Category: English

The wine had been flowing for a while at the business dinner when my boyfriend Joshua’s assistant, Vivian, finally made her grand entrance. The first thing she did was point a perfectly manicured finger at my outfit. “Ms. Sloane,” she began, her voice dripping with faux concern, “everyone knows that tweed look… it screams ‘the other woman.’ This is a professional dinner. Don’t you think that’s a bit inappropriate?” She then gestured to the table. “And I see you ordered the Seafood Trio. Are you trying to make a statement about being the ‘third’ party?” She pressed a hand to her mouth in mock horror. “Oh, you can’t just put things like that out in the open. It’s so scandalous!” A hush fell over the room. I turned my gaze to Joshua, but he just waved a dismissive hand. “Get rid of that dish,” he ordered the waiter, then looked at me. “And you, go change.” He added, as if it explained everything, “She’s young, just a little detail-oriented. It’s a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” Details? A slow smile spread across my face. I deliberately set down my pen. “Alright. In that case, I won’t be signing this three-hundred-million-dollar contract.” I met his gaze, my smile unwavering. “I have to be detail-oriented myself, after all. Can’t sign a ‘mistress contract,’ now can I?” 1 “Wendy, watch your tone.” “This is a boardroom, not a playground.” Under the bright chandeliers, Joshua’s face was a mask of cold indifference, his eyes flashing a warning. I couldn’t even be bothered to lift my eyelids fully. “Oh?” I said, my voice deceptively soft. “I thought we were talking business.” “The contract is void. The deal is off. I’m not signing.” I finally looked at him. “Mr. Chase, do you not understand?” “Wendy!” His voice was finally laced with anger. “This is three hundred million dollars! We’re not playing games!” “Exactly,” I shot back. “It’s precisely because it’s three hundred million that I can’t sign.” My voice was steel. “Your assistant turns a dress and a dish into an accusation of me being a mistress. If I sign a contract for this much money, what will that make me? I’d be infamous.” I snatched the contract from the table and, in front of everyone, ripped it clean in two. Then I tossed the pieces in Joshua’s face. “Whoa! Ms. Sloane, please, calm down! If there’s a misunderstanding, let’s just talk it through!” Joshua’s team scrambled, their faces a mixture of panic and disbelief. His assistant, Vivian, was the first to react. Her eyes welled with tears as she reached for a wine glass. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Sloane! It’s all my fault, I misspoke! I’ll drink three glasses to apologize! Please, don’t make things difficult for Joshua!” She tilted her head back, but before the rim of the glass could touch her lips, Joshua snatched it from her hand. “Are you crazy? You’ll have a fatal allergic reaction to the alcohol, have you forgotten?!” He pulled her into a tight embrace, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper as he checked her over for any sign of a reaction. Vivian, nestled in his arms, shot me a timid, triumphant glance from over his shoulder. I watched the scene unfold, a familiar bitter ache spreading through my chest. I have a severe, life-threatening allergy to mangoes. But just before dinner, he had casually ordered mango pudding for dessert. Because it was Vivian’s favorite. “If you weren’t going to eat it, you should have said so. What a waste,” he’d chided me then, glancing at my untouched dessert plate. He hadn’t had a place for me in his heart for a long time. “Are you happy now?” Joshua’s voice, sharp with resentment, pulled me from my thoughts. “If you’ve had your fun, then draw up a new contract and sign it. I have to get Vivian to the hospital. I don’t have time for your drama!” The rest of his team chimed in, trying to smooth things over, insisting it was all just a joke and that we should focus on the deal. I remained seated, a placid smile on my face, saying nothing. “What’s going on here?” Chloe Vance, the other senior manager on my team who had stepped out to take a call, walked back in, her eyes widening at the chaotic scene. “Chloe, you’re back just in time,” I said, my smile genuine now. “I know how much you enjoyed the Seafood Trio, so I ordered another one for the table.” I paused, letting my eyes drift over to Joshua’s team. “But it seems Mr. Chase’s people believe the dish implies we’re ‘the other woman.’ They said it was indecent and had to be removed immediately.” “Since they’re so concerned with details,” I continued, my voice clear and steady, “a three-hundred-million-dollar contract is obviously too sensitive to sign.” I looked at her, my expression open and innocent. “Don’t you agree?” The color drained from every face at the table. Chloe’s husband had cheated on her recently. There was nothing she hated more than a mistress. “In that case, there’s no need to continue this partnership,” Chloe said, her voice like ice. She picked up her handbag. “We have other options. It’s not like Apex Industries is our only choice.” “Wendy, let’s go.” She turned and walked out. I followed without a moment’s hesitation. A chorus of desperate pleas erupted behind us. Panicked faces turned to glare at Vivian. “What does it have to do with her?” Joshua’s voice, though strained, was still fiercely protective of his assistant. “That woman’s just lost her mind.” He gently wiped Vivian’s tears before finally storming out after us. “Wendy, have you had your little tantrum?!” He grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me toward his car. “Go home and think about what you’ve done. You…” I wrenched my arm from his grasp, a smirk playing on my lips. “No, thanks. I have a ride.” My eyes met his. “Your license plate has the number ‘three’ in it. I don’t like it.” 2 The air crackled with a sudden, sharp silence. Joshua stared at me, his expression a cocktail of disbelief and fury. “I told you, it was a joke! How long are you going to blow this out of proportion?” “A joke?” My smile didn’t reach my eyes. “Joshua, you used to be ready to fight men to the death over a ‘joke.’” A flicker of something—memory, confusion—crossed his face. It was the first year we were together. At a party, a guy had made a crude comment, his hand reaching for my skirt. Before he could even touch the fabric, Joshua had sent him to the hospital. He was young and reckless back then, but he treated me like a treasure, something precious to be protected at all costs. We’d been together for five years. We worked for different companies but had always been each other’s biggest supporters, climbing the ladder side-by-side. Tonight was supposed to be a culmination of that—two leaders at the same negotiating table, our professional and personal lives finally aligning for a perfect future. And then Vivian appeared. Her provocations, her constant overstepping of boundaries—Joshua saw none of it. Or chose not to. He always said she was young, that she reminded him of me when we first met. He couldn’t bring himself to discipline her. I had lied to myself, forgiven him, and looked the other way, time and time again. But tonight, the fog had finally cleared. The Joshua I loved was long gone. “How is that the same thing?” he finally snapped. “Those guys were creeps trying to hurt you. Vivian? She’s just a kid. She didn’t mean any harm. How did she hurt you?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Oh, please. I don’t consider her pathetic little games to be ‘harm.’” “I’m simply following her advice,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Avoiding anything associated with the number three. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, after all.” I pulled open the door to another car and slid inside. “Wendy!” Joshua slammed his hand on the door, blocking it, his face a thundercloud. “As I recall, none of the companies in your backup plan can hold a candle to Apex.” “This project is time-sensitive. If you keep dragging your feet, the profits will take a hit, and then, Wendy—” He smirked, holding up three fingers. “Three hundred million. Let’s see how you plan to cover that loss.” He straightened up, his confidence restored, now issuing commands. “Be at my office tomorrow to sign the contract. And to apologize to Vivian.” “Otherwise,” he added with a final, smug look, “the offer expires.” The car door closed, and I watched his triumphant figure recede, feeling nothing. Three hundred million? I could afford it. I ignored his threats completely. The next day, I met with Chloe to discuss our next move. I’d barely said two words when she slid her phone across the table, her expression grim. “You need to see this.” I looked down. It was a viral post, with my name in the headline. “Wendyron Group Exec Sleeps Her Way to the Top, Throws Hissy Fit and Tanks $300M Deal, Leaving Us Grunts to Clean Up the Mess.” Below the headline was a crystal-clear surveillance video of me ripping up the contract and storming out of the private room. 3 The video quality was sharp, my face clearly visible. The fact that it had already reached Chloe meant it was spreading like wildfire. “Hey, I know her. She’s the new GM at our company, just got promoted this year.” “That young and already a General Manager? Guess the rumors are true.” “God knows how many bosses she had to sleep with to get there.” “That’s our hard work she just threw away. What a petty, disgusting bitch.” Amid the flood of hate, some of my colleagues tried to defend me, but their comments were quickly drowned out or deleted. The post was clearly being boosted by paid trolls. Chloe looked at me, concerned. “Do you need to handle this first?” I waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Chloe, I came to talk about something more important.” “I want to approach Aethelgard Tech as our new partner. What do you think?” “What? You mean the overseas Aethelgard?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise. “They’re the world leader in this field. Apex is nothing compared to them.” “But… can we actually land them?” “I never go into a battle unprepared,” I said calmly. “The only question is, are you willing to fly out with me to close this deal?” Chloe was a renowned powerhouse in her own right. Hearing my confidence, she didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.” By the time I left our meeting and checked my phone again, the slanderous post about me had vanished. In its place were eighteen high-definition screenshots of Vivian’s private chat logs. “That girl Lisa in HR is so ugly, why does she insist on wearing short skirts to work? Who is she trying to seduce?” “Mr. Davis in Engineering needs to lay off the makeup. His skin is so saggy, he probably gives men nightmares.” “And that woman in finance, Brenda, with her fake baby voice. Sounds like she just rolled out of some guy’s bed. Makes me sick.” Every single screenshot was a vicious, slanderous attack on her colleagues. I smiled, closed the app, and blocked all incoming calls from Joshua. Six days later, after tying up all my loose ends, I returned home, feeling pleased with myself. The moment I walked in, I was hit by the cloying scent of a woman’s perfume. A hair tie and a piece of lingerie were strewn across the living room rug. The flowers in the vase had been replaced with a cheap bouquet I would never buy. “Wendy?” Joshua emerged from the bedroom, his expression freezing when he saw me. “So, you’ve finally cooled off and decided to come home?” “Do you have any idea what Vivian has been through?” he started in before I could even speak, his voice thick with accusation. “After those messages were leaked, her colleagues bullied her so badly she almost jumped off a roof.” He jabbed a finger at me. “I’m warning you, I won’t let you hurt her again.” He tossed a new contract at my feet. “She still feels so guilty about this deal that she can barely eat or sleep. If you have any conscience at all, you’ll sign it and go apologize to her.” “She’s resting in the bedroom. When she wakes up, you can make her some soup to help her recover.” I almost laughed in his face. “Joshua, if you need a maid, go hire one. Now get out of my way.” I picked up the contract and dropped it straight into the trash can, then headed for my own bedroom. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?! Look what you’ve done to her! Isn’t it enough?!” he yelled, his voice filled with anguish. I turned, genuinely confused. “Done to her? What have I done? Were those chat logs fake?” “Joshua,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, “you don’t actually think I came home to make up with you, do you?” “I’m leaving the country tomorrow. I just came back to pack.” I tossed a single sheet of paper at him. “And to inform you that we’re over.” The paper fluttered to the ground. The words at the top were stark and clear: ABORTION REPORT. 4 The mask of composure on Joshua’s face finally cracked. I was less than three months along. I’m healthy, so three days after the procedure, I was back at work. If I was going to end things, I was going to sever every tie. “Wendy, you’d better tell me this is fake.” Joshua’s hands were shaking violently. “Believe what you want.” I was done talking. I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. “Wendy—” He called out again, his eyes bloodshot. “Don’t make me give up on you.” I raised an eyebrow, about to remind him that I was the one who had dumped him. Just then, Vivian stumbled out of the bedroom and collapsed to her knees in front of me. “Ms. Sloane, I’m begging you, please stop fighting with Joshua.” “It was my fault, I spoke without thinking. You can punish me, just please, don’t make things hard for him!” She started banging her head on the floor, tears streaming down her face. A trickle of blood soon appeared on her forehead. “Wendy, you’ve gone too far!” The second Vivian fainted, Joshua scooped her into his arms and rushed out the door, throwing one last venomous glare over his shoulder. I calmly got into the car waiting to take me to the airport. Just before takeoff, a message from Vivian popped up on my screen. It was an ultrasound picture. 12 weeks. “How pathetic,” Chloe muttered, glancing at my phone with a sneer. I just smiled and blocked the number. After a grueling week of negotiations, Chloe and I flew back, heading straight to our respective offices to get to work. But standing at the entrance to my building was Joshua, with Vivian at his side. “Wendy. Did you think running off to another country for a week would erase what you did?” he asked, a cruel smirk on his face. “What, did you hear a director from the board was coming for an inspection? Scared of being exposed, so you came crawling back to confess?” “I’ll give you one last chance to sign the contract. One last chance to save yourself.” “I’m keeping Vivian’s baby,” he continued, magnanimous. “She’s all alone. I have to take responsibility.” “But if you sign, I promise she will never threaten your position. We can…” “Joshua, I’ve already found a new partner,” I interrupted with a placid smile. “The person who lost this project was you.” “So the person who should be panicking right now is also you, isn’t it?” “Wendy, what nonsense are you spouting?” he scoffed. “No other company in this country is a better fit than Apex.” “If you insist on being stubborn, then I’ll have no choice but to tell the board director everything you’ve done.” “Oh? Go right ahead.” “As it happens, I need to speak with the chairman myself.” I brushed past him and stepped into the elevator. His face went blank for a second, then twisted with rage as he followed me in. When we entered the executive office, a group of people was just finishing shaking hands with the Wendyron Group’s chairman, Damian Croft. Before I could say a word, Joshua launched into his tirade. He painted me as an emotional, deceitful subordinate who had cost the company a fortune. But as he spoke, I noticed something strange. The chairman’s expression remained perfectly calm. Not a flicker of anger. Joshua, breathless from his speech, was met with a serene, unreadable face. An uneasy feeling began to creep into his heart. “You didn’t like that deal?” When Joshua finished, Damian smiled, but his question was directed at me. Joshua froze. “That’s right. I don’t like the number three, and the deal just happened to be for three hundred million,” I replied cheerfully. “So I didn’t sign it.” “Well, if you don’t like it, you don’t like it.” Joshua watched in disbelief as the powerful older man gave me a helpless, indulgent smile. “It’s only three hundred million. We’re not hurting for it.” “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” I said, walking over and linking my arm through his. “I actually think it’s a great project. That’s why I found a different partner.” I placed the new contract on the table. “Dad, could you take a look at this for your daughter and tell me if Aethelgard Tech is a suitable partner?”

