an insect, trying to escape their blows. They backed me into a corner. There was nowhere left to run. As they moved in for the kill, I closed my eyes. I’d rather die than suffer this humiliation. I was about to bite down on my own tongue when the piercing wail of sirens cut through the air. A convoy of police cars screeched to a halt, surrounding the compound. In the middle was a gleaming black Rolls-Royce with the license plate 8888—a symbol of unimaginable wealth and power. The door opened, and the man who stepped out was my father.

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