Category: English

01 I was scrolling through a Reddit thread: 【What’s the most surprisingly wholesome thing you’ve ever done for love?】 A comment from a user with a familiar avatar caught my eye: 【My girlfriend loves to… play with my backdoor. I was always worried about the smell, so I started secretly spraying my wife’s perfume back there before we’d meet up…】 I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just quietly went to my bathroom and poured a bottle of concentrated capsaicin extract into that perfume bottle. There. Now my wholesome husband could feel the heat, too. When I first saw that top-voted comment, my world stopped. It wasn’t just the shocking content. It was the avatar for the user, “AgainstTheCurrent.” It was a photo of two hands, fingers intertwined. The man’s thumb had a faint scar on it. The position, the shape, the size—it was identical to my husband Leo’s. When our daughter, Chloe, was two, she was a little daredevil. One day she tried to climb the TV stand and came tumbling down, bringing a vase with her. Without a second thought, Leo dove underneath her, breaking her fall. A shard of porcelain sliced deep into his thumb. I remember him gritting his teeth through the pain, but smiling, calling it his “dad medal.” I stared at that scar on the screen, a desperate hope flickering in my chest. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. The world is full of people who look alike. A similar scar isn’t impossible. My heart hammered against my ribs. With a trembling hand, I clicked on “AgainstTheCurrent”’s profile. It was empty. No posts, no history. But I wasn’t giving up. When it comes to a cheating husband, every woman becomes Sherlock Holmes. I clicked on his saved posts. My brow furrowed. 【10 Ways to be a 10/10 Boyfriend. Tag your man!】 【Advanced Kegel Exercises for Men: Liftoff in One Week.】 【Do Men Hit a Wall at 40? How to Fight Aging.】 【Style Upgrades That Make an Older Guy Look Younger.】 The more I read, the more certain I became. This had to be Leo. His behavior had been so strange lately. This is a man who used to think moisturizer was a scam, but now he was sneaking into my side of the vanity to use my skincare products. He’d worn the same style of button-down shirt for a decade, but now he was suddenly into fashion blogs and had even changed his hairstyle. Just a few days ago, he’d asked me out of the blue, “Honey, do I seem old to you?” I’d laughed. “You know what they say, men are like fine wine. You’re just hitting your peak.” He didn’t laugh back. He was completely serious, asking me about cosmetic procedures, where to get hair plugs, what treatments could make him look younger. “What’s with the sudden interest in all this?” I’d asked, confused. “It’s for work,” he’d said. “The company’s developing a new men’s cosmetic line. They’re making us do market research.” And I’d believed him. Looking at these saved posts now, it all clicked into place. When a man suddenly becomes terrified of aging, it usually means one thing. He’s fallen for a much younger woman. And he’s scared he can’t keep up. 02 I opened “AgainstTheCurrent”’s follow list. Among the handful of mutual follows, one username immediately stood out: “SweetDreamsAlways.” The IP address was the same as his. I clicked on her profile. The sickeningly sweet stench of a new romance hit me like a physical blow. Her page was full of posts. Each one made my stomach churn. 【Little moments: He’s in a serious meeting, but under the table, he’s secretly tracing circles on my palm. I give him a look, and he pretends he’s innocent! After the meeting, he made me stay behind to “organize the notes”… then locked the door and demanded a hug as punishment for ignoring him. The older they get, the needier they are~】 【Does anyone else get this? The jealous older man is the cutest thing! I was just chatting with a coworker for a few minutes today, and he got so pouty. Pulled me right into his office… 🙈】 【What’s it like dating a ‘dad’ type? Answer: Getting spoiled like a little girl! We were at a business dinner, and while all these executives were talking about million-dollar deals, he remembered to order me a plate of sliders with extra cheese! He spent the whole time making small talk with clients while piling food onto my plate. The client finally laughed and said, ‘Looks like you brought your kid to dinner!’】 【Hehe, who else’s almost-40-year-old boyfriend has this much energy? After a few drinks at a work event, he was all over me, whining about how soft I was… and then in the car… let’s just say a thousand words are missing here…】 I scrolled numbly, my vision blurring. Finally, I found it. The post about the perfume. 【My fanfiction dreams have come true! I can’t believe my super serious, conservative older man would do this for me… I’m crying 😭… He said he was worried I wouldn’t like his natural scent, so he makes sure to get all fragrant for me before we meet… That kind of careful, gentle love just gets me right in the feels!】 “AgainstTheCurrent” had liked every single post. Fighting back nausea, I scoured her entire account, including the comments, searching for any clue to her identity. Nothing. No pictures of her face, no personal information. Just an endless stream of nauseating flirtation. But based on her references to “the office,” “business dinners,” and “coworkers,” I was almost certain of one thing. If “AgainstTheCurrent” was Leo, then this woman was his colleague. Her tone was childish, her posts desperate to show the world how she was being spoiled by an older man. She was young. Definitely young. My mind raced, cycling through every young woman in Leo’s department. He was the Director of Marketing. He had a whole team of young, ambitious women working under him. Any one of them could be her. As my thoughts devolved into chaos, I heard a key turn in the front door. Leo was home. 03 Leo walked in humming a cheesy love song that was all over TikTok, a smile playing on his lips. He looked happy. Genuinely happy. I hadn’t seen him like that in a long time. He walked toward me, and a faint, familiar scent hit my nose. It was the gardenia perfume I’d just opened a few days ago. I shoved down the storm brewing inside me and kept my face neutral. “Hey, hon. No working late tonight?” He pulled a bouquet of roses from behind his back. “Honey, did you forget? It’s our anniversary!” Then, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he produced a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a delicate diamond bracelet. “Do you like it? I picked it out just for you.” I didn’t look at the flowers or the bracelet. I just stared straight into his eyes. “That’s funny. Fifteen years of marriage, and this is the first time you’ve remembered our anniversary. Why the sudden effort…” I paused, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Unless you did something you’re not supposed to, and this is your way of buying my silence?” The smile on Leo’s face froze. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by defensive anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” His voice shot up, as if a higher volume could mask his guilt. “I do something nice for you, I try to surprise you, and this is the thanks I get? You’re always so suspicious! Fine, don’t take it!” He slammed the jewelry box down on the coffee table with a loud thwack. I watched him calmly. “You’re overreacting. Did I hit a nerve?” “You’re unbelievable! I can’t even talk to you!” Leo’s eyes darted around the room, refusing to meet mine. He practically fled, grabbing his pajamas from the armchair. “I’m taking a shower!” That guilty back was all the confirmation I needed. Soon, the sound of running water filled the apartment. I walked quickly into our bedroom. His phone was sitting on the nightstand. I picked it up, my fingers flying as I entered the familiar password. I scanned his messages, checking every female colleague. Nothing but dry, work-related conversations. No terms of endearment, no flirty emojis. I checked his Amazon history, his Uber Eats orders. Nothing. How is that possible? For a second, I doubted myself. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe “AgainstTheCurrent” isn’t him after all. The sound of the shower turned off. Time was up. I quickly put the phone back where I found it and returned to the living room couch, my mind racing. 04 It was late. Beside me, Leo’s steady breathing filled the dark room. I stared at the ceiling, wide awake. I replayed the last few months in my head. We were high school sweethearts, married right after college. Our daughter, Chloe, was twelve now. Fifteen years. We were the model couple in our friend group, the ones people pointed to as proof that true love existed. Leo’s life was an open book. His world consisted of work, me, and Chloe. He had no female friends to speak of. His phone password was my birthday. His lock screen was a picture of me and Chloe. I knew the passwords to all his bank accounts. He never hid anything from me, and I never felt the need to check. Until last year, when he was promoted to Director of Marketing. Suddenly, late nights and business trips became the norm. But he was always transparent, telling me his schedule in advance, sharing his location, and sending pictures from his hotel room. He’d even bring back little souvenirs for Chloe. If it hadn’t been for that avatar, the word “cheating” would have never crossed my mind in connection with Leo. But there was no “if.” The scar was the same. The perfume was the same. The IP address was the same. I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. This was not a coincidence. Luckily, I had a spy on the inside. 05 The next morning, I texted Cassie, asking if she wanted to grab lunch at the cafe downstairs from her office building. She agreed immediately. Cassie was the daughter of Leo’s childhood best friend, Dave. Our families were close; we’d even bought houses in the same neighborhood. Dave was a few years older than Leo but had married young. Cassie, a senior in college, was stressing about finding an internship. Leo had pulled some strings and gotten her a position at his company. I’d practically watched her grow up. I arrived at the cafe early. A few minutes later, Cassie came jogging in, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was wearing a simple white sundress, her high ponytail bouncing as she moved. She radiated youth. “Auntie! Sorry, have you been waiting long?” Her eyes lit up when she saw the food I’d already ordered. “Wow! Short rib tacos and truffle fries! My favorites! You’re the best!” She grabbed a fry, popped it in her mouth, and fanned her tongue. “Ooh, hot, hot!” I managed a weak smile. “Take your time, no one’s going to steal it. How’s the internship going? Are you settling in okay?” She made a face, complaining through a mouthful of food. “Ugh, don’t even ask. The company just landed a huge new client, and everyone is going crazy. We’re working overtime every single day. Uncle Leo is the busiest of all. I haven’t had a proper lunch break in days…” My heart sank. Was it possible he really was just busy with work? Was I just being paranoid? Cassie took a long sip of her iced tea. “So, Auntie, what’s up? You wanted to see me about something?” I hesitated, then lowered my voice. “Cassie, I wanted to ask you… at the office… have you noticed Leo getting close to any of the other women? Especially one of the younger ones?” She tilted her head, putting on a show of deep thought. After a few seconds, she shook her head firmly. “Nope! Uncle Leo is super serious at work. He’s always got his game face on. Honestly, everyone’s a little scared of him. No one would dare get too close.” She saw the worried look on my face and seemed to guess what I was thinking. “Auntie, you’re not thinking that Uncle Leo is…” She didn’t say the word, but we both knew. She rushed to reassure me. “That’s impossible! He’s famous in the office for being a devoted husband. He’s always talking about ‘my wife’ and ‘my daughter.’ All the other women are so jealous of you!” Looking at her innocent, earnest face, I couldn’t bring myself to mention the Reddit post. I forced a laugh and made an excuse. “Oh, it’s nothing. He’s just been acting a little different lately. I was just curious.” Cassie patted her chest dramatically. “Don’t you worry, Auntie. You’ve got me watching him for you! I won’t let any hussy get within ten feet of Uncle Leo!” Her confident declaration eased some of my tension. I gave her a grateful smile. “Okay. Thanks, Cassie. I’d appreciate you keeping an eye out.” 06 After we finished eating, Cassie glanced at her phone. “Oops, break’s almost over. I’ve gotta run, Auntie!” I nodded and reached for my purse. And in that split second, disaster struck. As Cassie turned to leave, a waiter carrying a tray rushed past her. She didn’t see him. CRASH! With a startled yelp, the entire glass of orange juice on his tray went flying, soaking the front of her white dress. The waiter, pale with shock, stammered apologies while I grabbed napkins, trying to help her clean up the mess. But as my fingers brushed against her collarbone, I froze. Around her neck was a necklace. The pendant was a unique design of two interlocking rings, studded with tiny diamonds. That design… I would never, ever mistake it. It was an exact match to the bracelet Leo had given me the night before.

