Category: English

Suddenly, I could see everyone’s true identity. My best friend’s rich boyfriend had the words “Married Man, Ten Million in Debt” floating over his head. My own broke boyfriend? “Missing Heir to the Richest Family in the Country.” Right at that moment, my best friend was in the middle of a lecture, trying to convince me to break up with him. “It’s better to be a rich man’s mistress than a poor man’s wife,” she insisted. “Good looks don’t pay the bills.” “Your boyfriend could work his entire life and still not afford the toilet in my husband’s house.” 1 In the lavishly decorated Western restaurant, my best friend’s boyfriend, Jason, casually flipped through the menu. “Two orders of the M9 Wagyu Beef Wellington. The meat’s incredibly tender here.” “And two of the seared foie gras with sea urchin and caviar.” “The charcoal-grilled blue lobster… that’s a pretty big portion, so one should be enough.” With every item he named, the color drained a little more from my face and from my boyfriend, Fred’s. I stared down at the menu, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. The steak was $1,388 an order. The foie gras was $798. The blue lobster was a staggering $2,688. Add in the appetizers, salads, and desserts… dinner tonight was going to cost well over ten thousand dollars. And tonight, it was our turn to pay. Jason was my best friend Maya’s new boyfriend. They hadn’t been dating long before she excitedly insisted on a double date. Last week, Jason and Maya had treated us to a hot pot dinner. When it was time to pay, Jason conveniently got a call from a major client. He rushed out to meet them, and Maya ended up paying the bill. With my coupon. My company had a partnership with the hot pot place, and they’d given us a few $200 gift certificates for the holidays. You could use one per meal. I remembered it clearly: after the coupon, the total came to $360. 2 Fred is a firm believer in returning a favor. Since they had treated us, it was only right that we treat them back. When I suggested it to Maya, Jason had waved his hand with a magnanimous smile. “Hey, we’re all friends here. No need to be so formal.” Then he immediately called and booked a table at this restaurant. What were his exact words? “You don’t have to take us anywhere fancy. Just a casual meal is fine.” His idea of “casual” was a dinner that would cost me two months’ salary. After setting down the food menu, Jason picked up the wine list. “This restaurant owns its own vineyard in France. Their reds are exceptional. You have to try one.” “Let’s go with this Grenache. It’s got a rich, fruity body with a crisp, oaky finish.” Under the table, Fred’s hand tightened on mine. My heart gave a violent lurch. That bottle of wine cost $39,888. Fred and I had just graduated from college this year. We’d landed decent jobs at good companies, but we were still just interns. I made $5,600 a month; he made $6,800. We both came from rural, working-class families. We had fought our way to this metropolis through sheer academic grit. But the cost of living in the city was crushing. And the weight on our shoulders was immense. My mother’s health was poor, so I sent half my salary home every month for her medicine. Fred’s income had to cover our food, transportation, and rent. After six months of scrimping and saving, we had managed to put away just over $30,000. Thirty thousand dollars. In a rich man’s restaurant, that wasn’t even enough to buy a single bottle of wine. 3 The wine and food would be at least fifty thousand. Was I supposed to take out a payday loan to treat them to dinner? Maya leaned against her boyfriend’s shoulder, her face glowing with happiness. “Jason, how do you know so much about all this?” “Thank you for showing us this world. I would have never dared to step into a place like this on my own.” I was torn. My rational mind was screaming at me not to bankrupt myself just to save face. But my heart ached at the thought of embarrassing my best friend. Just as I was hesitating, the waiter collected the menus and turned to leave. Fred suddenly looked up. “Excuse me,” he called out. “We’d like to cancel that order.” “I bought a group deal for this restaurant online. We’ll just have that set menu, please.” A wave of relief washed over me. I gave Fred a mental thumbs-up. He had said what I was too afraid to say. But Maya’s expression changed in an instant. She shot to her feet, her voice high and shrill. “Fred, what is the meaning of this?” “Jason is only having dinner with you two because of me! You won’t even let him order what he wants? Are you trying to humiliate me?” She then whirled on me. “Anna! I told you to stop digging through the trash for a boyfriend!” The other diners were all staring at us. The situation was excruciatingly awkward. So awkward, in fact, that I started to hallucinate. What the hell? Why was there a line of glowing text floating above everyone’s head? 4 I rubbed my eyes hard. The text was still there, bigger and clearer than before. Jason pulled Maya back down, patting her shoulder with an air of good-natured patience. “Don’t be angry, honey. It’s my fault. This is just what I normally eat. I didn’t realize the prices would be a bit steep for them.” “How about this,” he continued. “We’ll skip the wine, but let’s keep the rest of the food.” Maya was a mess of distress and indignation. “How can we do that? You always like a little drink after dinner. I can’t let you change your habits for me.” The waiter stood there, holding the menu, looking utterly confused. Fred held out his phone. “I’m paying, so you’ll listen to me. We’ll have the group deal set menu. Here’s the voucher.” Maya jumped up again, furious. “Forget it! Who wants your stupid group deal? I can’t stand you broke losers. Jason, let’s go!” The group deal wasn’t exactly cheap. It was $1,288—a month’s worth of groceries for Fred and me. 5 They stormed out, leaving Fred and me staring at each other, with the bewildered waiter still standing beside our table. “Sir, should I still bring out the food?” I tilted my head up, squinting to read the text above his head: “Working Four Jobs to Survive.” Fred shook his head. “No, that’s alright. Thank you.” He then took my hand, his expression uncertain. “Anna, let’s go home?” he asked tentatively. I looked at him, really looked at him. Fred and I had been classmates in high school and college. In high school, he was the unattainable, handsome loner that every girl had a crush on. But right now, the text above his head was far more captivating than his handsome face. “Missing Heir to the Richest Family in the Country.” Did that mean what I thought it meant? As a devoted reader of web novels, I was very familiar with tropes like special abilities, system interfaces, and reincarnation. Could these words be… my superpower? The ability to see everyone’s true identity? I craned my neck, my eyes wide with excitement, and scanned the room. “Soon-to-be Bankrupt Heir.” “Housewife Addicted to Cheating.” “Pervert Who Likes Taking Upskirt Photos.” “Fugitive with a $500,000 Bounty.” Wait a minute. $500,000? 6 A whirlwind of nerves, excitement, doubt, and shock played across my face, scaring the hell out of Fred. He stood up, flustered, and started stammering an explanation. “Anna, I know what I did was embarrassing. But fifty thousand dollars… that’s enough to pay for your mom’s medicine for two years. I just couldn’t bring myself to spend it on one meal.” “Saving face is temporary. Living our lives responsibly is what matters. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” I barely heard a word he said. My attention was entirely fixed on the fugitive. He was sitting in a corner, cutting into a steak. He wore large, black-framed glasses that obscured half his face, and his hat was pulled down low. When he heard the commotion from our table, he glanced over briefly before quickly looking away. “I’m just going to the restroom.” I tossed the words over my shoulder at Fred and walked towards the restrooms with a straight back, feigning nonchalance. Once inside a stall, I immediately dialed 911. There was a police station just a few blocks from the restaurant. I composed my face and walked out of the restaurant, then quickly ducked around a corner, my eyes glued to the entrance. Fred followed me, his face a mixture of worry and confusion. “Anna, what are you doing? Let’s just go home. I can make you some noodles.” “Shh, be quiet!” I clamped a hand over his mouth, my gaze never leaving the glass doors. Fred looked puzzled, but he didn’t ask any more questions. He just stood there quietly, waiting with me. The police arrived faster than I expected. Within five minutes, the restaurant was surrounded by squad cars. When the fugitive was led out in handcuffs, I saw the text above his head change: “Fugitive Apprehended.” 7 The whole night felt like a dream. Fred went with me to the police station to give a statement, and I signed the “Bounty Claim Confirmation” form. The female officer who took my statement was incredibly friendly. “Thanks to your timely call, we caught him just in time. He had a knife on him. His plan was to have one last nice meal, kill a few rich people, and then kill himself.” “You didn’t just help us catch a criminal; you saved several lives. The reward money should be in your bank account in about a week.” $500,000. Just like that. Fred was so excited his face was flushed, and he walked out of the station with a clumsy, uncoordinated gait. “Anna, you’re a genius! How did you know that guy was a fugitive?” I grinned and took his hand. “I’m just broke. When I have nothing to do, I scroll through wanted lists, hoping to get lucky and spot one. And what do you know, I actually did!” After the initial euphoria wore off, Fred finally calmed down. He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes full of concern. “Anna, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. I’ll work hard to give you a good life. What you did was so dangerous. What if he had noticed you?” I looked at the brightly glowing words above his head and thought, damn, this man is handsome. On the way home, Fred lectured me about the risks, imagining a hundred different ways it could have gone wrong. His worrying nearly put me to sleep. So much had happened that I had completely forgotten about Maya. Fred, exhausted, fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I, on the other hand, stayed up half the night on my phone, researching the richest man in the country. The more I looked, the more confused I became. The billionaire’s last name was Sterling. He was a self-made man who started as a construction foreman and made his first fortune in real estate. But according to all reports, he only had one very private daughter. There was no mention of a son. And Fred… he didn’t look anything like Mr. Sterling. 8 The next morning, I was woken by a furious pounding on the door. I glanced at my phone. It was almost noon. Fred had already left for work. To make extra money, he had taken a weekend job, spinning like a top with no days off. On the table was the breakfast he had made for me. Bang! Bang, bang! The knocking continued, as if someone was trying to break the door down. I hurried to open it and was met with Maya’s fiery, enraged eyes. “Anna! It’s the middle of the day!” Above her head floated a few shimmering golden words. “Hopeless Romantic.” It was fitting. Maya was indeed a hopeless romantic, with a vast and varied dating history. In high school, she fell for her tutor. During college orientation, she fell for her drill instructor. After graduation, it was a senior colleague at her internship. She even managed to fall in love with her personal trainer at the gym. She met Jason because he was a major client for her company. She worked at an ad agency, and her boss had put her in charge of a new project. Before the project made any headway, she and Jason were already a couple. 9 “Anna, you need to break up with Fred. Right now!” Maya stormed into the apartment without even taking off her shoes, planted herself on the sofa with her hands on her hips, and glared at me. “I told you not to date a poor man, but you wouldn’t listen! What are you keeping him around for? A man who needs a group deal coupon to eat out? For God’s sake, have some standards!” Her baseless tirade completely soured my good mood. My face hardened. “Maya, what happened yesterday was Jason’s fault, wasn’t it? He knew we’re just regular office workers. Why did he order such an expensive bottle of wine? Anyone with manners knows you don’t order the most expensive thing on the menu when someone else is treating. It’s basic etiquette.” Normally, when someone is treating you, you politely pick something moderately priced and let the host take the lead. But Jason? He ordered the most expensive items without a second thought for whether we could afford it. Maya rolled her eyes and sneered. “What are you trying to say, Anna? Jason was just being nice! He was afraid you country bumpkins wouldn’t know how to order in a fancy restaurant, so he did it for you! Instead of thanking him, you’re turning it around on him. You’re not just poor, you’re petty too!” I couldn’t stand her constant use of the word “poor.” What was wrong with being poor? We didn’t steal or cheat. We worked hard for our money. We had never taken a single penny from anyone. 10 She wasn’t always like this. Maya and I had been best friends since kindergarten. We were in the same class through elementary, middle, and high school. We only separated when we went to different colleges. When we were kids, my parents worked long hours and often weren’t home until late. Maya would always invite me over for dinner and share her secret stash of snacks with me. The Maya I remembered was warm, kind, and loyal. When had she become this person? “Alright, alright, stop with the long face,” she snapped. “You’re breaking up with Fred, and I’ve already found your next boyfriend for you. He’s a friend of Jason’s, a multimillionaire. Go change. You’re having lunch with him.” I almost laughed out loud. I was about to retort when the door opened and Jason walked in, a look of disdain on his face. “Maya, what’s taking so long? Mr. Liu will be here at eleven. We can’t keep him waiting.” Maya’s face instantly broke into a flirtatious smile. “Jason, what are you doing here? We’ll be ready in a minute.” She turned and glared at me. “What are you waiting for? Go get changed! Wear that white dress you wore for your birthday. You look good in that one.”

