Category: English

On the live finale of the reality show, the host had a cheap gimmick: check the seventh photo on each guest’s phone. I sent them the one I had of Sophia—a sweet, candid selfie she’d sent me last week. But when it flashed on the screen, the young heartthrob sitting next to me, Ethan Cole, scrunched his perfect brow. “Liam, man, I get it,” he said, his voice dripping with false concern. “You can come after me all you want, but can you please not be a creep about my girlfriend?” I froze. “I’m sorry, since when does she have a boyfriend?” Without missing a beat, Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed Sophia. “Babe,” he cooed, the cameras zooming in on his face. “Someone’s trying to break us up…” There was a pause on the other end, and then Sophia’s voice, crisp and serious even through the speaker. “Who? Where? I’m on the next flight back to the States.” My jaw hit the floor. The internet exploded. [I KNEW IT! LIAM KNIGHT IS ALWAYS CHASING CLOUT!] [GUESS AGAIN, LIAM. SOPHIA ROSE ISN’T SOMEONE YOU CAN JUST USE FOR ATTENTION!] [OMG, ETHAN AND SOPHIA ARE SO CUTE! GET MARRIED AND MAKE LIAM KNIGHT’S HEAD EXPLODE!] Seriously? I was just blindsided by the fact that my little sister was secretly dating my number one rival. 1 My dumbfounded expression was instantly clipped, GIF’d, and trending on Twitter. [LMAO does Liam Knight actually think Ethan is joking? Does he think everyone is as desperate for attention as he is?] [As if Sophia Rose would ever give him the time of day. This GIF is the best thing to happen all year, I swear.] [Hahaha, this is GOLD. I love watching this phony get put in his place by Ethan!] The live chat was a waterfall of hate. I couldn’t take it. I bolted from the stage and ducked into the nearest dressing room. [Did he just run off? Can’t handle the heat?] [Seeing him get knocked down a peg is my new favorite thing.] I slammed the door shut and immediately called Sophia. Her voice was rushed on the other end. “Liam, I’m in the middle of something urgent. I’ll call you back.” “Let me guess,” I said, my voice tight. “Did your new ‘boyfriend’ call you crying?” Sophia went quiet for a second. “How did you know?” “Are you insane? You’re dating a guy like that?” “You don’t get it, Liam. He’s the most special man I’ve met in my entire twenty-five years.” I felt the air leave my lungs. “He’s an actor, Soph! He can act like anything! I’m telling you, I know exactly who Ethan Cole is, and you need to break up with him. Now.” “It’s not an act!” she shot back, defiant. “He tells me he loves me even when he’s blackout drunk!” A knot of frustration tightened in my chest. “What’s so hard about that? It’s a performance! Watch, I can do it, too. I love you, I love you, I love you!” “Are you crazy? That’s disgusting!” Sophia sounded genuinely repulsed, like she had a full-body cringe. She hung up before I could say another word. Furious, I spun around—and found someone standing in the doorway. Ethan Cole had one hand on the doorknob, the other holding his phone. His eyes were wide with manufactured surprise. “Liam? Hey, sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” I gave him a humorless smile. “Funny. I could’ve sworn I saw you watch me walk into this very room.” “Liam, you…” Ethan’s face crumpled into a mask of hurt. The online comments, which I could only imagine, were probably going wild. [OMG, YOU PSYCHO, GET AWAY FROM ETHAN!] [I can’t stand this fraud. His movies suck, and so does he. He was hitting on Ethan’s girlfriend first!] I was done playing this game. I brushed past him and walked away. But of course, in the time it took me to walk to the restroom and back, another social media bomb had gone off. I clicked the link. It was a three-second video of me on the phone. My frantic, mocking “I love you” to Sophia. The headline was brutal. Sophia Rose to Liam Knight: “Are You Crazy? That’s Disgusting.” Liam Knight Attempts to Sabotage Relationship, Gets Savagely Shut Down by Business Mogul Sophia Rose. My world went black. 2 The dressing rooms were soundproofed, private. The only person who could have filmed that video was the one who opened the door at the end: Ethan Cole. The clip started right at my “confession,” making it look like I was having a psychotic breakdown and professing my love for Sophia, only for her to reject me in disgust. I found Ethan by the craft services table and held up my phone, playing the three-second clip. “You recorded me?” He forced a nervous laugh. “Whoa, Liam, don’t get the wrong idea. I was just taking a selfie and you were in the background, I didn’t mean to—” “Why was your camera pointed at me for a selfie? And if it was an accident, why did you post it?” The color drained from his face. He realized his mistake—admitting he filmed it was admitting he leaked it. It completely contradicted his carefully crafted persona as the kind, harmless victim. His eyes welled up, his lip trembling. The performance was flawless. “Liam, please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Just stop going after my girlfriend, okay? I tried talking to you, but you wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how to fight with people… I just didn’t know what else to do.” He looked down, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. “She’s the first girl I’ve ever really loved like this. Please… just leave us alone.” I cut him off. “That whole routine might work on her, but it’s wasted on me.” My voice was flat. “You play enough games, and eventually, people see you for who you are. It’s only a matter of time before she dumps you. Watch your back.” I turned and walked away. The premise for this season of the reality show was a “back to basics” rural theme. As I was getting ready for the next leg of the trip out to some farm, my agent called. “For God’s sake, Liam, can you stay out of trouble for five minutes? You’re trending for the third time today!” I pulled up my phone. The number one trending topic had a big red “BREAKING” tag next to it: Liam Knight Threatens Ethan Cole Just moments before, an audio clip had been “leaked” by an anonymous “production staffer.” It was the audio of my conversation with Ethan. I was certain we had been the only two people there. My social media mentions were a war zone. [Dude, get a clue. Sophia Rose herself confirmed Ethan is her boyfriend! And you’re telling HIM to ‘watch his back’?] [Hope you die alone, you homewrecker.] [Who is this clown? Oh, right, the guy who makes garbage movies. No wonder. His whole family is probably trash.] … At the same time, Ethan started a live stream from the back of his car. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling “bravely.” “Guys, please don’t say mean things. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding between me and Liam,” he said softly. “It makes me sad to think I might have caused him any pain.” His fans were eating it up. [OMG MY POOR BABY YOU ARE TOO KIND FOR THIS WORLD! Liam Knight is just a bully! DON’T DEFEND HIM!] [You’re so sweet, I’m crying for you! On my way to Liam’s Twitter to light him up.] [We will protect the kindest boy in the world! Liam Knight can rot!] Sitting in the van, the world swam before my eyes. I picked up my phone and called Sophia again. 3 “Break up with him. Right now.” I didn’t bother with a greeting. Sophia sounded completely lost. “Liam, I told you, this is real.” “Did you happen to see how he’s manipulating the entire internet to make me look like a monster? Have you even glanced at what’s trending?” “Oh, come on, Liam. You get dragged online every other day. I’m used to it by now.” …She had a point. “It’s fine, big brother,” she said, her tone softening. “When I get back, I’ll take you both out to dinner. We’ll clear the air. Ethan is a really good person, he’s not what you think.” “Forget it. I have more experience in this industry than you have contracts signed.” “And what has that experience gotten you? Nothing but bad reviews.” “You—” “Look, Liam, just quit,” she said, not unkindly. “You know your acting got passed down from Mom.” I had no comeback for that. After a moment of letting me stew in her victorious silence, she continued, “Seriously, bro. Just come home and help me run the family business. You’d make way more money, and my life would be a hell of a lot easier. Why are you putting yourself through all this?” “No! I didn’t get into this business for the money. I did it for Amelia!” “…” 4 The truth was, I never needed to be in show business. My parents were constantly begging me to come home, to join Sophia in running the family empire and take it to the next level. But I was stubborn. I chose the chaos of Hollywood for one reason: to get closer to Amelia Lane. The goddess I’d worshipped from afar for five years. To avoid any unnecessary drama, I had never publicly disclosed my relationship with Sophia. I took my mother’s last name, Knight. Sophia took our father’s, Rose. In all these years, no one had ever connected the dots. Until now, when it had all blown up into this ridiculous circus. A wave of regret washed over me. As her older brother, I’d always been the one to guide her, to keep her focused. I’d been so strict about her not dating in high school or college. I guess the consequence of a youth devoid of romance was that the first slick-haired charlatan who came along could lead her away by the nose. I slumped down in my seat in the van, my head in my hands. “I should have let her date more when she was younger.” 5 My dark mood evaporated the moment we arrived at the next location. Because as soon as I stepped out of the van, I found out who the “surprise celebrity guest” was. “Amelia Lane?!” I gasped. “Is it really her? Is she actually here?” A crew member shot me a disdainful look, sniffed, and walked away. Ever since the drama with Ethan “stealing” my “crush,” the entire production team had been treating me like I was radioactive. When they realized the online audience loved their coldness toward me, they doubled down. I didn’t care. After years in this business, I was used to the side-eyes and whispered insults. Amelia was the only thing that mattered. The moment she stepped out of her black SUV, a wave of shrieks erupted from the crew and the other cast members. I darted forward, holding out a pristine, gold-edged photo card. “Ms. Lane, I’m a huge fan. Could I please get your autograph?” She pulled down her mask, and her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. “Of course.” She took the card, scribbled something on it, and handed it back. I was about to place it carefully in my jacket pocket when I glanced down and saw what she’d written. Two words. [Asshole] I blinked. When I looked up, she was giving me a contemptuous little sneer. “Ethan!” a cheerful voice cried out, shattering the moment. Ethan’s car had arrived. The second he got out, Amelia launched herself into his arms. Ethan caught her easily, spinning her around before setting her down and ruffling her hair. “You’re the surprise guest? I thought you were filming on the other side of the country.” “Heehee,” she giggled. “I knew you were here, so I came just for you. Or maybe I just had a sudden whim to join this show. Which story do you like better?” The online comments on the live feed must have been exploding. [I’LL SAY IT! SHE CAME FOR YOU! FOR YOU FOR YOU FOR YOU!] [This is so sweet I’m crying…] Ethan just smiled and tapped her lightly on the forehead. “You’re always teasing me.” Amelia pouted. “You hit me again! Hmph!” I frowned. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Amelia immediately stepped in front of Ethan, shielding him from me. She gave me a look of pure scorn. “Ethan and I grew up together. We’re childhood friends who have supported each other through everything to get where we are today. I would hope, Mr. Knight, that you wouldn’t project your own dirty mind onto everyone else.” 6 The live chat went into another frenzy. [That’s our queen Amelia! She can spot an asshole a mile away!] [Quote of the day! Just because someone likes being a homewrecker doesn’t mean everyone does.] [They’re childhood best friends, that’s just how they are. Someone with the last name Knight needs to stop judging everyone by his own low standards.] A hot spike of anger shot through me. I was about to say something when my assistant pulled me aside. “Liam, cool it. She just landed the lead role in a massive Hollywood blockbuster. Half the industry is kissing her feet right now. If you get into a fight with her, you’re the only one who’s going to get hurt.” “A blockbuster?” I scoffed. My assistant nodded. “Yeah. Some mysterious billionaire is a huge fan of hers and is pouring money into the production just for her. I heard the guy thinks she’s the next big thing. If you piss her off, Liam, we can’t afford the fallout.” “Hah,” I said. “He’s investing in her because he appreciates her acting. That doesn’t give her a license to be a tyrant.” My assistant gave me a pitying look. “Liam, it’s probably best not to pretend you know what a billionaire is thinking.” “I’m not pretending,” I said, a cold smile spreading across my face. “I’m pulling my funding.” “Liam, you… sigh!” My assistant just shook his head and walked away. I heard him muttering to a colleague a few feet away. “Liam’s lost it. He’s actually starting to believe he’s Amelia’s big-shot investor. First he thinks he’s Sophia Rose’s boyfriend, now he’s having delusions of being a studio head. I think all the hate comments finally broke his brain.” I had already pulled out my phone and dialed my secretary. “Pull it,” I said, my voice firm. “You heard me. Pull the funding.” My secretary was silent for a beat. “But Mr. Knight… you’re Amelia Lane’s biggest supporter, aren’t you?” “I was blind. Pull it. Cancel every bid, every investment connected to her. Immediately.” “Yes, Mr. Knight.” Hanging up, I finally felt a sliver of satisfaction. I walked back towards the set, but the scene in front of me nearly made me drop my phone. Ethan was sipping from a cup of iced tea. On the straw was a lipstick stain, the exact shade Amelia was wearing. He took a sip and handed it back to her. “It’s a little too sweet. They messed up this batch.” Amelia took it back without a second thought, putting the lipstick-stained straw to her own lips. “I think so too, but since you bought it for me, I guess I can force myself to drink a little.” “You’re impossible,” he chuckled. “Hold on,” I interrupted. “You have a girlfriend. Even if you are childhood friends, shouldn’t you have some boundaries?” Amelia moved to stand in front of him again, her expression defiant. “Like I said, Mr. Knight, don’t project your own filth onto us.” That did it. My temper flared. “If someone is already filthy,” I shot back, “then they’re going to seem disgusting no matter who’s looking, don’t you think?” “You—!” Amelia’s face flushed with anger. Ethan frowned. “Liam, are you calling us filthy?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is there anyone else here I could be talking to?” Amelia’s expression turned thunderous. Luckily, the director arrived just then, preventing a full-blown meltdown. Fearing I would cause more “trouble,” the production team did something unprecedented: they gave me a private room, away from the other cast. But just as I finished unpacking my bags, a staffer knocked on the door. “You’re cut from the show.” My assistant stared at him. “What? Why? We have a contract.” The staffer sneered. “This came directly from Ms. Lane.” My assistant deflated, turning to me with a sigh. “Well, Liam. I guess we’re really leaving.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Wow. So she’s calling the shots now? Fine. Let’s go. I’m sick of this business anyway.” That day, I was trending on social media for the last time: Liam Knight Finally Forced Out of Hollywood 7 I went home. The trending topics weren’t just about me; Ethan was all over them too. After I left, the show’s cameras had captured Amelia comforting him, stroking his hair as he looked forlorn. A few minutes later, they filmed him on the phone with Sophia, telling her how much he missed her. Sophia’s voice, syrupy and sweet, carried through the phone’s speaker. “It’s okay, my love. I just landed. I’ll be there soon. With me by your side, no one will ever bully you again.” Hearing Sophia put on that cloying voice made me want to throw up. The internet, however, was in a state of ecstasy. [PLEASE, UNIVERSE, GIVE ME A MOVIE STAR CHILDHOOD BESTIE AND A BEAUTIFUL, WEALTHY GIRLFRIEND!] [THIS IS THE LIFE EVERY MAN DREAMS OF!] [I can’t even imagine having one woman this beautiful, and this guy has TWO?] … My phone rang. It was Sophia. “Liam, I’m back in the country. When are you free? I want you and Mom and Dad to finally meet Ethan.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. “Mom and Dad won’t like him. And neither do I.” “You don’t know that,” she said, her voice bubbling with happiness. “I have never met a man who makes my heart feel this way. Once you all meet him, you’ll see. You’ll accept him.” “…” Listening to my sister sound so blissfully delusional, I quietly ended the call. A few minutes later, the trending topics shifted again. Sophia Rose had posted on her personal, rarely used Instagram account. It was a photo of her and Ethan, their faces close together. The caption read: [Take my hand, take me home.] I commented below it: [So lame.] My comment was immediately dogpiled and shot to the top. [Still dreaming, are we, third wheel? Lame or not, it has nothing to do with you. They’re about to meet the parents and you’re still here throwing a tantrum?] [SOPHIA AND ETHAN FOREVER! HOPE THE HATERS CHOKE!] I replied to the top comment: [I won’t choke, thanks. After all, whether he can marry her or not is still up to me.] Moments later, a new hashtag was born: #LiamKnightHasLostHisMind 8 I called my parents immediately. When they heard the name “Ethan Cole,” both of them, who were supposed to be on a relaxing vacation, said in unison, “Absolutely not.” I sighed. “I know, but you know how stubborn Sophia is. Sometimes you have to let someone hit rock bottom before they learn. You two should probably come back soon.” I had just pulled up to my house when I saw him. Ethan Cole, standing right by my front gate. He was holding his phone, live-streaming. “That’s right, everyone. I’m about to meet the parents today. I came a little early to give her a surprise. What do you all think of my outfit?” The comments were flying. [You look so handsome! If I were the mother-in-law, I’d tell you two to get married on the spot!] The next second, I smacked the phone out of his hand. It clattered onto the pavement. “No filming is allowed on this property. Didn’t Sophia tell you that?” [WTF! That psycho is here too!] [If I remember correctly, the security in this gated community is insane. How did a random trespasser like him even get in?] Ethan stared at me, then his brow furrowed. “Liam, I know you’re upset that Sophia and I are together, but this isn’t your house. Even if you follow us here, you can’t stop her from loving me. You should just leave. I can pretend I never saw you.” The live comments scrolled furiously. [My baby is so kind, still giving this asshole a chance.] [Ethan deserves the best things in the world~] I let out a cold laugh. “Why would I leave? Why would I have to leave my own house?” 9 [Is this guy delusional? You can’t just buy a house in this neighborhood; you need serious connections. Amelia Lane had to wait a year to get a property here. How could a washed-up actor possibly afford a place?] [He’s a fantasist. Didn’t the news already say he’s gone crazy? Of course he’d imagine he’s with Sophia and living in her house.] [I feel so bad for Ethan, having to deal with this lunatic.] My voice was ice. “I have a collection of antique paintings in that house. They’re private, and I don’t want them broadcast to the world. If you want to come inside, you’ll turn off the live stream.” “What an arrogant thing to say. Since when do you get to decide if someone can film inside their own home?” A familiar voice. I turned in surprise. Amelia Lane was getting out of a brand-new Ferrari, moving to stand protectively in front of Ethan. The live chat went insane. [OMG AMELIA IS HERE!! SHE’S HERE TO BACK ETHAN UP!!] [God, she’s gorgeous. How can someone look that good in casual clothes?] “Mr. Knight,” Amelia said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I have been very patient with you. Either you apologize to Ethan right now and leave, or I’m calling security.” A faint, contemptuous smirk flickered across Ethan’s lips before vanishing. He tugged on Amelia’s arm. “It’s okay, Amelia. Liam was in the business too, it wouldn’t look good to call security on him. I forgive him.” [BABY NO, DON’T BE SO NICE TO HIM!] A look of deep sympathy filled Amelia’s eyes. She shook her head. “He bullied you. I’m not letting it go.” [Just kill me now and let it be a wedding gift for you two!] [What do I do? I ship Ethan and Sophia, but I also ship Ethan and Amelia!] [Ahem, why choose…] … “Oh, security definitely needs to be called,” I said, pointing a finger at Amelia. “But you’re the one who’s going to be escorted out.” Amelia blinked. Then she laughed out loud. The live chat laughed with her. [Does this guy really think he lives here? Our queen LITERALLY owns property in this neighborhood!] “Mr. Knight, do I need to remind you? I am a resident here. You are not.” “Let’s put aside whether I am or not,” I said calmly. “Because I’ve just decided to revoke your ownership of that property.” “What did you say?” Amelia looked as if she’d misheard me. I crossed my arms. “Who do you think pulled the strings that allowed you to buy a house here in the first place?” Amelia stared, then her laughter grew louder. She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hello, security? I’m at number 88. There’s an intruder on the premises. Can you please do a better job with your patrols? You shouldn’t be letting lunatics wander in here.” “Hey? Liam? What are you all doing standing out here?” A Rolls-Royce had pulled up to the gate. Sophia got out, looking confused. In that instant, Amelia’s pupils constricted. “What did you just call him?”

