Category: English

A month into my first semester, I was already financially independent. Fetching water: $500. Grabbing packages: $500. Changing a duvet cover: $1,000. Providing emotional support for the queen bee: $2,000. So when the campus king and his scholarship-case girlfriend showed up looking for a fight, I was the first one to step up. You can insult me. But you will not insult my boss. For my troubles, the queen bee gifted me the latest iPhone 17 Pro Max. After graduation, while my classmates were clawing their way through recruitment season, I walked right into the Weasley Corporation headquarters by her side. Then, the Weasley family found their real, long-lost daughter. The party they threw to welcome her was the talk of the town. I found Victoria Weasley huddled in a dark corner, lighting a cigarette with a self-mocking laugh. “I guess I’m not a Weasley anymore,” she said, her voice laced with bitter humor. “You don’t have to stick around.” I just nodded and pulled a bank card from my pocket. “Thanks to you, these past few years, I’ve bought a car, a condo, and I’ve got a little saved up.” I met her gaze. “So… want to burn it all down?” … Victoria’s head snapped up. Her usually cool, imperious face was, for the first time in the seven years I’d known her, completely stunned. Victoria Weasley was like most heiresses: beautiful and imperious. The first time I saw her, during freshman orientation seven years ago, I was carrying a kettle of hot water. The queen bee acknowledged my friendly hello with a slight, regal tilt of her chin before thrusting another empty kettle into my hands. “Fill this one up for me, too.” I blinked, then rolled my eyes. I was about to tell her she was out of her mind when she pulled out a wallet, thumbed through a stack of crisp bills, and held out five hundreds. “For your trouble.” The thousand insults on the tip of my tongue vanished. I grabbed both kettles and scampered off like my life depended on it. From that day on, it was $500 for water, $500 for takeout, and $1,000 for changing her duvet cover. Victoria was so lavish with her money that I sometimes felt guilty taking it. She’d just raise an eyebrow and say coolly, “You do the work, I pay you for it. That’s how the world works.” And so I became her most loyal lackey. Correction: her most loyal assistant. But Victoria was different from the other trust-fund kids. She’d gotten into Auden University as a state scholar. While others were at fashion shows and shopping sprees, she was already interning at her family’s company. In just a few years, she had propelled Weasley Corp to new heights—so successful that her own family began to see her as a threat. Suddenly, fireworks exploded over our heads, forming the name “Lily” in the night sky. The name of the newly found “true” heiress. The Weasleys were putting on this extravagant show to legitimize her. Victoria and I exchanged a look. We both saw the same irony in each other’s eyes. Weasley Corp had just poured over a billion dollars into the new Northwood Project, and finances were tight. A city-wide spectacle like this had to have cost at least half a month of the entire company’s budget. After a moment of silence, Victoria stubbed out her cigarette and strode purposefully towards the brightly lit mansion. A small smile played on my lips as I hurried to catch up. I’d been to the Weasley mansion many times, but in the half-month since I’d last been here, it had been completely transformed. The courtyard, once filled with the vibrant roses Victoria had planted, was now home to rows of delicate, fragile gardenias. Very fitting for the new princess. My gaze fell on Lily, the center of attention. She was wearing a French-style princess gown that looked awkward on her, flanked by two men who once belonged to Victoria: her brother and her fiancé. Now, they looked more like Lily’s personal knights. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she gathered her skirts to walk over. “Avery! I’m so happy you could make it!” she chirped, her tone intimate, as if she wasn’t the same person I’d yelled at until she cried three years ago. “I know how amazing you are at your job. Don’t worry, you’ll have a place at Weasley Corp, just like when my sister was here.” She then covered her mouth with a theatrical gasp, her eyes wide with mock innocence. “Oh, Mason… did I overstep?” Mason Weasley, the eldest son, just ruffled her hair affectionately. “Of course not. You’re the rightful heir of this family. You can say whatever you want.” He then looked down his nose at me, as if bestowing a great favor. “Lily has a kind heart. You should be grateful she’s willing to keep you on.” Lily blushed and looked down. I had to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. As a senior executive at Weasley Corp, my employment was subject to a vote by the board of directors, not the whims of these idiots. Standing beside them, Blake Harrington looked thoroughly annoyed. He pulled Lily into his arms. “When is this ceremony going to start? I can’t believe Victoria occupied your place for so many years. I almost had to marry her. What a nightmare.” Lily tugged on his sleeve, whispering, “Don’t say that. It wasn’t my sister’s fault.” Blake was about to say more when a commotion at the entrance cut him off. I heard the murmurs of the crowd, followed by Blake’s voice, suddenly sharp and loud. “Victoria? Who let you in?” 2 Every head in the room turned towards the entrance. Victoria stood under the glittering crystal chandelier, a simple, elegant black velvet gown clinging to her frame. She effortlessly outshone every bejeweled woman in the room. Her expression was neutral. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second before settling on Blake. “Blake,” she said, her voice calm and cutting, “I’ve been walking through this door for twenty years. Since when do I need your permission?” Blake was speechless, his face flushing with anger. Lily immediately peeked out from his embrace, her voice soft and trembling. “Sister, please don’t be angry. Blake didn’t mean it like that… He just… he just wasn’t expecting you…” As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears. Mason, ever the protector, stepped in front of her. “Victoria, this is a welcome party for Lily. It’s not appropriate for you to show up uninvited.” “Uninvited?” Victoria let out a soft laugh as she glided forward. “Brother, have you forgotten? This party is being paid for by Weasley Corporation’s public relations budget. And I,” she paused, her gaze sweeping over the room, “am still a 5% shareholder in this company. As well as the original head of the Northwood Project. Do I need an invitation to see how my money is being spent?” Mason’s face froze. The guests began to whisper amongst themselves. “She’s right, she still has shares…” “And the Northwood Project was her baby…” Sensing the shift in the room, Lily forced a sickly-sweet smile. “Sister, I’m so happy you’re here! You lived in this house for over twenty years. We can be sisters, the daughters of the Weasley family together. We’re all family!” She even tried to take Victoria’s hand. Victoria sidestepped her without a second glance. Lily’s hand hung awkwardly in the air. She looked at Mason and Blake, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Blake wrapped a protective arm around her, snarling at Victoria, “Don’t be so ungrateful, Victoria! Lily is trying to be nice, and you’re still putting on your queen bee act? Look around! Who do you think you are anymore?” Mason’s expression darkened. “Victoria, those shares were a gift from Grandpa to his most beloved granddaughter. Since you’re not his biological granddaughter, those shares aren’t rightfully yours.” He offered a condescending smile. “Of course, for the sake of our years as siblings, and for all you’ve done for the company, I won’t cheat you. I’m prepared to buy your shares back at market value.” He looked down at Lily, his eyes full of adoration. “And return them to their rightful owner.” Lily looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of gratitude. Victoria simply nodded. “Fine. We can discuss the details at the office on Monday.” The whispers grew louder. “Is she crazy? Everyone knows Weasley Corp is on the rise. Selling her shares now is like throwing money away.” “Well, she’s not a Weasley anymore. It’s smarter to take the money and run…” A sleazy voice cut through the chatter. “Well, well, what’s all the commotion?” I looked up to see a man in a flashy pink suit swaggering over, champagne flute in hand. It was Tristan Vance, a notorious playboy and one of Victoria’s former suitors. He leered at Victoria. “Well, if it isn’t the great Victoria Weasley. Oh, my mistake, the former great Victoria Weasley. Kicked to the curb and still putting on airs? I hear you’re in a tight spot. How about you consider my offer? I may not be a Weasley, but I can certainly take care of you…” He didn’t finish, but his eyes raked over her body, leaving no doubt as to his meaning. A few stifled snickers echoed through the crowd. Blake and Mason did nothing, clearly enjoying the show. Victoria didn’t say a word, just shot me a quick, pointed glance. I inwardly cursed. The queen bee had caught me enjoying the drama. I cleared my throat and stepped forward. Lily’s face paled. “Avery, you…” I ignored her and walked straight up to Tristan. “Mr. Vance, if I recall correctly, your father still hasn’t covered the thirty-seven million you lost in Vegas last month. I hear all your credit cards have been frozen. Are you planning on taking out a loan shark’s money to ‘take care’ of our Ms. Weasley?” 3 Tristan’s face turned a shade of beet red. “You… What nonsense are you spouting?” I kept my smile in place, pulling a business card from my clutch and tucking it into the pocket of his stiff suit jacket. “This is for the venture capital firm under Ms. Weasley’s name. We specialize in assisting small to medium-sized enterprises facing temporary financial difficulties. Given your current situation, perhaps you could apply for our distress fund? The interest rates are very reasonable.” A dead silence fell over the room, followed by a wave of poorly suppressed laughter. Tristan, trembling with rage, crumpled the card in his fist. He shot me a venomous glare. “You’re nothing but a dog on Victoria’s leash. She can’t even save herself now. What gives you the right to bark here?” I just shrugged, completely unbothered, and stepped back to my position just behind Victoria. Through it all, Victoria’s expression hadn’t changed. She turned her cool gaze back to the stone-faced Mason and Blake. “It seems I’m not welcome here after all. Fine.” She gave a slight flick of her hand. I immediately understood and handed her the file I’d been holding. Victoria casually tossed it onto a nearby table. “A few of my humble suggestions for the future development of the Northwood Project. Consider it a… welcome gift. For the company, and for the new heiress.” Without another word, she turned and walked out. I smiled, following her, but paused as I passed Lily. “Miss… oh, I suppose I should call you Miss Weasley now,” I whispered, my voice low enough for only her to hear. “That dress you’re wearing? It’s last season’s couture. Victoria donated it because she was tired of it.” The color drained from Lily’s face. Outside, the night air was sharp and cold. Victoria didn’t look back once at the house she had called home for over twenty years. “What did you say to her?” she asked. “Nothing much,” I shrugged. “Just reminded her she’s wearing your hand-me-downs.” A genuine smile finally broke through Victoria’s composure. “Let’s go.” I looked up and saw the familiar fire reigniting in her eyes. “Didn’t you say something about burning it all down?” I pulled out my phone and brought up a business proposal I had prepared weeks ago. “The Northwood Project,” I said. “We’re going to do it ourselves.” Victoria looked surprised. “You were already planning this?” I just gave a slight nod. Someone had been digging into the switched-at-birth story for a while. As Victoria’s right-hand woman, I was an obvious target for them to try and flip. They had offered me a contract that would have set me up for life. But all I could see was an image from seven years ago: me, a poor student, being pushed into a corner by bullies. And Victoria, walking out of the sunlight, extending a hand to me. So now, seven years later, I was walking back into the darkness to pull her out. Victoria was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and messed up my hair. “You’re a good dog,” she said, her voice rough with emotion. I laughed, ducking away. “Assistant, boss. The word is assistant.” She dropped her hand, her gaze fixed on the glittering lights of the Weasley mansion in the distance. Her voice was calm, steady, and filled with a cold fire. “Then let’s show them,” she said. “Who the real heir is.”

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Four years. Four years I’d spent trying to save her, and in a single, careless moment, Elara discovered how I truly felt. She had me pinned against the wall, her fingers digging into my neck, her eyes burning with a dark, furious storm. “I’ve sunk so low that a stutterer like you has a crush on me?” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “Do you even think you’re worthy?” Pure rage contorted her beautiful features. She became crueler than ever before, a hurricane of spite. She trashed her immaculate room, a whirlwind of destruction aimed at anything and everything I found beautiful. But whenever he was around—the story’s hero—she would sheath her claws, transforming into the very picture of gentle grace. That night, after she threw me out, I cried until my eyes were swollen shut. I found the System and gave up. “I… I can’t save her anymore.” The System’s voice was laced with sympathy. 【The mission isn’t over, but we can change the target. Would you like to save someone else?】 I nodded, a wave of relief washing over me. 【As is standard protocol, I will erase your memories of this mission. Please prepare for the final transition.】 A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped my lips. Let it be over. 1 Elara had locked herself in her room again. I could hear the sickening symphony from the hallway—the crash and shatter of furniture, the thud of objects hitting the walls. I curled up into a ball outside her door, hands clamped over my ears, trying to block out the sounds of her self-destruction. After what felt like an eternity, the chaos subsided into a dead silence. My legs, numb from crouching, tingled as I unsteadily rose. I eased the door open, my heart pounding against my ribs. The room was a cavern of shadows, the air thick with the scent of ozone and dust. Shards of a shattered vase littered the floor like fallen stars. Elara was slumped against the far wall, a broken silhouette in the gloom. Her head was bowed, and from one limp hand, blood dripped rhythmically onto the polished floor. My chest tightened. I scrambled to grab the first-aid kit and knelt beside her. “L-let me… bandage that for you.” I gestured toward her hand. She didn’t move, didn’t even seem to register my presence. I took that as my cue, my hands moving with practiced efficiency as I cleaned the wound and applied antiseptic. A deep, angry gash ran across her slender palm. Her knuckles were raw and scraped. A familiar ache of sympathy bloomed in my chest, and a few hot tears escaped, tracing paths down my cheeks. A faint, cool breeze drifted in from the shattered window. Elara’s fingers twitched, the tense line of her brow slowly relaxing. Encouraged, I cupped her hand in mine and began to blow gently on the wound, my warm breath a soft caress against her skin. Suddenly, her other hand shot out, her fingers digging cruelly into my cheek. “Disgusting. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes, now sharp and lucid, glared into mine. I managed a weak, foolish grin. She yanked her hand back and shoved me away, stumbling to her feet. “Get lost.” “L-let me help you,” I offered, scrambling to follow. “I said, get lost!” she roared, pushing me hard. I lost my balance and fell backward, my hand landing squarely on a shard of broken glass. A sharp pain shot up my arm. Elara’s face paled. Her lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, she just clamped her jaw shut, turned, and stormed out of the room. I sniffled, pulling the glass from my palm and wrapping it with a bandage from the kit. It’s okay, I told myself. It’s always been like this. Elara wasn’t a bad person. She just couldn’t control the storm inside her. Later that evening, I cooked a proper meal—three dishes and a soup. The sprawling apartment felt empty with just the two of us. After setting the table, I went back to the thankless task of cleaning up the wreckage of her room. By the time she emerged from her shower, I was wiping sweat from my brow. I pointed to the dining table. “D-dinner is—” “Just shut up,” she snapped, tossing a damp towel onto the floor. “I can’t stand listening to you stutter.” She sat down at the table, her expression a mask of cold indifference. I clamped my mouth shut and returned to my cleaning. It’s okay. I was here for her. As long as she was okay, nothing else mattered. 