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Six years after I cut off all contact with my parents, my adopted brother secretly reached out to my wife. He told her my parents missed me terribly and hoped we could all be a family again before it was too late. I touched the scar on my forehead. I got it when I was eight, the day my brother slammed a door on my hand, breaking the fingers I used to play the piano. When I tried to hit him back, my father stopped me. My wife, unable to bear the sight of my brother’s sad, puppy-dog eyes, tried to reason with me. “It’s ancient history, honey. Just let it go.” My daughter, clutching a new Barbie doll my parents had sent, chimed in, her voice indignant. “Daddy, I can’t live without my grandparents and my uncle! You have to make up with them! If you don’t, then I don’t want you to be my daddy anymore!” A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I nodded slowly. “Fine.” 1 The moment I handed her the divorce papers, Evelyn’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Just because I want you to make peace with your parents?” “Yes. Just because of that.” “What about our daughter? She’s only five. What’s going to happen to her?” Just then, our daughter, Chloe, charged into the room like a tiny bull, slamming into my leg. Pain shot up my shin. “You’re a monster, Daddy!” she shrieked. “Grandma and Grandpa didn’t raise you to be a monster!” I gritted my teeth against the pain. “Who taught you to talk like that?” Chloe looked guilty for a second, her eyes darting to my brother, Ethan, who was hiding behind the door. He’d been my father’s best friend’s son, and he’d lived with us since we were kids. “It’s my fault, big brother!” Ethan said, his voice dripping with faux innocence, a look I had come to despise. It was the same look that had gotten me into trouble countless times. “I was telling Chloe the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, and she must have picked up a bad word.” But Evelyn and Chloe were already defending him. “Jacob, you’re always so busy with work. You can’t blame Ethan for helping to look after Chloe.” “Daddy, I love Uncle Ethan the most! If you’re mean to him, I don’t want you anymore!” I hadn’t said a word, but the two of them were already leaping to his defense. I saw a flicker of triumph in Ethan’s eyes, and the disgust and hatred in my gut reached a boiling point. 2 I didn’t waste any more words. I handed the pen to Evelyn. “Sign it. You’re free to be with whoever you want.” She looked at me, her eyes full of disappointment. “Can you please stop being so dramatic? I just want our daughter to have more family in her life. Your family.” My head felt like it was going to explode. I remembered when Ethan first came to live with us. My parents had told me, “You’re three months older than Ethan. From now on, you have a brother. You need to take care of him.” He wasn’t named Ethan then. My dad said since his parents had both died, he should take our last name. He was just a small, helpless little boy. I gave him my treasured comic books, the chocolates my mom bought for me, the toy cars my dad brought home. “Can I really think of this as my home from now on, big brother?” Ethan had asked, his eyes wide. I remembered my parents’ words and nodded. But from that day on, he was always on the verge of tears, always looking at me with a wounded expression. My parents thought I was bullying him. They called me selfish and gave all my things to him. When I was six and a half, my room became his. The bookshelf that held all my comics became his. When I was eight, the piano lessons I’d been taking for four years were canceled after Ethan “accidentally” slammed a door on my fingers. When I was twelve, my birthday party was replaced with a celebration for Ethan’s win at a dance competition. The cake was mango-flavored, his favorite. My parents took endless photos of him. No one remembered I was allergic to mangoes. When I was eighteen, I was forbidden from entering a math competition because, as my parents said, “We need to save that money to hire a better piano teacher for Ethan.” When I was twenty-two, years of malnutrition caught up with me. I developed a severe stomach condition that required expensive surgery. My parents refused to help. Instead, they bought business-class tickets to Europe to watch Ethan compete in a piano competition. I nearly died on the way to the hospital. That’s when I met Evelyn. She was horrified by my story and swore she would always be on my side. Six years later, she was the one asking me to let them all back into my life. 3 “I’m not signing this, Jacob,” Evelyn said, her voice firm. I ignored her and went to the bedroom to pack. In the back of the closet, I found a stash of expensive gifts. A master-crafted tea set, a high-end massage chair for the elderly, a pair of luxury leather shoes for men. They were well-hidden. Evelyn rushed in, as if she’d just remembered. “What is this?” she asked, the divorce papers still in her hand. She couldn’t meet my eyes. Chloe held up her Barbie doll, her voice smug. “Those are the presents Mommy bought for Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle Ethan.” “And that’s not all, Daddy!” she taunted, sticking her tongue out. “You don’t get anything because you were bad!” She was trying to provoke me. I started walking toward her. Ethan ran in and shoved me back. “Don’t you dare touch Chloe! She’s their only grandchild! You have no right to hit her, even if you are her father!” That was the last straw. I grabbed his collar and punched him, hard. “Aah!” he screamed. Chloe immediately activated her smartwatch. “Daddy’s hitting Uncle Ethan! Grandma, Grandpa, come quick and teach him a lesson! Daddy’s a monster! I don’t want him to be my daddy anymore!” 4 I snatched the watch from her. Of course. They had a group chat. It was called “Chloe and her favorite Grandma, Grandpa, Mommy, and Uncle.” I was the only one left out. The chat was a lively, happy world without me. My daughter, who had stopped sharing her kindergarten stories with me, told them all about the new cute boy in her class. Evelyn, who had been coming home later and later from work, was taking Chloe to “family dinners” all the time. With her bonus, she had arranged for my parents to have full medical check-ups and had booked a European tour for Ethan. Everyone in the chat was so happy together. My father, who was always so stern with me, praised his granddaughter for being just like him, able to spot a bad guy a mile away. My mother, always so easily swayed, gushed about how beautiful and thoughtful Evelyn was, and how she wished Evelyn had met Ethan first. *“My son is getting so old, and he’s still not married. It’s so worrying.”* And then there was Ethan, of course. Calling Evelyn his “dear sister-in-law,” all shy and sweet. It had clearly melted Evelyn’s heart. She hadn’t bought me a gift in years, but she was constantly sending them money. “Jacob, let me explain,” Evelyn said, her voice pleading. She insisted she was just trying to pave the way for me to reconcile with my parents. “Ethan isn’t as bad as you say he is. Why can’t you just try to get along with them?” Get along? I couldn’t stop myself. I slapped her across the face. 5 Seeing me hit the two people she cared about most, Chloe went ballistic. She started kicking and punching me. “Grandpa was right! You’re a devil! You broke your own fingers and blamed it on Uncle Ethan! You deserve to have no one love you! Get out! Get out! I don’t want you as my father! I like Uncle Ethan better! So do Grandma and Grandpa and Mommy!” I was stunned. This was the daughter I had raised. I had made every single one of her baby food purees. I had bought every toy and picture book in this house. Evelyn was always busy with work; I was the one who put her to bed at night and took her to kindergarten in the morning. Five years of my life, poured into her. And this is what I got. “You deserve it.” It hurt. There’s no denying that. So I decided to just lay it all out. “Chloe, I’m only going to give you one chance to take that back.” “I won’t! I hate you! I don’t want you to be my dad! I want Uncle Ethan! He’s handsome, he can play the piano, and he gives me candy! I like him more than you!” Every parent is worried about cavities. I limited her sugar for her own good. Seeing the cold fury on my face, Evelyn tried to intervene. “She’s just a child, Jacob. Don’t take it so seriously.” In her eyes, a parent should always forgive their child, no matter what. In her eyes, she was doing this for my own good, trying to mend my broken family. I was the one making a scene, threatening divorce. But I couldn’t take it anymore. 6 “Jacob, why are you still so stubborn?” I thought I was dreaming. I could hear my parents’ voices. The front door opened. I had forgotten they had the code. Chloe ran to them, her face beaming. “Grandma, Grandpa, you’re finally here to punish Daddy!” Seeing them all standing there together, a happy family, my heart turned to ice. My mother looked at me with a hint of apology, but before she could speak, she saw Ethan, clutching his bruised face. “Ethan, who did this?” she shrieked, her face contorting with rage, like a lioness protecting her cub. My father’s voice boomed through the house. “Who else could it be! It had to be Jacob! Evelyn, get him out of this house! If we don’t teach him a lesson now, what if he hurts my precious granddaughter next?” Evelyn, playing the part of the dutiful daughter-in-law, tugged at my sleeve. “Honey, hitting people is wrong. Why don’t you just apologize?” She knew I had my bags packed, but she was still expecting me to back down. 7 I met Ethan’s triumphant gaze. A bitter smile touched my lips. “No matter what piece of trash I pick up, you just have to have it, don’t you?” He looked startled. “What are you talking about, big brother? I don’t understand.” My father grabbed my collar. “Jacob, I am ordering you to apologize. And don’t you dare threaten my wonderful daughter-in-law with divorce. She works so hard to support this family. If you have any guts, you’ll leave with nothing.” Evelyn tried to pull him off. “Dad, this is between me and Jacob. Please, don’t get involved.” “Hmph! If he hadn’t pretended to be sick all those years ago, you never would have missed Ethan’s performance. You two could have been together by now.” I shot a sarcastic look at Evelyn. No wonder the photo of a boy’s back in her desk drawer had looked so familiar. The boy who had taken her breath away. She had told me not to be jealous, that he didn’t even know she existed. Any last shred of feeling I had for her vanished. I signed the divorce papers and picked up my suitcase. Evelyn tried to stop me, but my parents held her back. Chloe clung to her mother’s leg. “Don’t worry about him, Mommy! He’s just a stay-at-home dad! He has nowhere to go! Grandma and Grandpa said he’ll come crawling back after a few days of being hungry.” While Evelyn hesitated, I walked out the door and didn’t look back.

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At sixteen, I had a sudden, horrifying realization: I was living inside a male power-fantasy novel. And I was cast as the hero’s gold-digger ex-girlfriend. The script said that after four years together, I would dump him for money. He would then rise to the top of the world, a new beautiful woman on his arm for every season, and eventually, he’d come back to rub his success in my face. But even after this revelation, I didn’t deviate from my life’s path. I still aced my way through the best high school, then into the top university. So when the eighteen-year-old hero-to-be stood before me, confessing his feelings, I gave him my most dazzling smile. “Alright,” I said. “But you should know, being Fiona Dursley’s boyfriend is a role you can be fired from.” 1 That one sentence lit a fire under him. Alfred Thorne became far more attentive than his character in the book. Beyond the standard ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts, he was constantly asking me out. “I’m busy,” was my standard reply. The top two students in my major this semester would get a fully-funded opportunity to study abroad. It was a golden ticket, and I wasn’t about to let it slip through my fingers. The consequence was that Alfred only ever saw me in class. So today, he showed up before my lecture with a bouquet of flowers. “My dearest girlfriend,” he said, with a flourish, “would you trade this bouquet of red roses for the pleasure of having dinner with me?” Alfred was undeniably handsome, and the grand gesture had half the girls in the classroom swooning. “A boyfriend that hot bringing you flowers? You have to say yes!” someone whispered loudly. I gave the roses a brief, dismissive glance. “Maybe next time you buy flowers,” I said, my voice just loud enough for him to hear, “you should actually find out what kind your girlfriend likes.” The whole class knew. Someone had sent me roses once, and the allergic reaction had kept me out of school for a week. As my boyfriend, Alfred had managed to pick the one flower I actively despised. It turns out, if a person is shallow on the inside, a handsome face can only hold your interest for so long. Later that day, he cornered me outside the library. “Fiona, are you even serious about being my girlfriend?” he demanded. “We’ve been together for a month. How many times have we actually seen each other?” I held up the stack of textbooks in my arms. “I have to study. Is this news to you?” “And for the record, when I told you to perform well, I didn’t mean I wanted a puppy following me around.” I fixed him with a cool stare. “If you don’t finish this semester at the top of your class, we’re done.” For the hero of the story, this was hardly a challenge. But in the early chapters, he was committed to his whole ‘slacker genius’ act—brimming with talent but too cool to apply himself. He was saving the big reveal of his brilliance for the parade of future heroines. As for me, his starter girlfriend? Please. I wasn’t worth the effort. “Are you serious?” Alfred asked, his voice strained. I just rolled my eyes and walked into the library. 2 As I dove headfirst into my work, I could feel Alfred’s eyes on me from across the table. I ignored him. A man without discipline is a man without appeal. When he realized staring wasn’t working, he tried a different tactic. “Fiona, how do you solve this one?” I glanced at the problem he was pointing to and then looked at him as if he were an idiot. “If this is the level of question my boyfriend needs help with, you can leave.” Alfred flushed, realizing he’d picked something on par with ‘1+1=?’ He spent the next ten minutes hunched over his textbook, finally selecting a genuinely difficult problem. I didn’t brush him off. I took my time, walking him through the logic and the shortcuts to the solution. He started off paying attention to the textbook, but slowly, his gaze drifted from the page to my face. “Fiona…” I kept working on my own problem set. “What is it?” His cheeks were tinged with pink. “You’re not what I expected at all.” Of course not. He had been drawn to my face, immediately slotting me into the ‘trophy girlfriend’ category in his mind. I didn’t call him out on it. Instead, I asked, “And what did you expect?” Alfred thought for a moment. “Beautiful, charming… the center of attention.” “And now?” He opened a bottle of water and slid it across the table. I took it with a nod and had a few sips. “Now,” he said, his voice softer, “I see that you’re brilliant and hardworking. You have this… rational kind of charm.” I smiled and leaned across the table, stopping just before our noses touched. My eyes crinkled at the corners. “Good.” Then I went right back to my work, pointedly ignoring the way the tips of Alfred’s ears had turned a fiery red. Soon, the end of the semester was approaching, and the university decided to host an Arts Gala to help students de-stress. The class president came up to me, holding a student activity form. “Fiona, I heard you’re a dancer. Would you be interested in representing our class at the gala?” I remembered this part. In the original story, my sultry dance performance was what caught the eye of the rich heir. I declined. The class president was stunned. “Why not? You’d be amazing.” He pressed on, “You’re already so popular. If you perform, you’ll be the star of the show.” Perhaps. And in the rich heir’s eyes, I’d be no different from a club dancer he could proposition. “Because I’ve already signed up to be the host of the Arts Gala,” I replied politely. 3 I beat out all the other applicants for the hosting gig. But the faculty advisor was worried I’d get stage fright. “Your file says you can sing and dance, but there’s no mention of any hosting experience. You won’t have the same on-stage presence as the others.” “How about I find you a male co-host?” she suggested. “You can support each other, and it’ll take some of the pressure off.” I didn’t argue. “Professor, why don’t I do a run-through with your recommended co-host? We can go over the script and see how it works.” The result was, predictably, a disaster. The guy they’d picked had clearly been pulled in at the last minute with zero prep. With the advisor watching, I had no choice but to go through the entire program script by myself. When I finished, she applauded lightly. “Alright, then. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to carry the show alone, but you’ve proven me wrong.” I apologized to the would-be co-host. He blushed. “No, no, it’s fine! You were just… you were amazing, Fiona. I’ll work harder so maybe one day I’ll get the chance to share a stage with you.” As for why the university didn’t bother holding proper auditions for a male host? Because this was a male power-fantasy novel. All the female characters were props for the hero. Why would any other man get a chance to shine in the spotlight? Even the original host from the book, Laura, was just another conquest for the hero down the line. When Alfred heard I was hosting the gala, his first reaction was excitement. His second was jealousy. “Doesn’t that mean a ton of guys are going to be checking you out?” 4 I pinched his cheek. “Why don’t you ask if I’ll be checking any of them out?” Alfred pulled me into a hug. “I don’t care. You’re only allowed to look at me.” I subtly pushed him away. “That depends on whether you continue to measure up.” On the night of the gala, I abandoned my usual minimalist style. I went all out, renting a stunning evening gown from the university’s costume department. Even as the disposable ex-girlfriend, my looks were top-tier. Otherwise, the hero wouldn’t have spent half the book collecting women who bore a passing resemblance to me. The thought made my stomach turn. I walked onto the stage to a wave of applause and stunned silence. My beauty was an asset—one I wouldn’t overuse, but one I would never discard. The most intense gaze in the audience, of course, belonged to Alfred. But I couldn’t help but notice the man in the front row: Damian Sterling, the book’s secondary male lead. It was hard not to notice him. He and his bodyguards took up an entire row. His eyes were locked on me. I offered a polite, generic smile in his direction and then looked away. 5 After the show, Alfred came on stage with a huge bouquet of white roses. Great. More roses. He tried to hand them to me. “Fiona, I’m so proud of you.” I gave him a quick hug but didn’t take the flowers. Alfred looked confused. “You don’t like them? I made sure to get white roses this time, not red. I thought all women liked roses.” Just then, the rich heir, Damian, made his way onto the stage. “Excuse me for interrupting. Hello, I’m Damian Sterling.” He offered me a bouquet of pristine white tulips. “I feel tulips are a much better match for your elegance tonight, Miss Dursley.” I smiled and accepted the tulips. Alfred’s face started to darken. I tugged on his sleeve. “Alfred, darling, could you reimburse Mr. Sterling for the flowers? It was so kind of him to pick them up for me.” A grin spread across Alfred’s face. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and shoved it at Damian. “Thanks for the effort, but I’m perfectly capable of buying my own girlfriend flowers.” Damian just smirked. “You have to buy the right ones first.” I thanked him again to break the tension, then looped my arm through Alfred’s and led him backstage. Once we were alone, Alfred, practically bursting with pride, told me he’d turned down a girl who confessed her feelings to him today. “Who was it?” 6 “Laura. The girl who was also trying out to be the host.” So it was her. It seemed my presence in the competition had pushed her into the audience, where she’d met Alfred ahead of schedule and made her move. “And?” “I turned her down, of course,” Alfred said, puffing out his chest. “I already have the best girlfriend in the world.” Speak of the devil. The person handling the backstage cleanup was Laura herself. Her eyes immediately landed on our intertwined hands, her gaze sharp and assessing. “So you’re Fiona Dursley. Alfred’s girlfriend.” I just smiled and said nothing. Laura’s expression soured. “You’re lucky to have a boyfriend like him.” “It’s not her who’s lucky, it’s me,” Alfred interjected, leaning his head toward me. I gave his hair a perfunctory ruffle. “Such a good boy.” Laura looked like she’d been slapped. She dropped what she was doing and ran out, tears welling in her eyes. Once she was gone, Alfred’s smile faded. “Fiona, the reason you didn’t take my roses… is it because you really don’t like them?” I nodded. “That’s right.” He tightened his grip on my hand. “Next time, even if you don’t like them, can you just take them anyway?” I pulled my hand back, my own expression turning cold. Without another word, I started walking toward my dorm. Alfred rushed after me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant… in front of your other admirers, could you give me a little…” I stopped and turned. “A little what?” He wrapped his arms around me. “A little face.” Just then, Damian Sterling happened to be walking by. I tilted Alfred’s chin up and kissed him. Right in Damian’s line of sight. “Was that enough for you?” 7 Alfred’s face was as red as a ripe apple. He stood there, completely stunned, but his eyes shot a triumphant glare at Damian. “Childish,” I muttered. By the end of the semester, Alfred and I were the campus’s model couple. Everything seemed to be going perfectly. But then, a plot twist that wasn’t in the original script appeared. The university was offering a full scholarship for the top two students in our department to study abroad. Originally, Alfred and I were tied for first place, both securing a spot. But my advisor had just sent me a message. There had been a change. Because of Damian Sterling’s family connections, the department had decided to add him to the list. Which meant that either Alfred or I would be cut. Honestly, someone with Damian’s background didn’t need a university scholarship. If he wanted to study abroad, he had a dozen better options. It made no sense for him to pull strings for this one, small opportunity. It was a power play, designed to force Alfred and me to come to him. And in that moment, I realized just how powerless I was. Until Alfred had his big hero moment and leveled up, Damian was effectively the second protagonist of this world. He had the power to crush anyone. Against him, I had no moves to make. I told Alfred about the situation. He was silent for a long moment, then looked at me. “Let’s just give up, Fiona,” he said. “We don’t have to try so hard.” It was like a splash of cold water to the face. I finally understood my mistake. Compared to the hero of the story, blessed with endless good fortune, I was just a disposable stepping stone. Now that I was aware of the plot, how could I possibly have expected him to be my support? 8 I accepted Damian Sterling’s invitation. Studying abroad would allow me to build my own network, to create a bigger future for myself. I had no reason to give that up. If the plot remained unchanged, the domestic market would one day belong to Alfred. My only move was to carve out my own territory overseas. Damian had chosen an absurdly luxurious and stylish cafe. His first words to me were, “Will you be my girlfriend?” “No,” I replied instantly. He was taken aback. “Then why did you agree to meet me today?” He quickly recovered, smiling. “Don’t be so quick to refuse. You can think it over while you enjoy your coffee.” I didn’t say anything. I simply picked up my cup, inhaled the aroma, and then proceeded to add a generous amount of sugar and cream. Damian raised an eyebrow. “That’s pure Blue Mountain coffee, you know.” The implication was clear: I was ruining it. I decided it wasn’t sweet enough and added another sugar cube. “I’m not a fan of making things difficult for myself.” “I came here today to tell you that I am willing to go abroad with you. I am not, however, willing to become your girlfriend.” Damian took a slow sip of his own coffee. “But… if you’re not my girlfriend, why would I give you this opportunity?” I played my next card. “I will break up with Alfred.” I let that hang in the air for a second. “Not to be with you. But to give you an opportunity to pursue me.” Damian burst out laughing. “That is the most interesting proposition I’ve heard all year.” I said nothing more. I just left my contact information on the table. “Let me know when you’ve made a decision. This offer won’t last forever.” I stood up to leave. “You have until tomorrow morning.” I was betting on two things: Damian’s arrogance, and the narrative’s relentless drive to separate me and Alfred. It was a gamble I had to take. 9 Even before I got a confirmation from Damian, I sent Alfred the breakup text. He rushed to my dorm, standing outside the building. It was funny, in a sad way. It was the first time he’d ever come here on his own initiative. He stood there all night, causing a campus-wide spectacle. Finally, worn down by the unspoken pressure from my roommates, I went down to see him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt. He looked utterly heartbroken. “You’re breaking up with me for this scholarship?” he asked, his voice rough. “You’re going to dump me and run off with that rich guy?” “Not exactly,” I corrected him. “The scholarship is the immediate cause, yes. But the root cause is this: you’re lazy and you have no backbone. You don’t meet the standards for the next phase of my life.” “Next phase?” he repeated blankly. I nodded. “People are supposed to strive for better things. Just because you’re content to coast doesn’t mean I have to accept it. Besides, when this whole thing with Damian came up, what did you do? You stood there and told me to just let it go, spouting nonsense about how things will work themselves out.” “What else did you do?” “That doesn’t mean I have no backbone,” he said, his voice cracking. “I love you. I just don’t want to see you struggle.” I threw my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Exactly.” “So I’m not struggling anymore. I’m breaking up with you.”