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The moment Ethan led me to my seat at our wedding reception—the one designed to kill me—I knew I was done. Nine times, I had replayed this life to win his love. Eight times, I had died at the hands of his adopted sister, Abby, and her murderous little games. This was the closest I’d ever come to succeeding, but the glint of fishing line on the grand clock’s hour hand told me everything. When the hand struck twelve, the taut line would trigger the crossbow hidden in a box below. And I would die. Again. The warmth of Ethan’s hand on my shoulder felt sickening. I tried to pull away, but he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. His voice was a soft, cruel whisper. “Be good,” he murmured. “Abby was up all night setting this up. What’s one more try? A tenth time’s the charm, right? I promise, next time, I won’t let her be so naughty.” So he knew. He knew everything. He knew I’d fallen for him nine times, and he knew I’d suffered nine brutal deaths because of Abby’s “pranks.” But there was one thing he didn’t know. This was my last chance. 1 I sank into the chair, numb. A part of me welcomed the release. To die was to finally be free of the pain. Ten seconds left. Abby raised her glass, calling for a toast to the happy couple. Everyone rose to their feet, their faces beaming with genuine joy, their blessings lost in the roaring buzz that filled my head. My vision blurred. Ethan grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, positioning me with chilling precision. He made sure my forehead was perfectly aligned with the firing mechanism, ensuring I would meet my end at the peak of my supposed happiness. My eyes fixed on the dark little hole that would swallow my life. I counted down in my head. 10, 9, 8, 7… A manic glee danced in Abby’s eyes. Ethan looked at her with a gaze full of adoration, as if she were the most innocent child in the world. …4, 3, 2, 1, 0! The bolt shot out like a striking viper. A wave of primal fear crashed over me, and I jerked my head to the side. Instead of oblivion, a searing pain tore through my ear. The joyous atmosphere shattered. The room fell into a dead silence. Seeing her “assassination” had failed, Abby slammed her wine glass down at my feet in a fit of pique. Red wine bled into the white silk of my dress. “Why did you move?!” she shrieked. “Do you have any idea how much work I put into recreating the ‘Wedding Murder’ trap? This was the only chance!” Ethan dropped my hand, his face a mask of disappointment. “Why didn’t you just listen? Abby was up all night. Couldn’t you have at least shown her some consideration?” “Consideration? For the fact she stayed up all night planning to murder me?” “You…” Ethan’s voice dropped to a low hiss. “It’s not like you actually die.” But it hurts! Every single time, it hurts! The guests stood frozen, their champagne flutes hovering awkwardly in the air. The standoff was broken by the small, piping voice of a child. “Auntie Aurora’s ear is bleeding!” Blood and tears streamed down my face. A few women rushed forward with handkerchiefs, dabbing frantically at the wound. Only then did Ethan grudgingly grab my arm again. “Let’s go. To the hospital.” A bitter laugh caught in my throat. What am I to you? Some cheap toy for you and your sister to break over and over again? I remember being tied up, a rope connecting my neck to my ankles, slowly strangling myself to the sound of Abby’s innocent laughter. I remember her luring me into a small, dark room, the space filled with a strange hissing. I died of suffocation, crushed against a wall, only to realize later it was the sound of an inflatable castle filling with air. I cried. I fought. I screamed. I tried countless times to prove to Ethan that his sister wanted me dead. He would always just brush it off. “It’s just childish games. How could that hurt anyone?” “She’s my sister. Can’t you just humor her for my sake?” “I’m five years younger than her! Why should I be the one to ‘humor’ her?!” “See? You’re getting worked up over nothing.” Even at my most hysterical, my most broken, I never imagined this. I never thought that he knew, from the very beginning, that I would die these agonizing deaths, again and again. I’d always believed he was just blinded by his love for the precious sister he held so dear. Now, Ethan’s voice was sharp with impatience. “To the hospital! What are you standing there for? You want everyone to see you like this? You want them to blame Abby? You already ruined her plan, are you trying to make her look like the villain, too?” I hadn’t said a word, but he had already spoken my indictment and delivered his verdict. I wrenched my arm from his grasp, turned, and yanked the crossbow bolt from the floral wall behind the main table. It was embedded, with perfect, sickening irony, directly in the heart drawn between my name and his. The bloodied tip gleamed under the chandeliers. I shoved it in Abby’s face. “At my wedding to your brother, what exactly do you think you’re doing? If our marriage bothers you that much, just say so. I’ll give him to you. You don’t have to kill me for it!” The color drained from her face, then flooded back in a blotchy red. “We’re just like brother and sister! What are you talking about?! You’re the one with a sick mind! Besides, this thing can’t even hurt anyone. I can’t be bothered explaining it to someone with no sense of fun!” I pressed the arrowhead against her cheek. “Can’t hurt anyone? Let’s find out.” Before I could apply any pressure, Ethan lunged, his hand clamping around my wrist like a vice. The fury in his eyes was a terrifying inferno I’d never seen before. After all the times Abby had experimented on me—tying me to a windmill, cutting the rope to a crystal chandelier above my head, stretching fishing line across a bike path—the harshest he’d ever been was a soft-spoken “warning” for her not to be so mischievous. The difference between being loved and not being loved was so painfully clear. I stubbornly held onto the bolt. Ethan’s grip tightened. A sharp crack echoed as my wrist bone snapped, and the bolt clattered to the floor. Abby snatched it up, and in a flash of movement, dragged the sharp point across my cheek, leaving a deep gash. Then she darted behind Ethan, peering out at me with wide, innocent eyes. I screamed and lunged for her, but Ethan blocked my path again. “Aurora,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “You started it. You can’t blame Abby for this.” He must have been terrified his precious darling would get hurt. He swept me into his arms, carried me out to the car, and drove me to the hospital. In the sterile white room, Ethan sat by my bed, studying the twenty-something stitches that now marred my face. “Does it hurt?” he asked. My ear, torn and mangled. My wrist, shattered. My face, sliced open and bleeding. This was the grand wedding you promised me, Ethan. And you have the audacity to ask if it hurts? Before I could answer, he continued. “So why did you have to be so stubborn? I told you this was the last time. Why couldn’t you just grant her this one last wish? She came to my family when she was three, always feeling like an outsider. She’s drawn to these things because the child inside her never had a chance to grow up. She’s not trying to hurt you; she’s trying to soothe herself. Once you come back next time, we can help her find an outlet, a new purpose. It would have all been fine.” I pushed myself up, ignoring the shooting pains, and pointed a trembling finger toward the door. “Get out.” My voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “I can’t ‘love her because I love you.’ And besides, with a brother who dotes on her like you do, how could she ever feel like an outsider? And just so you know, there won’t be a next time.” He let out a long, heavy sigh and took my hand. “Please, don’t say things like that. She’s my sister. I’ve always known nothing could ever happen between us. You don’t need to be jealous. You know you’re the one I love.” But the frustration and regret in his eyes told a different story. It must be painful to be toyed with by fate. I understood that feeling all too well. So, I decided to set them both free. I pulled my hand away and began twisting the wedding ring on my finger, trying to get it over my knuckle. He dropped to one knee beside my bed, his voice pleading. “Aurora, please, stop this. We’ll have another wedding. A better one, even grander than this!” Then, as if he were reciting a vow, or maybe just trying to convince himself, he said, “I remember the first time. When Abby electrocuted you in the tub. The way my heart broke when I found you… that was love, wasn’t it? And the next morning, when I woke up and the day had reset to when we first met, the joy I felt… that was love, too.” The system must have glitched, I realized. It hadn’t wiped his memory. Listening to him list the evidence of his love so calmly, I felt a wave of profound exhaustion and disgust wash over me. Just then, an orderly opened the door to the en-suite bathroom. A moment later, Abby’s hysterical sobs erupted from inside. “You’re begging her, brother?!” Panic flared in Ethan’s eyes. He shot into the bathroom and emerged carrying Abby, then bolted from the room without a second glance. Before I could process what was happening, a sharp, acrid smell drifted into the room. Dizziness washed over me. What was she up to now? I stumbled out of bed and staggered into the hallway, just in time to see Abby curled in Ethan’s arms on the stairwell, sobbing like a lost child. “You just left with her! You’re abandoning me, aren’t you?! Fine! Then let’s just die together!” She had disguised herself as an orderly to sneak into my room, mixed disinfectant and toilet cleaner to create toxic gas, all to stage this dramatic, tragic love scene. And there they sat, clinging to each other on the stairs, a perfect portrait of star-crossed lovers. As if I didn’t even exist. Ethan gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her tear-streaked face. “We’ll have another wedding for Aurora,” he soothed. “And I’ll help you build another device, a better one. Just for her. Please don’t be sad anymore, okay?” But Abby only cried harder. “Go ahead! Go be happy with her! Why do you even care about me?! And what’s the point? The trick has been revealed! We could do it ten more times and it wouldn’t be the same! That perfect moment is gone forever, and it’s your fault! You owe me this!” Seeing her like this, Ethan looked as though his heart was being torn to shreds. His eyes were wild with panic and self-reproach. Without a moment’s hesitation, the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Whatever you want. Tell me how you want her to die, and I’ll make it happen.”

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Julian Astor had that kind of aura. The kind you read about. I decided he was the perfect “first love.” Even if we broke up, the memory alone would be worth it. So, I chased him. Hard. He was finally cornered, and maybe a little charmed, so he agreed to date me. But he had rules. A three-point contract: We date. We do not get married. We break up the day we graduate. I agreed immediately. We were together for three years, performing the part of the perfect college romance. The day we graduated, I was the one who brought it up. “Well, this is it.” He refused. I was stunned. “But we had a deal! We agreed. Graduate, then break up.” I remember clearly how that conversation ended. It was a disaster. Julian, who never had to lower his head for anyone, gave this broken, self-deprecating laugh. “Summer,” he said, “you better pray we never see each other again.” From that day on, I avoided his entire world. But sometimes, God just flicks a domino, and no matter how big the world is, two people are destined to collide. 1 Julian and I had an unspoken rule. We were a campus-only couple. The second we left for a holiday, we were done. We went back to our respective homes and had zero contact. In those silent weeks, he was Julian Astor, the heir to a New York dynasty. I was just Summer Davis from Charlotte, North Carolina. No texts. No calls. We didn’t ask where the other was. It was like we were single again. I thought this… niche… arrangement would work perfectly until we broke up. But sophomore year, the summer break was unusually long. Eighty days. Before we left, he asked me, “Will you miss me?” I wrapped my arms around his neck, playing the part. “Mmm, I’ll miss you so much.” He just kissed the top of my head. He didn’t say, “Text me if you do.” That’s what I loved about Julian. He was logical. His family was top-tier. His future wife would be chosen from the same pool. We both knew we had no future. This was just… an experience. A taste of a normal college romance. And I, apparently, was his “type.” On campus, I was his girlfriend. Off campus, when he was “Julian Astor,” he didn’t want to be disturbed. I played my part perfectly. I never crossed the line. I never, ever expected him to be the one to break the rules. The summer was dragging on. He texted me. He was coming back to campus early. A full month before classes started. I was shocked. I teased him: Why, miss me already? He never replied to that text. But after that, the rules started to bend. During the next long break, he asked, “Want to go on a trip?” Most of the time, I said yes. We went everywhere. We watched the stars in Joshua Tree. We saw the sunset over the Keys. I’d get lost in the view, and he’d always startle me by kissing me. He loved to cup my face, that dominant, top-down kiss. He always liked being in control, liked seeing me overwhelmed. But every single time, right at the critical moment, I’d be the one to kill the mood. I’d stop him. Julian, his eyes dark with desire, his throat working, would just raise an eyebrow. What’s wrong? My answer was always the same. “I don’t want to.” He would be sweating, completely wired, but if I said stop, he stopped. He’d get up, take an ice-cold shower, and come back to bed to just hold me. After I’d done this a dozen times, I think he figured it out. He’d feel the mood shift, and before I even had to say anything, he’d get up and head for the shower himself. There was one exception. He saw a text on my phone from a friend back home. “Who’s this?” he asked. “Just a friend from Charlotte,” I told him. He didn’t say anything else about it. But that night, he was rough. He wouldn’t stop. I pushed against him. He grabbed my wrists, pinned them. I turned my head away. “Julian, I said no!” “Why?” he demanded, his voice low. “Because of that ‘friend’ from Charlotte?” He was such a proud guy, but when he got jealous, he was impossible. I never said it out loud, but he knew. The reason I wouldn’t go all the way was because I knew he wasn’t the man I’d end up with. I didn’t want the bond to be any deeper than it already was. Julian was a gentleman. He understood, and he backed off. But after that night, every time we got close, it felt like he was fighting a war with himself. 2 Junior year. We were getting close to the deadline. The thought of it ending started to sting. To protect myself, I started to emotionally check out. That year, he planned a trip to the UK. The second day we were in Kent, I was dead asleep, still jet-lagged, when a group of people burst into the hotel room. I was forcibly put into a wedding dress, my makeup was done, and I was hurried into a horse-drawn carriage. I have no idea when Julian planned it. He’d arranged a wedding. At Canterbury Cathedral. With a real priest. There were no guests. Just us. A wedding that meant nothing. It wasn’t until we exchanged rings that I understood. Months ago, he’d asked for a ring for his birthday—a simple gold band. It was so he’d have one to give me when I gave him his. It was an invalid ceremony. We both knew it. But that night, when Julian got up, breathing hard, heading for his usual cold shower, I grabbed his hand. I pulled him back onto the bed and kissed him. He shuddered, his voice cracking. “Summer.” “It’s our wedding night, Julian,” I whispered. “Don’t be a buzzkill.” Who cares. That’s what I thought. Whatever happens, happens. Today, right now, I was his bride. I let myself go. Just this once. …What I thought was “just once” turned into… many times. Once a boundary is broken, it’s gone. We were both out of control. The brakes were gone. I told myself it was just a final countdown. A last, wild indulgence. I didn’t know when he would bring up the breakup. The contract just said “graduation.” I waited. He never said a word. My flight back to Charlotte was booked. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed a clean break. I asked him to dinner. A quiet restaurant near campus. I thought I knew how he’d react. He’d be his usual, unflappable self. A sophisticated nod, a “Thanks for the memories,” and a handshake. I didn’t expect him to just stare at me and say, “No.” I blinked. “No, what?” His eyes locked on mine. “Summer. I’m not breaking up with you.” 3 My brain short-circuited. Julian wasn’t the type to go back on his word. He was defined by his integrity. I had always assumed the breakup was set in stone. I never saw this coming. When did he change his mind? I was panicking. I had never, ever, planned on a future with him. This was supposed to be a win-win. His last-minute reversal knocked me off my feet. I couldn’t speak. I just stared. My reaction must not have been what he was hoping for. His voice suddenly sounded urgent. “I know what you’re worried about. Summer, give me five years.” “Five years. I promise you, after five years, no one in my family will be able to interfere with my marriage.” “We’ll have another wedding. A real one. With our families, a license, telling the whole world we’re for each other.” “Summer,” he asked, “what do you say?” I just looked at him, my heart hammering, and I finally forced the words out, my voice sounding weak. “But… we had a deal. Graduate, then break up.” He flinched, as if I’d slapped him. “What?” This was it. If I didn’t make it clean, it would be a mess. I took a deep breath. “I want to break up, Julian.” His gaze shot toward me, sharp enough to hurt. “Why?” His voice was dead calm. I’d never felt this kind of pressure from him. I just had to rip the Band-Aid off. I let it all spill out. “Because we don’t match.” “Because I have no ambition. I just want a quiet life. I want to eat good food and sleep well.” “I don’t want to be criticized because my ‘bloodline’ isn’t good enough.” “I don’t want to deal with the complicated, toxic world of the rich.” “Marrying you means all of that is unavoidable.” “So,” I finished, my voice getting quiet, “I never, ever planned on this going anywhere.” I suddenly felt… cruel. He was planning a future, and I was calculating my losses. He was ready to fight a war for me, and I was already planning my escape. “I’ve said what I needed to say.” I stood up, desperate to leave. “I’m going. Take care.” I turned. His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. A steel grip. I looked back. He was still sitting, staring up at me. This proud, untouchable man looked like he’d been left in the rain. “If you never wanted a future,” he asked, his voice hollow, “why did you let me touch you?” I flinched. I ripped my arm out of his grasp. I forced a cold laugh. “I didn’t realize you were so old-fashioned. It wasn’t a big deal to me.” He looked like I’d physically struck him. He slowly pushed his chair back and stood up. He was so tall, he cast a shadow over me. “Summer,” he said, his voice terrifyingly low. “You better pray we never see each other again. Because if we do, I don’t know what I’ll do to you.” My palms were sweating, but I kept my face blank. I shouldn’t have done this. I should never have gotten involved with him. I fled the restaurant. I flew back to Charlotte and I didn’t look back. I even avoided New York when I traveled. I thought I would never see him again. I really, really thought that. 4 My cousin Mia was marrying into new money. She invited me to the wedding. In New York City. I immediately declined. But the groom’s family had “vetted” the guest list from Mia’s side. I was the only one they approved. My own aunt wasn’t allowed to see her daughter get married. So, I was “respectfully requested” to be the sole representative of the bride’s family. We were all put up in a luxury hotel. The night before the wedding, Mia gets a text. A dozen photos of her fiancé, Zach, with another woman. And a video. There was a “Single’s Ending” party happening at a mansion 20 miles away. In the video, Zach was making out with some girl. Mia stared at her phone, turned it off, and looked at me and her six bridesmaids. “Alright, girls,” she said. “We’re going to a party.” I never thought I’d see Julian Astor. Not in a city this big. The odds… But God has a twisted sense of humor. Mia was there to make a point. She found the girl from the video and slapped her. The girl looked to Zach, who just grinned, not offering to help. Turns out, Mia and Zach had a “contract” of their own. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as the other women didn’t bother her. If they did, Mia had a green light, and Zach wouldn’t interfere. Mia dragged the girl out by her hair. Zach just shut the door behind her, put his arm around Mia’s waist, and said, “Babe, don’t be rude. You’re here, you have to go say hi to Julian.” Mia, her hair a mess, just smoothed her dress. “Right. Let me fix my face.” Zach left her and went over to a quieter, more intimidating table. Mia looked at the table. “Okay, bridesmaids,” she whispered. “See that table? Everyone is fair game… except the one in the middle.” I looked. My blood turned to ice. I saw him. He hadn’t seen me. It was Julian. Four years older, the last traces of college gone. He was sharper, heavier… just… more. One of the bridesmaids, Isabelle, the most beautiful one, immediately asked, “Why not him?” Mia’s voice was serious. “He’s out of our league. Don’t even think about it. It’s not worth the trouble.”