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1 My fiancé and I had been planning a trip to Charleston for months. It was where we’d met, where we’d fallen in love. It was where he was going to propose. I spent all morning getting ready, feeling a sweet, giddy anticipation. I never expected to be stopped halfway to our meeting spot by a girl with a phone shoved in my face. She gave me a sugary smile. “Hi there! So sorry to bother you. Could I take a few pictures of you?” Her phone was held high, angled down at a steep forty-five degrees, aimed directly at my chest. Knowing what the day held, I’d chosen a V-neck sundress. From that angle, I was definitely exposed. I instinctively covered my chest and took a step back, frowning. “Sorry, my friend is waiting for me.” Her smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. She didn’t lower the phone. Instead, she moved closer. “It’ll only take a minute. I have a pretty big following on TikTok. You can check out my page if you want.” She puffed out her chest, her tone dripping with condescension. “Opportunities like this don’t come around every day for regular people. I’ll even tag your account in the comments. With my view count, I could probably get you a few sugar daddies, no problem.” She pulled out a second phone and shoved it in my face. 2.1 million followers. The username looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t spend much time on that side of TikTok. The video thumbnails were all the same: cleavage shots, borderline content pushing the platform’s guidelines. Her attitude was grating, as if she were bestowing some great honor upon me. I was annoyed, but I didn’t want a confrontation. “I’m sorry, I really don’t have time,” I said, my voice firm but polite. “And I’m not interested in being famous. But thank you.” Being rejected again clearly irritated her. Her face soured, but at least she finally backed off. I let out a breath and hurried away. I could feel her glaring at my back. After a moment, I realized she was following me, pretending to film the scenery. I tried to ignore her. Maybe I’d seen her on my ‘For You’ page once. This was a popular tourist spot; I couldn’t exactly tell her to leave. She wouldn’t dare try to force me to take pictures in public, right? I pushed the unsettling encounter from my mind. 2 As I neared our spot, I saw it: a sea of flowers. Pink tulips, my favorite. It was near the college campus where we’d met. He’d remembered. I saw him standing in the middle of it all, and my heart swelled. He smiled, that gentle smile I loved so much, and got down on one knee. I was about to walk toward him, my answer ready on my lips, when a figure shoved past me, knocking me off balance. “I do!” a cheerful voice cried out. To keep from falling, my fiancé, Alex, had to catch the girl, spinning her around in a dizzying circle. By the time I regained my footing, the ring that was meant for me was on this stranger’s finger. It was the influencer from before. And the smug little smirk on her face told me this was no accident. This was revenge. My blood boiled. I was about to rip her off him when applause erupted from behind me. A crowd had gathered, cheering them on. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” they chanted. An older woman grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “What are you, some kind of attention-seeker?” she grumbled, giving me a dirty look. “Let the girl have her moment.” She held onto me, and I couldn’t break free. The noise of the crowd drowned out my attempts to explain. I could only watch, helpless, as Alex stood there, red-faced and trapped. He was a shy guy; this was his worst nightmare. I finally managed to shout his name, my voice cracking. He heard me and tried to push the girl away, but she was quicker. She stepped back, a perfect smile on her face, and addressed the crowd. “Everyone, calm down! You’ve got it all wrong!” The crowd quieted, confused. She pulled me forward and, with a flourish, took the ring off her finger and pressed it into my hand. “So sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. “Just had to borrow your boyfriend for some content. Don’t worry, I’ll tag you!” Her grip was surprisingly strong, her smile a mask for the malice underneath. In that moment, I knew for sure. This was all deliberate. “I know you!” someone in the crowd exclaimed. “You’re Chloe Vance, the influencer!” “Did you get me in the shot? When are you posting it? I’ll give it a like!” Chloe let go of me and beamed at her fan. “Of course! Thanks for the support!” Suddenly, I was invisible. The crowd swarmed her, everyone wanting a selfie, an autograph. No one cared about our ruined proposal. They were just thrilled to be in the presence of a minor celebrity. A tourist on the edge of the crowd gave me an envious look. “You’re so lucky.” 3 “Lucky?” I repeated, bewildered. “How is any of this lucky?” My proposal was ruined, my ring felt tainted, and the person responsible was being treated like a hero. I couldn’t even get close enough to confront her. “Babe, let’s just go,” Alex said, finally pushing his way through the crowd to my side. “She’s not worth our time.” He was probably right. It wasn’t worth the fight. We were on vacation. But then I noticed something on the hem of his shirt. A small, neat signature in black marker: Chloe Vance. The vague sense of familiarity I’d felt earlier clicked into place. A year ago, Alex had gone through a phase of being obsessed with a TikToker who posted thirst traps. He was always in her comments, trying to be the first to post. We’d had a huge fight about it. I’d called it an emotional affair; he’d said it was just harmless fun. I’d cut off his allowance—I was the breadwinner in our relationship—and after a week of the cold shoulder, he’d finally apologized and promised to stop. The memory had faded. But now, seeing that signature, it all came rushing back. My heart went cold. “Are you watching those videos again?” I asked, my voice flat. “Is this your new favorite?” He looked flustered. “No! Of course not! I know you hate that stuff. It was the crowd. They were just shoving things at her to sign.” I half-believed him. “Then why didn’t you move?” “It happened so fast,” he said, looking genuinely sheepish. “And I didn’t want to make a scene. Besides,” he added with a playful grin, “maybe this autograph will be worth something someday.” His explanation was plausible, if a little naive. Alex had always been frugal, despite my assurances that he didn’t need to be. The idea of a collectible made sense for him. I decided to let it go, to trust him. He saw my expression soften and immediately pulled up a reservation on his phone. “Come on, let’s go get some amazing food. My treat… well, with a little help from my lovely fiancée.” His goofy smile made me laugh. I rolled my eyes and transferred him the money for dinner. 4 The restaurant was packed. We finally got a table, but the server was clearly overwhelmed. She slapped the menus down and grumbled, “Know what you want? I’m busy.” We ordered quickly, but our food never came. My stomach started to hurt. “Babe, I’m going to see if I can find a snack or something outside,” Alex said, looking worried. He rushed out. A few minutes later, a server emerged from the kitchen with two plates. I flagged her down, but she walked right past me to the table next to ours. The woman at that table had arrived a good twenty minutes after us. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice tight with irritation. “We were here first. And those are the dishes we ordered.” “Oh, sorry,” the server said without turning around. “We’re out of the ingredients for your order. You can try another restaurant.” But I could see the woman’s plate. She had the exact same two dishes I’d ordered. “You’re not out of ingredients,” I said, pointing. “You just served her my food.” The server finally turned to me, her expression a mixture of annoyance and pity. “Do you have two million followers?” she asked. “She does. She gets priority. It brings in business. Do you?” Before I could respond, the woman at the next table turned around. It was Chloe Vance. “Oh, my gosh, what a coincidence!” she said, her voice dripping with fake surprise. “Fancy seeing you here!” Her table was overflowing with food. Ours was empty. The server’s question echoed in my head. Do you have two million followers? When had that become the measure of a person’s worth? “This isn’t a coincidence,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “You’re doing this on purpose. You ruined my proposal, and now you’re following us. Just leave us alone.” She just looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Do you own this restaurant? I’m just here to eat. You can’t blame me for that. And I’m sorry if my ‘influencer perks’ bother you, but that’s the reward for all my hard work.” The server chimed in. “Chloe is a huge asset to this town. She made a reservation an hour ago. And even if she didn’t, she gets VIP service everywhere she goes. Who are you to question that?” Just as I was about to explode, Chloe held up her phone and started filming. “Hey guys! I’m at this amazing restaurant in Charleston. The food is incredible, and the service is even better!” She gave the server a dazzling smile, then shot me a triumphant look. 5 I felt a wave of helplessness. I couldn’t win this fight. My vacation was ruined. All I wanted to do was go home. This city, once so full of happy memories, now felt tainted. I stood up and walked out. Just as I stepped outside, I ran into Alex, who was holding a slice of pizza. He saw my face and immediately knew something was wrong. But before I could tell him what had happened, he pulled me aside, his own face alight with excitement. “You won’t believe this!” he said, shoving a contract into my hand. “I just ran into the head of tourism for the city. They want us to be in a promotional video! They’re paying us, and we get to keep all the footage for free!” It seemed too good to be true. I took a bite of the pizza. “Why would they want you?” I asked. It had taken him half an hour to get a slice of pizza from a street vendor right outside the restaurant. “I guess he liked my look,” Alex said, a little defensively. “And he’s right behind me. It’s legit.” I turned and saw a man in a baseball cap nodding at us. He had an official-looking ID badge. I was too tired and hungry to argue. Alex was so excited. He’d been feeling down about not having a job, and this was the first time in a while I’d seen him so happy. I didn’t have the heart to crush his enthusiasm. And free professional photos from our trip would be a nice souvenir, a bright spot in an otherwise terrible day. I signed the contract.

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The office darling is Tiffany. In any situation involving a man, her favorite pastime is throwing the other women under the bus. For a client meeting, I put on a little lipstick for once. She covered her mouth, feigning a giggle. “Oh, honey, your makeup skills aren’t the best, are they? It looks a little… rough.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re here to close deals, not legs.” At lunch, I ordered a loaded Philly cheesesteak from a food truck. She saw it and shrieked, “Oh my god, that’s disgusting! All that grease and… mystery meat! Are you even a girl?” I shot back, “At least I’m eating the cooked stuff. You’re the one eating it raw. Don’t act like I’m the weird one.” Furious, she started a rumor that I was sleeping with a male colleague. I didn’t get mad. I just smiled. She had no idea I’d seen the video of her with our department head, Greg. * 1. On my first day, my new colleague Mark gave me the tour of the department. “It’s mostly guys here,” he explained. “For the women, it’s just you and Tiffany. And just so you know, she’s kind of the… office darling.” *Darling?* Hearing that, a bad feeling started to creep into my gut. At noon, a few colleagues said they were taking me to a lunch spot downstairs to get me familiar with the area. I went ahead to call the elevator. That’s when I ran into her. A girl in a long, white sundress. Long, straight black hair, flawless makeup. In a department full of dudes in polos and khakis, she definitely stood out. This had to be Tiffany. I gave her a friendly smile and a nod. “Hi, I’m Chloe. It’s my first day…” Tiffany flicked a stray hair from her face, her eyes scanning me up and down like she was inspecting a piece of produce. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice flat and cold. “Are you coming to lunch with us, too?” The question caught me off guard. It was a department welcome lunch, but the way she said it made it sound like I was crashing her private party. That bad feeling in my gut intensified, but I kept my voice polite. “Yeah, Mark invited me along to meet everyone.” She didn’t reply, just gave a little “hmph.” The elevator dinged open, and Mark and a few other guys rushed over. Instantly, Tiffany transformed. A sickeningly sweet smile spread across her face. “There you guys are! I’ve been waiting *forever*.” Her voice was now a high-pitched, cutesy purr—a complete 180 from the ice queen I’d just met. I followed them into the crowded elevator. She completely ignored me, effortlessly wedging herself into the center of the male circle, laughing and joking with them. I was stuck in the corner. She chatted with every single guy around her, talking loudly about some video game, but never once glanced my way. It was like I was invisible. 2. Mark, probably sensing my awkwardness, tried to include me. “Chloe plays games too, you know,” he announced. “We could all team up for some ranked matches sometime.” Tiffany shot me a sideways glance, then stuck out her tongue playfully. “But I only know how to play support! If she joins, what will *I* do?” I was about to say that I can play any role—it’s a team strategy game, not a gender-assigned chore—but she cut me off, changing the subject before I could even open my mouth. “Oh, by the way, my computer has been acting so weird,” she whined, turning to another guy. “Kyle, you *have* to take a look after lunch. I’m just helpless with this stuff.” Kyle immediately promised he would, and just like that, the conversation moved on. Mark just gave me a helpless shrug. When we got to the restaurant, Tiffany walked straight to the head of the large round table and sat down. Someone joked, “Queen Tiff has to have her throne.” She playfully swatted the air. “Oh, you guys are the worst! Stop calling me that.” Kyle then piped up, “Hey Tiff, who’s older, you or Chloe? You two look about the same age.” Tiffany’s hand, which was reaching for her water glass, froze mid-air. She put the glass down, her gaze slowly drifting over to me. She put on a hesitant expression, as if she was embarrassed to say. Only when all the guys were looking did she lower her voice. “Well, Chloe has such a… *mature* vibe, you know? So professional. I bet she’s older than me, maybe by a couple of years?” She dragged out the last few words. Her voice had this forced, breathy quality. I had a feeling she was putting it on. When we were alone at the elevator, she sounded completely normal. The guys seemed to eat it up, but to me, it was like nails on a chalkboard. I looked right at her, my tone even. “I’m twenty-two. How about you, Tiffany?” The smile on her face froze solid. I already knew from Mark that Tiffany had been with the company for three years. Do the math. She had to be at least twenty-five. Her face flushed, then paled. She was speechless. Finally, she just dropped the act, glared at Kyle, and snapped, “A girl’s age is a secret! Why would you ask something like that, Kyle?” Hilarious. She didn’t seem to mind talking about age when she was trying to imply I was old. I ignored her and went back to the menu. Throughout the meal, Tiffany remained the center of attention. One minute the food was too hot, the next there were too many bones. The guys played along. “Gotta take care of the office darling!” one of them chimed in. “She’s not just the darling, she’s our mascot!” another added. Tiffany reveled in it, laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair. A darling? A mascot? Are we talking about a person or a poodle? “Chloe’s a girl too, she needs taking care of,” Mark said with a good-natured laugh. Tiffany’s face fell. “You guys are all the same. Always looking for the new shiny toy. Men!” I just ate my food quietly and didn’t say another word. On the way back to the office, Tiffany suddenly stopped. “Oh, my shoelace is untied! Can someone give me a hand?” I instinctively started to offer, but she looked right past me, pouting at the guys behind her. “I’m wearing a skirt, it’s so inconvenient to bend over. What if I flash someone by accident?” A few of the guys rushed to help. I didn’t break my stride. I just walked straight into the building. 