2 When I first received the redemption mission, I fought it tooth and nail. My twenty years in the real world had been a landscape of misery. An orphan, a punching bag for bullies, a shadow living on the fringes. I was a pathetic coward who finally ended it all with a blade to my own throat. Someone like me had no business saving anyone. But the System told me Elara’s story. It said her temper was so volatile, so destructive, that no one else was willing to take on the mission to pull her back from the brink. Elara had been an heiress, born into a world of luxury cars, handsome men, and endless privilege. Then a raging fire consumed her life, taking her parents with it. Pinned beneath a collapsed beam, she was forced to watch as they burned to charred remains. That suffocating despair, that crushing sense of helplessness, became the seed of her bipolar disorder. Her family’s empire crumbled overnight, leaving her with nothing but this apartment and a dwindling trust fund. She attempted suicide several times, each failure twisting her personality further, making her more erratic, more broken. In the original story, her fate was sealed on an overpass. As she prepared to jump, a young man—the story’s hero—rushed forward and pulled her back from the edge. From that moment on, he became her sole reason for living, her anchor in a world of chaos. But her love was a cage. She forbade him from seeing friends, controlled his every move, and effectively imprisoned him. His life became a gilded hell. Then, the true heroine appeared and rescued him. A woman of immense power and influence, she was horrified by how her beloved had been treated. As retribution, she had Elara’s eyes gouged out, her face disfigured, and then, in a final act of cruel irony, had her thrown from the very same overpass where her obsession began. The System asked me to change her tragic destiny. To save her lonely soul. This time, my heart softened. I agreed. It wasn’t her fault she became this way. If someone as broken as me could salvage even one soul, then I was willing to try. So, on that fateful day, I became the one who desperately clung to her arm on that overpass. To my relief, Elara didn’t transfer her obsessive affections to me. She despised my presence, recoiled from my touch, and loathed my stutter. For the first year, when the rage took her, she would hit me. But I was resilient. A weed that refused to be uprooted. After every outburst, I would be the first to comfort her, to soothe her rage until the storm passed. I learned to cook her favorite meals, hoping to give her a taste of the warmth she’d lost. During her moments of calm, I would tell her, in my halting, clumsy way, that she wasn’t alone in this world anymore. This is my fourth year by her side. The frequency of her episodes has dwindled. Now, it’s only the violent thunderstorms or the nightmares that threaten to pull her under. And in the quiet rhythm of our days, in the constant tending to her fragile soul, my sympathy has slowly, imperceptibly, morphed into something else. Her pain became my pain. Her moods, the bars of my cage. And I, the willing prisoner. 3 By the time I finished cleaning, Elara was already asleep in her bedroom. I gently tucked the blanket around her and then sat on the floor, content to just watch her in the soft moonlight. Honestly, Elara was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, in this life or the last. Delicate, sculpted features and a tall, willowy frame. A permanent shadow of melancholy haunted her eyes, giving her a look that was both cold and somber. But it was all disrupted by a tiny crimson mole on the tip of her nose, a single point of warmth that transformed her from merely beautiful to utterly captivating. If I hadn’t taken this mission, I would never have even breathed the same air as someone so radiant. She was just so, so beautiful. I wondered what kind of brilliant life she would have led if tragedy hadn’t stolen it from her. Unable to resist, I reached out, my fingers tracing the air just above her face, outlining the arch of her brow, the line of her nose. My touch ghosted over her skin, finally coming to rest on her soft, thin lips. Suddenly, her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist like a vice. Her eyes snapped open, clear and sharp. They were filled with a fierce, almost wounded, disbelief. “You have feelings for me?” My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I instinctively dropped my gaze, unable to meet hers. My silence was all the confirmation she needed. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. She lunged, her other hand closing around my throat. “I’ve sunk so low that a stutterer like you has a crush on me?” she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “For fuck’s sake, do you even think you’re worthy?” The storm was back. She grabbed the lamp from her bedside table and hurled it at me. Then a book. Then anything else she could reach. “Get out! Get the hell out of my sight, you disgusting thing! Get out!” I just stood there, frozen, as the objects rained down on me. A sour ache filled my chest, making each breath a painful struggle. Why was she saying this? I knew my place. I knew I was nothing. Other than the secret feelings I held in my heart, I had never once crossed the line. “I… I only… I only like you… in s-secret. Is… is that not allowed either?” “NO!” she screamed, her face flushed with fury. She clenched her fists, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Get out of here right now, or I swear to God I will smash your face in.” Numbly, I turned and stumbled out of the apartment, for the first time completely and utterly lost. 4 I’ve always considered myself to have thick skin. Elara had put me through hell over the years, but nothing had ever hurt like this. My face burned with shame and humiliation. I buried my head in my hands, a wave of regret washing over me. Why did I let her see? Why? The plan had always been simple: stay with her, help her heal, and then, once she was whole again, quietly disappear from her life. Just as I was sinking into my misery, the System appeared, its familiar blue interface glowing in the dark. It paused. 【Why are you crying?】 It ran a quick scan of Elara’s vitals and then chirped in surprise. 【Wow! Elara’s psychological state is almost back to healthy levels! Her manic episodes have been much less frequent lately. You’re amazing!】 When I didn’t respond, the System went quiet for a moment, its light flickering as it processed the recent events. Then, it burst out in a string of angry code. 【But that Elara is too much! Yes, she has an illness, but does she even have a heart? For over a thousand days, you’ve been there, taking care of her every single need! How could she say something like that to you?!】 I finally looked up, wiping my swollen eyes. “It’s… it’s not her fault.” “My feelings for her… helping her… that was my choice. She doesn’t have to… to accept me.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe… no matter where I am… I’m just not worthy of being loved.” The System processed my raw emotions and fell silent, unable to offer any comfort. 【Well, if you can’t take it anymore, just let me know,】 it finally said, its voice soft. I nodded, grateful for the small kindness. It’s okay, I told myself one more time. Once Elara’s mental health score reached a stable, healthy level, I would leave. And I would never bother her again. 5 I spent the night on a park bench. The next morning, as always, I went back to the apartment to make Elara breakfast. As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the familiar sight of chaos. The living room was a disaster zone. I swallowed hard and placed the groceries I’d bought on the one clear spot on the counter. Just as I was about to start cleaning, Elara’s voice cut through the silence from behind me. “Where were you? Why didn’t you come home last night?” I jumped, startled. I turned to see her looming over me, her face a dark thundercloud. Fresh blood was seeping from the bandages on her knuckles, dripping onto the floor. I frowned, instinctively reaching for her hand, but she slapped my hand away. “I asked you a question. Why didn’t you come home?” “Y-you… you told me to… to get out.” Elara sneered. “So I tell you to get out and you actually leave? Where did you sleep? Whose house were you at? Who were you with?” Her rapid-fire questions left me bewildered. “The p-park. By myself.” She stared at me for a few seconds, and the fire in her eyes seemed to flicker and die down. “Fine. From now on, you don’t stay out all night. Understood?” She held out her hand. “Bandage it.” I nodded obediently and quickly redressed her wounds. That morning, Elara ate two more bowls of oatmeal than usual. And for the next few days, she was unnervingly calm. Just as I was starting to think things might settle into a new, fragile peace, something shifted. One morning, Elara emerged from her room wearing a tailored suit, looking determined. “Get changed. You’re coming with me.” “…Where are we going?” “We can’t just live off my savings forever. An old family friend of my parents is hosting a gala tonight. He invited me.” A genuine smile spread across my face. “Okay.” Elara was taking the first step back into the world. She was getting better.

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The Story: After the guy I was crushing on shot me down, I went on a commenting rampage in the replies of a male lactation thirst trap. 「Dude, if you’re lactating, go to a hospital.」 「P.S. I’m a doctor.」 A few minutes after I posted it, I got a DM from a stranger. The profile picture was the same as my crush’s. The message said: 「Hi. Can you… can you really fix this?」 1 Ethan had rejected me. Again. It was early fall, that perfect, crisp weather, but he was drowning in a heavy black hoodie, completely hiding his frame. His handsome face, usually framed by nerdy-cute black glasses, looked exhausted. His eyes were downcast. “Chloe,” he mumbled, “I told you. We’re just… not a good match.” I could feel the tears welling up, and I hated it. I looked at him, my vision blurring. “Where are we not a good match? You like me, I know you do…” Ethan looked helpless, his shoulders slumping. He pursed his lips, his voice barely a whisper. “Please don’t cry…” His hand hesitated, then lifted as if to wipe a tear from my cheek. The moment his warm fingertips brushed my skin, he froze, like he’d been electrocuted, and tried to pull back. But I was greedy for the contact. I grabbed his hand, pressing my whole face into his palm. It didn’t last. With a muffled grunt, Ethan yanked his hand away and stumbled back a few steps, clutching his arm to his chest. He saw the hurt on my face and let out a heavy sigh, turning away. He looked… ashamed. “Chloe, you deserve someone better,” he said, his voice raw. “Not… not a freak like me.” He whispered the last two words like a curse. Then, after one last, deep look at me, he turned and practically fled. 2 I went home and bought a six-pack. As I nursed a beer, I replayed every moment with Ethan. We met on a rainy day. He was working part-time at a campus coffee shop. My payment app crashed, and he just paid for my latte himself. He was wearing the standard black employee polo, but on his tall frame, it looked good. He glanced at me, his dark hair falling over his forehead, and then immediately looked away as if I’d burned him. “It’s still pouring out there,” he’d said. “You can take my umbrella.” “What about you?” I’d asked. He kept his eyes down. “It’ll stop soon.” I spent the next week hanging out at that coffee shop until I finally caught his shift again. I gave him back the umbrella and the money for the coffee. Just as I was about to leave, the sky opened up again. I turned around, and he was standing there, holding the umbrella, having taken off his thick glasses. Without them, his eyes were stunning—big and gentle, like a deer’s. He walked me home. Watching his back disappear into the rain, I knew I was a goner. After that, I, a connoisseur of shirtless men on the internet, deleted all my thirst-trap apps. I was going to get Ethan. And I was so sure he liked me, too. When I had cramps, he’d show up with ibuprofen and my favorite takeout. When I was in a bad mood, he’d take me to the movies or to a cat cafe. I thought we were a sure thing. But the first time I confessed, he started pulling away. Rejecting my invitations, taking forever to text back. I considered every possibility. Maybe he was aromantic. Maybe he had a crippling avoidance complex. Maybe, just maybe, he was a giant jerk. But then I got a nasty cold, and he appeared at my door without a word, taking care of me until my fever broke… I just didn’t get it. Why? I took another swig of beer. The image of him running away made my chest ache. I didn’t believe his excuse. You deserve someone better. What a line. It was probably him who wanted someone better. What an asshole. With that thought, I picked up my phone, re-downloaded TikTok, and started scrolling through an endless stream of muscular men in very little clothing. When I landed on a video from the weird “male mommy” niche, something in me snapped. I couldn’t resist leaving a comment. 「Dude, if you’re lactating, go to a hospital.」 「P.S. I’m a doctor.」 After that, I passed out. 3 In the days that followed, my chat with Ethan remained dead silent. It sucked, but life, and my residency, went on. After a soul-crushing week at the hospital, I collapsed onto my couch, and, like an idiot, opened his chat history. 「Hey… what’s up?」 No reply for a long time. I sighed and opened TikTok, ready to lose myself in meaningless eye candy. I noticed my comment from a week ago had blown up with likes. Then I saw a DM notification. A user from my city. Their profile picture… it was the same as Ethan’s. A black cat, curled up asleep. My finger hovered over the message. I tapped. The message read: 「Hi. Can you… can you really fix this?」 I was confused. 「Fix what?」 The reply was instant. 「What you said in the comments.」 I rolled my eyes. It had to be a troll. Still, I played along from a clinical perspective. 「Okay, ma’am, how long has it been since you gave birth?」 Postpartum lactation issues were common. He took a moment to reply. 「I’m a guy.」 I stared at the screen, my patience gone. This was just some weirdo. I typed back three words. 「You’re a creep.」 He didn’t message back. 4 I was missing Ethan like crazy. That weekend, I went back to the coffee shop to see him. But when I asked the manager, she said he’d quit. “It was so sudden, too. He was a great worker. We got way more customers after he started…” I walked out before she could finish, a sour feeling in my stomach. He quit without telling me? Was he really trying that hard to avoid me? Was it all in my head? Did Ethan… never actually like me? I pulled out my phone and typed a message I knew I’d regret. 「You quit without a word.」 「I guess you really hate me that much.」 「I’m done liking you, Ethan.」 I went home, fell into bed, and slept like the dead. 5 When I woke up, still no reply from Ethan. I was used to it by now. I opened TikTok. Before I could even start scrolling, a few red dots popped up on my DMs. It was the same guy. 「Hello. I’m sorry to bother you again.」 「It’s just… I really don’t know what to do.」 A moment later, a picture came through. It was a black t-shirt, tossed on a bed. It looked weirdly familiar. Everything about it was normal, except for a patch of fabric on the chest. It was darker than the rest, a circular stain, like it was soaked with water. I went silent, my medical brain kicking into gear. Theoretically, male lactation could occur, but it was incredibly rare. It was usually linked to severe, prolonged malnutrition, where reintroducing food could trigger hormonal chaos. But the cases were almost nonexistent. 「How long has it been since you ate a proper meal?」 I typed. He replied, 「I eat on time every day. Balanced diet.」 That was strange… 「How long has this been happening? When did it start?」 It took him a minute. 「A while now. I have to change my shirt multiple times a day. If I go out, I have to wear a thick jacket. There’s a lot… and it hurts.」 He paused, then sent another message. 「It started… right after the girl I like confessed to me.」 I slowly typed out a single question mark. 「She told me she liked me, and I was so happy. But then… it started. It wouldn’t stop. My shirt got soaked. I was terrified she’d notice.」 「I thought it was a one-time thing, but it’s been happening ever since. Whenever I think about her, or when we touch… it just… flows.」 I was speechless. I sent back three dots. This had to be a story he was making up. 「I know it sounds fake, but I’m out of options. I’m scared to go to a hospital. I don’t want people to find out, to think I’m some kind of freak…」 I took a sip of water. I must be overtired and hallucinating. Logic wasn’t going to work here. 「Then just stop thinking about her,」 I typed, exasperated. 「I can’t.」 「I thought if I just avoided her, it would get better. But I can’t stop thinking about her.」 I sighed. The fact that I was still engaging proved I wasn’t entirely sane either. 「Then just tell her what’s going on.」 「No. I can’t. She’ll be disgusted…」 I didn’t know if I was going crazy or if the world was. I shook my head, put my phone down, and decided to ignore him. 6 I tried to sleep, but my mind was racing. Male lactation… My thoughts drifted to another galaxy. If this was real, wasn’t this guy basically a fanfiction trope come to life? A “male mommy”? And it only happened when he was around the person he liked? It was so ridiculous it sounded like something straight out of an AO3 tag. It had to be fake. My thoughts slowly drifted back to Earth. And then, I thought about Ethan. He really wasn’t going to message me again. I missed him so much. He had such beautiful, kind eyes. He was always so reserved, so quiet. But when he looked at me, I felt like I was the only person in the world. Sometimes, just looking into his eyes made the exhaustion from a 12-hour shift at the hospital melt away. God, I missed him… What was he doing right now? Was he thinking of anything? I thought I was tough, but tears started to slide down my cheeks. In the hazy space between waking and sleeping, a series of glowing words appeared in the air. 【Ugh, is this all just pining? This is supposed to be smut! I need the plot to move forward!!!】 【Right? Why is the male lead still avoiding her! They need to meet and just DO IT already! I’m getting impatient!】 【Calm down, guys. The female lead doesn’t know he’s avoiding her because he’s literally lactating. She’d lose her mind if she knew. She’s a total sucker for this trope. Once this part of the plot is over, the good stuff is coming!!】 【If she finds out, she’s gonna drain him dry!】 【He’s got such a repressed, sensitive vibe, it’s so hot. Gets all flustered and wet just thinking about her, but he’s terrified she’ll think he’s gross. Little does he know, she just needs to suckle him to stop it!】 What? 7 I shot up in bed, my heart pounding. The words were gone. I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself it was a dream. This is a fanfic? The main characters? And Ethan is that… guy? Impossible. I fell back onto my pillows. It had to be a dream.