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1 My father planned to ally with two top generals by marrying my sister and me to their sons. The moment General Thorne’s only son Adrian entered our home, his eyes fixed on my sister Rosalind. My match was Ken Vance—paralyzed for years and disowned by his family. In my past life, seeing Ken’s shrapnel scars and war-traumatized eyes, I felt for him. I devoted myself entirely, traveling far to find him the best doctors and using my full dowry to help him rebuild his empire from scratch. He rarely showed affection, but I believed patience would melt his cold heart. Yet at my birthday party, insurgents raided to take hostages. The “paralyzed” man sprang from his wheelchair and shoved me into their hands. Knocked unconscious and abducted, I endured three days of unspeakable torture, praying for his rescue. Instead, I learned he was using all his connections to find doctors for Rosalind’s minor injuries. I finally realized: he’d never been crippled or disowned. He’d only married me because Rosalind chose someone else—our marriage let him stay close as family to protect her. Before I died, he called, his voice icy: “I’m sorry, Clara. I lied. But I couldn’t let Rosalind die. What I owe you… I’ll repay in the next life.” When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day father told us to choose our husbands. … “Clara should choose first. She’s younger and needs a more distinguished partner,” my sister, Rosalind, said, her voice a careful performance of magnanimity, just like the last time. But the way her eyes clung to Adrian Thorne told the real story. Their gazes were so intense they were practically a physical connection. Everyone knew they’d been secretly seeing each other for ages. And today, I knew my father intended to betroth Adrian to her. In my past life, I was completely oblivious. All I could think about was the bond my sister and I had shared since we were children. So, I willingly chose Ken. I thought I was doing a noble thing, stepping aside for their love. I had no idea I was choosing an eternity in hell. Before I died, I was tortured for three days, my body broken, every bone shattered. Ken never once thought of saving me. The world-class medical team he assembled was busy hovering over Rosalind, who had nothing more than a few light scratches on her hand. She’d curled into his arms, her voice a delicate whimper. “Ken! It hurts so much! You have to save Clara! It’s all my fault, I never should have competed with her for you…” People around them sighed, whispering about how kind the Sterling family’s eldest daughter was, still thinking of her sister at a time like this. It wasn’t until my body was dumped in a landfill that she finally broke down, wailing for the news cameras. “I don’t believe she’s dead! Save my sister! Please, I’m begging you, save her!” Watching that tear-streaked, angelic face, I wanted to laugh. She was always like this—using that mask of innocence to steal our father’s love, to trick me into a disastrous marriage, and finally, to send me to my death at the hands of monsters. A cold smirk touched my lips. “Since you’re being so generous, sister, I won’t be polite.” I looked past Ken, directly at the other man. “I choose Adrian Thorne.” Rosalind stared at me, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Clara, you know that Adrian and I…” Ken’s gaze snapped to me, a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes. My father’s reaction was more direct. He slapped me across the face, the crack echoing through the silent room. “Don’t you know your place?” he roared. “Adrian Thorne is the pride of the military command. Do you really think a star like him would ever look at an illegitimate child like you?” His voice dripped with contempt. “You know he loves your sister. What kind of venomous game are you playing?” I tasted blood, but I smiled through the stinging pain. “If it was all decided, why not just marry me off to the cripple directly? Afraid of what people would say? Afraid they’d call you biased?” A shadow crossed Rosalind’s eyes before they filled with tears once more. “Clara, how could you say that? Father has always adored you.” As we argued, Ken Vance, the man who was supposed to be paralyzed, suddenly rose from his wheelchair. “General Sterling,” he said, his voice steady and strong. “Perhaps we can make a deal.” “I’m aware the command is facing an equipment shortage. I can provide your forces with the latest generation of military hardware. My only price is Rosalind’s hand in marriage.” I never imagined he would stand up, not now, not after faking his injury for so long. I stared at him, my eyes burning with hatred. His own cold gaze met mine, and for a fleeting moment, it became a storm of conflicting emotions, laced with a flicker of guilt. And then I laughed. So, he was reborn, too. Even after watching me die a horrific death, he still couldn’t bear the thought of Rosalind marrying another man. To stop it, he was willing to expose his greatest secret—that he wasn’t injured, that he’d never been cast out by his family. Yet, in our last life, he had watched me sell off my entire dowry to pay for his “treatments.” He’d watched me mortgage my properties and take out crippling bank loans. He’d even watched me beg on my knees for money to fund the surgery for his legs. And through it all, he never said a single word. At the mention of new military hardware, a greedy light flashed in my father’s eyes. He was desperate to marry us off to solidify his position anyway. Besides, the Vance family’s influence in the military far outstripped the Thornes’. He grunted. “Since Mr. Vance is so devoted to Rosalind, then Clara, you will marry Adrian.” Adrian’s face was a mask of fury, clearly enraged by this sudden turn. His eyes, usually so charming, were now poisonous darts aimed at me. “Clara Sterling, have you looked in a mirror? You’re not worth a single strand of Rosalind’s hair! You want me to marry you? In your dreams!” My father’s expression soured. “Adrian, what is the meaning of this? The Thorne and Sterling families have been allies for generations. Are you saying my daughter isn’t good enough for you? Are you trying to break the betrothal?” Adrian’s handsome face twisted into a sneer. “With all due respect, General, I will marry Rosalind or no one. I would rather die than marry Clara.” Rosalind bit her lip, tapping his chest with a delicate fist. “Adrian, darling! Don’t say that. Clara developed a chronic illness trying to save you. Even if you don’t like her, you should at least pity her.” I’d almost forgotten. When we were ten, Adrian and I were the ones who were inseparable. We were kidnapped while traveling abroad. He broke his leg trying to escape and cried for me to save him. Without a second thought, I carried him on my back, running until my lungs burned, using every last ounce of strength to get him to safety. The ordeal shattered my own health, leaving me frail and plagued by chronic illness ever since. Adrian gazed at Rosalind, his voice thick with adoration. “Rosalind, my love, you’re always so selfless. If you hadn’t called for help, I never would have been rescued. You’re the one who saved me.” He shot me a look of pure disgust. “If you hadn’t used that debt to cling to me all these years, I would have married Rosalind long ago.” Rosalind couldn’t hide the triumphant smirk on her face, burying her head in his chest to conceal it. I had to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. “Well,” I said, my voice cutting through their little drama. “Since my sister has such deep feelings for both of them, why not just marry them both at the same time?” Rosalind’s face flushed. “Clara, what are you saying? If they’re both with me, who would possibly want you?” I slowly stood up. “And what if I said… I don’t want either of them?” Two sets of eyes locked onto me. Adrian’s were full of scorn, as if to say, As if you have a choice. Ken’s, however, were dark and unnerving. He watched me intently, trying to peel back the layers and see into my soul. I refused to meet his gaze. “Nonsense!” my father roared, smashing a glass on the floor. “You’re a woman! What could you possibly do if you don’t get married?” I looked him straight in the eye, my voice ringing with newfound resolve. “I know our border defenses are compromised. I will volunteer for a frontier deployment. I will go there, prove my worth, and help the Sterling family through this crisis.” In my past life, the defenses under my family’s command had failed catastrophically. Father had taken most of my dowry to bribe his way out of trouble, but it was no use. Before the Sterling family fell from grace, he transferred all remaining assets to Rosalind, enough for her to live in luxury for a hundred lifetimes. Meanwhile, I was living in a drafty, dilapidated workshop, working day and night to scrape together money for Ken’s treatment. At my lowest point, I knelt before Rosalind and begged her for a loan. She had her guards drag me out and lock me in solitary confinement. The military doctor had told me Ken’s surgery only lacked a few crucial medicines. Any further delay would leave him permanently disabled. Desperate, I swallowed my pride. I betrayed my own principles to get him what he needed. And it was all for nothing. A fool’s errand. I pushed the memory away. With a bitter laugh, I deleted Ken’s contact information and boarded the military transport heading for the frontier. No one in the frontier forces thought much of me, seeing me as nothing more than Rosalind’s pale shadow. I didn’t care. I was determined to prove myself with action. In my previous life, my world had revolved around Ken. Now, throwing myself into training, I discovered a talent for strategy and tactics that I never knew I had. Even my commanding officers were impressed. After successfully completing a critical border mission that had been stalled for three years, I was summoned to meet with the High Command. My reputation skyrocketed. I became known as a tactical prodigy, a hero of the armed forces. My fame even began to eclipse Rosalind’s, the so-called “jewel of the military.” My father, who seemed to have forgotten I existed, finally called. The moment I answered, he started screaming. “Clara, has success gone to your head? It’s almost the anniversary of your mother’s death, and you won’t even come home?” My mother was the one soft spot left in my heart. I arranged for my duties to be covered and went home. After visiting her grave, I was stopped on my way out. Rosalind stood there, wearing her usual fake smile, but her eyes burned with an envy she couldn’t conceal. “Sister, you must have been working so hard.” Her voice dripped with false concern. “You spend all your time at the base now. I’m not trying to stop you, but you’re a woman, surrounded by men day in and day out. You’re disgracing Father’s name!” She leaned in closer. “Do you know what people are saying? That you slept your way to the top. That you sold intelligence for commendations.” Her eyes flickered to Ken, who was standing beside me, and she smirked. “I know you’re only doing all this to get a man’s attention.” “So, Father asked me to tell you. He’s already found you a fiancé. It’s the eldest son of the Zhao family—the one in a coma.” “Starting tomorrow, you won’t be returning to the base. I’ll be taking over your position. It’s for the best. We can’t have you parading around, shaming us all.” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “What’s the matter? Is it so unbearable that the little sister you’ve always pushed down is finally better than you?” She flinched, her eyes wide with shock. But I was done holding back. The words poured out of me, a torrent of long-suppressed rage. “On what grounds do you think you can take over the defenses I bled to secure? On the grounds that your mother was a mistress? Or on the grounds that Father had to pull strings just to get your mediocre ass into the military academy?” I stepped closer. “An illegitimate child, lecturing me? Telling me to step aside? Who gave you that confidence?” Rosalind’s face crumbled, and she burst into tears. “Sister, I’m only trying to help you. How can you misunderstand me like this?” “Help me?” I scoffed. “I’m sure. You know, for the ‘jewel of the military,’ you should learn to be content. Father has given you more than enough. Stop coveting what my mother left behind for me.” Rosalind looked at me with wounded eyes, her voice choked with sobs. “I know you’ve never liked me, but I just don’t want to see you work yourself to death…” I had no patience for her act. I turned to leave, but Ken’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and slamming me against the wall. His eyes were dark pools, his voice a low rasp. “You’ve gone too far.” Seeing him leap to her defense was so utterly predictable it was almost funny. Ken’s gaze hardened. “Apologize to Rosalind.” I slapped him. The sharp crack echoed in the silence. “Are you done, my dear sister’s devoted fiancé?” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “If you want to have a scene, take it outside. Don’t disgust me in here.” His head was turned from the force of the blow, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead, giving him a strangely broken look. “You…” His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn’t comprehend that I had actually struck him. I shoved him away and went to pack my things, intending to leave that very night. But as I was about to board my flight, I was ambushed. Adrian Thorne grabbed me by the throat, his face contorted with rage. “This is all your fault! Rosalind ran out last night after you upset her, she ran into a mugger, and she was shot! She’s in surgery, bleeding out. You’re coming with me to save her!” Thankfully, the guards assigned to my protection detail quickly tackled him and pinned him to the ground. I stared at him like he was insane. “She was shot? Then take her to a hospital. What good am I? Did I force her to run into a bullet?” Adrian glared at me, his eyes promising murder. “If you hadn’t insulted her, called her mother a mistress, she wouldn’t have been so devastated! She wouldn’t have run out! This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? For her to die!” “I’m telling you, if anything happens to Rosalind, I’ll make you pay with your life!” A mocking smile played on my lips. “You and what army?” “And me,” a cold voice said from the doorway. Ken stepped inside, flanked by a squad of heavily armed mercenaries. Adrian snarled, “Stop wasting time with her. Rosalind is losing too much blood. Tie her up and drag her to the hospital for a transfusion!” To me, he spat, “You destroyed Rosalind’s peace of mind. Now you can atone for it.” My guards were quickly overpowered. Adrian yanked me up by my collar and slammed me to the ground. The side of my face scraped against the rough floor, the pain bringing tears to my eyes. But I only looked at Ken. “Ken, I’ll only ask you this one last time.” My voice was quiet but steady. “Can’t you see she’s faking? That this is all just another one of her self-pitying, manipulative games?” Ken closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, the last trace of hesitation was gone. “I know.” It was so absurd I almost laughed. They both knew her tricks, and yet they were still willing, once again, to throw me into the abyss for her. On the way to the hospital, Ken let out a soft sigh. “You were reborn, too.” I just laughed. “Reborn or not, what’s the difference? You would never choose me.” “I’m sorry.” I turned to look at him, the absurdity of it all washing over me. “Ken, two lifetimes, and is that still the only thing you know how to say?” He leaned in suddenly, his lips crashing against mine in a rough, desperate kiss. He murmured against my mouth, “Clara, just endure this one last time.” “It’s just a little blood. You’ll be fine.” “After this is over, I’ll marry you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” I just smiled, a dead, empty thing, and said nothing. At the hospital, I was dragged straight into a transfusion room. As the crimson liquid flowed from my arm into the blood bag, I felt my strength seeping away. Ken and Adrian were already gone, pacing anxiously outside the operating room. “How is Rosalind?” No one asked if I was dizzy. No one noticed how ghostly pale my face had become. When they switched to the second bag, my vision started to go black. A nurse looked worried. “This young woman is severely anemic. If we take any more, her life could be in danger.” Ken heard her and frowned, his hand instinctively closing over mine in a hollow gesture of comfort. “Rosalind’s not out of surgery yet. Just hold on a little longer.” I stared at the light fixture on the ceiling, a profound weariness settling deep in my bones. “Ken,” I said softly. “Let’s just let each other go.” His eyes flickered, and he opened his mouth to say something. But just then, a cry of alarm came from the operating room. He shot up, rushing toward the door. “What happened to Rosalind?” A surgeon emerged, his brow furrowed. “A bullet fragment is lodged in her heart. We can’t remove it. She needs an immediate heart transplant!” “Get her next of kin in here for tissue matching. We can’t afford to wait.” Before the words were even out of his mouth, every eye in the hallway turned to me. Our father had a heart condition. Her only other living relative… was me.