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I was transmigrated into a novel as the wicked villainess. But I never did a single wicked thing. Not only did I become friends with the heroine, but I also married the gentle second male lead. I truly believed I was happy. Until I found my husband’s diary. It turned out he was reborn. His years of tenderness were nothing but a performance, all to prevent me from hurting the woman he truly loved. 1 I held the positive pregnancy test in my hand, my other hand resting on my stomach, on the tiny life growing inside me. An unprecedented sense of peace settled over me. I had lived in this world for thirteen years, but in this moment, I finally felt anchored, truly and completely bound to this life. I arrived in this world after my own death, transmigrated into the body of the novel’s villainess who shared my name, a woman infamous for her cruelty. But I considered myself lucky. I had arrived before the story’s main plot began, before I could commit any of the terrible acts against the hero and heroine. In fact, the heroine’s bright and cheerful personality drew me in, and we became the best of friends, sharing everything. I acted as her personal love guru, encouraging her to chase her own happiness. I watched her fall in love with the male lead, stood by her side as her maid of honor, and saw her marry the man of her dreams. She was the second person I wanted to share my good news with. The first, of course, was my husband. My husband, Patrick East, was originally the novel’s gentle second male lead, the one who always protected the heroine from the shadows. But perhaps my presence created a butterfly effect, because he never became her silent guardian. Instead, he turned all of his attention, all of his affection, onto me. After thirteen years together, I felt so deeply and genuinely loved that I married him without a second thought. And now, our little family was about to welcome a new life. I couldn’t wait to tell him. 2 I decided against just telling him outright. It would be more fun to let him discover it himself. I slipped into his study and sat down in his chair. Opening a drawer to hide the test, my eyes fell on an old, worn notebook tucked away beneath a stack of neat files. It was out of place, its corner peeking out as if forgotten in a hurry. I carefully picked it up, a small, amused smile on my face. The cover was a faded, girlish design from our school days. It was old, but the curled edges and yellowed pages told me it was opened often. We never had secrets between us, so I opened it without hesitation. On the title page, in elegant, handwritten script, were two words: Forever Love. A blush crept up my cheeks. Could this be a book of love letters he’d written for me? I took out the pregnancy test, planning to slip it between the pages—my own precious love letter to him. I turned to the first page, my heart full. And then, the world stopped. My eternal love, Stella. Stella. The heroine of the novel. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stared at the words, a thick wad of cotton stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe. My fingers trembled, but with a self-destructive compulsion, I turned the pages, one after another, reading every single word. It wasn’t a diary. It was a collection of unsent love letters, and they all said the same thing: Patrick East loved Stella. A desperate, unrequited love. He was reborn. He had always loved Stella. And every bit of care, every moment of affection he had ever shown me, was a lie. An act. He had to keep me close, to watch me at all times, to eliminate any possibility of me hurting the woman he cherished. The joy of my pregnancy vanished, replaced by a bitterness that consumed my heart. In all these thirteen years, I had never once wanted to harm Stella. But in this moment, I was jealous of her. So fiercely, painfully jealous. Jealous that a small act of kindness she once showed him was enough to earn a man’s undying, obsessive love for over a decade—a love so profound he would sacrifice his own life, tying himself to the “wicked villainess” just to ensure her happiness. I don’t know how long I sat there, a storm of grief and despair raging inside me, until the world around me felt like a terrifying, hollow dream. 3 Exhaustion finally claimed me, and I fell asleep on the sofa. I didn’t wake until Patrick came home. He reeked of alcohol, stumbling as he walked. “Honey, I’m home…” he slurred, smiling at me. “Sorry, I had a work dinner. I’m late.” I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes and played the part of the dutiful wife. I helped him up, loosened his tie, and undid the top button of his shirt. “Thanks, honey. You’re the best.” His words were perfunctory. If he had been paying any attention at all, he would have seen the raw, swollen redness of my eyes. But perhaps this hollow performance had become second nature to him. I guided him to our bed, helped him out of his clothes, and was about to get a warm cloth to wipe his face when he spoke. The alcohol had lowered his defenses, and in his drowsy state, the truth spilled from his lips. “Stella…” My entire body went rigid. I must have misheard. I stared at him, my nails digging into my palms. “Stella,” he whispered again. The word was a cruel confirmation. In a moment of masochistic madness, I leaned closer, my voice a soft imitation of hers. “Patrick?” His hand shot out, gripping mine tightly. His eyes, hazy with drink, were filled with a raw, unguarded tenderness. “Stella,” he breathed, “as long as you’re happy, everything I’ve done is worth it.” That one sentence locked me back inside the cage of his deceit. I couldn’t breathe. The room spun around me. I scrambled out of the bedroom, running from the man I thought I knew, from the lie I had been living. The love I had thrown myself into, heart and soul, was nothing but a joke from the very beginning. 4 My sleep was a battlefield of nightmares. The original villainess’s deeds played out in my mind on a horrifying loop. Cathy bullying the heroine. Cathy hiring thugs to assault her. Cathy using her family’s power to crush her… In the dream, the villainess turned, and her face was mine—twisted with a rage so vile it terrified me. The dream fast-forwarded. The hero and the second male lead, now powerful men, came for their revenge. Patrick stared at me, his eyes as cold and empty as if he were looking at a piece of trash. “You love ruining people’s lives so much,” his dream-self sneered. “Let’s see how you like it.” I died in that dream, violated and broken, my body tossed onto a filthy garbage heap. “No!” I screamed myself awake. My eyes shot open to see Patrick looking down at me, his face etched with concern. The image of his gentle expression overlapped with the brutal cruelty from my dream, and a violent shiver racked my body. He was tucking a blanket around me. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you sleeping out here? You’ll catch a cold.” He sat on the edge of the sofa. “Are you mad at me for drinking last night? I’m sorry, the client was really important.” I just shook my head, too shrouded in fear and exhaustion to speak. We didn’t have a guest room. Patrick had sworn he would never do anything to make me kick him out of our bed. And even if he did, he’d said, he would sleep on the floor beside me. Now I realized the truth. There was no escape. No space that was just mine. He was always watching. He didn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil. He just frowned, his voice a pathetic whine. “My head is killing me, honey. Where’s the hangover soup?” “I forgot,” I said flatly. The truth was, I hadn’t made any. Patrick came from a modest background; I was the heiress. He had always been driven, insisting he had to earn my father’s respect on his own merits. He refused my family’s help, started his own company, and nearly drank himself into a stomach ulcer closing deals in the early years. Because I loved him, because I was his wife, I cared for him. I found remedies for his hangovers, stayed up all night with him, doing everything I could to ease his suffering. If I didn’t know the truth, I would still be that devoted wife. But his diary had revealed his true motive. [Cathy used her family’s power to hurt Stella. I cannot let her have even the slightest chance of doing it again. I must build my own power in the business world, enough to stand against her father. If they try to harm Stella like they did in the last life, I will make the entire family pay a painful price!] All his hard work, his relentless ambition—it was all to protect his real love. 5 “Honey, what’s wrong today? You look pale. Are you feeling unwell? Let me take you to the doctor.” I stared at the man before me, wondering if there was a single shred of sincerity in his concern. I was about to confront him, to lay everything bare, when my phone rang. The caller ID flashed in big letters: STELLA. Before I could move, Patrick snatched the phone and handed it to me, his eyes urging me to answer. I numbly pressed the button. Stella’s cheerful voice filled the silence. “Cathy, sweetie! You didn’t forget about the art exhibit today, did you?” “I remember.” “Great! Let’s meet at the cafe in front of the gallery. Leo’s dropping me off on his way to work.” “Okay.” I hung up. Before I could say a word, Patrick spoke. “You have plans with Stella today? Let me drive you.” “You don’t have to. Your office isn’t on the way.” He stroked my cheek, his touch meant to be affectionate. “Silly girl, anywhere you’re going is on my way. Go on, get changed.” He stood up and went to the bedroom to get ready, a lightness in his step. Of course he was happy. He was going to see the woman he loved. And he had conveniently forgotten his earlier suggestion to take me to the doctor. In Patrick’s world, nothing was more important than Stella. 6 When Patrick dropped me off at the cafe, Stella was already there, sipping a frappuccino. She handed me a glass of warm milk, her smile bright. Patrick turned to me, his voice gentle. “You shouldn’t have too many cold drinks. It’s bad for you, especially during your period. You’re not a kid anymore.” Stella giggled. “Wow, look at you two, being all lovey-dovey right in front of me.” Patrick smiled back at her, adding smoothly, “That goes for you too. Less cold drinks!” All that preamble, just for a chance to say one caring word to her. The warm milk in my hands felt like it was scalding my skin. I wasn’t the one who liked cold drinks. The concern he was offering had never been for me. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re such a nag. I don’t know how Cathy puts up with you,” Stella teased. Patrick just smiled, then turned back to me. “I’ll pick you two up for lunch. I remember you said you wanted to try that new Spanish place downtown.” Once you start looking for the lies, you realize how clumsy the actor is. I wasn’t the one who wanted to try the Spanish restaurant. Stella was. But I had been blinded by love, and he had been committed to his role. Now that the truth was out, I saw how I had been living with my eyes wide shut. Stella linked her arm through mine. “Okay, okay, you can go now. Don’t interrupt our girls’ time.” She pulled me toward the gallery entrance, chattering excitedly. “Cathy, I can’t wait to see the new exhibit…” I glanced back over my shoulder. Patrick was still standing there. His gaze was sharp, analytical, watching our every move. The moment our eyes met, his expression shifted instantly, melting into one of deep, adoring affection. A perfect performance. Patrick, I thought, aren’t you tired?

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The day I got the results, a damp, bone-chilling fog was rolling into San Francisco. It wasn’t a downpour, just a persistent, soul-seeping cold. I sat on a sterile plastic chair in the clinic hallway, the few sheets of A4 paper feeling heavier than lead in my hands. The black and white text read like a verdict. “Breast Cysts, BI-RADS Category 3: Short-term follow-up recommended.” “Severe Fatty Liver Disease.” “Sinus Arrhythmia.” The doctor, a man in his late forties with a practiced, neutral expression behind his glasses, delivered the summary as if he were reading a grocery list. “Look, you’re 28, but your body is in worse shape than some of my 40-year-old patients. If you keep pushing this hard, it’s not going to be about money anymore.” I’m 28. Not a girl anymore. I’ve been grinding in this city, a place that devours dreams for breakfast, for six years. I thought I was trading my youth for a future. I never imagined someone would show up to collect the principal so soon. My phone buzzed. A notification from my project’s Slack channel. My director, Mr. Davies, was tagging @here. [URGENT] All hands on deck tonight, 9 PM sharp. Mandatory post-mortem for Project Orion. No exceptions. A cascade of “Got it” and “👍” emojis from my team followed. I looked at the glaring red notification on my screen, then down at the medical report in my hand. In that moment, a tidal wave of absurdity washed over me. I was a machine, wound so tight I couldn’t stop, couldn’t afford to get sick, couldn’t dare to even slow down. But now, the gears inside me were screaming, grinding to a halt. I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my throat. Then, calmly, I typed three words into the channel. “I won’t be there.” … The moment I hit send, the world went quiet. Then, my private messages exploded. The first was from my best friend, Maya. “Chloe! Are you insane? You can’t just bail on one of Davies’ death marches!” Next came a cautious message from a junior on my team. “Hey Chloe, everything okay? Davies saw your message. His face…” I didn’t reply. I just folded the medical report, tucked it neatly into my purse, and walked out of the clinic. The misty fog felt cold on my face, but my mind had never felt clearer. Back at the ridiculously expensive 300-square-foot box I called home, I didn’t even turn on the lights. I just fell into bed, burrowing into the blankets. In the dark, I could hear my own heart, beating too fast. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It sounded like a funeral drum for the last six years of my life. Six years ago, I’d arrived in San Francisco with an Ivy League degree and a job at Nexus, one of the biggest names in tech. I thought with my talent and work ethic, I’d climb the ladder, buy a condo, and move my parents out from their small town in Ohio to live with me. Reality hit me like a freight train. This was the Bay Area. It was overflowing with Ivy League grads and certified geniuses. I was just another drop in an ocean of ambition, not even big enough to make a ripple. So to keep from drowning, I worked. I hustled. Everyone else left at 7? I stayed till 10. Everyone else logged off for the weekend? I was back in the office on Saturday. When Davies sent a 3 AM email, I was always the first to reply, “On it.” I thought if I just worked hard enough, I’d be seen. I was wrong. Three months ago, Project Orion kicked off. It was the biggest launch of the year. Whoever led the winning team was guaranteed a promotion and a life-changing bonus. Ethan and I were chosen to lead the two competing internal teams, A and B. Everyone knew we were rivals. We started at Nexus in the same year. He was my shadow, or maybe I was his. Our skills were evenly matched, but he always seemed to have an edge, a little bit of luck. He knew how to play the game, how to manage up. He had a black belt in the corporate judo of taking credit for other people’s ideas in meetings without anyone noticing. Every promotion, every performance review, I lost to him by a razor-thin margin. This time, I swore it would be different. For Project Orion, I ran my team into the ground. We pulled three straight months of all-nighters. We went through a dozen versions of the proposal, rebuilt the data model five times. I was averaging four hours of sleep a night. I even squeezed in my annual physical during a frantic lunch break. I bet everything on this project. And now, just as we were hitting the final stretch, my body had cashed in my chips. My phone buzzed again. It was Ethan. His profile picture was a photo of a nebula, deep and inscrutable, just like him. His message was short and to the point. “Davies is pissed. You better have a good story for tomorrow.” No “Are you okay?” No concern. Just a cold, clinical warning. I stared at the text and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. A good story? What was I going to tell them? That I’d nearly worked myself to death for their stupid project? That at 28, my body was falling apart like a rotted-out building? I swiped the screen open, went to my chat with Ethan, and for the first time, I didn’t overthink it. I didn’t draft and redraft. “Let him be. He can fire me.” I walked into the office the next morning with dark circles under my eyes, bracing for the storm I knew was coming. The atmosphere in Davies’ office was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He slammed a stack of printouts on his desk. “Chloe! Who the hell do you think you are? Last night was the most critical meeting of the quarter, and you just decide you’re not coming? What is this project to you, a damn hobby?” I stood in front of his desk, my head down, and said nothing. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t say I was at a clinic, holding a piece of paper that could torpedo my entire career. In this company, where everyone mainlined ambition and espresso, being sick was the same as being weak. Once you were labeled as unreliable, all your past work, all those sacrifices, meant nothing. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” Davies’ voice rose. The door to his glass-walled office was slightly ajar. I could see my colleagues pretending not to watch. Among them was Ethan. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with a look on his face that was unmistakably… amusement. I took a breath and finally looked up, meeting Davies’ furious gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davies. I had a family emergency last night. It was my mistake. I’ll accept any consequences.” It was the safest excuse I could think of. Davies snorted. “A family emergency? Don’t give me that crap, Chloe! I don’t care what it was. Is anything more important than this project? You can forget about your quarterly bonus. Every last cent.” My stomach dropped. But I just nodded. “Okay.” My single-word response seemed to deflate him. He had a whole speech prepared, and my quiet acceptance robbed him of his momentum. He stared at me for a long moment, then waved his hand dismissively. “Get out. And bring me Team B’s progress report. I want to see how someone who actually cares about their job does it.” I turned and walked out, brushing past Ethan at the door. He murmured, just loud enough for me to hear, “Was it worth it?” I didn’t stop, didn’t look back. I just walked to my desk. Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it? I opened my laptop, but before I could even log in, my phone rang. The caller ID read: “Dad.” My heart sank. I walked to the nearest stairwell to take the call. “Hey, Dad.” “Chloe, honey. Have you eaten?” His voice was as gentle as always. “Yeah,” I lied. “Oh, good.” He paused, then got to the real reason for his call. “So, your Aunt Carol has a friend whose son is a teacher back here. History, tenured and everything. A real nice guy. I gave him your number, so if you get a text, you should answer him. Talk to him.” It was always the same conversation. How’s work? How much are you making? When are you going to find a boyfriend? When are you coming home? A hot, irrational anger flared up inside me. “Dad, I told you, I’m really busy right now. I don’t have time to think about that.” “You’re 28, Chloe! If you don’t think about it now, when will you?” His voice hardened. “You make all that money in San Francisco, but after rent, what’s left? You work yourself to the bone, and you don’t even have anyone there to look after you. Look at your cousin Ashley. She came home right after college, got a state job, she’s married with a two-year-old. She has a stable life.” Stable. The word felt like a needle in my heart. “Dad, a life where you can see the end from the beginning is not what I want!” I hissed into the phone, my voice cracking. “Then what do you want? To work until you make yourself sick?” His words, meant as a hypothetical, hit me like a lightning bolt, shattering the dam I’d built around my emotions. The tears came, hot and sudden. What did I want? I just wanted to prove that leaving home wasn’t a mistake. I just wanted to build the life I dreamed of, on my own terms. But how did I end up here, failing on all fronts? My dad was still talking. “Just listen to me, sweetie. A girl doesn’t need to push herself so hard. Come home. We can find you a good job, a nice husband. A stable life is better than anything else…” I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up. Leaning against the cold concrete wall, I slid to the floor, burying my face in my knees. It’s never the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. It’s every single one that came before it. I cried for a long time in that empty stairwell. When I was done, all that was left were ragged, empty sobs. I pulled out my phone and texted Maya. “Free tonight? I need a drink.” She replied instantly. “Always. The world could be ending, and I’d still be there for you. You pick the place.” I chose a trendy gastropub near the office. When I left that suffocating building at the end of the day, it felt like an escape. The warm, dim lighting of the bar thawed some of the ice in my veins. Maya was already there with a table full of my favorite comfort foods: truffle fries, sliders, mac and cheese. “Okay, what happened? Did Davies finally go full psycho on you?” she asked, pouring me a glass of wine. I shook my head and downed the glass in one go. The alcohol burned a path down to my stomach. I told her everything. The doctor’s report, the meeting with Davies, the phone call with my dad. Maya slammed her hand on the table. “What is wrong with people? Davies is a vampire in a suit, we knew that. But your dad? Does he have any idea how hard you’re working? And he’s pressuring you?” “He has no idea,” I said with a hollow laugh. “All he sees is his 28-year-old daughter with no house, no savings, and no boyfriend. In his world, I’m a total failure.” “That’s bullshit!” Maya loaded a slider onto my plate. “You’re a project lead at Nexus, you manage a team of a dozen people, you make six figures a year! If that’s failure, then what does that make the rest of us?” I knew she was trying to help. But her words felt empty, meaningless, in the face of my health report. “Maya,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can do this anymore.” I pulled the crumpled report from my purse and handed it to her. Her expression shifted from anger to shock, and finally, to a deep, aching sympathy. “Oh, Chloe…” She took my hand, her voice thick with emotion. “How did it get this bad?” “I don’t know,” I said, refilling my glass. “I just kept thinking I was young, that I had time, that my body could handle it. But it turns out your body keeps a perfect record of every all-nighter, every skipped meal, every wave of anxiety. And then one day, it decides to cash in the debt, with interest.” I drank a lot that night. I told Maya I wanted to quit, to leave San Francisco, to disappear somewhere no one knew me. I’d open a little bookstore, adopt a cat, and just be quiet for the rest of my life. Maya didn’t argue. She just listened, refilled my glass, and wiped away the tears that dripped from my chin. I was a complete mess. She had to practically carry me home. The next morning, my head felt like it was splitting open. But a hangover doesn’t stop the deadlines. Project Orion was in its final push, and the race between my team and Ethan’s was down to the wire. I forced myself to rally, pushing my team through the last set of deliverables. And then, the thing I feared most happened. During the final data integration, a rookie on my team made a mistake. A simple, careless error that resulted in the permanent deletion of a core dataset. When I heard the news, my mind went blank. It meant that at least half of our work from the last three months was gone. The new hire, a girl barely out of college, was white as a sheet. “I’m so sorry, Chloe,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to…” I stared at her, unable to speak. I knew I couldn’t blame her. Rookies make mistakes. But this mistake, at this moment, was catastrophic. A funereal silence fell over our section of the office. Someone whispered, “It’s over. We’re done.” I closed my eyes, took a long, slow breath, and opened them again. “Stop crying,” I said to the terrified girl. “Now is not the time for blame. Everyone, start brainstorming solutions. Let’s figure out what, if anything, we can salvage.” But we all knew. The final presentation was in less than 48 hours. Rebuilding the model and recovering the data from scratch was impossible. And right then, as if on cue, Ethan and his team walked past our desks. He stopped, taking in the scene of pure despair, a smug little smile playing on his lips. “Chloe,” he said, his voice casual but carrying, “Heard you ran into some trouble. Need a hand?” The condescension in his voice was thick enough to choke on. In that moment, I felt like a clown, stripped naked and left to freeze in the snow. Rage, humiliation, hopelessness—it all tangled together into a suffocating net. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. I looked at Ethan’s perfectly composed face and said, through gritted teeth, “Don’t worry about us, Ethan. We’ve got it handled.” He raised an eyebrow, gave a little shrug, and walked away. After he was gone, someone behind me finally muttered what we were all thinking. “Smug bastard.” I didn’t say anything. I just sat down at my desk and stared at the gaping hole in our data on the screen, the world turning fuzzy at the edges. I knew, this time, I had well and truly lost.

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A new game was making the rounds in Victoria’s circle. Pretend You’re Broke for a Month. It was the ultimate loyalty test for the men in their lives. To make it authentic, the challenger’s friends and family were all in on the charade. Even her company would install a “new boss” for the duration. Dressed in a five-dollar t-shirt and a sanitation worker’s cap, Victoria Davenport went to find the man she loved, her confidence unshaken. Instead, Ryan stared at her in disgust and had security throw her out. She stood there for a long time, stunned, before her trembling fingers dialed another number. “Liam? I’m broke. I have nowhere to go.” On the other end of the line, a little girl’s voice chirped with comfort. “Mommy, don’t be scared. You can have my room.” 1 The call from my ex-wife came while I was frosting a cake. My daughter, Thea, who had been playing a game on my phone, answered it without a second thought. I don’t know what was said, but a moment later, the four-year-old’s face lit up. She came tearing toward me, one of her little sneakers flying off in her excitement. “Daddy, it’s great! Mommy’s broke! She can come to my birthday this year!” Broke? The call was still connected. The screen read: Victoria. The last time she’d called was Christmas. She only ever contacted me for holidays. It was always the same request: come to her parents’ house, play the part of the happy, devoted husband, keep the old folks happy. The moment we stepped out of her parents’ estate, she would snatch her hand from mine, her touch turning to ice as she rushed off to appease Ryan. Her back seat would be piled high with gift boxes, the passenger seat a shrine of red roses just for him. I would stand there, clutching the ten-thousand-dollar check—her ‘performance fee’—and feel nothing but the biting wind. No heartbreak, no longing. Just the cold, hard relief of knowing Thea and I had rent for the next six months. Hearing she was broke, my only question was why she wasn’t calling her precious Ryan, the man she’d showered with endless affection. Why was she calling me, the man she couldn’t stand to look at? Victoria’s voice was tentative. “Liam, I don’t have a place to stay. I haven’t eaten all day. Can I… can I come stay with you?” “No,” was on the tip of my tongue. But then Thea tugged on my sleeve. Her eyes, big and dark like purple grapes, were wide with a mixture of hope and pleading. “Daddy, please? Just for one birthday? All the other kids have their mommy and daddy with them.” I looked down at her, and a sharp pang went through my chest. I knew how much she craved a mother’s love. Victoria did love Thea, in her own way. She’d take her to Six Flags, buy her designer dresses, send entire collector’s sets of princess figurines. But one day, Thea had come home with her head hanging low and whispered that she would never “bother Mommy” again. I dropped the spatula, stormed over to their villa, and with the strength I’d built from bussing a thousand tables a day, I slapped Ryan across the face, again and again. I shoved his head in the toilet and flushed, giving his filthy mouth a long-overdue cleaning. Victoria never asked to see Thea after that. But today was Thea’s birthday. All she wanted was to have both her parents with her. I relented. “Thea misses you, Victoria. You can come over for dinner.” On the other end, she let out a breath. It was the sound of someone realizing they hadn’t lost everything after all. “You’re still at The Crestwood, right? I’ll be right there.” I froze. “The what? I’ve never lived there.” My apartment was in Maple Creek, close to Thea’s preschool. The street outside was lined with food stalls. At night, you could hear the muffled bass from the karaoke bar across the road, and the exterminator’s van made its rounds like clockwork. It was a universe away from the luxury condo building Victoria had just named. There was a long silence on her end before she asked for my current address. Even in cheap, worn-out clothes, she still carried an air of unmistakable grace. The moment she stepped through the door, Thea launched herself at her legs. Victoria stroked her hair, a fond smile on her face, but as her eyes scanned our small two-bedroom apartment, the warmth vanished, replaced by an arctic chill. “This is where you have my daughter living?” 2 My hand, holding a teacup, stopped mid-air. The apartment was a nice rental, clean, with a simple, light-wood aesthetic. From the appliances to the cartoon-themed play mat on the floor, Thea had picked everything out herself, and I had paid for it. I might struggle, but I had never, ever given Thea a reason to feel ashamed of where she lived or what she had. And Victoria’s first act upon entering my home was to criticize it. Then again, she and Ryan lived in a 5,000-square-foot villa. Of course this felt cramped to her. I tossed the tea bag I was holding into the trash and pulled my daughter close. “Thea, honey, why don’t you go to your room and see if you can find the birthday present Daddy hid for you?” Her face lit up, and she scampered off. The moment she was gone, my smile disappeared. I fixed Victoria with a glare. “‘This place?’ Weren’t you the one just begging to come to ‘this place’? You don’t even have ‘this place’ to go back to anymore. What right do you have to judge me?” Victoria quickly composed herself, her mask of poise sliding back into place. She was playing the part of the broke girl now, not the CEO. She sat down on the sofa, looking slightly out of place. “You misunderstood. I just meant… why aren’t you living in the house I gave you?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “What house?” When we divorced, I left with a single suitcase and a three-month-old Thea. The only cash I had came from selling the watch my parents had left me. Victoria’s brow furrowed. “Liam, you gave me a child. Even if I didn’t love you, I would never neglect my own flesh and blood. I had my assistant, Quinn, purchase a house for you and set aside a substantial settlement. You didn’t take it?” A house? A settlement? This was the first I was hearing of it. The realization dawned on me. “I never saw a dime. Are you broke and trying to shake me down for money you think you gave me?” Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine regret crossing her face. “Liam, I would sooner beg on the street than try to con you. You are the person in this world I have wronged the most.” Our past played out like a bad soap opera. I was the orphaned son of the man who had saved her father’s life. The Davenports took me in when I was eight. Mr. Davenport doted on me. Mrs. Davenport loved my quiet nature. And Victoria, two years my senior, treated me like a cherished younger brother. She fought off the bullies who picked on me. She took me hiking to see beautiful landscapes, to animal shelters to help me heal. She painstakingly pulled me out of the abyss of grief. And I, in turn, poured my secret adoration into a diary. Liam loves Victoria. Will Victoria ever love Liam? The answer came my senior year of college. Victoria proposed to me. I was ecstatic, believing she loved me too. I foolishly went with her to the courthouse. Nine dollars and we were married. I didn’t know that her father, while giving me 10% of the company’s stock, had made Victoria start at the bottom. She wasn’t marrying me; she was marrying a shortcut to the life and career she wanted. After the wedding, I was lost in a dream. I cooked for her, ironed her suits, picked her up from late-night meetings. But after she gave birth, she had an affair with a cloying, obsequious intern. Ryan, who was half a year older than me. She said Ryan understood her. He was her soulmate, their love was real. What she felt for me, she said, was just familial affection. Her father, sharp as ever, saw right through Ryan’s calculating façade. He swore that creature would never set foot in their house. So Victoria came up with a compromise. She wouldn’t divorce me—I was her shield, there to placate her parents. But she would give Ryan everything a husband deserved, short of a marriage certificate. It was ten days after Thea was born. Me, the man who had always bent to her will, snatched the fruit knife from the counter and, without a moment’s hesitation, plunged it into my own stomach. Marrying Victoria was my mistake. My youthful naivete, my stupid, love-sick blindness. Her cheating, her treating me like a glorified housekeeper—I deserved all of it. But I would die before I let her dishonor my daughter. Blood pooled on the floor. Victoria froze. Panic, terror, and guilt washed over her face. She pressed her hands to my abdomen, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. “Liam, don’t you die.” 3 I was stubborn. If she didn’t agree to a divorce and give me full custody of Thea, I would kill myself. If I was saved, I’d do it again, until I was dead for good. And if I died, I knew her father would make Ryan’s life a living hell. To protect Ryan, Victoria signed the papers. The day I left, she made one last demand. The divorce had to be a secret. On holidays, I had to come back and play the happy husband for her parents. I agreed. On one condition. I would be paid for my performance. Ten thousand dollars a visit. For Victoria, the woman I was willing to die to get away from, to have to turn around and pay me for my time… it was the ultimate humiliation. Her face tightened, her voice dripping with venom. “Don’t you have any feelings for me at all? Is money all you care about? Fine. I won’t give you a single penny. I’ll wait for you to come crawling back, broke and pathetic, begging me for help.” She was true to her word. The “financial compensation” mentioned in the divorce agreement never materialized. I did end up broke and pathetic for a while, but I clawed my way back up on my own. I never begged her for anything. Recalling the past, Victoria pressed her fingers to her temples. “I was just angry. You were a single father with a baby. I would never have actually abandoned you.” “Your angry words were my reality for four years.” My retort silenced her. She looked around the room again. While our things weren’t cheap, it was clearly not the home of a wealthy man. Ryan wore socks that cost hundreds of dollars; the shirt on my back was years old. Victoria picked up her phone and dialed her assistant, Quinn. “Mr.