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On Black Friday, a package arrived from my husband, Adrian. Inside was a risqué set of lingerie. At the exact same moment, lines of text began to shimmer into view before my eyes, like comments on a livestream. [Here we go! The classic “mistaken gift” plot point! Next, the original wife is gonna throw a fit, the male lead will be disgusted, and the gentle secretary will swoop in to save the day, leveling up their relationship!] [This cannon fodder wife is so dumb and vicious. She deserves to be divorced!] [Get to the divorce already! I can’t wait to see the main couple get together!] I looked down at the box in my hands, then immediately listed it on eBay. For the title, I wrote: “Brand new, gift from husband, wrong size. For the one it’s meant for.” A second later, the comments exploded. [WTF??? This chick isn’t following the script!] … My name is Sophie Sterling. For three years, I’ve been what everyone sees as a stay-at-home wife. But as of today, I have a new identity: the villainous, disposable first wife in a trashy billionaire romance novel. And these transparent comments scrolling past my eyes? They’re the “reader reviews” from another world. I calmly snapped a photo of the size S black lace lingerie. I even adjusted the lighting. No filter needed; it was genuine silk, and the quality spoke for itself. On the eBay listing, I typed in the price: $9.99. Selling a five-figure piece of designer lingerie for less than ten bucks was a special kind of insult, delivered with a shrug. [Holy crap! $9.99! Is she insane? That’s a limited edition piece from Serafina!] [What do you know? This is a power move! No, wait, this is a psycho move! Shouldn’t a normal woman be storming his office with this and slapping the other woman in the face?] [This character’s thought process is a total enigma. Confirmed.] Ping. My phone chimed. The item had been sold instantly. I glanced at the decisive buyer’s profile, feeling a flicker of amusement, and tapped “confirm shipment.” The click of the electronic lock sounded from the foyer. Adrian was home. He was the picture of corporate power in a tailored charcoal suit, his tall frame and chiseled features radiating a cool detachment. My husband of three years, and the male lead of this novel. The comments erupted with excitement. [The male lead is home! He’s home! The showdown is about to begin!] [Fight! Fight! I live for this drama!] Adrian shrugged off his suit jacket, handing it to a passing housekeeper. His gaze fell on me, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “You got the package?” he asked, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. “I did,” I nodded. His eyes scanned the empty coffee table, and a flicker of something—nervousness?—crossed his face. [He’s nervous! He’s looking for the lingerie! He’s scared!] [Throw it in his face, Sophie! Do something!] The comments were more frantic than I was. I lifted the glass of lukewarm water from the table and took a slow sip. “Oh, you mean the lingerie? The size was wrong. I sold it.” Adrian’s expression froze. He had probably imagined I would cry, scream, or hurl hysterical accusations at him. The one thing he clearly hadn’t anticipated was that I would simply sell it. “You sold it?” His voice dropped ten degrees. [He’s pissed! He’s finally pissed! Now we’re getting to the good part!] [I told you this Sophie was an idiot. Now she’s really done it. Get ready to be kicked to the curb.] I met his icy gaze with a look of pure innocence. “Yes. It seemed like a waste to just let it sit there. Why? Was there… some special meaning behind it?” Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. His eyes were dark pools as he stared at me. After a long moment, he bit out the words, “Don’t start any trouble.” With that, he turned and went straight up to his second-floor study, skipping dinner entirely. I watched him go, the smile on my face widening. Trouble? No. I was just starting to live. The next day, while I was tinkering in my small home studio, my phone rang. It was Adrian’s secretary, Luna White. The female lead of the book. [Here comes the angelic heroine! Ugh, listen to that syrupy, fake voice.] [Don’t talk trash about Luna! She’s a sweet, kind angel!] On the other end of the line, Luna’s voice was exactly as described—soft and cloying, laced with the perfect amount of concern. “Mrs. Spall, hello, this is Luna. Mr. Spall has an upset stomach today and barely touched his breakfast. Did… did you two have an argument?” I put the phone on speaker, continuing to adjust my livestreaming equipment as I replied nonchalantly, “No, not at all. Just a little tiff between husband and wife. Nothing that lasts the night.” Luna seemed to choke for a second, then her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s good… Mrs. Spall, please don’t misunderstand. Mr. Spall didn’t mean it. That gift yesterday, actually… I was the one who asked him to order it for me. I must have entered the wrong address by mistake. I’m so sorry for all the trouble.” [Wow! Our Luna is so kind! She’s even helping the male lead cover his tracks!] [If this Sophie has any sense, she’ll take the olive branch. Too bad she’s a moron.] “Oh? Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “So you were the one who bought it, Ms. White.” “Yes, yes, that’s right,” Luna said quickly. I let out a soft laugh, my tone suddenly becoming much warmer. “Oh, that’s such a shame! I saw it was the wrong size and listed it on eBay yesterday. If I’d known it was yours, I would have just sent it over to you directly.” A strange, strained silence fell on the other end of the line. I could almost picture the constipated look on her pure, innocent face. [Pfft! She sold it! Hahahaha, watch the perfect heroine squirm!] [Nice one, Sophie! She might be an idiot, but that was an accidental bullseye!] After a long pause, Luna finally found her voice. “It’s… it’s fine,” she said stiffly. “Please don’t worry about it.” “How could I not?” I insisted, my enthusiasm unwavering. “Tell you what, send me the link. I’ll buy you a new one, as a little apology gift from me to you. Oh, and make sure you pick the right size this time! Size S. I’ve made a note of it.” I put a special emphasis on “Size S” and the overly familiar tone. This time, Luna couldn’t even pretend. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Spall is calling for me,” she said hastily, and hung up. I set my phone down and smiled at the perfectly adjusted camera. The game had just begun. I opened the streaming app and registered a new account with the ID “Sophie’s Hidden Gems.” No promotion, no announcement. I just started my first-ever livestream. [What’s this idiot up to now? Livestreaming? What’s she gonna stream, herself crying?] [Probably trying to get sympathy so the internet will trash the male lead. Then she’ll beg him to take her back. I know the playbook.] The stream was dead. A few random viewers algorithmically pushed my way, and the unsupportive comments scrolling before my eyes. I ignored them and smiled professionally at the camera. “Hi everyone, I’m Sophie. For my first stream today, I’m offering a special welcome deal.” I held up the item next to me, a beautifully packaged gift box. “This is a hidden gem I found recently—an aromatherapy diffuser. The scent is Snowy Pine, perfect for the bedroom in winter. It’s great for helping you sleep.” [Lame. Who’s gonna buy a stupid diffuser?] [Who does she think she is? Some top-tier influencer?] Ignoring the mockery, I continued my pitch. “This diffuser uses all-natural essential oils, so the ingredients are completely safe. But more importantly, the story behind the brand is really touching…” I spent ten minutes telling the story of the brand’s founder. The viewer count crept from single to double digits. “For today’s debut special, this diffuser, which normally retails for $299, is available in my stream for $99 with free shipping. I only have one hundred in stock. I’m making the link live… now.” As I finished speaking, the shopping cart icon at the bottom of the screen lit up. The comments continued to jeer. [$99? Is she desperate for cash?] [I’ll bet you a bag of chips she doesn’t sell a single one.] The next second, a system notification flashed across the screen: [This item is sold out.] The comments froze. [???] [One hundred units? Gone instantly? Is this stream haunted?] Seeing the cleared inventory, I couldn’t suppress a smile. Of course, these weren’t real customers. They were shills I’d hired in adSpall. Business is war, and for the first battle, you have to project overwhelming force. [Fake! It’s gotta be fake! I knew a housewife couldn’t pull this off!] [Yep! This is all a ploy to trick the male lead into thinking she’s some kind of big shot. So pathetic!] The comments convicted me of being a vain, fraudulent loser. I ended the stream and stretched. My phone buzzed. It was Adrian’s mother, my mother-in-law, Eleanor Spall. I answered, but before I could speak, her shrill, venomous voice shot through the phone. “Sophie! What new drama are you stirring up now! I’m telling you, you’ve dragged the Spall family name through the mud!” [Ooh, the evil mother-in-law has arrived! Sophie is so dead!] [Tear her apart, Eleanor! This woman needs to be taught a lesson!] I held the phone away from my ear and pretended to clean it. “Mom, what was that? The signal’s bad, I can’t hear you.” “Don’t you play dumb with me!” Eleanor’s voice got even louder. “Luna told me everything! Not only did you pick a fight with Adrian, but you sold that poor girl’s belongings! How can you be so malicious!” “Oh,” I said flatly. “So you’re calling to condemn me?” My calm tone seemed to stun her. She sputtered, “Sophie! Don’t you forget your place! Who do you think gave you the life you have today? Without Adrian, you’re nothing! I’m warning you, apologize to Luna this instant, then go beg Adrian for forgiveness. If you don’t, you can get out of this family!” Listening to her hysterical shrieking, my gaze turned to ice. For three years, for Adrian, for this family, I gave up my career and my friends. I traded my ambitions for an apron. I thought I could earn their respect, their love. But in the end, to him and his family, I was nothing more than a possession they could scold and discard at will. [Cry! Beg for forgiveness! Don’t you love the male lead?] [Why isn’t she saying anything? Did the yelling break her brain?] I took a deep breath. When I spoke again, my voice was perfectly calm. “You’re right, Mom.” Eleanor was stunned into silence, likely shocked by my sudden obedience. [She caved already? How boring.] “I shouldn’t have sold Ms. White’s things,” I continued. “And I certainly shouldn’t have made Adrian angry. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Without waiting for her to respond, I hung up. Then, I blocked her number. Take care of it? Of course. Just not in the way they expected. I opened my laptop, logged into a long-dormant email account, and sent a message to my assistant. “Set up a meeting with Leo Hayes at Starlight Entertainment. Tell him I have a business proposal.” With that done, I checked my streaming dashboard. First stream: peak viewership 128, total sales $9,900. Not a spectacular number, but just enough to get the platform’s attention. Sure enough, a call came through from someone claiming to be a platform manager, asking if I was interested in a contract and offering to boost my traffic. I politely declined. I wasn’t interested in traffic someone else gave me. I was interested in creating it. For the next few days, I streamed for two hours every day like clockwork. I sold a random assortment of items, from cheap snacks to mid-range skincare. And without fail, every single item sold out the instant it was listed. My stream became something of a legend on the platform. A streamer with fewer than a thousand followers was pulling in sales numbers that rivaled the top channels. [These numbers are so obviously fake. Why isn’t the platform doing anything?] [I’ve already reported her. Streamers who fake their data should be banned!] [What is she even trying to accomplish? What’s the point of this fake success?] The comments were completely baffled. Adrian finally noticed my “little hobby.” He came home for dinner for the first time in ages. At the table, he tossed his phone in front of me. The screen showed my stream’s homepage. “Sophie, do you think this is funny?” His face was dark, his eyes filled with scorn. “A housewife playing influencer? If you’re not embarrassed, I am.” I slowly swallowed my food and dabbed my lips with a napkin. “It’s my prerogative.” “Your prerogative?” Adrian sneered. “To fake orders, scam people, and make a fool of yourself online? Sophie, this is your last warning. Shut down the stream. I don’t want to see this pathetic garbage ever again.” His tone was dripping with condescension, as if my efforts were nothing more than a childish tantrum. [The male lead is finally laying down the law! So commanding!] [Just apologize, Sophie. Don’t push him any further.] I set down my fork and looked up at him. “And if I don’t?” Adrian’s gaze turned glacial. “Then you’ll find out.” The next day, as I was preparing to go live, I discovered that the bank account linked to my streaming platform had been frozen. Not only that, the credit limit on all of my personal cards had been reduced to zero. This was Adrian’s move. He thought that by cutting off my money, he could clip my wings and force me back into his cage. [Hahaha, nice one! He should have done this ages ago!] [Let’s see her fake her sales now! No money, no power! Checkmate!] The comments were gloating. But watching the mockery scroll by, I didn’t feel a single spark of anger. Because this was the moment I had been waiting for. I opened Twitter and, using my long-standing personal account, “Sophie Sterling,” I posted for the first time in years. “Cash flow issues. Tonight at 8 PM, I’m going live to talk about my ‘soon-to-be-ex-husband’.” Attached were two images: a photo of our marriage certificate, and a screenshot of my frozen bank account. The post was a bombshell. Adrian Spall was the golden boy of the city’s business world—young, brilliant, handsome, and the subject of countless magazine covers. But me, “Mrs. Spall,” had always been carefully shielded from the public eye. My Twitter account was instantly swarmed. #AdrianSpallMarried #WhoIsMrsSpall #AdrianSpallFreezesWifesAssets The three hashtags shot to the top of the trending list, a bright red “VIRAL” icon blazing next to them. Adrian’s call came at the exact moment the story blew up. His voice was tight with barely suppressed fury. “Sophie! Are you insane? Delete that tweet right now!” I laughed softly, my tone lazy. “Mr. Spall, it’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?” I could hear his ragged breathing on the other end, mixed with Luna’s anxious murmuring: “Mr. Spall, please don’t be angry, I’m sure she didn’t mean to…” “Sophie,” Adrian’s voice came again, a tremor in it he couldn’t hide. “What do you want?” What did I want? I looked at the rapidly climbing number of RSVPs for my upcoming stream and smiled. I watched the “reader” comments fly by in a panic. [She’s crazy! This woman is completely nuts! This is mutual destruction!] [Why am I… kind of excited for this?] I spoke clearly into my phone. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Spall. 8 PM. My stream. Let’s settle our accounts in front of the entire country.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385391”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The notification popped up on my phone with a cheerful *ding* that felt like a slap in the face. A $900 debit from the Venmo Shared Pot Liam and I were funding. My heart did a little lurch. I clicked open the transaction details. *Sent by Liam Hale.* *Note: New phone.* What kind of phone costs $900 for a college student? More importantly, that money was our sacred pact—the “Escape Fund” we were building for a post-graduation backpacking trip through Europe. Liam’s family wasn’t exactly struggling; if he needed something, he wouldn’t have to touch our shared savings. My first thought, ever the optimist, was that it had to be a glitch. A bug in the app. I called him immediately. He picked up on the third ring. “Liam? Did you just pull nine hundred bucks from our Shared Pot?” There was a beat of silence, then the sound of a sharp inhale. “You… you saw that already?” I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. I thought we agreed that money was off-limits until graduation? For our trip?” His tone, which had been laced with panic, suddenly softened. It was a practiced shift I was all too familiar with. He let out a little sigh, as if he was the one who was burdened. “Babe, I’m so sorry. My phone totally bricked on me, and my allowance for the month is already gone.” He dropped his voice into that whiny, little-boy cadence he used when he wanted something. “I was just gonna borrow it. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll put it back the second my parents send next month’s cash. You’ll be my sugar mama for a little while, right?” And just like that, with his smooth reassurances, I let it go and hung up, feeling more confused than angry. * That night, I was doom-scrolling on Reddit when a post in r/relationship_advice caught my eye. The title was a classic: *“AITA for using money from the travel fund I share with my rich girlfriend without telling her first?”* The comments were brutal, just as you’d expect. > *“YTA. How do you ‘accidentally’ type in an exact amount and transfer it? You’re not ‘borrowing,’ you’re stealing.”* > *“Sounds less like you want to delete the record and more like you want a sugar mama.”* > *“The audacity is just… wow.”* But it was the original poster’s defensive replies that made my blood run cold. > *“You guys don’t get it. Her parents give her like 3k a month just for fun. What’s a few hundred bucks to her?”* > *“Besides, she’s got a younger brother. You know who’s getting the family business when her dad retires. I’m just helping her use her money now before it all goes to him. You’re all just jealous.”* > *“And for the record, I’m 6’2”, my family owns a chain of successful car dealerships, and I’ve got a trust fund waiting for me. If anyone’s settling here, it’s her, not me.”* I stared at the screen. My allowance is three thousand dollars a month. I have a younger brother. Liam is 6’2” and his dad owns three major car dealerships back in Ohio. It was him. I felt a bitter taste in my mouth and typed a quick reply: *“Spoken like a true leech with a superiority complex. Getting a girlfriend to pay your bills isn’t a personality trait.”* A minute later, my comment was deleted. I tried to shake it off, but the incident planted a seed of doubt. The next few weeks, it was like a switch had been flipped. Liam’s mooching went from subtle to shameless. “Babe, can you spot me for this new PS5 controller?” “Hey, can you order the DoorDash? I’ll totally get you back.” “My Queen, your loyal subject is thirsty. Starbucks run?” “C’mon, my little ATM, just this one thing.” Anytime I hesitated, he’d deploy his full arsenal of emotional manipulation. “You wouldn’t let your boyfriend starve, would you, baby?” “All my friends are so jealous, they say I have the best girlfriend in the world.” “My mom already loves you. She said I hit the jackpot. I’ll be good to you forever, I promise.” The breaking point came when he called me in a panic from a bar where he was out with his frat brothers. I thought it was an emergency, so I threw on sweatpants and rushed over. When I got there, he just grinned, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and nudged me toward the bar. “Babe, can you cover this round? I’m a little short.” * His friends started cheering. “Hale, you dog! You trained her well!” “Damn, Maya, you’re a keeper! Taking care of our boy.” It hit me like a ton of bricks. He didn’t call me because he was in trouble; he called me to be his wallet. My good mood evaporated. The fact that I’d been woken up from a nap didn’t help. “If you didn’t have money,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “why did you offer to buy everyone drinks?” The cheerful noise died down instantly. A dozen pairs of eyes swiveled between me and Liam, whose smile was frozen on his face. He looked at me, a flash of genuine anger in his eyes, as if I’d just broken some unspoken rule. One of his friends, a guy named Chad, stepped in. “Whoa, Maya, take it easy. We all know Liam puts his entire allowance into that Shared Pot for your big Europe trip. He’s doing it for you!” Liam’s expression immediately softened, melting back into that familiar, pathetic look. “Yeah, babe. All my money is your money, remember?” Something about that sentence felt deeply wrong. I hadn’t spent a dime of his money. Our shared pot was for *our* trip. On dates, we either went Dutch or I ended up paying. I’d never taken anything from him. “You’re lucky, Maya,” Chad added, slinging an arm around Liam. “A guy like this? He’s one of a kind. You better lock that down.” As Liam nodded in smug agreement, a wave of unease washed over me. I’m new to relationships, but I’m not an idiot. My mom always told me that if a relationship starts to feel like a transaction, you need to check the balance sheet. And right now, I felt like I was deep in the red. While I was lost in thought, Liam took my phone right out of my hand, used Face ID to unlock it, and paid the tab with my Apple Pay. It was so smooth, so practiced. His friends gave him impressed nods. He shot me a triumphant little smirk that screamed, *See? I’ve got her wrapped around my finger.