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After marrying my nemesis, I fell ridiculously in love. My days became a blur of sweet nothings and blistering fucking. Six months into this intoxicating routine, I decided to surprise him for a lunch date. Instead, I walked into a brawl between him and my childhood best friend. My friend landed a solid punch. “You son of a bitch. You dared to force her into this marriage? Do you have any idea how much she despises you?” Griffin slowly wiped a smear of blood from his lip. The words hit their mark, and his eyes turned venomous. “Of course I know,” he hissed. “So what? You really think I’d ever let her go?” A wave of sympathetic glances washed over me from the onlookers, as if I were the tragic heroine in a dark romance, stolen and caged. I looked down at myself, dripping in jewels and designer clothes. My world shattered. Weren’t we… weren’t we a love story? The kind where you marry first, and fall in love later? 1 Deep in the night, I was waging war from behind my laptop screen. “Let me spell it out for you,” I typed, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Your boyfriend is gaslighting you. Grand gestures and sweet talk are cheap. The only real metric is his wallet. Follow the money, honey. That’s where the love is.” A user shot back instantly. “Who is this high-and-mighty bitch telling people how to live? They’re a happy couple, leave them alone.” The replies piled on. “Seriously. How much did your husband spend on you? Bet he bought you a tacky gold bracelet and now you think you’re a relationship guru.” A few seconds later, I uploaded a photo of the diamond on my finger. A rock the size of a quail’s egg. “Auction price was five million. A little gift from my husband.” The replies trickled to a halt, then started again. User 1: “…Why do you guys always have to poke the bear?” User 2: “Ugh, rich people. Get out of our comment section.” I rolled my eyes, tapping out one last defiant message. “I told you my husband genuinely loves me… you just didn’t want to believe it.” I snapped the laptop shut. Griffin was still in the shower. I kissed the massive diamond, then slipped into a red lace nightgown, all strategic cutouts and delicate straps, and draped myself across the bed to wait for him. Six months into my marriage with Griffin, and our relationship was blossoming. The evidence was clear: One, my family may have gone bankrupt, but Griffin’s vast fortune was more than enough to sustain my lavish lifestyle. Two, Griffin may have been a scholarship kid I used to torment for years, but he held no grudges. After the wedding, he became my loyal servant. Whatever I wanted, he provided. Click. The bathroom door opened. The man I’d been waiting for emerged, a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, catching the lamplight like tiny pearls. I drew out his name, my voice thick and syrupy. “Griffin. Come serve your queen.” His dark gaze raked over my body as he silently crossed the room. I decided to praise him generously. “I’m very satisfied with this gift. Next time, I want something bigger. An emerald, I think—” He silenced me, his mouth crashing down on mine. The sound of tearing silk filled the air, and my expensive nightgown was reduced to ribbons. Outside, a gentle rain began to fall. Inside, my muffled protests turned into whimpers. “Griffin, you dog, I didn’t say you could start—” “Hush, Sloane. If you want the emerald, you’ll be quiet.” 2 A few days later, I was adorned with a new set of priceless emeralds. Strolling through the city, I felt like a pedigreed Persian cat, sleek and untouchable. It was a weekday, so the high-end department store was quiet. That’s why I easily heard someone call my name. “Ms. Hayes?” A young woman in a sensible pantsuit stood among a small group of people. She was plain, the kind of forgettable face you see once and never again. I’d known a face like that years ago. A classmate of Griffin’s. Audrey. Back in prep school, our year had two charity cases. Griffin, the major one, and Audrey, the minor one. The two of them were always eating lunch together, a little island of have-nots. Inseparable. I studied her for a moment before her name surfaced. “Audrey.” “I’m surprised you remember me.” She extended a hand. “I work for Mr. Vance now. I’m his assistant.” I offered a tight, polite smile, making no move to take her hand. “Is there something I can help you with, Audrey?” She slowly retracted her hand. “Oh, no, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just here to do a site inspection for Mr. Vance. I didn’t expect to run into you.” Her gaze lingered on my emeralds, a flicker of something in her eyes before she smiled. “It must be nice being a housewife. Not a care in the world, just shopping and spending. After all the hell you put Griffin through back then, it’s amazing he can be so forgiving. You’re a lucky woman.” I watched her, letting the silence hang in the air before I laughed. “You’re lucky too, you know. You just happened to get that scholarship my father donated to the school. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, working for my husband.” The corner of Audrey’s mouth twitched, her practiced smile flattening into a thin line. I beamed at her. “What’s wrong? You look upset. I’m sorry, I thought you enjoyed these little trips down memory lane.” She had no idea what I’d put Griffin through. She wasn’t even there for most of it. Did he not warn her to stay away from me? She was playing with fire. “I have to get back to work,” she said, her voice clipped. “Enjoy your day, Ms. Hayes.” That evening, when Griffin came home, he found me slumped on the sofa. An empty bottle of red wine lay on its side at my feet, a dark stain bleeding into the cream-colored rug. He set down his briefcase and silently took out his phone, texting the cleaner. Then he came over and bent to lift me into his arms. I gave him a weak shove. “Kneel.” Griffin paused, then carefully knelt before me, the fabric of his suit trousers creasing. I prodded his shoulder with the toe of my shoe. “You hired a female assistant?” He caught my ankle, his thumb stroking the delicate skin. “It’s a corporate policy. Gender diversity.” He lowered his head, his lips tracing a path up my calf. “But my executive assistant, the one who deals with me directly, is a man. Does that ease my queen’s mind?” The bad mood that had been poisoning my day began to evaporate. In less than a minute, I was his again, completely. I draped myself over his shoulders, scrolling through my phone. “I don’t get it,” I mumbled. “Mom and Dad took your money, so why won’t they answer my calls?” “They’re busy with their new venture. You can’t answer the phone when you’re building an empire.” “Oh.” The wine was making my head swim. Griffin carried me to the bed and gently stroked my hair. “Sloane,” he said softly, “if they were broke, completely penniless, would you still want to talk to them?” I burst out laughing. “I don’t talk to paupers. You know that.” His dark eyes were unreadable, like pools of ink. “What if I went bankrupt?” A truly terrifying thought. I pressed my fingers to his lips. “Shh, don’t even joke about that. It’s horrifying.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, smiling. “If you ever lose your money, I’ll be the first one out the door.” Griffin’s expression remained placid as he looked at my smiling face. Then, he suddenly flipped me over. “I’ve just realized something,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my back. “I think I prefer the sound of your crying.” His hot, hard body pressed against me from behind. “And if my queen ever tries to run… I’ll just have to break her legs.” 3 The alcohol sent me into a deep, dream-filled sleep. Seeing Audrey had dredged up memories I hadn’t revisited in years. It had been so long since I’d dreamt of the young Griffin. The year he transferred to our school was one of the driest summers on record in New York. For months, not a single drop of rain fell. The drone of the cicadas was a constant, piercing scream that seemed to tear at the sky. During homeroom, our teacher walked in with a new student. He wore a faded, washed-out school uniform, his dark eyes downcast, radiating a cold indifference. I’d never seen anyone so obviously poor. His backpack was literally held together with patches. But he was also devastatingly beautiful, and the girls in our class stared at him, their eyes practically boring holes through his cheap clothes. Scholarship kids weren’t a novelty. The school had a quota to fill every year. Usually, a handsome one like him would be claimed by some rich girl within a year, turned into a pretty accessory. So I admired his proud, isolated posture. I was curious to see how long it would last. A year passed. Griffin hadn’t become anyone’s plaything. Instead, he’d become class president. Our class was full of lawless trust-fund babies. The teachers, not wanting to antagonize our powerful parents, had chosen the boy with no connections to be their enforcer. One day, Griffin announced it was time to collect class dues. He then read out a list of students who were delinquent. The first boy whose name was called swaggered to the front, pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, and threw it in Griffin’s face. “You think everyone’s a broke piece of trash like you? Can’t even afford the dues?” “So I forgot. You had to call me out in front of everyone?” “Who are you trying to humiliate, huh? You charity case.” A ripple of laughter went through the classroom. The next few students did the same, showering Griffin with bills that fluttered to the floor. Griffin bent down and began to silently pick them up. Snickers followed him. “Hey, mutt, you can keep the change. A little tip for you.” I was about to pull out my phone to text the principal when my best friend, Ford, grabbed my arm. “Don’t get involved, Sloane. If these people want to slum it with us, they should expect this.” I hesitated, then pulled out my own thick roll of cash and walked over. “Here’s mine.” Griffin glanced at the money, his voice flat. “It’s too much.” “The rest… do whatever you want with it.” I’d heard he was from an orphanage, that he had to scrimp and save just for tuition. The poor thing. Suddenly, Audrey appeared from nowhere and shoved me. “Get lost! Can’t you people just leave him alone?” I stumbled, my hipbone cracking against the corner of a desk. A sharp pain shot through me. Griffin finished collecting the money and stood up, his face an emotionless mask, his eyes deep and dark. “You want to be like them, Queenie? Go on. Throw it in my face.” I had a temper, too. The next second, a storm of bills engulfed his face, harder and more furious than anyone else’s. His beautiful features flickered in and out of view through the fluttering cash. I had to admit, the sight of Griffin’s face surrounded by money was a perfect match. Of course, from that day forward, Griffin and I were at war. If he wouldn’t accept my charity, then he could expect my wrath. We spent the next few years locked in a bitter rivalry. I usually had the upper hand. It wasn’t uncommon to see Griffin standing in the sweltering heat, waiting in line at an ice cream truck for me. Or on cleaning day, mopping up the ink I’d “accidentally” spilled on the floor. Did he not fight back? He couldn’t. A poor student who’d pissed off the richest, most powerful girl in school had nowhere to run. Of course, when he got really pushed, he’d grab my wrist and pin me against the wall of the empty basketball court. A warning. But that only ever resulted in more creative and vicious retaliation from me. I thought he would spend his entire life under my thumb. But the old saying, “never underestimate a poor boy with ambition,” proved to be true. Years later, my family’s empire crumbled. Griffin, on the other hand, had risen like a phoenix, becoming a titan of industry, a man everyone wanted to please. The day he proposed our marriage alliance, I nearly destroyed his office. “You want revenge? Dream on!” I swung a golf club, smashing the last of his computer monitors. “You want to marry me? Fine. Give my family a hundred million dollars, and promise that everything you earn after we’re married is mine to spend. Otherwise, I’ll shatter that window and take you down with me!” I expected him to back down. Instead, his face darkened, and he bit out one word: “Done.” That night, a hundred million dollars was transferred to my parents’ account. The prenuptial agreement was signed. All of Griffin’s income was legally mine. To spend as I pleased. And that’s when things got awkward for me. Because it turned out… he really, really wanted me. Our wedding night lasted for three days. I was practically broken. I made a burner account and anonymously posted on a forum: “My husband wants to have sex seven times a night. Does this mean he hates me?” The internet exploded. “Shut up. Your happiness is deafening.” “Yes, he despises you. He loathes you. You should divorce him immediately and send me his contact info.” “The rich get richer, and the thirsty stay thirsty…” “Okay, serious answer: A man who can still go seven times a night after 25? Cherish him. He is biologically, fundamentally attracted to you. You can’t hate someone into your bed like that.” Even though I’d suspected Griffin had a secret crush on me, seeing it confirmed was deeply satisfying. All those other rich girls couldn’t tame him. But in the end, he was mine. I really was a master of my craft. 