… Ms. Davenport, how can I help you?” It was clear Quinn was still adjusting to the temporary change in leadership. Victoria’s voice was unconsciously commanding. “Four years ago, the house I had you purchase in The Crestwood, and the eight-million-dollar settlement. Did you deliver it personally to my ex-husband?” Eight million dollars? Thea and I could have lived comfortably for the rest of our lives. Quinn hesitated. “Well… you’ll probably have to ask Mr. Ryan about that…” Him again. A surge of pure hatred rose in my chest. Ryan had already taken so much. If he dared to steal from my daughter, I would make him regret it. At seven o’clock, I brought the custom-designed ‘Poppy the Lamb’ cake to the table. Thea squealed with delight. “Wow, Daddy, you’re the best! I love you so much!” Messages flooded the parents’ group chat. “Did your dad make that himself? It looks even better than the custom one I ordered from the bakery! I’m so jealous!” “Thea’s dad is so talented. He can do fox face paint, make handmade purses, carve fruit into flowers, and now this amazing cake…” These past four years, I’d done every odd job imaginable to make ends meet. It had forced me to become a jack-of-all-trades. Thea carefully cut the cake, giving the first piece to me and the second to Victoria. “Mommy, this is the first birthday you’ve ever spent with me. I’m so happy.” Victoria, who had been staring blankly at her phone, snapped back to reality and accepted the plate with exaggerated enthusiasm. I knew what she was thinking about. Today was also Ryan’s birthday. For the past four years, she had celebrated with him. It wasn’t a coincidence that my daughter and my rival shared a birthday. When she was nine months pregnant, Ryan, no longer content with sending me taunting texts and photos, decided to escalate things. He would mail me the cheap trinkets that came with the luxury goods Victoria bought for him, little humiliations in a box. Then he showed up at the hospital for a face-to-face confrontation. It was his birthday, and Victoria had just given him a wedding band, promising him the wedding of the century. He had come to personally invite me and my unborn child. In a fit of rage and grief, I had a foolish, tearful fight with Victoria. When she realized her affair was exposed, the shock sent her into premature labor. She hemorrhaged. We almost lost both of them. For the first time, Victoria scolded Ryan. He had looked at her with tear-filled eyes. “I just want to be with you out in the open…” And in the end, she had pulled him into her arms, her heart softening. “Hush. Keeping him around is how I protect you.” On the other side of the wall, I stood in the NICU, looking at my tiny, fragile daughter. All I felt was disgust and utter despair. 4 The pain of that memory was a knife twisting in my gut. Which is why, hearing that Victoria was broke, my only thought was that she deserved it. After the cake, I told her it was time to leave. “I have nowhere to go,” she pleaded, her voice small. I pushed her firmly out the door. “Not my problem. Go find him.” The hallway light flickered on, then off, leaving her in darkness. She stood outside my door for a long time before her body slid to the floor, her head bowed in defeat. Of course, Ryan had been her first stop. Victoria had thought that after four years of being lavished with affection, of having every whim catered to, Ryan would be frantic upon hearing of her misfortune. She imagined he would move heaven and earth to help her. All he had to do was sell one of the properties she’d bought him. That would be enough. He would have passed her test. She didn’t want to make it too hard for him. But when Ryan saw her standing there in a sanitation worker’s uniform, a look of involuntary disgust flashed across his face. A needle pricked her heart. He quickly masked it with a smile and welcomed her inside, assuming this was all part of some elaborate birthday surprise. A prank, leading up to a grand reveal. But a moment later, his phone buzzed. It was a group chat with Victoria’s wealthy friends. “The Davenports are finished. Even her parents fled the country overnight.” “The company was sold and they’re still a billion in debt. Victoria will be paying that off for the rest of her life.” “Not necessarily. She bought Ryan all those houses and luxury items. He can sell them to pay it off. Of course, then he’ll have to live a simple life with her.” Someone remembered. Isn’t Ryan in this chat? Another friend cursed. He was immediately kicked from the group. Ryan’s eyes widened. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. Just yesterday, they were calling him their dear friend. Now, they kicked him out with an insult. The storm was coming, and he had to save himself. “Your family is bankrupt? What’s that got to do with me? Do we have a marriage license? Do your parents even accept me? Why should I have to sell my property for your family’s problems?” Victoria’s heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This couldn’t be the gentle, understanding man she loved. “What are you saying? I’ve given you everything but a ring on your finger! I practically tore my heart out for you. I gave up my husband and my child for you.” She thought appealing to his sentiment would work. She was wrong. Ryan let out a derisive laugh. “You gave me those things willingly. I’ve never heard of someone asking for a gift back. I slept with you for four years. You didn’t expect that for free, did you?” He leaned in closer. “Besides…” Seeing the raw pain in her eyes only made him more contemptuous. “A woman who would abandon her own husband and child… you think I’d ever truly trust you?” “You almost died giving birth to a daughter you don’t even care about. How do I know you wouldn’t do the same to me if someone new came along?” Victoria swayed on her feet, unable to form a rebuttal. Ryan was tapping away on his phone. “Since you’re useless to me now, let me tell you a little secret. You want to know why your husband was so desperate to divorce you?” “From the first time you slept with me, I sent him everything. Pictures from our dates. Pictures from our bed. Pictures of every gift you ever gave me.” “I have to hand it to him, he put up with it for a long time. I had to push him to a complete mental breakdown before he finally snapped. I’m not as stupid as he is. I wasn’t going to be your free nanny and sperm donor…” A lightning bolt seared through Victoria’s mind. So, Liam had given her chances. So many chances. Ryan dropped the act entirely. “Listen, Victoria, I dug through all your social media the day I started at the company. I know everything you like. You thought we had this amazing connection? It was just me doing my homework… God, it was exhausting trying to keep you entertained.” Victoria finally snapped. She lunged forward, her hands closing around his throat, a primal scream building inside her. “You… you were only after my money! You used me! You destroyed my marriage! You nearly killed my child! My father was right. You’re poison!” Before she could finish, security guards Ryan had called dragged her away and threw her out of the building. It was the end of June, but Victoria was shivering, an unnatural cold seeping into her bones. Just then, her phone buzzed. A group chat named “His True Colors.” The same friends from before were waiting for the results. “Tori, we just put on the performance of a lifetime. Is Ryan selling his condos to save you as we speak?” Victoria’s fingers flew across the screen, her knuckles white. “His last name is not Ryan. It’s the one I threw away. And I’m going to get him back.” 5 At 7:20 the next morning, I opened my door to find a tall figure sprawled across my welcome mat. I stepped over Victoria’s waist. Thea, her backpack on, giggled and hopped over her. Victoria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and scrambled to her feet. She instinctively reached out and took Thea’s hand. I was about to knock her hand away. But then Thea beamed, her smile wide and bright. “Mommy, can you wait at the school gate for a little while after you drop me off? I want everyone to know I have a mommy. Then they’ll stop saying mean things about Daddy, and those other moms will stop bothering him…” “Thea!” I cut her off sharply. Victoria looked at me, her expression filled with a sorrow I hadn’t seen before. I used to be as harmless as a sloth. Now I was sharp-edged and defensive. She could only imagine the kind of harassment and gossip that could forge such a transformation. Victoria lifted Thea into her arms. “Okay. I won’t just wait for a little while. From now on, Mommy will be with you and Daddy every single day.” She reached for my hand. I pulled away. Filthy. Victoria was nearly six feet tall. Standing at the entrance to the preschool, she was impossible to miss and caused an immediate stir. “Thea, is that your mom? She’s so pretty! She and your dad look perfect together.” “Why does your dad look so mad? He’s not even talking to your mom…” I wanted nothing to do with her, but the matter of the house still needed to be resolved. For now, we were temporary allies. I got on the bus and sat in the very back. Victoria sat down next to me. As the bus lurched forward, I immediately moved to another seat. Not used to public transport, she tried to follow, lost her balance, and stumbled, hitting her head. A cold smile touched my lips. The house had people living in it. An elderly couple. The moment they saw Victoria, they pulled her inside. They were Ryan’s parents. Victoria was stunned. I laughed. It all made perfect sense now. Ryan had stolen the house meant for me and Thea and used it to house his own parents. The penthouse was over 3,000 square feet, with marble floors and smart home technology throughout. A dozen beautifully decorated rooms. Even their dog had its own room. In our small rental, Thea slept in the master bedroom, which was barely 150 square feet. We had to use vertical space just to fit all her things. This kitchen was equipped with an automatic food processor, a stir-fry machine, and a dishwasher—a completely hands-off setup. Meanwhile, I spent my days chopping fruit at a bubble tea shop until my hands ached so badly I could barely lift them. At night, I’d slap on a pain patch and force myself to cook dinner. The more I thought about it, the more a crushing weight settled on my chest. I had to crouch down, taking deep breaths to keep from blacking out. Four years of exhaustion washed over me in a tidal wave. The first year after the divorce was the hardest. Major companies saw “single father with a three-month-old infant” on my application and politely declined. I had to take cash-in-hand jobs at places with flexible, tolerant environments. A one-year-old is expensive and gets sick easily. Money disappeared as soon as it came in. I started working multiple jobs. I lived on coffee, often working around the clock, sleeping in my clothes. I had no one to rely on, not a single family member to give me a hand. My spirit was a rubber band stretched to its absolute limit. It was about to snap. My knees buckled. Victoria rushed to my side, her arms wrapping around me, her voice laced with a genuine, forgotten tenderness. “Liam. Liam, don’t think about it. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” When I was a kid, other students used to taunt me for not having parents. Victoria would march right over and start a fight. I’d patch up her scrapes, and she’d make me the same promise, that she would protect me for life. But in the end, all the storms in my life had been brought by her. If she hadn’t lost everything, would she have ever remembered that old promise? 6 Victoria’s panic was palpable. She hoisted me up by my shoulders, trying to drag me. I was gasping for air, like a drowning man. She wanted to take me to the hospital. I pointed across the street to the bubble tea shop. “Just… get me a milk tea.” Half a cup of the warm, sugary drink later, the color returned to my face. It was a stress-induced condition, something akin to a panic attack. A little sugar, and it would pass. Victoria stared, dumbfounded. Then she said, “Well… I’ll take you out for a proper meal.” In her sixty-dollar sneakers, she started walking towards a high-end restaurant. I grabbed her arm. “Aren’t you broke? You need to save your money.” The confident stride faltered. She seemed to remember her role and tugged awkwardly at her cheap clothes. I found a hole-in-the-wall diner. Victoria’s expression was a mix of confusion and disgust. “Can you even eat food this cheap?” I understood. She and Ryan would order takeout that cost upwards of three hundred dollars. I used to be a delivery driver; I made a few bucks per order. I’d seen those expensive orders come through more than once, but I always passed them to my colleagues. The delivery address was my old home. I refused to serve my ex-wife and her lover. Now, Victoria devoured a five-dollar plate of beef stir-fry and two bowls of rice. “Ask Quinn,” I said, “if that house was registered under my name and Thea’s.” When she got the confirmation, a massive weight lifted from my chest. Thank God, Quinn was reliable. After we ate, I went straight to the County Registrar’s Office to report a lost deed. Forty minutes later, I had a new, official copy in my hand. Owners: Liam C. and Thea C. I ran my thumb over the crisp red cover. I felt grounded for the first time in years. Next, I stopped at a digital superstore. An hour later, I knocked on the penthouse door. “Sir, Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but this property belongs to me and my daughter. Your son has been illegally occupying it for four years. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Ryan’s parents weren’t malicious people, so I treated them with respect. When they saw the new deed, their faces went white. His father immediately called his son. “How could you take someone else’s house? You told us Victoria gave it to us out of respect! I’ve never taken a penny that wasn’t mine in my entire life. You’ve brought shame on this family.” From the other room, Victoria called out, “I gave you no such thing.” I twisted the knife. “He didn’t just steal the house. While my ex-wife was pregnant, your son interfered in our marriage, directly causing its collapse. After the divorce, he stole the settlement money and property that was meant for me and my daughter—the very home you’re living in. Because of him, my daughter and I have struggled for four years.” Ryan’s father’s eyes were wide with horror. He stomped his foot in anguish. I then showed him every single taunting message Ryan had sent me. I’d saved them all. Victoria’s ears turned bright red. She shrank away into a corner. So, the cheater was capable of shame after all. The Ryan in those messages was lewd, shameless, and arrogant. His father looked like he was about to have a stroke, crying out, “How did I raise such a shameless monster!” With that, he tried to kneel before me. “Young man, I am so sorry! Please accept my apology!” I helped him up. Ryan wasn’t here yet. It wasn’t time for kneeling. When Ryan arrived, he was greeted by several hard slaps from his father. Even after the beating, Ryan held his head high. “So what if I took his woman and his house? Is the world a fair place? Am I supposed to be like you, all high and mighty, and stay poor my whole life?” He looked from me to Victoria, not an ounce of remorse on his face, only a smug satisfaction. “Even without this place, I have four other properties, two luxury cars, and twenty million in the bank. Countless designer goods. Right now, I’m the richest person in this room!” “The two of you,” he sneered, “one is bankrupt, the other is a wage slave. You think you can fight me? Let’s see if you can even afford a lawyer. Let’s see how long you can last.” 7 Ryan’s audacity was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Without him, my daughter should have been living like a princess, carefree and provided for. He was still gloating. “Liam, if you get on your knees right now and bow to me a hundred times, I’ll forgive you and your daughter.” Thump. Thump. With tears streaming down their faces, his parents fell to their knees before me, bowing their heads to the floor. “This is a sin! Young man, our whole family has wronged you. We failed as parents. We’ll move out immediately.” The scene stunned Ryan into silence. I didn’t tell the old couple to get up. Instead, I mirrored his earlier arrogance. “You see that? You hurt me and my daughter without a second thought, and the consequences fall on your parents.” “There’s nothing wrong with ambition. But ambition should drive you to work hard and succeed, not to abandon your morals for a shortcut. Anything given to you can be taken away at any moment.” Ryan’s face darkened. I suspected Victoria, for all her infatuation, hadn’t willingly gifted him every single car and property. He was preying on her weakness for him. I pressed my advantage. “You know why you can’t have a child? Because you built your life on my pain and suffering. You’ve severed your own fate with any future children. Even a soul would be too ashamed to be born to a father like you!” I’d noticed the herbal medicines at the villa the last time I was there. I had worked in an apothecary once; I recognized them immediately as fertility treatments. His deepest insecurity exposed, Ryan’s face contorted with rage. He lunged at me. Victoria, who had been silent until now, stepped between us, grabbing his arm. And that was all. Ryan smirked, looking at me with the confidence of a winner. Of course. Victoria had always been on his side. Unconditionally. The last time I’d forced Ryan to drink toilet water, she had rushed in and shoved me so hard my back slammed into the sink. I’d crumpled to the floor, the pain so sharp it took me five minutes to get up, watching helplessly as she fussed over him and led him away. Right or wrong, Victoria always left me to stand alone. My hope flickered and died. Even though I had given up on her long ago, a small part of me wished she would, for once, stand up for her own daughter. “Liam, I’ve got him. You hit him. Hit him until you’re satisfied.”