* I was fuming, but I decided to wait until we were alone to deal with it. Except, I never got the chance. Before the end of the month, my own bank account was empty. I tried to order a pizza and my card was declined. * On a whim, I opened the Venmo Shared Pot again. I hadn’t looked at the balance since the $900 incident. We’d been saving for over a year. Between my leftover allowance and his contributions, there should have been a lot in there. The balance displayed on the screen was $1,500. I felt the air leave my lungs. Impossible. I alone put more than that in every few months. My hands trembling, I opened the full transaction history. And there it was, a horrifying, endless scroll of deceit. *Liam Hale spent $200.* *Liam Hale spent $600.* *Liam Hale spent $1,200.* …all the way down to the latest, *Liam Hale spent $900.* Tiny and massive withdrawals, all from him. I did a quick, shaky calculation in my head. He had bled the account dry of at least five or six thousand dollars. All the money I had diligently saved was gone. Then, the Reddit post flashed in my mind. I went back to his profile. He’d updated it. *“Update: Put the down payment on my Tesla! Is it wrong to use my GF’s allowance to help with the monthly payments?”* I nearly shattered my phone screen with how hard I was gripping it. So that’s what this was all about. It all clicked into place: his constant digs about my brother, the articles he’d send me about how family businesses always go to the son, his warnings that I needed to “protect my assets” from my own family. “You have to look out for yourself, babe,” he’d say, his face a mask of fake concern. “Your parents will set your brother up for life. What about you?” What a joke. What he didn’t know was that my parents had set up a trust fund for me the day I turned eighteen. My brother and I were inheriting everything, 50/50. I felt like the world’s biggest fool. All this time I thought I’d found love, but I’d just found a parasite with a plan. My mom’s voice echoed in my head: *“Trusting the wrong man will cost you more than just money.”* A white-hot rage burned through me, clearing away all the sadness and confusion. Without a second thought, I opened the app and transferred the remaining $1,500 to my personal account. The second the transfer went through, my phone lit up with an incoming video call from Liam. * I answered. His face, twisted in rage, filled the screen. “Maya! Did you touch the Pot?” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Did you fucking move the money from the Pot?” Spittle practically flew from the screen. “That was our down payment for the car! That was for *our future*! Put it back, now! Every single cent!” He looked like a man who’d just discovered his life savings had vanished. I almost laughed. The sheer hypocrisy was breathtaking. I tilted my head, letting the silence hang for a moment before speaking, my voice as cold as ice. “Oh? So it’s okay for you to use it, but not me? Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t most of that money mine to begin with?” “That’s not the same thing!” he roared, completely serious. “I needed it for emergencies!” I let a slow, humorless smile spread across my face and adopted his sweet, pleading tone. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence,” I said, dragging out the last words. “Because I have an emergency, too.” On screen, Liam’s tirade stopped short. The anger in his eyes morphed into pure panic as the gears in his head finally started turning. He swallowed hard. “You… you looked at the transaction history, didn’t you?” he stammered. I just stared at him, giving him a small, knowing smile and a simple “Mm-hmm.” The change was instantaneous. The raging monster vanished, replaced by the calculating manipulator. “Baby, listen, you have to let me explain,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was doing it for us. For our future.” He still didn’t know I knew about the Reddit post. I was morbidly curious to see what new lie he’d spin. I gestured for him to continue. Seeing my apparent willingness to listen, a flicker of his old arrogance returned. “Think about it, Maya. With your brother in the picture, you’re not going to see a cent of the family business. A daughter who marries out is… well, you know. I was just moving our money somewhere safe! I was protecting you!” “Oh, really? How so?” I asked, lowering my eyes to hide the contempt I knew was blazing in them. My feigned interest emboldened him. “Every dollar is accounted for, baby. It’s seed money for our life together. When I’m successful, you’re successful, right? Once we’re married, the only person you’ll be able to rely on is me.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. The audacity. The sheer, misogynistic, self-serving bullshit. As if I’d shrivel up and die without a man to “rely on.” He was still talking, not once mentioning where the money actually went, just rambling about how he was doing this *for me*. “So,” I interrupted, my voice flat, “all the money you took out… you were just saving it for me. Is that right?” “Exactly!” he said, beaming. While he launched into a new self-aggrandizing speech about how men are supposed to manage the finances, my fingers were flying across my phone’s calculator. I came up with a final number. “Okay, great,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “In that case, you’ve been ‘saving’ a total of six thousand, three hundred and fifty dollars for me. I need it back. All of it.” His smile cracked. “Wh-what?” I repeated the number, enunciating every syllable. He immediately reverted to victim mode. “Baby, don’t you trust me?” I put on my most innocent expression. “Of course I do. But like I said, I have an emergency.” His face soured. “You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?” “No.” He looked like a cornered animal. “But… How could you have an emergency? You just got your allowance!” “Funny story,” I said, my voice dripping with false sadness. “My dad saw my last credit card bill and decided to cut me off for the month. So I’m broke. I guess I’ll have to use our ‘future fund’ to get by.” The relief that flooded his face was disgusting, but also exactly what I wanted to see. In his mind, this was just a temporary setback. “Oh! Okay, baby, of course,” he said, magnanimous now that he thought he was still in control. “You can use that money for now. But you have to promise to put it all back the second you get your next allowance!” I smiled, a real smile this time, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I promise.” Because he had no idea what my real plan was. And it was going to cost him a whole lot more than six thousand dollars.

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I spent three years in a coma saving my brother and his three best friends. When I woke up, my parents, my brother, and those three boys were crowded around my bed, their faces a mask of frantic relief. I felt nothing. I knew the truth. I knew that after the hospital called to tell them I was awake, they first finished celebrating their adopted daughter’s birthday before gracing me with their presence. In the three years I was gone, another girl had taken my place. A voice in the back of my mind warned me what would happen next. I was destined to become the villain, a girl so twisted by jealousy that I would fight to win back the affection of my family. I would lose, of course. Despised by everyone, I would end my own life. A cold smile touched my lips. Fight for them? No, thank you. A family like that isn’t worth keeping. 1 On the television mounted in the corner of my hospital room, a local news channel was gushing over the lavish birthday party of Hailey Prescott. The heirs to the city’s most powerful families—the Hudsons, the Graysons, and the Wests—were all in attendance. The camera panned across the handsome young men flanking a beautiful girl, laughing as she blew out the candles on a towering cake. She was the picture of a princess. I stared at the familiar faces on the screen. My father. My mother. My brother, Ethan. And his three best friends—Liam, Noah, and Owen. They already knew I was awake. The nurse had called them from my bedside, and my father had answered. But there they were, their smiles serene and undisturbed, celebrating until the party reached its perfect, glittering conclusion. By the time the frantic footsteps echoed down the hall, the nurse had already finished a round of physical therapy with me, and I was settling back into my pillows, exhausted. The door flew open, shattering the quiet. “Audrey!” “Oh my God, Audrey, you’re finally awake!” Their voices were a tidal wave of emotion, their faces etched with a desperate joy, as if my return was the single most important event in the world. It was a convincing performance. But I had seen the television. I had seen the soft, adoring way they looked at another girl. And I knew how long it had taken them to get here. I might have believed them, otherwise. I might have believed they were still the same parents, the same brother, the same boys who had been my entire world. My expression remained flat. I let my gaze drift past them to the girl standing hesitantly in the doorway, still wearing the beautiful white dress from the party. My mother followed my line of sight and immediately beckoned her forward with a warm, gentle smile. “Audrey, this is your sister, Hailey. She’s the daughter of your father’s dear friend who passed away. We adopted her three years ago.” She pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. “These last three years… they’ve been unbearable. Having Hailey with us has been a godsend. I don’t know how I would have survived otherwise.” “She’s right,” my father added, his voice thick with emotion. “Hailey was a gift from heaven, sent to us in our darkest hour.” “And now you have a sister, Hailey,” Ethan said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Go on, say hello to your big sister.” Hailey looked at me, her eyes shining with what looked like unshed tears. “Audrey,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I’m so glad you’re awake. Mom, Dad, and Ethan have been so worried. I always said… I always told them I would leave this family in a heartbeat if it meant you’d come back to us.” “Hailey, don’t say such silly things,” my mother scolded gently, pulling her into a full embrace. “Don’t you ever talk about leaving us, do you hear me? You are a part of this family. Now you just have a sister to share it with.” “That’s right, sweetheart. No one is ever letting you leave,” my father added, his tone full of affection. “You’re our little sister now,” Ethan said, feigning a wounded look. “Are you trying to break our hearts? You wouldn’t leave your big brother, would you?” Hailey blushed, stamping her foot playfully. “Ethan, stop! Of course not.” The display of affection made them all chuckle. “And if anyone at home gives you a hard time,” said Liam Hudson, one of the three boys I’d grown up with, “you can always come stay with me. I’ll make sure you’re treated like the princess you are.” “Hey, what about me?” Noah Grayson cut in with a mock-offended huff. “My house is way more fun.” “Please, she likes me best,” Owen West chimed in. “In your dreams, West!” the others shot back. “Don’t even think about it, you guys,” Ethan declared, stepping forward possessively. “Hailey is a Prescott princess. No one is ever going to give her a hard time.” My parents just shook their heads, smiling fondly. Hailey, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, leaned against my mother. And just like that, the center of the universe in my hospital room shifted, orbiting entirely around the girl in the white dress. I, the patient in the bed, was an afterthought. Bored, I turned my head on the pillow, and for a split second, my eyes met Hailey’s. Her expression was unguarded. It was pure, unadulterated triumph. 2 I used to be the Prescott princess. Ethan and his friends were my self-appointed royal guard. I was their little sister, their mascot, the one they swore to protect forever. They promised that if anyone ever hurt me, they would make them pay. I grew up cocooned in their love and devotion. That’s why, three years ago, I did what I did. The car crash was a nightmare of twisted metal and shattered glass. My brother and his three best friends were thrown around the cabin like rag dolls, a collage of broken bones and blood. I was the only one who had been wearing a seatbelt, the only one with minor injuries. I smelled the gasoline first, a sharp, sickening scent. Then I saw the flicker of flames near the engine. I knew what was coming. Tears streamed down my face as I screamed their names, pulling them one by one from the wreckage. But they were dead weight, and I couldn’t drag them far enough away. The fire was growing. I looked at their unconscious forms—the boys who had protected me my whole life—and made a decision. My body shook with terror, but my resolve was absolute. I climbed into the driver’s seat of the mangled SUV. It was a wreck, practically begging to fall apart, but it had to move. I had to get it away from them. My foot found the accelerator. I drove the burning car as far as I could, my hands trembling on the wheel. When I finally slammed on the brakes, I scrambled out, trying to run, but it was too late. The explosion threw me into the air, and my world went black. For three years, I was lost in a long, dark dream. In that dream, my family adopted a girl my age. At first, my brother would scold her for touching my things. “That’s my sister’s,” he’d say. “Don’t touch it.” The three boys ignored her completely, telling everyone their only little sister was Audrey Prescott. But slowly, things changed. The new girl was a master of a certain kind of vulnerability—a quiet, helpless fragility that wormed its way into their hearts. Their weekly visits to my bedside became monthly, then quarterly. The last time they came, six months had passed without a word. They were too busy. Busy taking the new girl to theme parks, to see the northern lights. Busy helping her with homework, celebrating her birthday… Then, in the dream, I woke up. They arrived late, the new girl in tow. Raised on their affection, I was furious when I saw how they fawned over her at my bedside. I demanded she leave my room. But no one cared about my feelings anymore. Gently, patiently, they told me I had to accept my new sister. After that, the dream turned into a waking nightmare. Hailey framed me for one thing after another, and they never believed me. They only saw her tears, her trembling fear. They called me selfish, spoiled, a disappointment. The very same people who had nurtured my spirit, who had celebrated my every whim, now looked at me with disgust when I fought back. The last thing I remember from that dream is running out of the house, unable to bear their cold eyes another second. I ran right into the street, and my short, ridiculous life ended under the wheels of a car. When I woke up for real this time, I found the dream had been a prophecy. They had adopted a girl named Hailey. When they heard I was awake, they didn’t drop everything and rush to my side. They finished her birthday party. And standing in my hospital room, they had already forgotten I was there. The dream wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. Or maybe, it was my first life. This time, things would be different. My father finally seemed to remember I was in the room. “Audrey,” he said, his voice soft. “Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?” All eyes turned back to me. I looked at each of them, a faint smile on my lips. “I just have one question. I saved my brother and his three friends three years ago, right?” 3 My question hung in the air, met with a stunned silence. It was as if I’d broken some unspoken rule. This wasn’t something I was supposed to bring up; it was a debt they understood, the very reason they had rushed—belatedly—to the hospital. “Of course, Audrey,” Ethan said, his voice regaining its gentle warmth. “You were so brave that day. We’re all so incredibly grateful to you. We owe you everything.” Liam, Noah, and Owen nodded in solemn agreement. “Audrey, thank you,” Hailey said, rushing to my side and grabbing my hand. Her grip was tight, her voice passionate. “Thank you for saving Ethan, and Liam, and Noah, and Owen. Because of you, I got to know them. I don’t know how I could ever repay you. If you wanted my life in exchange for yours, I would give it, right now.” As she named each of them, their expressions softened into pure adoration. You could practically see the affection pouring out of them. My smile turned wry. I gently pulled my hand from her grasp. “Don’t worry. I just woke up. Your life is of no use to me.” Their brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of displeasure crossing their faces. I ignored it and looked directly at the four of them. “So… could you turn that gratitude into cash? A million dollars from each of you would be enough. Is that possible?” Another wave of shock rolled through the room. “Audrey, what are you talking about?” my mother said, her brow creased with disapproval. “You’re a Prescott. You don’t need to worry about money.” “She’s right, sweetheart,” my father added, his tone placating. “The most important thing right now is for you to get better. When you come home, you’ll be the same young lady of the house you always were, with everything you could ever want.” The irony was so thick I could taste it. In my dream-life, I never cared about money. I never would have dreamed of mentioning what I did, of turning my sacrifice into a transaction. It would have felt cheap, insulting to our bond. But then, back at the house, they had used money to control me. Every time I “bullied” Hailey, every time I “acted out,” they cut off my allowance, froze my accounts. I couldn’t even pay for school activities. They punished me with poverty, and my life was miserable. If I didn’t secure my own funds now, my heroic act would be slowly erased, negated by every fabricated transgression against Saint Hailey. In my dream, a voice had offered to help me, to help me win back their love. I had refused it then, and I refused it now. I had no interest in fighting for scraps of affection. “I was in a coma for three years,” I said calmly. “I’m eighteen now. I’d like to have some money of my own. To buy whatever I want, whenever I want. To be a little reckless. Can’t I do that?” My reasoning seemed to soothe their discomfort. The tension in the room eased. “Audrey, Mom and Dad gave me some spending money,” Hailey chimed in, her expression bright and earnest. “It’s almost a million. You can have all of it! I’m so happy I can finally do something for the boys!” Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. “Hailey, you don’t need to give her your allowance.” “You’re such a sweetheart,” Noah cooed, gently tapping her on the head. They all smiled, shaking their heads at her adorable generosity. “I just wanted to help…” Hailey mumbled, sticking her tongue out playfully. My mother wrapped her in another loving hug. In the end, of course, they each transferred a million dollars to my account. Four million dollars. I would make it last. This time, I wouldn’t be helpless. This time, there would be no tragic ending. As they were leaving, Liam Hudson glanced back at me, his eyes narrowed in thought. He looked at me as if he was seeing a stranger, as if something was fundamentally, irrevocably wrong. 