4 When I woke up, Griffin was already at the office. I glanced at my phone and saw that our old high school group chat, usually dormant for years, was buzzing with activity. My childhood best friend, Ford, was back in town. He messaged me right away: “Sloane, dinner tonight?” “Just us?” “And a few others from the old crew.” I knew exactly who “the old crew” was. “No thanks. Griffin doesn’t get along with them, so I’ll pass.” Ford: “??? What does Griffin have to do with anything???” Oh, right. He’d been in Antarctica for the last few years photographing penguins, practically disconnected from civilization. “Griffin and I are married.” “Was it your choice?” “Not entirely, but now I think—” “Okay, got it.” Ford hung up before I could finish. My thoughts drifted back to Griffin. It occurred to me that since we got married, we’d never actually been on a proper date. I put on a full face of makeup, feeling giddy, and headed to Griffin’s company. His assistant told me Griffin had also gone to the class reunion. He was kind enough to call a driver to take me there. The whole way, my anger simmered. What was Griffin thinking? Going to a class reunion without even telling me. He didn’t bring Audrey, did he? The car pulled up, and I stormed inside. As I rounded the corner of a staircase, I could hear a commotion from a private room down the hall. Then, a sickening thud. “You son of a bitch. You dared to force her into this marriage? Do you have any idea how much she despises you?” I came around the bend just in time to see Ford’s fist connect squarely with Griffin’s jaw. Griffin staggered back against the wall, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The words hit their mark, and his eyes turned venomous. “Of course I know,” he hissed. “So what? You really think I’d ever let her go?” “Fuck you! Why don’t you get Sloane over here and see who she chooses.” Griffin grabbed Ford’s wrist, his voice a low, cold sneer. “No need. I’ll never give her that choice. She is—and always will be—my wife.” “You’re… a monster,” Ford seethed. “This is imprisonment! It’s abuse!” “Call it what you want. I don’t care.” Suddenly, someone spotted me. “Sloane! What are you doing here?” Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. Their faces were filled with pity. “Poor thing. No wonder we haven’t seen her in so long.” “Locked away and tortured all this time. She must have come here to run away with Ford.” My head was spinning. I caught my reflection in a nearby window—a woman dripping in jewels and designer clothes. My world shattered. Weren’t we… weren’t we a love story?

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1 A freak thunderstorm hit the city. I raced to the office, but I was still one minute late. The CEO’s Executive Assistant, Marcus, stopped me at the door. He didn’t smile. “One minute late. As per policy, you can make a ‘voluntary contribution’ of one condo.” It was so absurd I almost laughed. I’d heard of “voluntarily contributing” for a coffee run, or for office supplies. Never a condo. “Because I was one minute late… you want me to donate a condo to the company?” I asked, just to be sure I’d heard him right. He gave me an annoyed, dismissive look. “Do you have any idea what can be accomplished in one minute? Twelve missile defense protocols can be launched. Understand?” I decided he was insane and ignored him. What could he do? I wasn’t going to just hand over my deed. Then I got my pay stub. Salary & Commission: +$100,000 Voluntary Contribution (Condo, Appraised): -$1,000,000 Total Pay: -$900,000 My vision went red. I grabbed my phone and called the CEO. “Honey, is your new assistant having a psychotic break?” … An angry, cold voice snapped back from the other end. “What right do you have to question my assistant?” “Don’t bother me with this. It’s a small thing.” She hung up before I could speak. A million-dollar fine… she called it a “small thing”? I stormed over to Marcus’s desk. “What the hell is this? You can’t just fine me a million dollars!” He looked up, a smug, arrogant smirk on his face. “Late employees make a voluntary contribution. It’s the rule.” He then shouted to the entire open-plan office: “Hey! Have you all made your voluntary contributions?” A few people immediately piped up: “I have! I donated a pen!” “I donated a stapler!” “I donated a whole ream of paper!” Marcus turned back to me, raising an eyebrow. “See? Everyone contributes. Why are you trying to be special? It’s company policy. You’re not trying to welsh, are you?” I didn’t fall for it. “I can accept a reasonable penalty for being late. But why do they donate office supplies while I’m donating a condo?” Marcus actually laughed, pointing at me. “Ryan, you’re not stupid. Use your head. The contribution is tied to your personal economic situation.” “You’re rich. So you contribute more. What’s the problem? Ask Leo over there. If he were rich, he’d donate more, wouldn’t you, Leo?” Leo, his number one sycophant, practically jumped out of his chair. “Of course! If I had $20 million, I’d gladly donate $10 million to the company!” Marcus clapped Leo on the shoulder, looking impressed. “That’s the spirit, Leo! The company won’t forget this. Here, a reward for you. A coupon for the coffee shop downstairs. Two dollars off any purchase over eighty.” Leo was so grateful he was almost crying. Marcus spread his arms wide, projecting power. “As long as you follow the rules and understand the spirit of ‘voluntary contribution,’ this company will take care of you.” I was done with this circus. “Show me the company handbook. Show me the rule.” He tossed a supplemental contract addendum onto my desk. I scanned it, even using my phone’s magnifier. Nothing. He impatiently jabbed a finger at the last page. “Ryan, if you’re blind, get glasses. If you can’t read, go back to elementary school.” Finally, under his finger, I saw the microscopic print: “All policies herein are subject to interpretation by executive management.” I looked at him, confused. He cut me off. “I represent executive management. My interpretation is the rule. Got it?” “Your seniority doesn’t mean you’re above the rules. And my rules are the rules.” He looked around the office, smug. Everyone knew he was the CEO’s new favorite. No one dared challenge him. But he was messing with my money. I wasn’t going to be “everyone.” “Marcus, you’re an assistant. Stop acting like you own the place.” “I’m going to the CEO. We’ll see who she sides with.” 2 I slammed open the CEO’s office door. Before I could speak, Serena’s icy gaze hit me. “Get out. Who said you could come in without knocking?” I did as she said. The moment the door clicked shut, I raised my hand to knock. But before I could, Marcus burst right in. This idiot, I thought. He’s about to get his head bitten off. But the screaming I expected never came. When Serena saw who it was, her pinched, angry expression melted. “Oh, Marcus, you’re here!” Her voice was warm, gentle. The exact opposite of how she’d spoken to me. I coughed, then knocked. After she called “come in,” I re-entered. I explained the situation. Serena’s expression was calm, as if this was all perfectly normal. “So? You feel Marcus did something wrong?” I was stunned. “You don’t think this is… excessive? He’s using his position to extort employees. The entire office is toxic!” Serena’s face darkened. “Ryan, I will not have you speak about him that way.” “Everything he has done was with my full authorization.” “The ‘Voluntary Contribution’ policy… was my idea.” I stared, my jaw slack. I couldn’t connect the brilliant, driven woman I’d married to this… this tyrant. “I was one minute late, Serena! He’s taking my condo! You don’t find that a little insane?” She just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Why? A company needs rules to function.” “He is being 100% dedicated to this company’s success. What’s wrong with that?” I was speechless. “It’s a house, Serena! Not a… a sandwich!” Marcus, seeing the tension, stepped in. “Serena, I did have a strategic reason.” “With great power comes great responsibility. He earns the most, so he should contribute the most. Plus, our intern housing is full. I told Ryan to donate his condo so the interns would have a place to live. It solves an HR problem and saves the company a huge expense.” Serena’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! Two birds with one stone. Marcus, you’re always so thoughtful.” She turned to me. “Ryan, if you were half as dedicated as Marcus, this company would be twice as large.” The anger I’d been suppressing finally boiled over. “If I were as ‘dedicated’ as that brain-damaged moron, my mother would have disowned me!” The room went dead silent. Serena’s face turned black. She stood up, walked over, and slapped me. Hard. I just stared at her. Blank. Married for three years. She had never laid a hand on me. Now, for him, she slapped me. A flicker of regret crossed her eyes, but it vanished instantly. Her voice was ice. “Marcus does have a head injury. He got it in the car crash that he saved my life from.” “For years, he’s had chronic pain, and not even the best specialists in the country can figure out why. “I will not allow anyone to mock his condition. Especially not in front of me.” Marcus immediately looked “nervous.” “Serena, please don’t fight. It’s not good for your relationship to be strained over an outsider like me. I… I should probably just cancel Ryan’s contribution. I just don’t want to undermine your authority…” Serena shook her head, all CEO again. “Don’t be ridiculous. The contribution stands. Ryan’s condo is donated.” 3 My heart ached. Her tone was final. Marcus put on a sympathetic face. “Ryan, I’m already giving you a deal, out of respect for Serena. A small condo in this city is at least $1.5 million. I’m only valuing it at $1 million on the books. I’m saving you $500k.” Serena chimed in. “He’s right. You should be thanking him. He’s being more than fair. Why are you acting like this?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Thank him? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Serena’s hands went to her hips. “You bought that condo with the salary I pay you! I never realized you were so petty! You have no vision!” I just sighed. She was completely under his spell. She couldn’t remember the beginning. In college, she told me she’d rather build an empire than work for one. I told her I’d help. After graduation, I joined her startup for zero pay. Ops, strategy, marketing, sales, client relations… I was the entire executive team. The company nearly went bankrupt three times. Each time, I saved it, pouring in my own money that I’d made from stock trading in college. This “100-person ship” was afloat because I’d plugged the holes with my own cash. Then, two months ago, Marcus, her “one that got away,” showed up. And she forgot everything. He’d been targeting me from day one. I’d put up with it, for her. But this… this was a bridge too far. And all I got was “petty.” The money I’d earned here wasn’t even a third of what I’d invested. But she didn’t remember that. “Fine,” I said, my voice empty. “Whatever you say.” My surrender only made her angrier. She stared at me, her chest heaving. Marcus put a hand on her arm, gently rubbing her back. His eyes met mine over her shoulder, and he smirked. “Look what you did, Ryan. You’ve upset her. For that, you’re cleaning all the company restrooms. You can’t go home until they’re spotless.” I crossed my arms. “Not my job. That’s what the janitorial staff is for. And you’re an assistant. You don’t get to give me orders.” Before Marcus could speak, Serena snapped. “What if the order comes from me?” I looked at her, incredulous. She knew I had a thing about germs, about public restrooms. She used to hire a private cleaning service for our house. She’d always said my hands were “for building, not for scrubbing.” Now, she was telling me to clean a toilet. She meant it. I had to do it. The smell in the men’s room was foul. I grabbed the mop and started on the floor, then began wiping down the stall doors. I heard his expensive Italian shoes click on the tile behind me. “You’re still a long way from beating me, Ryan.” 4 I turned. It was Marcus. “If you’re here to gloat, you’ve done it. Now you can get out.” He stayed put, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Serena is mine. If I hadn’t gone to London for my MBA, you’d never have had a chance. Your little joyride is over. I’ll be taking care of her from now on.” I laughed. “She’s my wife. When does she need an assistant to take care of her? Worry about yourself. Stop sniffing around another man’s wife.” He slammed his fist into a stall door. “You’re so tough, huh? Then why are you on your knees scrubbing a toilet? I thought you were so important to her. Turns out, you’re just… this.” “You still have so much energy. Looks like this isn’t hard enough for you.” He then proceeded to walk, deliberately, all over the wet, clean floor, leaving dirty footprints everywhere. It got worse. He unzipped his pants and urinated all over the floor I had just mopped. “Oops,” he said, zipping up. “You missed a spot, Ryan. You’re not very good at this.” My rage was blinding. I lunged, grabbing his collar. Just as I was about to speak, a wave of dizziness hit me. My skin started to itch, intensely. I collapsed, my limbs weak, gasping. “What… what did you do to me?” Marcus roared with laughter. “I heard you had a severe allergy to industrial-strength bleach. I dumped half a bottle in your mop bucket.” I was wheezing. “Serena… will kill you…” He just smiled. “Wanna bet?” On cue, I heard high heels clicking outside. “Marcus? Are you in there?” Marcus’s face changed instantly. He slapped himself, hard, three or four times. He ripped his tie askew, messed up his hair, and then collapsed on the floor near me. “Ryan, no! Please, stop! I’m sorry! I’ll leave!” The door burst open. Serena ran in. She looked right past me, her eyes only on Marcus. “Marcus! Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?” He fell into her arms, groaning. “I… I just came in to see if he needed help… I don’t know what happened… he just went crazy. He started punching me… I think… I think he’s mad about me being here…” Serena’s eyes, when she looked up at me, were filled with murder. “Ryan. He came in here to help you. And you assaulted him?” “If anything happens to Marcus, I swear to God, I will destroy you.” She was fussing over him. “Oh god, my head… I’m so dizzy…” Marcus groaned, and I saw him, over her shoulder, give me a tiny, triumphant smirk. Serena was completely fooled. She started to help him up. As they were leaving, Marcus “generously” looked back. “Serena… maybe we should check on Ryan. He… he looks like he’s in pain, too.” Serena didn’t even glance at me. “He’s fine. He’s never sick. He’s obviously faking it.” “Only a pure-hearted person like you would fall for such a cheap trick. I’m not.” They left, supporting each other. I was alone on the wet, filthy floor. I passed out. Ryan, Ryan… you’re a failure. Your own wife can’t see you’re dying. She’s obsessed with another man. It’s all your fault. If there’s a next life… you have to find someone who actually loves you. “Hey! Wake up!”