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The night my nemesis, Angelica Monroe, made her grand return to New York, Wyatt Hayes—heir to half of Manhattan, it seemed—materialized at JFK. The society pages practically exploded. Before the ink was dry, rumors of their rekindled romance were the headline on every gossip blog. For the next two weeks, my social media feed was a minefield of their shared existence. Paparazzi shots of them slipping into the same exclusive Soho high-rise.“Sources close to the couple” spilling saccharine details of their reunion. Then, a photo I’d tried to forget resurfaced: me, presenting Wyatt with a birthday cake last year. It became the internet’s favorite punchline. “All those years Nina Parker spent chasing after Wyatt, and it took Angelica one day to get him back.” “Honestly, they should just get married already. Then maybe these desperate wannabes would stop buzzing around him like flies.” Angelica posted a picture to her private Instagram, a calculated leak of two hands clasped together, captioned with sickeningly sweet text: “We took the long way, but I’m so glad we found our way back to each other.” To make it easier for the star-crossed lovers, I packed my bags, left a signed divorce agreement on the bed, and walked away. The result? A complete and utter meltdown from the man in question. A voicemail, choked with something that sounded suspiciously like a sob, accused me, “When other guys get dragged through the mud online, their wives have their backs. You just leave. How could you be so cruel?” 1. My flight back from a business trip landed at the same time as Angelica’s triumphant return from Europe. Years apart had done nothing to dim her shine. She was still effortlessly incandescent, the kind of woman who becomes the gravitational center of any room she enters. The news of her split with Wyatt before she left had been the talk of the town. Now that she was back, every reporter with a pulse was scrambling for the scoop. A swarm of them surrounded her, a cacophony of questions and flashing cameras choking the exit. I pulled my mask up higher, sinking into the collar of my coat, and tried to slip past unnoticed. The last thing I needed was for her to recognize me. We’d been rivals since kindergarten, a constant, petty war of attrition waged over grades, friends, and social standing. But all our childhood squabbles paled in comparison to the one truly staggering fact: her first love was now my husband. A year after she left the country, Wyatt and I got married. This is the third year of our secret marriage. I overheard two journalists who hadn’t managed to break through the scrum, whispering excitedly beside me. “I got a shot of Wyatt Hayes’s car. That’s the real story.” “What’s he doing at the airport this late?” “What do you think? He hasn’t seriously dated anyone since Angelica. The queen is back; the king has to show up and kiss the ring, right?” My fingers, wrapped around the handle of my suitcase, went numb with cold. My flight was supposed to be tomorrow morning. Wyatt had changed it. “We have a family thing tomorrow,” he’d said. “Come back tonight.” He told me he was busy, that he’d sent his assistant to pick me up. “Are you sure it was him? It’s dark out.” “A license plate like that? In this city? My eyes might be shot, but my ten-thousand-dollar camera lens isn’t. Just wait. Tomorrow’s headlines are going to be epic.” The assistant, driving a nondescript black sedan, greeted me with a respectful, “Mrs. Hayes.” But his eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine, and I could practically smell the guilt rolling off him. “Is Wyatt still working?” “Yes… but Mr. Hayes said he’ll be home to see you tonight…” It was one in the morning. Wyatt Hayes didn’t work late. Ever. The subtext was loud and clear: He’ll be home eventually. Don’t ask where he’s been. 2. When Wyatt and I got married, we kept it quiet. Outside of our parents and a few close friends, no one knew. My mother complained about it privately. “The Hayes family is wonderful, yes, but to have my daughter marry in secret after I’ve raised her for twenty-something years… It just doesn’t sit right with me.” But this was the man I’d been in love with for more than a decade. No one knew the electric shock of joy that went through me when I heard he and Angelica had broken up. And no one could possibly understand how my heart hammered against my ribs when his father, drunk at a dinner party, started playing armchair matchmaker. For me, all the pomp and circumstance in the world couldn’t compare to the moment Wyatt nodded his assent. The secret marriage was my idea. The night before we went to City Hall, I found him with a friend who was teasing him. “The second news of this wedding gets out, Angelica’s going to be on the first flight back to New York.” Wyatt was lighting a cigarette and didn’t answer. When he saw me walk in, he just smiled, as if nothing had happened, and wrapped an arm around my waist. I met the friend’s shocked gaze as I gently plucked the cigarette from between Wyatt’s lips. “Let’s not announce our marriage to anyone,” I said. “I have no interest in being the catalyst for someone else’s drama.” From the very first day, I was honest with him about everything, except for the small fact that I’d loved him for most of my life. I told him flat-out that I couldn’t stand Angelica. I told him I was in this to build a real life with him. “I can accept that it will take time for you to get to know me, to maybe even grow to love me,” I’d said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I cannot accept being with you if your heart is still with someone else. If you can’t do that, we should end this now, before it begins.” I remember he laughed, a low, soft sound. Then he dipped his head and his mouth found mine in a deep, possessive kiss. Just like now. He understood exactly what I was saying. He turned to his friend, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “You hear that? Watch what you say next time.” The next day, he made sure every detail was locked down. The city clerk came to our apartment to officiate. So, no, I couldn’t blame the internet for their speculation. But seeing that photo—the one of his car at JFK—still felt like a punch to the gut. The reporter claimed to have been in the car right next to his. I zoomed in on the image, and through the dark, tinted window, I could have sworn I saw the silhouette of his profile. Below it was a clip of Angelica’s airport interview. Someone had asked, feigning innocence, “It’s so late, Miss Monroe. Do you have someone special picking you up?” A blush bloomed across her perfect face. She answered with a coy little smile, “That’s a secret.” There’s nothing more dangerous than a half-answer and a well-timed coincidence. Together, they plant a seed of doubt that grows, twisting your thoughts down paths you can’t control. In that moment, I forgot the fierce, desperate way he’d made love to me when he got home, pressing his forehead to mine and murmuring that I was cruel for leaving him all alone. All I could remember was that he didn’t get home until three in the morning. I remembered the faint, sweet scent of roses clinging to his clothes. And I remembered how the gossip, which had been the top headline when I woke up, was scrubbed from the internet within half an hour, the search terms completely blocked. And his quiet phone call to his assistant, when he thought I was still asleep. “Get every mention of it taken down. If any of this gets out, it’ll be bad for her.” For her. Not for us. 3. Throughout the entire family dinner, Wyatt acted completely normal. I hated myself for it, but I just sat there, quiet. The old me would have thrown down my fork and started a fight right then and there. Back then, I thought I could stick to my principles: no matter how much you love a man, you always put yourself first. Now, I found I couldn’t even bring myself to ask the question. I was terrified he’d say yes. That’s when the humiliation would truly become unbearable. Wyatt was the first to finish. He stood, put on his jacket, said a quick goodbye to his parents, and then turned to me. “I’ve already spoken to the driver. He’ll take you home in a bit. I have something this afternoon.” He used to tell me where he was going. He never would have left me alone at a family event. He’d never said the words “I love you” outright, but for three years, his actions had screamed them. He was attentive, thoughtful to a fault. He remembered every anniversary, never let a word I said fall on deaf ears, and was so attuned to my moods he could preemptively avoid anything that might upset me. He had a wonderful temper, gently absorbing all my rough edges and bad habits. When I made a mistake, he never got angry. He’d just smile, smooth back my hair, and patiently show me the right way. So I believed he loved me. No one could be that patient, that tender, with someone they didn’t love. But I’d forgotten one crucial, fatal detail. Wyatt Hayes was a good person to his core. He was good to everyone. I just happened to have the title of “wife,” which meant he was simply better to me. I didn’t know it then, but that absurd thought, one I would have scoffed at just weeks ago, would soon wrap around me like a venomous snake. From that day on, Wyatt was always out early and back late. The only constant was the good morning kiss he’d demand before he left, a ritual he never skipped. I tried to use these “habits” of his to soothe the growing anxiety in my chest, but every day was a battle, oscillating between the urge to confront him and the need to stay silent. Sleep became a distant memory. One night, I tossed and turned so much I woke him. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips warm against my neck. “Is it that time of the month? Is that why you can’t sleep? Does it help if I hold you?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Tears immediately pricked my eyes. I had always told myself I would never become one of those women, clinging and emotional, letting unfounded suspicions drive me crazy. But this was different. This was a real sense of crisis, the very feeling I used to look down on with such disdain. My mind was a slideshow of the “relationship details” Angelica had made sure I’d see, of the genuine affection I’d witnessed between them years ago. And the undeniable fact that she was the one who had ended things… “Wyatt…” “When you get back from your trip, let’s talk.” I fought to keep my voice even. I had to talk to him, openly. Whether he went to the airport or not, whatever his reasons were, I just needed an answer that would silence the storm of doubt in my head. He was so tired his eyes could barely stay open. He just nuzzled his head against mine and mumbled, “Mmm.” But we never got the chance to have that calm, rational conversation. 4. Wyatt had a five-day business trip. His flight was early, but he made a point of waking me up just to tie his tie. “You seem a little down lately. Is everything okay? When I get this deal closed, I’ll take you somewhere, just the two of us.” He was always like this—so attuned to my every emotion, always ready to give me the best of everything within his power. It was how he’d slowly dismantled my defenses, making me love him more, making me need him more, with each passing day. I didn’t want to start something right before he left. I shook my head and used work as an excuse, cutting off any further questions. For a split second, I even allowed myself to wonder if I was just imagining it all. That afternoon, an anonymous account posted on a gossip forum. No text, no commentary. Just two pictures, time-stamped, showing Wyatt and Angelica entering the same luxury apartment building in Soho, one after the other, late at night. The comments section exploded. Congratulations and shock in equal measure. “Oh my god, I knew they’d get back together!” “Didn’t she dump him? And he waited all these years? He’s willing to forgive that?” “You don’t get it. True love conquers all, duh.” Of course, there were a few skeptics. “These two pictures don’t really prove anything…” The original poster replied to only that one comment: “I have more. Just wait.” I saw the post late at night. A few minutes later, it was gone. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. I felt like a dying fish on a scorching sidewalk, my body wracked with shivers. For the next several days, the anonymous account posted new photos at the same time every night. Different outfits, same building, same pattern of entering one after the other. Then, as if on cue, a self-proclaimed “friend” of Angelica’s posted a screenshot of a vague, yet pointed, Instagram story: “So glad we found our way back to each other. ” I would recognize that profile picture anywhere. It had been rotting in my block list for years. Angelica and I had fought countless times, but I had never gone so far as to block her completely. That had happened years ago, the day she sent me a picture of Wyatt kissing her on the cheek, with a taunting message: “He’s not so hard to get, is he? To think you’ve been hung up on him for so long.” “If you put half the energy you spend fighting with me into chasing guys, you might not be so alone.” “Then again… even if you gave it your all with Wyatt, he’d still choose me. Hahaha.” “Nina, you’ll always be second best. Always.” For the first time, I didn’t fight back. I just stared at that picture, over and over, a pain like a physical blade twisting in my chest. The person I had cherished for more than a decade was, to someone else, just a game. What hurt even more was her willingness to use her sweet moments with him as a weapon to crush me. So, just as she’d predicted, I retreated like a defeated soldier. I deleted their numbers, blocked their accounts, and avoided any party or event where I might run into them. I never imagined that, years later, the same tactics would be used against me again, this time with a single, fatal blow that felt like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. 5. I hadn’t slept in days. I had no appetite, no energy for work. Every day, I stared at my phone, a self-destructive ritual of waiting for them to drop the next “big story.” I tried to invent a million other possibilities, clinging to any shred of hope, but when Angelica’s interview was released, that hope turned to ash. As the country’s youngest rising star in jewelry design, and with her family name and the gossip swirling around her, it wasn’t hard for her to find a spotlight. “Angelica, we’ve been hearing whispers of some good news lately. We all think you and he are a perfect match. Will you let us in on it when the time is right?” “I really didn’t expect to be photographed,” she’d said, a picture of demure surprise. “He’s always been very private about his personal life. As long as we’re happy behind the scenes, that’s what matters. But of course, if there’s any real news, you’ll be the first to know!” Her friend chimed in on the gossip forum right on schedule: “They’ve been through so much. He’s so devoted. The night she flew back, he waited at the airport for her until two in the morning. And he’s spent the last few weeks running around, helping her get settled in her new place. He’s been so incredibly attentive. True love can’t be broken.” My mind went numb. A dull, throbbing pain started in my chest, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. So all those days he was leaving early and coming home late, all those nights my calls went straight to voicemail… he was with Angelica? I thought back to my birthday last year. Because I’d mentioned wanting to see the ocean, he’d rented out an entire private island. He spent a fortune on a drone light show to celebrate. For three days and two nights, we were tangled together, the sound of the waves a constant backdrop to our lovemaking. He’d told me then, “Nina, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” In all my twenty-something years, I had never felt a moment of happiness so pure. A lifetime, he’d said. How could I reconcile that with this? How could I just let it go? I leaned against the wall and sobbed, a raw, wrenching sound that tore through my body until I was numb. My imagination ran wild, each thought a sharpened blade, flaying me alive, piece by piece. I couldn’t breathe. My hands fumbled through the medicine box on the nightstand, searching for something, anything, to calm the frantic beating of my heart. But before I could find it, the world went black, and I collapsed. I woke up in the hospital. It was five in the morning. The woman who cooks for us had found me and brought me here. The doctor said the extreme emotional distress had triggered a somatic symptom disorder. Our housekeeper, murmuring prayers of thanks, said she was going to call Wyatt to let him know I was okay. I reached out and stopped her. When I opened my phone, I saw a message from a friend: “What the hell is wrong with people online? Why don’t you just ask Wyatt what’s going on? You’ve been married for three years, and they’re still trying to pair him up with a girlfriend on the internet!” She’d sent a screenshot of the thread where my birthday picture had been posted. “I thought this was the real one? Their parents have known each other for decades.” “LMAO, I know her. Go ask her at work tomorrow if you want. That Nina Parker has been drooling over Wyatt for ages. Has he ever once acknowledged her? Look at how long Angelica has been back. He’s tripping over himself for her. He wants this.” “I agree. The handsome guy and the beautiful girl should just get married already. It would save us from all these flies trying to bother them!” I didn’t reply. I just waited quietly for the IV drip to finish. I didn’t want to think anymore. I was disgusted with the person I’d become. It was five in the afternoon when I got home. Wyatt was already back. He didn’t know I’d been in the hospital. He’d sent me a text when he got home: “Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Are you swamped with work?” “I’m heading home to get some rest. I’ll have the driver pick you up this afternoon.” He was fast asleep, clutching my pillow, so exhausted he was snoring lightly. My eyes fell on his briefcase. A file was sticking out. I pulled it out. A purchase agreement for a condo. In the exact same building he’d been photographed at. Everything clicked into place. Holding my breath, I quietly packed my things. I never thought it would end like this. After leaving the divorce papers on his nightstand, I finally broke down in the elevator, my sobs echoing in the small, silent space.