4 After two weeks in the hospital, my body had recovered enough for me to go home. “Audrey, look at this room,” my mother said, leading me down the familiar hallway. “Hailey insisted you have it. She even put her favorite stuffed rabbit on your pillow.” Insisted. The word was absurd. This had been my room since I was born. After three years in a coma, I now needed someone else’s permission to live in it. I smiled sweetly. “That’s so thoughtful of Hailey. But if she’s already settled in, I wouldn’t want to displace her. I can take another room.” My mother looked taken aback, as if my politeness was a foreign language. “It’s no problem, Audrey,” Hailey said, stepping forward. “This is the biggest and brightest room. It should be yours.” My parents and Ethan gazed at her, their expressions melting with love for her selfless, considerate nature. This was clearly nothing new. I shook my head again. “You’ve already made it your own. It wouldn’t be right for me to kick you out just because I’m back. Dad, Mom, and Ethan would think I was being terribly selfish.” I remembered this scene from my dream-life. Ethan had yelled at me, saying Hailey was having trouble sleeping in her new, smaller room, all because she’d given me the better one, and yet I still found ways to torment her. Pathetic. “I’ll take another room,” I continued, my voice firm but pleasant. “Or I can stay in the maid’s quarters. We can’t have Hailey feeling slighted, now can we?” I pre-empted the very accusation they would have leveled against me. They all paused, a flicker of confusion in their eyes. They knew something was off about what I said, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it. “Audrey, I wouldn’t feel slighted at all, I—” “Then it’s settled. You stay right where you are,” I interrupted smoothly. “You’re the little sister everyone adores, after all.” And so, I was given another room. … I was at my desk, studying, when my door opened without a knock. Hailey waltzed in, carrying a small platter of fruit. “Audrey, you’ve been cooped up in here all day. I brought you a snack.” She smiled, walking toward me. I glanced up. “Thanks. Just leave it on the table.” “Okay,” she chirped, but instead of going to the table, she walked directly toward my desk. Then, as if in slow motion, her hands “slipped.” The platter tilted, and fruit tumbled to the floor. “Ah!” she shrieked, stumbling backward and collapsing dramatically onto the carpet. “What’s going on?” My father, mother, and Ethan rushed in, drawn by the scream. “Hailey!” They hurried to her side, helping her up. “Mom…” Hailey whimpered, burying her face in my mother’s shoulder. She was trembling. “I… I was just worried Audrey was working too hard… I only wanted to bring her some fruit…” Their eyes moved from the scattered fruit on the floor to my impassive face. They didn’t need any more explanation; the story wrote itself in their minds. “Audrey, Hailey was being thoughtful,” Ethan said, his brow furrowed in sharp disapproval. “If you didn’t want the fruit, you could have just said so. Why did you have to push her?” “You can’t treat your sister this way,” my mother scolded, her arm wrapped protectively around Hailey. “What has gotten into you?” “Audrey, you will apologize to your sister right now,” my father commanded. From the safety of my mother’s embrace, Hailey shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. 5 Without a word, I turned to my laptop and clicked a file. The screen came to life, showing a live feed from the small security camera I had placed on my bookshelf. Their heads snapped toward the screen. The video showed the entire scene, clear as day. Hailey walking in, deliberately tipping the platter, and throwing herself to the ground. My hands had never left my desk. Hailey’s face went pale. She had never imagined I’d be recording. “As you can see, I didn’t lay a finger on her,” I said calmly. “So, I don’t believe an apology is in order.” I turned my gaze to Hailey. “You should really be more careful, Hailey. You wouldn’t want to trip and hurt yourself again.” Her expression flickered. Then, her eyes filled with tears. “I… I was just so nervous,” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I know you’ve been so cold to me, Audrey. I know you blame me for being here, for not being the only daughter anymore.” She buried her face in my mother’s shoulder again, her body wracked with sobs. “I know you resent that Ethan and the boys are close to me. I was so scared of making you angry that I… I panicked and lost my balance. I’m so sorry…” she wailed. “Mom, I’m so scared she hates me, that she thinks I’ve stolen everything that was hers…” My mother immediately began stroking her hair. “Oh, sweetie, don’t think like that. You haven’t stolen anything. You’re our daughter, too. My love for you and Audrey is equal.” “You have such a wild imagination, silly girl,” Ethan said, shaking his head with a fond sigh. He then looked at me. “But Audrey, you need to understand why she feels this way. You have been incredibly cold to her. We all love you just the same.” “Audrey, Hailey is a good girl,” my father added, his voice laced with disappointment. “You can’t keep being so difficult.” And just like that, even with video evidence, the narrative shifted. As it always did in my dream-life, every road led back to my supposed cruelty. The fact that I had just been falsely accused was already forgotten. The anger and frustration that once would have consumed me were gone, replaced by a chilling calm. I smiled at them. “I’m not sure why Hailey would think that. I don’t feel like anything has been stolen from me. Or does she feel like she’s stolen something from me? The truth is, I’m still adjusting after being unconscious for three years. I suppose I’m a bit distant with everyone right now.” Hailey froze, her eyes darting nervously. Then the waterworks started again. “I… I’m just so afraid you don’t like me. I know I’m not a real Prescott, not like you…” And with that, the ridiculous farce concluded as it always did: with the entire family comforting a weeping Hailey. 6 My aunt and uncle came to visit. They suggested to my parents that since I had recovered, we should have a party to celebrate. My parents, as if the thought had never occurred to them, eagerly agreed. On the morning of my welcome home party, Hailey appeared at the breakfast table dressed in a plain, simple dress. My parents and Ethan gasped. “Hailey, what are you wearing?” my mother asked, rushing to her side. Hailey bit her lip, glancing at me as I calmly ate my toast. “Today is Audrey’s party. She’s the guest of honor. I don’t want to steal her spotlight, so I thought I’d dress down.” “Oh, you silly girl,” my mother said, hugging her tightly. “Yes, it’s a party for your sister, but it’s a celebration for the whole family. You should look just as beautiful as her.” “That’s right,” Ethan added with a smile. “Go change into something gorgeous. Let everyone see the beautiful Prescott sisters, side by side.” Hailey continued to bite her lip, her gaze fixed on me. “But… I’m worried Audrey will mind. I don’t want to cause any friction in the family…” Ethan’s brow creased as he looked at me. “Audrey, Hailey is your sister. You shouldn’t be petty about something like this. There’s no such thing as ‘stealing the spotlight’ between sisters.” “Your brother is right,” my father chimed in sternly. “As the older sister, you need to be more gracious. A family stands together.” I took a slow sip of milk. “Excuse me,” I said, looking at them. “Did I say I minded?” They all fell silent. “Audrey, I really don’t want to outshine you,” Hailey said, her voice laced with false urgency. “Please don’t be mad…” Ethan’s expression soured again. I offered a placid smile. “Hailey, you’re overthinking it. I’ve just come out of a three-year coma. My brain is still rebooting. Honestly, I don’t have the energy to mind much of anything.” Hailey paused, looking momentarily thrown. It was as if my refusal to take her bait was a move she hadn’t prepared for. “Well, as long as Audrey doesn’t mind,” my mother said cheerfully. “Come on, Hailey. Let’s go upstairs and find you a beautiful dress and some jewelry to match.” She led her darling, misunderstood daughter away. Later, at the hotel, I stood in the dressing room, studying my reflection. My body was thin and pale, a testament to three years of atrophy. Thankfully, I’d already been nearly 5’3” before the accident, so my height hadn’t suffered too much. As I stepped out, I heard voices from a nearby sitting area. Hailey was there with Liam, Noah, and Owen. “I really didn’t want to wear this dress,” she was saying, her voice a soft, troubled murmur. “I think Audrey’s a little upset about it, but Mom, Dad, and Ethan insisted…” “Why would Audrey be upset?” “Hailey, you can’t always be the one to back down, you know?” “Wear what you want to wear. Don’t let anyone else dictate that for you.” They were all cooing, comforting her. “It’s okay,” Hailey continued with a sigh. “Audrey saved your lives. She was in a coma for three years because of you. She probably resents how close I’ve gotten to you all. She thinks I’ve taken her place. So, for tonight, I want her to know I’m not competing with her. I’ll just be here to support her. Tonight, Audrey will be the star, and I’ll be perfectly happy to be the green leaf to her beautiful flower…” Her voice was so full of tragic grace it was nauseating. “Hailey! Don’t say things like that,” Liam said firmly. “We care about you because you deserve it. Audrey… she’s been asleep for three years. Her mindset is probably still stuck at fifteen. She was always headstrong. You’ve probably had a terrible time at home with her.” “She saved us, it’s true,” Owen added coolly. “But she also demanded payment the second she woke up, as if she was afraid we wouldn’t be grateful. So you don’t need to bend over backwards for her.” “Even though this is her party, and she’ll be the center of attention tonight,” Noah said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you’ll always be the center of ours.” I heard their words, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned and walked away. 7 The ballroom was filled with guests. Hailey moved through the crowd like a seasoned socialite, a symphony of perfectly timed smiles and charming greetings. “Uncle, Auntie, it’s so good to see you.” She was a natural. I, on the other hand, was a ghost. After three years away, I was a stranger to these people, and they kept their distance, watching me with cautious curiosity. This, of course, was exactly what Hailey wanted. She kept repeating how she didn’t want to steal my spotlight, which was her way of ensuring she stole all of it. Liam, Noah, and Owen hovered around her, a protective shield. It was as if they were afraid she might feel neglected at my party, that she might actually have to cede the stage to me for a single evening. Soon enough, the room was filled with the sound of Hailey’s laughter, her graceful form the center of every conversation. The praise for her was endless. From across the room, she shot me another triumphant look. When it was time to cut the cake, my father smiled broadly and pointed toward the boys. “Audrey, this cake is huge! Why don’t you ask one of your old friends to help you cut it?” Liam, Noah, and Owen all exchanged a quick, uncomfortable glance with Hailey. They avoided my eyes, a clear reluctance on their faces. They didn’t want to be seen standing next to me, to give anyone the wrong idea. I remembered this moment from my first life. I had happily called out for Ethan and Liam to join me. In my mind, they were my closest allies, my family. We had a bond forged in love and sealed in sacrifice. I thought it was unbreakable. But they had hesitated. It was only when Ethan had called Hailey over to join them that they’d finally moved, intending to come as a group. I had refused. I told them I didn’t consider her my sister and I didn’t want her touching my cake. Why should I accept this stranger who had suddenly appeared in my life? They all called me selfish. My parents were furious. Hailey had burst into tears, claiming she didn’t belong, and ran out of the ballroom. And without a second’s hesitation, my father, my mother, my brother, Liam, Noah, and Owen had all chased after her, screaming her name. They left me alone in a room full of strangers, their whispers and judgmental stares burning into my back. I was so heartbroken, so confused, I had shoved the entire cake onto the floor. I couldn’t understand how three years could erase everything. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I looked past the three boys. “Daniel.” Liam, Noah, and Owen seemed to let out a collective, relieved sigh. Ethan frowned, but his tone remained gentle. “Ask Hailey to join you, too.” I shook my head. Hailey’s face fell, a mask of perfect, wounded innocence. The boys’ expressions immediately hardened, their eyes flashing with disapproval. They thought I was doing exactly what Hailey had warned them I would do: icing her out, bullying her. Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Audrey, I—” “I was asking my cousin, Daniel Prescott, to help me cut the cake,” I said, my voice clear and firm. I looked past Ethan to my uncle’s adopted son, who was standing quietly behind him.

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01 Hearing those words from my CEO, a man who clearly wasn’t operating on the same planet as the rest of us, made a muscle in my jaw twitch. One in the morning. In a few hours, I’d have to get up and do it all over again. Not even a damn robot could keep this pace. My body was screaming for rest. Figuring the worst he could do was chew me out tomorrow, I ignored him, rolled over, and fell back into a dead sleep. I didn’t wake up until nine. Nine glorious, uninterrupted AM. I dragged myself out of bed, my eyes burning from staring at a screen all day, every day. That dreaded number, 40, was creeping up on me, and I could feel it in my bones. Eight hours of sleep wasn’t a luxury anymore; it was a bare minimum I rarely got. I grabbed a granola bar, chugged some coffee, and headed to the office. I work for a tech company in Austin. Our official hours are a “flexible” 10 AM to 10 PM. “Leo, you finally made it,” Brenda from accounting whispered as I passed her desk, her eyes wide. “Watch your back today. Sterling went on a rampage this morning. Heads were rolling.” I nodded, trying to look concerned, but I wasn’t too worried. I was an old-timer here, over a decade with the company. A new-money CEO, parachuted in to “optimize efficiency,” could yell at me, but he couldn’t just get rid of me. Or so I thought. The moment I sat down, Sterling appeared at my cubicle. “Leo. My office. Now.” My stomach dropped. This felt different. “Leo,” he began, not even waiting for me to sit. “You’re a veteran here. How can you have such a complete lack of professional commitment, of ownership?” He got straight to the point. “You left around ten, which means you were home by one. Factoring in your commute, you put in, what, an hour and a half of overtime? Let’s round down to one, generously. Take away time for breaks, zoning out, water cooler chat… that basically means you did zero overtime. That’s not the kind of dedication we expect. The board and I are very disappointed.” I felt a surge of adrenaline. “Mr. Sterling, that’s not fair,” I stammered. “I was exhausted yesterday. We’re in the middle of renovating our house, and on top of that, I’m just… I’m not 25 anymore. I can’t pull all-nighters like I used to. But I swear, yesterday was a one-off. You can check my keycard logs. I’m usually one of the last ones to leave. I see the sunrise over the highway more than I see my own wife.” “Tired?” He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You’re tired? Who isn’t tired? It’s one in the morning, and you’re going home to sleep? After a measly twelve-hour day?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “If you can’t handle the pace, Leo, maybe it’s time to step aside and make room for someone who can. Someone hungry. You could use the rest, right?” “Wait… what?” I asked, my blood running cold. 02 And just like that, his true endgame was on the table. “Are you… are you firing me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “No, no, no,” Mr. Sterling said, shaking his head with a phony smile. “We don’t fire family, Leo. You’re graduating. You’re graduating from this company and moving on to give back to society. With your skills and experience, I have no doubt you’ll build something amazing out there, something that will make all of us proud.” He paused, letting the corporate nonsense hang in the air. “Considering the immense investment this company has made in you over the years, we’re hoping you’ll do the right thing and tender your resignation.” My mind went blank. So that’s why he was having this chat, not HR. He didn’t want to pay my severance package. I started here right out of college. More than a decade. I’d poured my life into this place, from a scrappy startup to a publicly-traded company. I wouldn’t say I was a hero, but I damn well kept the lights on more than once. I remembered a time, during the last recession, when I single-handedly ran three departments for almost a year because we couldn’t afford to hire. I was always in the top five for overtime. It’s how I survived for so long. And now, because my body was finally starting to rebel, he wanted to toss me out? And the timing couldn’t be worse. I had a mortgage, a car payment, rent on a temporary apartment while the house was being renovated. My wife was pregnant. I was stretched thinner than I’d ever been in my life. And these bastards didn’t even want to give me the severance I was legally owed. They wanted me to just quit. Squeeze the orange dry and toss the peel, right? My vision started to blur with rage. I wanted to leap across the desk and smash that smug look off his face. But then I thought of my mortgage. My car payment. The baby. My voice softened, cracking with desperation. “Mr. Sterling, please, it was a misunderstanding. I can still grind, I promise. Yesterday was an exception, I wasn’t feeling well. Ask anyone on the team. Just give me another chance. I won’t let you down.” My voice was practically a whimper. A buddy of mine in Seattle had jumped off a bridge last year after losing his job. The mortgage on a house that was suddenly underwater and a mountain of debt had crushed him. I had a family. I couldn’t let that happen. 03 “I’m sorry, Leo. The decision is final,” Sterling said, his face a cold, indifferent mask. “Get your things in order. We’ll expect your resignation letter by the end of the day.” “Is this about the Christmas party?” I blurted out. He flinched, just for a second. “I can apologize. I can even sign an NDA.” Last year, at the company Christmas party, I’d taken a wrong turn looking for the bathroom and walked in on him and his executive assistant in a… very compromising position. I never said a word to anyone. The office rumor mill was completely silent on the matter. He had to know I’d kept my mouth shut. “This is a purely professional decision, Leo. It has nothing to do with my personal life,” he said, but the tight, vicious little smile playing on his lips told a different story. “Mr. Sterling, please,” I begged one last time. “My wife is pregnant. Our baby is due in two months. I’m the only one with an income. You have to understand.” At that moment, if he’d told me to get on my knees, I would have done it without a second thought. “Your wife is pregnant and you’re slacking off?” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Leo, your priorities are all wrong. Maybe you can reflect on that at your next job. Don’t make the same mistake twice.” He was a monster. He didn’t give a damn if I lived or died. Seeing that his heart was made of stone, my resolve hardened. The desperation turned into cold, hard fury. “No,” I said, my voice firm and clear. “I’m not resigning. You want me gone? You’ll have to fire me.” If they fired me, I’d at least get a severance package to tide me over. And if they decided the payout was too expensive and kept me on, well, that worked too. I had made my decision. Sterling chuckled, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “You tech guys are all the same. So rigid. So black and white.” He leaned back in his chair. “Leo, there are a million ways to make an employee want to resign.” His words hung in the air, and my heart sank into my shoes. 