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My sugar daddy got into a car crash and lost his memory. He forgot I was his girl. I took the opportunity to get pregnant and run. To give my baby the best of everything, I decided to sell off all the gifts he’d ever given me. My online marketplace listings went up one by one: [Christian Louboutins, worn once for an ex. FOR SALE.] [Diamond-encrusted Montblanc pen, favorite of a flashy finance bro. FOR SALE.] [24k gold anklet, used for… roleplay with a first love. FOR SALE.] [Hermès Birkin from my late husband. FOR SALE.] The weird thing was, every single item was snatched up instantly by the same buyer. No matter how much I jacked up the price, they bought it without hesitation. Until one day, after I’d sold everything, a new message from the mystery buyer popped up: [Is your profile picture for sale? Name your price.] I stared at the selfie on my screen and had a long, hard think. 1 When I got to Julian Croft’s hospital room, I could hear his voice, laced with disdain. “Me? Amnesia? Have you guys been watching too many soap operas?” His mother, Mrs. Croft, grabbed his hand. “Do you remember who we are, then?” Silence. “…No.” Mrs. Croft’s eyes welled up. She clutched his hand, her voice thick with emotion. “Your name is Julian Croft. You’re the heir to the Crestlight Corporation, and I’m your mother.” She wiped a tear from her eye, then turned and gestured to the girl standing behind her, nudging her forward. “And this is your fiancée, Amelia.” Through the crack in the door, I saw a bright-eyed, beautiful girl step forward. She was wearing a chic camel-colored trench coat. She gave a playful wink and took Julian’s hand, her smile sickeningly sweet. “Julian, how could you forget me?” she cooed. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with you until you remember everything.” 2 Amelia. I remembered that name. One of Julian’s buddies had brought her up at a party once. “That Amelia Hayes has been obsessed with you since you were kids, man. Following you around, telling everyone she was going to marry you.” “She’s been waiting for you forever. Aren’t you going to give the poor girl an answer?” Julian had just swirled the ice in his glass and chuckled. “Plenty of women chase me. Am I supposed to marry all of them? If you ask me, anyone who gets married is an idiot.” He said all this while casually feeding me a spoonful of gelato. I was perched on his lap, playing the part of the perfect, well-behaved sugar baby, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. I always knew Julian was allergic to commitment. He hated being tied down, hated complications. He was a creature of impulse. He’d wake me up at 2 AM to take his private jet to Aspen, just to ski. He’d complain that he’d never seen me in a bikini while tracing the curve of my waist, and the next thing I knew, we were on a flight to the Maldives. We kissed on snow-covered slopes and held each other in crystal-clear water, acting like a couple deeply in love. But we never once said the words. Now, on the other side of the door, Julian was frowning, studying Amelia with a blank expression. When he didn’t say anything, Mrs. Croft prompted nervously, “You two were so close… but we can’t keep Amelia waiting forever. Julian, what do you think about having the engagement party next month?” Julian closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “She doesn’t really seem like my type,” he said lazily. “Are you guys messing with me?” Mrs. Croft and Amelia both stiffened. Then, the handsome man on the bed spoke again. “But if it was already decided, then I guess next month is fine.” Hearing that, I finally let out the breath I was holding. I looked down and placed a hand on my stomach, a smile spreading across my face instead of tears. 3 Julian didn’t know I was pregnant. We were always so careful. I have no idea what went wrong. When I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, my mind went blank. But my very first thought was—I want to keep it. Julian and I had different views on marriage. I didn’t care about getting married, but I’ve always wanted a child of my own. And if I was going to have one, the father should have good genes: handsome, tall, smart… Julian checked all the boxes. At the same time, I knew I could never tell him. He thought marriage was a trap; how would he react to a baby appearing out of nowhere? He’d probably think it was a scheme to lock him down. He would, without a doubt, make me get rid of it. I had been racking my brain for an excuse to end our arrangement. And then, at this perfect moment, Julian got amnesia. He had no idea who I was. Could there be a better time to disappear? My decision was made. I was leaving tonight. 4 While Julian was still in the hospital, I rushed back to his penthouse. I was halfway through packing when the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, walked in, looking concerned. “Miss Winters, are you… running away?” she asked, wringing her hands. “If Mr. Croft comes back and you’re gone, what am I supposed to tell him?” If I just vanished, she’d be a loose end. So, I told her the truth. “Mrs. Croft has arranged his engagement. My contract with Julian is over,” I explained. “He has amnesia now; he doesn’t remember me. If you want to keep your job here, you’ll forget about me too.” Mrs. Gable nodded vigorously, getting the message immediately. Just in case, I took out my phone and sent her a generous “severance package” via Zelle. “Please, keep this a secret, Mrs. Gable.” The second the words were out of my mouth, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. I answered. A cool, unfamiliar-yet-familiar voice came through the speaker. “Who is this?” 5 The accident was bad. Julian had smashed his phone along with his head. He never saved contacts with names, just numbers. He was probably going through his new phone, trying to figure out who was who. Crap. I almost forgot about that. Thinking fast, I pitched my voice a little higher, a little rougher. “Mr. Croft, this is Maria. I was your housekeeper. You fired me last week because my cooking was terrible.” It wasn’t a total lie. I had tried to be the domestic type once, pulling up recipes online to cook for him. It was a disaster. The first meal I made gave him food poisoning so bad he spent three days in the hospital on an IV drip. After that, I was banned from the kitchen. There was a pause on the other end. “Was I really that bored?” he mused. “Saving the housekeeper’s number.” He paused again. “Is that you in your profile picture? You look… familiar.” My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to sound calm. “No, it’s just a picture I found online.” “Hm,” he said, and hung up. A second later, a notification popped up. Julian Croft is no longer in your contacts. What a jerk, I thought, rolling my eyes. 6 The picture was one Julian had taken. He’d gone through a phase where he bought a fancy new camera, claiming he wanted to get into bird photography. I was his first test subject. In the photo, I had fallen asleep against a trellis in the garden. The backlighting made my face a little blurry, but with the pruning shears and a trowel at my feet, I did kind of look like a gardener. I stared at it for a second, then, without hesitation, I changed it. After triple-checking that I had erased every trace of myself from his life, I walked out of Julian Croft’s penthouse with my suitcase. The city lights blurred past the car window as we drove away. Watching the building shrink in the distance, the weight of the pregnancy I’d been carrying on my shoulders finally lifted. I couldn’t help but grin. “Baby,” I whispered to my stomach, “we finally ditched your deadbeat dad. Let’s go home.”