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I have late-stage cancer. The doctor told me not to leave any regrets. The first person I thought of was my ex-husband, whom I hadn’t seen in ten years. I started calling him, one number after another, until one finally connected. “I’m dying. Can you come see me one last time?” The man on the other end of the line was silent, unmoved. I couldn’t help the sob that broke from my throat. “Can you just be with me… just for three days… I’m begging you…” “Please… Ethan… say something…” “Say something!” The line went dead. I sat in the dark, hollowed out by despair, until the sun came up. Then, a storm broke, and the doorbell rang. 1. The ringing was frantic, insistent. I scrambled to my feet, knocking a bottle of pills to the floor. When I yanked the door open, a FedEx delivery guy was standing there, his impatient expression freezing on his face. “Uh… hi… package for you…” he stammered. He thrust the package into my hands and practically ran down the hall. I looked out at the empty corridor and laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. In the middle of a hurricane warning, who else but a delivery driver would come to my door? I picked up the package. Then I heard it. Drip. Drip. I turned around slowly. Soaked to the bone, Ethan was standing at the end of the hall. The wind howled outside. I suddenly remembered a line from a movie. The people who love you will walk through a hurricane to find you. And he was here. Did that mean… he still loved me? But his first words shattered that fantasy. “Maya,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “We’ve been divorced for ten years. I need you to stop bothering me.” Ten years. And with a single sentence, he made me lose my mind. I lunged forward, trying to grab the sleeve of his wet jacket, wanting to scream at him. Why? Why could you just leave? Why did you disappear for a decade without a word? But before I could speak, the tears came, hot and traitorous. All I could manage to sob out was, “How could you…” His expression didn’t flicker. “Maya, calm down.” The electronic lock on the door across the hall beeped. “Password incorrect. Please try again.” My neighbor glanced over, her face pale, and I wondered how much she’d heard. 2. I wiped my eyes and forced a professional, customer-service smile. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you…” Her face went even whiter. She fumbled with the keypad, finally got the password right, and slammed the door shut behind her. The hallway fell silent. I turned back to Ethan. He walked towards me, the only sound the squelch of his wet shoes on the tile. He sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion. “Let’s talk inside.” Before I could react, he squeezed past me through the door, bringing the damp, cold smell of the storm with him. It was the one-bedroom apartment we had bought together. The decor, the paint, the furniture—it was all chosen to our tastes back then. I hadn’t changed a thing in ten years. Now, it all just looked painfully outdated. Ethan stood in the entryway, not moving. The living room was a mess, littered with takeout containers and pill bottles. It radiated the same air of decay that I did. He frowned, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But when he spoke, his voice was as distant as ever. “Maya, stop harassing me. We’re adults. Can’t we just have a clean break? Be civil about this?” No. I looked up at him and smiled, a cruel, ugly thing. “I’m dying. What do I need civility for?” 3. It started with a dull ache in my stomach. I ignored it, figured it would pass. I got used to the pain, the same way I’d gotten used to the years without him. Until I collapsed at my desk one afternoon. I woke up to the smell of antiseptic. A coworker had dropped me at the ER and gone back to work. From then on, I was alone, going from one test to another. By the time it was my turn to see the oncologist, he was packing up to go home. He’d been frowning and brusque all day, but suddenly his voice became gentle. He saw my dry lips and even had a nurse bring me a glass of water. The room became quiet, the only sound the distant wail of a siren. From the looks on their faces, I already knew. Cancer. The strange thing was, when I heard the word, I felt… a sense of relief. Like a heavy weight had finally been lifted. I did what I was told. I checked into the hospital. I set up a video call with my family. I tried to keep my voice light as I told them. I have cancer. But don’t worry, I’m already in the hospital. You should all get checked, just in case. That night is a blur of my parents’ weeping, my sister’s choked sobs, and my brother’s long, heavy silence. Then came the treatment. The endless needles, pills, chemo. The vomiting, the hair loss, the indignity of losing control of my own body. The face in the mirror grew more sunken each day. At first, people visited. The fruit baskets in my room were constantly being replaced. Then, slowly, the visitors stopped coming. The fruit started to rot. The doctor’s voice grew softer and softer. “Maya,” he said one day. “Is there anything special you’ve always wanted to do?” The question hung in the air, thick with pity. I looked down at my hands, now just skin and bone. How can a person waste away so quickly? Something I wanted to do? Besides just wanting it all to be over, there was only one thing. I wanted to see Ethan. One more time. Just one more time. 4. A sudden cramp seized my stomach. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. The pain was so intense I had to brace myself against the wall, but I refused to take my painkillers. I just pressed hard against my abdomen, waiting for the wave to pass. Ethan just watched me, his eyes full of skepticism. My body was shaking violently. “You don’t believe me? You think I’d lie about dying to get you here?” I practically threw myself at the coffee table and ripped open the drawer. I pulled everything out and dumped it on the table for him to see. The diagnosis, stacks of medical bills, lab reports, even my insurance statements. “Look,” I sobbed, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. “Open your eyes and look! See if I’m lying to you!” “See? I’m dying. I’m really, truly dying.” He looked down at the mountain of paper. I stared at his face, desperate to see something. Sadness? Pain? He just kept his head bowed, his expression hidden from me. “What is it you really want?” My voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a self-loathing humility. “Three days with you.” My throat was tight. “Just three days… After that, I’ll never bother you again…” We stood there, locked in a silent battle. Finally, he yielded. He sighed. “Does it start today?” Just then, the hurricane passed. A single ray of sunlight cut through the clouds and into the room. The sky was clearing. It was as if even the heavens were taking pity on me. 5. I washed my face and stared at my reflection. Sunken eyes, sallow skin. Behind me, his reflection was still handsome, still young. It seemed time had only taken its toll on me. It wasn’t fair. The ones who break your heart always seem to get off easy. I put on my wig and hastily applied some makeup. The plate-glass windows of the mall reflected our images as we walked, him always a few steps ahead of me, his face a cold mask. He wouldn’t get close. He wouldn’t touch me. I looked down at our shadows on the pavement. I reached out my hand and let my shadow-hand touch his. At least my shadow wouldn’t pull away. We went to a movie. The same theater as our first date. The moment the lights went down, the memories flooded back. His warm hand, cautiously reaching for mine in the dark. Once he held it, he never let go. I didn’t have to see his face to know how red he was blushing. Now, I slowly reached out, trying to touch his hand on the armrest. He snatched it back as if he’d been burned and shoved it in his pocket. My hand was left hanging in the empty space between us. Tears fell, big and heavy. I couldn’t stop them. On the screen, the lovers were kissing. In the dark, I was weeping. And beside me, he was silent. 6. After the movie, we went to dinner. An old place we used to go to all the time. I’d booked our usual table by the window. I ordered his favorites—steamed pork ribs and a spicy Cajun pasta. I carefully wiped down a set of silverware and handed it to him, then ordered another for myself. He stared out the window, ignoring me. I didn’t care. I just started talking. Talking about how the restaurant had been renovated and lost its charm, about how the owner had changed, about how the prices had gone up… He never responded. But I kept talking. I hadn’t spoken to him in so long. Even if he didn’t listen, I wanted to tell him everything about my last ten years. The food arrived, steaming hot. I pushed the plate of ribs towards him. “Eat.” He didn’t even look at it. “I don’t like this stuff anymore.” It felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. I picked up a rib and put it in my mouth. I chewed. Tasteless. I couldn’t taste a thing. Swallowing felt like swallowing glass. He didn’t like it, but I did. He didn’t remember the taste, but I did. And now, I couldn’t taste it at all. I started shoveling the pasta into my mouth. Forkful after forkful. The food mixed with my tears as I forced it down. My stomach churned. I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran for the trash can in the corner. “Ohh—” Everything I had just eaten came back up, mixed with bile and tears. A waiter rushed over with water and napkins. “Ma’am, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?” I was shaking too hard to speak, just managing to shake my head. “I’m… I’m fine… I’m so… sorry… about the mess…” “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll clean it,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, let me help you up…” When I finally managed to stand, I saw that Ethan was already outside, a blurry figure through the rain-streaked glass. 7. I rushed to pay the bill, terrified he would just leave. “Ethan!” He looked at me, keeping his distance. “Where to next?” My throat still burned. “The waterfront… let’s go to the waterfront.” We went to the old city bridge. It was mostly deserted now; everyone went to the new, flashy pedestrian bridge nearby. “Do you remember this place?” I asked, watching a ferry glide across the dark water. “This is where you told me you loved me.” He frowned. “That was a long time ago. Let’s not talk about it.” I was going to talk about it. “Our first date. First the movie, at that same theater. Then dinner, at that same restaurant. You saved up for weeks to order the most expensive thing on the menu…” I paused. “Was it good? Did it… taste the same as you remember?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t eat.” “…Oh.” My voice was a whisper. “Right.” And we’ll never have the chance to eat it again. A ferry passed under the bridge, and I remembered that night. He didn’t want to go home, holding me tight, saying we’d leave after the next boat passed. We watched them come and go until the sky was completely dark. A cold wind blew, and I shivered. Was the wind that cold that night? I pointed to another approaching ferry, its lights twinkling on the water. “Let’s go home after that one passes.” The boat slid beneath us, a floating island of light and laughter. They looked so happy. I was so envious. That night, a nightmare woke me. I ran out of the bedroom, my heart pounding. It wasn’t until I saw the dark shape of him on the sofa that I could breathe again. His breathing was so quiet. I crept closer, wanting to touch him, but I was afraid I’d wake him. Suddenly, the pain hit again, a brutal, twisting agony in my abdomen. I curled into a ball on the floor, biting my lip to keep from screaming. Cold sweat and tears streamed down my face. My vision started to blur. Ethan, it hurts so much. Why won’t you come hold me? 8. When I opened my eyes, it was the next day. The sun was bright. Ethan was sitting on the sofa, watching me in silence. I scrambled to get ready, and we rushed to a bridal shop. I carefully looked through the dresses. We were so poor back then, we just signed the papers at the courthouse. We had finally made it, bought the house, bought the car… and we were planning the wedding when we got divorced. I held up a mermaid-style dress. “Is this one pretty?” He leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, sure,” he said, not even looking. I picked up another, a classic A-line. “What about this one?” “Whatever. They’re all fine.” I stopped asking. I chose a simple, elegant satin dress and a classic black tux. I bought them both. From there, we went to a small, private photography studio with great reviews. I asked Ethan to change into the tux. He refused. “I said I’d spend three days with you. I never said I’d take pictures.” “You won’t?” I asked, holding the suit. “No.” Fine. I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. The makeup artist was a miracle worker. She managed to make me look almost healthy. But as she was styling my hair, she tugged a little too hard. My wig shifted, pulling out a few of the sparse, precious strands I had left. She was horrified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry… I wasn’t even pulling… I…” “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “It’s not your fault. My hair just falls out easily. Just do what you need to do.” After that, she was impossibly gentle. In the studio, the photographer looked from me to the empty space beside me. “Where’s the groom?” 9. I glanced at Ethan, who was standing behind the photographer, looking like he was waiting for me to be humiliated. I forced a smile. “He… uh… he didn’t want to be in the photos. It’ll just be me.” The photographer’s expression changed instantly. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice breezy. “You can just Photoshop him in later. I brought pictures of him. I’ll pay extra.” I only took one photo, but I booked the entire team for the day. The rest of the time was for post-production. I gave the photos of Ethan and the tux to the young graphic designer. “Can you put him in here, please? Thank you.” The kid glanced at the photo, then at me. “Yeah, okay.” I stood behind him, pointing at the screen, trying to recreate the Ethan from my memory. “He needs to be taller. He’s six foot one.” “His shoulders are broader than that.” “His skin should be a little lighter.” “His face… it’s a little thinner than in that photo…” The designer’s mouse clicks got faster, his brow furrowed. Finally, he slammed the mouse down. “Look, lady! I’m not a magician! Why didn’t you just bring the guy with you? This is impossible!” His voice was sharp. I glanced at Ethan, who was watching the scene with detached amusement. My voice shrank. “He didn’t want to come.” The air went still. The studio manager rushed over and smacked the designer on the back of the head. “What did I tell you about your attitude?” He then turned to me, his voice oozing apology. “Miss, I am so sorry. He’s new. Please, don’t be upset. You tell him exactly what you want, and he’ll keep working until you’re satisfied.” The young man muttered under his breath, “Fine, I’ll fix it.” I smiled and said it was okay. Then I remembered something else. “Could you do one more photo for me? A five-by-seven. Black and white. Just of me.” The designer’s mouse stopped moving. The manager’s smile froze. “…Black and white?” 10. I nodded. “Yes. And a simple black frame. Can you… make me look nice? I think… it will probably be for the memorial service.” I found a photo from ten years ago on my phone. In it, a vibrant, happy girl was snuggled up against a man whose face was filled with adoration. “I didn’t… always look like this,” I whispered. I sent the picture to the designer. He stared at it, speechless. The manager smacked him again. “You see? You better do a good job or you’ll be having nightmares!” The designer’s voice was full of guilt when he spoke again. “Ma’am, you just tell me what to change. A little thinner here? Add some color to your cheeks?” On the screen, the Photoshopped me stood in a white wedding dress, my eyes bright. Beside me stood a carefully crafted image of Ethan, wearing a handsome tux, his eyes full of love. It looked just like us, ten years ago. “It’s perfect,” I said softly. “It looks just like the old me. Thank you.” They both insisted they could make it even better and would have it delivered the next day. The kindness of strangers is a strange and beautiful thing. Since my diagnosis, the whole world had shown me compassion. Everyone except him. I looked over at Ethan, sitting alone in the corner. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Maya, sweetie…” her voice was cautious. “The hospital said you checked yourself out?” “Mmmhmm.” “Well… why don’t you come home? Your brother and sister are both here.” “Okay,” I agreed. “And Mom? I’m bringing Ethan with me. Can you make some of his favorite dishes?” There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, she stammered, “Oh… okay… yes, of course, honey. You two… be safe on the road…” 11. After we left the studio, I told Ethan, “We’re going to my parents’ house for dinner tonight.” He was leaning against the wall, half his face in shadow. “And show up as what? Your ex-husband? Maya, we’re divorced. It’s been ten years. It’s not appropriate.” I remembered how my parents had never really approved of him. When they found out his family was from a poor, rural town and he had three siblings, they immediately tried to set me up with other people. “Maya, I’ve been there,” my mom had said. “I don’t want you to struggle the way I did.” I had slammed the door and screamed at her. Later, Ethan found out. He wasn’t angry. He just held me. “She’s not wrong, you know,” he said. “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to have an easy life, not struggle with some poor kid.” He smoothed my hair. “Don’t be mad at your parents. It’s my fault for not being good enough yet. But thank you for believing in me, Maya. I’ll work hard. I promise I’ll give you a good life.” And he did. He worked insane hours, was on call 24/7. In five years, he was a director of engineering. He made six figures, bought a house and a car, and put both in my name. He achieved the kind of success the world respects. My parents never had another objection. He was better to them than I was, always reminding me to call home. I looked at him now. “Mom just turned sixty. Are you really not going to go? You always used to say I didn’t care enough about them. You said…” He cut me off sharply. “Enough! Stop it! You want me to go, right?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Fine. I’ll go. Just don’t regret it.” How could I regret it? We were finally going home together. I pushed open the door to my childhood home. “Mom, Dad! We’re home!” 12. “You’re back!” my sister called out. Everyone turned to look at us. The house went silent, except for the hum of the kitchen fan. “Come… come sit down!” my brother finally said, his voice strained. “Let’s… let’s eat!” I glanced at Ethan and motioned for him to sit next to me. But my brother slid into the seat first. I pushed him gently. “Hey! That’s for your brother-in-law…” The words hung in the air. The room got even quieter. The spoon in my mother’s hand clattered into the soup bowl. My brother jumped up as if shocked. “Oh! Right, right! For my brother-in-law! Sit down, man, sit down!” He grabbed a bottle of wine and started to pour it into Ethan’s glass. “Here, man! Have a drink! Long time no see!” I watched Ethan’s face. His jaw was clenched. I quickly put my hand over the glass. “He can’t drink!” My brother’s hand froze. “Oh… right! Coke! He can drink Coke!” He scrambled to get a soda. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the table. Steamed fish, boiled shrimp, vegetable soup… all bland, healthy food. “Mom,” I complained. “Why is everything so plain? You know Ethan loves spicy food…” Before I could finish, my mother covered her face with her hands. A muffled sob escaped through her fingers. “Why is Grandma crying?” my little nephew asked, his face turning red with anger as he looked at me. “Auntie is mean! You made Grandma cry!” “No, sweetie, I didn’t,” I tried to explain. “I just meant, when we have a guest, we should make food the guest likes…” “He’s not a guest! He’s not here!” my nephew shrieked. “Grandma said Auntie is sick! And she’s imagining things! There is no Uncle Ethan! Uncle Ethan is gone! He…” Smack! My sister slapped him hard on the bottom, her face ashen. “Be quiet! What have I told you about saying things like that?” The boy burst into tears, wailing indignantly. “I’m not lying! Grandma said it! Uncle Ethan is… woo hoo hoo…” My sister clamped her hand over his mouth and rushed him back to his room. The crying, the shouting, the shushing, the sighs… all the sounds mixed together, a chaotic symphony in my ears. I turned, dazed, and looked at the man beside me. His image began to warp and twist. Bzzzzzz… Bzzzzzz… A loud ringing started in my ears. He smiled, but tears were streaming down his face. A single drop, then another. “I told you,” he said, his voice cutting through the ringing. “I told you not to bring me home.”