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My lease was up after three years, and my landlord refused to renew. I was scrambling to find a new place, which is a nightmare in this city. My best friend, Maya, saw the apartment listing online and was furious on my behalf. “This landlord is a total psycho,” she grumbled, scrolling through the pictures on her phone. “You offered to pay more, and you’ve kept the place spotless. Why is he so desperate to rent to someone else?” Impulsively, she stabbed the “call” button on the listing, planning to mess with him a little. But when the call connected, we both froze. The voice that answered was my boyfriend’s. 1 Maya had him on speaker. A familiar “Hello?” came through the phone. The voice was quiet, but it hit me like a lightning bolt. It was my boyfriend, Leo. I couldn’t believe it. I reached out to stop Maya, but my hand hovered uselessly over the screen. We just stared at each other, stunned. “Hello?” he said again, a little louder this time. Maya recovered first. Clearing her throat, she pinched her nose to disguise her voice. “Hi, are you the landlord for apartment 1204 at The Goldcrest?” “Yes, I am.” She shot me a look, then continued, “I saw your listing online, and I—” “Sorry,” he cut her off, “the apartment’s already taken. Someone put down a deposit.” He hung up. Maya shot up from the couch and threw her phone onto the cushions. “Holy crap! The apartment you’ve been renting for three years… the landlord is Leo?” she exclaimed. “This is like something out of a bad movie!” 2 The shock started to wear off, replaced by a cold, sinking feeling. I opened my utility app and pulled up the account for my apartment. Under “Account Holder,” it read: L. Hayes. Next, I called the building management office and asked for the owner’s name for my unit, pretending I needed it for a renter’s insurance claim. “The owner is Leo Hayes,” the woman on the phone confirmed cheerfully. I slumped onto the floor, the strength draining out of me. I leaned against the side of the bed, motionless. When I first signed the lease, the landlord had to reschedule at the last minute. I had a conflict and couldn’t make the new time, so Leo offered to go and sign the paperwork for me. I never once saw the owner’s information. Later, when I saw the name on the utility bill, I’d even joked with him about how common his name was. Looking back, I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. He was collecting rent from me, his girlfriend, for an apartment he owned. He was using me to pay his mortgage, while also crashing at “my” place whenever he wanted. It was a flawless setup, and I had been completely clueless. Maya’s words cut right to the bone. “That’s some next-level scheming. He’s got you paying off his mortgage, and he gets to live there for free. Girl, you’re not his girlfriend, you’re his sugar mama.” 3 My phone buzzed. It was a text from Leo, sent ten minutes ago. [Hey, I’m off work. On my way to pick you up so we can go apartment hunting.] He’d been telling me for weeks that he was about to be sent on a work trip for the better part of a month. He was worried I wouldn’t have time to find a place and move before he left. He kept pushing me to find something quickly so he wouldn’t have to “worry about me” while he was gone. It wasn’t concern. He was just in a hurry to get me out so he could get his next tenant in. A hot wave of anger washed over me. I almost called him right then and there to confront him. But Maya stopped me, a frown on her face. “Doesn’t this seem weird to you?” she asked. “You offered to pay more rent, and he still said no. Why do you think that is?” The answer hit me like a punch to the gut. He already had a new tenant lined up. And he was about to break up with me. The rental listing wasn’t for just anyone. It was for her. The girl he was cheating on me with. 4 In Leo’s car, I took Maya’s advice and tried to act normal, like nothing had happened. “You know,” I said casually, “I heard the apartment across the hall from me just went up for rent. Maybe I should just take that one. It would save me the trouble of moving everything.” I watched his face closely. I didn’t miss the flicker of panic in his eyes. “But you’ve always complained about the noise in that building,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “This is a great chance to find a quieter place.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. “I’ve lived there for three years. I’m used to the kids upstairs running around. It’s like a white noise machine at this point. I’d probably have trouble sleeping without it.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “What are you, a masochist? Don’t get attached to a bad situation. Come on, let’s find you a better place. It’s so loud, I swear the mom upstairs is always screaming at her kids whenever we’re trying to have a moment. It’s not exactly a mood-setter.” His words were like poison, every syllable a lie. I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to keep my composure. 5 Leo and I met in college. He pursued me for a year before I finally agreed to go out with him our sophomore year. He was a local; I was from a small town a thousand miles away. I’d always assumed we’d break up after graduation. But then I landed an internship at a top ad agency right here in the city. It was a dream opportunity. I told him the good news, and he was ecstatic. “That’s amazing!” he’d said. “You can stay here! We don’t have to break up!” He helped me search for an apartment. Since he knew the city, I trusted his judgment. He was the one who sent me the link to the apartment I ended up renting. To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with it when the realtor showed it to us. The walls were paper-thin. You could hear every stomp and crash from the family upstairs. I told Leo I thought we should keep looking, but he was unusually insistent. With all the other places we’d seen, he’d been the picky one, finding fault with the lighting, the amenities, the security. But this place, despite the obvious flaw, he loved. He argued that for the location and the price, it was the best we’d find. “If it weren’t for the noise,” he’d said, “the rent would be way higher.” At the time, it made sense. I was on a tight budget, and it really was a good deal. So, I took it. Looking back, I finally understood why he was so determined for me to live in that specific apartment. 6 The real estate agent showing us apartments today was the same woman from three years ago, a friendly, middle-aged local who owned her own small agency. After three hours of looking, I hadn’t liked a single place. No matter how much Leo tried to sell me on them, I found something wrong with each one. He was starting to get frustrated. “What exactly are you looking for?” he asked, his patience wearing thin. “Your lease is up in a week.” “If I can’t find anything, I’ll just crash with Maya for a while,” I said calmly. “I’m not in a rush. I want to find a place I actually like.” He frowned. “But we’ve seen all the suitable listings this agency has.” “Then we’ll find another agency,” I said with a shrug. Leo’s jaw tightened. “The agent has spent all afternoon with us. You can’t just ghost her now. That’s not right.” The agent quickly jumped in. “It’s no problem at all! We have plenty of other options. We’ll take our time. The right place will come along.” I looked at her then, really looked at her, and then back at Leo. A strange thought popped into my head. They looked alike. They had the same eyes. 7 The next day, I was sitting in a coffee shop waiting for Maya when I noticed a striking, long-haired girl at the table next to me. She was on the phone with a real estate agent, scheduling a time to sign a lease. After she hung up, she stood to leave and collided with Maya, who was rushing in with a coffee in each hand. The girl’s white dress was now covered in latte. Maya’s phone clattered to the floor, the screen shattering. I rushed over to help Maya apologize. The girl was surprisingly gracious and didn’t make a fuss. I insisted on getting her Venmo to pay for the dry cleaning. Back at our table, while I was sending the money, I casually said to Maya, “Why were you in such a hurry? You wrecked your phone.” As I opened the Venmo app, a little red dot appeared on my Instagram icon. A new story. I tapped on it instinctively. It was the girl from the coffee shop. [Found my new place! Ready for some sweet cohabitation adventures ~] The location tag was unmistakable: The Goldcrest. My building. Just then, Maya’s voice, loud and sharp, broke through my daze. “Oh my god! You are not going to believe what I found out!” she exclaimed. “That real estate agent? She’s Leo’s mom!” “This whole family is running a goddamn romance scam on you!” 8 After our apartment hunting trip, that crazy thought about the agent wouldn’t leave me alone. To check it out, I’d asked Maya’s mom to pay a visit to the real estate agency. Maya’s family was also local, and her mom could talk the ear off a statue. She could get a stranger’s life story in five minutes flat. Maya chugged a glass of iced tea, not even pausing for breath. “So, my mom went in pretending to be a buyer,” she reported. “She and the agent hit it off, started calling each other ‘sis.’ The agent even pulled out her phone and showed my mom pictures of her son. I showed my mom a picture of you and Leo, and she said, yup, that’s him. The agent’s son is Leo.” I’d been with Leo for five years, and I’d never met his parents. He told me they were business owners who lived out of state, in Arizona. He said they rarely came back, and he always flew out there for the holidays. And he did disappear for a few days every Christmas, always returning with some turquoise jewelry or a bag of local coffee for me. I never had a reason to doubt him. How many of his stories were lies? On a sweltering summer day, a chill ran down my spine. 9 “So then,” Maya continued, “my mom starts gushing about what a catch her son is and asks if he has a girlfriend, saying she has a niece who would be perfect for him. My mom is a master bullshitter. She invented a whole fake niece on the spot, from a super-rich family, and you could see the agent’s eyes light up.” Maya rolled her eyes. “And guess what she said? She said her son has a great job, owns his own place, drives a nice car, makes six figures, and has a great personality. The only thing missing is a girlfriend.” I laughed, a bitter sound. “Owns a place and a car, sure. Six figures is a stretch.” “Totally! Six figures my ass. He wishes.” He’d bought a used BMW his second year of work. The apartment was a small one-bedroom in a mid-rise building. He was a software developer at a mid-sized tech company. His salary was nowhere near “six figures.” His mom was really puffing him up to land a rich girl. 10 “So basically,” Maya said, her voice full of indignation, “you’ve been with him for five years, and his mom doesn’t even think you’re good enough for him. No wonder you’ve never met her.” My parents owned a small dermatology clinic in my hometown. It was a comfortable life, but nothing fancy. Leo must have told his mom about my family, and she’d written me off as not good enough. Leo was never serious about me. He was just keeping me around until something better came along. And instead of just breaking up with me, he and his mother were using me to pay his mortgage. And now, they were about to do the same thing to the next girl. 11 My phone vibrated, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was the girl from the coffee shop, accepting my Venmo payment. A second later, another message came through. [Hey, I saw your Instagram story. Small world! I’m the next tenant for your apartment!] I was stunned. I typed back quickly. [That’s crazy! When did you see the place?] [Last Sunday. The agent let me in. She said you were at work.] My lease wasn’t up for another week. He hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was showing the apartment. He just waited for me to be gone. He really couldn’t wait to get me out. She asked me a few questions about the apartment. [Can I ask you something privately? I loved the place, but is the noise from upstairs really bad?] I told her the truth about the thin walls. [Yeah, that’s what I was worried about,] she replied. [But my boyfriend really loves the location. It’s super close to his work. So I decided to take it.] I asked the million-dollar question. [Does your boyfriend work at the tech company nearby?] She confirmed it. I then asked her, trying to sound casual, if the agent who showed her the apartment was Leo’s mom. The answer she sent back was exactly what I expected. I didn’t need to ask anything else. I knew. Leo was her boyfriend. He and his mom were running the same scam all over again. 12 “Hello? Earth to Jane?” Maya said, waving a hand in front of my face. “What are you staring at? Did you hear a word I said?” I held up my phone and let her read the messages. Her eyes grew wider with every line. “No way! That girl from the coffee shop is Leo’s side piece?” she gasped. “And his mom showed her the apartment while you were at work!” I thought about it. “I don’t think she knows about me,” I said. “She seemed totally normal when she saw me. Leo probably told her he was single.” A thought occurred to me, and I quickly typed another message. [Have you signed the lease yet?] [Not yet, I’m signing it tomorrow.] [Don’t sign it!] I typed, my fingers flying. [Why not?] I sent her a picture of me and Leo, smiling together on vacation. Then, I typed out the truth, one word at a time. [Because he’s a liar.]