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My name is Angela. I’m the wife of Damian Sterling, the CEO of the Sterling Corporation, and the mother of his two sons. You’d think that having two sons would mean I could walk on air in this high-society world. In circles like these, producing a male heir is the ultimate currency. But I know the truth. My two precious boys… they aren’t exactly normal. They’re human by day, but at night, they turn into cats. So, I’ve learned to keep my head down, to shrink into the background and make myself as small as possible. I live every day in a state of quiet terror, terrified that Damian will discover I’ve cheated on him. The problem is, my supposed rival for his affections is a cat—and where the hell am I supposed to find the other man in that equation? 1 There’s a legend that runs through the Sterling family: because their ancestors were so ruthless, their hands so stained with the blood of their rivals, they were cursed with difficulty in conceiving. For generations, there has only ever been a single heir. So when it came to choosing a wife, it wasn’t just about beauty or family connections. The ability to bear sons was the ultimate trump card. And I, Angela, just so happened to have a mother who was a master at it. After my mom married my dad, she popped them out one after another. Other families might have two kids in three years; my mom had triplets in one go, cranking out six boys in just three years. Six of them. All boys. Can you believe the nerve? Even though we were constantly scraping by with so many mouths to feed, my mom walked with her chin held high, her voice booming with pride. In a world that worshipped sons, who could compete with her fertile womb? Who could dare challenge her track record? Word of her legendary fertility spread, and as her only daughter, I became the town’s most sought-after prize. From the day I turned eighteen, our doorstep was worn thin by suitors. In the end, it was the Sterling family’s offer that won. And just like that, I was married off. My life’s new purpose: to carry on the family line. For a country girl suddenly thrust into the gilded cage of high society, the pressure was suffocating. But for a two-million-dollar marriage settlement, I swallowed my fears. I waved a tearful goodbye to my parents and six older brothers and climbed into the waiting limousine. Of course, those weren’t tears of sorrow for my departure. They were tears of pain from chipping their teeth on gold. My parents and brothers, bless their country-bumpkin hearts, had never seen real gold before. Their first instinct was to bite it. Every single one of them ended up with a broken tooth. Watching the scene unfold, I wanted to scream, “Could you at least try to save me some face?” That was one reason I left. The other was simpler: you don’t argue with a force of nature. Just try saying no to a billionaire family and see what happens. When I first arrived at the Sterling estate, I was left alone for a month to learn etiquette. The second month, I was sent to Damian Sterling’s bed. My first impression of my benefactor? Mr. Sterling was young, formidable in bed, and visited my room with dutiful frequency. As expected, a month later, I was pregnant. A wave of relief washed over me as the doctor confirmed the news. I hadn’t failed my family. I hadn’t tarnished our reputation as premier son-producers. Ten months later, as the woman carrying Damian Sterling’s first son, I was the focus of the entire family. After a full day and night of labor, a piercing cry announced my success. I had delivered the heir. Damian came to see the baby. He glanced into the swaddling clothes, his face a mask of indifference. “You’ve worked hard,” he said, then turned and left without another word. The Sterling matriarch, his mother, rushed in, her face etched with anxiety. She unwrapped the baby, inspecting every inch of him, before she too shook her head and walked out. Their reactions sent a spike of panic through me. Was there something wrong with the son I had worked so hard to deliver? I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain, and leaned over the bassinet to get a closer look at my newborn son. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Five fingers, five toes. I looked again. His lips were a perfect bow, his eyes bright and clear, his skin as smooth as porcelain. He was a beautiful baby. A cherub straight out of a Renaissance painting. Not only was there nothing wrong with him, any other family would have been delirious with joy to have such a perfect, healthy boy. I couldn’t understand it. Even if they didn’t praise me, shouldn’t they at least acknowledge my effort? Shouldn’t there be some kind of reward? They gave my family two million dollars just to marry me; now that I’d given them a living, breathing heir, there was nothing? Or maybe they were just stunned with happiness, their brains short-circuiting? Cradling my sweet-smelling little boy, I waited eagerly for my benefactor’s reward. As night fell, I sent the nanny off to have her dinner, wanting a moment alone with my son. But the reward never came. Instead, something happened that nearly scared me to death. The sweet, milky-smelling baby in my arms… dissolved, right before my eyes, into a tiny black kitten. It mewed softly, tumbling and rolling in the blankets on the bed. Oh, my God. My father. My six brothers—what was happening? Where was my son? My beautiful baby boy? Why was he a cat? If I hadn’t seen the transformation with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. I was certain I’d only ever been with Damian, that I hadn’t cheated. So how could my child be a… a hybrid? How was this even possible? I trembled as I watched over the tiny, furry creature all night, refusing to let anyone near the room. As the first rays of dawn touched the horizon, I was sure my life was over. A thousand different ways to die flashed through my mind, but none of them seemed quite right. 2 “Waaah! Waaah!” A human sound from the bundle of fur in my arms? I looked down. The kitten was gone. In its place, nestled in the blankets, was my plump, perfect prince—my precious son. I called the nanny in to feed him while I watched, my heart pounding with suspicion. He ate, he slept, he gurgled and cried when he was hungry—he was a perfectly normal baby. I started to wonder if I’d suffered some kind of postpartum hallucination. My family had no history of… abnormalities. The day passed in a haze of doubt. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, my hybrid—no, my beloved son—transformed into a kitten again, right before my eyes. Cradling the mewing ball of fur, I cried silently. Son, please be quiet! If you keep meowing, they’ll kill us both! After that second transformation, the last of my hope withered and died. My God, my grandmother, my coat, my jacket—my brain felt like it had been scrambled into mush. I spent another sleepless night trying to figure out where this mutation could have come from, but I had no answers. For my own survival, and for the survival of my hybrid child, I learned to be invisible. I stopped going to the gardens. I stopped visiting the kitchens. I stayed by my son’s side, guarding our terrible secret. But then, when my son was six months old, I found out I was pregnant again. The matriarch sent nourishing soups. Her husband sent ginseng. Even the wives of other prominent families sent bolts of fine fabric. After six months of living like a ghost, I could finally hold my head high again. During that time, I’d observed that my hybrid son’s human form was stable during the day. So, I started venturing out again. I went to the gardens, I instructed the kitchen on menus. My pregnancy cravings and late-night hunger even prompted Damian to have a small, private kitchen built in my villa. I, Angela, was back in the game. The other society wives started visiting my villa for tea and gossip again. Soon, another ten months passed, and the day of delivery arrived. My first son’s little brother was born. I peeked at him nervously. He was human. Thank God. Tears of relief pricked my eyes. But Damian’s reaction was the same as before. A grim expression, and then he was gone. The matriarch sighed, shook her head, and left. Still, the birth of my second son earned me a promotion: I was no longer just the wife of the CEO, but the Lady of the house. I was ecstatic—a promotion meant better benefits. With one human child and one hybrid to raise, I needed every penny I could get. My joy, however, was short-lived. As the sun set, my second beautiful, chubby son transformed into a kitten right before my very eyes. He was identical to his hybrid brother, a creature of pure black fur, except for the very tips of his ears, which were white. How thoughtful. Was this so I could tell them apart? This time, I didn’t faint. I just sat there, my heart a block of ice, as two tiny kittens playfully wrestled on my bed. And so, once again, I retreated into the shadows. No more causing trouble. No more tea parties or gossip sessions. No more picking flowers, chasing butterflies, or ordering special meals from my private kitchen. I lived a quiet, peaceful life, raising my two hybrid children. My dedication paid off in an unexpected way. My eldest, once he turned a year old, only transformed into a cat during the midnight hour, between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. My younger son wasn’t there yet—he still transformed the moment the sun went down. I took care of their every need myself, terrified of letting the secret slip. Ironically, my tireless devotion to my sons earned me a reputation as a model mother, and even the matriarch rewarded me for it. Sometimes, I’d let myself dream. With two healthy sons, maybe I could one day fight for the position of head of the family. Then I’d hear the meows in the dead of night, and the fantasy would shatter. Forget it. I’d be lucky to keep my head. After the birth of my second son, Damian’s visits became less frequent. I didn’t mind. Unlike the other wives, I never tried to win his favor with homemade soups or pastries. In fact, I was the one woman in this entire social circle who genuinely wished for Damian to have more children with other women. The more heirs he had, the less attention he’d pay to mine. And the less attention he paid, the safer my two hybrids would be. The longer the three of us would get to live. God, just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes. 3 Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, my eldest hybrid was five, and my younger one was three. By carefully cultivating the image of a fragile woman recovering from a lingering injury, I had managed to keep our villa quiet and isolated for years. It was as if I’d fallen out of favor. The good news was that my eldest could now maintain his human form almost perfectly, only changing during the full moon. My younger son was still a work in progress—he transformed every three days. To ensure their physical and mental well-being, I lived a life of constant deception. By day, we ate simple, bland meals. By night, we feasted on fish and meat. More accurately, I was practically living on bread and water during the day, stretching the food budget for a CEO’s wife and two young masters just to afford a few extra fish for my boys at night. Watching my two little cat-sons devour their meal, I would shed a silent, bitter tear for myself. My darling hybrids’ father, who are you? Where are you? On the outside, I was a doting mother. On the inside, a storm was raging. I was at my breaking point—my hybrids were now eating seven fish a night. Sob. The kitchen manager I’d bribed told me he couldn’t justify increasing our order any further. Over the years, I’d learned their personalities. My eldest was stoic and serious, always trying to act more mature than his years. He was thoughtful, obedient, and had a small appetite. He doted on his younger brother, respected his mother, and only ate two fish a night. My younger son, on the other hand, was a little terror and a bottomless pit. One day he was tearing up the matriarch’s prized orchids, the next he was scrapping with a society wife’s precious Persian cat. He was a constant source of anxiety. Thankfully, he only caused trouble in his cat form, or our secret would have been out long ago. Lying in bed, I reflected on the challenges of raising two hybrids. It hadn’t been easy. “Mom, Leo’s gone.” My eldest son’s grim face appeared at my door. “What—” The scream died in my throat as he shot me a stern look. “Mom, please wait quietly in his room. I’ll go find him.” “Be careful. Please, be careful.” “I will.” With that, he transformed into a sleek black cat and vaulted over the garden wall, disappearing into the night. “That little rascal,” I sighed, wringing my hands. “He never gives me a moment’s peace. Oh, I hope no one catches him. My baby boy…” I sat on a stool, my mind racing with terrible possibilities. Just as the moon reached its zenith and I was about to sneak out to search for them myself, my two hybrids returned. “Oh my god, what happened to you two?” My eldest’s black fur couldn’t hide the blood matting the corner of his mouth. But my younger son was in worse shape—all four of his legs were limp, completely useless. I quickly lifted the smaller cat from his brother’s back. As my fingers brushed against his soft, broken limbs, tears streamed down my face. “Mom, Leo is badly hurt,” my eldest said, shifting back into his human form. “His internal energy isn’t stable enough to hold his human shape.” “Where did you find him? Where did that little devil run off to?” I asked, my voice choked with panic as I dabbed at the blood on his lip. “Don’t worry, Mom. His injuries aren’t that serious. Our bodies can heal themselves. I found him in Dad’s study. We’ll have to wait until he wakes up to find out who hurt him. You should get some rest. I’ll take him back to our room to recover.” His calm, methodical demeanor managed to soothe my frayed nerves. “Okay, okay. Go quickly. Make sure you take good care of your brother. My poor little hybrid, you must have been in so much pain. Sob…” I called after them, the image of that small, limp body burned into my mind. My heart ached, and I couldn’t stop the tears. What kind of monster would be so cruel to a helpless kitten? Don’t let me find out who hurt my baby boy. I swear, I’ll have my eldest scratch their eyes out. 4 Worried sick about my sons, I only managed to doze off near dawn, slumped against the headboard. “Hurry, hurry…” “Find it…” “Check over here…” “You go that way…” The commotion outside the villa jolted me awake. Bang, bang, bang! Someone was pounding on the main gate. The cleaning lady rushed to open it. For years, I hadn’t even kept a personal maid, all to protect my sons’ secret. I rose, checked my reflection—I looked presentable enough—and pulled back the curtains to see what was happening. “My Lady,” the head of security said, bowing low as he led a team of guards into the courtyard. “Last night, a black cat broke into the master’s study and scratched him. We are under orders to find the creature. We ask for your cooperation.” His words sent a chill down my spine. My hybrid son had scratched Damian? Damian was the one who had hurt my sons? Even a tiger won’t eat its own cubs, but Damian… he had injured both of them in one night. My heart shattered. “My Lady, if you would please allow us, we will be thorough but careful not to damage any of your belongings,” the captain said, bowing again. “Captain, please, do as you must,” I murmured, still lost in a fog of grief over Damian’s cruelty. I sat in the garden pavilion, watching numbly as the guards finished searching the main house and moved towards the side wing where my sons slept. I felt like I was forgetting something important. My head throbbed from lack of sleep. I just couldn’t place it. “Young Master, please open the door. We’re here to conduct a search,” the captain announced, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he bowed toward the door. Wait. A black cat? My younger son was still unconscious. He couldn’t transform back into a human! If they burst in there now, it would all be over.

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After my divorce, I disappeared. I changed my appearance and identity, remarried, had a child, and built a quiet, ordinary life. Everyone, including him, likely thought I’d eventually come back defeated. Seven years later, I returned to Sebastian Murray’s city, expecting him to have married Sophie Reed—the woman he’d promoted at my expense. But at a gala, I saw him. Still strikingly handsome, still single. He didn’t recognize me, yet whispers followed him: “Sebastian, still hung up on his ex-wife. Who will inherit his fortune?” The words confused me. If he loved me, why did he leak my most private photos the night I won my career’s top award? Why did he let my reputation be destroyed until I had to flee in disgrace? … Seven years ago, on the day I was supposed to fly to Cannes to accept the award for Best Actress, my private photos exploded across the internet. Overnight, I went from being a celebrated actress to a pariah, a target for public scorn. I remember staring at the vile comments, my fingertips trembling, before racing home to demand an explanation from Sebastian. But the conversation I overheard from behind his study door froze me in my tracks. “Mr. Murray, isn’t this a bit too harsh? Mrs. Murray has fought her way up in this industry for years. This could destroy her career. She might never work again.” Sebastian’s voice was calm, chillingly detached. “This award was meant for Sophie. For the future of Sophie’s career, what’s sacrificing her once?” My back was pressed flat against the cold wall, a bone-deep chill seeping into my soul. An assistant’s fawning voice continued, “You’re a true visionary, sir. It only took three steps to have Joanna Wells wrapped around your little finger.” “First,” the man gushed, “when she was just starting out, you had the agency trick her into signing doctored contracts designed to trap her.” “Second, you used the fifty-million-dollar penalty clause to force her into those compromising photoshoots.” “And for the third act, you swooped in like a white knight to ‘save her.’ Of course, she fell right into your arms, loyal and obedient, working herself to the bone to become the biggest earner for your company.” “She’s more loyal than a puppy, and you don’t even have to pay her a real salary!” Sebastian’s next words were like a sword through my heart. “This industry is a filthy place. With Joanna clearing the path, breaking the ground, Sophie’s journey to the top will be smooth and clean.” The assistant, noticing the uncharacteristic softness in Sebastian’s eyes whenever he mentioned Sophie Reed, asked, “Then why did you marry Joanna, sir? Did the act become real?” Sebastian swirled the red wine in his glass and scoffed, as if his hand had been forced. “Three years ago, Sophie had just gotten her license. She… she accidentally hit Joanna and her mother. The three-month-old baby Joanna was carrying, and her mother… neither of them made it.” “It wasn’t Sophie’s fault,” he added quickly. “She was terrified. It was Joanna and her mother who didn’t get out of the way in time.” My legs gave out from under me. I bit down on my hand, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth, just to stop myself from screaming. Three years ago. I had been pregnant, taking a walk with my mother, when a speeding car slammed into us. When I woke up, it was to the sight of my mother’s cold, lifeless body. I had shattered, and Sebastian had been there to hold me, to comfort me. “Joanna, my love,” he had whispered, “I will turn this city upside down to find the monster who did this. I swear I will get justice for our baby and your mother.” A month later, he came to me with a look of defeat. “The police said all the surveillance cameras in the area were malfunctioning that night.” “But it’s okay, Joanna,” he’d said, pulling me close. “I’m all you have now, and I’m all you need. I will protect you. I will love you forever.” “Marry me.” I looked down at the wedding band on my finger. This marriage, this life I thought was my salvation, was built on the blood of my mother and my unborn child. Inside the study, Sebastian’s voice continued. “I was afraid Joanna would press the issue and drag Sophie into it. So I offered to marry her. The title of Mrs. Murray was… compensation.” “And as for my Sophie, if I can’t give her my name in this lifetime, then I will give her the world in her career. I will stop at nothing to lift her up.” The brutal truth crushed the last bit of air from my lungs. I fled, scrambling away from that house, that cage. I didn’t stop running until I was blocks away, collapsing in an alley where I finally let out the sobs I had been holding back. When the tears ran dry, my hands shaking, I scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts and dialed a number that had burned in my phone for years. He answered on the first ring. My voice was a raw, trembling whisper. “Does your sister still need my kidney?” “I’m willing to donate it. But I have one condition.” “I want Sebastian Murray and Sophie Reed utterly and completely destroyed.” A low chuckle on the other end. “Done.” After hanging up, I immediately called my lawyer and had him draft the divorce papers. My heart hammered against my ribs when I saw the settlement clause: I would receive half of all Sebastian’s assets. It was a promise he’d made to me years ago, a promise he never dreamed I would be the one to invoke. I had just finished reviewing the documents when he came home. “You’re back? Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Security said they never picked you up, and you weren’t answering your phone.” I said nothing. He probably assumed I was still reeling from the photo leak. He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the sofa. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face buried in my hair. “I thought those photos were destroyed years ago. I never imagined they kept copies.” “I promise you, I’ll take care of this as quickly as possible.” I looked into his eyes, those clear, dark pools, and saw not a single flicker of guilt or deceit. How many lies had he told me over the years? I felt exhausted, hollowed out. “I’m tired,” I said, pushing him away gently. “I’m going to take a shower.” The next morning, Sebastian was already gone when I woke up. I opened my laptop. The top trending story was still about my scandal. But right below it were several new headlines, all about Sophie Reed. #POPULAR STARLET SITS ON DIRECTOR KING’S LAP, PAIR LATER ENTER HOTEL, WOMAN LEAVES DISHEVELED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT# #A-LIST ACTRESS IN HOTEL SCANDAL, SUSPECTED TO BE ‘S. REED’# #SOPHIE REED’S WHEREABOUTS LAST NIGHT UNKNOWN# I clicked on the article. The woman in the grainy photos was wearing a mask, but I recognized her instantly. It was Sophie. No wonder Sebastian had left so early. He was already in crisis mode, doing damage control for her. I let out a bitter laugh, printed the divorce agreement, and slipped it into the middle of a thick stack of contracts on his desk. I knew his habits. He never double-checked paperwork, just flicked the corner and scrawled his signature. Then, I started to pack. When I opened the door to my walk-in closet, a chilling realization hit me. Every single gift Sebastian had ever given me—a dress, a necklace, a handbag—Sophie had an identical one. Even my wedding ring had a counterpart on Sophie’s finger. Hers, I now noticed, was a much better match for Sebastian’s own band. I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it into a drawer, slamming it shut. Just then, my agent called, her voice frantic. “Joanna! Did you know Mr. Murray just called a press conference?” “You have to watch the livestream! He’s going to clear your name, I’m sure of it!” I clicked the link. The conference was just beginning. Sebastian stood at the podium, adjusting the microphone as camera flashes strobed across his handsome face. The camera pulled back to reveal Sophie standing beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Good morning, members of the press,” Sebastian began. “I’m here today to address the recent online speculation regarding an artist from my company.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The rumors that one of our actresses was involved with a director to secure a role are, I can confirm, true.” A wave of gasps and frantic murmurs swept through the room. I gripped a sofa cushion, my brow furrowed. Why would he admit it? My eyes darted to Sophie. As she lowered her head, I caught a fleeting, triumphant smirk on her lips. A cold dread washed over me. “However,” Sebastian continued, his voice ringing with authority, “the woman in those photos was not Sophie Reed. At the time the pictures were taken, she was at the office with me, discussing a script.” The reporters and the live chat exploded. “Then who was it?” someone shouted. Sebastian’s gaze found the camera, his voice clear, each word a hammer blow. “It was my wife, Joanna Wells.”