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Could twins have two different biological fathers? I stared at the two paternity test reports in my hand, lost in thought. Just then, my husband called out from the living room, “Let’s name the big one Summer, and the little one Rose.” His first love, the one who broke his heart in college, was named Summer Rose. Something inside me snapped. What the hell? The kids weren’t even his. What right did he have to name them? 1 I’m what you’d call a traditional woman, a small-town girl at heart. When I married my husband, Mark, he became my whole world. Whatever he said, whatever he did, was right. I adored him. We met at the same university. He was a few years ahead of me and came back as a successful alum to give a talk to my business class. In my eyes, he was the epitome of success. 2 We dated, we got married. I threw myself into the role of the perfect wife. The day I graduated, I hung up my ambitions and dedicated myself to him. I managed our home, cooked his meals, and organized his life. 3 But my perfect domestic life hit a major snag. Two years into our marriage, I still wasn’t pregnant. Panic set in. I grew up in a place where divorce was the ultimate failure for a woman. If I was the one who couldn’t have children, I’d be sent back to my parents in shame. 4 Desperate, I confided in one of Mark’s best friends, Ben. Ben was a doctor, handsome and successful like all of Mark’s friends. He was kind. After listening to my tearful confession, he offered to run some private tests for me, off the record. The results came back: Mark was sterile. A wave of relief washed over me. It was dark, but my backup plan had been to… injure Mark in a way that would make him sterile, creating a situation where we were both unable to have children. It was a bloody thought, and though I’d rehearsed it in my head, telling myself it was to save our family, I was glad I didn’t have to hurt him. 5 To protect our marriage, and more importantly, Mark’s fragile ego, I decided to bear this burden alone. I swallowed the secret. When Mark and his mother yelled at me, I took it. His mother called me a “barren hen.” Mark would snap, “Every other woman on the planet can get pregnant, what’s wrong with you?” I never said a word. I was the silent, long-suffering wife. Besides, I was already working on a solution, not just complaining like they were. 6 Sometimes, I felt a surge of pity for Mark. He had no idea how lucky he was to have a wife like me. Ben asked me what my plan was. He was so handsome. He had these charming eyes that crinkled when he smiled and a deep, soothing voice. When he stood close, he smelled faintly of clean linen and antiseptic. 7 As I cried quietly in his office, Ben gently wiped my tears with a tissue. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder, guiding me into a soft hug. “You’ve been through so much,” he murmured. “It breaks my heart to see you like this.” “I don’t want to hurt Mark,” I sobbed. “And I don’t want to lose my family.” I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. “Ben, is there any way… any way you can help me get pregnant?” After a long pause, Ben agreed. He would be my anonymous donor. We both agreed to keep it from Mark. We didn’t want him to be hurt. 8 Our conversation was overheard by Mark’s other best friend, Julian. The three of them were inseparable. Julian was a university professor. He found me later, his expression serious. “You can’t keep this from him,” he said. “The problem is his. He needs to know.” “Telling him won’t change anything!” I whispered frantically. “It would just crush him. All he wants is a child. If I, as his wife, can’t even give him that, what good am I?” Julian sighed. “If you need someone to help… I can. I’ve been in love with you for years, but you’ve always been so wrapped up in him, I never had a chance.” He looked at me with such intensity. “If you have my child, I will give that child everything I have. All I ask for is one night. One night I can remember for the rest of my life. Can’t you grant me that one wish?” 9 I was tempted. He promised he would never marry, that he would just love our child from afar. Having one more person love my baby couldn’t be a bad thing. And besides, I hated feeling indebted to people. Since Julian loved me, it felt less like a transaction and more like… a mutual favor. So, I told Ben I’d found someone else. He demanded to know why. When I hesitated, he grew quiet. “You can’t be serious about divorcing him, can you? Because if you did, I’d marry you. You wouldn’t have to go through all this.” I shook my head, horrified. His words scared me. Mark and his mother always said a woman’s value comes from being married, from being loved and wanted by a man. How could I initiate a divorce? I was a traditional woman. Divorce wasn’t in my vocabulary. 10 Ben pressed me. “Who is it? What did they offer you?” Of course, I wouldn’t say. “I know who it is,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s Julian, isn’t it? The way he looks at you… it’s not innocent. Getting involved with him is a mistake.” He leaned closer. “I can marry you! Can he?” His arguments were compelling. He was a doctor. If there were any “post-purchase” issues, he could help. If Mark ever got suspicious and wanted a paternity test, Ben could handle it. Plus, having a doctor on call during the pregnancy would be invaluable. So, I went back and rejected Julian. 11 Julian did not take it well. He threatened to go to Mark and tell him everything, to stop him from pressuring me. To calm him down, I quickly said that having his baby would be better. In the end, I decided that since they were both willing to help, and they were both Mark’s best friends, it didn’t really matter who it was. And with two of them… my chances of success would be higher. So I found my ovulation day on the calendar. I scheduled a “meeting” with Julian in the morning. And another with Ben in the afternoon. 12 Soon after, I was pregnant. They both wanted to “meet” with me again, but I refused. I couldn’t possibly do something so immoral more than once. Being with them had been physically… pleasurable. More than it had ever been with Mark. But my heart was heavy with guilt. How could a woman enjoy such a thing? I was supposed to be pure, traditional. I couldn’t let myself become wanton. 13 But Ben and Julian were persistent. And somehow, they had both gotten samples of my blood and run their own tests. They both called me, claiming the child was theirs. At first, I was shocked, assuming one of them was lying. But soon, I had no time to worry about it. The pregnancy was rough. And Mark and his mother were no help at all. “When I was pregnant with Mark,” his mother would say, “I was still working two jobs! I gave birth on my lunch break and was back at the cash register that afternoon. Women these days are so fragile.” Mark would chime in, “You sit around the house all day. What’s so hard about being pregnant? Why did I marry such a useless woman?” 14 I endured it all in silence. For the sake of a peaceful home. I told myself that Mark would mature one day. The kids would grow up, and we’d be happy companions in our old age. But it was hard. Thankfully, I had Ben and Julian. I saw Ben for all my prenatal appointments. He was so attentive. When he found out I was still doing all the housework and waiting on Mark and his mother, he told them in no uncertain terms that I needed bed rest. He even hired a housekeeper for us, saying it was an early baby shower gift. His mother was thrilled at the free help. Mark just said Ben was too nice for his own good. 15 Julian was wonderful, too. He moved into the apartment directly above ours. He was a professor, so his schedule was flexible. He started cooking all the time, bringing down elaborate meals. If I craved pickles, he’d make a dish with a tart vinaigrette. If I wanted spicy, he’d whip up a curry. If I had a late-night craving, I’d text him, and he’d appear a little while later with takeout, sitting with Mark to drink a beer while I ate. 16 With their care, I finally felt happy. I had two people who were genuinely excited to welcome this baby with me. As for Mark and his mother, I was sure they would be filled with love once they saw the adorable baby. When the ultrasound showed we were having twins, everyone was ecstatic. I finally earned praise from Mark and his mother. I cried tears of joy. My sacrifice was worth it. Soon after, Ben moved into the apartment downstairs. They would take turns taking me for walks and coming over to chat. But I am a traditional, modest woman. How could I speak to men other than my husband? So I would mostly sit in silence while they talked to Mark or his mother. But inside, I was secretly pleased. 17 Ten months later, I gave birth to a beautiful pair of boy-girl twins. While I was recovering, my mother-in-law complained of aches and pains and refused to help with the babies. And Mark… Mark’s old college flame, Summer Rose, moved back to town. He started “working late” every night to see her. I waited patiently for him to come back to his family. A good woman waits, ready to forgive her husband’s indiscretions. Thankfully, Julian and Ben were there every day, looking after me and the babies. They filled the role of both husband and father. They told me to focus on healing and not to worry. But sometimes, I couldn’t help it. I had sacrificed so much for this family. To protect Mark’s ego, I had hidden his infertility and borne him twins. What more could he possibly want from me? 18 He was the one who said I needed to think of his needs. I did. He was the one who said I needed to be an independent wife and not bother him with problems. I did. I solved our biggest problem all by myself. He and his mother belittled me, and I endured it. All for the sake of our family. And now he was openly cheating on me. 19 And here I was, in my room, trying to figure out how my twins could have different fathers, while he was in the living room, planning to name them after his mistress. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed out of the room— And then I lost my nerve. Mark was my world. What he said, goes. I retreated back to my room, tears streaming down my face. A few minutes later, Julian knocked and came in with a tray of food. He glanced at the sleeping babies. “Did he upset you again?” he asked softly. “I do everything for him,” I choked out. “I gave him children. And he still wants his ex. He wants to name our babies Summer and Rose.” Julian’s jaw tightened. “He’s a bastard. Clara, you should leave him. You and the kids can move upstairs with me. It would save me the trip of bringing food down.” I sniffled and shook my head as I uncovered the delicious food he’d made. “Mark is just confused right now. He’ll come back to us. Besides, I’m a traditional woman. I can’t live with another man.” Julian said nothing. When one of the babies woke up, he expertly prepared a bottle and began to feed them. 21 The paternity reports were clear. The boy was Julian’s. The girl was Ben’s. But they both acted as if both children belonged to them. I never corrected them. Why spoil their happiness with the truth? Pleasing others is just in my nature. I’m always thinking of what’s best for everyone else. 22 A little while later, Ben arrived. He and Julian started co-parenting seamlessly. From the living room, my mother-in-law watched them. “Clara!” she called out. “You need to get your strength back so you can give my son more boys! We have to pass on Mark’s superior genes.” Mark nodded, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I glanced at Ben and Julian. Well, this would require their help again. If Mark wanted more children, I had no objection. After all, he made a seven-figure salary; he could certainly afford them. And more children would surely make him more committed to our family. 23 “Okay,” I said. Julian and Ben beamed. “Sharon,” Ben said to my mother-in-law. “I live right downstairs. Why don’t I take the babies down to my place for a while? Give these two some time to work on the next one.” Julian scoffed. “You? Take care of babies? I’ll take them upstairs. My schedule is more flexible. It’ll be better for everyone.” My mother-in-law clapped her hands. “You two are better to Mark than his own brothers.” I thought, no sane man would agree to this. Sending his wife and newborn babies to another man’s house? But Mark hesitated for only a second before saying, “You guys love the kids so much, you can be their godfathers. Here, take them. Take Clara, too.” 24 “Mark, don’t you want me anymore?” I asked, my voice breaking. I started to cry. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I’ll change. You can name the kids whatever you want. We can have more, we can name them… Love Summer, Cherish Rose… anything! Just please, don’t leave me.” Mark looked moved. “No, baby, it’s not that. It’s just… Summer just got back to the country, she has nowhere to stay. I invited her here, and I’m afraid the babies will be too loud for her…” He was kicking me and his children out to move his mistress in? I was still in a daze when I found myself in Julian’s apartment. He settled the babies, then wrapped his arms around me. “He doesn’t love you, Clara,” he said softly. “But I do. And I love our children. Don’t cry for a man who doesn’t deserve your tears.” I sobbed into his chest. He kissed me. I didn’t resist. If it weren’t for Julian, I think I would have fallen apart. He calmed me. I was ready to once again be the patient wife, waiting for her husband to come home.

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Everyone in the city thinks I’m a good-for-nothing playboy, but I secretly earned a dual doctorate in medicine and finance years ago. My grandfather named me his sole heir, but to throw off our rivals, he adopted Chloe Vance and let the world believe she was being groomed for the top spot. Everyone assumed she would marry me and inherit the Thorne fortune. But after twenty years of growing up together, she remained cold, distant. I told myself she was just reserved by nature. Then she started championing a scholarship kid, Brook Miller, time and time again, even publicly declaring, “Anyone who bullies Brook today will pay a hundred times over when I take over Thorne Industries.” Someone in the crowd had the nerve to ask, “What about Steve Thorne?” She paused, then spoke as if granting a charity. “My heart belongs to Brook. Thorne can have the fortune, but he’ll never have my love.” I calmly switched off the video and dialed my grandfather’s number. “Grandfather, I’ve decided on the marriage alliance. I’m choosing the Beaumont family. We can’t afford to lose the northern markets.” His voice was even. “But Celeste Beaumont is cursed. Ruin to her parents, ruin to her husband, ruin to her children. She’s destined to be a lone star. Are you sure about this, Steve?” 1 I traced the face of my watch, a piece worth millions. “Hasn’t every great man who reached the summit been alone?” I said. “I don’t believe in fate. The only thing real is the power you can hold in your hand.” A note of appreciation entered his voice. “Good. Spoken like a true Thorne.” “By the way,” he added, “that Vance girl has been getting a little too ambitious lately. Put her in her place. If she still doesn’t learn, it’s time to send her away.” I lowered my eyes. “Understood.” When Chloe was sixteen, her family went bankrupt. Grandfather took her in, and the world assumed he was training his successor. My own father was a notorious womanizer who had only managed to produce one useless son—me. It was a convenient fiction. Grandfather deliberately spread the rumors of my incompetence, letting me observe the vultures and sharks of the business world from the shadows before I took them all down. But over time, Chloe started to believe the fiction herself. She began to think she was the true master of the Thorne estate. She forgot her name was Vance, not Thorne. Still, I would grant her one last kindness, a final shred of warmth for the boy I used to be. When I opened the library door, Chloe’s face was a thundercloud. “These little games of yours just make you more disgusting to me,” she spat. “I’ve been managing that project for three months. It’s in the final stages. Do you have any idea how much profit you’ve jeopardized with your stunt?” She bit her lip, her voice laced with contempt. “Why are you so damn childish? You’re nothing like…” I knew what she left unsaid. Nothing like Brook. A faint smile played on my lips. “Chloe, if you don’t like it, you’re free to leave the Thorne estate. No one is stopping you.” Fury blazed in her eyes, her hands clenched into tight fists. “Steve Thorne, you’re nothing but a spoiled brat who only knows how to cause trouble from your ivory tower. You look at me like I’m a dog you own. You don’t understand anything…” I turned away, a wave of pity washing over me. What didn’t I understand? Her father had died from a rare, chronic disease. Her life’s dream was to conquer it. What she didn’t know was that the disease was hereditary. Three years ago, while pursuing my medical doctorate, I spent an entire year of sleepless nights developing a growth factor that could inhibit the disease’s progression. And it was during that hellish year, when I was completely buried in my work, that she fell for the scholarship kid, Brook Miller. Love. It really was as fragile and pathetic as a joke. “Chloe, are you alright?” Brook gently took her wrist, his face a mask of concern. I shot him a sidelong glance, and Chloe instinctively moved to shield him. “Brook is just my assistant. Don’t you dare lay a hand on him.” Brook’s eyes reddened. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne. I was just so worried about Ms. Vance.” My voice was ice. “Is the Thorne estate some kind of monster’s den? What exactly is there to be so worried about?” Brook flinched. “No… I misspoke. If you’re angry, Mr. Thorne, just hit me.” At his words, I raised my hand. Chloe immediately threw herself in front of him. “Steve, that’s enough! Why do you get so much pleasure from bullying the weak?” I suppressed the bitter taste in my mouth and let out a sharp laugh. “Still the righteous hero, aren’t you, Chloe? After all these years.” 2 Her lips parted, then closed. Her face was pale, but she offered no defense. Just as she had saved me when we were kidnapped as children, she was now saving the poor, timid Brook Miller. Chloe only ever wanted to be the hero, protecting one “weak” soul after another. That’s why, when Brook’s scholarship was cut because he failed to meet the academic requirements, she blamed me for being stingy. When Brook, knowing full well I was severely allergic, sent a massive bouquet of roses to my office that landed me in the hospital for a week, she called me paranoid and cruel for thinking he’d done it on purpose. And at the charity gala, when he deliberately slipped the ring she’d given him into my suit pocket, only to look shocked and helpless when she walked over, she grabbed my wrist so tightly her nails dug into my skin. “Have you no shame, Steve?” she’d hissed. “Do you think stealing the gift I gave Brook will change anything? It was a symbol of my feelings for him. You can take everything, but I will never, ever love you.” Brook just shook his head, his face a picture of terror. “Ms. Vance, it was me! I gave the ring to Mr. Thorne. He had nothing to do with it!” Back then, I was still foolish enough to believe she was just being blinded by him. Still stupidly in love. I forced myself to remain calm. “Let’s check the security footage.” When the video played, showing Brook furtively slipping the ring into my pocket, he clutched his jacket, stammering nonsensically. “I-I’ve just never seen such a fine suit before… I couldn’t help but touch it, and the ring must have fallen in. Ms. Vance, I swear, I didn’t mean it! I really need this job…” His explanation was illogical, full of holes. But Chloe’s expression softened. She looked at me. “It was just a misunderstanding, Steve. Let’s just drop it.” She used my first name so intimately, yet a chill spread through my heart. The last time she’d called me that was on the night we escaped our kidnappers. She’d thrown herself in front of me, taking a stray bullet meant for me, her voice desperate as she screamed, “Steve, run!” The softest part of my heart, the part I had reserved only for her, was torn to shreds in that moment. Chloe, who had always disdained manipulation, had abandoned her principles for Brook. And with that, she shattered the last lingering piece of my affection. From that day on, Brook was always by her side. After all these years, Chloe couldn’t remember my allergies, but she had every clivia lily, a flower Brook disliked, removed from the corporate offices. She never celebrated holidays, but she spent Valentine’s Day watching fireworks with him over the harbor. And the French-style manor Grandfather had built for me at a cost of a billion dollars—our future home—she took Brook there first. When I arrived at the manor with my security detail, I found Brook placing a crown of roses on her head. My voice was glacial. “Chloe, this manor was a wedding gift to me from my grandfather.” She had dared to rip out my favorite white willows and plant the grounds with roses, the one flower I despised. At the sound of my voice, Brook quickly snatched the crown off her head and dropped to his knees, banging his head on the stone path. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne! It’s my fault! Please, punish me!” After a few frantic bows, his forehead was already bleeding. Chloe rushed to help him up, her voice sharp with anger. “Steve, you’ve had everything you could ever want your whole life! Why must you torment Brook over something so trivial? It’s not a big deal! We’ll plant the willows again before the wedding.” She looked at me with an expression of weary obligation. “You’re marrying me anyway. Do these things really matter?” Her forced resignation was almost comical. She seemed to think I was utterly devoted to her, that even though I was the rightful heir to the Thorne fortune, even though countless powerful families were desperate to marry their daughters into our dynasty, I would simply wait for her forever. I couldn’t help but sneer. “Chloe, what makes you so sure I’m going to marry you?” 3 The air hung thick and still for a moment before Chloe laughed, a scornful, biting sound. “Don’t you sound ridiculous, Steve? Who else would you marry? The Thorne empire is tied to you. Do you really think Grandfather would let you marry some nameless nobody?” I was about to tell her I had already chosen my bride when she cut me off impatiently. “Stop being so difficult. At Grandfather’s birthday gala, I’ll tell him we’re ready to set the date. Will that satisfy you?” A flash of jealous hatred crossed Brook’s face, quickly masked by a sigh. “Mr. Thorne is so lucky. To marry a woman as wonderful as Ms. Vance… I wonder if I’ll ever be so fortunate.” Seeing his downcast expression, Chloe’s eyes softened with pity. “The Thorne family saved me,” she said, her voice meant for him alone. “I have a duty to protect their legacy.” She paused, her gaze filled with meaning. “But I know that gratitude isn’t love…” Brook’s eyes filled with a look of profound, romantic understanding. I had lost all patience. “Are you two finished?” Chloe’s expression turned cold and merciless. “No.” She stared directly at me. “Steve, even if I marry you, the one in my heart will always be Brook. You will be nothing more than a figurehead. And don’t you ever let me see you hurt him again.” Brook wrapped his arms around her. “Mr. Thorne,” he pleaded, “just let us be happy.” The last bit of warmth in me died. Did she really think I couldn’t live without her? It seemed that last shred of decency was no longer necessary. “From this moment on,” I said, my voice cutting through the air, “these two are banned from this estate.” Chloe drew a sharp breath, her voice turning venomous. “Fine, Steve. Just don’t you regret this.” Watching her walk away hand-in-hand with Brook, I let out a self-mocking laugh. Regret? For her, I had rebelled against my destiny countless times. A scion of a financial dynasty, I insisted on studying medicine, earning ten lashes from my grandfather’s cane and biting my tongue so I wouldn’t scream that I didn’t regret it. I went to war with a mob boss to win back her family’s heirloom, taking a bullet that missed my heart by less than an inch. I didn’t regret that either. Now, for the first time, I had finally made the right choice. What was there to regret? It takes a lifetime to love someone, but only a moment to let them go. Back at the Thorne residence, the butler bowed his head. “Young Master, your wedding suit has arrived. It is ready for a fitting.” The suit, a masterpiece of design and tailoring, drew gasps of admiration from the nearby staff. “It’s a work of art. A bespoke creation. Young Master, you will be the happiest groom in that.” I twisted my lips into a smile. Since when were value and happiness connected? But at least value, unlike people, would never betray you. When I put on the jacket, however, the buttons wouldn’t close. The designer frowned, pulling up his tablet. “Strange. We followed the measurements sent by the Thorne household precisely. They were only from a month ago; there shouldn’t be such a discrepancy.” My expression didn’t change as I took the tablet from him. The string of numbers was unfamiliar. They didn’t match any measurements I’d ever had. Chloe had been in charge of the suit. It was obvious whose measurements these were. As if on cue, Chloe rushed in. Her eyes darted around nervously, but her voice was defiant. “I must have given them the wrong numbers. Just have them alter it.” She knew this designer’s schedule was packed; he was only in the country for a month as a personal favor to my grandfather. There was only time for minor adjustments, not a complete re-tailoring. She knew how much this wedding meant to me, how I wanted every detail to be perfect. But she did it anyway, just to see a smile on Brook’s face. I calmly took off the jacket. “Thank you for your hard work, Maestro Karl. My best wishes to your next client.” The designer’s initial irritation melted into a look of sympathy. “Steve. I wish you happiness as well.” Chloe took a step forward, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Steve, a suit from any other designer will be just as good. It’s not like I’ll look down on you for it.” A sarcastic smile curled my lip. The wedding venue was a compromise. The suit was a compromise. With her, my life was destined to be an endless series of compromises. But for Brook, she gave only the best. As she wished, I would marry Celeste Beaumont. There would be no more compromises for me. And she would finally have her heart’s desire. 4 Having severed all ties, I stopped contacting Chloe. But she came looking for me. She held out a single branch of white willow. It was her old way of apologizing. She would bring me something I loved, and I, besotted, would forgive her. But I no longer cared. So I didn’t take it. The frown on her face deepened. “Brook was worried you wouldn’t take things well, so he bought this for you. It cost him half a month’s salary.” I ignored her, rising to pick up my teacup. “It’s cheap.” Her face darkened. “Is money all you know, Steve? You’re disgusting.” As she stormed away, I smiled. The tea she’d been drinking, a rare Snow Mountain Emerald, was worth a hundred thousand a gram, and was nearly impossible to buy. The custom silk trench coat she wore, a delicate piece worth over three hundred thousand, was something she’d casually used to shield Brook from the sun. For the first time, I wondered: had I given her too much? The things others fought and bled for, she had received so easily. She had never learned to value anything. The gala was held on the MSC mega-yacht. Grandfather had announced that he would be revealing the news of my wedding, so everyone who mattered was in attendance. Chloe arrived with Brook at her side. The sharks of high society exchanged knowing glances. Everyone had assumed she would be marrying me; bringing this man was a slap in the face to the Thorne family. But there were always fools eager to curry favor. “Ms. Vance, you’re truly a pillar of Thorne Industries. So young and so accomplished.” Chloe’s expression soured. I chuckled to myself. She saw herself as the future queen, not a mere pillar. Besides, she had never been allowed anywhere near the core operations of the company. On paper, Grandfather was in charge. In reality, I had held the reins for years. Brook approached me, head bowed, to offer a toast. I stared calmly at his duplicitous face. “You’re not worthy to offer me a toast.” He moved closer, his voice a low, vicious hiss. “So what if you’re the Young Master? Her heart belongs to me.” Then, pretending to trip, he grabbed my lapel. We both tumbled backward into a towering pyramid of champagne glasses. Shards of glass bit into my skin as amber liquid soaked my pure white suit. SMACK. Chloe rushed forward and slapped me across the face. A perfect red handprint bloomed on my cheek. “Steve, I warned you. Don’t you touch Brook.” Brook was already on the floor, groaning as if he’d been grievously wounded. The fury in Chloe’s eyes intensified. Her hands closed around my throat. “Apologize.” Security finally reacted, pulling her off me. I coughed, gasping for air. The guests were whispering. “It’s over between them. Is he still going to announce the wedding?” “Looks like Chloe’s inheritance is a sure thing. Who else would dare to assault the heir in public?” Suppressing my rage, I climbed out of the wreckage and walked onto the stage. “Today, I have three announcements to make.” “First, my engagement to Ms. Chloe Vance is hereby terminated.” “Second, I will be formally taking over as CEO of Thorne Industries, and my first act is to fire Ms. Vance.” “Third, I am engaged to Ms. Celeste Beaumont. We will be married next month.”