04 I never wanted a war with the company. A guppy can’t fight a shark. But I was cornered. I could starve, but my wife and my unborn child couldn’t. The bank that held my mortgage certainly couldn’t. If my life was going to be ruined, I was at least going to get what I was owed. A couple of weeks went by in a haze of anxiety. Then, I found out what Sterling meant by “ways.” When I got my monthly pay stub, I saw the performance review section. In bright red letters was a grade I’d never seen before: D-. A ‘C’ was barely passing; it meant you got your base salary and nothing else. A D-? It meant that not only was I getting zero bonus, but they were also docking my pay. I was the first employee in company history to receive a D-minus. An email went out to the entire company, a “notice of underperformance,” publicly shaming me. They took my money and my dignity in one fell swoop. My paycheck wasn’t even enough to cover the mortgage payment. I stormed down to HR. The director, a woman who usually avoided eye contact, explained that my review was personally determined by Mr. Sterling and that he had the “final say.” So I went to his office. He was ready for me. He had a list. He systematically tore me apart across a dozen metrics: productivity, innovation, professional ethics, growth rate, teamwork. “See, Leo? I told you that you weren’t keeping up with the company’s dynamic pace,” he said with that infuriatingly calm smile. “The metrics don’t lie.” “We have a shark mentality here. It’s a meritocracy. For there to be winners, there have to be losers. I don’t like giving you a D-, but when ranked against everyone else in the company, your performance was at the very bottom.” “The Chairman himself saw the numbers,” he added, twisting the knife. “He was so angry he wanted to make a public example of you. I’m the one who talked him down to a simple company-wide notice. I saved you what little face you have left. You should be thanking me.” Listening to his shameless lies, I just turned and walked out. He wanted to say I was bad at my job? Fine. He was about to find out just how bad I could be. 05 If Mr. Sterling wanted to critique my job performance, then I was going to give him a whole lot of my job performance to critique. My direct reporting line was to him. And lately, he’d taken to ignoring any report I submitted, letting it sit in his inbox for days. I wasn’t having it anymore. I opened the company-wide Slack channel. @channel Hey @The Chairman @Mr. Sterling, my Q3 performance report has been in your inbox for two days. I see the marketing team’s report, submitted yesterday, has already been approved. Just wondering about the status of ours? Thanks! I didn’t just tag him; I tagged the big boss, the Chairman of the board. Guys like Sterling, these professional managers, live and die by what the man who hired them thinks. They care more about the Chairman’s opinion than their own family’s. As for pissing off the Chairman? What did I have to lose? If he was a good guy, he wouldn’t have hired a shark like Sterling to gut his own loyal employees in the first place. Within seconds, a reply from Sterling popped up in the channel: Handling it. Less than five minutes later, my report was rejected. I could feel his rage through the screen. This was exactly what I expected. How else could he prove my “poor performance” if he didn’t reject my work? But I wasn’t worried. The show was just getting started. At 1 AM that night, I calmly re-submitted my revised report. And once again, I went to the company-wide Slack. @The Chairman @Mr. Sterling, revised report submitted. Ready for review at your earliest convenience. This time, Sterling replied directly in the channel: Leo, you can DM me for things like this. No need to ping the entire company every time. The second his message appeared, I uploaded a series of screenshots: my unanswered direct messages to him, sitting there unread, while conversations with other employees from the same time period were clearly answered. @Mr. Sterling, I would, but you never respond to my DMs. I notice you respond to others, though, so it’s hard not to feel like I’m being singled out. This seemed like the only way to get a response. The channel went quiet, but I could feel hundreds of my coworkers across the city turning into digital voyeurs, grabbing their popcorn. I’d been there for over a decade. People knew me. They knew who to believe. That’s slander. Do not make baseless accusations, he shot back, his panic palpable. 06 Then can you explain why the report from the admin department, which was submitted much later than mine, was approved, while you haven’t even opened my file? I typed back, keeping my tone polite and professional. He had no answer. I didn’t get into a flame war with him. That would be unprofessional. I simply reminded him that the project was on a deadline and I was awaiting his approval. A minute later, the report was rejected again. The next second, I was on the phone with the Chairman. A minute after that, an emergency video conference was initiated. Me, Sterling, and a few other senior managers. I calmly presented my case, doing a side-by-side comparison of my report with similar reports from previous years, as well as with reports from other departments this year. Very quickly, my report was approved. The Chairman looked furious. He was mad at me for waking him up and “disrupting team harmony.” But he looked even madder at Sterling, a CEO who couldn’t even manage his own direct report. From that day on, I had my system. Any message I sent to Sterling that wasn’t answered promptly resulted in a public ping in the main Slack channel, tagging him and the Chairman. Midnight, 3 AM, it didn’t matter. My new motto was “Never leave for tomorrow what you can do today.” Under the watchful eye of the entire company, he had no choice but to respond. Sometimes he’d try to play it cool. Leo, I’m in a meeting. My response: @Mr. Sterling As the Chairman said at our last all-hands, efficiency is key. We’re all busy, putting in our 12+ hours a day. I’m just trying to help streamline the process for everyone. Any time a report was rejected more than once, I bypassed him completely. I’d request an “urgent executive review” via video conference, inviting the Chairman. I’d have all my data ready, laying out the objective quality of my work for all the VPs to see. It saved me the trouble of being told my work “wasn’t up to standard.” My favorite time to request his input was between 3 AM and 7 AM. If he didn’t reply, I’d go straight to Slack and start a discussion about our “hustle culture.” I’d passively-aggressively mention how he always pushed us to work until 2 or 3 AM, and how inspiring it was. The implication was clear: the employees were grinding, but the CEO was asleep. He started to look ten years older. But the person who broke first wasn’t him. It was the Chairman. 07 The Chairman simply couldn’t take it anymore. He was an old man. He didn’t have the energy of a 30-year-old. That’s why he hired a professional manager in the first place. But now, thanks to Sterling, his life was more stressful than ever. His phone buzzed at all hours of the night, and his inbox was constantly flooded with emails from me, on which he was always CC’d. I was creating a meticulous paper trail of my work. Naturally, he was getting pissed at Sterling. And at me. “Leo,” he said, his voice weary during a 5 AM video call I had initiated. “It’s great that you’re so dedicated, but you need to rest, too.” He was trying to give me a hint. I played dumb. “Mr. Chairman, I appreciate your concern. But Mr. Sterling gave my performance last month a D-minus and announced it to the entire company. He said I wasn’t keeping up. So this month, I’m doubling my efforts. I can’t let the company down.” I took a breath and continued, laying it on thick. “Besides, our company has always had a shark mentality. Perform or be eliminated. I’m just trying to perform so I don’t get eliminated.” “And as you always say, sir, we should treat the company like it’s our own. Take ownership. Proactively look for work. I’ve really taken that philosophy to heart, and I’m just trying to put it into practice.” I said it all with a dead-serious face. The Chairman was speechless. “Well… just report to your direct supervisor,” he grumbled, clearly wanting to go back to bed. He liked calling meetings in the middle of the night, but he sure as hell didn’t like being dragged into them. “But sir, don’t you remember? You yourself announced our new ‘flat management structure’ a few months ago,” I said, my voice full of false sincerity. “And at the Christmas party, you personally promised that your door was always open, that we could come to you with any problem, anytime. You wouldn’t go back on your word, would you?” I leaned in closer to the webcam. “Frankly, sir, I’m concerned about Mr. Sterling’s work ethic. I often send him messages and reports, and he won’t respond until hours later, usually after he’s woken up in the morning. Is that acceptable? Does work stop just because you’re asleep? He’s only working twelve-hour days. How does he even find the time to sleep?” The Chairman said one thing, and I countered with three. And every single one of my points was built on the very corporate gospel he and Sterling had been preaching for months. He had no defense. So, naturally, all his fury turned on the one person he could blame. The CEO.

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The day I got fired, I went home to my grandma’s and learned how to play gin rummy. Meanwhile, my entire family was tearing the city apart looking for me. Why? Because my sister, the family’s golden child and a so-called genius jewelry designer, hadn’t been able to sketch a single decent design since I’d left. In my last life, it all came crashing down at the National Jewelry Design Competition. Somehow, my sister, Sophie, always managed to debut designs that were identical to mine, just a heartbeat before I could. Everyone assumed I was the copycat. My own family stood up and testified against me. The company I worked for, citing moral turpitude and damage to their reputation, fired me on the spot and slapped me with a lawsuit for a staggering amount in damages. My family, seeing me as nothing but a liability, threw me out. Crushed by the weight of it all—the public shaming, the loss of my family—I fell into a deep depression. I was killed in a hit-and-run, struck by a car driven by one of my sister’s obsessed fans. Even as my consciousness faded, the question haunted me: How did Sophie always know? How did she always manage to create my exact designs, just one step ahead of me? Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. The day before the National Jewelry Design Competition. 1 “Sadie, you feeling confident about the competition?” The chatter in the office pulled me back from the dizzying vortex of memory. I looked around, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was real. I was back. “Are you kidding? Sadie’s snagged the ‘Designer of the Year’ award three times running,” a colleague, Maria, said, giving me a playful nudge. “She’s got this in the bag.” I managed a weak smile, unable to form words. Because only I knew what was coming. In my last life, I submitted a design I had poured my soul into for days. Onstage, in front of everyone, I was branded a fraud. They displayed two sketches on the main screen. They were identical, down to the last delicate line of filigree on the setting. But the timestamp on the other submission was a full day before mine. And the artist? My dear sister, Sophie Walker. She stood in the audience, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, staring at me with a look of shattered betrayal. She brought a microphone to her lips, her voice trembling as it echoed through the auditorium. “Sadie, how could you? If you were blocked, I would have helped you find inspiration… but to steal my work? Why?” I was frozen. That was my design. It had lived on my encrypted laptop, unseen by any other human eye. Before I could even begin to explain, the crowd erupted. “Get the plagiarist off the stage!” “The nerve of her, showing up with a stolen design!” “She doesn’t deserve to be a designer! Fraud!” I grabbed a microphone to defend myself, but my voice was drowned out by the jeers. A few scattered voices of support were quickly silenced when my own parents took the stage. They held up photos of Sophie, supposedly working through the night at her drafting table at home. They spoke of their profound regret, of how they were ashamed to have a daughter like me, and announced their intention to sever all ties. After that, it was over. No one believed me. Security escorted me out of the building. The moment I turned on my phone, it was a firestorm of hatred. Back at my apartment, I checked my laptop. No viruses, no spyware, no remote access logs. The computer and my physical sketchbooks had been with me at all times. There was no conceivable way the design could have leaked. But Sophie’s was identical. Every idea, every spark of inspiration, every line I drew—it was all mine. I could not have copied her. It was impossible. “Hey, Sadie,” Maria’s voice cut through my thoughts again. “I heard your sister is competing this year too. Any friendly family rivalry? Who do you think will take home the top prize?” Not long after I’d started at this firm, Sophie, by some mysterious coincidence, had gotten hired too. The mention of her name sent a jolt of pure terror through me. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. My sister. Sophie. When she was born, she didn’t cry. While all the other newborns in the nursery were wailing, she was silent. My mother, convinced it was a bad omen, brought in a spiritualist, a so-called “seer” from the mountains. The moment the old woman entered our house, she didn’t look at the baby. She looked at me. She said our fates were crossed, that my life force was a shadow cast over my sister’s, making her weak. She said my presence would slowly drain the vitality from Sophie. The solution, she claimed, was for me to be sent away. Otherwise, Sophie wouldn’t live to see her twenty-fifth birthday. From that day on, my parents’ only goal was to get rid of me. I must have sensed it. I tried desperately to win them over, to show my affection for my new sister. I brought my favorite stuffed bear into her nursery, a peace offering. Her room was already overflowing with brand-new dolls and toys. As I got closer, she looked up at me with a wide, innocent smile. For a second, I thought she liked me. I was wrong. She shoved over a tower of blocks and immediately burst into tears. My parents rushed in. They saw the toppled blocks, their crying infant, and me standing there. The first thing I felt was the sharp sting of my mother’s palm across my face. My ears rang, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood. In that moment, I understood. Sophie and I could never coexist. Soon after, I was sent to live with my grandmother in the countryside. She raised me, a tough but loving woman who did it all on her own. Two years ago, my parents suddenly reappeared, asking me to come back home. I was starved for their affection, so I foolishly agreed. Now, sitting at my desk, I stared at my computer, at the portfolio of my life’s work. Sophie had been a dancer her whole life. When did she ever find the time to study art, let alone jewelry design? I asked a colleague to send me Sophie’s portfolio, the one she’d submitted to the company. He emailed a file. I clicked through it, my blood running cold. Design after design… they were all mine. Identical. Some of them were private sketches, passion projects I had never shown anyone, ideas I was saving for the day I could open my own studio. And they had all been released commercially under her name. How? It was impossible. No one had ever seen those files. My hands shaking, I dragged every single design file on my computer into the trash and permanently deleted them. I had to calm down. I had died once already. There had to be a blind spot, something I was missing. I had dedicated my life to this. I started studying art in high school, earned a full scholarship to the Rhode Island School of Design, and specialized in gemology and jewelry fabrication. My skills were real. My foundation was solid. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Whatever trick she was using, I would beat her. I would simply create something new. I shut down my computer. I couldn’t risk it again. I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil. An idea began to form. I sketched, letting my hand move, channeling the panic and fury into the lines on the page. Hours melted away. Finally, I leaned back, looking at the finished piece. It was a ring. The band was woven from delicate threads of rose gold, culminating in a white gold violet, its petals cradling a rare, deep purple sapphire. It was elegant, mysterious, and noble. I would call it “Violet’s Kiss.” Suddenly, a gasp came from across the office. “Oh my god! You guys, Sophie Walker just posted a new design. It’s… wow. It’s stunning.” I frowned. A new design? “That’s gorgeous! The detail is insane.” “Sadie, your sister is a prodigy! You must be so proud.” Praise echoed through the room. Everyone was huddled around their phones. I pulled out mine, my thumb trembling as I opened Instagram. There it was. A new post from Sophie. The caption read: Working hard to bring more beauty into the world for all of you. Here’s a little something I’m calling ‘Violet’s Kiss.’ The image was a perfect, digitally rendered version of the exact design I had just finished sketching on paper. My vision, flawlessly executed. My breath caught in my throat. Someone walked past my desk and stopped, snatching the paper from my drafting table. “Hey, everyone, get a load of this! It’s the same design Sophie just posted! Identical!” The office crowded around my desk, murmuring. “She’s right! It’s exactly the same!” A cold dread washed over me. I stood up to grab my sketch back, but someone shoved me. “Sadie Walker. Don’t tell me you were planning to plagiarize your own sister.” The whispers turned accusatory. “Wow. She looks so prim and proper, but she’s just a common thief.” Then, a voice cut through the noise. “Wait a minute… haven’t you guys noticed? A lot of Sadie’s older designs look suspiciously similar to Sophie’s.” As people started pulling up our online portfolios to compare, I seized the moment and snatched my drawing back. “This is mine,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “Sophie is the one who has been stealing from me. All this time, it’s been her!” As if on cue, the office door opened, and Sophie walked in. She was wearing a pristine white dress, the picture of innocence. Her eyes welled up instantly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Sadie, why are you doing this?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “I know you don’t like me, but those designs are my life’s work. They’re all I have.” She turned her tear-streaked face to the others. “Ever since she came back home, she’s resented me. Is this about Mom and Dad? Are you punishing me for them?” Her performance was flawless. Everyone in the room looked at her with pity, then back at me with disgust. Someone from behind gave me a hard shove. I stumbled forward, losing my balance. The sharp corner of a metal desk met my forehead with a sickening thud. A warm trickle of blood ran down my temple and dripped onto the floor. Sophie rushed forward, pretending to help me up. The moment her hand touched my arm, she flung herself backward onto the floor. Seriously? Is this girl for real? With all these people watching? She lay on the ground, her eyes wide with manufactured fear. “Sadie… why did you push me? I was just trying to help…” The entire office swarmed around her, asking if she was hurt, while shooting daggers at me. “What is wrong with you, Sadie? You get caught stealing, and now you’re assaulting her?” “Yeah, just leave her alone, Sophie. She’s not worth it. Let the psycho bleed on the floor.” Sophie slowly got to her feet, brushing herself off with a martyred sigh. “It’s okay, everyone. She’s still my sister, no matter what…” A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I looked at her, the master manipulator. “You know what, sis? You’re right. I was wrong. Come closer, I have something I want to tell you.” Wary but triumphant, Sophie stepped toward me. I smiled sweetly. And as soon as she was in range, I slapped her across the face, hard. The crack echoed in the stunned silence. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, more from shock than the force of the blow. “Whoops,” I said, flexing my fingers. “So clumsy of me, Sophie. Guess my hand just… slipped.” She sat there, clutching her cheek, her mask of innocence finally cracking. Through the curtain of her hair, I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred in her eyes before it was replaced by her usual wide-eyed victim look. I was done playing her game. While everyone was still focused on Sophie, I stood up, walked out of the office without a backward glance, and left that part of my life behind for good. I stopped by an urgent care clinic to get the gash on my head glued shut, then went home. The apartment was empty. I walked straight to my room and began gathering every single sketchbook, every loose design, every scrap of paper with a drawing on it. If she was stealing my work, how? These were physical copies. It made no sense. Unless I was truly losing my mind and copying her in some fugue state. My phone buzzed. The company-wide group chat was exploding. We can’t have a parasite like that working here. Fire her already. Seriously, get her out of the building! Can’t believe I have to share oxygen with a thief. And she always acted so high and mighty. What a hypocrite. The messages blurred together, a familiar wave of nausea washing over me as I remembered my first life. The endless phone calls from unknown numbers, filled with screaming and threats. The insults, the ridicule. I’d had to cancel my number. Then they found my rented apartment. They camped outside, cameras ready, hoping to catch a shot of the disgraced designer. Someone even hung a banner across my door: THIEVES DESERVE TO DIE. I hadn’t left that apartment for a week. One night, starving, I snuck out. I sat on a curb, hunched over, wolfing down a cheap convenience store sandwich. A little boy walking by with his mother pointed at me. “Mommy, look! It’s the lady from the internet! The thief!” He then spat on my face. I didn’t even flinch. I just looked at him and smiled, a strange, empty smile. His mother quickly dragged him away. I had had enough. That last night, I sat on the roof of my building, feeling nothing. The city lights glittered below, a beautiful, rotten thing. The only person I would miss was my grandma, safe in the country, unaware of how far I had fallen. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I started packing a suitcase. I was going back to the country. Back to her. Screw the competition. Screw the career. I didn’t understand Sophie’s methods, but I knew one thing for sure. I sent a resignation email to HR and an official withdrawal from the competition. I can’t figure out how she reads my mind and steals my designs before I even finish them. So, I’ll just stop designing altogether. Let’s see what she submits then.