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As the nation’s top animal behaviorist, I was conducting a final evaluation of Caesar, our pride’s alpha lion. The moment I entered the isolation corridor, the heavy alloy gate slammed shut behind me. But instead of an alarm, the PA system blared the voice of the park director’s wife—my wife, Jessica. “Welcome back to the stream, everyone! Today’s ultimate challenge: we’ve locked our ‘top animal trainer’ in with the king of the jungle. Will he wet his pants in ten minutes? Place your bets!” Caesar, the lion I’d raised since he was a cub, was crouched low, growling. I reached for my tranquilizer gun, then froze. The liquid inside wasn’t pale yellow—it was a murky, angry red. The vet Mark’s smug voice came over the speaker. “Leo, forgot to mention—I swapped your tranquilizer for pepper spray. Wouldn’t want you hurting Caesar. You two are best buds, right? Use the power of love!” Caesar’s bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils told me he’d been drugged with agitants. Mark was getting back at me for stopping him from petting a tiger bare-handed last week. I tuned out the speakers, focused only on the 500-pound predator before me. My hand slipped into my pocket and closed around a small remote. I pressed the button—the master override for every electric fence in the predator enclosures. “If you won’t let me live,” I shouted at the nearest camera, “then you’ll all die with me!” “Jessica! This is the master switch for the entire zoo’s predator enclosures!” “The second I press this button, it won’t just be Caesar. Every single big cat, bear, and wolf will be out!” “This zoo is in the heart of downtown! Think about the body count! How many death sentences is that worth for you two?” My voice trembled with fury, but every word was a steel-tipped dart. The PA system went dead silent for a heartbeat before Mark’s terrified shriek pierced the air. “Leo! Dude, don’t do it! Just calm down, man! Be cool!” But then, Jessica let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Mark, what are you afraid of? He’s bluffing!” “Only the zoo’s owner has access to a switch like that. He’s just a glorified zookeeper. Where would he get something like that?” “Alright, folks!” she announced to her audience, her voice bright again. “Want to see me really get Caesar worked up? Start dropping those Golden Lions in the chat, and I’ll give you a show!” I almost laughed out of sheer, blistering rage. Keeping my eyes locked on Caesar’s every twitch, I yelled back, “Jessica, did it never once occur to you to ask why someone with zero qualifications, like you, was hired as the director of a major zoological park?” I threw myself to the left, dirt and gravel spraying as Caesar lunged, his claws swiping through the air where my head had been a second before. “It’s because I’m the secret owner of this zoo,” I bellowed, my lungs burning. Silence from the other end. Gasping for breath, I started shouting the secret clauses from the employment contract we’d signed—clauses only the two of us and my lawyer knew. Jessica’s breathing on the other end became heavy and ragged, as if a hand were clamped around her throat. Panic finally set in. “Leo, honey, don’t! I was just kidding! It was a prank for the stream!” she pleaded, her voice a desperate whine. “Don’t take it seriously! I’m opening the gate right now! I’m letting you out!” “Just please, don’t press that button!” But Caesar wasn’t giving me a break. I couldn’t dodge in time. His claws, sharp as scalpels, raked across my arm. My heavy work uniform tore like paper, peeling back flesh and sending a gush of hot blood spilling out. The rich, coppery scent of it filled the air. Caesar let out a thunderous, triumphant roar. I stared at the alloy gate. It remained stubbornly, fatally shut. My hope turned to ice in my veins. “You have ten seconds, Jessica! Open this gate NOW!” Her dream, she’d once told me, was to run her own zoo. So I’d poured my life savings into secretly buying this one. To spare her any sense of obligation, I’d set up a shell corporation to hire her, making it all seem like a lucky break. I was going to tell her everything tomorrow, on our wedding anniversary, and sign the whole thing over to her. A surprise. Instead, here she was, trying to impress her sleazy boy-toy by feeding me to a drugged-up lion on a live stream. “Ten!” “Nine!” I began the countdown, each number torn from my throat. In the adjacent enclosure, the scent of my blood had agitated the Bengal tiger. It began slamming its massive body against the fence connecting our two habitats, the impacts echoing like drumbeats of doom. “Jessica! Jessica, do something! I’m freaking out here!” Mark’s voice was a high-pitched squeal. Jessica was completely unraveling. “Honey! Leo, stop counting! Please stop! The gate… it must be malfunctioning! I’ll call maintenance! I’m calling them right now!” I stopped counting. The gash on my arm burned like fire. Using the precious seconds while Caesar regrouped, I scrambled up the rockwork of the lion’s den, clawing my way into the branches of a decorative tree. Before I could even catch my breath, Jessica’s voice, now laced with an unrestrained mockery, echoed from the speakers. “Oh, no, honey. What a shame.” “The maintenance guy says he’s already clocked out for the day. He can come in tomorrow, though.” “Why don’t you just hang out in there for the night?” Below me, Caesar was ramming the tree trunk with his colossal body. The entire tree shuddered violently, groaning as if it might snap at any moment. In my condition, I wouldn’t last an hour, let alone the whole night. Waves of dizziness from the blood loss washed over me, but they were nothing compared to the bone-deep chill of betrayal that had settled in my heart. “You’re insane, Jessica. You actually want me to die, don’t you?” The speakers erupted with their unrestrained, dual laughter. “Took you long enough to figure that out, Leo?” Jessica said. She cleared her throat, and I could just picture her aiming her phone’s camera right at my pathetic, blood-soaked form. “But hey, thanks for that little escape performance just now. The viewer count is through the roof! I guess you’re not completely worthless after all.” A rock whizzed past my head, smacking hard against the trunk. Mark was on the other side of the fence, picking up stones and hurling them at me. “What are you doing all the way up there? Get down here!” he taunted. “Our top donor just said if you fall out of that tree, he’ll drop twenty Supernova gifts!” Jessica squealed with delight, her voice twisted with manic glee. “Did you hear that, Leo? Get down here, now!” “If you don’t start earning your keep, I’m not even buying you an urn when you’re dead!” My life or death had become just another gimmick to farm engagement on their goddamn live stream. I raised the remote again, trying to say something, anything, but another violent slam from Caesar shook the tree so hard I nearly lost my grip. I could only cling to the rough bark, splinters digging into my palms. Watching my desperate struggle, Jessica walked right up to the gate’s bulletproof glass, her face alight with amusement. “Oh, stop the act, Leo.” “The owner’s personal assistant just called me a few days ago,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Told me the big boss is overseas scouting new locations and won’t be back for a while. Did you really think I’d believe a lie that stupid?” My heart clenched. I’d forgotten. To maintain the surprise, all official communication had been routed through my personal assistant, Lynn. Jessica paused, her tone shifting to a syrupy, false gentleness. “Besides, you’re Mr. Morality, aren’t you, Leo? The park hasn’t even closed yet. There are still visitors outside. If you let all the predators out and people get hurt… you couldn’t live with yourself, could you?” “Be a good boy. Climb down and have a little playtime with Caesar. It’s what everyone wants to see.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. My heart plummeted. I had thought the remote was my trump card, the one line she wouldn’t dare cross. But she had already factored my conscience into her sick equation. She knew my decency was her weapon. Seeing my silence, she smiled, satisfied. “You have no parents, Leo. No one to even mourn you.” “And for an animal trainer to be killed by one of his own animals… well, that’s just a workplace accident, isn’t it? Perfectly understandable.” “So just rest in peace. I’ll use the money from this stream to take good care of our child.” Our child? My mind went blank, a deafening roar drowning out everything else. Before I could even process the bombshell, Mark sidled up behind her, placing a hand on her stomach with an air of intimate ownership. “Don’t you worry, Leo,” he said, his voice slick with slime. “I’ll take good care of Jessica and the baby for you.” “After all,” he grinned, “they’re both mine now.” “Oh, and by the way, there should be a pretty hefty life insurance payout from the zoo after you die, right? It’s a big number, but I guess I can do you a favor and spend it for you.” The two of them, a perfect pair, their shamelessness so profound it made my stomach churn with bile. I swore to myself, if I survived this, I would tear them limb from limb. On their stream, the soap-opera-level drama must have triggered a new wave of donations. To please their audience, Mark found a long bamboo pole and began jabbing it at me through the fence. “Get down! Come on, Leo! Get down here!” The pole stabbed into my open wound. The agony was so intense I almost let go of the trunk. I was a broken, bleeding mess, trying to dodge the pole while keeping an eye on the increasingly frantic lion below. Just as Caesar gathered his powerful legs for a soaring leap, I launched myself sideways, landing heavily in the branches of a smaller, neighboring tree. Caesar’s lunge missed, and he crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, letting out a roar so powerful it felt like it would rupture my eardrums. The world was spinning from the blood loss. He was completely feral now. No matter what calming sounds I tried to make, he ignored them, his blood-red eyes fixated on me. I was filled with utter despair. Then, a crackle of static came from the walkie-talkie clipped to my collar. “Kssht… Leo? Leo, you there? How’s it going? Are you done with the assessment?” It was my colleague, Dave! Like a drowning man spotting a lifeline, I fumbled for the talk button. “Dave! Help—” “Dave, please don’t bother my husband while he’s working.” Jessica’s crisp voice cut through the channel, easily overpowering my weak cry. “He’s in a critical phase of calming Caesar down. He can’t have any distractions.” She had a walkie-talkie, too. She had locked me out of the channel. All I could do was listen as Dave’s apologetic voice came through. “Oh! Oh, my bad, my bad! I thought he’d be finished by now. That Leo, what a pro! Alright, I’ll leave you guys to it!” With a final crackle, the radio went silent.

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