3. I wondered why our department had so few women when the gender ratio in other departments was pretty balanced. Late that afternoon, I went to the breakroom to get some water. As I approached the door, I heard hushed voices inside. It was Brenda, a veteran from the department next door. “That Chloe girl seems sharp,” she was saying. “I hope she lasts.” “What do you mean?” another voice asked. I stopped in my tracks. “You think it’s a coincidence your department has no other women?” Brenda said. “They’ve had a few new hires, but Tiffany drove every single one of them away.” My heart sank. “Tiffany is not easy to get along with,” Brenda continued, her voice laced with disdain. “If you don’t kiss her ass, she’ll stab you in the back. There was a girl, Michelle, whose work was way better than hers. Just because Michelle didn’t get her coffee one morning, Tiffany spread rumors that she was jealous and even bad-mouthed her to the managers.” “She can’t stand seeing the male colleagues being nice to any other woman,” Brenda scoffed. “If a girl even talks to a guy for more than a minute, Tiffany starts playing the victim, making the guys think the other girl is bullying her. After a while, the new girls either quit out of frustration or just distance themselves from all the men, which eventually makes them an outcast anyway.” “And Chloe is young and naturally pretty, even without a ton of makeup. You didn’t see the look on Tiffany’s face when she saw Chloe. I heard she even tried to pull that age crap on her at lunch. It’s pathetic. Tiffany’s an old hand here, and she’s competing with a fresh college grad.” I stood there, processing everything. A few days later, my boss told me I had a big client meeting the next day. Tiffany, who overheard, looked pissed. Apparently, she was usually the one sent to “represent the team” at these things. The next morning, I swiped on a layer of my best red lipstick. The second I walked into the office, Tiffany descended on me. She covered her mouth with her hand, her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, Chloe, honey, your makeup skills aren’t the best, are they? It looks a little… rough.” It was true, I wasn’t a makeup artist. Meanwhile, Tiffany was dressed like a peacock in heat, her white blouse unbuttoned just enough to offer a strategic hint of cleavage. I believe in dressing how you want, but for an office, it was a bit much. I rolled my eyes, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’re here to close deals, not legs.” The area went silent. A few of the guys suddenly found their computer screens incredibly fascinating. Tiffany’s face went from red to white, her lips trembling with rage. She bit her lip hard, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. But instead of blowing up, she just stomped her foot and stormed off toward the breakroom. I ignored her and got to work. Mark shuffled over to my desk, scratching his head. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think that lipstick color looks great on you. Makes you look powerful.” “Yeah, you look sharp,” another guy, Dave, added from his desk. “Perfect for a client meeting.” “Thanks, guys,” I said with a genuine smile. I knew they meant it, a stark contrast to Tiffany’s backhanded cattiness. Later, I ran into Brenda in the restroom. She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Chloe, what you said earlier… it was a little crude, but you weren’t wrong.” She glanced quickly towards the breakroom and gave me a wink. “Some people need to learn this is an office, not their personal runway. Well done.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Brenda, I was just telling the truth.” “The truth is what hits hardest!” she said, patting my arm. “So many people can’t stand her act, but no one ever says anything. I like your style.” It was a relief. I wasn’t the only one who saw through Tiffany’s charade. Most people just couldn’t be bothered to call her on it. I look easygoing, and I hate drama. But if you shove your nonsense in my face, I will absolutely not back down. 4. On Friday, Mark barely made it in before the clock-in deadline. “Cutting it close, huh?” I asked as I passed his desk with my morning coffee. “I thought the new car was supposed to make the commute easier.” Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. “Don’t even get me started. This car is becoming a curse.” Just then, Tiffany sauntered into our office area, holding a mug of herbal tea. “Mark, thanks so much for the ride this morning! I’ll buy you a coffee later!” At her words, Mark’s face fell even further, though he managed a weak smile. “No problem. It was on my way.” Tiffany cooed a few more times about how he was “the bestest” before sashaying out. I raised an eyebrow. I knew exactly what was going on. The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from Mark’s face. He leaned toward me and started venting in a hushed, desperate voice. “Chloe, you have no idea how much I regret agreeing to this,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I bought this car to take my girlfriend on weekend trips, you know? To make life easier. Now I’m her personal chauffeur.” My gossip senses were tingling. I gestured for him to continue. “At first, she said her scooter was broken and just needed a ride for a few days,” he sighed. “I figured, we’re colleagues, it’s the nice thing to do. But ‘a few days’ turned into every single day! I have to leave 20 minutes early to wait outside her apartment, and she’s always late. One day it’s her lipstick, the next it’s her shoes. She’s almost made me late for work three times.” He pointed at his phone. “Today, I waited outside her place for a full half-hour! When I texted to hurry her up, she said I was being mean to her. I can’t win!” “And the worst part,” he said, his voice rising before he quickly lowered it again, “is that she has zero respect for my car! She’s always eating in it, leaving crumbs everywhere. The other day she brought a Frappuccino. I told her to be careful, but she spilled half of it on the new seat!” Mark looked genuinely pained. “But the final straw was two days ago. She got out, and some charm on her purse scraped a long gash along the door. She just said a casual ‘oops, sorry’ and didn’t even mention paying for the repair.” I frowned. “What does your girlfriend think about all this?” “She’s furious!” Mark said with a bitter laugh. “I was supposed to take her to a movie last Saturday, but Tiffany said she needed a ride to the mall. Then on the way, she had to stop at the bank. We waited in line for an hour. By the time I got to the theater, the movie had already started. My girlfriend and I had a huge fight.” “If you don’t want to do it, just say no,” I suggested. He threw his hands up in defeat. “I’ve tried! But every time I’m about to, she puts on this pathetic act, talking about how she’s just the ‘office darling’ and needs help. If I say I’m busy, she says she doesn’t mind waiting for me. I don’t want to make things super awkward, you know?” Looking at his miserable face, I felt bad for him. This wasn’t a carpool; this was exploitation. How could someone be so shameless as to think inconveniencing others was their right? “Don’t worry,” I said, patting his shoulder. “If she asks you for a ride after work, I’ll handle it. The only way to deal with people like that is to be direct. Otherwise, they’ll never stop.” Mark looked at me, a wave of relief washing over his face. “Thank you, Chloe. Seriously. Any more of this and my car, and my relationship, are going to be wrecked.” As expected, just before five o’clock, Tiffany clicked over to Mark’s desk in her heels, an air of entitlement around her. “Mark, you can just drop me off at Costco on your way, right? Your new car has so much space, and I need to buy, like, a ton of stuff.” Mark’s phone buzzed with a text from me. It read: *Showtime.* I walked over briskly, holding a stack of freshly bound documents, and dropped them on Mark’s desk with a thud. “Mark, the client just called. They need a revised product spec sheet delivered to their office tonight. We have to go now, or they’ll be closed.” The smile on Tiffany’s face vanished. She glared at me. “Chloe, can’t you go by yourself? Why do you have to drag Mark into it?” I looked up at her. “This is our team’s project, not just mine. Besides, Mark has a car. What’s wrong with me catching a ride?” “Don’t you feel shameless, just expecting a ride like that?” Tiffany sneered. “Why should I?” I retorted. “If you can ride in it, why can’t I?” “I…” Tiffany was speechless. She quickly switched back to her damsel-in-distress mode, reaching for Mark’s arm. He instinctively dodged. The guy had a girlfriend; his survival instincts were sharp. “Mark,” she whined, her voice dripping with saccharine. “Listen to how aggressive she’s being. We’re all colleagues, shouldn’t we help each other out? I’m just catching a ride, it’s not a big deal for you.” “Helping each other out is one thing,” I said, waving the documents, “but is the client not important? Is our work not important? If we lose this project, our whole department’s bonus is on the line. Are you going to take responsibility for that?” The weight of that accusation was too much for her to bear, but she still didn’t give up. She turned back to Mark, her voice soft and pleading. “Mark, after you drop Chloe off, could you swing back and pick me up? I can wait for you at the entrance. It won’t take too long.” Mark cleared his throat and delivered the line I’d coached him on. “Tiffany, it’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m almost out of gas. I was actually going to ask if I could borrow a hundred bucks from you to fill up. After I drop off the documents, I have to pick up my girlfriend. I probably won’t have time to backtrack.” Tiffany’s expression soured, a mix of disgust and suspicion. “You just bought this car. How are you already out of money for gas?” “Yeah, well, car payments,” Mark said, playing his part perfectly. “Plus, it’s almost Valentine’s Day, and you know how that is. Money’s a little tight.” He looked at her with hopeful eyes. “So, if you could spot me, I can pay you back next payday.” Tiffany’s tone turned sharp and cold. “Oh, what a coincidence. I just bought a new Kate Spade bag, so I’m a little short myself… Actually, you know what, I just remembered I have some work to finish up. Since you’re busy, I’ll just get an Uber. No trouble at all.” “If you need gas money, just ask Chloe,” she added as a parting shot. Without another word, she spun on her heel and practically fled. Watching her retreat, Mark let out a burst of laughter. “Chloe, that was brilliant! She’s always bragging about how generous she is, but the second you mention money, she runs for the hills.” 5. The Monday after our weekly meeting, our manager, Greg Davis, called Tiffany and me into his office. “We have a new platform project,” he said. “The client has high expectations. I want you two to handle it together.” Tiffany immediately beamed. “Don’t you worry, Greg! I’ll take the lead and make sure this project is a huge success!” *Take the lead?* Greg never said who was in charge, but she was quick to promote herself. Back at my desk, I got an email from Tiffany with the task breakdown. She had assigned me the entire core framework development. She would be “handling client communication and final touch-ups.” “This division of labor doesn’t seem quite right,” I told her. Anyone could see I was doing 90% of the work while she was handling the cosmetic stuff. “Chloe, you’re new, you don’t understand how these things work,” she said condescendingly. “I’m taking all the stressful client-facing stuff off your plate. You should be thanking me.” Fine. I raised an eyebrow. Let’s see what kind of game she was playing. For the next two weeks, while I was buried in code, Tiffany sat at her desk, scrolling through her phone. The client’s requirement list, which she was supposed to summarize, took her three days to even start. Every time I asked for it, she’d claim she was “too busy.” The most ridiculous part was that every evening, right before she left, she’d take a picture of her computer screen and post it on Instagram. The caption was always something like, “Another day on the grind! hustle worklife.” Half the guys in the office would ‘like’ it. Even Greg commented once, “Great work, Tiffany. Keep it up.” He then had the nerve to tell me, “Chloe, you see how dedicated Tiffany is? You need to step up your game.” I was speechless. She was posting those pre-scheduled stories from her couch. *I* was the one actually working overtime. Even Mark felt bad for me and started helping with some of the minor details. “Working late again, Chloe?” he asked one night. “Need a hand?” I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Go home to your girlfriend.” Mark finally packed up and left. On Friday morning, I sent the completed technical proposal and timeline to Tiffany, telling her to add her client communication notes. “Got it,” she replied without even looking up. By the end of the day, she still hadn’t sent anything. “Where’s the document?” I messaged her. “I had too much to do today, didn’t get to it,” she replied. “I’ll work on it over the weekend.” I didn’t believe her for a second, but I just stressed that it absolutely had to be done by Monday. Around lunchtime, I saw Tiffany and a few of the guys huddled together, playing a loud mobile game. The entire floor was filled with her high-pitched squeals. “Aww, why didn’t you give me the blue buff?” “Hehe, that kill was mine!” “My Princess Lulu is the best!” Dave from accounting had to walk over and ask them to keep it down. Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Work is so stressful. What’s wrong with blowing off a little steam?” One of the guys chimed in, “Hey, when the office darling wants to play, you play.” Dave just walked away, shaking his head. On Sunday night, I messaged Tiffany again for the materials. She replied instantly: “Oh my god, Chloe, I’m so sorry! Something came up with my family, and I’m swamped. Could you just fill in my part for me? You know the project inside and out anyway. I’ll buy you Starbucks all next week!” I shut her down immediately. “That’s your part of the project. If I do it, whose name goes on it? I need it by 10 AM tomorrow, or we can’t send it to the client.” That shut her up. At 9:59 AM on Monday, she finally sent over a few paragraphs of rambling, copy-pasted nonsense. The document was full of errors. It was so bad it was almost funny. How had she survived in this company for three years? I didn’t bother replying. I just fixed it myself. A few weeks later, it was time for the big presentation. Tiffany told me to make the PowerPoint deck, saying she would “review and enhance” it. When I saw the version she uploaded to the client portal, I almost choked. The only change she’d made was adding her name to the front page in a huge font and shrinking mine. “By the way, Chloe,” she said, “I’ll handle the presentation. Just send me all the final files.” Of course she would. There was no way Tiffany would pass up a chance to be in the spotlight. Seeing her smug, self-satisfied face, I just smiled coldly and gave her what she wanted. “Sure thing.” She was ecstatic.