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It all started on move-in day, when my mom dropped me off at my dorm in a Lamborghini. The second my roommate found out she was the CEO of Hayes Industries, his whole attitude changed. “Ms. Hayes is that busy and you still made her drive you? Where’s your dad?” he asked. “I guess a family really does need a man in charge… Don’t worry. I’ll study up for a few days, and then I’ll take good care of you both!” I thought he was just being weird, so I brushed it off. “Yeah, you’re a real hero.” But then he actually started staying up all night, watching videos like, How to Marry into a Billionaire Family. He’d lecture me, “A man shouldn’t play so many video games! You have to act like the head of the house!” He even started calling himself my “stepfather” in front of everyone. “See his hat?” he’d say. “His mom and I picked it out for him. Of course, she also bought me a custom suit. She definitely spoils me more.” It all came to a head at the university’s Centennial Gala. He showed up in a designer suit and sat right down in the seat reserved for the Hayes Family. 1 Move-in day at Blackwood University, and my mother, Eleanor Hayes, decided on subtlety. Which is to say, she pulled up to the curb of my freshman dorm in a screaming yellow Lamborghini that probably cost more than the entire building. When my new roommate, Owen, saw it, his eyes practically popped out of his head. We’d barely introduced ourselves before he was pressed against the window. “Did you guys see that Lambo downstairs? I just looked it up—it’s a four-million-dollar car!” he announced to the room. I casually dropped my duffel bag by my bed. “Mom,” I said, turning to her, “didn’t you tell me you only paid three for it?” A brief, awkward smile flashed across her face. Just then, one of our family’s security detail, a man built like a refrigerator, stepped into the room. “Ms. Hayes, the board meeting is starting shortly.” Owen’s head snapped toward us, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. He scrambled over to my side. “Your mom is the Ms. Hayes? As in, Hayes Industries? That is so cool! How did she have time to drive you to campus? Where’s your dad?” Before I could form a single word, he had his phone out and was standing directly in front of my mother. “I’m Owen,” he said, his voice a little too eager. “You should add me on Instagram. That way, if Ethan needs anything, you can just ask me directly!” My mother, a woman who could make seasoned executives tremble, actually hesitated. I could see the refusal forming on her lips, but she’s always had a soft spot for not embarrassing students. With a strained politeness, she scanned his code. “Ethan, honey, I’ve got to get back to the office,” she said, turning to me. “Call me if you need anything.” Before I could reply, Owen jumped in again. “He will! And I’ll make sure he’s okay. You have a safe drive back to the city.” He added a little wave, a shy, almost coy smile on his face. “Don’t forget to eat dinner. You work too hard.” My mom let out a tight, strangled cough, turned on her heel, and was gone. As I started unpacking, I couldn’t help but wonder, are all college students this weirdly intense? The next thing I knew, my suitcase was on the floor, its contents spilled across the dusty linoleum. Owen had kicked it over. “So,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. “Where’s my welcome gift? It’s customary to show respect to your elders.” I stared at him, completely thrown. I couldn’t tell if this was some bizarre, deadpan joke. When I didn’t move, he slapped me across the face. Not hard, but with enough sting to shock me. He put his hands on his hips, glaring. “Is that how you look at a parent? No respect at all!” he snapped. “From now on, I’m going to have to whip you into shape for your mother’s sake. Or you won’t be welcome in our home!” He was serious. Utterly, terrifyingly serious. A surge of rage shot through me. I stood up and shoved him, hard. He stumbled backward and fell to the floor. “Are you insane?” I yelled, my voice echoing in the small room. “They let psychopaths into Blackwood now? Get help!” The commotion drew a crowd. Students poked their heads in from the hallway, their eyes wide. Owen lay on the floor, his face a mask of pale, wounded innocence. “I know you don’t like me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “But I’m already trying so hard to be a good stepfather…” A collective gasp went through the onlookers. Their bewildered stares shifted from him to me. I felt like my head was going to explode. “My mom doesn’t even know you!” I shot back, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re just some psycho trying to marry into money!” Owen slowly picked himself up, pulling out his phone. He angled the screen toward the crowd. “Oh really? Take a look for yourselves! See if I know his mother or not!” he declared. “He’s just jealous. He thinks I’m stealing his mom’s love, so he’s trying to drive me away!” To my horror, people in the crowd started nodding, their expressions turning from confusion to contempt—aimed at me. I had no idea what he was showing them. I snatched the phone from his hand. He had changed my mother’s contact name. It now read: My Beautiful Wife I let out a laugh, a sharp, bitter sound. Before I could say a word, our Resident Advisor appeared, breaking up the crowd. “What’s going on here? You want a write-up on your first day? Get back to your rooms!” The crowd dispersed. Owen and I were left alone in the suffocating silence of our room. He immediately dissolved into tears, his body wracked with sobs. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he choked out. “My reaction… it was unacceptable.” He took a shaky breath. “I grew up really poor. I was bullied all the time, and… the way you looked at me just now, it brought all of that back. I just… I lost control. I’m so sorry. If you’re still angry, you can hit me back. Please.” He started slapping his own face, hard, leaving red marks on his pale skin. Instinctively, I grabbed his hands to stop him. My anger deflated, replaced by a confusing wave of pity. He was clearly unhinged, but hearing his story… it sounded like he’d been shaped by a lifetime of pain. I sighed, letting go of him. “Forget it. I’m not angry anymore.” I looked him in the eye. “But you absolutely cannot call my mother your wife. That’s insane, Owen.” He wiped his tears, his lower lip still trembling. “My grandmother always told me, when you go to a new place, you have to find the most powerful person and get close to them. It’s the only way to keep from being a target.” He sniffled. “I thought if everyone knew I was connected to Ms. Hayes, they wouldn’t mess with me. I’m sorry…” It was the most twisted logic I’d ever heard, but his misery felt so genuine that I didn’t know how to argue. “That’s not how you do it,” I said, shaking my head. “Just… stop crying. Let’s finish unpacking.” He immediately sprang into action, not just unpacking his own things, but mine too. He made my bed, folded my clothes with military precision, and arranged my toiletries on my desk. I’d been so sheltered my whole life, I was honestly clueless about most of it. His help was, embarrassingly, a relief. “Hey, uh… thanks,” I mumbled. “I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.” He gave me a sweet, radiant smile and pulled a lumpy, wax-paper-wrapped object from his bag. “This is a roll my grandmother baked. They’re the best. You should try one.” After the drama, I was starving. I took it and bit into it. It was surprisingly delicious. “Wow. Your grandma’s a hell of a baker. She could sell these.” I started to think that maybe Owen wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was just deeply insecure, a problem that college and a better environment could fix. Suddenly, he held up his phone. “Can we take a picture? I want to show my grandma I made my first friend in college!” he said, beaming. “And that he loves her baking! She’ll be so happy.” I played along, holding up the half-eaten roll and giving a peace sign. He snapped the photo and immediately started tapping away on his phone, a blissful smile spreading across his face. “Hey, let’s trade numbers,” he said. “I’ll send you the pic.” Seeing his phone reminded me I hadn’t even texted my mom to let her know I was settled. Just as I was thinking it, a message from her came through. [Mom]: Making friends already? I’m so proud of you, honey! Attached was a screenshot. It was a chat between her and Owen. He’d sent her pictures of my perfectly made bed, my organized closet, and the photo of us he’d just taken. [Owen]: Ethan’s doing great! All settled in and eating well! My mom had replied with two thumbs-up emojis. I thought it was a little weird, but also kind of sweet that he was trying to reassure her. A second later, I opened Instagram and saw Owen’s new post. The caption read: I’ll keep working hard on how to be a good stepdad, don’t you worry, honey! The son is all settled in at school~ The picture was the screenshot of his chat with my mom. Rage, white-hot and absolute, flooded my veins. I shoved my phone in his face. “What the hell is this? Delete it. Now!” He flinched, his eyes instantly welling up with tears. “I’m sorry! It was just for my grandma’s sake! So she wouldn’t worry! If you don’t like it, I’ll take it down right now!” He fumbled with his phone, tapping furiously. I refreshed my feed, and the post was gone. A knot of suspicion tightened in my gut. Something about him was fundamentally wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Don’t you ever post anything like that again,” I said, my voice low. “This is your last warning.” I went to take a shower, trying to wash the whole bizarre day off me. The next morning, Owen was back to being the perfect, considerate roommate. He’d even squeezed toothpaste onto my toothbrush for me. “Morning! Time to get up. We have orientation today.” His relentless cheerfulness was unsettling, but I didn’t know how to tell him to stop. As I was getting dressed, I couldn’t find the new pair of designer cargo pants I’d bought. “Hey, Owen, did you see a pair of white pants when you were folding my clothes yesterday?” He froze for a second. “Oh! The ones with all the chains on them? Yeah, those were a little… aggressive. Very street-style. I thought people might get the wrong impression, you know? Like you were in a gang or something. I threw them out.” He smiled helpfully. “You’re a good kid from a good family. You shouldn’t dress like a delinquent. People might think you have no upbringing.” I looked in my closet. It wasn’t just the cargo pants. Every single pair of pants that had any unique design element was gone. I fought down the urge to scream. I’d deal with him later. I pulled on a plain pair of jeans and headed to orientation. In the auditorium, a few classmates complimented the limited-edition baseball cap I was wearing. “Dude, that hat is sick! Is that the new release?” I smiled, about to answer, when Owen physically stepped in front of me, adopting the air of a proud parent. “It’s great, isn’t it?” he said with a knowing smile. “His mother and I picked it out for him when we were in Europe.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Of course, she also bought me a custom-tailored suit. Between you and me, I think she spoils me a little more.” My classmates just stared, their faces blank with confusion. That’s when it hit me. Owen wasn’t just weird or insecure. He was a genuine, five-alarm psychopath. My pity had been a mistake. “My mom did buy me this hat,” I said, my voice tight. “He had nothing to do with it. My mom doesn’t know him. Don’t listen to a word he says.” Owen just winked at the group. “He gets so embarrassed about me being younger. You know how kids are, so worried about their image.” He patted my shoulder. “Alright, alright, whatever you say, champ. Let’s go get some lunch.” The looks on my classmates’ faces were getting more and more complicated. I knew losing my temper now would only make me look worse. I’d settle this back at the dorm. But at lunch, he took all the broccoli off his tray and dumped it onto mine. “Your mom told me you’re a picky eater,” he announced to the table. “I’m here to make sure you eat your vegetables.” That was it. I snapped. I flipped my entire tray over, sending food scattering across the floor. I pointed a shaking finger at him. “What is wrong with you?” I screamed, the entire cafeteria falling silent. “Are you addicted to this? Do you really think you’re my father? My mother doesn’t know who you are! One more time, and I swear to God, I’m calling the cops and having you committed!” Everyone was staring. Owen looked terrified, his face pale. He trembled for a long moment, then his voice came out in a broken whisper. “I know… I know you don’t approve of us. But your mother and I… we’re in love.” He choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He turned and ran out of the cafeteria, crying. Whispers erupted all around me. I pulled out my phone, ready to call my mom and tell her everything, when a notification from the Blackwood University Confessions page popped up. [Post]: Whose insane sports car was parked outside the freshman dorms yesterday? That thing was beautiful! The attached photo was of my mom’s Lamborghini. And the top comment, with over a hundred likes, was from Owen. [Owen_B]: That’s my wife’s car! She paid over four million for it and tried to tell me it was only three. But what can I say? She’s the one in charge of the money in our house. Guess I’m just a kept man, haha! I was shaking with so much rage I could barely see straight. This psycho. This absolute lunatic. Tomorrow was the university’s Centennial Gala. My mother, a distinguished alumna, was the keynote speaker. Tomorrow, I would have her set the record straight in front of everyone. I would watch his fantasy world burn to the ground. I was too furious to eat. Back in the dorm, I was about to call my mom when a video call from her came through. “Ethan,” she said, her expression serious. “Are you fighting with your roommate?” I was baffled. How could she know already? “How did you hear about that?” Her face tightened with embarrassment as she shifted the camera. My jaw dropped. The background wasn’t her office. It was the main floor of Hayes Industries. And Owen was there, strolling around like he owned the place, pointing and directing employees. He was acting like the CEO. “Owen? He’s insane! Mom, don’t listen to a word he says!” I sputtered. “He’s been telling everyone at school that you’re his wife and he’s my stepfather! The whole campus is talking about it! You have to clear this up at the gala tomorrow, or my entire college experience is over!” I was so frantic I could barely get the words out. My mom looked completely stunned. “My God. What is wrong with these kids today?” she murmured. “I’ll have security send him back to campus. And yes, we will clear this up tomorrow.” After we hung up, I paced the room, my mind racing with all the ways I was going to destroy Owen when he got back. A few minutes later, I heard two students whispering as they walked past my door. “That’s the room. The one with the son and the stepfather. It’s so creepy.” “I know, right? The lives of the super-rich are messed up.” I stormed out into the hall. “Who told you he’s my stepfather? He’s lying!” One of them just scoffed and held up his phone. “Your family is something else. Your mom has a thing for younger guys, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.” I looked at the screen. It was Owen’s Instagram feed. He’d posted a new selfie from inside my mom’s office, along with a short video of him ordering her employees around. [Caption]: Just checking in on my wife’s empire. Making sure the staff knows who the new boss is! The post before that was a picture of me sleeping, clearly taken the night before. [Caption]: Long day for the boy. Out like a light. And the one before that? The screenshot of his chat with my mom. [Caption]: Son is all settled in at school. I’ve got everything under control, honey~ He never deleted anything. He just blocked me. A cold, hard fury settled deep in my bones. I wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow. The second he walked through that door, I was going to tear him apart. I didn’t care if I got expelled. But he never came back. Not all night. He was scared to face me. The next day, the Centennial Gala was packed. Everyone who was anyone in the city was there. My mom arrived looking like a goddess in a custom-tailored pantsuit. She was in her forties but had the poise and physique of a woman half her age, thanks to a lifelong devotion to yoga and kicking ass in the boardroom. “Our seats are in the front row,” she told me. “I had them reserve a spot for honorary alumni family.” I nodded and followed her toward the stage. And then I saw it. A sight so horrifying it made the world go dark at the edges. There, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, sitting smugly in the chair labeled Hayes Family, was Owen.