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1 My grandmother refused to close her eyes, her breath rattling in her chest. She made me swear a solemn oath right there on her deathbed. On my wedding day, I had to be out of my house before 4 AM and the ceremony had to be complete by 7 AM. Otherwise, the groom’s entire family would befall a terrible disaster. My grandma had been a seer her whole life, a woman whose predictions never missed the mark. Through my tears, I promised. I told my fiancé, Ryan, that even if it was just for my sake, he had to make sure the wedding party arrived on time. He swore he would. But on the morning of the wedding, the street outside was silent. The limousines were nowhere to be found. My mom called his family, and my future mother-in-law’s cold laughter crackled through the speaker. “What’s the rush? My son isn’t the one who made the oath!” “You want him to pick her up? Fine. Add another $50,000 to the dowry.” “Otherwise, the deal’s off!” The sound of firecrackers and cheerful laughter still echoed from the street below my window. Friends and family, some having traveled across the country, had arrived the night before just to make sure I could leave for my wedding before the 4 AM deadline. Hearing his mother’s words, a hot rage flooded through me. I ripped the decorative pins from my hair. “Mom, I’m not marrying him.” My mom rushed over, pressing my hands down. “Sweetheart, don’t talk crazy. On your wedding day? You can’t just call it off.” She sighed, her voice softening. “You’re pregnant. That’s why they think they have you cornered. Look at your belly.” Pregnant? What baby? I stared down at my stomach. It was soft, a little pudgy, the result of many late-night snacks. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked up at my mom, confused. “Mom, what are you talking about?” She gave me a slightly exasperated look. “That dinner we had with Ryan’s mother? You ran to the bathroom to throw up halfway through. You didn’t see the look in her eyes after that. Pure calculation. I could practically see the dollar signs.” A vague memory surfaced. We had met with Ryan’s parents to finalize the wedding plans. The night before, I’d gone out for barbecue and had way too much. My acid reflux was acting up, and I’d felt nauseous all through dinner. So that was it. That’s why his mother’s attitude had completely changed when I got back from the restroom. And to make it worse, I remembered complaining to Ryan that my period was late. She thought I was pregnant. And my own mother, seeing the same signs, had just accepted their outrageous demands. 2 “Honey, maybe we should just give them the fifty thousand,” my mom pleaded. “You have to think about your grandmother’s warning.” “And no matter what his family is doing, you and Ryan have been together for years. He’s a good kid, aside from being a little cheap. We can’t be responsible for a curse on their whole family.” I knew she was right, but I couldn’t swallow the injustice. It wasn’t about the money. My family could afford fifty thousand, or even five million. My dad had told me that whatever dowry Ryan’s family offered, he would match it a hundred times over as my wedding gift, a nest egg for my future. I had tried to hint to Ryan that a larger dowry, even a symbolic one like $8,888 for good luck, would be appreciated. He had scoffed at the idea. “Dowries are such an old-fashioned, superstitious tradition,” he’d said. “Besides, your parents are just going to give the money to your cousin, right? A daughter’s dowry never really stays with her. It’s better if that money goes straight into our new life together. Don’t forget, I put your name on the house, baby.” I was furious. But I was bound by a promise to my dad not to reveal our family’s true financial situation to Ryan before the wedding. In a fit of anger, I’d told him I didn’t want a dowry at all. And now, his family was using this manufactured crisis to extort money from us. I didn’t know if Ryan was in on it, but the memory of him promising me he would honor my grandmother’s last wish made my heart ache. All our friends and family were here. They all knew about the timeline my grandmother had set. They had all made arrangements to be here, some traveling for days. And Ryan, the groom, was the only one missing. My phone rang. It was him. 3 His tone was the complete opposite of his mother’s, filled with urgency and concern. “Baby, don’t listen to my mom. She’s just talking crazy.” “We got held up on the way, but I’m almost there.” “I swear, I’ll get you in the car before your grandmother’s deadline. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The anger in my chest subsided. His mother might be a snake, but at least Ryan was on my side. His heart was in the right place. My voice softened. “When will you be here? All our relatives are waiting. If you don’t get here soon, we’ll run out of time.” “Get ready,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m close. I’m going to marry you in style.” I could hear muffled noises in the background. “Ryan, man, when are we leaving? The drivers can’t just park here. Why are we waiting for…” Before I could hear the rest, he hung up. My mom sighed. “At this rate, we’ll have to skip all the fun door games the bridesmaids planned.” My cousin Lily piped up. “But Clara spent three months planning those! All those fun little games will go to waste. And she spent a fortune on the extra photographers…” My mom glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “The money is nothing,” she whispered. “If your grandmother’s spirit is truly angered, no amount of money could save the Zhao family.” 4 Lily’s eyes widened. “Was Grandma really that powerful?” “You grew up overseas, so you don’t know,” my mom explained. “Around here, everyone was terrified of your grandmother. Not because our family had money, but because she was a well-known seer.” “Years ago, before our family made its fortune, one of our relatives struck it rich. He brought his new, young wife back to the old town to visit, bringing gifts for everyone. He wanted to show off.” “Everyone wished them well, but when he came to our house, your grandmother took the expensive gifts—bird’s nest soup, ginseng, all of it—and threw the entire box out the door.” “She pointed at him and cursed him. ‘You think you can buy my blessing with this cheap trash after you abandoned the wife who helped you build your fortune? May you be struck by lightning and die alone! May your family fall to ruin!’” “The man was furious and swore he’d never step foot in our house again. The whole town gossiped about how cruel your grandmother was.” “Until…” my mom trailed off, a strange look on her face. “Until what?” Lily urged. “Auntie, don’t leave me hanging!” “Less than six months later, he was dead. Struck by lightning while using an outhouse in the countryside. They found him face down in a septic tank, his body half-eaten by maggots. It turned out the ‘new wife’ was a prostitute, and he had left his first wife for her. Every word your grandmother said came true. People whispered that she had cast a spell on him, all because he disrespected her.” My mom lowered her voice even more. “We can’t let that happen to Ryan’s family.” 5 A chill ran down my spine. I glanced at the clock. 3:20 AM. Still no sign of Ryan. The wedding ceremony itself was a long, complicated process. If he delayed any longer, we’d never make it. I knew my grandma was… eccentric, but I never realized her power was this terrifying. I grabbed my phone and sent Ryan a text. “Where are you? It’s getting really late. Please hurry! We can’t miss the deadline.” Five minutes later, he replied. “Can you stop rushing me? I’ve been up since yesterday getting ready. Do you think I’m not tired? If you’re so worried, just come wait downstairs. The car will get there when it gets there, and we can just leave.” My hands started to shake. My mom saw my face change. “What is it, honey?” Her heart wasn’t strong. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I locked my phone and forced a smile. “Nothing, Mom. Ryan said there’s a bit of traffic.” But inside, my mind was racing. How could he say that to me? A bride, in her wedding dress, waiting on the curb for her own wedding car? Was I that desperate? Was I so worthless that I had to beg him to marry me? All my excitement, all my anticipation for this day, turned to ash in my mouth. I had spent six months planning every single detail of this wedding, pulling all-nighters to make sure everything was perfect. And this was my reward? I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall. The clock on my phone lit up: 3:40 AM. Twenty minutes left. 6 Relatives were starting to whisper, asking when the groom would arrive. I didn’t hesitate. I sent Ryan another text. “If you can’t make it, let’s just cancel. We can go our separate ways.” After all these years, I couldn’t knowingly push him into a disaster. If we canceled the wedding, surely my grandmother’s curse wouldn’t come to pass. He called me immediately. His voice was completely different from his text. “Honey, I was just stressed. Don’t take it to heart. The wedding cars are just a mile away, but the drivers are on strike. They’re saying it’s too early and they haven’t eaten, and they won’t move until they’re paid in full. Can you… can you transfer me that 20k your mom gave you?” “The second the money hits my account, I’ll be there in five minutes, and we can have our beautiful wedding. But if we delay any longer… I can’t say what might happen.” He was talking about the $20,000 my mom had given me as a personal gift, which he had happened to see. My mom, overhearing, gently nudged me. “Baby, twenty thousand is nothing to us. Just send it to him. I don’t care about the money. I just want you to be happy and safe.” I looked at the faces of my friends and family, all waiting expectantly. I took a deep breath and gave in. I transferred the money. A kissing emoji popped up from him immediately. “Wait for me, my sweet wife. I’m on my way.” I sent back a simple “ok” and turned off my phone, my stomach churning. Now that he had the money, surely there wouldn’t be any more problems. 7 Five minutes later, the sound of car horns blared from downstairs. Lily ran up, her face bright with excitement. “Clara! They’re here! Lock the door!” I pulled Lily and my other cousin, Jake, aside. “We don’t have much time. Don’t make the door games too hard on him, okay? I’ll give you both a big gift later.” “Don’t worry, sis,” Lily said with a grin. “We know what to do.” A moment later, Ryan’s cheerful voice called from the other side of the door. “Honey, open up, or I’m kicking the door in!” Lily played along, calling through the door, “To marry my cousin, you have to answer a few questions first, future brother-in-law!” The next sound was a deafening CRASH. The bedroom door flew off its hinges and slammed into Lily, who fell to the ground with a cry of pain. The heavy wooden door landed on her leg, and her face went white. I shot to my feet. “What is the meaning of this? Is this how you pick up a bride?” A chorus of laughter came from the hallway. “Look what you did, you made the bride angry!” “Hahaha, who knew a mansion would have such a cheap door?” Lily, despite the fact that her foot was already swelling, grabbed the hem of my dress. “Clara, I’m fine. Don’t let this ruin your big day. It doesn’t even hurt.”