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On Thanksgiving, driving to my boyfriend Dean’s family dinner, another car hit mine on a deserted road. Doors jammed shut, gasoline scent filled the air—the car was about to explode. I grabbed for the life hammer in the console, but found a pink toy hammer instead. Panicking, I called Dean. His ringtone blared from the other car. Dean stepped out, arm around his childhood sweetheart Melissa, who fake-cried about her poor driving. He glared at me. “She did it on purpose.” I screamed, “The life hammer was switched! Get me out!” Melissa grinned. “That was me! Cute, right?” Dean sneered, “Just a bump. Get out yourself.” Smoke choked the cabin. I begged as Melissa giggled, “Cooking in there, sis? Baby’s hungry. Let’s go, Dean.” He walked off, saying, “Stop the drama. My parents are waiting.” With my last strength, I hit the emergency button. 1 That button was my lifeline. It instantly sent my exact location and a live audio feed of the situation directly to my brother, Caleb. The moment I pressed it, a piercing alarm blared from the car’s system. Dean and Melissa, who had already walked a few yards away, spun around. Dean stormed back to my car, his face a mask of fury. He slammed his fists against the glass. “What the hell are you playing at, Ava? When does it end?” “It’s just a little smoke! You hit the emergency button for that? Do you think the whole city’s emergency services are your personal beck and call? Stop making a big deal out of nothing!” Melissa covered her mouth, but a snicker escaped. “Dean, honey, don’t be mad at Ava,” she cooed. “It’s all my fault.” She pulled a small, matchbox-sized black device from her pocket and waved it triumphantly. “The last time you gave me a ride, I bought this smoke simulator and planted it in her car. I just thought it would be a funny prank, you know? To mess with her a little.” “See? You just press this button, and poof! Smoke! It’s harmless, no toxins or anything. Just for fun!” Dean’s face grew even darker with rage. “Did you hear that, Ava? It’s fake! It’s a joke!” he roared. “Have you lost your mind? Or do you just expect everyone to drop everything and cater to your every whim, just like I have to, twenty-four-seven?” I was trembling with a fury so intense it burned hotter than the smoke. They were the ones who had been fooling around in their car, Melissa deliberately yanking the wheel and swerving into me. But there was no time to argue. I pointed a shaky finger at the hood, where the smoke was growing thicker, blacker. “Dean, the engine is actually smoking! It’s real!” “The doors are locked from the inside! You have to open them from the outside! Get me out!” Dean just sneered. “You’re getting more and more pathetic, trying to one-up Melissa. You really think I’m going to fall for that again?” I stopped wasting my breath on them. Every second of arguing was a second of precious oxygen lost. Then, I remembered. For emergencies like this, Caleb had packed a large, heavy-duty wrench in the toolbox in my trunk. I scrambled over the seat to get to it. The impact had bent the latch on the box. I clawed at it with my nails, bit it with my teeth, and finally, it popped open! A wave of relief washed over me. I reached inside, my fingers closing around the familiar shape of the wrench. But when I pulled it out, my heart sank into a pit of ice. It wasn’t a wrench. It was a wrench-shaped piece of chocolate. “Chocolate?” My mind went completely blank. Outside the car, Melissa was clapping her hands, her laughter echoing in the small space. “Wow! You found it, Ava!” “I told Dean, why would a girl want a big, greasy piece of metal in her car? You could hurt yourself with that! Isn’t it better to have something yummy instead?” “And it’s not just any chocolate! It’s a custom-made Swiss piece I had imported for you. It was super expensive! You should be thanking me!” I crushed the chocolate in my fist, a primal scream tearing from my throat. “Who told you to touch my things! Are you out of your damn mind?” Melissa’s smile vanished, instantly replaced by a waterfall of tears. “Ava, how could you be so mean? I was just trying to be nice, w-w-w….” Dean’s protective instincts flared. He pulled Melissa into a tight embrace, murmuring comforting words into her hair before turning his venom on me. “Have you no class? Melissa saved that expensive, imported chocolate for you—she wouldn’t even eat it herself! Don’t be so ungrateful!” The black smoke had now completely filled the cabin. The floor of the car was growing hotter, the heat searing the soles of my shoes. And then I saw it. A flicker of orange. Flames. “It’s on fire! The car’s going to explode!” I whipped my head back to Dean, my voice a desperate plea. “Dean, save me! Open the door! The car is on fire! It’s real this time! Please… I’m begging you…” “Have you completely lost it, Ava? To get my attention, to make me feel sorry for you, you’d set your own car on fire?” “You’ll stop at nothing, will you? Look at yourself! Your face is a mess, all smoke-stained and tear-streaked. You think that’s attractive? I’ll tell you what it is. It’s pathetic!” It was getting harder and harder to breathe. The smoke was like acid in my lungs. With the last of my strength, I hammered on the window, my pleas becoming faint, muffled gasps. “Open… the door… I’m… going to die…” As he watched the black smoke billow and the flames lick higher, a flicker of doubt crossed Dean’s face. 2 Melissa immediately tightened her grip on his arm. “Dean, honey, her act is so convincing. It’s starting to scare me.” “Let’s just go. Your mom cooked all that food for us. It’s Thanksgiving, we can’t keep your parents waiting.” At the mention of his parents, that sliver of doubt in Dean’s eyes vanished. He gave me one last, cold look, then turned his back on me, pulling Melissa along with him. They hadn’t gone twenty yards when the flames under the hood erupted, shooting two feet into the air. The car began to crackle and pop as the fire consumed it. Intense heat radiated through the glass, blistering my skin. The terror of death washed over me like a tidal wave. A primal survival instinct gave me one final burst of energy. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME! IT’S ON FIRE!” I shrieked, grabbing my phone and smashing it against the side window with all my might. The screen shattered on impact, the sharp edges slicing my palm open. Blood streamed down my hand, but I didn’t feel a thing. My horrifying screams finally made Dean stop. He spun around, and when he saw the inferno that had once been my car, he froze. But Melissa, standing beside him, let out a shriek even louder than mine. “Ava! Are you setting off fireworks in the car? It’s so pretty, but so dangerous!” “I know this car is supposed to be fireproof and blast-proof, but you can’t play with fire like this just to get Dean’s attention!” “Fireworks?” Melissa’s absurd explanation muddled Dean’s mind once again. Yeah, he must have thought. A woman like Ava would do anything to get what she wants. “You’re a psycho, Ava!” he screamed at the burning wreck. My relentless assault finally paid off. A crack appeared in the window! A sliver of fresh air rushed in, and I pressed my face to the opening, gasping, my lungs screaming for oxygen. But Melissa was faster. She ran to her car, popped the trunk, and pulled out a wide roll of clear packing tape. She sprinted back to my window. “Oh no, sis, you broke the window! That’s so dangerous!” she said, her voice dripping with fake concern as she tore off a long strip of tape and expertly sealed the crack I had just made. She even pressed it down firmly with her palm, making sure not a single wisp of air could get through. “This is your car with Dean, you know! How could you be so selfish and just smash it up like that?” “You—” The precious mouthful of air I’d just inhaled was trapped in my throat. Black spots danced in my vision. Dean, now seething, stormed over. “Have you had enough, Ava?” He snatched the tape from Melissa’s hand and, his eyes blazing with a terrifying hatred, began to wrap it around and around the crack, sealing it even more tightly. As I stared at his face, so familiar yet so monstrously alien, my hand fell limp at my side. My breathing grew shallow. Images flashed through my mind. In college, when he was so broke he was starving himself, giving himself stomach problems, I was the one who cooked him nutritious meals every single day. After graduation, I helped him start his business. I used every connection I had, called in every favor, to find him investors and clients. I drank myself sick at business dinners so he wouldn’t have to. And now, this same man was sealing my tomb, layer by layer. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, a middle-aged guy on a motorcycle pulled over. He saw the burning car and couldn’t just ride by. “Hey! What are you two doing? That car’s a bonfire! Call 911, get her out of there!” he yelled. A spark of hope ignited in my chest. I started weakly banging on the window again. 3 Dean’s face went pale, but Melissa quickly put on a worried expression and called out to the man, “Sir, it’s not what it looks like! My sister is just… cooking in there!” “She likes to do extreme things, you know? She calls it her ‘car kitchen.’ She insisted on showing us her skills for Thanksgiving, but the fire got a little out of hand.” “It’s fine! The car is fireproof. She’s perfectly safe in there!” “Cooking?” The man looked utterly baffled. Dean quickly chimed in, “Yeah, my girlfriend… she loves to mess around. Sorry for the scene. We’re about to take her home.” The man looked from me to Dean and Melissa, his brow furrowed with suspicion. Finally, he just shook his head, muttering, “Kids these days,” and revved his engine, speeding off down the road. The oxygen in the car was nearly gone. The car’s system issued its final warning. “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! DANGER! CARBON MONOXIDE LEVELS CRITICAL! OXYGEN CONTENT BELOW 8%! EVACUATE VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY! EVACUATE VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY!” The fire roared, and the windows, superheated, began to groan and creak. Suddenly, I remembered. Caleb, always paranoid about my safety, had placed an emergency fire extinguisher under my passenger seat. With my last bit of strength, I dragged it out. But when I tried to pull the pin, it wouldn’t budge. I looked closer and my blood ran cold. The pin had been superglued to the handle. And worse, as I held it, I realized it was completely empty. Melissa saw what I was holding and burst out laughing. “Oh, that! I told Dean the other day I’d never actually used a fire extinguisher before and was super curious what it felt like.” “And you know Dean, he’d do anything for me. He showed me how to use it, and… whoops! We accidentally used it all up.” She tilted her head, her expression one of pure, malicious innocence. “I figured you’re such a careful driver, you’d never need it anyway, so I just put it back for you.” Dean stood behind her, not a trace of guilt on his face. He just ruffled her hair affectionately. “You’re such a handful.” Then, he turned to me, his face a mask of pure exasperation. “Ava, will you stop this! Are you really going to play this out to the bitter end?” he yelled. “Now you’ve brought out a fire extinguisher? If you keep this up, you’re going to get yourself killed for real!” I didn’t say another word. I just stared at him, my eyes burning with a hatred I never knew I possessed. Then, as they watched in shock, I used every last atom of my strength to lift the heavy metal canister over my head. “Ava, what are you doing? You’re insane!” Dean screamed, a genuine fear finally entering his voice. I ignored him and brought the extinguisher down with a final, desperate heave, smashing it against the side window. CRACK! The tempered glass shattered. Saved. I didn’t care about the shards of glass tearing at my skin. I scrambled to climb out of the broken window. But a hand shot in from the outside, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me back with brutal force. Dean, his face contorted with rage, had pulled the car door open the moment the window broke. “You bitch! So you were faking it! You still had the strength to smash my car!” he roared, shoving me violently back into the driver’s seat. Then, he grabbed the roll of tape and began wrapping it around me, pinning me to the seat. I struggled, but I was too weak. To my horror, he tore off another piece and slapped it over my mouth and nose. “Mmmph! Mmmph!” The agony of suffocation was immediate and absolute. Dean leaned in close, his face inches from mine, watching me struggle for air. “You’re too spoiled, Ava,” he whispered. “It’s time you learned a lesson.” The fire inside the car reached its tipping point, the roar deepening into a low hum that signaled an imminent explosion. My vision blurred. Just as the world went black, I heard a furious shout from somewhere in the distance. “Touch my sister again, and you’re a dead man!”

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1 I was going to miss my flight. The flight to the Berlin Tech Summit, the one my entire career was riding on. I could feel the seconds ticking away like tiny bombs as the TSA agent, a woman with a plastic smile and cold eyes, stopped me for the third time. “Ma’am, the scanner is picking up some kind of metal on your person. We’ll need you to step aside for an additional screening.” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I complied, frantically patting myself down until I found a stray quarter in my jeans pocket. I held it up. “Here.” I made to leave. She blocked my path again. “Your boots, ma’am. The soles are quite thick. They’ll need to be screened separately.” Another twenty minutes evaporated as they x-rayed my boots from every conceivable angle. By the time they were handed back, the final boarding call for my flight was echoing through the terminal. I grabbed my suitcase, ready to sprint. But the agent’s smile never faltered. Her eyes fixed on the white plaster cast on my arm. “Ma’am, for flight security, we’re going to need to inspect that cast…” That’s when I snapped. “Why didn’t you check it all at once? I’m about to miss my flight!” My voice was louder than I intended. “The cast? How are you supposed to inspect a cast? It’s a broken bone, not a fashion accessory I can just slip off!” The agent’s smile remained infuriatingly placid. Her name tag read DAVIES. “I understand your frustration, Ms. Thorne,” she said, her tone anything but understanding. “But we have to follow protocol. Please don’t make this difficult for us. We’re just doing our jobs.” She ran a handheld scanner over my arm. Beep. Beep. BEEP. The alarm blared again. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to accompany me to a private screening room.” I saw the malice in her eyes then. A flicker of something personal and cruel. I refused, point-blank. “No. I’ve never heard of inspecting a cast like this. You’re targeting me.” A few other passengers, delayed by the scene, started to murmur in my defense. “She’s right, you’ve been holding her up forever.” “I’m on the same flight, we’re about to miss it! Can’t you just let her go?” Agent Davies turned her plastic smile on them. “I’m not making this difficult, I’m following federal regulations. Can any of you, right here, right now, personally guarantee there’s nothing hidden inside Ms. Thorne’s cast? Can you take legal responsibility for her actions if something happens on that plane? Anyone?” Silence. Every single person looked away. I tried to push past, but two large security guards materialized, boxing me in. The mood of the crowd shifted. “Just cooperate with them already!” a man in a business suit yelled. “You’re holding up the whole line! Some of us have connections to make!” Defeated, I was escorted into a small, windowless room. I braced myself, but what she said next still shocked me. “Alright, you can start taking your clothes off. Please cooperate with the search.” The male guards left, leaving me with Davies and two stone-faced female officers. They subjected me to the most humiliating search of my life, leaving me standing in nothing but my own skin. Finally, I showed them the doctor’s report for my arm, proving the alarm was from the surgical pins holding my bones together. Davies barely glanced at it before handing it back, her smile a twisted slash. “You’re clear to go. Sorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Thorne.” I was shaking with rage. I pointed a finger at her name tag. “Davies. I’ll remember you.” She just chuckled. “Please do. Maybe next time it will remind you to dress more appropriately for air travel. Now, we’ll need to escort you through security one more time.” I threw on my clothes, fuming, and went through the scanner again, assuming it was a formality. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm screamed. Davies was in front of me again. “What now?!” I was on the verge of losing my mind. She held up my handbag. “You dropped this, Ms. Thorne.” For a second, I felt a flash of confusion. Was I wrong? Was this a mistake? I took the bag, but as I turned to leave, she spoke again. “I’m sorry, but according to regulations, I can’t clear you for travel.” I laughed. A bitter, hysterical sound. “And why is that? You’ve searched every inch of me!” Davies shrugged. “The searches came back clear, yes. But your case is… unusual. The multiple flags have been logged in the system. I don’t have the authority to override it. I’ll have to report this to my supervisor. You’ll be cleared to go once he signs off on it.” My flight was literally closing its doors. “I have a critical business meeting! If I miss this flight, my company could lose millions. Are you going to cover that?” Her face was a placid mask. “If you attempt to breach security, that’s a federal offense. My hands are tied.” “Then when is your supervisor getting here?” I demanded through gritted teeth. She pulled out her phone and started tapping. “I’m filing the report now. It should only be a moment.” But I watched her. Her fingers were just swiping, scrolling. There was no report. In a flash of fury, I snatched the phone from her hand. She was scrolling through TMZ. “You’re not filing anything! You’re doing this on purpose!” I screamed, finally losing the last thread of my composure. “You’ve been targeting me from the very beginning! Why? I don’t even know you! Do you swear that this—playing on your phone—is part of the protocol? Do you take responsibility for that?!” Her jaw tightened, but the plastic smile snapped back into place. “Ma’am, please don’t project your emotions onto this situation. I have already notified my supervisor. And my phone is my private property. Grabbing it was extremely rude.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Wouldn’t you agree?” I took a shuddering breath. “How long. Until your supervisor gets here.” She glanced at her watch. “Hmm, about… three hours.” “Three hours?! Are you insane? My flight leaves in five minutes!” She gave a helpless little shrug. “So sorry. My supervisor is actually at a training seminar in another state. With the time difference, he probably won’t see my message for a while. You’ll just have to wait.” I felt the walls closing in. It was all so bizarre, a cascade of bad luck. Two days ago, I’d intervened when I saw a group of thugs harassing a girl outside a bar. I got a broken arm for my trouble, but the girl got away safely. Then my boss, despite my injury, forced me on this trip, making me sign a contract that I’d be personally liable for any losses if the deal fell through. And now this. It wasn’t bad luck. It was a setup. “I demand to speak to your supervisor’s superior. Right now. I am getting on a plane today, one way or another.” Davies shook her head. “You’re just a passenger, ma’am. You don’t have the right to speak to our leadership. The only solution is to wait.” I grabbed her by the collar of her uniform. “What is your problem?! What did I ever do to you? Let me go, now!” She smiled then, a real smile. It was terrifying. “Ma’am, please calm down! Physical violence won’t solve anything.” I felt the guards closing in around me and realized my actions were playing right into her hands. As I went to let her go, she grabbed my wrist, her voice a hiss meant only for me. “That’s right, Maya. I am targeting you. You’re starting to get it, aren’t you?” she whispered. “I’m telling you now, as long as I’m here, you’re not getting on any flight today.” The final, final boarding call blared over the speakers. My instincts screamed at me to run. I tried to shove her away, but she clung to me like a leech, shouting for everyone to hear. “She’s trying to rush the gate! Stop her! Security breach!” The area erupted in chaos. The crowd, which had been a mix of annoyed and sympathetic, was now a mob of gawkers, all with their phones out, recording. “It’s a security threat! She was trying to get past security!” “I’m live on the scene, folks, we have a passenger attempting to breach a TSA checkpoint!” “Someone said she might have a bomb in her cast!” I saw the look of triumph in Davies’s eyes and it all clicked into place. She was intentionally provoking me into a public meltdown. “This is a setup,” I said, my voice low and shaking. “You’re trying to get me arrested.” Davies adopted a look of perfect confusion. “Ms. Thorne, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I suggest you calm down before you make this a police matter.” And then I knew. The guy from the bar, the leader of the thugs, had screamed at me as I ran off with the girl. “You stupid bitch! Do you have any idea who you just messed with? He’ll ruin you for this!” This was the blowback. And whoever this “he” was, he had serious reach. Davies saw my hesitation and pushed harder. “You know, my supervisor just messaged back. Looks like he’s going to be even later than I thought,” she said, feigning sympathy. “Maybe if you just let us cut the cast off, we can all go home?” Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my boss. “What the hell, Thorne, why aren’t you on the plane?! If you blow this deal, I’ll see you in court!” The more they pushed, the more certain I was that getting on that plane was the worst thing I could do. Ignoring my boss’s frantic texts, I walked over to a nearby chair and sat down. Davies was stunned for a second, then her face hardened. “Ms. Thorne, refusing to cooperate is not an option! You can’t just sit here!” Before I could even respond, she gave a signal. The security guards surged forward, tackling me to the ground. “What are you doing?! Get off me!” I screamed. One of them deliberately kicked my broken arm. A white-hot bolt of pain shot through me, stealing my breath. As Davies shouted that I was assaulting her officers, the fists and boots began to rain down on me. I tasted blood. The last thing I heard before they dragged me back into the dark room was the gleeful shouts of a bystander. “She had an explosive and attacked the officers! It’s all on camera!” The heavy door slammed shut, plunging me into near darkness. A man was sitting in a chair in the corner, his hair a shock of bleached blond. “Maya Thorne, right?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, some people just don’t know when to stay out of things.” He stood up. “The name’s Caden Sterling. You ruined a very important night for me. The Sterlings always pay their debts.” It was him. The man from the bar. He had orchestrated everything—the impossible work trip, the airport nightmare. He wanted to destroy my career and my body, all because I’d saved that girl. I spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “You’re nothing but a pathetic coward, hiding behind your money. You think you’re a king? You’re just a spoiled little boy.” Caden’s smirk vanished. He walked over and stomped on my cast. Pain exploded in my arm. “I’m the son of William Sterling. Sterling Industries. To me, you’re an insect. I can crush you whenever I want.” He kicked me hard in the stomach. Davies scurried over to wipe the dust from his expensive shoe with a tissue, which she then threw on my face. “Sterling Industries owns seventy percent of the company you work for, Maya,” she purred. “You messed with the wrong people.” The guards closed in, cracking their knuckles. I scrambled backward, my heart pounding with pure terror. “Stay away from me!” Just as their shadows fell over me, the door to the room flew off its hinges with a deafening crash. “Get the hell away from her!” a voice commanded.

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The day we visited her late husband’s grave for the anniversary of his death, my mother-in-law saw me wiping down the headstone, stormed over, and slapped me twice across the face. “How dare you touch Arthur’s things! You’re filthy!” Stella wrapped a steadying arm around her mother. “Mom’s not feeling well today, Caleb,” she said to me. “Why don’t you wait in the car?” Not, Are you okay? Not, Mom, don’t hit him. Just an order to make myself scarce. I never imagined two slaps could be my salvation. We’d been living together for two years, and a massive solo portrait of her late husband in his wedding tuxedo still dominated the living room wall. Our own wedding photo was buried at the bottom of a storage box. My rebellious stepdaughter, Zoe, was a broken record. “My daddy’s BBQ ribs were way better than this. You shouldn’t even be allowed to make them.” My mother-in-law forced me to learn the dead man’s recipes, calling me clumsy and useless when I failed to replicate them perfectly. And Stella? Every time, it was the same placid response. “Please try to be more understanding. Zoe’s just a child. She doesn’t know any better.” It took me until today to finally understand. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was that this family never had a place for me to begin with. I pushed myself up from the ground, my teeth clenched. My legs had gone numb, and I limped away from the grave. Behind me, I could hear her mother’s sobs and Stella’s low, comforting murmurs. Back in the car, I finally noticed my hands were trembling. Through the window, I watched Stella pull her mother into a gentle embrace, her mother’s head resting on her shoulder as she cried her heart out. Stella held her like she was the most precious, fragile thing in the world. I tore my eyes away and stared blankly at the steering wheel. My left cheek burned with a fiery sting. I probed the inside of my cheek with my tongue and tasted copper. An hour passed before Stella finally got in. She didn’t look at me, just started the car. “Caleb, my mom… she gets very emotional today. Don’t take it to heart.” I said nothing. “She’s like this every year on this day. You just have to… be more understanding.” “Stella.” I turned to face her. “This isn’t the first time your mother has hit me.” Last year, on this same day, she threw the flowers I’d brought into the trash and called me shameless. The year before that, during a Thanksgiving dinner, she announced to a room full of relatives that I was a vulture, preying on a grieving widow. She was silent for a few seconds, then pulled a wet wipe from her pocket and handed it to me. “You’ve got some dirt on your face. Clean it up.” Not, I’m sorry. Not, I’ll talk to Mom. Just a command to wipe my face clean and pretend nothing happened. I took the wipe, the cool moisture a stark contrast to my burning skin, and slowly cleaned away the flecks of mud. The car window reflected my swollen left cheek and a small cut at the corner of my mouth. “Caleb, I’ll treat you to a nice dinner sometime soon, to make up for it.” She thought a single meal could erase everything. I folded the used wipe neatly in my palm. “No need. Let’s just go home. Zoe’s waiting.” Stella let out a small sigh of relief, probably thinking I was easy to appease, as always. She turned on the stereo, and the familiar notes of a piano filled the car. Für Elise. It was Arthur’s favorite piece to play. Her eyes softened, her lips humming along unconsciously as her head swayed gently with the melody. Staring at her profile, she felt like a complete stranger. Did I really know this woman at all? Halfway home, her phone rang. It was her mother. “Mom, are you home yet?” “Mm, I know… Don’t worry, I’ll come over tonight to stay with you.” “Caleb? Oh, he’s fine. He’s doing just fine.” Just fine. I turned my head to the window, watching the city blur past. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new text message. Ava: Thinking of you today. Hope that doesn’t sound weird… Anyway, take care. I stared at those two words. Take care. My thumb hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally just locked the phone and put it away. When we pulled into our neighborhood, Stella killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Caleb, I need to stay at my mom’s tonight. I’m worried about her being alone.” “Okay.” “There’s food in the fridge. You and Zoe can make something simple.” “Alright.” She paused. “You know, I should take you shopping for some new clothes. Your whole wardrobe is just black, white, and gray. It’s too drab.” I looked down at the gray sweater I was wearing. The one she’d bought me last year. Back then, she’d said the color made me look dependable, perfect for a teacher. Now, she was tired of it. “It’s fine. I have enough clothes.” The elevator ride was silent, filled only by the hum of the machinery. Stella stood beside me, then reached out as if to touch my swollen cheek. I flinched away instinctively. Her hand froze in mid-air. She let it drop, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Uh… does it still hurt? You should put some ice on it when we get inside.” The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. I stepped out first, pulling out my keys to unlock our front door. The lights were on. Zoe was curled up on the sofa watching TV, her homework spread across the coffee table. “Mommy!” She leaped up the moment she saw Stella, throwing herself into her arms. “You’re finally back! I’ve been waiting forever!” Stella knelt and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Did you miss Mommy and Daddy?” “Uh-huh!” Zoe nodded vigorously, then her eyes darted to me. Her voice dropped. “Mr. Evans is back, too.” She never called me Dad. Not even Caleb. Just Mr. Evans, my professional title. I slipped off my shoes and walked into the kitchen. The fridge held the pork ribs and vegetables I’d bought this morning. I took them out and started washing them, preparing dinner. From the living room, I could hear them talking. “So, how was school today, sweetie?” “It was okay. I got a 95 on my math test.” “That’s amazing! You did even better than last time.” “Hehe. Daddy always said I was the smartest.” “Yes, he did. Your daddy was right.” My hand, holding the cleaver, paused for a beat. I brought it down, the heavy blade thudding against the cutting board. “Mommy, when are we going to visit Daddy? I miss him.” “How about tomorrow? Mommy will take you tomorrow.” “Is… Mr. Evans coming?” “…No. He’ll be busy.” I wasn’t busy. I just wasn’t invited. After seasoning the ribs, I felt a presence behind me. Stella was leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching me. “Caleb, why don’t you take a break? I can just order some takeout.” “It’s fine. I’m almost done.” “Your face is so swollen. You don’t have to push yourself.” She stepped forward, reaching for the bowl in my hands, but I shifted away. “I said, I’m almost done.” Her mouth opened, then closed. She retreated back to the living room. For dinner, I made sweet and sour ribs, stir-fried pork with peppers, and a simple tomato and egg soup. As I set the dishes on the table, Zoe wrinkled her nose. “Why are the ribs sweet and sour?” “What’s wrong with them?” Stella asked. “I don’t like sweet and sour,” Zoe pouted. “Daddy made BBQ ribs. They were a hundred times better than this.” I sat down and put a piece of my own cooking into my mouth. It was a little too sweet. Not enough vinegar. “Zoe, don’t be picky,” Stella said, her tone mild. “But it’s true! They’re not good!” Zoe slammed her fork down. “Daddy made—” “But your daddy isn’t here anymore,” I interrupted. The air in the room instantly froze. Zoe’s eyes went wide. Stella’s face darkened. “Caleb Evans, what did you just say?” I lifted my head, my gaze calm and steady. “I said, Arthur is gone. He’s been dead for four years.” “Are you insane?” Stella shot up from her chair, its legs screeching against the floor. “Are you crazy? How could you say that in front of a child!” Zoe let out a wail, clapping her hands over her ears as she scrambled off her chair and ran for her room. “I’m not listening! I’m not listening! Daddy’s not dead!” SLAM! The bedroom door shook in its frame. Stella pointed a trembling finger at me. “Caleb, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “I’m perfectly clear,” I said, setting down my fork. “Stella, we’ve been married for two years, and your daughter is still living in the shadow of her dead father. Do you think that’s normal?” “She’s only nine!” “And at nine, she should know that dead people don’t come back.” “You—” She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re not yourself today. Just… go get some rest.” She turned and walked to Zoe’s room, knocking softly. “Zoe, honey? Can Mommy come in?” Muffled sobs came from inside. Stella opened the door and slipped in. A moment later, I heard her gentle, cooing voice. “I’m so sorry, baby, it’s all Mommy’s fault… Mr. Evans didn’t mean it… Don’t cry, sweetheart. How about Mommy takes you to Grandma’s house? Grandma will make you some of her famous BBQ ribs…” I sat alone at the dining table, staring at the cooling food. The sweet and sour ribs gleamed under the light, a vibrant mix of red and green peppers. I picked up a piece and chewed it slowly. It really wasn’t as good as Arthur’s. I’d been hearing that for two years. His BBQ ribs, with their rich sauce and fall-off-the-bone meat. His garlic noodles, fragrant and perfectly chewy. His every dish was the gold standard in this house. And I was just the transfer student who could never pass the test. Stella emerged from the room with Zoe in her arms. The little girl was still hiccupping, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder. “Caleb, I’m taking Zoe to my mom’s.” “Okay.” “I won’t be back tonight.” “Alright.” She waited a few seconds, as if expecting me to protest, to ask her to stay. I didn’t. After they left, the silence in the apartment was deafening. I cleared the table, scraping the uneaten food into the trash. While washing the dishes, a splash of water hit the cut on my face, and I hissed in pain. I dried my hands and took a slow walk through the living room. On the media console sat Stella and Arthur’s wedding photo. It was a large, framed print, the dark wood polished and dust-free. In it, Arthur wore a white tuxedo, smiling brightly. Stella, in her wedding dress, gazed back at him, her eyes filled with nothing but him. On the wall behind the sofa hung a portrait of the three of them. Zoe was just a baby, cradled in Stella’s arms while Arthur stood beside them, his hand resting on his wife’s shoulder. The bookshelf displayed Arthur’s piano competition trophies. The nightstand in our bedroom held the cologne he used to wear. Even the shampoo in the shower was the brand he had always used. I had lived in this house for two years, yet there wasn’t a single trace of me anywhere. Even our wedding photo was locked away in a drawer because Stella said she was afraid seeing it would upset Zoe. My phone buzzed again. Ava: You there? I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I typed a reply, deleted it. Typed another, and deleted that too. Finally, I just called her. “Hello?” Ava’s voice came through, a little surprised. “Caleb?” “Ava.” “Yeah, I’m here.” “What you said before… does the offer still stand?” There was a pause on the other end. “What offer?” “You said if I ever wanted to leave, I could always come to you.” “…” “Ava, I’ve made up my mind.” Another stretch of silence. “Caleb, are you sure?” “Yes.” “Okay. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” “No, don’t. I can get there myself.” “Do you have the address?” “Send it to me.” “Alright.” She hesitated. “Caleb, are… are you okay?” I glanced at my reflection in the dark screen of the TV—my face swollen, my expression hollow—and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.” “Okay. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” After hanging up, I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I had slept in this bed for two years. But every single night, I felt like an intruder. Because this was Arthur’s bed. This was Arthur’s room. This was Arthur’s home. And I was just a temporary guest. The next morning, Stella hadn’t come back. I got up, showered, and got dressed, just like any other day. Except this time, I packed a suitcase. The school was a forty-minute drive across town. I parked in the underground garage, took my suitcase, and rode the elevator up to the staff offices. A few of my colleagues were already there. “Morning, Mr. Evans!” the young gym teacher called out. “Morning.” I walked to my desk, booted up my computer, and started typing my letter of resignation. Mrs. Davis from the next desk over leaned in. “Mr. Evans, what are you doing?” “I’m resigning.” “What? Why? Everything’s been going so well for you here.” I didn’t answer, focusing on the screen. “Is everything okay at home?” Mrs. Davis lowered her voice. “I heard your wife works at a funeral home? That kind of job… it’s got to be a downer, right?” I stopped typing and looked at her. “My wife’s profession is perfectly respectable, Mrs. Davis. There’s nothing wrong with it.” “Oh, I was just making conversation. No offense meant,” she said, quickly retreating. Once the letter was printed, I took it to the principal’s office. “Mr. Evans, what is the meaning of this?” the principal said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Final exams are just around the corner. If you leave now, where am I supposed to find a replacement?” “I’m sorry, Principal, but I don’t have a choice.” “Trouble at home?” “You could say that.” He sighed. “Well, can’t you at least finish out the semester? It’s only one more month.” “I can’t. I have to leave today.” “You can be so stubborn!” he grumbled, tossing his pen onto the desk. “I won’t approve it!” I just stood there, watching him quietly. After a moment, he let out another heavy sigh, picked up the pen, and signed the letter. “Go to accounting and get your final paycheck. I’ll make sure they pay you for this month’s hours.” “Thank you, Principal.” As I walked out of his office, a wave of relief washed over me. Footsteps hurried behind me. It was Mrs. Davis. “Mr. Evans, are you sure you’re alright, leaving in such a hurry?” “I’m fine.” “So, what are your plans now?” “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out as I go.” Mrs. Davis hesitated, then decided to say what was on her mind. “Look, Mr. Evans, I’m probably overstepping… but with your wife’s situation, it can’t be easy for you. If things are really that bad, you don’t have to force yourself to stay.” I froze. “What situation?” “You don’t know?” She glanced around before whispering, “At the last parent-teacher conference, I overheard some of the other parents talking. They said your wife goes to her late husband’s grave all the time. It’s common knowledge in your neighborhood.” She leaned in closer. “Someone even said she still has his picture hanging in the living room, while yours is packed away… Mr. Evans, you’re a living, breathing man. Why are you letting them treat you like a ghost?” I couldn’t find the words to respond. “Anyway, it’s not my place,” Mrs. Davis said, patting my shoulder. “You take care of yourself.” After finishing the paperwork, I drove to Ava’s veterinary clinic. It was on the south side of town, a little out of the way, but the building was warm and inviting. A large sign with cartoon cats and dogs hung over the door: “The Healing Paw Pet Clinic.” I pushed the door open, and the young woman at the reception desk looked up. “Hello, welcome to—Caleb?” It took me a second to recognize her. “Katie?” Katie was Ava’s younger cousin. I’d met her a few times back when we were all in college. “It really is you!” she exclaimed, rushing out from behind the desk. “Ava said you might be coming today, but I didn’t believe her! What are you doing here? Is your cat sick?” “I… I’m here to see your cousin.” “Oh! Right, of course. She’s out back. I’ll take you!” Katie led me through the exam rooms to a door that opened into a small, sunny yard. Ava was kneeling under a tree, gently examining an orange tabby cat. The sunlight caught in her hair, making her glow. “Ava! Caleb’s here!” She looked up, and a warm smile spread across her face. “You made it.” “Yeah.” She stood, brushing stray cat hair from her jeans as she walked toward me. Her eyes immediately fell on my face. “What happened to your cheek?” I unconsciously touched the swollen area. I’d used some of Stella’s foundation, trying carefully to cover the bruise, but it was still visible. “It’s nothing. I just bumped into something.” Ava studied my face for a moment longer but didn’t press. “Where’s your luggage?” “In the car.” “I’ll get it,” she said, then turned to her cousin. “Katie, can you go get the guest room on the second floor ready?” “You got it!” I followed Ava to the parking lot. She opened my trunk and saw the single suitcase inside. “Is this it?” “Yeah.” She lifted it out, testing its weight. “It’s light.” I didn’t say anything. Two years of my life, packed into one small suitcase. It felt about right.

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The week before my wedding to Liam, I noticed a cute plush charm hanging from his rearview mirror. I casually asked where it came from. Liam didn’t miss a beat. “Just bought it. Thought you’d like it.” But I knew exactly what it was. It was the Valentine’s Day limited edition from that viral pop-up in SoHo, the one you could only buy if you and your partner kissed at their “Love Booth” for ten solid minutes. I stared at the little charm. “Let’s call off the wedding,” I said, my voice flat. … The car screeched to a halt, tires screaming against the asphalt. Liam turned, his eyes locking onto mine. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “I’m serious,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’m not kidding.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. His look was complicated. Tap, tap, tap. A sharp knock on the passenger window broke the tension. I rolled it down. A bright, smiling face leaned in. “Liam! Fancy seeing you here. Am I interrupting?” Her eyes flicked to me, sizing me up. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” Liam got out and opened the back door for her. “Hi, you must be Maya. I’m Sienna, Liam’s executive assistant.” The moment I saw her, my gut screamed: This is her. It wasn’t the first time I’d suspected Liam was drifting. He’d been coming home later and later, sometimes smelling like a perfume that wasn’t mine. His phone was locked with a new passcode. Every time I asked, he had an answer. A late merger. A colleague bumped into me. I need my privacy, Maya. I’d listened, nodded, and stopped asking. I’d even started to tell myself that if he was going to lie, he should just get better at it, good enough to fool me for a lifetime. I was this close to convincing myself I was just being paranoid. Until the charm. Until Sienna. That fragile little bubble of denial just burst. I’d pictured her based on Liam’s “type”—soft, long-haired, demure. But Sienna was all sharp angles, with a pixie cut and a gaze that was pure, unfiltered confidence. Apparently, it wasn’t just loyalty that could change. His taste had, too. “Maya, could you be a dear and grab me a hair clip?” Sienna asked from the back. “My hair’s a mess.” “I don’t have one.” She pointed to the glove compartment. “Oh, there are some in there. I’m always losing mine, so Liam, sweet as he is, bought a few to keep in the car for me.” I didn’t move. My fingers curled into my palm. “Get them for her,” Liam ordered. His voice was sharp. I popped the compartment open. It was full of expensive, delicate hair clips, each one nicer than any jewelry I owned. And a box of condoms. “Oh,” Sienna’s voice chimed in again. “By the way, I think I broke your old earbuds a while back. We were… working out in the car, and I must have crushed them. My bad. Pick one of those clips, consider it my apology.” “No, thanks.” I turned, tossing a clip into her lap. “I don’t want things other people have already used. I find it… dirty.” Sienna’s hand snapped shut. She looked at Liam, her eyes wide, playing the victim. Liam’s brow furrowed. Before he could start defending her, I got out of the car and walked away. 2 When I got home and out of the shower, Liam was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through my phone. I stormed over. “What do you think you’re doing?” He looked up, his expression lazy. “You’ve been acting weird all day, Maya.” The old me wouldn’t have asked about the charm. Wouldn’t have snapped at him. Wouldn’t have challenged his new pet. I frowned. “So you go through my phone?” “If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t be afraid of me looking.” He stood up, towering over me. “Fine.” I held out my hand. “You’re so confident? Give me yours.” His face changed. He placed my phone back in my hand. “If you’re going to be like that, this isn’t going to work, Maya. Relationships are about trust.” “You’re not allowed to mention canceling the wedding again.” His phone rang. He immediately lowered his voice to answer it, turning his back to me. But I still heard it. The way he said, “Hey, SiSi.” Watching him walk out onto the balcony, I swallowed the acidic taste in my mouth, pulled out my burner phone, and sent a text. “I’m leaving the city in five days. I’ll see you then.” 3 The message sent, I looked around the apartment—our new apartment. Our pre-wedding home. Every piece of furniture, down to the lamps, we’d picked out together. We’d laughed, planning our future, saying this was where we’d watch our lives unfold. Now, the whole place just felt like a monument to his lies. The air was thick with sarcasm. I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed my suitcase, packed, and walked out. A cold rain was falling, plastering my hair to my face. The wheel of my suitcase jammed on a loose cobblestone. As I was yanking it free, a force slammed into my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. “Sorry about that!” A hurried apology, but the voice was familiar. I looked up. Through the rain, I saw Liam, carrying Sienna on his back, laughing as they ran through the downpour. Sienna held an umbrella over them, creating a perfect, dry little world just for the two of them. Neither of them even saw me. It was like a scene from a rom-com. I was just the blurry, out-of-focus extra. We’d started fighting six months ago. The reasons were always small, but the cause was always the same: I could feel him pulling away. I acted like a child, pouting, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d pull me in and ask me what was wrong, like he used to. But he never did. I’d get a small, expensive gift to shut me up. As if a new bracelet could fix the fact that he was already gone. His acting was sloppy. I’d known he was cheating. I was just too much of a coward to admit it. I thought about my Nana. The only family I have left. Liam had gotten her into the best memory care facility in the state. When her Alzheimer’s gets bad, she gets violent, sometimes hurting herself. No one can stop her. Except Liam. He’d just whisper a few words, and she’d become calm, pliant as a child. She always said he reminded her of my grandfather when he was young. Because of that, I’d been terrified to confront him. He and Sienna disappeared into the warmth of a five-star hotel. The rain kept falling. I stepped off the curb and walked into the storm. 4 We didn’t speak for days. Then the call came. The hospital. “Ms. Evans? It’s your grandmother. She’s having a severe episode. We can’t get the knife away from her. You need to bring Mr. Hayes. Now. We’re afraid she’s going to hurt herself.” My hands were shaking. I called Liam. Over and over. Each time, the busy signal. He was rejecting my calls. I finally tracked his location. I burst into the private dining room, out of breath. He was at a table with Sienna, patiently picking the bones out of a fish. “Liam!” I gasped, hating the begging tone in my voice. “It’s Nana. She’s having an episode. You’re the only one she’ll listen to. Please. You have to come with me. I’m begging you.” A cold smile touched his lips. “Running away? Ignoring my calls? You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here to ask me for anything.” “Maya, don’t stress,” Sienna said, smiling. “Sit down. Have some of this dessert, it’s amazing. We can talk after dinner.” I tried to pull away from her grip, but Liam’s voice cut through the room. “Do what she says. Or we’re not going anywhere.” I sat, my teeth clenched. I ate the bite of marzipan she handed me. Liam passed the de-boned fish to Sienna. “It’s all my fault,” Sienna sighed, showing me her finger. “I slammed it in a door this morning. Liam’s had to do everything for me. You don’t mind, do you, Maya?” My nails dug into my palms. Liam tapped the table. “Stop staring. Can’t you see our guests need drinks? Pour.” The table full of his smirking friends watched. The waiter watched. I looked at Liam. My voice was a rasp. “I pour the wine. Then we go.” “Deal,” he said. I picked up the bottle. I went around the table, stone-faced. When I got to Sienna, she smiled. “Maya, I’d love some shrimp. Could you peel one for me?” That was it. I slammed the bottle down. The table shuddered. “You’re really pushing it, Sienna. Anyone would think you’re a helpless invalid. Maybe you should check into the hospital. See if they can treat you for being a homewrecking bitch.” A split second later, a glass of red wine hit my face. Sienna was clutching the stem. “You can’t talk to me like that!” Liam dabbed at her fake tears. “Maya. Apologize to her.” The cold, sticky wine dripped down my chin. The string I’d been holding onto finally snapped. I lunged forward and slapped Sienna, hard, across the face. She gasped. Liam grabbed my wrist. I raised my other hand to hit him, too. But a sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit me. I couldn’t breathe. My throat was closing. I realized, in a daze, what she’d given me. The marzipan. Almonds. I’m deathly allergic. As my vision tunneled, Liam’s face loomed over me, cold and distant. “This is your punishment, Maya. For running away. For ignoring me. If I let this go, you’ll be impossible to control after we’re married.” The last thing I heard before I blacked out was their voices, angry and annoyed, as I collapsed.