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The day before my wedding, the car I was in drove through a freak temporal anomaly. Eight hours for me was twenty years for the world. When the police asked if I had any family they could contact, I stared out the window at a billboard featuring my fiancé’s face and shook my head. “No one. My parents are gone. I have no one left.” The moment he pushed open the precinct doors, words scrolled across my vision, like comments on a livestream. 【Luna, hurry up and tell him who you are! Your fiancé is a titan of industry now.】 【The one that got away is back! Kick out that cheap replacement he married, and you’ll be set for life.】 They said he had become one of Crestview’s elite, that in twenty years, he had never forgotten me. I looked at the man before me, a stranger in a tailored suit, and my voice was hollow. “Who are you? I don’t know you.” 1 With bloodshot eyes, Lucas Hart crushed me in an embrace. “Luna, you’re finally back!” I fought my way out of his arms, my voice sharp and final. “Sir, I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know you.” He stood there, clad in a bespoke suit, a ridiculously expensive Rolex glinting on his wrist, his red-rimmed eyes locked on me. Across my vision, the ghostly comments flew by, lamenting the fortune I was so foolishly turning away. But they didn’t know. I’d lived this life before. In my last life, I had thrown myself into his arms in this very police station, weeping with joy. It was a joy that soured into the cruelest of tragedies. Lucas took a step forward, reaching for me again, but I flinched away. The officer beside me moved between us, his posture wary. “Mr. Hart, what exactly is your relationship to this woman?” Lucas’s gaze never left my face, a storm of emotions churning in his eyes before settling into a quiet calm. It was a long moment before he spoke. “Her parents were my mentors. I suppose that makes me something of a big brother to her.” The comments erupted again, insisting he was just easing me into the truth, using the “brother” angle so as not to overwhelm me. I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile touching my lips. I should have known. He wouldn’t acknowledge me as his fiancée. That girl was supposed to be a memory, tucked away and cherished, not a living, breathing complication. The Lucas of today was a wealthy man with a beautiful family. My reappearance was nothing but a problem. Last time, I was blind to this. I believed his love was as unwavering as mine. I’d rushed to reclaim my title as his fiancée, deluding myself into thinking I could take back everything he had built with his wife, Sophia. It was a delusion that led to a gruesome end, with not even a body to bury. So this time, I would play the part of the amnesiac. This time, I would not interfere with his perfect life. After verifying his identity, the police prepared to release me into his care. “I don’t know him,” I insisted, digging my heels in. “I’m not going with him.” He pulled out his wallet and from it, a faded photograph of me with my parents. “Come on, Luna. Your parents left some things for you at my house. Consider it a keepsake.” But I saw it clearly. Tucked into another fold of his wallet was a vibrant, happy photo of a family of three. As he pulled out the old picture, a small, laminated photo slipped out and fluttered to the floor. It was my old student ID. 【Oh my god! He’s kept her picture for twenty years! He’s so in love!】 【I knew it! He only ever loved her! That Sophia is just a stand-in!】 The comments lauded his undying devotion. All I felt was a searing irony. A man with a wife and child—what was the point of pretending to be a tragic, romantic hero? “Luna, if you don’t come with me, you can’t get your records updated. You’ll be a ghost in the system, unable to do anything.” I hesitated, then finally, I followed him. The ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The plush leather of the Rolls-Royce’s back seat felt vast, yet it couldn’t contain the turbulent current flowing between us. After what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence, his voice low. “You really don’t remember anything about me?” “Nothing at all.” I shook my head, meeting his probing gaze with a calm, practiced smile. I wasn’t lying. I truly didn’t know this man. The Lucas I knew was a poor but proud boy, twenty years old, who would blush at a single word from me. Love and jealousy were written plainly on his face. He didn’t have this man’s money or his cunning. A ride on his beat-up bicycle was enough to make his whole day. He would never have wavered between me and another woman. In my past life, this older Lucas had hidden me away in a lavish villa, a dirty secret, torn between his wife and me. In the end, his indecision destroyed us all. I glanced over. He was rubbing his eyes, a habit I remembered. I could see the silver creeping at his temples. I ran a thumb over my bare ring finger. He still hadn’t noticed the ring he gave me was gone. Once I find the person I need to find, I will walk away from him and never look back. 2 Sophia was impeccably preserved, looking barely over thirty. The animosity in her beautiful eyes was sharp and undisguised. Lucas was about to make introductions when his phone rang. He stepped away to take the call, leaving me alone with her in the grand foyer. I tried to force the word ‘Sophia’ out, to greet her as his wife, but the sound was trapped in my throat. She approached me with a bowl of what looked like hot pear cider. “Here, drink this. It’ll soothe your throat.” The moment I reached for it, her wrist tilted. The bowl crashed at my feet. Scalding liquid splashed onto my instep. It was autumn now, but I was still wearing the flimsy summer sandals I’d had on before I got in the car. When Lucas ended his call, he saw a tearful Sophia, a stunned me, and a floor littered with porcelain shards. “Luna, what did you do?!” he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Apologize to Sophia, now!” His hand clamped around my wrist, the force of his grip bruising the bone. The comments flared. 【Just you wait, Lucas! When her memory comes back, you’re going to regret this!】 【Maybe he thinks he’s too old for her now? Is that why he’s pushing her away?】 A chill settled deep in my bones. No, that wasn’t it. In the twenty years I was gone, he had fallen in love with someone else. The scales of his heart had long since tipped in favor of the wife and child who had stood by his side. Sophia quickly intervened. “It was nothing, I just lost my grip. Luna, are you alright? Did it burn you?” She retrieved an elegant shopping bag from a nearby closet. “I got you some new clothes. Why don’t you go change?” Lucas took the bag from her, glanced inside, and shoved it back into her arms. “This is the couture gown I had made for you. You can’t just give it to anyone.” His voice was cold. “I’ll get new clothes for Luna.” I kept my head down. “Thank you… brother,” I mumbled. I slipped on a pair of disposable slippers and followed them into the living room. I sat on the sofa, but my eyes were drawn to the room around me, a museum of their life together. In my last life, I was never allowed in this house. 3 Only now did I see the full, crushing weight of their happiness. In their wedding photo, Sophia was radiant, nestled against Lucas. The date in the corner was three years after the day I disappeared. An entire wall was a mosaic of their life, a dense collage of memories documenting two decades. There were photos of them traveling the world, from the Eiffel Tower to the pyramids of Giza. There were photos tracing their son’s growth, from a swaddled infant to a toddler taking his first steps, to the lanky teenager he was now. The steam from the cup of tea they’d placed before me blurred my vision as memories from my past life flooded back. When I first returned, I thought he was still the same Lucas I loved. He had held me, sobbing, telling me over and over how overjoyed he was to have me back. He said his life without me had been an agony, every second a torment. He said Sophia and their son were just a responsibility, a duty to appease his parents. And I believed him. I foolishly thought we could go back. But the one time I secretly went to see Sophia and their son, he flew into a rage. “You’re still such a child,” he’d snarled. “You can’t possibly understand the pressures a forty-year-old man faces.” My eight hours had been his twenty years. His habits had changed, his tastes had changed. I couldn’t keep up with the new world. I didn’t know how to use a smartphone, didn’t understand the new slang he used. I could see the impatience, the annoyance, hidden beneath his weary sighs. That annoyance peaked two years after my return. He suddenly announced he wanted to end things. “Luna, I have a wife and son. The twenty years we lost is a chasm we can never cross.” “I can compensate you,” he’d offered. “A car, a house, money… just name it.” I’d spent the entire night screaming, smashing everything in the house. He just sat on the sofa, chain-smoking until dawn. Neither of us would yield. So I took the fight to his office, to his company, and finally, to the press. Whether it was the weight of public opinion or my relentless campaign, I’ll never know. But one day, Sophia took their son and jumped from the roof of their high-rise apartment. From that day on, Lucas hated me with a passion that burned for thirty years. He never saw me again, instead leaving me to the mercy of his staff, who found creative ways to torment me. Just before he died, he sent a message: “If only we had agreed to just be brother and sister the day you came back.” So, in this life, no matter how the ghostly comments plead my case, I will stick to my story. I have amnesia. This time, I’m not chasing some phantom love. I just want to find my footing in this new world, reclaim what my parents left me, and then disappear from his life forever. Lucas’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Luna, go apologize to Sophia.” I lifted my head, my gaze bypassing Sophia and landing squarely on him. “Are we… really brother and sister?” The comments scrolled faster. 【Whoa, whoa! Is this it? Is the big reveal coming?】 【She’s going to tell him! I knew she wasn’t an amnesiac!】 【Get ready for the groveling to begin!】 Lucas’s eyes flickered. “Yes,” he said, his voice firm. “We are.” Then, a little softer, “Did you remember something?” 4 I smiled and shook my head. “No. Just asking.” He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. His fingers tapped a light rhythm on the tabletop. I knew that sound. It was the sound of his relief that I remembered nothing. The front door clicked open, and a young boy with a backpack walked in. “Dad, who is she?” Lucas opened his mouth, but seemed to struggle with how to introduce me. I spoke up first. “I’m your aunt.” The boy, Leo, eyed me suspiciously. “How come I’ve never seen you in any of the pictures?” he mumbled. Dinner was soon served. Sophia urged me to eat more. The table was laden with rich, elaborate dishes, but not a single one was something I liked. I felt a wave of dizziness. I remembered when Lucas and I were starting out, so poor we could barely scrape by. A single fancy meal was a cause for celebration that lasted for days. As I drifted in memory, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Lucas walked back in holding a McDonald’s bag. My eyes instantly flooded with tears. The comments went wild. 【She told him she wanted McDonald’s right before she got in the car!】 【He remembered for twenty years… I’m not crying, you’re crying.】 But in the next second, Leo leaped up and excitedly grabbed the bag from his father. “I knew you’d remember, Dad! It’s Wednesday—our family McDonald’s night!” Wednesday was McDonald’s night. That was my thing with Lucas. Our wedding was set for a Thursday, and the Wednesday before, we were so busy we never got a chance to eat. It was the one thing I kept complaining about. “I’ll get it for you as soon as I get off this thing, I promise,” he had laughed over the phone. “Luna, what’s wrong?” Sophia’s concerned voice cut through the haze. I lowered my head, forcing down a mouthful of rice. My voice was thick. “It’s nothing. I was just… thinking about my parents.” Lucas was gone from dawn till dusk, consumed by work. The household was Sophia’s domain. And she found endless reasons to torment me. One day, the dishes I washed were still greasy. The next, the floor I mopped wasn’t clean enough. Then, the clothes I hung had too many wrinkles and she had to re-iron everything. Before I could even defend myself, she would sigh, her eyes downcast. “It’s my fault, Lucas. I didn’t explain the house rules clearly enough… Oh, never mind. I’ll just go do it all again.” Lucas would only scowl at me and tell me to stop being so childish. Their son, Leo, was even worse. He secretly took photos of me changing and even tried to sell my underwear online. I brought it up once. Lucas’s face darkened instantly. “He’s a teenager, Luna. How can you even think something so vile about him?” Time truly changes a person. In my last life, sleeping next to the forty-year-old Lucas, my love had created a filter, obscuring the truth. I never realized he was no longer the twenty-year-old boy I adored. Ping. A notification on my phone. My official records were finally updated. That night, my phone rang. “City Hall. Ten a.m. tomorrow.” “I’ll be there.” The next morning, I ran into Lucas right outside the building. “Luna? What are you doing here?” I clutched the marriage certificate in my hand, its crisp edges digging into my palm. “Nothing. Just taking a walk.” If he had only asked one more question, he would have known I was there to get married. 5 Sophia’s voice called from the car. “Lucas, darling, hurry up! We’ll be late for work.” With them both gone for the day, I found the safe in Lucas’s study. Inside was the letter my parents had left me, along with the company’s original shareholder agreement. With these, I could take back what was mine. The password was still our anniversary. The first day of spring. The comments were still fawning over his supposed sentimentality. It just made me sick. I was dragging my suitcase down the street when a car careened out of control, heading straight for me. I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. My first instinct was to call Lucas. I dialed his number again and again, until the world went black. He never picked up. When I woke up, Sophia was sitting by my bed. “You’re finally awake, Luna.” Her voice was laced with faux concern. “Lucas and I were so busy with our fertility treatments for a second baby, we didn’t hear the phone.” I stared at her. “A second baby?” “We’re hoping for a girl this time,” she said, smiling sweetly. Her eyes fixed on me, and then, with a flick of her wrist, she smashed the jade bracelet she was wearing against the bedside table. Lucas walked in at that exact moment to the sound of Sophia’s theatrical sobs. “Lucas, darling! Luna… she broke the only thing your mother ever gave me!” He rushed to her side, shielding her with his body. It was the second time he’d fallen for such an obvious, pathetic trap. But this time, Sophia added a new twist. “Lucas, I don’t think she ever lost her memory. If she’s been faking it this whole time, then all of this… it would finally make sense.” His eyes snapped to me, filled with a dawning, terrible suspicion. I met his gaze. “She’s right, Lucas. I never lost my memory.” “And I never did a single thing to Sophia. The pear cider, the bracelet… it was all her.” His face contorted, a storm of shock and betrayal washing over him. His eyes reddened. I stared right back at him, my voice clear and steady. “I never wanted to destroy your family. That was your own self-important fantasy. Did you really think the twenty-year-old me would still be in love with a forty-year-old man?” The veins on the back of his hand stood out in sharp relief. “Stop it, Luna! Don’t say such things! I don’t believe you!” he roared. “If you never lost your memory, how could you be so calm? How could you not… not come running back to me?” The comments exploded. 【No way! Absolutely no way! If she remembered everything, with how much she loved him, she’d never be this cold!】 【I don’t buy it. She’s just saying this to get a reaction out of him, to make him jealous!】 My gaze shifted to the still-sobbing Sophia. I slapped her, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the sterile room. “I was trying to be civil, but some people just keep shoving their face in for a slap.” “Luna!” Lucas lunged for my wrist. But his hand was caught mid-air, stopped by a grip of iron. A tall man with sharp, intelligent eyes stepped between us, pulling me gently behind him. His gaze on Lucas was like ice. “Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said, his voice a low baritone. “I’m Richard Vance. Luna’s husband. Legally.” I peeked out from behind him, holding up the marriage certificate. “It’s true. We’re legally married. And I have absolutely no interest in you.” “I never lost my memory, Lucas. I just lost interest.”