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After Dia broke up with me for the umpteenth time, I didn’t need her to tell me what to do. I packed my things, moved out, and quietly cut ties with our past. Day one: I canceled the wedding planner we’d booked three years ago but kept putting off. Day two: I shut off the automatic payments for her mother’s medical treatments and turned down her sister’s request for cash. Day three: I accepted my boss’s transfer offer, ready to start a new life in a city down south. As the plane took off, a strange curiosity hit me. Without me, her free, round-the-clock caregiver for the last decade… Without me, her personal ATM, always on call… How would Dia possibly manage? How would she take care of her paralyzed mother, satisfy her materialistic sister, and dote on that precious junior colleague she adored so much? 1 “Mr. Hayes, as per the contract, canceling the wedding plan will result in a forfeiture of twenty percent of the deposit. If you agree, please sign here.” The coordinator confirmed with me one last time, then handed over the contract and a pen, guiding me to the signature line. She was young, and I could see the gossip sparkling in her eyes. She looked like she was bursting with questions. I couldn’t blame her. A wedding booked three years ago. Two finalized plans, even a rehearsal, all leading to nothing. And now, instead of a wedding, a cancellation. Anyone would be curious. But they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know that my journey from eagerly anticipating marrying the woman I’d loved for ten years to deciding to call it all off had taken a single night. And the thing that finally made up my mind? A building block set hidden on the top shelf of Dia’s bookcase. During my end-of-the-month cleaning, I accidentally bumped the shelf. The heavy wooden planks and the surprisingly weighty blocks came crashing down, leaving me dizzy and seeing stars. The loud crash brought Dia running. She burst into the study, but her first instinct wasn’t to check if I was okay or help me up. Instead, her eyes fell on the scattered pieces on the floor, and an unusual rage contorted her face. “Alex Hayes, just because you didn’t like your birthday present doesn’t give you the right to destroy my things!” Before I could even explain, she was screaming at me to get out of her house. I stood outside her door all night, apologizing over and over, until the building’s security guard told me I was disturbing the neighbors and made me leave. I ordered a replacement for the set online and, like so many times before, wrote a thousand-word apology letter to her. I never got a reply. Instead, I saw her on another man’s social media feed. Dia’s junior colleague, a guy named Josh, had posted a nine-photo collage of a lively hotpot dinner. Right in the center was a picture that didn’t fit: a magnificent, intricate castle made of building blocks. The caption read: Thanks to my amazing senior, Dia, for staying up all night to build this Hogwarts castle for me! It’s the best publication gift ever. Hot take: Harry Potter is the ultimate childhood memory, haha! A minute after he posted, Dia’s comment appeared. Glad you like it. Josh replied just as quickly. Thank you so much! I only mentioned it once, I can’t believe you remembered. I’m so happy! Their back-and-forth was just a couple of simple comments, but reading them felt like having lemon juice squeezed into my eyes. The sting was unbearable. Last month was my thirty-third birthday. I had dropped hints, hoping for a nice watch. Dia had looked at me with a mix of surprise and scorn. “You’re a grown man trying to act like a trendy young guy. Those boys wear watches to look cool. You’ve been with me for ten years. Who are you trying to impress?” Her words were brutally honest, and they hurt. But on my birthday, she still gave me a watch. It was a cheap, no-name brand, probably worth a couple hundred bucks at most. But I was happy. I thought it meant she cared. I never imagined. Her junior colleague mentions something he likes offhandedly, and she commits it to memory. A fifteen-hundred-dollar building block set? She buys it without a second thought. That kind of special treatment… I, her actual partner of ten years, had never experienced it. This decade had been nothing but a dream I’d woven for myself. Now, it was time to wake up. 2 I had barely left the wedding planner’s office when a message from Dia popped up on my phone. Wendy’s train gets in at 8:30 tonight. Be there early. This was the first time she had contacted me since our fight. Normally, seeing this small olive branch, I would have scrambled to take it, then rushed to the station to pick up her sister. But this time, I just stared at the message for two seconds, then drove away. When I got back to their apartment that evening, shoes and a suitcase were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Wendy poked her head out of the bathroom and rolled her eyes at me. “Where the hell have you been, Alex? Do you know how long I waited at the station? I had to take a cab! If anything had happened to me, my sister would have skinned you alive.” She sniffed. “I’m hungry. Order me some takeout. Now.” I looked at her calmly. My eyes drifted down to her feet, shod in the thousand-dollar sneakers I’d bought her as a college acceptance gift. Her clothes were all brand-name, easily costing hundreds. Her outfit wasn’t extravagant, but it was far nicer than anything I usually wore. I had treated her like my own sister. In return, I never got so much as a kind word. When I bought her things, she’d coo “brother-in-law.” When I didn’t, it was a curt “Alex Hayes.” And I had put up with this for ten years. Right in front of her, I pulled out my phone and texted Dia. Your sister says she has no money for food. I’ve let you know. If you don’t mind her waiting, she can. You’re in a different time zone, after all. Wendy’s jaw dropped. I didn’t say another word and went into the master bedroom. The next morning, I was woken by a series of loud crashes from outside. Wendy had turned the kitchen and living room into a disaster zone. Water was flooding out of the bathroom, making the tiled floor a slippery mess. When she saw me, she showed no remorse. Instead, she defiantly flicked soap bubbles onto the floor. I watched her silently. I didn’t stop her. Nor did I, like the old me would have, grab a mop and clean up after her. I just went back to my room and packed the rest of my belongings. It was almost funny. This wasn’t my house. Why should I be the one in a hurry? Once I was packed, I walked out with my suitcase. “Where are you going?!” Wendy blocked my path. “Business trip,” I lied. “Half a month. Just grabbing some things from the office.” She pursed her lips, crossing her arms with an arrogant air. “Some people go abroad for academic exchanges, true intellectuals. Others are just corporate drones pulling all-nighters. You know what that’s called? A pathetic life.” She held out her hand. “I’m meeting some friends this afternoon. Transfer me some money, or I’ll tell my sister you’re abusing me.” She was so sure of herself, so certain I was still wrapped around her little finger. It was laughable. I had been Dia’s doormat for ten years. For her, I’d even been her family’s doormat for ten years. Now that I was done, they were the ones throwing a fit. I burst out laughing. I pointed at her, looking her up and down. “I pay for your mother’s medical care. I paid for your sister’s tuition. I’m paying for your college. Your entire family lives off me. Even the clothes on your back, I bought them.” “Next time you decide to run your mouth, maybe you should consider whether you can afford to pay me back first.” Wendy’s face turned bright red. She was speechless. She spun around, ran back to her room, and slammed the door. After settling into my new place, a notification popped up on my phone. It was a payment reminder for Dia’s mother’s medical bills. The hospital informed me the payment was due in five days and reminded me to ensure sufficient funds were in the account. When Dia and I first got together, I couldn’t bear to see her juggling work, school, and caring for her paralyzed mother and young sister. So, I offered to help. I thought if I treated people with sincerity, I would get the same in return. I just never expected to be dealing with a family of vipers. With that thought, I didn’t hesitate. I cancelled the automatic payment and unlinked my card. I was done being the fool. Let someone else play that part. 3 Late that night, the international call I was expecting from Dia came through. The second I answered, her angry voice shot through the phone like a bullet. “Wendy told me you didn’t pick her up! She had to take a cab home by herself, and then you wouldn’t even make her dinner! She wanted to order takeout, and you complained about the cost?” “Alex Hayes, is this how you treat my sister when I’m not around? If you don’t change your attitude, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider our relationship!” “Okay,” I said. “When you get back, we’ll meet up and sort things out.” My unexpectedly calm reaction seemed to throw her off. She was silent for a moment. “Sort what out? Is this about that stupid wedding plan again? You should focus on improving yourself instead of constantly nagging me about getting married. It’s so annoying. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. If you want to convince me of anything, we’ll see how you behave.” Her tone softened, but the dismissiveness was palpable. She had probably forgotten. In our first year together, she was the one who swore she would give me the grandest wedding the day she earned her PhD. I waited seven years for that day. When it finally came, I was the one excitedly comparing wedding planning companies. The first year, I presented her with a carefully selected proposal. She looked at me with a hint of guilt and said her studies were too demanding, she didn’t have the energy for a wedding. The second year, she finally finished the busiest part of her program and even agreed to try on wedding dresses with me. I waited for her for 24 hours in my tuxedo, only to get a text saying she’d overslept. The third year, I canceled the wedding planner. I took a deep breath. “Dia, it’s not about the wedding…” Before I could finish, I heard a boy’s exclamation on her end of the line. Dia hung up without another word. I stared at my phone, but I didn’t call back. The day of Dia’s return arrived quickly. She texted, telling me to pick her up from the airport. I ignored it. Then she called, saying it was the only day she’d be free. The next day, she had to be back at the lab and would be busy for the foreseeable future. To avoid any further complications, I went. Traffic was bad. I didn’t get there until eleven at night. The airport was brightly lit. Through the terminal glass, I saw Josh with his forehead resting on Dia’s shoulder, swaying back and forth like a child seeking comfort. I honked the horn, hard. The two lovebirds jumped apart like startled birds. Dia saw my face and stormed over, slapping the car window. “I told you to be here at seven! Look at the time!” I rolled the window down a crack and saw her face, pale from the cold. “There was traffic.” She was about to launch into another tirade, but I cut her off. “If you don’t get in the car, your precious junior is going to freeze to death.” That stopped her. Forgetting her anger, she quickly opened the back door and ushered Josh in. Then she looked at me, her eyes silently ordering me to get out and help with the luggage. I ignored her, pretending to be busy texting a colleague. Inside the car, Josh studied me through the rearview mirror. I met his gaze calmly, my eyes landing on the very familiar scarf wrapped around his neck. It was Dia’s. She wore it all the time in the winter. Last Christmas, she had finally agreed to see a movie with me. When we came out, I was shivering from the cold. I saw a guy next to us wrap his scarf around his girlfriend, telling her not to take it off. Envious, I nudged Dia, hinting. She just frowned. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t like sharing my scarf with people.” But now, her scarf was wrapped snugly around Josh’s neck. So, it wasn’t that she didn’t like sharing. She just didn’t like sharing with me. Josh noticed my stare and gave a sheepish smile. “It was really cold while we were waiting,” he said softly. “Dia let me wear it. Don’t get the wrong idea, Alex.” I smiled back. “It’s just a scarf. But really, Dia, you should know better. It’s freezing out. You should have just gotten a cab for him instead of making him wait for me. What’s the point of saving a few bucks on a fare if he gets sick? The doctor’s bills would cost more, right, Josh?” The smile on Josh’s face vanished. 4 The roads were empty this late at night, and I drove fast. As Dia had instructed, I dropped Josh off first. Soon, it was just the two of us in the car. I glanced over at her. “Let’s talk.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice laced with irritation. “Does it have to be right now? I just got off a ten-hour flight. Can’t you let me rest?” Unlike before, I didn’t show any sympathy. “No,” I said flatly. “Some things are better sorted out now.” She scoffed. “What is there to talk about? It’s the same old thing, isn’t it? Marriage…” Her sarcastic remark was cut off by her ringing phone. She answered, and her expression changed instantly. “Okay, stay put! I’m coming!” She hung up and immediately tried to get out of the car. “We’re not done here,” I said, stopping her. She looked at me in disbelief, as if I were some kind of monster. “Josh fell in the bathroom! This is a life-or-death situation, I have to go check on him!” I let out a breath. “If he fell, he should call a doctor. By the time you get there, if it’s serious, a broken bone or something, do you really think you’ll be more help than a professional…” “Enough!” she roared. “You’re just jealous, aren’t you? You’re just afraid I’m going to leave you! Fine! You want to hear it? We’re breaking up! I, Dia Vance, am done with you! Is that clear enough?!” With that, she turned and ran toward the entrance of a nearby apartment complex. I watched her go, mouthing a single, silent word. “Yes.” Perhaps it was a case of misfortune in love, fortune in career. Two days later, my boss called. I was being recommended for a position at a new branch to develop a new market. It was a significant promotion with a substantial pay raise. I accepted without a second thought and booked a flight for the next day. That evening, some colleagues threw me a farewell party at a well-known local restaurant. As we walked in, I saw Dia disappearing into a private room nearby. I looked away, treating her like a stranger. Later, on my way to the restroom, I overheard her voice coming from that same room, loud and clear. “Marriage? When did I ever say I wanted to get married?” “I have a successful career and a bright future. Do you really think I’d settle for a man with no looks, no education, and no money?” Someone else chimed in, stirring the pot. “But Dia, you’ve been with him for ten years. If you break up with him, won’t he make a scene?” Dia was quiet for a moment, then laughed. “That’s easy. I’ll just string him along. He’s already in his thirties, completely wrapped around my finger. I can make him do whatever I want.” “Like for his birthday this year. He was begging me for a watch. I tore into him, and he didn’t dare say a word. But I still got him one. A cheap, twenty-five-dollar knockoff from some sketchy website. And you know what? He treasures it like it’s gold. Hahaha.” The room erupted in laughter. The fragile peace I had found was shattered. The old wounds were ripped open, and the pain was fresh and raw. I clenched my fists and walked away. After the party, I contacted a colleague whose family had a law firm. I handed over ten years’ worth of financial records. The lawyer took one look, raised an eyebrow, and assured me he’d get every penny back. The next morning, I was on a plane to a new city. When I landed and turned on my phone, there was a call from Dia. Her voice was more frantic than I had ever heard it. “Alex, what is wrong with you? You forgot to pay my mother’s medical bills! How could you forget something so important? You nearly killed her!” “And you haven’t been to see her at all this week, have you? What kind of son-in-law are you? I’m giving you one more chance. You have three minutes to transfer the money. Otherwise, we are done!” Listening to her shrill voice, all I wanted to do was laugh. It was her mother lying in that hospital bed. If she truly cared, she wouldn’t need me to remind her. If she were such a dutiful daughter, she would have paid the bill herself long ago. I flagged down a taxi and took one last look at her name on my screen. “Then, as you wish. We’re done.”

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“Never trust a man’s promises. Only trust a signed contract.” My mother said that on her deathbed. I didn’t understand it then. Not until my fiancé slid a prenuptial agreement across the table—one that listed the $600,000 I’d paid for our down payment as an “unconditional gift,” and stated that in a divorce, I would walk away with nothing. 1. The last of my mother’s life was trapped in her lungs, but her grip on my hand was iron. “Maya,” she rasped, her eyes, clouded by morphine, suddenly clear as glass. “I have nothing to leave you. I’ve been a fool my whole life, but I learned one thing…” “Never trust a man’s promises. Trust the ink. Trust the contract.” It was the last thing she ever said to me. It became the first rule I lived by. My name is Maya. I’m 27. I graduated top of my class from Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I had offers from every white-shoe law firm in Manhattan. My future was a straight line to a corner office. Then, a single piece of paper—a stage-four cancer diagnosis—dragged me back to earth. To take care of my mother, I abandoned my path to a seven-figure salary. I took a job at a small legal aid clinic in the Bronx. Five years. I buried my mother. I also got a front-row seat to the filth of human nature. I’ve seen a husband pull the plug on his sick wife to liquidate her assets. I’ve seen children throw their father’s ashes in a dumpster while fighting over his retirement account. I learned everything there is to know about the rot that can fester in marriage and blood. It made me cynical, and it made me tough as nails. 2. To most people, my job is a joke. “A glorified social worker,” they call it. “Noble, but… you know. Poor.” To my fiancé, Ben, it’s my single greatest feature. Ben’s a financial advisor at Morgan Stanley. He’s a man desperate to “marry up,” and I, apparently, am his ladder. My Ivy League degree makes me a “premium accessory” he can show off to his clients. The fact that I’m an orphan with no family connections, a “good-natured” (read: conflict-averse) personality, and a “simple” job makes me the perfect “support system.” Translation: I’m easy to control. He loves to put his arm around me at parties, his voice dripping with that perfect blend of pride and pity. “This is my fiancée, Maya. Columbia Law. She’s got such a good heart, she couldn’t stand the sharks in my world. She works in legal aid now. Basically charity.” He’d pause, his voice just loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I just focus on earning, so she can be free to be a saint.” It always gets a round of applause. He’s so “supportive.” I’m so “lucky” to have found a man who isn’t intimidated by my intelligence. And I just stand there and smile, my ribs aching from his grip. My passion, my profession… reduced to “saint.” As if my entire life’s work is a cute hobby he funds. Late at night, I’d tell myself he just didn’t have the right words. I’d look at the Pinterest board I’d made for our future apartment—bright, warm, and full of light. I thought if I just held on, the future we were building would make all of this feel small. 3. This slow, simmering gaslighting was just an appetizer. His mother served the main course. Every time I saw his mother, Karen, she’d start with: “Maya, honey, why are you working so hard? Ben’s bonus last quarter was $200,000. That’s more than you’ll make in… well… ever.” “That ‘legal aid’ thing… it sounds nice, but it doesn’t pay for nice things. Once you’re married, you need to quit. A man like Ben needs a wife at home, supporting his career. That’s the real work.” Ben, of course, would play the peacemaker. “Mom,” he’d laugh, “Maya has her passions.” Then he’d grab my hand under the table, squeeze it, and mouth, “Don’t listen. She’s old-school.” What could I say? I’d just swallow the bite of food in my mouth, along with my rebuttal. They didn’t understand. The cases I handled… the dollar amounts were small, but the stakes were everything: a child’s custody, a family’s last defense against eviction. They only understood dollars. 4. The first real crack appeared when we bought the condo. The down payment was a million dollars. I had my mother’s life insurance payout—$500,000—and every penny I’d saved for five years: $100,000. I sent Ben the wire transfer confirmation for $600,000. I added a note: “This is everything I have, for our home.” He replied almost instantly: “You’re amazing, babe! Got it!” He put in $400,000. At the sales office, the agent and the mortgage broker orbited Ben and his mother, calling him “Mr. Johnson,” laughing at his jokes, talking about equity and school districts. I was an afterthought, trailing behind them. “Excuse me,” I finally cut in, “what’s the HOA’s reserve fund? What are the covenants on renting? And is the parking spot deeded or assigned?” The room went silent. Ben’s mother shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Maya, honestly. Don’t worry your pretty head about that. That’s what the men are for.” Ben immediately jumped in, pulling me into a side-hug. “Babe, I got this. You just worry about what color we’re going to paint the nursery.” The two of them, a perfect tag team. I just stood there, my chest tight. 5. We got the condo. When we went to sign the final closing documents, I saw it. A stack of papers an inch thick. And on the deed, the line for “Grantee” read: Benjamin R. Johnson, a single man. My blood went cold. I held up the paper and just looked at him. He was ready. He pulled me aside, his face a mask of practiced, gentle patience. “Babe, listen, don’t freak out. I have a ‘first-time home buyer’ credit. It saves us a ton on the interest rate. We’re talking hundreds a month. Putting it in my name only is just… it’s just smart finance. It’s for us.” “I put in six hundred thousand dollars,” I said, my voice flat. “I know! Of course I know how much you’re sacrificing!” He grabbed my hands. His eyes were so sincere, he could have won an Oscar. “My money, your money… it’s our money, right? Does it really matter whose name is on a piece of paper? Don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust us?” There it was. The “trust” test. He was turning his cold, calculated fraud into a referendum on my love. If I questioned it, I was the one with the problem. I was the one being materialistic. I suddenly remembered a case. A woman, sobbing in my office. Her husband had convinced her to sell her pre-marital condo and invest the cash in his new business, “to build our dream together.” He filed for divorce six months later. She left with nothing. I’d thought, “How could anyone be so stupid?” Now, it was my turn. 6. I looked at Ben’s earnest, loving face. In my peripheral vision, I saw his mother, watching us. Her arms were crossed, a tiny, smug smile on her lips. In that instant, all my exhaustion, my frustration… it all just evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a strategy. A carefully planned hunt. And I was the prey. “Maya? Babe? It’s okay, right?” Ben was rubbing my arm, like I was a hysterical child. I took a deep breath. When I looked up, I was smiling again. The same warm, compliant smile I’d worn for years. “You’re right,” I said softly. “I’m sorry. I trust you.” Never forget, I told myself, what my mother said. She said to trust the contract. And today, I had just been conned out of mine. But I would have another. That night, in my own apartment, I created a new, encrypted folder on my laptop. I named it: “Ben Johnson – $600k Loan Evidence.” I saved the wire transfer confirmation. I saved our entire text history discussing the 60/40 split. Then, I opened the cloud drive for the digital recorder I carry. I clipped the audio from the sales office—Ben’s smooth, “it’s for us” speech—and saved it as “Exhibit A: Fraudulent Inducement.” 7. One week before the wedding, the “family dinner.” It was at a private room in a high-end steakhouse. Ben’s mother was in her element, “welcoming me to the family.” “Maya, honey, you’re a daughter to me now! If Ben ever gives you trouble, you just call me!” she said, squeezing my arm. Ben held my hand, staring at me like I was the only person in the world. Then, after the steaks were cleared, the main event. Karen, Ben’s mother, reached into her Hermès bag and pulled out a sleek, leather-bound folder. Her smile was beatific. “Maya, we’re all reasonable people here. We just believe in being transparent. It’s not about trust, honey. It’s just… business. A little security for Ben. And for you, too, of course.” She slid the folder across the table. On the cover, in embossed gold lettering: PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT My heart was cold, but I smiled and opened it. Ben’s cousin, a first-year associate who had just passed the bar, leaned in, smelling of smugness and cheap perfume. “It’s standard for high-net-worth couples, Maya,” she explained, as if to a child. “Asset isolation. It’s just smart financial planning. You’re marrying a man who thinks about the future. You should be thrilled.” I ignored her. I read the contract. It was a work of art. Clause 1: The marital residence (the one I’d paid 60% of) is the sole and separate property of Ben Johnson. Clause 2: The $600,000 contributed by Maya for said property is hereby acknowledged as an unconditional gift. “Gift.” The word burned. Clause 3: Post-nuptials, all income earned by Maya shall be considered marital property. All bonuses, commissions, and investment returns earned by Ben shall be his separate property. They wanted a breadwinner and a maid, all in one. Clause 4: In the event of divorce, Maya voluntarily waives all rights to primary custody of any children born of the marriage. They had pre-emptively taken my children.

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