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After losing my memory in the car accident, my boyfriend’s sister called me “sister-in-law.” Looks like we’re married. After dinner, I went to open his bedroom door, ready for bed. He was wrapped in a towel, looking at me in surprise: “W-what are you doing?” I innocently replied, “Sleeping.” He stammered, “Wh-what?” Just then, someone grabbed my hand. I turned around. His older brother, dressed in a suit, was staring intently at me: “Wife, what are you doing?” I stammered, “Wh-what?” Without a word, he pulled me to his room. And locked the door. As I pondered this, he loosened his tie and slowly bound my hands. “You not only looked at him, but you also talked to him.” He gave a cruel smile: “Tonight, I’m going to punish you severely.” 1 “Mia, seriously, you have to be more careful! Are you still feeling dizzy?” The girl in front of me, wearing a high school freshman uniform, was Chloe. My boyfriend’s sister. I remembered celebrating my boyfriend’s birthday. Everyone was happy. Then he got a call about an emergency, left in a hurry, and asked his older brother to drive me home. On that winding mountain road, a drunk driver rear-ended us. We almost went over the cliff. Luckily, his brother wrenched the wheel, and we only slammed into the stone guardrail. 2 I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I stared at Chloe. She seemed… older. More like a young woman than the kid I remembered. It felt like just yesterday she was this awkward middle-schooler, throwing a fit because her parents grounded her for trying to go to a party. She was packing a bag for me. A moment later, my boyfriend’s mom came in. She fussed over me, telling me to be careful. “And you two are trying for a baby! What if something had happened?” I froze. I scrambled for my phone. I stared at the date. It was three years later. 3 By the time we got back to their house, I was silently trying to process the fact that I had amnesia. My last memory was from three years ago. Apparently, in that time, my boyfriend and I got married. And I seemed to get along with his family. Great. The mother-in-law (let’s call her Mrs. Pierce) was kind. My sister-in-law, Chloe, seemed to adore me. When we got home, Chloe pulled me into her room—a pink princess explosion on the third floor—and immediately started complaining about her love life. Two different guys liked her, and she couldn’t decide… 4 Chloe was an absolute knockout—pretty, sweet, and funny. I had her show me their texts, their Instagrams, trying to help her pick the best one. Before I knew it, we’d both fallen asleep on her bed. A housekeeper woke us for dinner. At the table, my father-in-law sat at the head. My mother-in-law was to his right. My boyfriend, Liam, had just gotten home from work, still in his suit, looking exhausted. He glanced at me as I came down. “You okay?” His tone was… weird. Distant. I forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He looked at me for a second, a strange look in his eyes, then just nodded and looked away. 5 I moved to sit next to him. But Chloe, quick as a whip, slid into the seat right beside Liam, blocking me. I awkwardly took the empty seat next to my mother-in-law. Dinner was silent. My father-in-law was old-school, a strict “no talking, no phones at the table” kind of guy. Liam had told me about that back when we were dating. I’d never actually met his parents before my memory gap, though I’d met his brother. I’d even stayed at this house, but his parents were in Boston expanding the business at the time. 6 After dinner, Chloe leashed up two dogs. A Golden Retriever—Max—who I vaguely remembered was mine. And a Samoyed, who belonged to Liam’s older brother, Julian. I’d forgotten I had a dog. I felt like a monster. Max bounded over, whining and licking my hand, pushing the leash into my palm. “C’mon, sis,” Chloe said. “Let’s walk the dogs.” I glanced at Liam. He was on the couch, listlessly flipping through channels. He met my gaze. His eyes looked… strange. Pained. Like he wanted to say a thousand things. I was about to ask him if something was wrong, but Chloe was already pulling me out the door. 7 The second we were outside, Chloe let out a huff. “Mia, I thought you said you were done with Liam? Why were you staring at him like that?” She pouted. “You can’t go back on your word! You’ll just end up complaining to me again.” I was completely lost. Had Liam and I gotten into a fight? A huge one? Had I sworn to his sister that I was done with him? That seemed extreme for a married couple. But maybe he’d done something to make me furious. His behavior tonight certainly felt like it. It couldn’t be cheating. I wouldn’t have stayed. I couldn’t figure it out. But I didn’t want to tell anyone about the amnesia. I was worried my in-laws would panic, and I was worried Liam would… well, lie to me. If he had done something wrong, this was the perfect time for him to cover it up. I’m a cautious person. So, I just nodded and let Chloe lead the way. 8 The gated community was beautiful, built on a hill overlooking a lake. The air was misty and cool. Chloe started begging me. “Mia, can you please talk to Julian? He won’t let me go on the Eurotrip with my friends for winter break.” “What trip?” She laid out a plan for a group of high school sophomores to backpack through Europe. No guides, no chaperones. I wouldn’t even be comfortable with that, let alone her brother. She kept whining, showing me their itineraries, insisting they were responsible, that they wanted to “see the world” and “be independent.” I was almost… jealous. My memories were still stuck in my sophomore year of college. I was still young! And I woke up married. I didn’t even know what my job was. 9 We got back home around 8 PM. The dogs, Max and Ghost, had their dinner and passed out. Chloe’s phone buzzed, and she glanced around to make sure her parents weren’t watching, then sprinted upstairs. The house had three floors. The parents and Julian were on the second floor. Liam was on the third. I hesitated. I should probably go to the third floor. Back to our room. Whatever was going on, we needed to talk. And Liam looked like he wanted to talk, too. Besides, I needed a shower. And sleep. 10 I heard the front gate open. A car pulled in. From the glass landing on the stairs, I saw him get out. Liam’s older brother, Julian. He was in a suit, wearing thin gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes were cold, assessing. He glanced up and saw me watching him. I immediately looked away and hurried toward Liam’s room. Even though I was missing three years, my gut reaction to Julian was the same: he was intense. His presence was overwhelming, and I always wanted to hide. The first time I met him, Liam had brought me here, promising the house was empty. We were playing with Max in the living room when Julian just appeared. He’d frozen, his eyes locking onto me, just… staring. It made my heart hammer in a way that wasn’t pleasant. After a very awkward explanation, Liam grabbed me and Max, and we basically ran out of the house. 11 The second time, our whole group went skiing. I got separated on the last run, used the restroom, and when I came out, everyone was gone. Then I slipped, twisted my ankle, and the ski lift had just closed. I was terrified. The temperature was dropping below zero. I thought I was going to freeze to death. 12 I limped for almost two hours. Then I heard it. A helicopter. I waved, crying with relief. The helicopter landed, and Julian got out, his face like thunder. He was furious. He didn’t say a word. He just grabbed my arm, hard, and dragged me onto the helicopter. I should have been grateful, but he looked so angry I was scared to even speak. Finally, he spoke. “Liam is not right for you. This weather, this situation… and he just left you on the mountain.” I was mortified. I mumbled that it was an accident, that I’d gotten lost. I wasn’t even sure where Liam was. The third time I saw him was right before the accident, when he drove me home.

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My best friend of eight years, drunk off his ass, blew up my phone with five consecutive calls in the middle of the night. When I finally called back, he confessed his undying love for me through a series of blubbering sobs and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend. I said yes. The next day, he took me out to lunch and, with a completely straight face, tried to set me up with one of his friends. “My buddy is rich, handsome, and a little socially awkward. You two would be perfect for each other.” I squeezed my chopsticks, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. “Liam,” I said. “Are you fucking with me?” 1. The fifth time my phone vibrated across my desk, I was deep in the throes of writing my senior thesis. The name “Liam” flashed on the screen like a bad omen. I was annoyed. He had to call now? Right when I was in the zone, my fingers flying across the keyboard? I silenced the call, figuring I’d get back to him when I finished the chapter. Liam was a goofball, but he wasn’t usually this persistent. Five calls in a row meant something was probably wrong. By the time I finally finished my thought and picked up my phone, it had been half an hour. Five missed calls stared back at me. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if something had actually happened? Alcohol poisoning? A bar fight that landed him in jail? The guy had a history. The more I thought about it, the more I panicked, and I quickly called him back. The phone rang, each ring echoing my frantic heartbeat. Just as I was about to hang up and drive to his apartment, he answered. “Hello?” His voice was a slurred, nasal mumble. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and immediately launched into a tirade. “Liam, are you trying to give me a heart attack? What’s with all the calls? I thought you’d been kidnapped and sold for parts!” “…Chloe?” His voice was small, hesitant. “Who else would it be? Your mom?” I snapped. He giggled, a dopey, drunken sound. “I knew you’d call me back.” I could tell he was completely wasted. “Were you out with Matt and the guys again? How much did you drink? Where are you?” “I’m not anywhere… I’m just at home…” he stammered. “I just… I just missed you…” My heart did a little flip. Liam and I had been friends for eight years. We’d gone from awkward freshmen in ill-fitting school uniforms to jaded seniors, just trying to make it to graduation. We were best friends, partners in crime, a platonic dynamic so solid it was practically bulletproof. I’d helped him through breakups; he’d helped me cram for finals. I could show up at his place with no makeup and my rattiest sweatpants, and he could complain to me about which sorority had the hottest girls. Our friendship was clean. At least, that’s how he saw it. Only I knew when the lines had started to blur for me, when I started having trouble looking him in the eye, when my breath would catch in my throat if he stood too close. “…Chloe…” he mumbled again. “Why did you call me five times?” His voice was thick with emotion, like a lost kid. I was stunned. What? Who called whom five times? Was he hallucinating? Before I could correct him, he continued, his voice cracking. “Did you know I was drunk? Were you worried about me?” “Oh, Chloe, I’m so touched…” “That’s it. You definitely like me too. You should be my girlfriend.” My brain short-circuited. All I could hear was that last sentence, ringing in my ears. Was this a drunken confession? Or just another one of his stupid jokes? I clutched my phone, my fingers cold, my breathing shallow. “Chloe? Are you there?” His voice was laced with a new vulnerability. “You don’t want to, do you? I knew it…” “I do.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. My face flushed. I knew he was drunk. I knew he probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. I knew this was probably just wishful thinking on my part. But I couldn’t help it. Eight years of a secret, one-sided crush, suddenly watered by his drunken confession, had burst through the surface. I took the gamble. I bet that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking, that somewhere deep down, he felt the same way I did. The line went silent. So silent I thought he’d passed out. My courage started to waver. I was just about to take it all back when he finally spoke. “…Really?” His voice was a whisper. “Really,” I said, my own voice trembling. “Say it again.” I took a deep breath. “Liam,” I said, each word clear and deliberate. “I want to be your girlfriend.” He giggled again, that same dopey, happy sound that made my heart feel like it was going to burst. “My girlfriend…” he murmured. “Chloe is my girlfriend…” And then he hung up. I just stood there, holding my phone. Had that really just happened? Was I officially in a relationship with my best friend of eight years? I pinched myself. Hard. It wasn’t a dream. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I listened to the five-minute call recording at least fifty times, memorizing the sound of his voice, his ridiculous accusation, his bold confession, his happy, drunken giggle. I couldn’t stop smiling. So this is what it felt like. Not one-sided, but a real, mutual thing. It was sweeter than I ever could have imagined. 2. The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes, but I was buzzing with energy. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who was glowing. The first thing I did was text my new boyfriend. I spent a good ten minutes agonizing over the perfect message. “Good morning, boyfriend?” “Hey, handsome.” A simple kissy-face emoji? It was all so mortifyingly cheesy. Finally, I settled on a cool and casual, “You up?” He replied almost instantly. “Up. Head is killing me.” Followed by a skull emoji. I laughed and typed back, “Serves you right for drinking so much.” “Chloe, I’m sorry,” he texted, with a sad-puppy-dog gif. He’d always called me by my full name when he was being serious. But today, it sounded different. Sweeter. We texted back and forth, a stream of meaningless nonsense. But he never mentioned the night before. My anxiety started to creep back in. No way, I thought. He didn’t actually forget, did he? I decided to test the waters. “Do you… remember what you said to me last night?” The three dots on his end appeared, then disappeared. My heart leaped into my throat. Oh god, he forgot. I was an idiot for believing a drunk guy. I was just about to text him back, to say it was all a joke, when his message came through. “I do.” “I remember every word.” “So, to celebrate our glorious friendship leveling up, can I take you to lunch?” I felt like I was floating. “Sure,” I texted back. I jumped out of bed and ran to my closet. A date! Our first official date! What should I wear? Should I do my makeup? Perfume? He always said he liked me in dresses. I dug out a white sundress I’d bought for my birthday last year and had never worn. I did my makeup, a shimmery, peachy look I thought was irresistible. I looked in the mirror and saw a completely different girl from the usual t-shirt-and-jeans Chloe. I smiled. Liam, you’re not going to know what hit you. We met at a trendy brunch spot near campus. He was already there, looking impossibly handsome in a crisp white t-shirt and a light blue button-down. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, making him look like he was glowing. He saw me and his eyes lit up. “Chloe! Over here!” I took a deep breath and walked towards him, trying to look graceful in my heels. “Have you been waiting long?” I asked, sliding into the booth across from him. “Nope, just got here,” he said, pushing the menu towards me. “My treat.” “Oh, feeling generous?” I teased. “Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a historic day, after all.” He was looking at me with such a bright, open expression that I had to look down at the menu to hide my blush. My heart was doing backflips. He remembered. And he was happy about it. The whole meal was a blur. I kept waiting for him to say it, to make it official. But he talked about our thesis projects, about our post-graduation travel plans, about the latest campus gossip. He talked about everything except us. I was starting to get antsy. Was he just going to leave it like this? Were we in some kind of secret relationship? As we were finishing up, I decided to take matters into my own hands. “Liam.” “Hmm?” he said, currently engaged in a fierce battle with a piece of bacon. “Are we…” He suddenly looked up, as if he’d just remembered something important. “Oh, right. Chloe, I need to talk to you about something.” This is it! I thought, sitting up straighter. He’s finally going to say it. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned forward, his expression serious and sincere. “I have this buddy, Nick. He’s in the computer science department.” Nick? Who the hell was Nick? “He’s a really great guy, just a little shy around girls. Top of his class, got into a great grad program already.” “…And?” I was confused. “Well, he’s seen you in the library a few times and thinks you’re really cute. He’s been wanting to meet you, but he’s too nervous to ask.” Liam grinned, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “He begged me to set you guys up. And I was thinking, you’re both single, your personalities would be a good match. You’re outgoing, he’s quiet. It’s perfect.” “So… what do you think? Should I give him your number?” The smile on my face froze. The sounds of the restaurant faded away. All I could see was Liam’s enthusiastic face, and all I could hear was the word “perfect” echoing in my head. Perfect? So this was his big, historic announcement? He’d dressed up and taken me to a nice lunch to set me up with his friend? What was I? What was last night? A cold dread washed over me. I gripped my fork, my knuckles white. I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Liam,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Are you fucking with me?” The smile on his face vanished. He looked at me, bewildered. “Chloe? What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?” “Are you getting some kind of sick pleasure out of messing with me?” “No, Chloe, I’m not messing with you…” He looked panicked, reaching for my hand. “I just thought Nick was a great guy, and I wanted to introduce you…” “Enough!” I stood up abruptly, knocking over my chair. The other diners stared. I didn’t care. I felt like the world’s biggest fool. Last night, I was on cloud nine. Today, I was crashing and burning. “Do you have any idea what you said to me on the phone last night?” I demanded, my voice shaking. He looked from panicked to confused to… guilty? He avoided my eyes. “I… I was pretty drunk last night,” he mumbled. “I don’t really remember.” He didn’t remember. Of course. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’re unbelievable.” I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the restaurant. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him for another second. “Chloe!” he called after me, grabbing my arm. “Don’t be mad. Did I… did I say something I shouldn’t have?” I shook him off. He looked so genuinely concerned, so innocent. It was all an act. A cruel, elaborate game to make a fool out of me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. The person in front of me was a stranger. “Liam,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “You are the biggest asshole I have ever met.” I walked away, ignoring his calls. The tears finally came, hot and fast. I wandered the streets, my mind a chaotic mess of humiliation, anger, and a crushing sadness. My phone buzzed in my bag, Liam’s name flashing on the screen. I didn’t want to talk to him. What was there to say? I finally collapsed onto a park bench, sobbing into my hands. Why? If he didn’t like me, why would he do this? Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a text message from an unknown number came through. It was short, but it made my blood run cold. “Stay away from Liam.” “What he said to you last night wasn’t a drunken confession.” “It was a cry for help.”