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The third time the System ordered me to humiliate Liam, the brooding, broke campus legend I had once adored, I hesitated. My voice was a guilty whisper in my own mind. “Do I really have to burn him with the cigarette?” The man kneeling on the floor, surrounded by scattered hundred-dollar bills, inexplicably looked up, his eyes dark and unreadable. The System’s voice was cold steel in my head. Deviation from the script will result in punishment. A chill crawled up my spine. But in the next second, something impossible happened. Liam lunged forward, snatching the smoldering cigarette from between my fingers. With a choked gasp, he pressed it into the back of his own hand. His eyes, blazing with a fierce, restrained disgust, met mine. “Stop the act,” he rasped, his voice raw. I froze. I hadn’t said a word out loud. How did he just play out the scene by himself? 1 The third time the System issued its directive—Humiliate Liam Walsh—I took the wad of cash he’d handed me and flung it into the air. The crisp hundred-dollar bills rained down around us like crimson confetti in the dim light of the club. His face, usually a mask of indifference, tightened for a fraction of a second. His thin lips pressed into a hard line. I curved my own lips into the sneer the script demanded. “Kneel,” I said, my voice dripping with manufactured scorn. “Pick up every last one. Do that, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving the interest you owe me.” It was a perfect, cliché villainess line. We were in Onyx, a place where the city’s elite came to burn through their trust funds. The colored light from the bar glinted off bottles of liquor that cost more than a semester’s tuition. In the velvet-draped booths of this gilded cage, anything could happen. Forcing a scholarship kid to his knees over a little debt? That was so mundane it wouldn’t even earn a second glance from the table next to us. Liam’s shadowed gaze darkened. A flash of anger, there and gone, replaced by that familiar, cold detachment. His obsidian eyes swept over me once, then he slowly, deliberately, knelt. He actually began gathering the scattered bills. A wave of snickering rippled through my friends. “No way, he’s actually doing it. So much for pride. I heard he was some kind of legend at Blackwood University. Doesn’t he have any self-respect?” Someone else scoffed. “Self-respect? Genevieve’s family paid for his scholarship. The guy doesn’t own the shirt on his back. What right does he have to self-respect?” “He really thought because Gen played with him for a couple of months, he could climb his way into the Sinclair fortune. Pathetic.” The people in my circle were all heirs to one fortune or another, but the Sinclair name carried more weight. They orbited me, and seeing me put Liam in his place was just another form of entertainment, another chance to get on my good side. The man on the floor didn’t even look up. His face was lost in the shadows, but I could see the tension in his hand as he gripped the money, his knuckles white. He could take it. Of course he could. This was the man who would one day become a ruthless titan of industry, cold and untouchable. The laughter around me continued. Laugh it up, I thought, a bitter taste in my mouth. You’re all on his hit list. Enjoy the party while it lasts. Oh, right. So was I. I reached for my cigarette, my hand trembling slightly. I tapped the ash into the crystal tray. Tapped it again. And again. Stop it. Stop shaking. On the outside, I was Genevieve Sinclair, the cruel, untouchable heiress. On the inside, I was out of options. I screamed at the System in the privacy of my mind. “Are you absolutely sure he won’t have me murdered the second he gets a chance?” We guarantee your safety upon completion of the plot, it replied, its tone maddeningly serene. “That’s not a no!” 2 The day I found out I was the villain—the “one that got away” who was destined to break him—I had just gotten Liam to finally admit he had feelings for me. Then the System appeared. It informed me that we were characters in a story. I thought I was living a romance novel cliché: the wealthy heiress relentlessly pursuing the brilliant, penniless boy with a wounded soul. It had been love at first sight for me. Liam was sensitive and cold, a fortress who pushed everyone away. He ignored my every attempt at kindness, actively resisted my affection. But I was persistent. For every step he took back, I took ten forward. I knew he was poor, so I secretly had gourmet meals delivered to his dorm. I saw that he had the grades for a top university, so I busted my ass to get into Blackwood with him. He worked three jobs to cover his expenses, so I anonymously paid his tuition and loaded his meal card with funds. I was determined to be the sun that melted his iceberg. But the System told me my role wasn’t the sun. I was the cautionary tale. The beautiful, cruel memory that would fuel his rise to power. I didn’t believe it. It gave me what it called “corrective electroshock therapy.” I believed it then. And my world shattered. The System explained my purpose: to give the hero a taste of warmth and acceptance, only to drag him down into an even deeper hell. This betrayal was the catalyst. It would forge him into the dark, obsessive, and ruthless CEO he was destined to become. Only then could the heroine appear to “save” him and unlock the main love story. The warmth part was done. Liam had fallen for me. Now came the torture. The part that would trigger his transformation. I refused. The System informed me that refusal meant erasure from existence. Okay, then. I guess I’d do it. I kind of wanted to live. Under its duress, I began the first act of humiliation. It was the day after we officially became a couple. He came to meet me, holding a small bouquet of flowers. They were perfect, delicate, with beads of morning dew clinging to the petals. I recognized a few of the blooms; they were outrageously expensive. I couldn’t imagine how long he must have saved. He believed I deserved the best. He walked toward me through the soft morning mist, a rare, gentle smile on his face that made him look impossibly young. I met his hopeful gaze, forced my lips into a cold line, and delivered the first line of the script. “Liam.” “I was just playing with you. You didn’t actually take it seriously, did you?” “I mean, look at yourself. Did you really think you were worthy of me?” In an instant, the light in his eyes vanished, leaving behind nothing but a cold, dead emptiness. 3 My heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible fist. A sharp, searing pain. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing the memory away. Back in the club, the last hundred-dollar bill lay at my feet. He reached for it, his expression unreadable. I hesitated for only a second before lifting my stiletto and placing it on the back of his hand, over the delicate bones of his fingers. I didn’t press down. I couldn’t. I just held it there, looking down at him. He looked up, and for a moment, his dark eyes were like a viper’s, coiled and ready to strike. A flicker of raw hurt crossed his face before he masked it, his gaze dropping, hiding his emotions beneath the shadow of his thick lashes. A sudden chill went through me, prickling the back of my neck. My fingers, still holding the cigarette, started to tremble again. My eyes fell to his hand pinned beneath my shoe. It was a beautiful hand, elegant and long-fingered, but so thin you could see the blue veins beneath the skin. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. “Do I have to burn him with the cigarette?” I begged the System, my voice a pathetic whine in my head. After all, that hand had to type code for his computer science classes. It had to wash dishes at the campus diner, prep lesson plans for his tutoring gigs, and create latte art at the coffee shop… he was working four jobs to pay me back. This was just cruel. As I stood there, torn, the man on the floor suddenly looked up again, his expression sharp. A storm seemed to gather in his eyes, followed by a flicker of… confusion? It was gone as quickly as it appeared. The System’s voice was sharp, threatening. Host, your function as the villain is to make the protagonist despise you. This will catalyze his transformation. Any unnecessary displays of compassion are counterproductive. Complete the script, and not only will your safety be guaranteed, but you will also receive a substantial reward. But deviation… deviation has consequences. The thought of erasure made my blood run cold. But then, Liam moved. He shot to his feet, his shadow falling over me. He took a step closer, an aura of suppressed fury radiating from him. His dark eyes locked onto mine. In the next second, he snatched the cigarette from my fingers and pressed the glowing tip firmly into the back of his own hand. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, but his eyes, filled with a profound and weary disgust, never left mine. “Stop the act,” he rasped. I stared, dumbfounded. I hadn’t spoken. He had just followed the script… on his own. And after I’d stepped on his hand, he was calling me the phony? Did that even make sense? Was I actually driving him crazy? He held the cigarette there, his handsome face contorted in pain, until a dark, ugly mark blistered his skin. Then, he dropped the extinguished butt at my feet and walked away without another word. A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 30%. 4 A good villain never rests. As the primary catalyst for the plot, even though I was an heiress, my life now revolved around stalking the protagonist and finding new ways to make his life miserable. At six p.m., Liam started his shift at Cornerstone Coffee. Outside the large, clean windows, the sky was ablaze with a spectacular sunset. The black apron he wore was tied neatly, accentuating his lean waist. The warm, golden light of the setting sun fell across his sculpted features, softening the perpetual chill in his expression. He was beautiful, like a figure in a painting. I, however, was a nervous wreck, picking at my perfect manicure. “You’re telling me,” I whispered to the air, “that I have to throw this coffee in his face?” Across the cafe, Liam, who had been expertly crafting a latte, suddenly went still, his expression turning icy. I shivered, frantically blowing on the surface of my coffee to cool it down. “Doesn’t my character have anything better to do than follow him around and bully him all day?” I complained to the System. No. I wanted to scream. But it was useless. Steeling myself, I called him over. When Liam stood beside my table, his presence quiet and watchful, I put on my mask of contempt. “What is this?” I sneered, gesturing at the cup. “It tastes like plastic.” I closed my eyes, forcing out the last line. “Just like you. Cheap. And worthless.” The words hung in the air. I felt hollowed out, a ghost in my own body. Liam was silent. His lashes were lowered, and his gaze on me was complicated, unreadable. He just watched me, and the intensity of it made my skin crawl. Finally, a bitter, self-mocking smile touched his lips. He looked directly at me, his eyes cold. “Is this the new torture you came up with for today, Genevieve?” His voice was a low, rough murmur. “Are you having fun?” I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze. “Is this how you treat your customers?” Throw it. You have to throw it. My hand, wrapped around the mug, was shaking. Damn you, System! I screamed internally. How am I supposed to do this? This is the face I fell in love with! The System remained silent, offering no reprieve. In the next moment, Liam calmly took the cup from my hand, and before I could react, he splashed its contents onto his own face. Brown liquid dripped from his sharp jawline. The air seemed to freeze. His dark eyes, full of a deep and profound weariness, locked onto mine. “Satisfied?” he asked. I could only stare. He was doing it again. He was following the script by himself. System, is this right? The only answer was the cold, mechanical voice. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 50%. 5 Before I could process what had happened, a gentle female voice cut through the silence. “Are… are you two fighting?” A girl in a simple white dress stood there. She was so exquisitely beautiful it was hard to look away. Her face was etched with concern as she looked at the coffee-soaked Liam. “I have a handkerchief. Would you like to use it?” Liam seemed startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to intervene on his behalf. After a long moment, he slowly took the offered cloth, his hand closing around it. She smiled, a lovely, kind expression. Beautiful, gentle, empathetic. Even without the System’s input, I knew. This was the heroine. This was Sophia Hayes. The System’s tone, usually so clinical, was buzzing with excitement. The kind-hearted heroine has finally appeared! The plot is getting back on track! But I couldn’t breathe. My entire body went rigid. The scene before me seemed to unfold in slow motion. Sophia turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “I know who you are. You’re that rich girl from the campus forums. I heard you two were a couple, but even so, you shouldn’t humiliate someone in public like this. He’s a person with dignity, not a toy for you to play with.” I bit my lip, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. I had no defense. Nothing I could say was true. “She’s not my girlfriend,” a quiet voice said from behind Sophia. Liam’s gaze was fixed on the back of her neck, an intense, predatory look. It held a dangerous combination of obsession and determination. Yes! This is it! The possessive, obsessive love story we wanted! the System cheered. I lowered my eyes, a dense, throbbing pain spreading through my chest. My mind was a blank slate of white noise. I turned and fled, my escape anything but graceful. As I stepped out of the coffee shop, the last rays of sun had vanished from the horizon. Dusk was settling over the city. The System issued a new command. Have Liam walk you back to campus. “Why are the missions coming so fast now?” We have to strike while the iron is hot! I sank onto a nearby bench, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on my bare arms. I didn’t know how long I waited. Finally, the lights inside the coffee shop went out, and the streetlight above flickered on, casting a lonely yellow glow. Liam emerged, having changed back into his plain black hoodie. He once again looked like the same cold, withdrawn boy I first met. I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and walked toward him. I adopted my most imperious tone. “Liam. It’s dark. Walk me back to the dorms.” My heart was pounding. His cold eyes slid over to me. “And why would I do that?” He took one step away from me, then stopped abruptly, as if a thought had just struck him. He frowned. “Have you been waiting out here for three hours?” I nodded, stunned that he’d noticed. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. The fingers of his hand flexed and curled, as if he were fighting back some powerful impulse. He started walking again, his voice flat. “Let’s go.” Something was strange about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was there. I followed a few steps behind him, a silent shadow. “Is that the whole mission?” I asked the System. “Just have him walk me home? Nothing else?” It seemed too simple, too kind. I was right. Do you remember the construction foreman your father fired for incompetence? the System asked. I froze. Tonight, he and a few of his friends are planning to kidnap you for ransom. Your task is to threaten Liam into protecting you, and then, while they’re fighting, you run. My heart seized. “Run? And then call the police for him, right?” And then go wherever you please. Your part in this scene will be over. I stopped walking. “That’s inhuman.” After this, Liam will be hospitalized for at least two weeks. The heroine will visit and take care of him. Their relationship needs this time to develop. “And if I don’t do it?” Then you’ll be the one in that hospital bed for two weeks. Its voice was utterly devoid of emotion. He’s the protagonist, the System reasoned. He may suffer now, but he’s destined for greatness. You don’t need to feel guilty. You’re simply helping him through his trials. But Liam was already brilliant. He didn’t need these senseless, manufactured tragedies. They were nothing but cruel plot devices to set up a tortured romance. This kind of story needed a monster to be saved. And my job was to create that monster. For the first time, I didn’t argue. I just walked in silence. A heavy, suffocating silence. So when Liam suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet night, I was caught completely off guard. “Genevieve,” he asked, his tone strangely serious, “in this whole world, what is it that you want most?” The answer came out before I could think. “Freedom.” Freedom from this script. Freedom from hurting him. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching. I looked up to call his name, but I realized we had turned into a dark, narrow alley. It was a shortcut to campus I’d taken a hundred times, but tonight it felt menacing, like the jaws of some hidden beast. Panic seized me. I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his hoodie to pull him back. But it was too late. Several figures emerged from the shadows, moving fast. In an instant, the tall figure in front of me spun around, pulling me into his arms. His body was a warm, solid shield around me. I felt the sickening thud of a pipe hitting his back, the vibration traveling through his body into mine. I hadn’t even had to threaten him. I had been trying to save him. A dull, numb ache spread through my chest. I had hurt him again. The next second, he pushed me away, hard. “Run,” he choked out. “Go!” I stumbled, catching a glimpse of his face—pale and grim—before I turned and ran. I ran with everything I had, my lungs burning, my feet pounding against the pavement. The System’s voice was triumphant in my ear. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 70%.