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385471”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After I filed for divorce from Evan, I posted a picture in my lingerie on Instagram. “Husband’s not home, all alone and lonely. Looking for a good time. Any takers?” My feed exploded. While everyone was still reeling, his new girlfriend posted a picture of a sonogram. “For you, Mommy and Daddy will clear away any obstacles.” Oh. I was the obstacle. I looked at the flood of “OMG, what happened?!” comments and replied to them all with the same three words. “He can’t get it up.” A ‘like’ notification popped up instantly. It was from Evan. 1 I was the one who asked for the divorce. Evan and I had been married for three years, and our relationship was always polite, almost formal. His company kept him busy; he was always out early and home late. I had been a stay-at-home wife for those three years, playing the part of the perfect, supportive partner. Three years, and we still didn’t have any kids. The older relatives, especially his mother, went from being patient and understanding to pushy and annoyed. His mom dragged me to countless specialists. The result was always the same: I was perfectly healthy and capable of getting pregnant. “Then why hasn’t it happened after all these years?!” she’d demand. One doctor finally sighed. “Pregnancy is a two-person job. You can’t put it all on the woman. Maybe you should have the husband come in for a check-up?” His mom slammed her hand on the table, her face turning to ice. “Impossible! There’s nothing wrong with my son!” Then, the suspicion turned back to me. “Ashley, are you and Evan secretly using birth control?” I wanted to scream. She’d rather believe I was lying to her than entertain the thought that her precious son might be the problem. “Mom, we both know how much everyone wants this. Why would we use birth control?” But the truth was, she was right. In our three years of marriage, Evan and I had never slept together. My mind went back to our wedding night. We both had too much to drink. I don’t even remember what happened. When I woke up the next morning, Evan was already asleep in the guest room. And just like that, we silently agreed to sleep in separate rooms for three years. I tried. I really did. Countless times, I worked up the courage to invite him to bed. But he would always get this grim look on his face, like he was thinking of something deeply unpleasant, and then he’d turn me down. 2 About a year ago, his mom started sending over supplements and herbal teas every day. “Ashley, you’re not working anyway. You might as well just focus all your energy on getting pregnant.” Every day, I forced down the bitter concoctions under immense pressure. I complained to Evan when he got home late. “This stuff is so disgusting. I really don’t want to drink it anymore.” I looked at him, hoping for some support. But he just turned and walked into the guest room, tossing a single sentence over his shoulder. “If you don’t want to drink it, then don’t.” I *wanted* to just pour it down the drain, but his mother’s obsession with me getting pregnant was relentless. She always had someone watching me, waiting until I’d finished the last drop. I bit my lip and tried one more time. “Are you sleeping in the guest room again tonight?” The invitation was obvious. The only answer I got was the sound of the guest room door clicking shut. One attempt at intimacy, a lifetime of rejection. What was the point of all this medicine? Could I have a baby by myself? His mom called the next day. “Ashley, if you don’t want to drink the medicine, you can just tell me. You don’t have to have Evan pass along the message.” I listened to her angry accusations. “Mom… that’s not what I meant…” She hung up on me. 3 The moment I decided to divorce him was a month ago. A story broke online. “SHOCKING: Young Starlet and Her Sugar Daddy.” The starlet, Chloe Vance, was a college classmate of mine. She’d had a small hit with a fantasy show right after graduation, then faded into obscurity. About six months ago, she suddenly made a comeback, landing a string of amazing roles. I was just casually scrolling through the gossip, but then I saw the pictures. The man with her, the one whose back and profile were all too familiar… it was Evan. Based on his clothes, it had to have been the night before. They were coming out of a high-end hotel, and Chloe was holding a bouquet of flowers, a blissful smile on her face. I was stunned. I refreshed the page, and in the time it took for the comments to load, every single post about the scandal had vanished. My hands trembled as I opened my Instagram. When Evan and I got married, I’d posted our wedding photos. Chloe followed me; she had to have known Evan was my husband. Evan’s own profile was completely blank. But Chloe had, in fact, posted a picture from a hotel restaurant the night before. The caption was just a single heart emoji. I quickly sent Evan a text. “Come home early tonight. We need to talk.” I rarely texted him. The last time was over a year ago. It took him a long time to reply with a simple “Ok.” Evan and I met on a blind date. At the time, I was struggling to make it as an actress. Graduating at the top of my class from a prestigious acting program hadn’t done me much good. My looks just brought me a lot of unwanted advances and sleazy comments. After one small role, I quit the business and agreed to my parents’ matchmaking. 4 It was love at first sight for me. Evan was exactly my type. He had this cool, untouchable vibe. On our date, he wore a perfectly tailored suit that screamed “off-limits.” And he was direct. The first thing he said to me was, “Will you marry me?” I was taken aback, thinking it was some kind of flirty line. I played along. “Sure. When are we going to the courthouse?” We moved so fast it shocked both our families. A few days later, his mom showed up at my parents’ house with a prenuptial agreement. “Ashley, don’t think I’m being difficult, but this is just a precaution.” I knew what it was. A way to protect his assets. It was all about the money. “Was this his idea?” His mom nodded. “If you two are going to get married, you have to sign this.” I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even read the details. I signed it on the spot. I wasn’t after his money. I was after him. Evan and I only saw each other twice before the wedding: the blind date, and the day we got our marriage license. My friends all thought I was wasting my life. “Ashley, you’re so gorgeous. You could have been a huge star.” “Getting married like this is such a waste.” But I was giddy with the thought of being a bride. I was convinced Evan loved me. Why else would he propose on the first date? I didn’t pay any attention to their warnings. I threw myself into being the perfect Mrs. Evans, taking care of his every need. But after that wedding night… he grew colder and colder. My confidence slowly eroded, and with it, my faith in our marriage. 5 Evan would occasionally take me to social events. The men would talk business while I played mahjong with the other wealthy wives. I was terrible at it. Every time we went out, I was just giving away money. Evan didn’t care, of course. But I did. They invited me to every game because they knew I was an easy win. It wasn’t about the money; it was about the thrill of victory. And I was the one who made that thrill possible for them. Still, I forced myself to try and fit in. Until one day… I was on a winning streak. For the first time ever, I was actually winning a lot. I turned to Evan, who was sitting nearby. “Evan, I’m finally winning!” I called out. The other wives all smiled and teased, “Ashley’s on a roll today! We can’t beat her.” I was so happy. I went to the restroom, and on my way back, I overheard them talking. “Evan, why did you marry a woman like that?” “I know, right? Look how excited she gets over a little money.” “An actress is an actress. No class. She’ll never be one of us.” Evan took a slow sip of his tea. “Then I won’t bring her to play anymore. It’s too annoying.” I felt numb as I sat back down at the table. My mind was a million miles away. I quickly lost all my winnings and then some. Everyone was laughing and joking, but my own face was grim. There was a bitter taste in my mouth. “Oh dear, Ashley’s not happy about losing. Evan, you’d better comfort her when you get home.” On the drive home, I didn’t say a word. I felt drained. Evan glanced at me. “It’s just a little money. Don’t be a sore loser. People will think you can’t handle it.” 6 I’d asked Evan to come home early. He was usually home by eight on the dot. Tonight, I waited until eleven. He broke his promise. When he finally walked in, I was sitting on the couch, waiting. “You’re home.” He looked exhausted and mumbled a reply. “Why aren’t you in bed?” I forced a smile. “Don’t you remember? I told you we needed to talk.” His expression finally turned serious. I was about to speak. “Today…” His phone rang, cutting me off. He answered it immediately. We weren’t far apart, and I could hear the woman’s voice clearly. It was Chloe. “I’m free now. You can come over… the hotel… room number is…” Evan hung up and turned to leave. “I have something to do. We can talk some other time.” I called out to his retreating back. “Are you going to see Chloe?” I can’t keep things in. I had to say it. He stopped and turned to look at me. “You know?” I stood there, frozen. “It was on the news. It’s hard not to.” His phone rang again. “Hello… Be careful on your way over. Avoid the paparazzi… Okay.” His voice was gentle. I bit my lip. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” He walked out the door. “There’s nothing to explain. It is what it is.” Evan didn’t come home that night. In three years, no matter how busy he was, he always came home to sleep. This was the first time. 7 The next day, Evan still wasn’t back. But Chloe was. She showed up at my door with a triumphant smile. “Ashley, long time no see.” She walked in without waiting for an invitation. “Married all these years, and you never invited me over.” That was rich. We were classmates, but we were never friends. And given her current relationship with Evan, she was clearly here to gloat. “How do you know where I live?” She wandered around the room. “Evan told me, of course.” She walked up to me, a smug look on her face. “Where’s his room? I’m here to pick up some of his things to take to his office.” My face was a mask of cold fury. “You were with him all last night?” She nodded, completely unconcerned. “Obviously.” The audacity. “When did this start?” Chloe pretended to think. “Let’s see… about six months ago.” Six months ago. When she suddenly made her comeback, showered with amazing opportunities. No doubt, all thanks to Evan. She smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Ashley. You’ll always be Mrs. Evans. I’m just here to grab a few things.” I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I’ll have his things sent to his office. You can leave now.” Chloe just shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go. Evan said I’m not supposed to overexert myself lately.” She deliberately placed a hand on her stomach. I clenched my fists. A flash of memory: me, choking down that bitter herbal medicine, the taste coating my tongue. As she was leaving, Chloe offered some “friendly” advice. “You know, Ashley, you were the star of our class. And look at you now. A woman needs her own career. If you rely on a man, you’ll end up with nothing.” 8 I had the divorce papers sent to Evan’s office. Then I sent him a text. “Sign them. It’s for the best.” I packed my things, found a new apartment, and moved out. While I was moving, his mom called. “Ashley, a friend of mine told me about this amazing psychic…” “I’ll take you to see him.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command. For years, I had dutifully accompanied her on her quest for a grandchild, seeing countless doctors, drinking endless concoctions. I was under so much stress, and Evan didn’t seem to notice or care. And even now, his mom still thought it was my fault, never once considering that the problem might lie with her son. “Mom, Evan and I are divorced.” I hung up. It was for the best. He never loved me anyway. I was the only one trying. Now he had a new girlfriend, so why should I keep trying? After I moved into my new place, I posted a sexy mirror selfie in my lingerie on Instagram. “Husband’s not home, all alone and lonely. Looking for a good time. Any takers?” I rarely posted, and when I did, it was usually set to “close friends only.” And never a lingerie pic. The comments flooded in. “??? What’s going on? You two broke up?!” “Ashley, are you okay?!” “Hey there 😉 can I take you up on that offer?” I replied to them all with the same message. “Divorced. His loss.” My phone immediately started blowing up with calls. The first was from my best friend, Gina. She was a film director’s assistant. When I got married, everyone was happy for me. Except her. “I don’t approve!” she’d yelled. “Ashley, you’re supposed to be the star of my first movie! You can’t get married!” While I was on the phone with her, complaining, I refreshed my Instagram feed. I saw a new post from Chloe. A picture of a sonogram. The baby was healthy. The caption: “For you, Mommy and Daddy will clear away any obstacles.” I laughed and went back to my own post. The comments were full of nosy questions. “Why the sudden divorce?” “OMG, this is so out of the blue!” I typed out the reason. “He can’t get it up.” A second after I posted it, a ‘like’ notification popped up. It was from Evan. 9 The divorce papers went unanswered. After I spread the rumor about his impotence, besides that one ‘like’, he didn’t even call me. He didn’t care that I was acting out. He didn’t come looking for me. It was as if I never existed. Gina stayed on the phone with me all night. “I may not be a big shot, but I’ve been in this industry for three years. There’s a supporting role in a new movie auditioning in a few days. I can get you a spot.” Chloe was right about one thing. With no man in my life, I was free to focus on my career. Even though I hadn’t acted in three years, I still had the skills. I was auditioning for a minor role, and Gina was in the room, cheering me on. “You were amazing, Ash! You nailed it!” The casting director looked over my resume, frowning. “We’ll let you know,” he said, a note of regret in his voice. As I was leaving the building, I ran into Chloe, surrounded by her entourage. She was wearing sunglasses, a smug smile on her face. She stopped in front of me. “Well, well, Ashley. Long time no see. Auditioning?” “What do you want?” I said, my voice cold. Chloe glanced at the script in my hand. “You don’t actually think you’ll get the part just because you can act, do you?” She shook her head, amused. “This is a big production. Every single role is already bought and paid for. There’s no room for you.” Everyone knows how Hollywood works. Today’s audition was just a formality. Gina shot her a dirty look. “What, are you here to audition too, Ms. Big Shot?” Chloe scoffed. “Of course not. I’m the second female lead. I’m here to sign my contract.” I forced a polite smile. “Congratulations.” She grinned, enjoying her victory. “Are you mad? Top of the class, and you’re still just an extra.” She leaned in closer. “Or… you could beg me. I could probably get the director to give you a small part. After all, you were Mrs. Evans… past tense, of course.” 10 A few days later, I got the call. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller. You didn’t get the part.” I was silent. I already knew this was coming. “Okay, thank you.” I was about to hang up when she said, “The role you auditioned for has been filled, but we do have another, smaller role available. The director saw your audition tape and really liked you. Would you be interested?” My spirits lifted. A role was a role. I wasn’t going to be picky. “Yes, absolutely. When do I start?” My part wasn’t big, so I didn’t join the production until a few weeks into filming. The set was tense. Gina, in her role as the director’s assistant, snuck over to me. “You’re late, Ash. You missed the drama.” Just then, I heard someone yelling from across the set. “Who ordered this lunch?! It’s so greasy! How am I supposed to eat this?!” It was Chloe again. I hadn’t even been on set for an hour and there was already gossip. She threw her lunch on the ground and started screaming at a young production assistant. Gina clicked her tongue, feeling sorry for the PA. “You have no idea. It’s only been a few weeks, and Chloe and Maya are already at each other’s throats. They’ve been fighting nonstop, and it’s making the set a nightmare.” Maya was the lead actress. She also had powerful backers, but she was a talented actress. She’d won a major award for a supporting role right out of college and a best actress award a few years later. I’d met her once before, at one of those mahjong games. She was the younger sister of one of the wives. An ice queen, with the awards to back up her arrogant attitude. Today, I had a scene with her. I was in costume and makeup, ready to go, but Maya was nowhere to be found. The director was fuming, glaring at the producer, who looked equally uncomfortable. “I’ll go get her,” he said, scurrying off. An hour later, Maya finally emerged from her trailer and slowly made her way to the set. She’d obviously heard about what had happened. The PA who’d been yelled at was hiding in a corner, crying. Maya looked over at Chloe, who was sitting next to the assistant director. “Can’t fight your own battles, so you take it out on the little guys? How pathetic.” Chloe ignored her. “Some people think they’re so great, but they’re just like me, riding on someone else’s coattails.” Everyone on set knew they both had powerful connections. The Chen family and the Evans family. No one wanted to get on the wrong side of either of them, so they just stayed out of it. But to be as blatant about sleeping your way to the top as Chloe was… that was something else. Maya took off her sunglasses and finally noticed me standing there. A wicked smile spread across her face. She called out to Chloe. “Isn’t that Evan’s precious little trophy wife? Are you the one I’m working with today?”

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