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To pay for my college, my sister married a rough widower from the next town. She smiled, saying he had a trade and we’d never go hungry. But that night, I heard her crying through the wall. For three years, she hid bruises under thick makeup, telling me to just study so her misery would end. One day, seeing fresh marks on her, I reached out and suddenly heard her thoughts: 83 more days. Once Wanda gets accepted, I’ll turn on the gas and take him to hell. I froze, then forced a smile. I pulled out my top-of-the-district report card, tore it up, and said coldly, “This is useless. I’m getting a job at the factory.” 1 The sound of ripping paper was deafening in the cramped kitchen. The sheet that boasted a score in the 99th percentile, proof of my top ranking, was reduced to a confetti of failure, fluttering to the grimy floor. Kate’s hands, busy washing vegetables, went still. After a long moment, her gaze lifted from the scattered pieces of paper to my face. Her eyes, usually so full of quiet endurance, flashed from confusion to disbelief, and then to a tidal wave of fury. “Wanda!” Her voice trembled. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Have you lost your mind?” What’s wrong with Wanda? She always shows me her grades like they’re treasures! Does she know what I’ve given up for her? After everything, she says this to me now? I forced my chin up, affecting a smile that felt like cracking glass. “I haven’t lost my mind. I’ve just realized that school is a dead end. I’m going to work.” She lunged, grabbing my wrist. Her fingers were shaking. “This is your future! I’ve worked myself to the bone to give you this chance, not for you to throw it all away for some factory job!” “My future?” I laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “My future is hiding in my room studying while I listen to that man beat you every day? Besides, jobs are scarce. By the time I graduate and make any real money, he might have already killed you.” “I’m done letting you plan my life,” I spat. “I’m going to make my own way.” “You—” Kate raised her hand, her palm whistling through the air toward my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the sting. But it never came. Her hand stopped, hovering in the air, trembling violently before falling, limp and defeated, to her side. She was only twenty-three, but strands of premature silver already threaded through the hair at her temples. Did I want to marry this monster? Did I want to be his punching bag? If it weren’t for her, I could have had a better life. She… Wanda, what right do you have to say these things to me? Her silent, screaming despair ripped through me, a pain so sharp it felt like my own heart was tearing apart. But I held her gaze, my careless smile plastered on my face. Her expression was a storm of emotions: pain, confusion, disappointment, and something else… resentment. As we stood locked in a tense silence, a knock echoed from the front door. “Kate, you home? Mail’s here!” 2 It was Mrs. Gable from next door. Kate hastily wiped her tears, took a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself, and went to open the door. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, simply taking the envelope with a mumbled “thanks” before shutting the door again. Her eyes fell to the letter in her hand, and her entire body went rigid. Written on the envelope in elegant, flowing script was a single name: Kate. The return address bore the name of the sender, printed in clear, stark letters: Clara Bellweather. Kate’s fingers gently traced the name, her eyes suddenly burning with a fierce, forgotten light. I heard the envy and bitterness swirling in her thoughts. Clara… She’s probably on the biggest stage in the country by now… I should have been there with her. If I hadn’t chosen Wanda… I was six, and Kate was eleven. Our father had gambled away everything we had and vanished. Our mother, broken, had swallowed a bottle of bleach on a rainy night. Just as we were sinking into despair, Clara and her parents had arrived, Clara in a beautiful dress that seemed to glow in our dim, dusty house. While I was sleeping, they took Kate into the other room. “Come with us, Kate,” they’d said. “You and Clara grew up together. We’ve always thought of you as our own daughter.” “And you have such a gift for dance. We’ll make sure you can keep training, right alongside Clara.” Kate had hesitated for only a second. “What about my sister? What about Wanda?” “Wanda’s too young. We can’t take on another. But we can arrange for her to go to a good group home. They’ll feed her, clothe her…” From that day on, Kate never danced again. She collected cans, worked market stalls, washed dishes in greasy diners—propping up our fragile world on her slender shoulders. And Clara? She had gone on to the best performing arts school in the country. Now, on the verge of graduation, she was rumored to have already been recruited by a prestigious dance company. Kate still clutched the letter, her fingertips trembling. The envelope was thick, as if it held a photograph. I didn’t need to see it to know what it was: a picture of Clara, radiant under the lights of a grand stage. “Kate…” I began, my voice soft. She jolted back to the present, stuffing the letter into her apron pocket as if it had burned her. She turned back to the sink. “Go do your homework.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. She kept her back to me, saying nothing more. I watched her, her silhouette so thin it looked like it could be torn apart by a stiff breeze, yet it carried the crushing weight of our entire existence. Did she resent me? I didn’t know… But every time a letter from Clara arrived, an uncontrollable flicker of anger and grief would surface in Kate’s eyes when she looked at me. She’d be cold for days. And yet, she would still wake up before dawn to make me breakfast. She would still wait up late into the night until I came home. I clenched my fists. You’re right, Kate… I thought. You shouldn’t have given up dancing for me. You shouldn’t have endured his fists for me. And you damn well shouldn’t be planning to die for me. Your life is worth a thousand times more than my future. 3 The internet cafe was a haze of stale smoke and blinking screens. I sat at a terminal in the far corner, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless. “Wanda!” A familiar, sharp voice, laced with a tremor I knew all too well, cut through the din. I whipped my head around. Kate stood at the entrance, her worn-out sundress clinging to her frame. Her hair was a mess, and her forehead was slick with sweat. She stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes a blaze of frantic anger and a flicker of something else—fear. She stormed over to my terminal and ripped the headphones from my ears. “Mr. Davison called me!” she hissed. “He said you haven’t been to class in a week! What the hell are you doing?!” I looked down, making a deliberate show of tugging at the collar of my oversized school jacket. “Nothing. Just didn’t feel like going.” My voice was flat, layered with a practiced, defiant slouch. “Didn’t feel like going?” She sounded like she’d just heard a foreign language. “You once went to school with a 102-degree fever. And now you ‘don’t feel like going’? I asked around on every block until someone told me you’ve been wasting your days in here!” “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get you this far? Who do you think you’re answering to?” Her grip was like a vice, bruising my wrist. No… this can’t be happening… I traded my entire life for Wanda’s future. How can she do this? Her thoughts were a silent, desperate scream, a wire tightening around my own heart. I hardened myself, wrenching my arm from her grasp. I stood up, looking down on her. “That’s right, I don’t want to go. What’s the point? Vince doesn’t have half your brains, but you’re still the one depending on him to survive.” The words landed like a physical blow. She staggered back, the color draining from her face. She didn’t say another word. She just grabbed me, practically dragging me out of the cafe and all the way home. The moment we pushed open the door, the stench of cheap whiskey hit us like a wall. Vince was sprawled on the sofa. He saw us and immediately started yelling. “Where the hell have you been? I’m starving! Where’s my damn dinner?!” Kate flinched. “I… I’ll make it right now.” “Make my ass!” Vince shot to his feet, grabbing an empty bottle from the coffee table and hurling it straight at her. “I’ll teach you to keep me waiting!” Without a second thought, I threw myself in front of Kate. The bottle grazed my temple and shattered against the wall behind us. Glass sprayed everywhere. “Vince,” I said, lifting my head to meet his furious, bloodshot eyes. “Calm down. I was just having a drink with Ace yesterday. He might have mentioned that little loan you took from him…” At the name “Ace,” a muscle in Vince’s jaw twitched. I pressed on, my voice deliberately casual. “Ace said not to worry about the money. Said it was on the house, on account of me. But…” I paused, my gaze flicking to my sister, who was trembling behind me. “He’s got this thing… he can’t stand guys who get rough with their women at home. Says the noise is bad for his nerves.” Vince’s expression shifted. He looked me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time. After a moment, he spat on the floor and forced a grotesque smile. “Well, damn, Wanda. Look at you, all grown up. A hell of a lot more useful than your sister! Should’ve said so earlier. We’re all family here…” Muttering under his breath, he grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him. The room was left in a dead, ringing silence. Slowly, Kate lifted her head. She looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. Her eyes were wide with shock, fear, and something deeper—a kind of soul-crushing despair. “How do you know someone like Ace? Wanda, tell me, what have you really been doing this past week?!” I met her gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. “Nothing much,” I lied, forcing a smirk. “Just figured hanging with his crew is more interesting than staring at textbooks. Ace says I’m sharp. Says if I stick with him, I’ll be set for life…” “Shut up!” Kate shrieked, cutting me off. She rushed forward, her hands clamping down on my shoulders, shaking me hard. “Do you know who Ace is? Drugs, violence… he’s a monster! You’ll destroy yourself! Snap out of it!” “I am snapped out of it!” I shoved her away. “I’m wide awake! Awake enough to know that a diploma won’t save us! At least if I’m working, I can take care of myself and not end up beaten to death alongside you by that animal!” It was as if all the strength drained out of her at once. She froze, her face a mask of disbelief. Tears began to stream silently down her cheeks, but she made no sound. She just stared at me, her eyes filled with a hollow emptiness, with resentment, and with absolute despair. How did Wanda become this person? This is the sister I gave up everything for? The one I threw my life away to protect? No… she’s just confused. She’ll still take the exams. She has to. It’ll be over soon. I just have to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer. Kate, once you’re dead, it’ll all be over. It’s better for you, and better for Wanda… She turned away, shuffling silently toward the kitchen. Listening to her thoughts, I felt an invisible, icy wall rise between us. 4 For the next month, Kate seemed to be waging a war within herself. She remained cold and distant, but there were no more explosive confrontations. I could see the effort it took her to contain her pain and her bitterness. After all, if it wasn’t for me, she would be living a completely different life… And every day, I heard her heart’s silent weeping. Maybe it would have been better if I’d died with Mom that night… I’m so tired… Your life is over, Kate. Stop dreaming. It’s all your fault for being weak, for raising that little parasite. No… don’t say that about Wanda. She’s just lost. She’ll come around… On the day of the final practice exam, I sat with a blank test paper in front of me for two hours. When the bell rang, I was the first one to walk out. The result was predictable. A perfect zero across the board. My homeroom teacher called Kate in. In the cramped office, the teacher’s voice was heavy with disappointment. Kate stood beside me, head bowed, her hands twisting the hem of her worn-out dress. “Mrs. Miller,” he said, his tone strained, “this was the last exam before the finals! She handed in a blank paper! Does she even want to go to college anymore?” “It’s not that she can’t do the work! Her previous scores put her at the top of the district. She could get into any Ivy League school she wanted!” All eyes were on me. I looked at my sister’s hunched, humiliated posture, took a deep breath, and spoke, my voice sharp and cold. “What’s the point of a degree? You get it, you come out, and you still can’t protect yourself. You just learn to take a beating and then put on a smile, just like her. A future like that? You can have it. I don’t want it.” The air in the room froze. Kate’s head snapped up. The color drained from her face, leaving it a ghostly white. She stared at me, and I watched the last glimmer of light in her eyes shatter, leaving behind nothing but dead, grey ash. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me as if I were some grotesque, alien creature she’d never seen before. My heart gave a painful lurch. Does she hate me? Does she truly hate me now? I hate you… Wanda, you’ve ruined my life, and now you’re going to ruin my dignity in front of everyone? No… what dignity do I have left? Am I even a person anymore? Her thoughts were fragmented, broken. She said nothing. She simply turned and stumbled out of the office, her back so slumped it looked as if her very soul had been ripped out. It was dark when I got home. Kate was sitting in the living room, shrouded in shadows. She hadn’t turned on the lights. “Kate…” I started, my voice hoarse. “Do whatever you want,” she cut me off. Her voice was laced with an undeniable disgust and frustration. “From now on, just do whatever the hell you want. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a sister anymore.” She got up, went into her room, and shut the door. I’m just her sister. I’ve done enough. I took pity on her, but who’s going to take pity on me? I fought back the urge to run to her, to hold her, to apologize for everything. I wiped away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling and went to my own room in silence. The silence held until the next afternoon. Vince came home, cursing and fuming. He’d clearly gambled away all his money again. His eyes, red and wild, scanned the room, finally landing on Kate. His fists clenched. “Damn it all! Useless! Where’s the money? Get me some goddamn money! What happened to my paycheck this month? Didn’t I give it all to you?” Kate stood there, numb, unresponsive. It was a lie. He’d given her a pitiful amount for groceries, keeping the rest for himself. “You useless bitch, feeding two deadbeats like you… I should just kill you and be done with it!” Vince’s face was purple with rage. He snatched his leather belt off a chair and brought it down hard across Kate’s back. He was a mountain of a man, over two hundred pounds, crushing my sister’s small frame beneath him. Fists and slaps rained down on her. Her screams echoed through the small house. My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked over, pulled the envelope with the tuition money from my backpack, and held it out to him. “Vince. I have some.” He froze, his arm mid-swing. He snatched the envelope, licked his thumb, and counted the bills. His scowl melted into a grin. “See? Wanda’s the smart one!” he crowed, peeling off a small stack and shoving it back into my hand. “Here, this is from your big brother. You stick with me, kid, I’ll take care of you!” He pocketed the rest of the cash and swaggered out the door. Kate’s face was swollen, blood trickling from her nose and mouth. But she acted as if nothing had happened. She quietly got to her feet and, without a single word or glance in my direction, went back to her room. It was as if she was no longer a part of this world. Had she given up on me completely? Late that night, I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me. Suddenly, a faint noise came from the next room. I held my breath, straining to listen, focusing my mind. …Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. While she’s gone… it’ll all be over. …The gas valve… just have to turn it… It’ll be quick… no more pain… The thought, so clear and calm, was a bullet straight through my heart. My mind went blank. The blood in my veins turned to ice. No… It can’t be happening… not like this.

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