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At my boyfriend’s birthday party, his best friend suggested a game: blindfolded, he had to guess which girl was his girlfriend just by touching her hand. His childhood friend, Chloe, squeezed through the crowd and held out her hand with a mischievous grin. “Don’t mess around, kid,” he laughed, pushing her away. “Your hands get all dry and flaky in the winter. No way you’re my girlfriend.” He walked over to another girl, took her hand, and declared, “My girlfriend’s hands smell amazing.” The room erupted in laughter. They jeered at him for not even recognizing his own girlfriend. I was pushed to the side, watching as he tried to defend himself, his face flushed. He even grabbed Chloe, who was laughing the loudest, and pulled her into a headlock. “Tell them, you little punk! Did I recognize you or not?” Suddenly, the whole thing just felt… pointless. I turned and walked out of the room. 1. Asher’s family was ridiculously wealthy. I almost got lost trying to find my way out of the home theater. By the time I made it to the living room, Chloe was there, directing the staff on what fruit platters to prepare and which wines to bring up from the cellar. She was completely at ease, chatting and joking with them like she was the lady of the house. She saw me. Her eyes flickered over me for a second before she looked away, pretending to be busy. Right. When Asher was around, she was a completely different person, all sweet and calling me “Lily-sis” like she was my adoring little sister. I’d fought with Asher about her a few times. Their easy, natural chemistry made me feel like an outsider. The first time I tried to break up with him, he smashed his phone in a fit of rage and swore he’d never be the one to come crawling back. A day later, he was standing under my apartment window, his eyes red-rimmed, begging me not to leave him. His voice, a deep, magnetic baritone, cracked with emotion. It was impossible not to feel my resolve crumble. He explained that he and Chloe had been friends since they were kids. They were practically family. Her family had recently gone bankrupt, and his mom had specifically asked him to look out for her. He saw her as a little sister, nothing more. “If you’re really, really uncomfortable with it, I’ll delete her number,” he’d said, his voice pleading. “Baby, you’re the only one that matters to me.” And right there, in front of me, he blocked her on everything. I couldn’t stay mad at him. I gave in. A few days later, Chloe was kneeling outside my apartment building in the pouring rain. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I only found out when Asher showed up. “Baby, don’t you think this is a little much?” he’d asked, holding his umbrella over her head, getting soaked himself. “Go home, kid,” he’d said to her gently. “Don’t make a scene. What if you get sick? I’ll have to answer to your mom…” 2. He sighed, but he didn’t unblock her. Chloe just kept crying, her shoulders shaking, drawing the attention of my nosy neighbors. “Lily-sis, I swear on my life, I only see him as a brother,” she’d sobbed. “I’ve never crossed any lines. Please don’t make him do this to me. My mom thinks I did something to hurt him, and she cries all the time…” “My family is broke, Lily-sis. My life is already so hard. Are you trying to push me over the edge?” “Don’t I deserve to have friends? I was happy for you two! What did I do to deserve this?” Her words, choked with tears, echoed in my ears. I tried to pinpoint why she bothered me so much. It was the way she so effortlessly inserted herself between us. If Asher and I were sharing a drink, she’d squeeze in and tease him. She’d rummage through his bag, bring up inside jokes from their childhood that I couldn’t understand, and make me feel completely left out. Whenever he brought me to his parents’ house, she’d “coincidentally” drop by and act all chummy with his mom. So, was it my fault? Was I being too sensitive? I stood there in the rain, holding my own umbrella, silent. 3. After a while, my mom came down and brought us all inside. She gave Chloe a change of clothes. “My daughter can be a little stubborn,” she’d said, looking from me to Asher. “If you two are making her feel uncomfortable, then there’s a problem. Don’t push her, Asher. Until you figure this out, you and Lily should just break up.” “No!” Asher’s eyes were red as he immediately rejected the idea. My mom pulled me aside. She looked at me and sighed. “Honey, I don’t think blocking her is the answer. It’s just a temporary fix. Why don’t you give it another chance, see how things go? Or, if it’s too much, just end it now.” I was torn. In the end, when I walked back into the living room, Asher looked like he was about to fall apart. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t break up with him. So I compromised. They went back to how they were before, except now, Chloe made a conscious effort to keep her distance when I was around. What they did when I wasn’t there, I didn’t want to know. But tonight’s little party game was a stark reminder. The bond between childhood friends, even if you try to sever it, just comes back stronger. Whatever. I didn’t care anymore. My mom had seen it from the beginning. It was my own fault for dragging it out. I should have ended it the first time. As I was leaving, Chloe was humming a cheerful tune as she went upstairs, like a victorious general. A little while later, my phone rang. It was Asher, sounding a little drunk. I thought I’d be angry, or hurt, or that I’d cry. But looking at his name on the screen, I just felt… calm. “Baby, where are you? Are you mad at me? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know Joe’s girlfriend used your hand cream. I just guessed wrong. You can punish me, okay?” He was drunk, and his voice had that playful, pleading tone he knew I couldn’t resist. “We should break up…” 4. Before I could finish, Chloe’s voice cut in. “Seriously, Asher, are you hiding in the bathroom? You’re the birthday boy, what are you doing out here? Everyone’s waiting for you to cut the cake.” “Don’t mess around, kid, I’m on the phone.” “Don’t ‘kid’ me. Stop hiding. Joe and his girlfriend are fighting because of you. You need to go fix it.” I heard the rustle of clothes, the sound of a scuffle. He was probably laughing as she playfully hit him. “You wanna die, kid?” he said, still laughing. “Yes, yes, I do,” she retorted. “Now get in there. Joe’s girlfriend is crying.” He brought the phone back to his ear, his voice clearer now, the drunken slur gone. “Baby, what did you just say? Never mind, just come back inside. We’re cutting the cake.” He hung up. He and his childhood friend went back to the party. I rolled down the car window, the night air feeling cool against my skin. The call had ended a while ago, but I kept turning my phone screen on and off. My wallpaper was a picture of us. His profile was ridiculously handsome, and he was sneaking a kiss on my cheek, looking at the camera like he was showing me off to the world. After a long moment, I changed the wallpaper to a picture of a cat I had saved a while ago. It was a beautiful, lazy-looking cat, one paw raised in a beckoning gesture. Its eyes were so serene, so detached. I was actually chuckling at the picture when I got a text from one of Asher’s friends. 5. Asher’s Friend: *Lily, your boyfriend just got into a fight with Joe. Where are you? Can you come back and explain? It’s getting really awkward here.* I wasn’t going to reply, but then I remembered my hand cream. It was a special blend my grandmother made for me, with rare ingredients. You couldn’t buy it anywhere. I had our driver, Mr. Wilson, take me back. When I walked in, the room was a mess. Broken glass littered the floor. A lot of people had left, but a few familiar faces remained. Joe’s girlfriend was sobbing in a corner, with Chloe comforting her, handing her tissues and draping a jacket over her shoulders. Asher was sitting with one foot propped up on a stool. He glanced up when I came in, looking annoyed, then looked away. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding himself back. He’d always been the pampered golden boy. This was probably the first time he’d ever had a real fight with a friend. Joe was being held back by a couple of guys. He was drunk and angry. Normally, he was Asher’s biggest hype man. He would never have laid a hand on him. I remembered he was the one who had suggested the guessing game in the first place, and the one who had cheered the loudest. “Lily, you’re here,” the friend who had texted me said. “You’re Asher’s girlfriend. Can you say something?” 6. He gave me a look, trying to get me to smooth things over. I smiled faintly. “Excuse me,” I said, looking at Joe’s girlfriend. “Where is my hand cream?” She stared at me, stunned. “Lily-sis,” Chloe cut in. “I don’t think that’s the most important thing right now.” I shot her a look. “You’re not going to tell me? Fine. I’ll just call the police and have them check the security footage. You probably don’t know this, but the ingredients in that little bottle of hand cream cost over five hundred dollars. That’s enough to press charges.” “So, you can either give it to me now, and we can pretend I just ‘misplaced’ it, or we can call the police and let them find it. Your choice.” Joe’s girlfriend immediately stopped crying. She pulled my hand cream out of her purse. “Is this it? I’m so sorry.” I took it, checked it, and put it in my bag. Asher’s friend tried to play peacemaker. “See? It was all a misunderstanding! Your girlfriend just accidentally used Lily’s hand cream, that’s why Asher guessed wrong. You know Asher, he’d never mistake anyone for his girl! He loves her more than anything!” “Yeah, yeah, he even recognized Chloe, there’s no way he wouldn’t recognize his own girlfriend! It was just a mix-up!” another friend chimed in. Joe’s girlfriend looked at Joe, then at Chloe. “Chloe gave me this hand cream,” she said quietly. “She said if I liked it, I could have it. I didn’t think anything of it, but now… maybe I should have.” Chloe laughed. “Don’t make it so complicated. I thought it was Asher’s, and you liked it, so I gave it to you. It’s just a bottle of hand cream, Asher wouldn’t mind, right? Don’t be so dramatic…” She looked so innocent, so helpless. Joe, enraged, slapped his girlfriend across the face. “Did I say you could take it?! Are you that pathetic? And now you’re blaming Chloe for your own mistake?” Chloe gasped and rushed to pull Joe away. 7. The room descended into chaos again as everyone tried to pull them apart. But they were all comforting Joe’s girlfriend, telling her he was just drunk. “I’m so sorry, Stacey,” Chloe was saying, holding Joe back while trying to calm her down. “He’s just had too much to drink. Tomorrow, he’ll be on his knees, begging for your forgiveness.” She even threw a glass of water in Joe’s face to get him to calm down. And he did. Stacey just stood there, her hand on her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. This time, she wasn’t crying. I was already at the door, but I couldn’t just leave. I walked back and stood in front of her. “Do you want to hit him back, or do you want me to call the police?” I said. “I’m here. I’ll help you.” She hadn’t been crying, but at my words, tears started streaming down her face. “Lily-sis, don’t you think calling the police is a bit much?” one of the guys said. “We’re all friends here. Joe didn’t mean it. If you let her hit him back, I promise he won’t fight back.” I had been bottling up my anger for so long. My hand was itching. So, while he was still talking, I slapped him. SLAP! The room went completely silent.

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After we got back together, I shed all the bad habits Seraphina hated. The constant check-ins, the baseless jealousy, the petty score-keeping—all gone. I was a new man. So new, in fact, that when I found a pair of lace panties that weren’t mine on the passenger seat floor, I just calmly picked them up and set them aside for her. But Seraphina’s face hardened, and she slammed on the brakes, the car lurching to a halt. 1 Seraphina Rankin was a striking woman. With her sharp, aristocratic brow and vividly beautiful features, she radiated an alpha’s intensity. But right now, pinching the bridge of her nose, she just looked exhausted. “They’re Gilderoy’s,” she said, her voice strained. “The client dinner ran late last night. He took a few drinks for me and was in no state to drive, so I gave him a ride.” She paused, forcing herself through an explanation she clearly disdained. “He got sick in the car, so he changed in here. I keep a spare set of clothes in the trunk.” She looked at me, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve told you a million times, Asher. He’s the son of a family associate. I have to look out for him. That’s it. There was never anything between us, there isn’t now, and there never will be.” My silence seemed to unnerve her. A rare crack appeared in her usual composure, a flicker of helplessness I’d never seen on her face before. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?” “I do believe you,” I said calmly. “I’m not mad.” My words landed like a fist punching a cloud. Her expression went blank for a split second. “…Then why have you been quiet this whole ride?” I glanced at my watch, mentally calculating the time to the airport. “You once said you hated pointless chatter,” I deflected. “And I’m about to be late for work. Why don’t you just drop me off at this corner?” My eyes were on the traffic, completely missing the way her face darkened. “You always get off at the next light.” Her voice was low, suspicious. “The office is still two miles from here.” I hadn’t thought of that. Trapped, I met her searching gaze. “It’s early. If you’re not going to the office, where are you going?” Just as the doubt in her eyes began to crystallize… Ding—! The custom ringtone. Gilderoy’s ringtone. Seraphina’s interrogation instantly ceased. Her eyes darted away, a tell-tale sign of guilt. “It’s a work call. I need to take this.” She immediately unlocked the doors, all suspicion of me forgotten. “You can get out here.” I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but she stopped me. “Don’t be so reckless. Watch the road when you’re walking.” Her voice softened, taking on a placating tone she sometimes used. “That restaurant you wanted to try? I made a reservation.” Her gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. “I promised you I would never miss another anniversary. Happy seventh, Asher. I’ll see you tonight.” My hand froze on the door handle. Last year, on our anniversary, she’d left me for Gilderoy. The memory, once a source of searing pain, now felt distant, stirring nothing within me. “You should get that,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. “Don’t keep him waiting.” After all, Gilderoy couldn’t be kept waiting. And neither could my flight. As for our anniversary… this year, next year, and every year after, I would be absent. 2 I made it to the airport just in time. Once seated on the plane, a wave of dizziness washed over me; I’d skipped breakfast in my rush. My hand instinctively went to my pocket, and sure enough, my fingers closed around three small chocolates. Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar once, a long time ago, Seraphina had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning. The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness began to fade. But it was quickly followed by a lingering, cloying bitterness that coated my throat. Seven years together. How had Seraphina and I ended up here? At first, I truly believed Gilderoy was just a nepotism hire she had to accommodate because of his family connections. I told myself that was why she was so strictly professional with me at work while giving him special treatment. Rhonda, a senior manager in our department, constantly made my life hell with no consequences. But the moment she was slightly rude to Gilderoy, she was fired. Behind my back, everyone—knowing I was Seraphina’s secret boyfriend—had a nickname for Gilderoy: “the future Mr. Rankin.” I forced myself to accept her reasons, but then the “special treatment” bled into our home life. Time and again, she would drop everything we were doing to answer his call, to go to him. The explosion finally came one night. I was scrolling through a private work chat when a photo popped up. It was Seraphina, who had told me she was working late, with Gilderoy at a midnight movie screening. It was the very movie I had begged her to see with me, only to be flatly rejected. I had cupped her face, my eyes shining with hope. “Everyone says you’re supposed to see this with the one you love! Your one true love! We have to go.” Seraphina hadn’t even bothered to look up from her laptop. “Watching that kind of sappy romance is a waste of life,” she’d said. But in the photo, she was the picture of tenderness, smiling warmly at him, without a hint of impatience. The messages in the chat flew by, blurring before my eyes. When Seraphina came home, I asked her, my voice devoid of emotion, “How was The Last Vow?” A flicker of surprise—or maybe I imagined it—crossed her eyes. More likely, it was nothing. Indifference. “Were you following me?” My heart felt like it was being smothered by a heavy, wet towel. I couldn’t breathe. “Do I need to? That sweet little picture of you two is already making the rounds in the company group chat!” My chest heaved, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Seraphina, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” Her expression didn’t change. She was as calm as a spectator at a play. “If you don’t have even the most basic trust in me, then there’s nothing more to say. I’ve had a long day, Asher. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No guilt. No explanation. Compared to my wretched state, she was the epitome of grace. She even remembered to carefully place the paper bag she was holding on the table. The words “The Last Vow” on the bag were like razor-sharp shards of ice, stabbing straight through my heart. Every suppressed emotion, every ounce of resentment, crashed down on me at once, finally snapping the last thread of my sanity. I snatched the bag and, in a fit of rage, hurled it to the floor. It wasn’t sealed. The contents scattered, rolling across the hardwood with a series of soft thuds. I didn’t even look. My eyes, red and burning, were locked on hers. We stared at each other, locked in a silent standoff. A moment later, she turned and slammed the door behind her. I stood frozen, a statue of despair. It wasn’t until something small rolled to a stop against my foot that I finally moved. I looked down, my breath catching in my throat. It was chocolate. The floor was covered in round, handmade chocolates. 3 My resolve softened. I wanted to talk to her, to fix this. But for three whole days, Seraphina didn’t answer my calls. She didn’t come home. Swallowing my pride, I sent her a text. “I was wrong to lose my temper without talking to you first.” “But it’s also true that you said you were working late, but you were with him at the movies.” “Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home.” “Can we please just sit down and talk this out?” I waited from morning until night, but she never came. As the clock neared eleven, I decided I had to go to her. I would find her at the office. On my way there, I ran into Rhonda, the manager Seraphina had fired over Gilderoy. She grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. “That bitch! I don’t dare touch Ms. Rankin’s precious boy, but I can sure as hell touch you!” My unanswered calls, my desperate cries for help—they were all useless. If a bystander hadn’t happened to pass by and scare her off, I would have been left with far more than a bruised face and a split lip. When my phone suddenly rang, I screamed, a raw, terrified sound ripped from my throat. I was a cornered animal. But then I saw the name on the screen, and the tension that had held my spine rigid all night finally crumbled. A wave of near-hysterical relief washed over me. “Sera—” I sobbed. “Hello?” Gilderoy’s smooth, cheerful voice came through the line. “Sera’s in the shower right now,” he chirped. “I saw you’d called a few times. Who is this? Is it important?” It felt like a hot coal had been shoved down my throat, searing the flesh, melting it away. The pain was so intense I wanted to carve out my own vocal cords. The simple act of hanging up the phone seemed to take every last bit of my strength. I limped to the nearest police station to file a report, a pathetic, broken figure. By the time it was all over, the clock showed 12:01 AM. A new day. That’s when Seraphina finally called. Her voice was as imperious as ever. “Have you learned your lesson?” And in that instant, I understood. She had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary… it was my punishment for not trusting her enough. Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging my wounds like acid. When I finally spoke, my voice was a raw, broken rasp. “Seraphina,” I said. “Let’s break up.” There was only a second of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. Don’t you come crying back to me.” She hung up without another word. She agreed to end it all, without a shred of hesitation. 4 At first, it was just the sleeplessness. I’d lie awake for hours, replaying every detail of our life together, terrified I had misjudged her, that I had condemned her unfairly. I reread our old messages, searching for clues, for anything. But the more I looked, the more the pain and resentment grew. I started to hate her. Six years. Six entire years of my life. I hated her for tossing me aside like a piece of trash, for being so utterly unaffected. At 4 AM one morning, consumed by grief, I deleted her from every app, every contact list. I dragged myself out of bed and, in a fury, gathered all her belongings—every last thing that reminded me of her. I stuffed them into giant trash bags and heaved them into the dumpster below. When it was done, I thought I would feel relief. But it was like I had finally swatted a mosquito that had been tormenting me for weeks, only to find that the blood splattered on the wall was my own. I went to work on time, acting as if nothing had happened. But only I knew that a huge chunk of my heart had been gouged out. Seraphina had grown there, but the flesh had turned rotten. To survive, I had to carve that putrid piece of me away. I just forgot that a wound that large is fatal, too. The full force of my emotional collapse hit me when I saw her at a company-wide meeting. Seraphina was as poised and self-assured as ever. In fact, she seemed even more vibrant, more powerful. It was as if losing me had no effect on her at all. Across the room, Gilderoy shot her a look he thought was secret, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. I stopped sleeping entirely. I couldn’t keep any food down. Seraphina didn’t use social media, so I became obsessed with stalking Gilderoy’s accounts, dissecting every post, every cryptic quote for any mention of her. It ended with me collapsing from hypoglycemia at work and being rushed to the hospital. That’s when Seraphina deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup. She casually twirled the matching couple’s ring on her finger, admiring her manicure. “You’ve lost weight, Asher.” My gaze was empty. I opened my mouth, a hollowed-out puppet. “I’m sorry.” A triumphant smile spread across her face. And just like that, we were back together. 5 They say it’s better to rip the bandage off quickly. But that doesn’t work for everyone. For someone with a weak will, the best method is a slow, quiet withdrawal. You keep the person in the same place in your life, but you gradually, deliberately, stop expecting anything from them. You boil your own heart, slowly. The process isn’t so difficult that way. The end isn’t so painful. In the beginning, when I first started pretending to be magnanimous, my heart would still ache with a dull throb. But Seraphina seemed pleased with the change. She’d stroke my head, the way you’d pet a well-behaved dog, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’ve grown up, Asher.” After about six months of this self-prescribed therapy, it started to work. I truly became the person she wanted me to be. She’d stay out all night, and I wouldn’t call. Whatever she was doing with Gilderoy, I no longer asked. By the time I realized what had happened, that rotten piece of my heart had fallen away on its own, like overripe fruit dropping from a branch. I paused for a moment, then smiled. I immediately sent my resume to a company in France. They’d made me an offer once before, but I’d turned it down to stay with Seraphina. Luckily, they still wanted me. My flight was booked for two weeks from now. I had no intention of telling her. Our relationship had always been disposable to her anyway. The more understanding and agreeable I became, the less happy Seraphina seemed to be. I brushed it off, thinking I was imagining things, and continued working late as usual. One night, I came home, ready for a shower, when she stopped me. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet mine. “Is there anything you want to tell me lately?” I yawned, shaking my head in confusion. “No. What’s up?” “Nothing,” she said, her voice flat. “Go on.” But I soon learned that something was, indeed, up. Later that night, she wrapped her arms around me from behind, her breath hot against my neck. Her whispers were as soft as feathers, but her touch was bruising, like an interrogation. “Gilderoy’s been giving you a hard time at work, making you work all this overtime. Why didn’t you tell me, hm?” Her grip on me was relentless, a punishing rhythm that left me breathless. I had no idea what she was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for mercy. “Work is work… personal is personal… I-I’m being good.” Years ago, my old manager Rhonda—the one who assaulted me—was constantly sabotaging me. Once, she made me the scapegoat for a massive error. In a meeting with hundreds of people, Seraphina had torn into me without mercy. “Even an idiot wouldn’t make a mistake like this.” That night, I’d choked back my frustration. “You can check the email records. Why wouldn’t you even let me explain in the meeting?” Her face was a mask, just as it had been at the office. “Work is work, personal is personal. Asher, I only care about results. At the company, I’m your boss, not your girlfriend. I can’t play favorites.” But two days later, Rhonda was fired. The reason? She had been rude to Gilderoy. I was a top performer, consistently exceeding my targets. When Rhonda was gone, everyone assumed I would get the promotion. But instead, Seraphina promoted Gilderoy, who wasn’t even out of his probationary period. He took Rhonda’s position and became my boss. … Now, here I was, finally understanding my place. I wasn’t causing trouble. I wasn’t emotional. I was keeping work and our personal life separate. At my words, Seraphina’s movements froze. She released me. The light in the room was too bright. I covered my eyes, a physiological tear escaping from the corner. She tried to pull my hand away. I tried to resist, but I was too weak. “What are you doing?” She pried my hand from my face and stared into my eyes, her voice laced with a strange insistence. “You used to look at me.” I had no idea what had gotten into her. Annoyed, I met her gaze. In that instant, a flicker of anxiety, of pure panic, crossed her face. She suddenly covered my eyes with her own hand, as if shielding me from something. Then she leaned down and kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again, a desperate chant. “Asher. Asher.” 6 The next day, Seraphina called Gilderoy into a meeting and demanded a full report on his department’s progress. Of course, I had done all the work, and Gilderoy just stood there, stammering, unable to answer a single question. “If you can’t even speak to the basic functions of your role,” Seraphina said, her face an emotionless mask, “then perhaps you shouldn’t be in it.” The entire conference room was dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Gilderoy clapped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room, sobbing. After the meeting, the breakroom on our floor was buzzing. “God, did you see the boss’s face today?” “You think the ‘future Mr. Rankin’ is about to be dethroned?” The gossip flew thick and fast. I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. “Aurora, why so quiet?” My English name at the new company was Aurora. It was a fresh start. Here, back in my old life, I was Asher. The code-switch was jarring. “Man, you’ve got nerves of steel,” the colleague continued. “The way Ms. Rankin laid into you that one time… you didn’t even flinch!” Honestly, I couldn’t care less about their drama. But in a den of gossiping coworkers, silence is betrayal. It would make me a target. So, I played along with a laugh. “Hey, I’m just a corporate drone. How can I compare to the heir apparent? Besides, lovers’ quarrels are just foreplay. A little drama is the ultimate spice for an office romance.” I fumbled with my mug as someone playfully shoved me. “Hey, knock it off.” Lowering my head to steady the ceramic cup, I added for good measure, “They’re a perfect match, honestly. Talented, beautiful… you know what? I’m totally shipping them.” Only after the words left my mouth did I notice the breakroom had fallen into an eerie, unnatural silence. I looked up. And met Seraphina’s glacial stare.

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1 The company retreat was supposed to end with a fireworks display, but my fiancée’s pet assistant, Chad, decided to provide his own. There, under the cascading explosions of light, he dropped to one knee. He held out a diamond ring. “Willow,” he declared for all to hear, “marry me.” He was proposing to my fiancée, right in front of me. My colleagues shot me a fleeting glance, a flicker of pity, before turning back to the main event, instantly erasing me from the scene. “Say yes! Say yes!” they chanted. As I walked toward them, Chad shot me a venomous, triumphant smirk. “You’re not married yet,” he sneered. “Trash like you doesn’t deserve her.” I kept my eyes fixed on Willow. “He’s right, we’re not married. That means you have a choice to make. Me, or him.” “And why the hell would she choose you?” Chad’s voice dripped with arrogance. “Because you’re a high school dropout? Or because you’re nothing more than a glorified guard dog?” A wave of sycophantic laughter rippled through the crowd. “Choose you?” one colleague jeered. “You should take a good look in the mirror. If it weren’t for Ms. Donovan, you wouldn’t even have a job as a security guard.” “Exactly,” another chimed in, eager to curry favor with Chad. “He gets a pity job as head of security and has the gall to ask who she’ll choose.” I said nothing more. I just waited for Willow’s answer. Our engagement wasn’t born from passion. It was a promise I made to her grandfather. He’d asked for three years, a trial period for us to cultivate feelings. If we found love, we’d marry. But in three years, I hadn’t managed to thaw the ice around her heart. Willow didn’t need words. Her actions spoke for her. She extended her hand to Chad. He slid the ring onto her finger, pulled her into a deep kiss, and the world—including me—ceased to exist for them. I watched them, a strange calm settling over me. They held the kiss for an unnaturally long time, as if they wanted to be sure I was thoroughly disgusted. For three years, Willow had relentlessly tested my limits, maintaining zero boundaries with other men. I’d grown used to it. Numb to it. When they finally broke apart, Chad looked at me, his lip curled. “Are you still here? Get lost, unless you’re waiting for an invitation to the wedding.” I walked up to Willow, unclasped the watch on my wrist, and held it out to her. “This was your engagement gift to me. I’d like mine back, please.” Three years ago, at her grandfather’s insistence, we had exchanged watches. A symbol of loyalty and devotion to the time we would share. “Ugh, I don’t want anything you’ve touched,” Chad snapped, slapping my hand away. “Deal with it yourself.” He then turned to Willow. “As for the watch she wore… you have no right to it.” Willow understood immediately. She opened her purse and pulled out the watch I’d given her, handing it to Chad. She only ever wore it when visiting her grandfather; the rest of the time, it lived in her bag. With a dramatic flourish, Chad hurled my watch into the nearby lake. “You really want this piece of junk back? You’ll be a clown your whole life, nothing more.” My gaze sharpened. “I suggest you go fish that out of the water right now,” I said, my voice low and even. “And you’d better pray it’s not damaged. Because if it is, you couldn’t afford to pay me back if you sold your own soul.” “A cheap replica, and you’re acting like you’re the mysterious billionaire who bought the real thing at auction?” Chad scoffed. “You want to know why Willow never liked you? Because you gave her a fake. A tacky, worthless fake.” He was on a roll now, playing to the crowd. “If it were just some generic knock-off, fine. But you had to buy a replica of the Timeless Vow, the one-of-a-kind watch that sold for twenty-five million dollars! Do you have any idea how much people laughed at her behind her back?” “That’s because none of you know what you’re looking at,” I stated flatly. “That watch is the one I bought for twenty-five million. Now, I suggest you get it out of the lake.” “Did you hear that?” Chad howled with laughter, turning to his audience. “This guy, who’s only head of security because our CEO took pity on him, just said he spent twenty-five million on a watch!” The crowd erupted again. Willow finally spoke, her tone dripping with condescension. “Mason, I know you have feelings for me, but you can’t force love. I don’t know how you convinced my grandfather to agree to this engagement, but arranged marriages are a thing of the past.” She looked me up and down. “I was never interested in you. The man for Willow Donovan could never be someone as painfully ordinary as you. Now, please leave. Don’t embarrass yourself further.” “Willow, let me clarify a few things for you,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “First, it was your grandfather who begged me to get engaged to you. Second, I genuinely tried to build something with you. But for three years, you ignored every effort I made. A relationship is a two-way street. You never made it into my heart, either. I don’t love you. I was simply honoring a promise I made to an old man.” “Your ‘effort’?” she sneered. “You mean sucking up to my grandpa? Helping him in his garden, playing chess with him, all so he’d emotionally blackmail me into this farce?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, whatever. You ‘made an effort.’ You didn’t love me. Happy now? Just go.” If it weren’t for the watch, I would have already been gone. “You and Chad are together now. This isn’t about our feelings anymore,” I said, turning my attention to him. “This is about you throwing my property into a lake. I will have it appraised, and you will compensate me for any and all damages.” “Are you kidding me?” Chad’s face darkened. “You’re wearing clothes that cost less than fifty bucks combined, and you’re trying to shake me down for money?” He puffed out his chest. “You said you bought a twenty-five-million-dollar watch, right? Fine. Show me a receipt. Show me any proof of purchase. You do that, and I won’t just pay you twenty-five million. I’ll pay you fifty.” He paused, a cruel glint in his eye. “But let’s be clear. If you can’t produce that proof…” He picked up a paper cup, filled it halfway with champagne, and then deliberately spat a thick glob of phlegm into it. He passed the cup around, inviting the other snickering colleagues to do the same. Soon, the cup was full. He held it out, his eyes locked on mine. “If you can’t prove that watch is real, you drink this. Every last drop. Do we have a deal?” “Deal,” I said, pulling out my phone. The sight of Willow and Chad together didn’t stir a thing in me. But that watch… that watch was different. It held a significance they could never comprehend. I’d paid a fortune for it at auction for a reason—for a person. And it was that same person who had asked me to give it to Willow. Now that this arrangement was over, I was taking it back. If Chad had damaged it, he would pay. As I made the call, Chad continued his performance. “Look at him, putting on a show! Who do you think he’s calling? He probably didn’t even dial a number.” “Hey, Chad,” one of his cronies yelled. “You should probably put a time limit on it, or that cocktail’s gonna ferment!” After I hung up, Chad swaggered over. “So, when are your people getting here?” “An hour, tops.” “I’ll give you two,” he declared magnanimously. “Two hours. If your ‘proof’ isn’t here by then, you drink the cup. Deal?” “Deal,” I agreed without hesitation. “And if the receipts are all in order, you pay for the damages in full.” “Don’t worry,” he sneered. “If you have a receipt, I’ll pay you for ten of them.” For the next while, Chad, Willow, and their pack of followers played party games, pointedly excluding me. Chad even made a grand announcement that once the two hours were up, not only would I drink the cup, but I would also be fired. Then, a low thrumming sound began to fill the air. I checked my watch. It had only been forty minutes since my call. I looked up, my eyes finding the helicopter as it sliced through the night sky, rapidly approaching. Everyone else saw it too. It descended with a deafening roar, landing on a nearby clearing and drawing the attention of everyone at the retreat. “Now that’s real money,” a colleague whispered in awe. “Arriving by helicopter.” When the passenger door opened and a man stepped out, Chad’s eyes lit up. “Willow, look! It’s Chairman Sterling, from the Eternity Group! I can’t believe he’s here. This is a golden opportunity.” Willow straightened her dress, her confidence radiating. “Just watch. Once I introduce myself, even a man like him will be charmed. He’ll be a valuable friend.” Timeless Legacy, Legendary Craft. The Eternity Group was a centennial institution, a titan in the world of luxury watchmaking, revered globally. The watch now sitting at the bottom of the lake was one of their bespoke creations. Willow’s family company, Elysian Beauty, had seen a meteoric rise. In just three years, it had gone from a startup to a publicly-traded company—a legend in its own right. What she didn’t know was that its success was fueled by the anonymous formulas and covert support I had provided. But next to the Eternity Group, Elysian Beauty was a minnow. Naturally, she was eager to network with a titan like Sterling. Being at the same retreat was fate, she thought. She and Chad walked toward him, Willow’s posture perfect, her gait exuding the unshakeable confidence of someone who had never known failure. In her world, at galas and functions, no one ever refused her. She believed that if Sterling had been based in Bayview City, they would have been friends long ago. All the powerful figures she once admired were now in her circle, ready to grant any request. She was certain this would be no different. “Mr. Sterling, what a pleasure,” Willow said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Willow Donovan, CEO of Elysian Beauty.” Chairman Sterling took her hand in both of his. “Ms. Donovan, the pleasure is all mine! I’ve heard so much about the legendary CEO from Bayview. I’ve been meaning to pay you a visit, but a long illness has kept me away. To meet you here… it feels like destiny.” His deference was palpable, exactly like all the other powerful men she’d charmed. The colleagues watching were stunned. They knew Willow was a legend, but to see the great Chairman Sterling treat her with such reverence was mind-boggling. Willow’s smile widened. She introduced Chad, making a point to say, “Mr. Sterling, this is my fiancé, Chad Foster.” At the word “fiancé,” Sterling’s expression flickered. When Chad extended his hand, the chairman’s warmth vanished. He gave it a perfunctory shake, his eyes darting toward me with a look of utter confusion. “Ah, I see you’ve heard about the situation with Mason,” Chad said smoothly, misinterpreting the look. “That’s all in the past now.” “Actually,” Chad continued, a malicious idea taking shape, “speaking of the past, Mr. Sterling, if I recall correctly, your company’s masterpiece, the Timeless Vow, sold for a staggering twenty-five million dollars.” He pointed a thumb at me. “This guy, Mason, bought a cheap replica of it for Willow. A few minutes ago, I threw that piece of trash in the lake, and now he’s demanding I pay him twenty-five million for it.” He smirked. “He even pretended to call your company, asking for receipts and proof of purchase to be delivered.” Chad looked Sterling right in the eye. “I’m sure you know the person who actually bought the Timeless Vow. Tell me, Mr. Sterling… was it Mason Hill?” He turned his smug, expectant gaze back to me.

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